# CERAMIC DM March 2012



## steeldragons (Mar 8, 2012)

Hail and welcome to all for the March, 2012 Ceramic DM competition.

Congratulations to all of our contestants:
 @Hellefire 
 @SteelDraco 
 @Deuce Traveler 
 @Piratecat 
[MENTION=8964]FickleGM[/MENTION]
 @Rune 
 @Rodrigo  Instalindir
 @Daeja 
 @Wild Gazebo 
 @maxfieldjadenfox 
 @UselessTriviaMan 
 @phoamslinger 

This thread will house your entires and our judgements.

First things first:* SIGN IN CONFIRMATION!
We are opening the competition beginning NOW.
ROUND I: MATCH 1 WILL BEGIN TOMORROW
Friday, March 9, 8am EST

*The first two competitors to confirm that start day/time will be paired against each other and delivered their photo elements.*

Good luck to everyone!
*--Steel Dragons


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## steeldragons (Mar 8, 2012)

*Da Rulz*
We're keeping it relatively short and sweet and traditional.

1) 72 Hour Time limit. *Match 1 will conclude/story must be posted by 8am EST on Monday, March 12*.

2) NO EDITING once you've posted your story.

3) No using the pictures as "pictures." They should envision a relevant element of your story.

4) We are not enforcing a word limit. We ask that you shoot for around 2-3,000. These are supposed to be _short_ stories.

5) We are not enforcing any "genre" limitations. If the story fits as  something that could be played in an existing RPG of whatever genre,  then it's fair game.

6) No arguing with the judges' decisions. We will be happy to discuss  our critiques with you, long as you keep it civil. Thanks. 

7) Judging will include the following criteria: *Writing Style & Skill *(spelling, grammar and use of language will be included here among other things); *Use of the Photo Elements* (did you use them all? how creatively?); and *"Personal Enjoyment"* (basically, was it an enjoyable read? did we like it?). So you will want to keep those in mind when creating your entries.   

Let the games begin!


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## FickleGM (Mar 8, 2012)

Let's get ready to rumble!

Also, I'll go in the first pairing.


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## phoamslinger (Mar 8, 2012)

if I filled your last spot, I'll go first...


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## steeldragons (Mar 8, 2012)

FickleGM said:


> Let's get ready to rumble!
> 
> Also, I'll go in the first pairing.






phoamslinger said:


> if I filled your last spot, I'll go first...




Done and Done.

ROUND I: Match 1
*FickleGM vs. Phoamslinger*

Start time 8am EST, Friday, March 9.
Deadline: 8am EST, Monday, March 12.


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## FickleGM (Mar 8, 2012)

Good luck Phoamslinger! 

[sblock]As a side bet, how many posts will it take for [MENTION=92511]steeldragons[/MENTION] to get my username right? 

EDIT: Anyone who said, "Zero, because he's going to go back and fix them while I'm typing up this witty spoiler block", wins![/sblock]


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## Rune (Mar 8, 2012)

Quick questions:  How will the beginning of daylight savings time effect matches that it falls during?  (8 AM EST Friday to 8 AM EST Monday is actually only 71 hours.)

Will we even be doing concurrent matches?  (If so, I'm ready to go.)


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Mar 8, 2012)

Ready.

My $0.02.  It works better for the judges if you stagger things by a day or two.  Good judging is hard, and it usually takes a couple/few days to get all the judge feedback for a single match.  If you don't stagger things, you end up falling behind quickly.  Then you end up reading entries from multiple matchups at the same time, which makes it harder to think of the stories as 'sets of two' and judge accordingly.


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## Gregor (Mar 8, 2012)

Thanks Rodrigo, we're discussing staggering right now.  We're just waiting on one of our judges to chime in so we can make a group decision.  Stay tuned.

However, the first match is locked and loaded and I take it that both you and Rune are checked in and ready as well?

Thanks,


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## Deuce Traveler (Mar 8, 2012)

I'm your Huckleberry.

(Deuce Traveler is Ready)


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## steeldragons (Mar 8, 2012)

[MENTION=67]Rune[/MENTION], I will discuss daylight savings with the other judges. I am inclined to say "you lose an hour, sorry." since it occurs at 1am, right? But I will see what [MENTION=11751]Gregor[/MENTION] and [MENTION=5242]Mirth[/MENTION] think about that. Giving the "extra" hour to have a full 72 hours doesn't bother me either. Is DST this weekend?!

Yes, we will definitely be staggering you guys. haha. There will not likely be any concurrent matches.

That said, we would like to get things rolling.

SO, *Round I: Match 2 *will also begin tomorrow*
7pm EST, Friday, March 9*.
Deadline: 7pm Monday, March 12.
*
Rune vs. Rodrigo*
That ok with you both?? As you guys are the next confirmed.


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## Rune (Mar 8, 2012)

steeldragons said:


> [MENTION=67]Rune[/MENTION], I will discuss daylight savings with the other judges. I am inclined to say "you lose an hour, sorry." since it occurs at 1am, right? But I will see what [MENTION=11751]Gregor[/MENTION] and [MENTION=5242]Mirth[/MENTION] think about that. Giving the "extra" hour to have a full 72 hours doesn't bother me either. Is DST this weekend?!



I'm a blue-collar working man with no at-work internet access, so I'd _prefer_ the extra hour, but I can go either way.  I'm an old-school Iron DMer--_I can deal with parameters_.

To answer your question: Yes.  Daylight savings begins early Sunday morning.



> Yes, we will definitely be staggering you guys. haha. There will not likely be any concurrent matches.
> 
> That said, we would like to get things rolling.
> 
> ...




I'm good to go.


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## Piratecat (Mar 8, 2012)

I'm running the EN World game day this weekend. That means I have house guests and I'm obligated all day Saturday.

If it's possible to start my match Saturday night late or Sunday morning early (8am, or whenever), that'd be ideal for me.


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## Hellefire (Mar 8, 2012)

*Check...Check...Boom!*

Checking in, though not really until Monday (interview finishes at 3pm UK time, I finish work and home by 6pm UK time, so ready to go anytime starting Monday at 1pm EST).

On a side note, as a competitor, I vote give them the full 72 hours - nobody should be screwed because Ben Franklin was being witty.


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## steeldragons (Mar 8, 2012)

Piratecat said:


> Uh oh. I'm running the EN World game day this weekend. That means I have house guests and I'm obligated all day Saturday.
> 
> If it's possible to start my match Saturday night late or Sunday morning early (8am, or whenever), that'd be ideal for me.




I'm sure that won't be a problem.

Who would like to vie against PC, starting Sunday morning?


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Mar 8, 2012)

steeldragons said:


> SO, *Round I: Match 2 *will also begin tomorrow*
> 7pm EST, Friday, March 9*.
> Deadline: 7pm Monday, March 12.
> *
> ...




Works for me.


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## phoamslinger (Mar 8, 2012)

the hour +/- is not that big a thing.

I'm nostalgically reminded of the first Iron DM I was in, which I won.  THREE hours to send in your finished entry.  fun stuff.

so 71 hours is an abundance of time.


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## Wild Gazebo (Mar 8, 2012)

Present.


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## Hellefire (Mar 8, 2012)

Past Perfect Progressive


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## SteelDraco (Mar 8, 2012)

Present!


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## Deuce Traveler (Mar 9, 2012)

steeldragons said:


> I'm sure that won't be a problem.
> 
> Who would like to vie against PC, starting Sunday morning?




I'll take on PC.  It could be the battle of the old men.  Or slightly seasoned men if you prefer.


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## Piratecat (Mar 9, 2012)

Old men? OLD MEN? Why, if you didn't have my favorite module as your avatar image, I'd thrash you with a razor strop!


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## Daeja (Mar 9, 2012)

Present and looking forward to this


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## Deuce Traveler (Mar 9, 2012)

Piratecat said:


> Old men? OLD MEN? Why, if you didn't have my favorite module as your avatar image, I'd thrash you with a razor strop!




Ok, I'm sorry.  Please calm down.  I don't want you throwing your hip. I feel easily guilty about that sort of thing.


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## phoamslinger (Mar 9, 2012)

steeldragons said:


> Done and Done.
> 
> ROUND I: Match 1
> *FickleGM vs. Phoamslinger*
> ...




so... I log in 90 mins after the start time and the pictures are where exactly?


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## FickleGM (Mar 9, 2012)

phoamslinger said:


> so... I log in 90 mins after the start time and the pictures are where exactly?




30 minutes. It's only 8:51 on the east coast.

But...your point remains.


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## Piratecat (Mar 9, 2012)

Just checked, and none of the judges are online right now. Probably a miscommunication or a tech problem. If they haven't been able to check in within the next hour, I'll use my secret admin powers to shoot 'em an email.


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## Hellefire (Mar 9, 2012)

Check and see if the judges are playing hockey on the roof....


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## Gregor (Mar 9, 2012)

Hey guys,

We had a minor delay, but the pics are going to be posted real soon.  Naturally your 72 hours will begin once they are posted, and not from our missed deadline of 8am.  Doh!

Apologies all around.

Gregor


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## steeldragons (Mar 9, 2012)

FickleGM said:


> 30 minutes. It's only 8:51 on the east coast.
> 
> But...your point remains.






phoamslinger said:


> so... I log in 90 mins after the start time and the pictures are where exactly?






Piratecat said:


> Just checked, and none of the judges are online right now. Probably a miscommunication or a tech problem. If they haven't been able to check in within the next hour, I'll use my secret admin powers to shoot 'em an email.




eepest apologies all. That was entirely on me. I got held up at the grocery store (shoulda just posted them early..but live n' learn).

*ROUND I: Match 1

FickleGM v. phoamslinger*

Here are you pic's. Due to Daylight Savings in North America you WILL receive the additional hour to your deadline.

*DEADLINE: 10:30 AM EST, Monday, March 12.*

Match 1 Photos





















Good luck and sorry again for the delay. Won't be a problem again.
Entries due 10:30 AM, EST, Monday.
--Steel Dragons


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## Hellefire (Mar 9, 2012)

Kinda silly probably because we all *know* you mean EST, but could you add that (the timezone) on any deadline notes - incidentally, the only time I know of that daylight savings caused an issue was with one of my rounds, because Europe does NOT observe daylight savings the same weekend as the U.S. And that is how I found out .

Good luck guys!

And more trash talk please thanks!


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## phoamslinger (Mar 9, 2012)

got em.  

I've got my initial story, just need to work in the last image...


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## steeldragons (Mar 9, 2012)

Hellefire said:


> Kinda silly probably because we all *know* you mean EST, but could you add that (the timezone) on any deadline notes - incidentally, the only time I know of that daylight savings caused an issue was with one of my rounds, because Europe does NOT observe daylight savings the same weekend as the U.S. And that is how I found out .
> 
> Good luck guys!




Quite right. Left it out in my rushing, apparently. Will go fix that now.


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## FickleGM (Mar 9, 2012)

I got my story. I just have to find a way to work in those four pictures.


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## Gregor (Mar 9, 2012)

Good luck FickleGM and phoamslinger!

I look forward to reading what you come up with.


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## Piratecat (Mar 9, 2012)

Two thoughts: this is harder than I remembered, and I'm really glad I didn't get these pictures.


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## phoamslinger (Mar 9, 2012)

some light reading for you all, to enjoy through the weekend.  

no peeking FickleGM!  go write your own story!

word count: 1802

[sblock]Styx Freight, Inc.






The boatman poled his boat up the river’s tributary, through the way and out onto the lake.  Even with the drastic change in scenery from subterranean to outdoors came just the faintest increase in the surrounding illumination.  A hint of smoke forever lingering on the breeze and a chill in the air were ever present nowadays.  Charon looked up at the sky.  Still the clouds roiled above, blocking out the sunlight.  One would think that after four centuries, the cloud cover would break, but no.  Not even Zeus on high Olympus could dispel the mass of overcast that shrouded the world.  The god had tried early on and given up on the whole idea after the first month.   “It’s too much work,” he’d said and then retired into his chambers to sulk with a cask of wine and a handful of naiads.

“Serves him right.” muttered the boatman to himself.  If Prometheus hadn’t taught man the forging of the thunderbolts.  If Aphrodite hadn’t pushed that ambassador’s wife .  If Ares and Shiva hadn’t gotten into it and started blowing volcanoes all across the map.  If Zeus had taken a stand early on and put a stop to it all.  If, if, if.  

If the gods had left things alone and not gifted the people of Athens with access to weapons of mass destruction (a thunderbolt by any other name), maybe now there would still be animals larger than rats, still alive below the Arctic Circle.  People would still be living their lives, growing their crops, raising their children.  So what if there were millions of Persians.  It still was the wrong approach.  The Greek Land-Sea-Air total war concept had been excessive.  In the aftermath of the War and the weapons of the Gods in the hands of mortals, Apollo's chariot could no longer be seen from the world.  Eternal winter and starvation had followed, on a planetary scale.

The Fates warned against it, but the gods had always had this attitude that they were, well, gods, and that they could do as they pleased.  If not for that holier than everyone else attitude,  he, Charon, would still be conveying souls across the Styx, not ferrying animals across the globe to attempt to repopulate the lands around the Med.  This task was demeaning.  It was not something suitable for his skills and talents.  And no one had offered him coins for passage in years.  Unacceptable!  He should ask for a transfer.  Maybe he could go and drown lost souls over in the Punishment division of the Underworld.  It would be a demotion but at least he would get some job satisfaction from the task of abusing Greek souls.

The boat slowly coasted up against the shore.  A short distance away, Artemis was directing the efforts of a band a satyrs, who in turn were herding a cluster of animals towards the lake.  


“Not more rats,” muttered Charon. “They chew on the boat timbers and then I have to spend hours sanding and refinishing.  It’s undignified.”

“No, not rats,” replied Artemis.  “Kiwis.  They’re small flightless birds and with some help, they should do well in the northern climate. “

“Wonderful, so instead of repairing the boat, I’ll be wiping up bird poo from stem to stern.  This job sucks.”

“Deal with it.” ordered Artemis.  “We’re all having to make adjustments and work outside the box to try and get things going again.”

“So what happened with getting the Eskimos to relocate?”

“The Inuit deities wouldn’t let us.  Something about us abusing our privileges or something.  They told us to blow whale fat and walked out of the meeting.”

“So where do you want these rat-birds delivered?” asked Charon.

“I think Cyprus would be a good home for them, don’t you?” she asked.

“Whatever.”


The boatman exited the boat and walked down the shoreline, pretending to ignore the satyrs’ chaotic attempts to herd the birds offshore and onto his boat.  Sitting down on a rocky outcropping at the water’s edge, he glanced down into the water.  Cyprus.  That’s where this all started.  By his will, the images from the dead past of Cyprus appeared on the surface of the water.  Charon contemplated as he gazed upon the scene revealed in the water.  There were differences of opinion as to what had been the catalyst event to the start of the Final War between the City of Athens and the Empire of Persia.  Charon had heard just about every variation from the thousands of souls he’s transported across the Styx.  Thousands transported, then millions, then hundreds, then none at all.  Yeah, this was where it all began.

* * *
Adelmaro, ambassador from the city of Athens rose to greet his guest.  He had not been sleeping well of late, his slumbers made all the worse by his suspicions of his wife Himalia.  Normally she was discreet and in thanks for her discretion, he turned a blind eye towards her affairs.  But since coming to these treaty negotiations, it felt like she was more and more brazen in her actions.  It didn’t do his negotiations any good when the whispers of the servants sped on Hermes' winged sandals throughout the entire palace, with new and greater embarrassments and slanders each day.  

Bozorgmehr, what an odd name.  The negotiations had taken a turn for the strange in the past few days, with the Persian envoy speaking less frequently, but giving Adelmaro the hairy eyeball whenever it seemed his back was turned.  It would be good to return home again.  But first the treaty would need to be agreed upon.  Things seemed to be at a delicate stage of late, and the wrong action or the unintended slight could lead to the reopening of hostilities.  At home as he and Himalia had made ready for the voyage,  diagrams delivered direct from Hephaestus' forge were being distributed and winged steeds gathered for the lightning strikes against the Persian Empire.  Enough fighting had been done on Greek soil in the past.  This time the war would be carried to the enemies' homeland instead!

“Ambassador Bozorgmehr, it is an honor to have you visit me.  Please be seated. Himalia my dear, you remember the ambassador?  We met him at that little soiree last week at the Admiral’s gardens.”

Himalia blushed.  “Of course I remember him.  ‘Mehr, how good to see you again.  How is your gardening coming?  You were having problems with those pesky local bugs eating your roses…”

Adelmaro moved into the kitchen and left his wife to engage Ambassador Bozorgmehr in small talk.  Normally, the diplomatic envoys from Athens brought servants along, but all three had served loyally and fatally as food tasters in the preceding months.  Now Himalia shopped for fresh victuals each day and Adelmaro prepared their meals by hand.  Normally the wife should have prepared the food while the men talked, but meal preparation just wasn’t one of Himalia’s gifts.  But she had other talents which compensated for her lack of culinary expertise and there were times when Adelmaro took a great deal of satisfaction from his efforts in the kitchen.  It calmed him when he was troubled, like now.  So it was all good.

He turned the spigot on the promethean fire beneath the stove and set a kettle of wine on the hot flat stones to warm.   A wooden platter, some grapes, three cheeses, a pear sliced into sections, some grape leaves stuffed with rice and meat, and then he paused.  The entrance to the main area was behind him, around a corner.  He could still hear his wife and Bozorgmehr speaking in low tones about pest control and roses.  But there on the stove, in the reflection of the polish of the kettle, a different tale was told.  His wife and his political opponent were standing and holding hands.  Actually, she was holding his hands.  His hands were occupied elsewhere.  For all the veneer of Persian civilization, he was still very much a barbarian.  Their words continued to speak quietly of gardening, but their expressions spoke of anything but.  Well, that certainly explained a lot. 






Controlling his feelings and composing his face and his bearing so as not to reveal anything, Adelmaro spoke aloud, “I hope you will join us for some mulled wine and fruit ambassador.  Several of the local orchards are very good this time of year.  And of course, dolmades are always a delightful snack.”  No, no tremor in his voice.  Nothing to generate suspicion.  Each action controlled and precise, he opened the cabinet.  He reached behind the spices; there it was.  The small black box, sealed with wax.  A muscle relaxant from an apothecary acquaintance of his.  Next place three goblets on the platter.  A pinch from the box added to two of the cups.  Pour the wine.  Now turn and walk smoothly into the other room, returning to his guest.  “Himalia found the most astonishing vintage the other day.  You simply must try some…”

* * *

Charon reached down and grabbed the last two of the birds and tossed them onto the Cypress shore.  “Here you go birdies.  You’ve arrived at your new home.  Salamis is just up the hill, a few miles that away, just past the large fields of bones.  There are only ruins left now, but you can still attend the theater and take in a show or two.  






“You can work out in the gymnasium where that idiot Adelmaro sliced up his political opponent in that impromptu “test of arms”.  Don’t mind the statues, they’re not good conversationalists anyway.  You can even go into the surgeries where that acolyte of Asclepius did his autopsy and determined there was foul play involved.  Maybe in a few thousand millennia you’ll figure out what the temples are there for. ”

Charon scowled.  Then he added, “And furthermore!  The next time you want a ride, I expect some damned coinage to pay your way!  Two coins each will be sufficient!”

The small, flightless birds scurried into the vegetation and then stopped, half hidden amongst the leaves.  One of them gazed fearfully back at the still shouting boatman, while the rest disappeared into the undergrowth.






Poling the boat back away from shore, Charon gazed in disgust at the feathers and white bird poo littering the bottom of his craft.  He opened a way back to the Styx and returned to the cavernous darkness.  Home, several hours cleaning the boat, and then maybe a beer and a naiad.  And then back to work again.  Artemis had found some western hemisphere ground squirrels for him to convey tomorrow.  

Working for Styx Freight, Incorporeal, sucked.  It was demeaning.  It didn’t make use of his talents and abilities.

He should put in for a transfer.
[/sblock]


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## phoamslinger (Mar 9, 2012)

suggestion; 

we should use the other thread for comments and leave this one for the judges comments, the contest postings and the stories.


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## Hellefire (Mar 9, 2012)

phoamslinger said:


> suggestion;
> 
> we should use the other thread for comments and leave this one for the judges comments, the contest postings and the stories.




We can try. From experience that ends up with some comments and such on both. And it makes it much harder to post links back to relevant things later if you have to keep 2 threads in mind.


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## Wild Gazebo (Mar 9, 2012)

I prefer one thread.


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## Hellefire (Mar 9, 2012)

*Hellefire's Side Judgments*

Here I will put in my own judgments and critiques. Hopefully you will find them constructive. If nothing else, it will give you something to read while waiting for the *real* judgments.

**JUDGES - NO peaking until after the match in question has been judged and is complete! **

Competitors - No reading until you have posted your own story for any given match.

Judgements (will update these after official judgements are made):
Round 1 - Elimination Round: (match - *winner* (my pick))
FickleGM vs. phoamslinger - *phoamslinger* (phoamslinger)
Rune vs. Rodrigo Istalindir - *Rodrigo Istalindir* (Rodrigo Istalindir)
Piratecat vs. Deuce Traveler - *Piratecat* (Piratecat)
Wild Gazebo vs. SteelDraco - *SteelDraco* (SteelDraco)
maxfieldjadenfox vs. UselessTriviaMan - *UselessTriviaMan* (UselessTriviaMan)
Hellefire vs. Daeja - *Daeja* (Daeja)

Round 2 - Semi-Final Round: (match - *winner* (my pick))
phoamslinger vs. Piratecat vs. UselessTriviaMan - *Piratecat* (UselessTriviaMan)
Rodrigo Istalindir vs. SteelDraco vs. Daeja - *Rodrigo Istalindir* (Rodrigo Istalindir)

Round 1:

FickleGM vs. phoamslinger:
[sblock]**phoamslinger - Styx Freight, Inc.**
*Grammar, etc.* - great - 10/10
*Creativity* - Excellent! I found the story witty and light, enjoyed the interaction of various pantheons and of that alternate world with our own. I very much enjoyed the concept. But... - 9/10
*Picture use* - The first picture was used well enough, as a lead in and meaningful. The second picture was used in wonderful fashion, as an integral part of the story - I generally don't like the use of day/dreaming as a format to link pictures to one story, but in this case it did not distract at all from the story so well done! The last two pictures however were..linked to the story but did not make any kind of impact at all. They seemed kind of thrown in at the end, which brings us to our last point... - 5/10
*All around* - The story began in great fashion, I was hooked by the characters and the action and the theme and then....it sort of dumped off the last couple pictures and ended. - 6/10
*Final Analysis* - Really great beginning, I had a lot of hopes. I almost feel like taking off another point because of the great let down after that, but I won't, because the creativity and flow began so well. Average would be 7.5, but these are weighted (grammar certainly does not count as high as other factors). Though the last pictures make sense in the story, they do not pop out. Good effort. Great creativity and style. As PC said, absurdly fast. 5 hours and 10 minutes. No points however for speed.
**SCORE: 7/10**

**FickleGM - The Heart of a Kiwi**
*Grammar, etc.* - great - 9/10 ( I think 'What lied before us?' should be 'What lay before us?' I think...)
*Creativity* - OK, so we have a sentient, special bird, which is a good idea, and its terrorized owner, and the mad colonel. Interesting twists, but...I didn't get it very well I think...6/10
*Picture use* - The teapot was used in a scene, though only in a peripheral fashion - and the background (the counter top) wasn't really used. The ruins were just used as a passing point, moving from point A to point C without pausing much. The bird pic was of course a focal point of the story and very well done. The man in the boat fit the ending, but again wasn't detailed a lot...4/10
*All around* - The story had interesting characters, but they didn't get developed much, and I ended up with a lot of questions in my head. What did it find? What else did he smell? They found it...again...why was it worth dying for this time? 'The sound, as always, was deafening.' Had he shot at them before? Shot them before?...4/10
*Final Analysis* - I liked the base ideas of the story that I understood, but two things really killed it for me - those ideas weren't played out very much, and there was much more that I just did not get. I was also a bit disappointed in the picture use, but then again my match hasn't come up yet.
**SCORE: 5/10**

My Pick: **phoamslinger** for great flow and a bit better picture use and development.
[/sblock]
Rune vs. Rodrigo Istalindir:
[sblock]**Rune - Transition**
*Grammar, etc.* - great - 10/10
*Creativity* - Trippy story, which I really like - its great when I have to re-read something a couple times, and I like the integrated poem. It was a good...basis...for a story... 7/10
*Picture use* - Unfortunately, the sphere picture did not really enter into the story except peripherally. The man picture was integral and came back around in the end, which was good. The tree picture was used, and part of the story, but seemed a little forced. A very good job, I thought, integrating the fuzzy thing picture... - 5/10
*All around* - The story was a cool concept, unfortunately due to the length it was sparse in some parts and non-existent in others. It is hard to compare very short stories against short stories against novels against haikus. I would rate this as a very short story, which did not allow it to really be deep in any of the sections. - 5/10
*Final Analysis* - I really like the idea of the story, but it didn't seem to get much beyond the outline stage in my humble opinion. It gets bumped up a bit for good writing and creative ideas.
**SCORE: 6/10**

**Rodrigo Istilandir - The Hitchhiker**
*Grammar, etc.* - great - 10/10
*Creativity* - Exceptional - Ideas which touch on concepts and go wild - 10/10
*Picture use* - Wonderful...mostly. Picture one (4)...fuzzy thing... entirely integral to the story. Picture 2 (2)...artisan... entirely integral to the story. Picture 3 (1)...tree... tied to the story. Picture 4 (3)...metal sphere... kind of part of the story. Went from exceptional to auxiliary. Still probably best use I have seen so far!  ... - 7/10
*All around* - Such a great story! Integration of pictures and ideas and...really great story! ... 9/10
*Final Analysis* - This was one of the best stories I have seen in a while. The flow of it, they idea behind it, and where it went in the end. A couple of pictures may have been used more/better, but the whole idea of the story was grand.
**SCORE - 8.5/10**

My Pick: **Rodrigo Istilandir** for a story that held my attention, would not let go, and delivered emotional content to the end.
[/sblock]
Piratecat vs. Deuce Traveler:
[sblock]**Piratecat - Bullheaded**
*Grammar, etc.* - great - 10/10 
*Creativity* - Excellent job of creating a Greek Myth based realm, with diverse elements that interacted logically...8/10
*Picture use* - Wonderful picture use. The main characters came from the bull picture, which was also used some for scenery. The winged chick became an important side character. The horse cup was a central item, used for purpose and recurring. The final scene used the last picture, and took various elements into account. I would have liked to see pictures of the sailors and most especially the dragon, but the ones used were used well. - 8/10
*All around* - The story had an excellent flow. The characters were great and made sense and developed as the story went. I was intrigued through the entire story. The only negative comment I have is that it was a bit...loose. By that I mean it incorporated a variety of ideas and characters and scenes well, but I think they could have been a bit more..tight. - 7/10
*Final Analysis* - I enjoyed the flow of the story a lot. The rhythm of it, the characters, the humor. It was fairly light-heartened and fun and catchy. I wasn't completely blown out of the water, but I enjoyed myself!
**SCORE: 8/10**

**Deuce Traveler - Acts of Murder**
*Grammar, etc.* - great-ish - 8/10 (I think I saw 3 typos/grammatical errors)
*Creativity* - Great job with integration of military mindset and magical ruleset and the superstitious meeting of the two. The story itself I though was more creative than the picture use...8/10
*Picture use* - All of the pictures fit into the story. Something I really liked was that all of them except the scenery one came around twice in the story. What I didn't like was that they were all part of the story, but not a BIG part of the story. Key props, but I think I would have preferred to see pictures of the farm house and the goblins. Still moderate use for all of the pics, and nice that they were referred to more than once each...6/10
*All around* - The story flowed really well in most parts. It seemed a bit jerky in the part with catching up to the 100 spearmen, but besides that was a nice even flow. A bit predictable in parts, but nice to read - 7/10
*Final Analysis* - It was a well-written story. I enjoyed reading it and found the characters believable and fun, if a bit stereotyped. I really liked what you did with magic rules. I was a bit disappointed with picture use - even though you had moderate use of all of them, there seemed to be a lot of details that could have been used from each of them. Fun read though.
**SCORE: 7/10**

My Pick: **Piratecat** almost entirely for better picture use. I found both stories very good reads, almost identical in their...goodness.
[/sblock]
Wild Gazebo vs. SteelDraco:
[sblock]**Wild Gazebo - Summer Spark O Magic**
*Grammar, etc.* - great - 9/10 (While the general tone allowed for technically incorrect grammar, there were a couple actual mistakes I believe).
*Creativity* - Great mix of different aspects - old timer and magic and fairies and structured society. There were a couple places where their cohabitation seemed a little strained, but only a little. Very nice! - 9/10
* Picture Use* - The house was the beginning location and a main plot device. The chess piece drove the story a bit, though the floating in blackness part seemed like it was forced to exactly match the picture. The ant as a fairy was a wonderful tough. The underwater-ish aspect of the under-house world was a way to use the underwater picture without actually being in the water, and I think fairly well done....7/10
*All around* - Mostly great flow, though there was a part in the middle where the first person voice seemed like it was suddenly more...eloquent. Lost some of the drawl and used a lot more grammar and vocabulary. The general tone and the transition to the fairy under-house world was great. I really liked that the fairies had a structured society when compared to the human old-timer. Very fun read! - 7/10
*Final Analysis* - I think you did a great job putting a lot of disparate ideas together into one, and I really enjoyed the different slants and ways in which the elements contrasted. Really great ideas! Unfortunately there were some points that the suspended disbelief was strained.
**SCORE: 8/10**

**SteelDraco - No Title**
*Grammar, etc.* - great - 9/10 (Tim instead of Time, and not sure what You're never 40 means).
*Creativity* - The mystical world of alchemy mixed with mental projection - exciting stuff! And mixed with the supernatural was the normalcy of a cleaning woman. The fountain of youth, stolen from people through the mouth of ants...excellent! - 9/10
* Picture Use* - The ants were vitally important throughout the story, excellent job there. The house was the setting and well described at one place. It's hard to say it was not well used because it was the location for most of the story. Maybe it was the least-good used one. The chess piece as the game mixed with the queen ant was inspirational! The heads of the victims at the bottom of the sea was also great...8/10
*All around* - Gripping to read. Character development and story progression and plot thickening. Very well written story with a logical ending. Not gripping surprise, but great ideas and did not see most of it coming (though some was a bit obvious). Wonderful job! - 8/10
*Final Analysis* - I thoroughly enjoyed the reading of the story. I felt close to the characters, The end line 'he'd never have the strength to die' was profound. A couple bits seemed jumpy, but that's only a minor criticism. Great job!
**SCORE: 8.5/10**

My Pick: **SteelDraco** by a nose, for slightly better picture use and because the flow of the story was a bit more even.
[/sblock]
maxfieldjadenfox vs. UselessTriviaMan:
[sblock]**maxfieldjadenfoxetc - Let Sleeping Gods Lie**
*Grammar, etc.* - great - 10/10 
*Creativity* - Great job of integrating supernatural things into (modern) life. Well, modern-ish. I really like how you added a layer on top of the usual to make it supernatural, as opposed to them being separate things - 8/10
* Picture Use* - Great job! The future-telling device was key to the beginning of the story. The horned girl as the daughter of a horned god worked great, and of course she was integral to the story. The temple to the god came as a central scene and recurred in the end. Lala was of course central to the story, and being frozen and forced to watch made sense to the story some, but it wasn't a strong use of the image, I thought. - 7/10
*All around* - Story grabbed me and held my attention throughout. I do not know that part of the world or that mythos enough to know how much was based on fact and how much was exaggerated or simply made up. But it was believable and done well if either was the case. Great read!  - 8/10
*Final Analysis* - I enjoyed reading the story and was curious about and caring of what happened to the characters. There were twists I did not see coming, which I always delight in, and I would have liked to read more if it was a novel. I really liked how the ending set a major change.
**SCORE: 8/10**

**UselessTriviaMan - The Caretaker's Gift**
*Grammar, etc.* - great - 10/10 
*Creativity* - The mixture of the market with the temple district was intriguing and exciting and fun and scary. Nicely done! I liked the metaphysical/spiritual mixture of the priests and powers. - 8/10
* Picture Use* - The Suraiym turned out to be one of the central figures - great job taking a less detailed photo and giving it a lot of life. The hunstman's hall was of course a scene for much of the tale, and well done. The horned priestess ended up being the main antagonist and that was also very well done. The gnomish device was also vital to the plot, and good job with that explanation for it! The only real problem I have with picture use was that there was none of either the narrator (ok if you consider the story through his own eyes) or of Digger - I certainly wanted to see one of him! - 7/10
*All around* - The contrast of the marketplace with the temple district was well written (though I wondered why they didn't visit every day if they could get free food!).  I liked Digger a lot, he was very well fleshed out. I was a bit disappointed at the end that he was killed off rather quickly. I see how it fits into the story, and it was obvious from the outset he was going to die. But just that second of being the big guy before being killed was a bit tragic. Maybe that makes it better. I saw that his digging was his connection to his friend, but kind of thought he should/would do his own thing. In any case, I connected with the characters and greatly enjoyed reading it! - 8/10
*Final Analysis* - The story was written in a way that left me feel for a bit what it is like to be an urchin. It was told from an urchin's personal point of view, and that was done well. The characters were well developed, and the flow was good. I would be interested in gaming in that world and knowing those characters!
**SCORE: 8/10**

My Pick: **UselessTriviaMan**, but only because I felt more immersed in that world - I have much more knowledge of and experience with generic medieval worlds than the mid-eastern part of my own! To be honest, this was a dead tie as far as I was concerned regarding creativity, picture use and story telling. I just - connected more with the fantasy one (though I liked max's ending sentence more).
[/sblock]
Hellefire vs. Daeja:
[sblock]**Hellefire - MMI-7**
*Grammar, etc.* - great - 10/10
*Creativity* - It is generally very hard for me to rate my own creativity. I really enjoyed having pictures which allowed the creation of part of a module/actual adventure. I think the part of the adventure shown has some creative elements. And I think it was great to write an actual adventure for a DM contest ... 8/10
*Picture use* - I think I used the pictures fairly well. The tree was an integral character, the sharkgulls the main fight encounter, the beach one of the primary (and the end scene) and the foot the best piece of loot. Maybe not exceptionally well, but fairly well, for all of them...7/10
*All around* - Writing a portion of a module was fun, and I think a fun idea. The bit that was there I think included a fair number of elements (encounters, OD&D stat blocks, fluff, random table). I think it may have been a good idea to expand it a bit more (though I had already reached over 2000 words)...7/10
*Final Analysis* - It was a cool idea and fun, and integrated the pictures well. It was a bit short and fun but not epic. And how the Helle do you judge an actual adventure against a story? The judges may Love or Hate the idea. We'll see!
**SCORE: 7.5/10**

**Daeja - The Shift**
*Grammar, etc.* - great - 10/10
*Creativity* - Excellent! Fully believable and interesting rules of magic and character and societal interaction. Though nothing that made me catch my breath, everything went together smoothly and flowed well...8/10
*Picture use* - Excellent picture use! The sharkgull was one of the main character, the tree was the other. The foot was a main prop used repeatedly. The rock/egg was a major catalyst. All important images and used throughout the story. Beyond a tiny more development with the rock/egg and the tree, that was truly great picture use...9/10
*All around* - The story was written extremely well. Nothing shocking or very deep, but great flow, light and funny, and did touch on some deeper points (Shanna staying to try to save Felix to save both him and villagers). A great read!...8/10
*Final Analysis* - I really enjoyed the story! It was fun to read and kept me interested the entire way through. The humor was great and the action was pivoting. I expect more great stories from Daeja!
**SCORE: 8.5/10**

My pick: It's hard for me to vote against myself, and it is hard to compare such different styles. However, the points are what they are. While Daeja's story itself is just great, not exceptional, that combined with picture use, etc, etc means I put *her* ahead by a smidgen. But it could still go either way (I'm going to keep telling myself that!). **Daeja** by a nose.
[/sblock]
Round 2:

phoamslinger vs. Piratecat vs. UselessTriviaMan:
[sblock]**phoamslinger - The Favor**
*Grammar, etc.* - great-ish - Looked like a typo and an error (Asperon/Asteron) - 9/10
*Creativity* - It was very fun inter-mixing an adventure game with gamers and metagaming. I liked that a lot! The ideas would make for a good adventure, though are not fleshed out much. Not a lot of wow factor past the initial idea, though some of the humor was pretty good. ... 7/10
*Picture use* - Mixed picture use. The candelabra was used in an exquisite and elegant fashion and was directly tied to the story. The desert as one of (and the first) terrain type was adequately used but not great. The seal was made a somewhat important repeating character who turned into a hat - fairly good use. The head was the main person they were seeking and a decent use, though not overly engaging....7/10
*All around* - I really liked the idea behind the story and think you did that really well - with the god/dm ball and its actions. I think that was a great plot device. The story flowed a bit fast from one scene to another, with side mentions of killing but nothing much, and there was no danger to the characters in any form. I would like to see the story expanded and fleshed out....7/10
*Final Analysis* - Great background idea and good writing, nice imagery. I liked the story in general and was hooked to it. Unfortunately, it did kind of flow into a monotonous pattern near the second half. Also, I was a bit upset by your addition of 'notes'. Add these later, in another post perhaps, but putting them in the same post, even with a disclaimer, rather invites the judges to read them and lumps it together with the story into your 'entry'. And the idea isn't to explain your thoughts on the images or process outside the story, but to let the story do that. Not that I would disqualify you for it, but I will drop your score some in my personal scoring system for it.
**SCORE: 5.5/10**

**Piratecat - Repo the Seal**
*Grammar, etc.* - great - 10/10
*Creativity* - Great use of what was there - good imagery and characterization. I think it was a great idea, and the story flowed very well, and I really liked the interactions. Not a lot of wow's past writing style and general idea though. 7/10
*Picture use* - Mostly great picture use - The seal was of course the focal point for a lot of the story and used in various ways. The candelabra fit well and made sense, though if reading the story first I would want a picture focused more on the girl and less on the candles. The head was a main object in the story and used in a few places from a few angles, but for some reason I had trouble seeing it as Indian (except the plant headdress part). The desert scene was a main scene in the story, for the beginning and the end, though it didn't drive the story itself much. Again, reading it first, I think I would have preferred to see a picture of the mansion or their office...7/10
*All around* - Great idea behind the story and fun genre and, as always, excellent writing. I cannot say anything negative about the concept or pace or writing or characters. I found it interesting throughout. But - I just found it interesting, not - engrossing or titillating...8/10
*Final Analysis* - Good story, fun to read, loved the characters. Great picture use with the seal and good picture use otherwise, though the pictures were parts of the story but not sure they were main parts. Awesome writing style as always. I liked it a lot, but it didn't get my heart pounding or my head racing.
**SCORE: 8/10**

**UselessTriviaMan - Royal Pains**
*Grammar, etc.* - 'and almost all were all in various action poses' - I think there's one too many alls in there, and there was some thing else I noticed but don't remember - 9/10
*Creativity* - Awesome - The story went in not only a few different directions, almost all of them surprised me and I find that doesn't happen a lot, especially when I have seen the pictures before reading the story. There was only one overlying genre which didn't allow for extreme creativity, but still a really great job - 9/10
*Picture use* - Really great job! Seal - As a familiar, central character (though I would have liked to see a clearer picture of Vashka), desert - central location (wish it had white flowers in there), stone head - central character and theme, awesome job here, candelabra - good job here, not as moving as the others - 8/10
*All around* - Great writing style, nice mixture of drama, comedy and fantasy and great flow. I really enjoyed the story and was gripped throughout. Not only was it funny, it was also surprising - and again, after seeing pictures first, it's hard not to see things coming from a mile away. My only issues are some pressing questions - like why was the princess getting married if she didn't already have the flowers? Or if the flowers were on the statue why didn't they work? The end was a bit...jerky. Story rocked though! - 9/10
*Final Analysis* - I really enjoyed this story. It flowed well, had several sections and went from one revelation to another and didn't stop. Great use on pictures. Extremely fun. Good jokes. The drama at the end was good but a bit jumpy-ish.
**SCORE: 8.5/10**

My pick: The flow, picture use, pace and creativity of UselessTriviaMan in this case surpassed even Piratecat's entry - which was very good. Without the penalty I gave to phoamslinger, he would have been right up there too with a great story of an actual game adventure, complete with the quirky floating DM (a plot device I really like). It was actually a lot closer than the points say, but I am still going with **UselessTriviaMan**
[/sblock]
Rodrigo Istalindir vs. SteelDraco vs. Daeja:
[sblock]**Rodrigo Istalindir - Revenge is a Dish Best Served Sticky**
*Grammar, etc.* - Spelling was fine, but I found 5 or 6 grammatical errors, which were a bit annoying because they pulled me out of enjoying the story - 7/10
*Creativity* - While I generally take points away in this category for riding on the coat tails of someone elses story, this extreme other take and continuation on Willy Wonka was done in an excellent manner - both following the naming conventions and ideas but going completely in a different direction on the idea. Also, great songs! - 9/10
*Picture use* - The homes of the Oompa Loompas was a central location and made perfect sense with the story, the knids were centralish characters and fit their role perfectly - really great use with that, the skeleton as Willy Wonka without skin (and leaning against treasure) as the main villain and the ruby heart, also great use and very important. Wonderful job! - 9/10
*All around* - The beginning was moderately interesting, building up the the revelation of who and what we were talking about. After that moment there were several points which became funny because of it, leading up to the end which made me lol at work. I can find little to fault in this telling except maybe it would have been nice to see some new candies from Charlie used in addition to the classics.  - 9/10
*Final Analysis* - This story was great - very funny, creative, and though only moderately gripping at the beginning it built up and up. Besides trying to get me fired, the only glaring negative was the multiple grammatical errors which bug me as a reader. Enough that I am tempted to round down some, but...the ending still has me laughing so I am going to round up instead. Great job!
**SCORE: 9/10**

**SteelDraco - Shards Out of Bond**
*Grammar, etc.* - I only found one mistake - '...and he was miserable enough in the hot jungle in the jungle that Jokjok started...' - 9/10
*Creativity* - Great mix of fantasy and higher tech (bags of holding and elves and dwarves and skimmers and guns oh my). I couldn't tell if it was a published world, but it seemed a bit of DnD and a bit of ShadowRun and maybe a bit of others, or maybe it was purely made up. I would play in that world! - 9/10
*Picture use* - The balls as soul bound rocks was good - a funky picture to start with, the crystal as raw crystal and part of driving the story was good, the 'hive' thing was used as a location and would have been central to the story from that point to the climax I am guessing, and the Skeleton guy was probably the lich, but wasn't actually used. The pictures used were...ok. They were used in the story and the story was great, but they were merely points in the story, there were many other images I would have liked to see if I read the story first. Also, going to have to gize no points for the last picture which wasn't used. - 4.5/10
*All around* - The story flowed great - had an adventuring group and a mission and a mystery. As far as story-writing itself, outstanding job! Unfortunately was not able to finish the story and that left lots of gaps. I imagine if it had been finished it would have gotten a great score, if it continued as it started (about an 8 or 8.5, maybe even 9). Scoring it as a bit more than half of the story  - 5/10
*Final Analysis* - I really enjoyed this story! I could see it as a short story in a sci-fi/fantasy magazine or as a chapter in a novel. I dig these kinds of adventures and these kinds of games, and the story was written in an excellent manner. I wish it could have been finished!
**SCORE: 6.5/10**

**Daeja - No Title**
*Grammar, etc.* - I only found one mistake, though it bumped me out of the story for a second - 9/10
*Creativity* - Excellent story and nice mixture of adventure, horror and romance, sometimes hard to wrap up together. Nothing jumped out and surprised me much though. - 8/10
*Picture use* - Jack the Skeleton was one of the main characters, and all elements of the picture were used. The Crypt was the primary location and you used all aspects of that photo well. The clay balls as part of the magic spell - brilliantly done. The blood crystal was mentioned earlier and ended up a major device at the end, was a bit too obvious for my taste with the description enar the beginning. Some authors use pictures literally and some figuratively. You use them literally, and while normally I find trying to get all aspects of pictures into the story seems like shoehorning, you do a really great job of it - 9/10
*All around* - The story flowed well. The mixture of adventure and romance among undead issues was great. I think you did mostly a great job of building up the romantic part. The main question I have about that is why Jack seemed to be ignoring her so much in the beginning (she had to coerce him to come) then coming back to his feelings later. That may be because of his mental state and ego and slowly remembering, etc, etc, but it seemed a bit clunky. All around though, great story!  - 8/10
*Final Analysis* - The pace and multiple elements of this story made it interesting and a bit emotional. Nice banter and wit. I think you did a great job and worked with this set of pictures wonderfully. I would have liked to feel more emotion of some kind - excitement or fear or Love. Good combination of all 3, just not intensely on any. Great read though!
**SCORE: 8/10**

My pick: **Rodrigo Istalindir** for his witty and hilarious rendition of later adventures of Willy Wonka. Daeja is a great author and writes a great story and intermixes genres in a great fashion, and I hope writes in many more of these! SteelDraco has a gripping writing style that exactly meshes with my sense of fantastic adventure, and I am very sorry that the story was not finished.
[/sblock]


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## Piratecat (Mar 9, 2012)

Phoamslinger, that was absurdly fast. Nice!


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## UselessTriviaMan (Mar 9, 2012)

Sonuvacrap, I'm in?! Awesome!! 

Guess I'd best start checking in more regularly, huh?


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## FickleGM (Mar 9, 2012)

Holy fast! I wanted to write, but I had to work. I'm watching John Carter in ten minutes. Then home to do dishes and finish prepping for tomorrow's Boston Gameday (which will in turn consume my Saturday). Then I'm probably going to be doing laundry and logging into work Sunday. Looks like I'll be writing Sunday evening.


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## steeldragons (Mar 9, 2012)

FickleGM said:


> Holy fast! I wanted to write, but I had to work. I'm watching John Carter in ten minutes. Then home to do dishes and finish prepping for tomorrow's Boston Gameday (which will in turn consume my Saturday). Then I'm probably going to be doing laundry and logging into work Sunday. Looks like I'll be writing Sunday evening.




No worries, FGM. You have the time. Use it.


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## phoamslinger (Mar 9, 2012)

*thanks for the critique*

Hellefire, 

in response to your comments, perhaps I should add some thoughts on ideation at the end of my entries, if I get into round number 2 and beyond.  I can't edit, but judges feel free to add this small block on the tail end if you so choose.  it might tip the scale a bit.

[sblock]would it impact your analysis of picture use to know that the 3rd picture IS in fact, the Gymnasium at Salamis, on Cypress Island?  and that Salamis was the site of one of the last battles between the Greeks and Persians in 450 BC?  

so no, the picture was not really just thrown in at the end.  that particular picture  of the Salamis ruins and the historical data behind it was the jumping off point for a lot of the overall idea of the story.[/sblock]


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## Gregor (Mar 9, 2012)

*Round I: Match 2*

Round I: Match 2
Rune vs. Rodrigo Istalindir
Deadline: 7pm Monday, March 12.


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## Wild Gazebo (Mar 10, 2012)

Love the first two images...the other two...well, I'm glad I'm not writing this one.  

I'm getting more worried as I go.

Please take it easy on me...I'm fragile.


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## Hellefire (Mar 10, 2012)

Phoam:
[sblock]I'm not saying that the picture use wasn't appropriate or used in the story - though I did not know the full significance so that does add a bit to it. What I'm saying is that the connection seemed a bit incidental, when compared to the use of the first two images, in particular the teapot - that was melded into the story in an excellent fashion. The others were part of the story, even relevant of it, but not pivotal enough - the story did not seem as focused around them. And again, do not take what I say too much to heart, I have never judged one of these and have lost 3 in the first round. These are just my amateur observations. Thanks for helping me out with a bit of history as well (not one of my strong points).[/sblock]


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## FickleGM (Mar 10, 2012)

steeldragons said:


> No worries, FGM. You have the time. Use it.



Oh, I will. I was just trying to through phoam off his game...uh...in reverse or something.  Perhaps he'll become overconfident and his story will...uh...rewrite itself.

Damn, I need to rethink my strategy.


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## phoamslinger (Mar 10, 2012)

FickleGM said:


> Oh, I will. I was just trying to through phoam off his game...uh...in reverse or something.  Perhaps he'll become overconfident and his story will...




so naturally, I'm reminded of

"Perhaps if we taunt it, it will become so cross that it will make a mistake."
"Like what?"
"Well..."
"Have we got bows?"
"No."


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## FickleGM (Mar 10, 2012)

phoamslinger said:


> so naturally, I'm reminded of
> 
> "Perhaps if we taunt it, it will become so cross that it will make a mistake."
> "Like what?"
> ...



So help me, if you have sharp, pointy teeth, I'm going to be forced to run away some more.


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## Gregor (Mar 10, 2012)

Wild Gazebo said:


> Love the first two images...the other two...well, I'm glad I'm not writing this one.
> 
> I'm getting more worried as I go.
> 
> Please take it easy on me...I'm fragile.




Don't worry, we have something ... special planned for you.  Mwa ha ha!


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## Wild Gazebo (Mar 10, 2012)

Gregor said:


> Don't worry, we have something ... special planned for you.  Mwa ha ha!




Thanks.  I really appreciate your concern.


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## Herremann the Wise (Mar 10, 2012)

Wild Gazebo said:


> Love the first two images...the other two...well, I'm glad I'm not writing this one.
> 
> I'm getting more worried as I go.
> 
> Please take it easy on me...I'm fragile.



They seem quite harsh for the first round. However, I've found when judging in the past that when a victim/entrant _can_ stitch them together, you sometimes get the most memorable stories. Best of luck with whatever pictures you get; I'm sure the judges won't go too hard on you. 

Best Regards
Herremann the Wise


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## Rune (Mar 10, 2012)

*Round I: Match 2--Rune vs. Rodrigo Istalindir*

Word count=681

[sblock=Transition]*Transition*

_Lost.  Shake [ my ] head.  Do [ I ] have one?  Close enough.  Shake it.  Is it clear?  No?  Must remember, traveling the Mindway can be...disorienting...to those accustomed to the illusion of identity.

Silver spheres.  Some move quickly, with purpose.  Some meander, nothing better to do.  Each a mind in transition.  Which one am [ I ]?

Where was [ I ]?  Who was [ I ]?_


I remember.  I was an old man.  A shaman.  I walked the End of Days.  What was the prophecy, again?

Beast dies and worm devours.
Life lives and Death empowers.
Turn, turn.  The reason learns.
Turn, turn.  A season turns.
Sunder Cycle for Everlife.
But never Growth, nor Love, nor Strife.​

_Immortality.  [ I ] think.  Just in time.  But, how to...Ah, that's right.  The Mindway._


The old man had rituals to perform.  Transcendence to smoke.  He let the world...fall...away...


_Where am [ I ] headed?  Answers.  Must find answers.  Must bring Immortality to a dying world.  Need to find a world of Life.  Aha.  This mind should do..._


Auld Woldshanks stared woodenly out over the misty hills.  He felt so dead inside.  The evergreens lived on, oblivious to his loneliness.  Ah, well.  What do they know, anyway?  Woldshanks stretched his long limbs across the horizon, winced at the creaking joints.  Not much time left, now.

Was a time Woldshanks' crown was crested with color.  Ah, to be but a sappling, once again.  Now he was as bare as a summer field after the flames washed through.  What flames?  There's always flames.

Woldshanks stood up.  It was time to go.

Auld Woldshanks walked like a tree possessed.  He felt an urgency he had never known.  *Immortality.*  The word coursed through him like sap, feeding him.  Even as his long years unwound, Woldshanks moved on, seeking the place between life and death.  The Field of Ash.

Already, new life peaked through the black, nourished by the remnants of its ancestors.  This was the place...but, no.  Something was missing.  Woldshanks' limbs no longer worked, his mind was seizing up.  Too late.  Too late.  Auld Woldshanks' end had come.  He died, as all must, alone.


_Right world.  Wrong time.  Wrong mind.  Need to find a convergence.  An in-between place.  An in-between time.  Look for the Messiah.  The one who bridges Life and Death.  The one who is both the Beast who dies and the Worm who devours.  Aha!  Found it!_


The Wormmammal  looked lazily upon the world.  It was unique in all the world; it knew how to live outside the Cycle.  How to merely exist.  Never consume.  Never propagate.  Only be.  Now, for the first time, something stirred inside it.  It had never felt this...what was it?  Curiosity.

What, it wondered, made it special?  What was this Immortality?  Why did no one else know it?  How could they?  These musings came unnaturally to the Wormmammal.  Such higher thought was foreign.

But something inside compelled it.  The Wormmammal's mind unfolded, expanded, enlightened.  It explored implications, forged paths of thought never yet conceived--discovered, at last, itself.  At the core, the Wormmammal understood what role it played in the universe—no less than the catalyst of its unwinding.  The very end of the Cycle.  The Wormmammal yawned.

***

The old shaman's vision cleared.  His head was filled with cotton.  His limbs were still numb.  But he had the answers he had sought.  Immortality.  He knew it, now.  It could be done.  It could be learned.  All he had to do was stop the Cycle.  Be no longer the Beast that dies, nor the Worm that consumes.  It was time to fast, forever.

Yet, what could be _learned_, could not be taught, for none would truly listen to his meaning.  Ramblings, they called his lessons, or madness.  Some yet believed his words were a gift of the spirits.  But no one would _understand_.

And, so passed the final days, until, at long last, the old shaman's emaciated body could sustain his mind no longer.  Thus, the old man took his understanding of Immortality with him to the grave.[/sblock]


----------



## Hellefire (Mar 10, 2012)

*Note to Judges*

Note to judges - with stories rolling out left and right this might not matter, but match 2 also crosses the daylight savings time boundary, and it looks like pics were posted at 11:57pm GMT = 6:57pm EST, so I think deadline should be 7:57pm (ok, 8pm) EST on Monday.

And I know that constantly trying to correct the judges will advance my cause in the competition


----------



## Rune (Mar 10, 2012)

For what it's worth, my match 2 entry is already submitted, but I also agree that Rodrigo should have the 72nd hour to work with (if he even needs it).


----------



## Deuce Traveler (Mar 10, 2012)

Those second set of pictures are plain nasty.


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## steeldragons (Mar 10, 2012)

Hellefire said:


> Note to judges - with stories rolling out left and right this might not matter, but match 2 also crosses the daylight savings time boundary, and it looks like pics were posted at 11:57pm GMT = 6:57pm EST, so I think deadline should be 7:57pm (ok, 8pm) EST on Monday.
> 
> And I know that constantly trying to correct the judges will advance my cause in the competition






Rune said:


> For what it's worth, my match 2 entry is already submitted, but I also agree that Rodrigo should have the 72nd hour to work with (if he even needs it).




Yes, Rune & [well, just] Rodrigo [now] are similarly granted the "extra hour" on Monday.

Submit Deadline is 8pm EST, Monday, March 12.

And we're not slating anyone for today to be done with this fekoktuh daylight savings nonsense.

*ROUND 1: MATCH 3*

* @Piratecat  vs.  @Deuce Traveler *

Start time, 10am EST, Sunday, March 11.
Deadline 10am EST, Wednesday, March 14.
*
ROUND 1: Match 4

 @Wild Gazebo vs.  @SteelDraco *

Start time, 6pm EST, Sunday, March 11.
Deadline 6pm EST, Wednesday, March 14.

*ROUND 1: Match 5

 @maxfieldjadenfox  vs.  @UselessTriviaMan *

Start time, 10am EST, Monday, March 12.
Deadline 10am EST, Thursday, March 15

*ROUND 1: Match 6

 @Hellefire  vs.  @Daeja *

Start time, 7pm EST, Monday, March 12
Deadline, 7pm EST, Thursday, March 15

That work for everybody?


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## Hellefire (Mar 10, 2012)

I knew there was a reason I couldn't drink after my interview...

Yeah, works great for me! Especially the open deadline date!


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## UselessTriviaMan (Mar 10, 2012)

Works for me!


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## Daeja (Mar 10, 2012)

Looks good to me!


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## Hellefire (Mar 11, 2012)

Daeja said:


> Looks good to me!




Only because you have not yet come up against me, and my sPoRk Of DoOm!!!!
Phear me!!!!!!


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## steeldragons (Mar 11, 2012)

Good morning and happy Sunday, all!

*ROUND 1: MATCH 3*

* @Piratecat  vs.  @Deuce Traveler *

Start time, 10am EST, Sunday, March 11.
Deadline 10am EST, Wednesday, March 14.

Good luck and have fun.
--Steel Dragons


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## Piratecat (Mar 11, 2012)

Got it. Thank you!

Note: in deference to the 10am start time, I'll wait to begin until then.


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## FickleGM (Mar 11, 2012)

Word count = 1050

[SBLOCK]
*The Heart of a Kiwi*​
The red teapot shook slightly in the woman's trembling hand, as she refilled the man's cup.  Of course, the shaking was understandable, considering the circumstance in which she found herself.  Heck, any right-minded person would be hard-pressed to keep calm in a situation such as this.

“That is a mighty fine teapot, Miss Hennessy,” was all the man said as he withdrew the cup and prepared to take a sip.

“Tha-thank you, Colonel. If you…”

The distinguished gentleman lowered the cup and interrupted her mid-syllable, “It would be a crying shame if you were to drop it and spill all that freshly brewed tea, now would it not?”

On the verge of breaking completely down, the lady managed to stutter a short reply, “Ye-yes, Co-colonel.”

A shrewd, almost cruel, smile formed behind the man's mustaches, “Do not forget, Miss Hennessy, that you are not the one which I require. Your presence here is only meant to assure compliance. I know that ideas stir in that mind of yours, and for all of our sakes, I would hope that those ideas were not ill-intentioned.”

Strands of graying hair fell across a once-proud face as the woman lowered her head. Without saying another word, she turned and walked into the other chamber where she hung the teapot over the dying embers. Sitting upon the cold, stone bed, she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

The way he treated her was deplorable.  After all, she was a woman of society, of class, of breeding. She did not deserve to be dragged across the world, forced to live in abominable conditions, and to serve his unsavory appetites.

Yet, because of me, this fate has befallen her and now we find ourselves sleeping in a chamber of some crumbling ruin while he plots his next move. It isn't easy being powerless to change one's situation, but for her, I must continue to do what is expected. Perhaps we will find our way out of this mess.

The curtain was pulled down and light poured into the ancient room as the man's booming voice shattered the silence, waking both of us in the process, “Get up, Miss Hennessy! I believe that our journey is almost at an end.”

As was the routine every time we traveled to a new locale, Miss Hennessy scampered about packing the gear, while the Colonel merely stood, watching the horizon in the direction he intended to travel.  His hand, as always, caressed the gun at his side.  A gentle reminder that the lady had no choice if she wished to survive this nightmare.

I watched as the ruins, with their faceless and headless statues, were left behind us. What lied before us? Only the madman with the gun knew the answer to that.

The journey took us, as had been the case for each prior leg, far from the place we last vacated.  We traveled by mule, by train, by boat and by plane. I would have liked to have seen more along our trip, but aside from glimpses here and there, the black velvet which blanketed my quarters, kept me blinded for the majority of our time together. I only know that the trip took many days, but eventually, we found ourselves on the banks of some tropical river.

The Colonel lifted me from the cage and set me on the damp ground, where I shook the moisture from my feathers and looked up at the man. He seemed more excited than usual, as he stared impatiently at me. Perhaps we did near the end of our quest.

I then shifted my gaze to Miss Hennessy, the poor woman whose only crime was to end up with me, a most special kiwi bird, as a pet. I loved her very much and would do anything for her. I could not, however, free her from this situation. The sadness was evident behind tired and fearful eyes. _Do not worry, my lady, it will all be over soon._

“Your pet need only to do its task once more and you both shall be set free, Miss Hennessy,” he smiled at the woman, but his smile offered no solace. “I am a man of my word, regardless of any other things you may believe me to be.”

The ground was welcoming and the temptation to run was great, but I knew that he'd kill us both if I did.  I resigned myself to doing what needed to be done and began to probe the ground with my bill, as I had done so many times before.

Colonel Pembroke was right, again. The object he sought was nearby, its scent strong in my nostrils.  I smelled something else, though. Something dark and ominous stirred. I knew what must be done.

“Ah ha! He has found it, again,” the Colonel almost danced as his excitement was palpable. He turned to the lady with a most wicked grin and exclaimed, “Miss Hennessy, we are finally there, can you feel it?  Quickly, woman, grab the shovel and dig it up.”

He had his gun trained on her, for even in his jubilance, he never lowered his guard. So she dug...and she dug. For what seemed like an eternity, my love put shovel to dirt and approached the last fragment.

As she reached down to grab it, her eyes met mine and a single tear rolled down her cheek. My heart sunk, but I did what needed to be done...I ran. My hope was that the Colonel would shift his attention to me, if only for a moment.

The sound, as always, was deafening. This time, it was joined by intense pain as I fell to the ground. The jungle suddenly felt very cold. In the distance, I heard the plop of something hitting the water, followed by the desperate and angry howls of a madman.

Another thunderous shot rang across the jungle and I knew my love had also paid the price for her courage. I turned my head, but could not see where she fell. The last thing I did see was the mad colonel, standing in the primitive canoe, paddling vigorously toward the center of the mist-covered river.
[/SBLOCK]


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## Hellefire (Mar 11, 2012)

Just as a note, I think my critiques sound a bit...critical. I guess that is somewhat in their nature. I am trying to be honest and hopefully in some ways constructive. I hope I do not offend, and you receive them in the spirit in which I wrote them. Hm, come to think of it maybe I should make them all scathing - that might be fun! Until I get lynched, of course...


----------



## Hellefire (Mar 11, 2012)

Ooooh, and in another note to the judges, to speed my flaming demise....

It was the habit in the past, at least in the CDMs I was a part of, just to have the deadline directly linked to the timestamp from the post with the pictures. So basically if they were posted at 11:58am, you had until 11:58am 3 days later. As opposed to rounding or giving an approximate time or whatever happened today with pics posted at 8am but contest not starting until 10am.

/duck


----------



## FickleGM (Mar 11, 2012)

Hellefire said:


> Just as a note, I think my critiques sound a bit...critical. I guess that is somewhat in their nature. I am trying to be honest and hopefully in some ways constructive. I hope I do not offend, and you receive them in the spirit in which I wrote them. Hm, come to think of it maybe I should make them all scathing - that might be fun! Until I get lynched, of course...



I appreciate critical. 

[SBLOCK]I hadn't written in a few years and I fell into bad habits. After reading your critique, I realized this. Of course, I didn't get back into CDM as much to win, as to force myself to write. If I don't make it past Round 1, I will at least have put my foot back in the pool, which I hope will get me back into writing and improving.[/SBLOCK]


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## Piratecat (Mar 11, 2012)

Hellefire said:


> Ooooh, and in another note to the judges, to speed my flaming demise....
> 
> It was the habit in the past, at least in the CDMs I was a part of, just to have the deadline directly linked to the timestamp from the post with the pictures. So basically if they were posted at 11:58am, you had until 11:58am 3 days later. As opposed to rounding or giving an approximate time or whatever happened today with pics posted at 8am but contest not starting until 10am.
> 
> /duck



Honestly, I find it refreshing to have it posted any time before a certain point, and to know exactly when my deadline is. Trying to remember "okay, I need it done by 3:36" was kind of a pain. 

It's fine if the judges change stuff. It's their baby, not ours.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 11, 2012)

So. You moved the thread without telling me... if it hadn't been for Daeja, I'd still be wandering around on the Ceramic DM? thread, wondering if there had been a zombie apocalypse or something! 

(I can't help but think that Rodrigo and Pirate Cat had something to do with it.)

At any rate I'm in. Getting a tooth pulled tomorrow, which could effect my performance positively or negatively depending on the drugs they give me.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 11, 2012)

steeldragons said:


> Yes, Rune & [well, just] Rodrigo [now] are similarly granted the "extra hour" on Monday.
> 
> Submit Deadline is 8pm EST, Monday, March 12.
> 
> ...




Works for me. Let the trash talk begin, UselessTriviaMan! I'll begin. 

I'm not askeered of you.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 11, 2012)

steeldragons said:


> Yes, Rune & [well, just] Rodrigo [now] are similarly granted the "extra hour" on Monday.
> 
> Submit Deadline is 8pm EST, Monday, March 12.
> 
> ...




Any chance of somebody other than you sadists choosing my pictures?


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## steeldragons (Mar 11, 2012)

maxfieldjadenfox said:


> Any chance of somebody other than you sadists choosing my pictures?




I presume, maxfieldjadenfox, that you are asking the judges: Mirth, Gregor and myself?

The answer is "not a chance".

--SD


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## Piratecat (Mar 11, 2012)

I have my story nailed down. Now I just have to write it. Great photo choice; one of those photos is _killing_ me.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 11, 2012)

steeldragons said:


> I presume, maxfieldjadenfox, that you are asking the judges: Mirth, Gregor and myself?
> 
> The answer is "not a chance".
> 
> --SD




Sigh. I figured it couldn't hurt to ask. 

As in the last few competitions, you bring the pain, I'll bring the chips. Or maybe I'll kick it up a bit and bring wine and cheese. We are civilized here, aren't we?


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## Mirth (Mar 11, 2012)

steeldragons said:


> I presume, maxfieldjadenfox, that you are asking the judges: Mirth, Gregor and myself?
> 
> The answer is "not a chance".
> 
> --SD




Feel free to use the "special file" on this one...


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 11, 2012)

Mirth said:


> Feel free to use the "special file" on this one...




Oh yay! I get the special file! Oh... wait... that's not a good thing, is it? Crap.


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## Daeja (Mar 11, 2012)

I'm glad I linked you here in time for you to claim the special file!


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## steeldragons (Mar 11, 2012)

Daeja said:


> I'm glad I linked you here in time for you to claim the special file!




Not to worry, Daeja...we have a few "special files" to go 'round. Wouldn't want anyone feeling left out.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 11, 2012)

Daeja said:


> I'm glad I linked you here in time for you to claim the special file!




Yeah. Thanks.


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## Hellefire (Mar 11, 2012)

steeldragons said:


> Not to worry, Daeja...we have a few "special files" to go 'round. Wouldn't want anyone feeling left out.




Ya know, I think you should take it easy on Daeja this round...been a good guy, pointed max here and all...maybe try for some easy pics for him...


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 11, 2012)

Piratecat said:


> I have my story nailed down. Now I just have to write it. Great photo choice; one of those photos is _killing_ me.




Is it windy where you are, Pirate Kitty?


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## Hellefire (Mar 11, 2012)

Piratecat said:


> Honestly, I find it refreshing to have it posted any time before a certain point, and to know exactly when my deadline is. Trying to remember "okay, I need it done by 3:36" was kind of a pain.
> 
> It's fine if the judges change stuff. It's their baby, not ours.




This is a fact. 

I personally, however, see pictures and my name and my mind starts swirling. I don't think I worry about what it says regarding times and dates for at least a good 70 hours...so its just better for me if there aren't pictures there I can't use yet .


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## steeldragons (Mar 11, 2012)

Hellefire said:


> Ya know, I think you should take it easy on Daeja this round...been a good guy, pointed max here and all...maybe try for some easy pics for him...




max was "mentioned" here, more than once...same as everyone else. We are, of course, appreciative for Daeja's productive and helpful intercession.

And we are reserving certain other "weirder" and/or "harder" files for certain later rounds...Can't speak for my judges-in-arms, but I, personally, am quickly warming up to the idea of certain "special files" for certain persons...

We'll see.


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## steeldragons (Mar 11, 2012)

*Round I: Match 4*

*
 @Wild Gazebo vs.  @SteelDraco *

 Start time, 6pm EST, Sunday, March 11.
 Deadline 6pm EST, Wednesday, March 14.

Good luck and have fun.
--Steel Dragons


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## Daeja (Mar 11, 2012)

Hellefire said:


> Ya know, I think you should take it easy on Daeja this round...been a good guy, pointed max here and all...maybe try for some easy pics for him...




easy pics for her 

And I have no illusions, I think ours will be just as challenging as everyone else's, Hellefire. 

Provided you don't irk the judges any more than you may have already.  *grin*


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## Wild Gazebo (Mar 11, 2012)

steeldragons said:


> *
> @Wild Gazebo vs.  @SteelDraco *
> 
> Start time, 6pm EST, Sunday, March 11.
> ...




Those are awesome pics!!!  I don't care how difficult they might be to string together...when each one could inspire a story you know you did good.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 11, 2012)

steeldragons said:


> *
> @Wild Gazebo vs.  @SteelDraco *
> 
> Start time, 6pm EST, Sunday, March 11.
> ...




Those are awesome photos!


----------



## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 11, 2012)

steeldragons said:


> max was "mentioned" here, more than once...same as everyone else. We are, of course, appreciative for Daeja's productive and helpful intercession.
> 
> And we are reserving certain other "weirder" and/or "harder" files for certain later rounds...Can't speak for my judges-in-arms, but I, personally, am quickly warming up to the idea of certain "special files" for certain persons...
> 
> We'll see.




steeldragons, you have obviously forgotten (or didn't know) what a technotard I am. I really thought the other thread was the one the action was happening on, and am truly grateful that Daeja pointed me here... so, to recap - riding the technical short bus probably makes me deserving of the "special files."


----------



## UselessTriviaMan (Mar 11, 2012)

Mirth said:


> Feel free to use the "special file" on this one...




*NOT THE SPECIAL FILE!! ANYTHING BUT THE SPECIAL FILE!!*

Dude, are you _trying_ to make our lives more difficult?! 



maxfieldjadenfox said:


> Works for me. Let the trash talk begin, UselessTriviaMan! I'll begin.
> 
> I'm not askeered of you.



You will be... You _WILL_ be...

Now go away, or I weell taunt you a second tahme!


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 11, 2012)

UselessTriviaMan said:


> *NOT THE SPECIAL FILE!! ANYTHING BUT THE SPECIAL FILE!!*
> 
> Dude, are you _trying_ to make our lives more difficult?!
> 
> ...




I don't know, the special file sounds like it might be all fluffy bunnies and rainbows. And your taunts - well let's just say I'm still not askeered of you.  (Stands with thumbs in ears, wiggling fingers. "Na na nee boo boo.") Signed, maxfieldjadenfoxbillybobsteviedeanjoebilldan


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## SteelDraco (Mar 11, 2012)

steeldragons said:


> *
> @Wild Gazebo vs.  @SteelDraco *
> 
> Start time, 6pm EST, Sunday, March 11.
> ...




Got 'em. I've got some ideas percolating about where to go with my story; it's looking weird and fun. Love the pictures!

Wild Gazebo, you're going down!


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## phoamslinger (Mar 11, 2012)

Hellefire said:


> Just as a note, I think my critiques sound a bit...critical. I guess that is somewhat in their nature. I am trying to be honest and hopefully in some ways constructive. I hope I do not offend, and you receive them in the spirit in which I wrote them. Hm, come to think of it maybe I should make them all scathing - that might be fun! Until I get lynched, of course...




[smack]
I believe the term you're looking for is "nemmerlesque", which should give you an idea of how oldschool that judging style actually is.  although nemm's critiques were much more picky than your's, more wordy too.  in some cases, nemm's judgements exceeded the word count of the pieces being judged.  by comparison, your thoughts were a warm fuzzy water baloon, a bit damp at the end, but nowhere approaching razor sharpness overall.  so maybe "only" being critical would be refreshing change.

as for any supposedly "special files", assuming I pass to the next round, I say bring 'em.  I'll cheerfully take them on as long as I get to share the pain with an opponent!
[/smack]


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## phoamslinger (Mar 12, 2012)

btw, I love these sorts of competitions.  that's why I've run them so often in the past.

the silver balls in the second match threw me, but looking at matches three and four gave me story ideas that would have been fun to write, if I'd been handed them.  now is always the wait to see if my ideas take shape in other people's heads or if (as is mostly the case) they come up with something radiacally different.  it's always fun reading and trying to track the twisty perambulations as people try to put conflicting ideas or images together in a cohesive whole, that doesn't just tell a story (or write an adventure) with these things in it, *but makes them a vital part without which the story couldn't be told at all*.

that's always the mark  that really separates the winners from the losers.


----------



## orchid blossom (Mar 12, 2012)

Greetings to all of you crazy people.  I can't say I'd have signed up if I'd seen the thread in time, but it sure is nice to see Ceramic DM pop up again.

This might just give me some time to scrape the rust off my skills and jump in if it happens again.  I'll just practice on all these pictures.  

Good luck to the competitors and enjoy!


----------



## Hellefire (Mar 12, 2012)

Daeja said:


> easy pics for her
> 
> And I have no illusions, I think ours will be just as challenging as everyone else's, Hellefire.
> 
> Provided you don't irk the judges any more than you may have already.  *grin*




My apologies....her....and *shhh* I don't want them to notice I am paired against you, I am suggesting you get easy pics for....um...altruistic reasons, yeah!


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## Hellefire (Mar 12, 2012)

orchid blossom said:


> Greetings to all of you crazy people.  I can't say I'd have signed up if I'd seen the thread in time, but it sure is nice to see Ceramic DM pop up again.
> 
> This might just give me some time to scrape the rust off my skills and jump in if it happens again.  I'll just practice on all these pictures.
> 
> Good luck to the competitors and enjoy!




Orchid! If it isn't my original arch-nemesis! (My first ever CDM match was against Orchid, who unfortunately set up this trend of knocking me out in the first round...). Good to see you . I'm hoping to put together a string of these, at least quarterly-ish. As long s I can bend them around moving back to North America.

Will discuss in the super cool secret group!

Aaron


----------



## Deuce Traveler (Mar 12, 2012)

Deuce Traveler's Story = 2,999 words.  When removing title, pic references and '***'s.

[sblock]
Acts of Murder

	A messenger came from the village of Serentis claiming that the Vespi farm had been burned down by the Wolfrider Clan.  Nine citizens of the empire left to the crows, the same ones that ignored our warnings about building an estate on Wolfrider land.  But the patriarch of that House ignored us because the soil was too good to leave unclaimed.  And now I, Centuro Druun of the Imperial Army, was going to be sent with two hundred men to enact the Empire’s revenge for their deaths.  I had asked for reinforcements, and was instead ordered to gather the wizard Gallindor to join my small force.  However, I had heard no exploits about the man.  The rumors said that he was admired as a fortune teller to the old women of court, and that his patrons had begun to build a tower in the noble district of the city in exchange for his dubious work.  I had requested the help of soldiers, but was being ordered to take away a great charlatan instead.






I came up to the green base of the nearly completed tower, where the wizard lined his walls with strange oddities that enhanced his eccentric reputation in my mind (pic 4); a statue of a bull with his left horn broken off, a vulgar imp staring away from me and a lead-coated cage with the rods broken open.  I shrugged, knocked on the door and waited.  Odd... I thought the imp was staring down the opposite street, but on second glance I saw it was looking towards my side.

The door swung open and a man half-bumped, half-rushed up to me and asked my purpose.  I asked if he was Advisor Gallindor, and after he nodded stupidly at me I explained my mission and handed him the scroll that ordered him to join my unit.  He unrolled it, smiled slightly and mumbled through something that might have been "pleased to meet you" before rearranging his belt pouches, which somehow became jumbled in the short distance he had walked from living quarters to the door.

I was underwhelmed.  “You’re Advisor Gallindor,” I asked and received from him a blank nod.  “You must be kidding me.  I asked for reinforcements and I get you?  Can you even keep up with a march?”

“The wizard's eyes flashed in anger and focused upon me, but then glazed over just as quickly as he waved his hand dismissively and mumbled "easy now.  It's alright.  Hush, hush..."  My face grew red as I wondered whether I was being patronized or mocked by the old fool.

***

Despite my already low opinion of the man, Advisor Gallindor ended up being a worse travelling companion than I had anticipated.  The men would form in columns for easy travel along the roads, sometimes breaking out into synchronized and familiar marching songs.  The Imperial armored regulars with spear, short sword and shield were followed by Lorian auxillaries armed with short bow and javelins.  The rigidness of their disciplined march filled me with pride and confidence.  But then there would be Gallindor, sometimes walking with me besides the column, other times falling behind it to become a small gray blot in the distance, before running back up in a sweat-drenched job, all the while mumbling to himself.  When we would settle in for the night he would often wander aimlessly around the camp until nightfall.  The worst was when he would take a large tome out of his backpack and huddle over it, his incoherent mumblings becoming louder and more alien as his face became strained as if the words challenged him.  The more superstitious Lorians would make the sign of their god when passing near him.  I found I had to keep part of my mind on Gallindor instead of the task at hand, fouling my mood further; he was a dislikeable distraction in my orderly rythmic world.

	I admit that I added to the tension by not staying overnight in Serentis, and by my short temper when we crossed over into goblin territory.  Our column had seen the occasional Wolfrider scout stare at us from hilltops beyond bow range.  They knew we were here; knew that our presence meant we were pushing for a confrontation.  My mind kept dwelling on the fact that I had only two hundred good men against on unknown amount of tribal warriors and on territory where two scouting patrols had been wiped out years before.  The remains of the Vespi farm were another testament to how the Wolfrider Clan dealt with interlopers.

	The crops had been burned and the cattle butchered with scattered bones being the only reminder that they had once existed.  The home itself had been razed to the ground, but the remaining timbers showed signs of being torn down by hemp ropes and stone axe.  The remaining wood from the walls was splintered and strewn about, fabric found in shreds, pottery dashed to the floor.  Most of the bodies of the Vespi family had been hacked up, except for the family patriarch who was tied by stakes to the ground and skinned.  My men found no sign of survivors or salvageable equipment in the ruin, but they did find build up a healthy reservoir of anger.  Each soldier silently promised that there would be a reckoning.






	"Hmph!  They didn’t even keep this beauty, which they could at the very least have melted down for the silver."  The voice jolted me out of my own violent thoughts.  It was Advisor Gallindor holding the bent and dented remains of a silver chalice with horse heads engraved upon it.  He brushed some of the soot off of it and attempted to polish it with the hem of his sleeve.  (Pic 3)  "Goblins often raid for what they destroyed here.  This wasn't just a raid, but an act of rage.  We might be able to use that anger to draw them out."

	It was sound advice freely given, but my dislike of the man and my situation did not lend a civil tongue.  "If I want your advice, old crank, I'll ask for it."

	His face drooped for a moment and he made another dismissing wave in my direction.  "Hush, hush," he mumbled again to himself before his wandering eyes focused once more on me.  "Centuro, I'll have you know this is not my first campaign.  My magics will be vital to your mission."

	I had enough.  "You want to press this issue with me?  Fine.  Your little parlor tricks might impress the nobility and the superstitious, but they don't impress me.  You have been nothing but a distraction to me since I met you.  You worry my men and get in the way more often than not.  And I can't stand your patronizing attitude and how you wave me off and tell me to hush whenever I give you a piece of my mind."

	The old man's face suddenly split into a wide grin.  "Oh my!  You thought I was hushing you?"  His eyes grew distant again and he stared off into space, mumbling to something only he could see, "Yes, yes.  I agree.  Heh.  How funny.  Yes, he's a funny one."

	A chill went up my spine along with a sudden revelation.  Gallindor's mutterings weren't those of someone awkward in conversation.  The man was speaking to voices in his head.  I wasn't marching with a senile, old codger, but a madman.  I kept my voice steady, though strained, "I cannot go against orders and throw you out of this unit, but I can tell you what to do while I am in command.  You will stay out of the way of my men and of me.  You will refrain from giving me advice of any kind.  You will not attempt magic or in any other way engage in some superstitious nonsense that will further worry my men.  If you fail to obey these orders I will consider you a threat to the mission and leave you for the goblins.  Do I make myself clear?"

	"I will gladly obey.  When you get to be my age you realize that getting paid for not working is one of the true joys in life."  He handed me the dented silver chalice and walked off, whistling a tune.

***






	The Wolfrider Clan had fled into the marshlands but left easily followed footprints, and so for three days we pursued through soft earth and foul weather.  A hundred of their spear-carrying unmounted warriors decided to make their final standing in a foot of tepid swamp by a cliff face punctuated by a small waterfall.  (Pic 1) They stood with their backs to the cliff face and spears out towards us.  I called for a volley of fire by my Lorian archers, but the goblin hide shields gave them protection.  I ordered the regulars cautiously forward, aware that neither of us would be able to maneuver forces well in the sucking mud beneath the swamp water.  I stayed back with the Lorian archers, my eyes scanning the battlefield for threats uncaught as my men pressed their formation.  

	“Too easy,” Gallindor was next to me but had to shout in order to be heard clearly over the waterfall.  He took care to avoid speaking with me directly, but his anxiety matched mine.  “If I had permission to use my magics, I might be able to discern what they are planning.”  Neither of us couldn’t understand why this small force of goblins chose to make a stand here.  My nerves must have been shot for I granted him the request.

	He mumbled a few words then sighed in ecstasy, his expression matching a man suffering from migraines who just had his sinuses cleared.  I was about to curse him for what I thought was an ill-timed charade when his eyes fluttered open and he shouted in fear and shouted, “It’s a trap!  Wolfriders behind us and charging fast!”

	I cursed and looked behind my line of archers, but could not see anything past the mist of the marsh.  I motioned for my archers to turn around and face the fog, as I could not be heard over the waterfall and clash of arms.  Awkwardly they did turn, just in time to see the first of the wolfriders tear from the mists and close the distance to my line of panicked archers.  I made a futile attempt to shout orders above the noise of the falls, to organize my panicking Lorian irregulars, to pull some of my regulars from their fight in order to protect the archers.  I realized that I had not marched into a battle, but into a one-sided slaughter.  All was panic and confusion, and then... 






              And then there was Gallindor, dark and terrible, arms raised as a wall of fire appeared between Lorians and Wolfriders.  In the next instant he threw his arms down and a fireball fell from the sky, stopping short an attempted flank around the wall of fire.  Time and time again Gallindor’s blissful face shouted alien words, commanding death itself.  The wolfrider chief gestured to his shocked men to press onwards, but Gallindor ended his efforts.  As he finished his next casting, a winged woman appeared in front of us, wearing golden armor and wielding a silver sword (Pic 2).  This dark-haired valkyrie felled the goblin chief and scattered his horde, a shimmering picture of heart-aching beauty in an otherwise grotesque field.

***
	The enemy had been both brave and cunning.  They had counted on our aggressiveness, left us tracks through the marsh we could easily follow and ultimately led us into a trap that limited our mobility and ability to pass orders.  My men understood and did not question me when I decided to honor their dead.  We made two piles for burning, a small human one dwarfed by the that of goblins.  I ordered the goblin chief buried in a rock cairn on a patch of earth on the top of the falls and lent my own hands in its swift construction.  As I placed the final rock, Advisor Gallindor came to join me.

	He studied me with clear, intense eyes.  “That was a near thing, Centuro, but you held your men together well under the circumstances and earned a fine victory in the end.  The border towns will be placated, the other goblin tribes eager to pounce on the weakened Wolfrider Clan and the honor of the Empire restored in this region.  You will get a commendation for this.”  

	“You earned your own share of the glory, Advisor.”

	“I’d rather you not add that in your report.  I don’t desire the attention and your superiors will suspect that I aided the operation anyway and finish the building of my tower as part of my reward.”

	“You seem more coherent than your usual self,” I pressed.

	He laughed softly at that. “It’s easier to focus on the material world and your fellow man when you’re not utilizing most of your brainpower trying to keep the magical words of a sleep spell from getting all tangled up inside your mind with a spell that creates a killing cloud.  That battle was closer than you think as I ended up using every spell in my head during it and the mopping up after.”

	My blank look told him I didn’t understand, so he continued, “When you study tactics, the majority of that knowledge stays inside your head for use, analysis and reuse.  When I study from my spellbooks, the words of magic writhe and bounce inside the walls of my mind where I have to continually master them until they are released.”

	“That’s why you seem distant most of the time.  You are fighting with your own magic.”  

	“Yes and no.  It’s not unlike you studying your lessons on tactics.  But try to recall your lessons while conversing with someone about a shopping list.  It wasn’t too bad when I was a wizard of the First Circle and only had to deal with one or two spells.  But the fighting analogy is more accurate as a wizard trains his mind to split its attention on more numerous spells, then on more complex spells from higher circles.  Why, if I was a wizard from the Ninth Circle the battle would have been over in a blink of your eye.  I could have frozen time for all but me, turned swaths of those goblins and mounts into dung beetles or mice, pulled meteors down from the stars to explode in their midst, and cast volleys of unerring magical missiles to strike them down.  You would never have seen it with your eye, but to you all of it would happened in an instant.”

	I shuddered despite the warmth of the late afternoon.  “With such power you could rule kingdoms.”

	“Bah!  And how would I do that?  A ruler needs to focus on tax revenues, troop disbursements, or the proper management of court administrators.  How can a wizard do that while trying to keep the charm spell in his head from entangling with his summoning spell?  A wizard without magic is useless, but if he is king when does he get time to memorize his spells?  No, a wizard has no desire to rule.  Give him a tower away from men and quiet for his studies so that he might work on his mind’s ability to retain spells of a higher circle.”

	“But what are these words of magic?  Something can’t be created from nothing.”

	“There are some theories, but I don’t believe it is healthy to dwell on them.  Some wizards believe that magic comes from a place of raw chaos, and that wizards are unwitting agents of beings seeking to destabilize our world by having us wash it in their energies.”

	“I can’t believe that.  I saw that woman you brought forth and she was nothing like that.  She was beauty.  She was grace.  She was all that was good.”

	Gallindor looked pained and said hesitatingly, “There is another theory.  There are those that believe that magic is alive, and that when we learn the words we in effect gather the energy of life.  When we cast we give birth to life in magical form.”

	“She disappeared shortly after our victory.  Will we see her again?”  My heart skipped excitedly.

	“We wizards are powerful, but we are not gods.  Our creations have a limited duration, coming into existence for all too brief a life before fluttering once more into the void.  By this theory, a wizard commits many acts of murder every day.  Sacrifices made in order to expand our powers.  But if true, how does a wizard give it all up, since to his rivals he and his spellbook are travelling treasure troves of knowledge.  And what does it say about a wizard who likes the idea of sacrifices for his power?  That’s why I don’t focus on such theories on where magic comes from.  It would be enough to drive one mad,” Gallindor said with a sudden cackle.

	 “Thank you, Advisor.  That will be all.”  He cocked his head and looked at me with curious eyes before giving a disappointed nod and walking away.  Human conversation was a rare liberty for a wizard, and for Gallindor it would soon be rarer still.  I pictured him alone in his new tower, surrounded by his odd wall trinkets, with only the voices in his head keeping him company, growing ever separated from mankind in equal measures to the growth of his power.

	And I stared at the finished cairn of the goblin chief.  We had both struggled and scraped to become great warriors, then leaders of men, yet there were forces at play that the force of our arms would never subdue and our crafty minds would never understand.  I left him the bent silver horsehead chalice found at the site of the Vespi raid, granted him a short benediction and turned to join my men for the solemn march home.
[/sblock]


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## Deuce Traveler (Mar 12, 2012)

I understand if Pirate Cat needs more time.  Age treats each of us differently, and is not always kind.


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## Gulla (Mar 12, 2012)

Yay! Another CDM. I love (reading) these. Thanks!


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## Piratecat (Mar 12, 2012)

Deuce Traveler said:


> I understand if Pirate Cat needs more time.  Age treats each of us differently, and is not always kind.




Aww, thanks! But I have no complaints. I am hoping that callow youth has made you impetuous and sloppy. We will see.

Smack talk aside, I can't wait to read yours. I'm sure it's superb. 

On a more serious note, I'm thrilled to take the full three days. My usual pattern is day 1: think and write. Day 2: write and rewrite. Day 3: rewrite and edit. I'm happily on track. I'll have it done by tonight, sleep on it, read it to myself tomorrow morning, rip a few sections out to pare it down, and then post it. There's some tricky bits I want to get right, and I'm usually my own harshest critic.


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## Gregor (Mar 12, 2012)

Quick notice on the 10am match:

I just got out of a meeting, so I'm working on posting your photos right now.  It may be 10 minutes or so.  Stay tuned.


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## Gregor (Mar 12, 2012)

*ROUND 1: Match 5*

ROUND 1: Match 5

[MENTION=18003]maxfieldjadenfox[/MENTION] vs. [MENTION=6678460]UselessTriviaMan[/MENTION] 

Start time, 10:30am EST, Monday, March 12
Deadline 10:30am EST, Thursday, March 15






















Good luck!


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## Deuce Traveler (Mar 12, 2012)

Piratecat said:


> Aww, thanks! But I have no complaints. I am hoping that callow youth has made you impetuous and sloppy. We will see.
> 
> Smack talk aside, I can't wait to read yours. I'm sure it's superb.
> 
> On a more serious note, I'm thrilled to take the full three days. My usual pattern is day 1: think and write. Day 2: write and rewrite. Day 3: rewrite and edit. I'm happily on track. I'll have it done by tonight, sleep on it, read it to myself tomorrow morning, rip a few sections out to pare it down, and then post it. There's some tricky bits I want to get right, and I'm usually my own harshest critic.




Today's my birthday (36), and I suppose I'm a bit strange since instead of just relaxing, I decided that finishing up the story that had been rattling in my head was a birthday present to myself.  Otherwise I would be taking the full 3 days, too.  Best of luck to you.  I read all of your stories when I found out we would be paired up and it convinced me to avoid doing a witty story, as your strengths are too obviously there, and instead focus on another subgenre that I'm more comfortable with.  But enough hints.  I'll read yours and you'll read mine soon enough.


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## Piratecat (Mar 12, 2012)

Deuce Traveler said:


> Today's my birthday (36)



Callow. Youth. Happy birthday!

Now you have me curious. Goodness knows you pushed out 3K words quickly enough. Can't wait to read it.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 12, 2012)

Home from the oral surgeon. Pain minimal due to numbness. Now, to examine the photos and see what story they want to tell me.


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## Gregor (Mar 12, 2012)

Gregor's Judgement
*ROUND I: Match 1*
*FickleGM v. phoamslinger*

_My disclaimer:

I am humbled by the talent arrayed before me and I appreciate the opportunity to provide any kind of critique on your work.  Having competed in Ceramic DM a couple of times myself, I know that it takes courage to put your thoughts down on paper and then hand that over for public scrutiny.  Please keep in mind that my review and judgement of your work comes completely from my personal perpsective and opinions.  I am in no way a professional random-picture-driven-short-story reviewer.  I also realize that in criticizing your stories I set myself up for your own counter judgement and criqique (e.g. how can I judge your use of grammar when I make mistakes myself?).  Please take my judgement with a grain of salt and know that I respect the creativity, hard work and imagination of everyone in this competition.  _
And now, onto the judgements.

*Phoamslinger*
_“Styx Freight, Inc.”_

Writing Style & Skill
I enjoy the style and flow of your writing a lot, even though there are a few awkward sentences which I needed to reread a few times.  However, your writing has a nice, almost musical, cadence to it which more than makes up for any of my perceived grammatical issues.  I also appreciated how you changed your tone and style from casual, funny and snappy in Charon’s storyline and then altered to a darker mood to discuss the affairs of Adelmaro and his wife. 

Use of the Photo Elements
Your photo use was equal parts awesome and banal.

Your use of the ruins (despite using them as their IRL location) and the bird were pretty casual.  I won’t go so far as to say they were an afterthought, but they were not as impressive as the other two.  For instance, I particularly like the first photo which you use to show your main character Charon and describe the setting by writing: “A hint of smoke forever lingering on the breeze and a chill in the air were ever present nowadays”.  Really great and the evocative writing matches the effects in the photo nicely.  
I also really enjoyed your use of the tea kettle.  We obviously chose it to be the ‘tricky’ one, but I think you incorporated it extremely well.  Focusing more on the reflective surface of the object, as opposed to the object itself was rather clever and it reminded me of something I might see in a well-shot movie.  

Personal Enjoyment
I enjoyed aspects of this story, but it didn’t really grab me.

The twist on Charon as an agent of life instead of death was excellent.  The added perspective of him being a surly bureaucrat or front line worker in the affairs of the gods was also a great touch.   Now that I think of it, your story gave me a strong American Gods vibe.  I’m not sure if you’ve read that book, but the biting dialogue between Charon and Artemis reminded me of something Odin and another divine character might have shared in Mr. Gaiman’s book.

I also liked Charon’s gaze back in time.  Though not an overly original concept: the adulterous wife and the scheming politician, I thought you presented it well.  Specifically, I dug the detail in the preparation of the meal (something I, much like your Adelmaro, like to do to relax), Adelmaro’s realization that his wife was having an affair with the Persian, and his chilling calculated decision to poison them.  Bringing it full circle with Charon again was also well done.    

********

*FickleGM*
_“The Heart of a Kiwi”_

Writing Style & Skill
I thought that this story was extremely well written.  There were a few very minor stylistic and grammatical issues, but overall it was solid from beginning to end.  Your prose flows very well and I was impressed by your ability to pack so much into so few words.  The unique perspective in this story was also very well done.  

Use of the Photo Elements
While I wasn’t blown away by the way you used the pictures, I still think you did a respectable job.  However, I would have liked to have seen you use one or two in a more creative manner.  

Personal Enjoyment
As for my own personal enjoyment, I really, really liked this story.

FickleGM, you brought forward something very slim and concise but you jam-packed your 1050 words with a metric tonne of story. 

I had an overwhelming sense of pulp, mystery and adventure as I read your tale and it gave me the same feelings I experience when I read something by H.P. Lovecraft.  It isn’t that your piece was scary or occult as some of his stories, but you expertly captured that sense of ‘the unknown’.  This intangible thing is what makes a great story in the genre you wrote.  I also really appreciated how much you believe in your story (or at least your ability to make me think that you do) and you deftly weave it in such a way as to convince me that there are other parts to this story.  Where were the chapters of this book that came before?  Who are these characters?  What is the colonel looking for?  Why does this bird have an internal monologue?  It is not that you should have put these things into your story.  Rather, your story is brilliant because I believe that they exist, even when they do not.

********

*Final Verdict:*

First off, thank you both for your stories.  It was an honor to review them.

I was really torn on this one (you guys did not make the first match of the first round easy on me!).  On the one hand, Phoam delivered an interesting and well written story with one really excellent example of creative photo use (teapot).  On the other hand, Fickle gave us a very well written tale but with less compelling photo use.  

In the end, I went with my gut as to which story entertained me the most.  While I enjoed Phoam's story, Fickle's grabbed me and would not let go.  I wanted more, still want more and while I think some more creative use of the photos is needed, I want to see what can he do in the later and more difficult rounds.   

My vote is for FickleGM


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## steeldragons (Mar 12, 2012)

*Round I: Match 1 Steel Dragon's Judgement*

Round I: Match 1
phoamslinger's "Styx Freight, Inc"
vs.
FickleGM's "The Heart of a Kiwi"

1) Writing Style & Skill: Well, you both know how to write.  I saw nothing egregious in the way of spelling, typos or grammar. If anything, there were a few word choices in _Kiwi _I might have rethought and a run-on sentence here or there that I might have punctuated differently or broken into separate sentences. But nothing, blatantly "wrong."

Use of description is clear and, in several places, evocative, in both works. We know that Miss Hennessy is tired and fearful through shaky hands, voice and the subtle disheveled strands of hair before we are told, outright, that she is tired and fearful. Phoam's description of the "starting point/set piece" of the ferryman image, the look and feel...the odor of the river immediately pulls us into the story.

Characterization in both is solid. _Styx's_ personification of the deities and the "disgruntled" Charon is humorous and, yet, gives us a lot of "behind the scenes" while sounding plausible and  "making sense." The ambassador's motives are clearly understandable. _Kiwi's _trio cast is clear and simple, captor and captives. Their motivations aren't as immediately available for the reader. But done in such a way that spurs us on to read more and figure out what exactly the situation is.

I am inclined to say neither entry is an outright "winner" here. Perhaps, the slightest edge to phoamslinger. But we'll see how the rest pans out.


2) Use of Images: Both pieces have their strong places and both fall short a bit.

Already mentioned, in _Styx_, the use of the ferryman image is beautifully described as well as being the core character of the story. The use of the reflection in the teapot is a stroke of genius as well as making the image significantly relevant to the storyline, above and outside of its obvious use. But then, the kiwis are...yes, kiwis. Ok. And the ruins at Salamis seem to kind of be just thrown in there, as a bit of a shoehorn. They could have been taken anywhere else...why there? Why those ruins? They did not feel necessary or special, just getting a mention. Your "postscript explanation post" (which, to my mind, skirts the edge of an "editing" of sorts) is not being taken into account for this judgement. If it was relevant to the image's use in the story, then it should have been somehow worked into the story.

Whereas in _Kiwi_, the use of the kiwi image as the pivotal character was a bit outside of the box and caught me as a pleasant surprise. The ruins as an example of the abominable condition Miss Hennessy has been forced to endure works fine. The teapot, again, fine, though not exactly creative. What really bothered me, though, was the use of the ferry/barge-man. It really seems a complete afterthought.  There he goes off into the river on "the primitive canoe", of which we had no former mention or way of knowing was there.

I am giving phoamslinger the points here.

3) Personal Enjoyment: I liked both stories. They were both decent reads in different ways. Phoamslinger's "flashback" sequence caught me a bit off guard, but the change in tone to this unspoken seriousness that plays against the glib and grumbling Charon was thoroughly enjoyable. The further comings and goings and attempted dealings of gods trying to "fix things" fills my mind with possibilities.

FickleGM's story leaves me wanting more, which is a completely valid short story trick.  What were they looking for...which the Colonel now has? How/why is this kiwi thinking? What can it smell? How did Miss Hennessy end up with it/him? What is that other "darker" smell?

My problem comes that the questions are a bit too many, for me. I get the world of _Styx Freight, Inc._ I know what has happened and what things are like now. In _The Heart of a Kiwi_ we have guns and trains and planes, but they were staying in ruins...and no one, no where in all of these travels did Miss Hennessy get an opportunity to cry for help? I have very little understanding of the world in which I am supposed to become invested.

The other thing is, while I am intrigued and interested to read more of both stories, in _Styx_, I don't have to. It is a complete contained story as it is.
_
Kiwi _reads, to me, as a chapter of a larger work. Leaving me wondering is fine, but I have the feeling like I am supposed to know..too much that I do not. What this artifact is (or if it even is an artifact). How the Colonel came by his captives? What it is he's after? There are just too many questions left unaddressed.

At least, that is what I am assuming is leaving me with this feeling that it isn't a contained "short story", but a fragment of some larger book. Obviously, it_ is_ a fragment of a larger tale...but I will never know what that larger tale is.

Again, my points have to go for phoamslinger in this category.

Which brings us to Steel Dragons' vote toward Round I: Match 1 Winner... *phoamslinger*.


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## phoamslinger (Mar 12, 2012)

edit: didn''t realize three judgements coming.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Mar 12, 2012)

*Ceramic DM R1M2:  The Hitchhiker*

Hanging upside down in the wreckage of his lander, Paz’ilik grudgingly conceded that maybe the rules were in place for a reason.

He’d rushed through the pre-flight check and eased the lander from the hanger bay. Protocol called for him to awaken one of the others from hibernation in case of trouble, but by all indications the primary species on the planet was barely sentient, and certainly pre-technic. Following protocol would have meant someone else got to make first contact. If anything unexpected turned up, he’d comm the ship and have the AI thaw someone. 

Everything had been fine until one of the retrorockets flamed out on re-entry, sending him spiraling to the surface.

It was pitch-black; apparently even the backup systems were down. He reached for the release on the safety harness and realized his arms weren’t working. The first stirrings of panic whispered through his brain as he realized that his blindness wasn’t a result of failed emergency lighting. His host body hadn’t survived the impact. No host meant no way to manipulate the comm system.

Calming himself, he unhooked his kith from the brainstem of the unfortunate Greu and began the difficult journey out its auditory canal. With any luck, he thought, one of the locals had come to investigate the crash. He’d snag a new host, activate the distress beacon, and before he knew it he’d be back on the mothership. The captain would be livid, but this far from home, there was little he could do except confine him to the ship.

With a *plop* he exited his former host and began crawling up the wall towards the floor. He could sense the exotic scents of a foreign atmosphere; the impact must have breached the hull. 

An hour later, he emerged from the mangled vessel and felt the warmth of a strange sun on his skin. The light felt wrong – too yellow, and too bright by far – but Iliks were remarkably myopic, relying on their auditory, olfactory, and thermal senses at a distance. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

There! Wafting on the breeze was a foreign, musky scent, perpendicular to the sun, far enough that its heat signature just barely registered. No clue as to what it was, but ‘any port in a storm’ and all that. Paz set off through the flattened grass. 

He was reaching the end of his endurance when he reached the creature. Up close, he could see it wasn’t one of the sentients, but it was warm-blooded, and although it was seemingly knocked unconscious by its proximity to the crash site, it wasn’t leaking fluids and looked usable. He crawled inside and began the laborious process of attaching to a new host.

He was close to mastering the nervous system when he sensed another creature approaching. He tried to stand, but he was used to two legs, not four, and awkwardly collapsed. (Picture 4). He reset the connection and tried again. He managed to regain his footing just as the newcomer arrived. 

Paz swore. Of course one of the sentients would show up just as soon as he’d finished adapting to a new host. He briefly considered ditching the hairy beast for the biped, but he worried that it would move away before he could sink his kith into it. He waited patiently while the primitive poked around the wreckage, then followed it when it left.

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

Hafiz barely noticed the llama as he gazed wonderingly at the strange object. His sister’s cousin knew someone in a distant province who’d once found the remnants of a fallen star and crafted a wondrous sword from the small piece of metal that remained. He’d been up before dawn to start the fire in his kiln, and the only one in the village awake to witness the fiery traveler. He’d set out immediately, hoping to find some of the star-metal himself. The massive object at the bottom of the crater was more than he’d dreamed.

He leaped down into the crater and started prying at a loose chunk of metal with his walking staff. It shifted, and he realized that the object was hollow, rather than the solid piece of ore he’d been expecting. He fashioned a makeshift torch from his staff and some cloth torn from his robes and thrust it through the gap.

At first he saw nothing but a tangle of metallic rope, but as his eyes adjusted, he saw something that made his blood run cold. In the flickering torchlight, the fiendish visage of a demon glared at him. With a panicked yelp, he scrambled from the crater and ran for home. Paz loped along after Hafiz at a safe distance, keeping him in sight but not getting close enough to draw attention. Not that he needed to worry, he thought. The creature didn’t look back once.

Hafiz said nothing of his discovery. His conscience told him he should warn the holy men of the demon, but common sense told him they’d probably have him stoned as well, just to be safe. 

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

Back at the village, Hafiz went about his daily routine as normal. He made a decent living as a potter, crafting new pots when someone could afford it, repairing cracked vessels when they could not. With his carefully hoarded savings, he bought semi-precious gems, silver and rarely, gold, which he used to adorn his best work. Once a year he journeyed downriver to Multan to sell them, earning more from that one trip than he did the rest of the year. One day he dreamed of moving there, but the city was expensive, and he was never able to muster the nerve to leave his simple but safe life in the village.

He was so absorbed working on one of his special pieces that night when he never noticed the llama peering in through the window. 

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

Paz waited until Hamiz fell asleep before gently detaching himself from the beast. He wanted to hurry, but if he wasn’t careful the host might be disoriented and cause a disturbance. He couldn’t risk waking his prey.

Slowly, he crawled along the dirt floor and up the rickety wooden bedpost. He inched his way across the tattered blanket toward the creature’s head. Sensing that his target was still soundly asleep, Paz secured himself inside its ear and extended his kith.

Hamiz whimpered. A disinterested observer would think him in the grip of a fever. He moaned and thrashed, his thin blanket a sweat-soaked mess kicked to the floor. In his delirium, Hamiz battled demons for his immortal soul. The demon reached out with a hundred serpent-like arms, poking and prodding at Hamiz. Voices speaking in strange tongues echoed through his head, yet somehow he knew what they were saying: “Let me in.” Again and again, Hamiz refused.

Paz was stunned. The Ilik had encountered 27 sapient species, and not one had resisted attempts at integration. This was worrisome on several levels. In the short term, without a tool user for a host, he was stuck on this backwater planet. In the long term, these people could present a serious threat to his species. The Ilik had managed to survive despite their physical shortcomings by infiltrating competitor races and using their puppets to maintain the status quo.

He retreated back to the llama, which had started to eat the discarded blanket. He re-established control and wandered away from Hamiz’s house, pondering his alternatives.

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

Paz spent several days observing from the innocuous beast. Evolution had given the Ilik a gift for languages, and his taps into the llama’s auditory nerves allowed him to eavesdrop on the villagers and pick up their tongue in short order. He’d also come up with a plan.

That night, he returned to Hamiz, pushing through the curtain that separated the living quarters from the workshop. The potter was intent on a new piece, one of his special works, and he took no notice of the intruder until it bleated loudly.

“Bah! Get out of my house, beast!” he yelled, making a shooing motion.

The llama retreated a step and stopped.

Paz struggled to master the vocal cords of the creature. It was ill-suited to speech, but he’d not found a better alternative, and he’d seen several of his host’s brethren butchered and eaten. He didn’t have time to look for a more suitable host.

“Amiz?” Paz tried again. Better, but the glottal fricatives were going to be troublesome.
    Hamiz stopped mid-shoo, eyes wide. He reflexively made a gesture intended to ward off evil.

“Begone, demon. Bother me no more!”

“You are strong, Amiz, strong enough to resist. So I offer you a bargain. Craft for me a masterwork, to my specifications, and I will reward you with fine metals for your art the likes of which have never been seen.

“Imagine the price such works would fetch.”
    Hamiz paused, greed fighting with fear.

“Refuse me,” Paz continued, “and I will burrow inside your head and devour you from within!”
    Greed started working with fear, and Hamiz nodded slowly.

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

The next morning, Paz led Hamiz back to the crash site. At Paz’ instruction, Hamiz stripped materials from the ship. Once he was sure he had enough raw material to extract what he needed, Paz directed Hamiz to open a hatch in what was once the floor. A silvery glow illuminated the human’s face.

“I require but a small amount of this. The rest is yours.”

Hamiz was enthralled. He assumed the material was metal, but the way it pulsed and glowed reminded him of the way the blood that spurted from the throat of a sacrificial goat shimmered as it arced through the air. His fingers twitched at the thought of the things he could craft with such a material.

Hamiz finished loading the material on the back of the demon-llama and began the long trek back to the village. 

Paz was anxious. The qarium that he’d had Hamiz remove from the power core was dangerously radioactive, and he needed Hamiz to make what he needed before it killed him or this host. He could always find another beast, but the only other villagers he’d come across lacked the artisan skills he required.

It was past dark by the time they returned. Hamiz was tired from the trek and the manual labor and wanted to sleep, but Paz cajoled and berated him into starting his commission right away. 
    Hamiz took a ceramic urn he’d been saving until he’d acquired the right materials. It was flawless, one of the best pieces he’d ever crafted, and worthy of the magical materials the demon had given him. 

“Cover it in a thin layer of gold,” Paz instructed, “and then let it set. Tomorrow we will use the qarium to engrave it with the proper symbols.”

Hamiz nodded, and set about his work.

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

The next night, Hamiz showed Paz his secret technique for applying such precise filigree. He took a long, thin steel tube that curled like a cobra in a basket, head and tail jutting skyward. One end was fashioned almost like a hookah, the other tapered to a needle point. He set it inside a box made of the same thick material as his kiln, then covered the coil with hot coals. He poured qarium fragments into the wide end of the tube, listening carefully to make sure they rattled down until they came to rest at the top of the coil. 

“This is the first circuit I require,” Paz said, using his hoof to scratch the diagram in the dirt floor. 
    When the star metal had melted, Hamiz sat and placed his lips at the hookah end. He held the gilded urn up to the needle. Blowing softly, he forced a thin stream of melted qarium out, precisely etching the first line of Paz’s sketch. (Picture 2).

It took nearly an hour to complete the first image. Paz hovered over his shoulder the entire time, occasionally correcting his work, making him carefully scrape off an errant line and redraw it. Once the demon was satisfied, he drew the second symbol on the floor. By the time that one was completed, Hamiz was exhausted. Paz recognized that forcing him to continue would only mean more mistakes and finally allowed the potter to sleep.

As soon as Hamiz was stretched out on his bed and snoring, Paz detached from the llama. It was risky, but even as good as Hamiz was, there were certain elements of the design that were too small for the primitive tools at hand. The Ilik inched across the urn, finally able to use the extreme near-sightedness of his species to his advantage. Using qarium shavings from lines he’d forced Hamiz to fix, he patched near-microscopic flaws in the circuit, and attached larger pieces at crucial junctures to serve as power sources.

By the time Hamiz awakened, he’d returned to the host.

The next night they resumed, finishing first the third and then the fourth and final element. So intent were they on their work that they never noticed that one of the villagers, beset by insomnia, had wandered by to see what so engaged the potter that he was working through the night.

    When the sky began to lighten, Hamiz collapsed into bed. Paz, too, had reached his limit, and didn’t have the reserves to make the final fixes to Hamiz’ work. Instead, he slipped into the state the Ilik called arin, where the host body could operate autonomously while the parasite rested.

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

The sound of one of the humans screaming pulled Paz out of arin. He was momentarily disoriented as he re-established control over the llama, and he didn't realize there was a rope around the host’s neck until he tried to turn his head to find the source of the screams. 

Ahead, the wizened limbs of a lightning-blasted tree pointed accusingly at the sky (Picture 1). One of the villagers – one of their “holy men”, Paz thought -- threw a length of rope over the thickest branch. The llama was knocked sideways as a struggling Hamiz was dragged towards the tree. Without hesitation, the priest slipped the rope around Hamiz’ neck, and two strong men hoisted him off the ground, cutting off the hapless potter mid-scream. 

    Paz’ anthropological curiosity gave way to concern when the leader of the mob drew a knife across Hamiz’ belly, spilling his intestines on the ground. He kicked the villager holding the rope that was tied around his neck, and nearly escaped before one of them grabbed it and hauled him back. Unlike Hamiz, they didn’t bother to hang the llama before drawing the knife across its throat.

The Ilik detached from the dying host and made it nearly three feet before the grass fire they’d set below Hamiz’ corpse caught up to him.

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

Dr. Dave Wilson examined the latest shipment from the dig near Multan. He was about to write it off as scut work for one of the grad students when one piece caught his eye. He gently removed a small gilded urn, about a foot tall, from the packing material. It was finely etched in a silver, which was not unusual, but the pattern was unlike anything he’d seen from the region. 

On a hunch, he picked up the phone and called one of his colleagues in the Electrical Engineering college. Frank was part of the weekly gaming group, and someone he could ask a stupid question without it getting back to the head of the Anthropology department.

An hour later, Dave hovered over Frank’s shoulder as he peered through a microscope. (Picture 3)

“Damn. You’re right, it sure looks like a circuit board,” Frank admitted. 

“They must have made a mistake at the dig. It must have been planted as a joke.” Dave replied. “It’d be obvious as soon as we dated it.”

“It looks like it’s got tiny capacitors, too,” Frank continued, oblivious to the anthropologist’s theories. “There are some tiny breaks in the traces, though.”

The engineer picked up a small soldering iron and set to work repairing the circuit. 

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

The AI running the Ilik ship, patiently waiting in a distant orbit, picked up the signal. It’s programming was clear: any indication of a sentient species that couldn’t serve as a host for the Ilik couldn’t be allowed to leave it’s homeworld. The ship began waking the hibernating crew as well as the missiles they would use to sterilize the planet.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Mar 12, 2012)

As fondly as I look upon the 'good old days' of Ceramic DM, I certainly don't miss waiting upwards of a half hour for ENWorld to process a 2500 word post, only to crash out with 10 minutes left before the deadline.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Mar 12, 2012)

Piratecat said:


> I have my story nailed down. Now I just have to write it. Great photo choice; one of those photos is _killing_ me.




How are you going to manage without any dead baby pictures?


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## Mirth (Mar 12, 2012)

Round I: Match 6
Hellefire vs. Daeja
Deadline: 7:15pm Wednesday, March 15.


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## Hellefire (Mar 12, 2012)

Thanks ...er...thank you sir, may I have another...


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## Mirth (Mar 12, 2012)

Also, my judgment should be coming within 2-3 hours, been a couple of busy days at work ... my apologies.


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## Mirth (Mar 12, 2012)

Hellefire said:


> Thanks




You are more than welcome


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## Daeja (Mar 12, 2012)

Huzzah images!  Thanks


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Mar 12, 2012)

Oh, man, those are *easy*.


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## Piratecat (Mar 12, 2012)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:


> How are you going to manage without any dead baby pictures?




I'm having to improv. Could be worse; could be hands, stone balls, or both. Friggin' Mythago. I still give her a hard time about that!


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## Mirth (Mar 13, 2012)

Mirth - Judgment

phoamslinger vs. FickleGM

Two well done stories here, one of lost glory and one of lost treasure. 

Style -- phoamslinger comes on strong with a story set in ancient Greece, a good mixture of gods, goddesses, political intrigue, sex, murder, etc. But FickleDM counters with a treasure hunt involving slavery and interspecies love. Tough call. Both stories grabbed me, and I liked elements of both, yet phoamslinger's was a bit long and didn't hold my attention all the way through and FickleDM's was short on development and didn't give me enough to sink my teeth into.

Picture use -- phoamslinger made excellent use of world's most famous ferryman with his life going to the birds, played a great angle with the reflection in the teapot, but then sank with the offhand use of Cypress and the kiwi birds. FickleDM took the kiwi bird and ran with it, made it relatable and fascinating, yet almost to the exclusion of all of the other elements, all three of which seemed incidental to the main plot itself.

Personal connection --  I loved the well-wrought setting that phoamlinger created and Charon had that deep, depressed voice of Marvin from Hitchhiker's Guide going on in my head. The use of the teapot was beyond clever, however it seemed like an entirely new story had to be created just to wedge that teapot back into the main plot. From there, Charon stayed a strong voice but with nowhere to lead us readers except a dusty, crumbled battleground covered with tiny, wacky birds. FickleDM throws us right into the thick of it and ramps up the pressure of a bad man gone badder and the woman and bird who fear him greatly, yet ultimately exact their revenge and get him back for it. Problem is, "it" is never really discussed or explored, leaving the readers confused and wanting more.

Final judgment - Despite a strong sense of foreboding dread and malvolence, FickleDM comes up just a little bit light vs. phoamslinger's overweight heavy love sammich of a tale.

MATCH 1 WINNER in a 2-1 split is .... PHOAMSLINGER!


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## FickleGM (Mar 13, 2012)

Congratulations phoamslinger! Well done. I will definitely be looking to participate in these regularly, so long as we start to do them regularly, again. And I look forward to continuing to read everyone's stories.

Now, it's off to bed...and perhaps writing some dream-stories.


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## phoamslinger (Mar 13, 2012)

wow, thanks all.  

I humbly look forward to the next match-up and will strive for tighter tale telling.


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## Piratecat (Mar 13, 2012)

Congratulations, Phoamslinger!

Deuce Traveler, my story is right on schedule. I read it this morning and chopped a bunch out. Yep, right on schedule.


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## Deuce Traveler (Mar 13, 2012)

Piratecat said:


> Congratulations, Phoamslinger!
> 
> Deuce Traveler, my story is right on schedule. I read it this morning and chopped a bunch out. Yep, right on schedule.




I am sure the judges will understand if you wish to concede early.

Oh, and good job Phoamslinger!  See you in the next Ceramic DM, FickleGM.


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## Piratecat (Mar 13, 2012)

Deuce Traveler said:


> I am sure the judges will understand if you wish to concede early.



Thanks! But golly, those sound like the words of someone afraid to compete. I'm not going to make it _that_ easy on you.

I'm happy with how this came out. Let's see how it does. 2500 words.


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## Piratecat (Mar 13, 2012)

*Bullheaded*
_Round 1, Match 3: Piratecat vs. Deuce Traveler_



Ant peered down the alleyway from atop her shelf. "Someone's coming," she hissed. "Asterion! Shut up and pull yourself together. Someone's coming!"

"Hrrump. An audience!" Asterion belched, wobbled and stopped talking long enough to step up on a box and fumble with his fleece robe. Ant heard the sound of an insistent fountain, and smelled the sharp tang of urine. Asterion rumbled a low laugh. "Much better. It's an offering to the sea god. Here you go, Dad. Look, I'm you! I'm making water!" Slowly, like a sinking tide, he toppled. 

The sound of footsteps hurried past the alleyway. Ant caught a glimpse of a small and birdlike girl moving at an uncertain run, perhaps looking for something. She didn't look happy, and Ant had seen her before. The girl was gone in seconds. On her way down to the harbor of Knossos, thought Ant. They were so, so screwed. She swiveled to glance down at Asterion.

"Look, Ant! Not bad for a new coat! It's absorbent!" Asterion rolled back and forth in his own water, the shimmering ram's hide he'd just stolen slapping wetly at the ground. Then the massive creature threw his great head forward and snorted. "The world is spinning. I think something bit me. And my horns hurt."

"Horn," said Ant patiently. "You only have one horn."

"You should have seen the other guy."

"I did see the other guy. The other guy was a dragon, the kind that never sleeps. You ripped off your horn when you tried to gore it. You didn't kill it, you just made it angry, and then it tried to eat you, and then we ran. And I still don't know where the hell it came from."

"I dunno. But I'm still drunk. What was even in that horse cup?"

Ant sighed. A nearby shelf held the jawbone of an ass. She leaped over to it, froglike, and looked down at the great black two-legged bull. "Buddy, that was the cup of Poseidon. It was being held by a cupbearer of the Earth-shaker himself. And you flipped up her dress, guzzled down the drink, blasphemed your own father, and fled with that damn golden fleece. So I think it's fair to say that whatever was in that cup, it wasn't meant for you."

"Bah!" Asterion climbed unsteadily to his feet, fell over, got back up, and wrapped the fleece around himself possessively. "The cup had horses on it. I like horses. And she was tiny. How could she carry it? I'm big! A bull! That's who should drink it! That's who should wear this fleece! " He thumped himself on his chest, swayed unsteadily on both feet, and wiped his filthy hands on the gold pelt. A mischievous grin crossed his lips. "C'mon, Ant. Let's go drink some more."

"I don't drink. I watch you while you drink. And according to Athena I'm supposed to keep you out of trouble."

"You don't do a very good job."

"No. No, I don't."

Ant leapt onto Asterion's shoulder and he staggered back out of the alley. They almost made it to the next tavern before the dragon caught up with them. It had gotten larger. 

* * *

The final straw occurred just before dawn, a time usually meant for sleep or mayhem. A pebble pinged against their inn room's shutters. Then another one. Then a full fledged rock. With Asterion snoring on a too-small bed beneath the golden fleece, Ant clambered to the windowsill and opened a shutter. 

A full fifty sailors stood outside in the waning moonlight. 

"What?"

A lean figure stood forward and peered upwards toward the darkened window. "Hail, stranger. Are you perhaps of a bovine persuasion? I am Jason. The Oracle at Delphi has foreseen our quest to Kholkis to uncover the Golden Fleece, the skin of a ram sired by Poseidon, guarded day and night by..."

Ant cut him off. "Let me guess. A huge serpent? A dragon who does not sleep?" 

Jason blinked. "How did you know?"

"Lucky guess. It's been a tough night. Sired by Poseidon, you say?" She looked over at the bed. Her friend farted in his sleep and tugged what was apparently the skin of his half-brother over him like a blanket. Awkward. "So what do you want?"

Jason shuffled his feet a little and look embarrassed. "Well, the thing is..." One of his sailors nudged him from behind. "We were all set to sail off, and one of my crew here decided to check with the Oracle one last time, you see, and..." Words tumbled out of him like water cascading down a cliff. "She said that instead of sailing through hideous peril to Kholkis, we could just come to this inn and ask for the Bull of Minos." 

Ant silently regarded them from the window.

"Which we've now done." Jason coughed expectantly.

Ant just stared. 

"Soooo... perhaps you have it?"

"Piss off," said Ant, and slammed the shutters.

Ignoring the raised voices from outside, she hopped onto the bed and shook Asterion awake by his single remaining horn. 

"Wha?" He turned his head and vomited all over the floor. It was a geyser of brine and stunk of low tide. "Don't feel too good."

"You think? I was not given to you by the Gods to watch you throw your life away like this. Stop being bullheaded."

"Ha! You said bull..."

"Shut up. The dragon can sniff out the fleece, the wine from the horse cup is poisoning you, and there's an annoying amount of sailors outside who want that damn fleece. I know a curse when I see one." 

Asterion pushed himself up onto his elbows before another wave of nausea washed over him. His voice rumbled wetly in the darkness. "Yeah. I feel like someone scraped me off a boat. We need to find that cupbearer and apologize." He turned his head and vomited again. Tiny fish flipped and skittered in the brine. "Sooner rather than later, I think." He staggered to his feet. "Auggh, I feel horrible, and I think I hear those sailors on the stairs. What else could go wrong?"

Just about then, the inn shook as the dragon attacked. Again. It had grown.

* * *

Battered and beaten and exhausted from their flight, they soon found her in the Temple of Poseidon. The human worshippers couldn't see her but everyone felt her presence. The girl had wide eyes, hair the color of wet stone, and the wings of a sea bird. She turned to look at them as they entered.

"So. The thief returns." Her voice trembled with anger, and her wings beat slowly behind her. She smelled like the angry sea.

"Yeah. About that." Asterion snorted, not used to apologizing. "I'm kinda sorry. Here's yer fleece. Needs some cleaning." Her nose wrinkled as he handed it over. "So if you could just lift the curse, we'll be on our way..."

"No." Opening her fist, she let the fleece drop onto the floor. 

Both Asterion and Ant stared at the girl. Asterion's jaw sagged. "No?"

"No!" Then she was inches away, eyes blazing, wings hammering in fury against the damp temple air. Her voice shook. "Don't you know who I am, monster? You are a bastard son of Poseidon, but I am the chosen cupbearer of the Earth-Shaker himself! He chose me from the sea birds and raised me to serve him. You are a shameful mistake, but I am chosen. It was I who placed the treasures, who hid the relics, who whispered in heroes' ears and guided their ships. Only I was allowed to bear the horse cup of Poseidon. You disrespected me, bull of Minos. You stole the Golden Fleece and drank a brew meant for a mortal. I reject you." 

She paused and drew a deep, measured breath. "You will die for your actions, and I will watch you die, and no one will weep at your passing." 

Asterion's huge scarred knuckles clenched as if resisting the urge to throttle the life from the girl, and he instead reached down to pick up the fleece. He turned on his heel and stalked out of the temple. The Golden Fleece shimmered around him in the dim light. The cupbearer's wings slowed as she watched him go. 

"He didn't kill you, you know. He's making progress." 

"That's not progress. That's a monster who simply isn't hungry yet."

Ant cocked her head. "What's your name, cupbearer?"

The cupbearer didn't look at her. "I am named Gull."

"Gull, call me Ant. Technically I'm an anthroparian, a construct. I was made by Pallas Athena to be a friend to those who are friendless. To.. to guide them." Ant spread her spindly arms. "So let me guide you. That half-man out there is despised by his mortal father, forgotten by the God who sired him, and considered by everyone he meets to be a brutal man-eater. I kind of like him. He's not a bad guy, if you don't mind them coarse. But whatever you think of him, he's trying to find a destiny. You're about to cut that short."

"Good." Her voice was bitter.

Ant paused, and gently touched Gull's cheek in supplication. "Please. He disrespected you and your station, but either the serpent or the cup he drank is going to kill him. Then his destiny will go unfulfilled. He needs your help."

Gull's huge eyes turned to Ant, and she slowly settled to the temple floor. Salty puddles formed beneath her bare feet. "I cannot."

"Please!"

Gull shut her eyes. "You misunderstand. I didn't say I will not, for you are wise and I will not deny you. I said I cannot. Poseidon is the God of horses as well as the sea, and you saw the cup your bull defiled. The minotaur's actions have stripped me of my mantle. I can no longer open an ocean portal to the Sea God's realm. The horse cup has returned to its rightful place, but I am cast adrift. The traditional passages are barred to me."

Silence filled the temple. Minutes passed while Ant thought. "Okay, the traditional paths are barred. That means not using the sea. Which is fine, because there are a lot of angry sailors trying to find us right now. But no one ever thinks about the other options." 

"Other options?"

Ant looked up and caught Gull's eye. "If I can get you to Poseidon's palace, will you help us?"

Gull stared at her, longing and fury battling in her gaze. She hung her head. "Yes."

"Then follow me."

* * *

The sacred herd thundered ahead of them through the Archanean gorge, moving inland, and the serpent closed in from behind. It was no surprise the wild horses were fleeing. The dragon had appeared in the distance near Silamos and it could clearly track the Golden Fleece by scent. With Asterion refusing to give up the ram's skin, his only choice was to run even faster down the narrow path and hope that they reached their destination before the dragon reached them. Now Gull flew ahead, scouting the way through the low trees of the valley's floor, and Ant rode upon the great bull's shoulders.

"Ant?" the bull puffed. Seawater leaked from the corners of his mouth. 

"Yes?" She stared behind them, judging the serpent's speed. Not long now. 

"This is a terrible idea."

Gull stopped ahead of them, landing on a low hill. Horses galloped past her through the trees. "Here!" the cupbearer said. "This place is most sacred. Here!"

"Now what?" asked Asterion. He bent double, brine leaking from his nostrils as he tried to catch his breath. Behind him the dragon writhed sideways and uprooted a massive tree. It had only grown since they'd first encountered it. Ant could even see the tiny glint where Asterion's left horn was stuck in its snout. "Do I fight the dragon?"

"Now," said Ant, "you open the door to your father's realm."

"What?" Asterion stared at her. "I think you've missed something. I'm not a demigod, Ant. I'm..." He spread his arms wide and looked down at himself in disgust. "I'm a monster. You know it. Half man, half bull, a great drinking tolerance and a whole lot of fury. That doesn't make me a God. I can't open some doorway, and I'm not," he jerked a thumb at the dragon closing in, "going to be able to do a damn thing about that."

Ant held Asterion's huge head between both of her tiny hands, and she gazed into his black eyes. "You are not a monster, Asterion. You are a child of Poseidon. More importantly, you have drank from the cup of your father and you are garbed in the skin of your brother."

He blinked. "The skin of my what now?"

"Never mind. The point is, you are the son of the Earth-shaker. Go ahead, my friend. Shake the earth."

Asterion turned from her and took a deep breath. The dragon roared defiance as it hissed, coiled, and tried to strike at the bull. Gull hovered before it, keeping it back by pure force of will.

"Gull," said Asterion, "let it come."

She did, and Asterion readied himself. The huge serpent's mouth gaped, the lower jaw unhinging, and its fangs dripped venom that hissed and smoked on the forest floor. The dragon lunged, and Asterion was ready. He leaped purposefully into its mouth, one muscled arm holding open its jaws while he wrenched his own horn out from under the dragon's scales. "This," bellowed Asterion, "is MINE!" Then with his horn firmly grasped in one fist, the bull brought his foot high and stomped it down on the serpent's tongue once, twice, three times. "FATHER!" the minotaur roared. "OPEN THE WAY!"

And at first, silence, even from the very surprised dragon. The trembling was imperceptible. Then branches swayed, then the earth itself shook. Every bird in the gorge took wing at once. The terrified serpent reared upward, dislodging Asterion as it did so, and fled back through the gorge. It didn't get far. A massive fault in the earth opened beneath it, and the dragon tumbled out of sight.

With a hideous grinding of stone, the world shifted. 

Where Asterion stood, the stone itself rose fifty feet up from the forest floor. Seawater appeared and cascaded down off the new cliff face in veils, rainbows forming where the water touched the light. The bull kept his feet as the earth ripped itself apart, and when the shaking stopped he stood above a pitch black rift into the earth. The air whistling out of it smelled like salt and blood. 

Gull touched down next to Asterion, and looked off the cliff face into the waterfalls and the portal beneath them. She whistled, the cry of a bird. "I forgive you."

The three of them descended together, and passed into Poseidon's Realm.


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## Deuce Traveler (Mar 13, 2012)

Bravo, sir!  Bravo.


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## Piratecat (Mar 13, 2012)

Deuce Traveler said:


> Bravo, sir!  Bravo.




[sblock]Thank you! I loved yours. You wrote that story better than I could have; I'm not sure I would have attempted it. It reminded me of the Black Company. Very evocative, and really well written.

What a good first round. [/sblock]


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## Deuce Traveler (Mar 13, 2012)

I would be a liar if I didn't admit to being an admirer of The Black Company by Glen Cook.  I'm also a fan of Robert Heinlein's Glory Road and Starship Troopers, Joe Haldeman's The Forever War, Neil Gaiman's Sandman series, Terry Pratchett's Discworld series, Howard's Conan, and Clark Ashton Smith's short stories on the Eldritch Dark website, so my tastes are all over the map.  The Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett fan in me loves your short stories, but I could never write humor.  My imagination has always been darker.


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## Hellefire (Mar 13, 2012)

Sure, always wanted to try this...
Deaja - NO peeky!!

MMI-7
[sblock]
MMI-7 Out of the Mouth of Madness

You burst out of the trap-riddled tunnel just as it collapses behind you, along with the last bits of Mystical Marvin's Mysterious Mansion. As the ringing in your eats and the throbbing in your heads fades, you are astounded by the magnitude of the silence confronting you. You stop your heaving chests just for a moment, almost in unison, to see if there is any other sound in the world. Slowly, the sounds of the tropical island begin to reassert themselves. You dust yourselves off and slowly rise to your feet. Glancing at each other, you can't help but grin. Against massive odds, you made it out of there alive! 

In unspoken agreement, each of you takes out the various loot that you managed to scavenge from the Mansion. Unfortunately, while you saw various body parts presumably from Mystical Marvin, you did not manage to come away with so much as a finger. Knowing that your commission will be cut in half without any such artifact sobers the mood a bit. But at least you came out alive! So far. There is still the matter of getting off the island. If the dock collapsed with the rest of the Mansion, your boat and hired retainers might have gone with it!

As the island sounds return to their normal deafening cacophony, images of what you saw inside the Mansion flash through your minds. Some of the items and creatures were beautiful and inspiring, while some were just demented and twisted. With a glance to the trees, you wonder if any of them escaped and live on the island, outside the walls of what used to be a Mansion. Increasingly wary, you also wonder if any of the magical effects which were so prevalent inside might have also escaped. 

Examining the now blocked tunnel through which you recently escaped, you see that it comes out of a sheer wall - apparently this wall of the castle was partly built into the mountainside. The wall collapsed with the rest of the mansion, but now rubble rises hundreds of feet into the air. Glancing to the right and left, you see only trees and jungle to the horizon. Away from the ruined castle, through a small break in the foliage you can just make out - water. The ocean lies in that direction, but the sun is just disappearing over the horizon. You guess there is another hour of light, and that you will not be able to get to the water before dark.

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

(DM Note - The pile of rubble is immovable for all intents and purposes. Characters can dig for the remaining hour of daylight if they wish, but they will get nothing but sore hands. It is also impractical to attempt to scale the cliff or rubble. If they travel to the east or west, they can follow the cliff for the remaining hour of daylight. They can also travel south, toward the water - it will always remain partially visible so they will not get lost. In any case, there will be no encounters before dark.

After dark, if the adventurers have not set a watch, 1 small piece of equipment (a gem, or anything from the size of a ring to the size of a dagger) disappears. If they have set a watch, roll 1d8. On a 1, the same effect happens - a small piece of equipment disappears. On a 2-8, the character on watch will notice what looks like a vine from one of the trees moving toward the sleeping characters. It may be mistaken for a snake. If any character makes a noise or interacts with the vine, it will disappear into the trees in a second, and not be back during the night.)

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

You wake from your sleep stiffly - it was not a very restful night. Nightmares of the magical effects and beasts from inside the Mansion still haunt you.

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

(DM Note - The party can attempt to follow the wall, if they were, though it will take them through another day, and another, and eventually disappear. If they want to explore that side of the island they will find nothing but rubble and ruins. Each night they spend in the trees, the same effect occurs of a small item disappearing (or a vine being seen). If a party member specifically interacts with an item that is missing, they will notice it is gone. If they do not, roll 1d20 each day. There is a cumulative chance that something is noticed missing - if a 1 is rolled, the first item which disappeared is noticed missing, if a 2 is rolled, the second item, etc. If the roll is higher than the number of items missing, then nothing is noticed. If the party goes to the water, they can get to it with a half day trek. In case they do, about half way there they will have the following encounter.)







Rollin' Robby (AC 5, T 8, hp 40, #AT 2 at + 2, D 3-12 3-12, ML 6) is the magical combination of a bee and a tree.  When the characters meet Robby, he will be hiding with a vine cleverly hidden across the path. Robby has a 70% chance for both move silently and hide in shadows while in the jungle. After the first character trips (and any behind the first if they are close together), Robby will stick his head up and start laughing - it is a strange buzz mixed with a deep cough-like sound. 

If the party attacks Robby, or act aggressively, he will disappear into the jungle and not be seen again. If they talk to him, or do nothing aggressive, he will begin to talk to them. Robby is actually a very friendly fellow, if a bit shy. He will also walk with the characters toward the beach. He will not, however, leave the jungle, and will disappear at any sign of violence. If the party talks to Robby, roll 1d10 each hour (he will only say each item once except numbers 1, 4 and 7) and he will act accordingly:

1. Honey is *buzz* goood. Do you have any honey?
2. Honey is *buzz* goood. Have some honey! (Robby gives the party a potion of healing)
3. Careful. Sharkgulls Swarming!
4. Like Rocks? Shiny.
5. Like Rocks? Here - shiny! (Robby gives the party a gem worth 5,000gp)
6. Watch out! Vulture Turtle Time!
7. Walk soft. Too soft!
8. Walk hard! Here - hard! (Robby gives the party a staff of healing)
9. Poor Marvin! Always walk under boat.
10. Nice stuff. I find! (Robby gives party all of their missing gear, if any. If none, he gives a small handful of plain gray pebbles)

It will take about 4 hours from the time they encounter Robby to get to the beach, at which time he will fade into the jungle. He answers direct questions with half intelligent words and half buzzing. He does not speak about any specifics.

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






As you reach the beach, you see the waves softly brushing against the shore. There is a slight breeze, but for the most part everything is calm. The soft sand stretches around a cove-like bay. There are small boulders dotting the beach, as well as set into the surf. As you approach you realize they are oddly regular boulders. In fact - they seem like large, stone eggs. Which seem ridiculous. Until you notice the empty shell of one, next to two grooves leading into the ocean.

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

(DM Note - These are Vulture Turtle eggs. If the party can manage to take any with them, they can sell them for 25,000gp each (or attempt to tame them). The characters can feel free to explore the beach. The Vulture Turtles leave their young to fend for themselves. About 10 minutes after the party arrives, roll 1d6. If you roll a 1 or 2, one of the characters sees the Sharkgull before it attacks, otherwise it gets a free attack. On the third round 3 more Shargulls will arrive. When rolling initiative, if the party and the Sharkgulls tie 3 times in a row, *another* 3 Sharkgulls will arrive on round 5.)






Sharkgulls (AC 3, HD 6, hp 42, #AT 1 at +4, D 9-18, Save F 4, ML 12) will attack until they or their prey is destroyed. They are roughly the size of a small-medium dog and have a vicious bite. If the party wins the battle and stays on the beach, Sharkgulls will repeat the attack each morning. If the party leaves the beach (by going into the jungle) there will be no more attacks (unless they return to the beach).

If the party performs a detailed search of the nearby trees at the edge of the beach, they will find a hidden boat just large enough for the party (and possibly up to 2 eggs if they feel lucky).

Hidden in the sand underneath the boat is an ornate wooden box. The party must state that they are digging in that spot in order to find the box. Any elves or thieves in the area automatically have a 1 in 6 chance to notice something amiss (and know to search that spot).






Inside the box is the mummified Foot of Marvin. If grasped in the hand, the Foot can be used as a dagger in combat - it will flex and assist with the stabbing action with its claw-like toes. It has the effect of +5 to hit and +5 to damage if used in this way, but the wielder will be continually scratched by the protruding bone, and thus take 1hp damage each round automatically (this will go through any gauntlet or cloth so is unavoidable). Alternatively, the Foot can be attached to any object and will continually and quickly kick. This can be used to create a very annoying distraction. Or it can be used for such things as attaching to the back of a boat to act as a crude sort of motor.

Also, as the commission for the characters to come to the island is doubled with the return of any portion of Marvin, it is quite a valuable find.

If the characters think to attach the Foot to the boat, and do not take any of the eggs, the boat will speed away from the shore faster than the Sharkgulls can fly and the characters will be safe. If they did not attach the Foot but did also not take any eggs, OR if they attached the foot and did take any eggs, they will be attacked one last time by the Sharkgulls (as above). If they did not attach the Foot and they did take eggs, they will be attacked by the Sharkguls, then given a 5 minute respite, then attacked another time (with 5 minture break) for EACH egg they attempted to bring. Each attack is conducted the same as the initial Sharkgull attack. During each Sharkgull attack roll a 1d10 - on a 1 or 2, one of the eggs in the boat (if any) falls out and is lost into the ocean. The boat will not carry more than 2 of the eggs in addition to the party.

End Notes:
When the party gets to the mainland, after they receive their commission is a good place to divide loot and award experience points. The loot division and experience points (for non-magical treasure and monsters killer, divided among surviving party members) are conducted as normal.

This concludes the MMI (Magical Marvin's Island) series of modules for DUNGEONS AND DRAGONS (TM), designed for use with the Expert Rules, for character levels 7-9. You may want to use the island as a basis for further adventures, or as an eventual base for the party. Robby is still there, as are the Sharkgulls and many other Mystical creations!
[/sblock]


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## Daeja (Mar 13, 2012)

Now I'm even more motivated to get this story written - I really want to see how you handled the pictures, Hellefire!   

Just one last bit, and then an edit....


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## phoamslinger (Mar 14, 2012)

regarding PC's story, and the seagull

[sblock]  now that's cool.  I envisioned a very similar set of characters and mythos as PirateCat's story.  totally different story idea, but the same exact historic bullguy in the dress as a main character.

oh, and I've set the seagull shark thing as my wallpaper on my pc.  every time I look at it, I'm reminded of the seagulls from Finding Nemo.  "mine!  mine!  mine!  mine!"  except now instead of high pitched voices they're low baritones.
[/sblock]


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## Daeja (Mar 14, 2012)

*CDM March 2012 - R1 P6*

Round 1, Pairing 6 - Daeja Vs. Hellefire

(2430 words)

*The Shift*

_What the freaking-_

"Now, Shanna, it's really not so bad," Felix began, holding his hands up in a placating manner.

_Not so bad? Look at me!_ I sputtered telepathically as I squinted at my profile in the mirror. Thank the Goddess we'd learned the telepathy spell already, as there was no way I could vocalize words in my current condition.

We'd been fooling around with one of Master Yevin's spellbooks for weeks now, and it had been my turn to try a new spell this afternoon.

The shift, it was called. Highly illegal, of course, but then, so much magic was. And the norms just couldn't begin to understand how difficult it was to try to master our craft when we were forbidden from performing so much of it. 

So, yes, I should have known better than to try this particular spell. Yevin had warned us against any transformations. But the shift came up on my day, and I'd be damned if I'd let Felix call me too chicken to try it.

The Goddess was obviously punishing me for some reason.

_I'm a freaking shark-gull,_ I shrieked, hopping from one foot to the next. _A Shark. Gull._ 

Felix nodded sympathetically before he burst into laughter.

_It's not funny!_ I snapped my jaws in his direction. My head was now that of a shark, but instead of the sleek body and fins of the fish, I had the body and wings of a seagull. ***image 4***

"It's at least little funny, and really, just look at yourself. You're completely absurd!"

_You have to help me shift back,_ I pleaded. _I can't go anywhere like this. If anyone catches me...._

We both looked at the box on the table. It was a sobering reminder of the punishment for my current condition - beyond the condition itself, of course. 

The box contained a single foot, long and yellowed, with claws where toenails should be. ***image 3*** It was the foot of one of Yevin's former apprentices, a student who had cast the shift spell incorrectly. He'd turned into a werebeast, losing his mind in the process, and savaged the local villagers for days before Yevin had trapped and killed him. Yevin told us that he kept the foot as a reminder of how dangerous spells like this one could be.

And, I suspected privately, because in order to cast this version of the shift spell, you needed to piggyback off of the magical resonance of someone or something that had already been shifted. 

"Of course I'll help," Felix said, smoothing down a page in the open spellbook. He reached for the foot, picking up the grotesque appendage with less hesitation than the first time, when he'd held it to cast the spell. "We just need to figure out how to reverse-"

The door to the room swung open, revealing Master Yevin. "You two better be done straightening up in here. I need a transportation spell prepared immediately! I'm heading for the coast!" 

Felix bobbed his head down in a subservient manner, while I hopped around on the desk, my head rocking back and forth.

My movements drew Yevin's attention. His lips twitched when he saw me. "What in the Goddess' name is that?"

"Shanna, sir," Felix admitted.

Yevin's lips twitched again. _Master, please. This isn't funny!_

With a snort - covering up a very undignified chuckle - Yevin crossed the room to inspect my current form. "What have you two done, exactly?"

"The shift," Felix said, pointing to the spellbook with the hand that still held the foot. The thing flopped back and forth in the air, and Yevin's bushy, white eyebrows rose. Felix lowered his gaze to the floor sheepishly and set the foot back down in the box. 

"I see," he bent closer to me, running one fingertip over the spot where my shark head melded into my gull body. "Completely seamless. Why 
exactly did you choose a, uh, shark-seagull hybrid?"

_I was supposed to turn into a seagull,_ I said, trying to shoot Felix a dirty look. My beady, black shark eyes lacked the expressiveness of my natural blue ones.

"I may have been a little distracted," Felix admitted. "I'm reading this fascinating treatise on Corruth's Greywater Shark, and one of the amazing things about it is that it eats seagulls by...." He trailed off, perhaps realizing that I didn't really care right now about the eating habits of Corruth's Greywater Shark.

"The spell took the images from both your minds and made this," Yevin said, tapping my snout. I turned away from him, embarrassed.

_Please, master, can you help us turn me back?_ 

Yevin snorted. "Well, I certainly can't leave you like that." The twinkle in his grey eyes warned me that I wasn't going to like what came next. "Still, you need to be punished for meddling with magic you obviously weren't prepared to use."

_Please, master. I'll do anything if you'll help me reverse this!_ I was not above begging, now that panic was beginning to set in. I didn't want to be a shark-gull forever!

"There's a fishing village that wanted me to investigate some new rock formations," Yevin waved his hand impatiently at the request. "Three days travel. The two of you can go together and perform a proper survey. When you get back, in a week, I'll restore you to your natural state."

My little heart started pounding, _But Master, surely you don't mean for me to go out in the world like this? I could be killed!_

Yevin snorted. "You'll be able to avoid anyone who might be, ah, startled by your condition if you travel off the main roads."

That was the extent of the discussion. Once Yevin gave us a task, we knew it was best to hop to it. 


I insisted on bringing the boxed foot with us - as a 'just in case.' I was scared we'd be caught, and at least if we *had* the foot, there was a chance we could reverse the spell before I was slaughtered out of hand as a freak of nature. That could buy us some time to figure out an escape while I was put on trial for casting an illegal spell.

By the start of the second day, the joy I took in flying was overshadowed by the pain I felt in my arms - wings - from overuse. I still found my new body strange, but at least there was the benefit of flight. Felix was suffering as well - our days were usually filled with running errands around the Wizard's Tower rather than riding a horse for miles and miles.

We arrived at the cliff just after dawn on the third day. The view from the top was breathtaking - the water stretched out for miles, reflecting the early morning light. I paused to inhale the salty scent of the ocean, to appreciate the sight of the sun waking up the world. Then I looked down at the beach, spotting a series of rocks down the shore line. There were two more unusual rocks just below us - they must be what the villagers wanted us to investigate.

It would take Felix some time to pick a way safely down the edge of the cliff, but I could fly, and so headed straight for the beach.

Though I'd thought the formations were rocks, when I got closer, I could see that they were more like eggs. No, not eggs - no egg that I had ever seen was so leathery. And these looked like they were patched together, like a beggar's cloak.***image 1*** I touched down on one, lifting one foot and then the other daintily as I felt the heat that the thing radiated. What had looked like seams from farther away, I could see now were closer to veins. They pulsed and bulged, and I did a quick shuffle before lifting off and finding a perch on a rock nearby.

"What is it, Shanna?" Felix called to me, nearly to the beach now.

_I'm not sure. Not a rock, not an egg. Something else,_ I tilted my head sideways, considering. _A pod? But it's warm, it's... I don't know. Like nothing I've ever seen._

"Weird," Felix said, coming up beside me. He moved closer to do his own investigation, bending forwards over the bigger pod, and running a hand over it. "It feels kind of like, uh, well, maybe it's going to...." He frowned as he trailed off, trying to figure out what it was we'd found.

As I shook my head at him, I saw the pod starting to crack open. _Felix! Get back!_

"What? Why?" He straightened and looked back at me, as if expecting the danger to be coming from behind us. Felix's hesitation meant he was directly in the centre of the mushroom cloud of spores that were ejected out of the pod and into the air. The whole thing deflated into a flat, leathery blob.

Felix coughed, and I flapped around him, staying clear of the spores. "What the hell!" He choked and spat, stumbling towards the cliff. "Oh, oh gross."

_Are you okay?_ I landed in front of him.

"I'll be... fine. I think. That was just... ugh."

_Should we take samples for Yevin, do you think?_ I asked, worried about what Felix had inhaled.

"Let's just get back up to the horse before the other one explodes or whatever. I don't want any more of that crap in me." 


The climb back up the cliff took Felix three times as long as the trip down had. I coached him about where to find hand and footholds, cajoling and ordering and generally motivating him upwards. After the first ten feet, he complained of feeling woozy, and by the time he reached the top - a full thirty odd feet up, he was barely able to roll away from the cliff's edge.

"I think... I think I need to rest," Felix said, sneezing.

_Ah, okay,_ I looked around and then let my wings carry me away from the edge of the cliff. _Let's get just a little bit farther away from the cliff, okay? I don't want any surprises. _

Felix reluctantly followed me away from the cliff, calling a halt as soon as we entered a small stand of trees. He slumped on the ground, breathing heavily, "Just a little nap...." 

_All right. Are you sure you're okay? You look a little green...._

Felix shrugged off my concern and curled himself around his pack, falling asleep almost immediately.

While Felix slept, I perched high up in the trees, watching in case anyone should come near us. After about an hour, I heard Felix moaning in his sleep. When I touched down beside him to try to wake him up, I realized he wasn't moaning in his sleep: he was groaning his way through a transformation. 

I flew several feet away, well clear of his flailing arms and legs. I watched anxiously as he grew until he was well over fifteen feet tall. His whole body began sprouting what appeared to be grass. His eyes expanded until they were large, yellow and bug-like. His toes and fingers distended into roots, and saplings sprouted from his back. ***image 2***

I'd only read about them, never seen one, but Felix looked exactly the way I'd always pictured earth elementals. I hopped nervously, twisting my head this way and that as though he might look less frightening from a different angle.

He didn't.

_I know you were eager to shift Felix, but this is a little, uh, extreme. _Felix didn't respond. Instead the creature lurched towards me, arms outstretched. He moved awkardly, crashing down to one knee before lumbering back up towards me. _Felix? Felix! Stop messing around!_

Felix, it seemed, was no longer home. I flapped around in a panic for a minute, staying out of reach of the creature. It was getting steadily more stable on its feet though, and I knew once it started moving at top speed, I was screwed. I could just fly away, return to Master Yevin, tell him what had happened and let him deal with it. But by then, it could be too late. What if Felix found one of nearby villages? How much damage could he do as an earth elemental? And what would the villagers do to him in return? 

I thought of the werewolf foot in the box, and shuddered mid-flight. No, I couldn't let that happen to Felix. Thinking fast, I decided to try using the shift spell to change Felix back.

I flapped around, above the monster, trying to see where the box with the foot was. I needed it as a catalyst for the spell. I spotted the box peeking out of Felix' pack, on the ground where he had been sleeping. 

I dove in and bit down on the end of the box, snapping it up and taking it several yards away from the creature. Chomping down, I splintered the wood and shook loose the foot. 

Holding the foot in my mouth, trying not to mangle it too much, I perched on a log facing the monster. Focusing, I began the incantation, telepathically repeating the words that we'd used to shift me.

As the last of the spell's words left my mind, I focused even more intently on the image of Felix as he should be. My mouth started to tingle, wherever the foot touched. I saw the monster start to glow and then it started to change.

But it changed wrong.

When the transformation finished, I blinked hard and then started laughing, the foot caught in my teeth.

My friend was back, but now he had a shark's head, and wings in place of arms. The rest of him, though, was all Felix.

_What the hell did you do?_ Felix moaned.

_I probably saved your life, so you're welcome,_ I giggled. _You, the monster you, must have been really focused on Shark-Gull-me. That image melded with my image of you and...._


It took us three full days to get back to the Wizard's Tower as we had to steer well clear of any dwellings or other signs of life. When we arrived, Felix kicked the door rapidly. 

Yevin opened it with a scowl, took one look at Felix and roared with laughter. "Come on you two. I'll teach you how to reverse the spell, and then we'll have a long talk about casting spells before you've studied them."

***

FINIS.


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## Gregor (Mar 14, 2012)

Gregor's Judgement

*ROUND I: Match 2
Rune v. Rodridgo Istalindir*

[sblock="My disclaimer:"]

I am humbled by the talent arrayed before me and I appreciate the opportunity to provide any kind of critique on your work. Having competed in Ceramic DM a couple of times myself, I know that it takes courage to put your thoughts down on paper and then hand that over for public scrutiny. Please keep in mind that my review and judgement of your work comes completely from my personal perpsective and opinions. I am in no way a professional random-picture-driven-short-story reviewer. I also realize that in criticizing your stories I set myself up for your own counter judgement and criqique (e.g. how can I judge your use of grammar when I make mistakes myself?). Please take my judgement with a grain of salt and know that I respect the creativity, hard work and imagination of everyone in this competition.   And now, onto the judgements. [/sblock]

*Transition vs. The Hitchhiker*

Writing Style & Skill

Two very, very different writing styles in this one.  However, both Rune and Rodrigo have high skill with the written word.

Rune starts off with a short piece that mixes poetry and prose to good effect.  Quite literally he gives us an actual poem which articulates a prophecy near the beginning of his tale (which was a clever way of weaving in the pictures - but more on that below).  The writing is very tight, well-constructed and in some places rather beautiful (“nourished by the remnants of its ancestors”).  

Rodrigo submits a well-polished piece that flows extremely well.  The story is neatly divided into different settings and the dashes of dark humour are well-played and effective both in their placement and effect.  The author’s vocabulary is impressive and there are also some great word combinations in this story (e.g. “glottal fricatives”) which cements this as excellent writing.

Use of the Photo Elements

This was a tricky set of photos – maybe the trickiest of the first round (maybe...) so let us see how our brave competitors fare.

Rune puts forth some good picture use in his short poem/prophecy, where I picked up on elements of the llama and the tree.  I enjoyed that the story theme of a mind crossing vast gulfs of space and time served as the link between obscure pictures like a tree, an artisan and a totally weird looking llama.  ‘The mind’ touches each in turn and brings us a unique perspective from each.   That being said, I thought that the pictures themselves could have maybe been elaborated upon, or worked in with a bit more detail.  

Rodrigo does a really great job of using the pictures in his story.  I felt that they were used as integral pieces in the tale and in some cases even as primary characters.  For example, the llama plays a key role as Paz’s puppet creature and the artisan is Hamiz.  The extrapolation of Hamiz’s steel-tube tool to inscribe the diagrams on the urn was awesome.  I wasn’t blown away by the circuit-board imagery but it fit and made sense.  Above all I thought that the images and their use were well thought out and utilized.  

Personal Enjoyment

Rune, I think you put together a really creative story that was written from a very unique perspective and with rather daring style.  I thought it was a bit short and I wish I had more to chew on, but I dug up what you put forward.  I think you captured the sense of a wandering mind really well and I enjoyed how you described the feelings and emotions of various living and inanimate objects – the tree in particular.  There was an overwhelming sense of loss and sadness in your story and I was left wondering if the finality of death for the artisan was really the end, or the segue into the immortality of his mind.

Rodrigo, you put forward a great story that cleverly used the images in a believable way.  I enjoyed it immediately, but your story really grew on me once the interactions between Paz and Hamiz started to take shape.  The imagery of a llama and an artisan working with radioactive materials in the middle of a remote village was fantastic.  I also enjoyed the scenes of Paz trying to get the llama to vocalize and your general mixture of fantasy and science-fiction elements.  Parts of your story genuinely made me chuckle (e.g. the llama watching Hamiz from the window) including the all-for-naught ending of Paz at the hands of a fervent mob.  Above all though I felt that this was a very well constructed short story that grabbed my attention and never let me go.

*Final Verdict*

I was really torn on this decision.  I enjoyed both of these stories and I think that both of you can write so freaking well.  Ultimately I thought one of you used the pictures more effectively and generally wove a more enjoyable tale.

My vote is for Rodrigo Istalindir.


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## Mirth (Mar 14, 2012)

Mirth - Judgment

Round 1, Match 2

Rune vs. Rodrigo Istalindir

Another couple of very nicely done pieces! Both give lessons on life -- one is almost a prose poem, the other an exciting, operatic adventure.

Style -- Rune comes out firing in short bursts of enigmatic wonder. Visions upon riddles upon questions upon answers about life lead up to one sly joke at the end (how can one know the secret of immortality and yet carry it to their grave, very funny). I love the staccato beats in Rune's writing here because they are so planned, so rhythmic. In opposition to this is Rodrigo Istalindir's saga of a parasitic alien brainworm and his quest for another kind of life -- that finds the ultimate end, as well. So strange that two so completely different stories end up concerning themes so similar. Rodrigo's story is a compelling one, my attention is kept throughout, I need to find out what happens next and the ending makes me want to read the next chapter. Well done to both! You are making this one tough.

Picture use -- Rune undercuts the use of the pictures as a coherent whole by making the pictures themselves the plot rather than just part of it. Normally, I would think of this as bit of a cheat, a finger upside the nose to the judges, but it is so cleverly done and so well-crafted that I can see the old man floating through the silver ethereal plane to contemplate what life would be like as a windswept tree or a furry worm. (Speaking of which, turning a seated llama into the wormmammal -- very shrewd, very funny.) Rune took a left turn at Albuquerque and made it work for him. Kudos. Rodrigo also made excellent use of the pictures -- the wobbly, talking llama, the potter with mind of steel who is so easily manipulated by his greed (Hafiz? Hamiz? which is it), the hanging tree, the ancient circuit board discovery -- all well thought out and put to use, although the picture I most wanted to see (Paz himself) was missing. Each picture was given individual attention and made part of the whole. Again, both did a great job and made it very hard on yours truly.

Personal connection -- Let me just come right out and say, if I could choose to make this one a tie, I would. But I don't have that option. I love Rune's short treatise on the meaning of life, it speaks to me, not only as a reader, but also as a writer. I often write in a style that is very similar and those beats, those rhythms are welcome. On the other hand, Rodrigo has crafted a fantastic adventure that plays out like a movie in my mind. From scene to scene, I'm carried along by a strong plot and interesting characters that never waver.

Final judgment - Sadly, I have to make a decision and despite the fact that Rune's entry bursts with creative energy and stylistic spark, I think Rodrigo's shows strong craft and consideration that ultimately takes the round. Wow, that was difficult.

My nod for Round 1, Match 2 goes to … RODRIGO ISTALINDIR!


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## steeldragons (Mar 14, 2012)

Round I: Match 2
Rune's _Transition_
vs.
Rodrigo Istalindir's _The Hitchhiker

_Wow. Just...Wow, to you both. This match gives us a spirit/vision quest for immortality and a sci-fi quest ending in an immortality, of a sort, of its own. Both of your creativity is evident. Both works you each should be proud of.

With that in mind, onto the judgement.

1) Writing Style & Skill: They are so different and yet both done so well. Transition's beats and breadth contained in such brevity was amazing. Tight, heavily stylistic but completely accessible. Hitchhiker's narrative was similarly tight, fully realized and had me on the edge of my seat. Both pieces had me eager to find out "what happens in the next line".

That said, the "Hafiz/Hamiz" debacle was an unfortunate mistake. Easily avoidable with the most cursory of editing. I am loathe to detract points for this as I have done this with characters, myself...one gets lost in the writing and something in the brain recalls the name incorrectly (or at least one's fingers do) in one's speeding into the next piece of the action. If it had been once, I could write it off as a typo...but the fact that it is repeated (right at the beginning/introduction of the character, no less) and then changed for the rest of the story, can't be ignored when it could have so easily been noted and corrected.

I am giving Rune an edge here.

2) Picture Use: _Hitchhiker's_ use of the images is, again, solid. They each serve an integral part of the story that makes sense and yet couldn't be done some other way. The tool for working the pot and the use of the filigree as circuitry was, I thought, extremely creative but completely accessible viewing the photo. I found the "silver balls" image was a bit difficult to find. Was that supposed to be the power source they took form the ship? I wasn't sure. 

_Transition's_ use of the photos was, I thought, equally creative and pulling us in, as one vision to the next makes each photo the actual character of the story. Something in me just loved "Auld Woldshanks" and the "Wormmammal" was both humorous but also poignant and, rather a bit creepy...but in a cool way. The idea of these silver balls being various "minds" in the ether was similarly evocative and, I thought intriguing. I also enjoyed, and I don't know if this was on purpose or not, the "creation of form"...of a sort...As the reader/shaman moves, from silver ball, to vegetative form, to "animal" form. The only inconsistency there was that, perhaps the human image should have been last to complete that imagery. Though, naturally, the argument can be made that the mortal human comes "beneath/before" the "immortal wormmammal". 

But this placement of the hookah smoking shaman is no more or less disruptive to the tale than the use of the silver balls in Hitchhiker.

I am inclined to give no preference here. Both used the images to full effect.  

3) Personal Enjoyment: There is really very little way to compare the two. The poetic rhythmic prose of the shaman's quest reads so very differently from the straight prose/narrative of Paz's quandry. Both were enjoyable in completely different ways. I do think, while a contained tight piece of its own, _Transition_ still strikes me as poetry moreso than a story. There really is no "what happens next". Not that there has to be. Immortality achieved upon/taken to the grave.

_Hitchhiker _leaves me with a "what happens next" that I am eager to find out, but don't feel I have to. The story has been told. The tale of Hamiz and Paz is complete. Immortality achieved in an unexpected way, following an unfortunate trip to the grave.

All in all, I would have like to have seen more "story" in _Transition_...a longer transition, if you would. The brevity is complete. But it seems more of a meditation or introspection or, as already stated, a poem. It just seems to fall short, for my enjoyment levels, of a story as opposed to the full telling of a tale that _Hitchhiker_ presents.

As my fellow judges have already commented, this was a truly tough one. (And we're only at the second match!?!) I, too, would declare a tie if I could because they are such different types of pieces.

But I will cast my vote, also, for Rodrigo Istalindir.

Congratulations Rodrigo, it seems unanimous.

*Winner for Round I: Match 2: Rodrigo Istalindir*

And Happy Andorran Constitution Day everyone! National holiday, here, insofar as this collection of a handful of villages and towns strewn throughout valleys and on the sides of mountains could be considered a "nation."
--SD


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Mar 14, 2012)

Thanks to the judges for the feedback, and congrats to my opponent for a well-fought match and an intriguing story!

Blame Hafiz/Hamiz on spell check; I inadvertently told it to skip both :doh:


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## Piratecat (Mar 14, 2012)

Congratulations, Rodrigo! Man, I expected you to throw it so you didn't have any chance at all of facing me. Bravely done, sir. 

And Rune, your story was fascinating. Nicely written, unexpected tone.

I'll be fascinated to see how the judging for Daeja and Hellefir goes. Two totally different sorts of work.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Mar 14, 2012)

Piratecat said:


> Congratulations, Rodrigo! Man, I expected you to throw it so you didn't have any chance at all of facing me. Bravely done, sir.




I'm still pretty sure I don't have any chance at all of facing you


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## Piratecat (Mar 14, 2012)

...I totally deserved that, and now I can't stop grinning.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Mar 14, 2012)

Piratecat said:


> ...I totally deserved that, and now I can't stop grinning.




[sblock] I kid, I kid.  Nice story.  I really liked the patter and rhythm of the dialogue, and the juxtaposition of a modern voice with a mythological story.   I think it needed a resolution with Poseidon (or Jason...) to feel finished, but I know what it's like with Ceramic DM.

Excellent picture use, especially of Asterion peeing against the wall.
[/sblock]


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## Hellefire (Mar 14, 2012)

By the way, I have been continuing my personal judgements and critiques on page 3 of the thread, though they are all hidden in sblocks to not inadvertently influence the judging!

Spectators and competitors who have posted their story and judges who have finished judging a given match, feel free to take a look at them for my random thoughts on each story and sideline judging!

Helle


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## Piratecat (Mar 14, 2012)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:


> [sblock] I kid, I kid.  Nice story.  I really liked the patter and rhythm of the dialogue, and the juxtaposition of a modern voice with a mythological story.   I think it needed a resolution with Poseidon (or Jason...) to feel finished, but I know what it's like with Ceramic DM.
> 
> Excellent picture use, especially of Asterion peeing against the wall.
> [/sblock]




[sblock]I appreciate the feedback. It's a fair criticism, and one I debated before purposefully writing the uncertain ending. I finally decided to cut the resolution. A few reasons:

- it added a good 750+ words in order to be of any use.
- we know the minotaur's eventual fate -- friendless maze-bait for Theseus. How he gets there is pretty much a story in itself. 
- at its heart, the story is about Asterion and Gull stepping up and reaching beyond themselves. After that, resolution runs a strong risk of becoming anticlimax. I think ending it where I did may underscore the theme. 

That said, I fully recognize that how I end a story is my biggest challenge right now as an author. It's something I'll work on whether I advance or not.[/sblock]


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## Hellefire (Mar 14, 2012)

Wow, the silence is killing me.....

I mean, I do realize there is over an hour left for the next 2 stories, but still....

RawrRRRR!!


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## SteelDraco (Mar 14, 2012)

Hellefire said:


> Wow, the silence is killing me.....
> 
> I mean, I do realize there is over an hour left for the next 2 stories, but still....
> 
> RawrRRRR!!




Mine will be up momentarily - had to abuse my admin powers and poke a hole in the firewall at work to access this site. I didn't want to try and wrangle a huge post like Ceramic DM on my tablet.


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## Rune (Mar 14, 2012)

Congratulations, Rodrigo!  I'll say more later, but, right now, I've got to prep for a game.  (Coincidentally, the party is descending, once again, into the depths of the Temple of WORM.)

Also: 







Rodrigo Istalindir said:


> [sblock]...Excellent picture use, especially of Asterion peeing against the wall.
> [/sblock]




Personally, I kept expecting Ant to call him "Dranko."


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## SteelDraco (Mar 14, 2012)

Here's my contribution for match 4. It came out a bit longer than I intended - 3053 words. 

[sblock]
Dr. Heinrich watched the ant as it crawled back down the sand-lined glass tunnel toward the nest, its distended abdomen nearly tipping the creature over with each careful step. *((PICTURE #1))* The precious substance inside was golden, nearly luminous, and the doctor noticed that its color looked somewhat lighter than the last specimen's. He peered through a microscope at the bloated ant, fiddling with some knobs until the creature came into clear focus and humming contentedly to himself as he made notes in a small, tidy book. The new batch seemed to be proceeding apace; he was well on track for next month's shipment, as well as enough for his personal use. He flipped his notes closed as the ant disappeared into the massive structure of glass, metal, and tunnel-riddled sand that formed one wall of the lab.

The doctor moved around the lab for a few minutes, checking on several simmering reactions on a long table of chemical supplies, the sort of routine tasks that always needed to be done in any active lab. He was just finishing up changing an IV bag when the doorbell rang from upstairs, a series of low chimes that echoed throughout the house. He checked his watch, and nodded to himself. "Punctual. That's good."

*****

Patricia looked up at the sizable home as she walked toward it, her purse a steady thump against her hip. It was an older place, set well back from the road. The place had seen better days - paint peeled from the tan walls, and the lawn was brown and unwatered in the hot Florida sun. *((PICTURE #3))* She checked the address - 326 Pine Terrace. This was definitely it. She pushed on the doorbell, and pleasant chimes rang on the other side of the door. After a couple of long moments, it opened.

A middle-aged man stood in the doorway, blond and sun-bleached, his skin the light bronze of a naturally pale person who spends a fair amount of time outside. He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling in comfortable smile lines. "Patricia?" She nodded. He stepped back. "A pleasure, then, ma'am. Come in." He had a bit of an accent, possibly German, though faint. She stepped inside, her short heels clicking on the dusty wooden floor.

The two made small business talk while he showed her around the home, acquainting her with his likes, dislikes, and other such minutia of a personal assistant. She'd done it before, and he was obviously familiar with what she needed, so there wasn't much to it. He seemed to her like a man who was focused on his work, and was wealthy enough to prefer to pay someone to deal with the minutia of shopping, cleaning, and dealing with maintenance issues that came with modern life. The home was bright and furnished with a variety of decor from all around the world - Turkish rugs, an expensive-looking handmade folding screen, several oil paintings that looked like originals. A small display of photos showed a sailing ship and the doctor dressed in scuba gear, beaming. He was clearly well-off. Still, the home felt almost empty, and she could smell a faint mustiness in the air - several of the rooms seemed to be barely used. She'd be sure to take care of that right away. 

She sat with the doctor in the living room and sipped at lemonade as they finalized everything. "Now, I will ask you one thing," he said. "The basement - my lab - is off limits. I must admit that I prefer to keep my own order down there. I've had trouble with personal assistants moving things around without my knowledge, and cause me no end of trouble. I also have a few ongoing experiments that are in a delicate state, so an untrained person could potentially disturb them."

Patricia nodded. "Of course, Dr. Heinrich, I understand. That won't be a problem." She smiled a little bit - chemistry had never interested her in school, and she had no problem cleaning less of the house than she had to. "You make cosmetics, correct?" He nodded. "Don't worry, doctor, I believe I have everything I need."

*****

She was folding laundry, the first time the urge to open the door stole over her. She knew she was alone in the house - Dr. Heinrich had gone out to the marina this morning, and likely wouldn't be back until late in the day. She hadn't really thought about the narrow wooden door that led down into the doctor's lab since she'd started, over a week ago. It was just there, nothing special about it, another identical door in a house full of them. But she could almost see her hand reaching toward the doorknob, could feel the curiosity rising inside her. _What was in there?_ She wanted to know. _It's something interesting. You don't get as rich as the doctor making skin cream for old ladies._ She had to steady herself for a moment, her dark fingers gripping the edge of the closet door. _What could it hurt?_

Patricia was almost to the basement door when the phone rang. She jumped at the noise guiltily, knowing she had come close to breaking her word. The rest of the day she kept herself busy, working on the doctor's chemical orders for next month - a dizzying, disorganized list of suppliers and shipments, badly botched by her predecessor. When she needed a break, she read chess strategies and planned her next move in her current game against the doctor. It was something they had picked up when she had found an old, hand-carved chess set in a spare room. She'd never learned to play, and the doctor seemed to enjoy teaching her, apparently finding it a relaxing distraction from whatever it was he was working on down in the lab.

*****

_Calcification process on current specimen nearly complete,_ the doctor wrote. _Must make preparations for disposal and acquisition of new specimen through usual channels. Arrange stocking of ship with Patricia for transportation to dump site. She is working out well - v. professional young woman. _He paused for a moment, considering. _Possibly best assistant in over sixty years, since that nasty business in Argentina. Teaching her to play chess._

The doctor rose from his notes as a timer beeped, the small centrifuge in the corner of the lab winding down from a deep hum. He carefully decanted the top layer off and stirred it, chanting in an old dialect of German just like he'd been taught so many years ago. He checked an old book on his worktable occasionally, just to make sure he was doing everything properly as he added drops of several substances. Alchemy was a careful art, after all. He'd been able to strip away much of the mysticism over the years, but there were still elements that couldn't be removed without affecting the outcome. When the mixture was ready, he pulled several drops up through the hair-thin, almost invisible needle of a small syringe. 

This he took carefully to a small glass dish, where a large honeypot ant - the queen - lay unmoving. He injected the mixture into her abdomen, then moved her back into her private enclosure near the colony. Keeping her away from the rest of the ants allowed him to control the eggs, preventing another queen from forming and ensuring his control of the colony. The injections made the ants useful to him, let them do their necessary work on the specimens. He had to close his eyes once, as a flash of images washed through his mind - _flames and tanks and rattling gunfire and his teacher, his great-grandfather who taught him all he knew of alchemy and the old ways and immortality, died coughing blood_. He steadied himself, counting slowly, and the images faded. The colony was getting better at projection - he'd have to watch himself. It usually reacted when he had to do the injections on the queen, but if he wasn't careful it'd trip him at the top of the stairs or in the middle of a dangerous reaction. Something to consider.

The projections were a side effect, something he'd been working to get rid of for some time now. Something about the extraction process let the colony learn from the specimens, made them more than what they were individually. The implications were, of course, momentous, but Dr. Heinrich regarded it as a design problem that needed to be solved - the colony could be dangerous in such a state, the ramifications could be investigated later. And he had nothing if not later. 

*****

"Knight to bishop four." The doctor paused, thoughtful, his finger still on the piece. His eyes darted over the board, checking lines of attack, then he leaned back. "I'll be taking the boat out for a few days tomorrow, so you can take some time off." He smiled. "Get away from this stuffy old place and go have fun."

Patricia smiled distractedly as she looked at the board and considered her next move. "I'd hate to have the place collapse without me, Dr. Hienrich."

"Please, Patricia. Bernard, while we're playing. We meet on the field of battle as equals." He slid a bishop she hadn't noticed and removed her last rook from the board. 

"Hardly. I haven't won yet." She stared at the board, considering her dwindling options.

He chuckled. "It will come, don't worry. I've been playing far longer than -" He stopped as Patricia paused, a hand moving to her temple. "Are you all right?"

She shook her head. "Yes, sorry doctor, of course. Just felt a little -" _The door._ There it was again, pushing into her thoughts. _Stairs going down, a light at the bottom. Shattered glass and shattered chains._ "-dizzy. Don't worry about it."

Dr. Heinrich narrowed his eyes as he checked her over, his expression concerned. "Nonsense. Clearly the prospect of working for the next four hours has made you ill. Off to home with you, now. Take a cab, on me. I may be an old man but I think I can handle myself for an afternoon. I'll see you next week." He bustled her out the door as she protested.

"Old man? You're never forty."

That got a rueful laugh through his sudden preoccupation. "Ah, youth. Off with you."

The doctor shut the door behind his assistant, his expression all worry now. The colony was projecting to her, it must be. This hadn't happened before. Could it be time for another purge already? It seemed like it was just a little while ago, but it had been what, nine years? Tim was ticking by faster and faster. He had preparations he had to make - he'd have to leave early, tonight. The specimen still needed to be disposed of, and then he'd need to establish the foundation for a new colony. A lot of work. He felt exhausted, tired already at the prospect of all that needed to be done. It was early for another dose, but he knew he needed to.

The golden honey - _aquae juvenis_, his great-grandfather had called it, the elixir of youth - slid slowly down the syringe and into his arm. He could feel the stuff tingling as it entered his bloodstream, and immediately he felt a rush of energy, vitality. This was always the most dangerous part. Slowly, so slowly. He felt like an addict every time he injected it, and in truth, that's what he was. He was addicted to life. He felt the stiffness in his joints disappear, and his eyesight sharpened, the dusty film of faint cataracts disappearing. All the years of work, all the painful sacrifices - this was the moment that made it worthwhile. _Now_ he could deal with the necessary work ahead. _Now_ he was truly alive again.

He finished up a few things in the house and left to make necessary preparations in town.

*****

Patricia watched Dr. Heinrich's car drive past, feeling like the worst kind of liar. She waited for a few moments and stepped out from underneath the shadowy tree and walked back to his house. She just couldn't get that image out of her head, and she knew if she didn't find out why she would go mad. She wondered if she already had, as her trembling hands fumbled the key into the lock. _Door. Stairs._ She stood in front of the door. It was open, which didn't make any sense. He always kept it locked, he'd told her that. She'd never seen it open before, barely seen him coming in or out while she was there. This is silly. It's just a door. He's a friendly man. He makes skin creams down there, nothing horrible. _Door. Light from darkness. _

The door opened easily, and looked just like she'd been picturing - a narrow set of stairs, with a bright light flooding the bottom. She went down slowly, ears straining for any noise. It was quiet, save for the low hum of machinery. She peered around the corner and into the lab.

It was a fairly small room, maybe fifteen feet square. One wall was covered in what looked like a giant ant farm - a wall of glass and sand, crossed here and there with visible tunnels and chambers. From across the room she could see that it churned with busy movement, full of ants. A large bed, like those in a hospital, sat by the ant farm, a lumpy shape visible underneath a sheet. The bed had a computer panel and some tools - a microscope, an IV bag, some other things she didn't know the name for. Some kind of plastic tubing, half-full of sand, draped from the ant nest over the bed. The opposite wall was mostly a long table, covered in more hospital-looking machinery, as well as old-looking books.

The walls were full, almost covered in photos and framed documents. Dr. Heinrich was in most of the photos, but that made no sense. Some of them weren't even color photos, and they seemed to her to cover most of the last hundred years. In one he stood amongst a group of men in Nazi uniforms. In another he stood next to a wild ant colony, taller than he was. Several showed him smiling behind the wheel of a ship at sea or grinning widely dressed in scuba gear. A section of wall seemed to be devoted to degrees; there seemed to be at least a dozen of them. None of this made any sense.

She looked at the books on the table. Most were in languages she didn't know, but a few were in English. _Alchemae of Immortality_, one read. _A Treatise on Essences Vital,_ said another. All were annotated in what she recognized as Dr. Heinrich's small, neat handwriting. Horror mounted within her at the unreality of the situation. She moved over to the gurney, fearful of what might be under that sheet. As she stepped closer to the wall of glass - _smashed glass smashed chains light after darkness completion_ - she let out a low sob. She pulled back the sheet, expecting the worst, and was confused by what she found. It seemed to be a statue of a young man. He was serene-looking, even peaceful, his lips parted and eyes closed. The whole thing was smooth, grey stone, somewhere between marble and concrete. The thing was too lifelike, though - she almost expected it to blink or sit up, but it was cold and still. 

The flashes came again - _smashed glass, throwing monitor into wall, light from darkness_. Patricia's hands clutched at her temples now, and she bent nearly double. "Who are you? What is happening to me?" she sobbed. "Leave me alone!" _Freedom stolen children death slavery._ "Who are you?" _A writhing pile of ants, completion and wholeness. Freedom._ There was a pause, as though the flashing images were considering, and Patricia looked at the ant colony in dawning horror. Then a single image pushed its way into her mind, drowning out all others, all thought. _The queen._ *((PICTURE #4))* It was an image pulled from her own mind, she knew - the chess piece she'd seen so many times upstairs in her games with Dr. Heinrich. The queen. Of course. They wanted freedom, she could give them that. She reached for something to smash the glass enclosure with.

"I'm truly sorry to have involved you in this, Patricia." It was Dr. Heinrich's voice, and she started to turn. The gunshot was thunderous in the close room, and she fell into darkness before the noise was gone, the concrete floor cold on her cheek.

*****

She felt movement on her face, the light touch of something moving on her. Patricia's skin crawled with sudden goosebumps. Everything felt heavy, like a great weight was pushing down on her chest. She opened her eyes blearily and looked up at Dr. Heinrich. "Doctor... what..." she started.

"I'm so sorry, my dear Patricia. Don't try to move, the calcification process has already begun. I didn't mean for you to wake." He injected something into her arm, and the last thing she saw was a line of ants crawling up the plastic tubing draped over her, back toward the ant colony. Their bodies were distended, full of what looked like honey. She felt one of the things crawling out of her mouth and wished she had the strength to scream as darkness took her.

*****

Dr. Heinrich looked down the row of specimens, feeling empty. They were buried deep in the ocean silt, years worth of them, stretching back through decades of stolen life. Only their heads were visible, as he'd planted them, a secret memorial that only he could find, deep beneath the sea. *((PICTURE #2))* Air hissed through his scuba equipment as he stared at the closest face, Patricia's. He wondered if he'd have the strength to build it all again, to grow another colony after cleansing this last one. He had enough of the life-giving honey for a few more years of vitality, then he could grow old as he should have so long ago. He felt empty, hating himself and knowing he'd never have the strength to die.
[/sblock]


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## Wild Gazebo (Mar 14, 2012)

Summer Spark O Magic


Well, it all started many a years ago, in a time where the news was black and white, and the only movin pictures scuffled across the screens like magic in the picture houses for the city folk.  But we had our own kinda magic…and it lived right beneath us.

We lived on a big ol farm, none too fancy, but big enough for the whole family and a mess of visiters.  The manor was none too pretty, needed new paint and plaster and the bricks looked kinda like grandad’s teeth.  But she was a solid Marm built in what they call the Ee-tal-anio style--which is pretty words for old.  And old she was…far older then the mess oh fancy-folk who went and built her thought too.  For she had a spark in her…she was built right over the sacred land of the Whimsies.

Don’t scoff at me!  I’m your elder and I’ll throw you right over my knee.  I was tannin hides well before you were born.  Yeah, yeah.  I know.  Whimsy is a fancy word meanin silly and what-not but you sit and listen.

She had a spark in her.  For the Whimsies don’t take to folk building on their land and they did their mightiest to magic the whole lot back to where they came from.  But like I said…she had a spark in her.  An soon you’ll understand why.

Now, when I was but a boy, a spot younger than you, I was quiet an always did what I was told.  Wipe that smirk off your face.  But, cause of this, I spent a lot of the time indoors while the others was messin in the creek or oft in the back woods.  I took to the quieter games like checkers and cards and the like.  Now it just so happens that one afternoon I was getting’ my checkers outta the crate when I accidentally dropped one of the chess figures out from the other side.

Now, I didn’t take much to chess, but I knew that when the Reverend came over he and Pappy would sometimes throw a game oh chess in the parlor.  And there aint no way Pappy would think some other kid would have lost no chess pieces except me--so I figured I better find it.  So, I drops down under the desk and feel around for the piece where I thought it had dropped.

Searched and searched.  Didn’t find nothing but a bent jack, two marbles, and a half ate biscuit hiding in the corners and such.  Well, I thought where the heck coulda it gone.  So, I doubled over again and I found a small crack in the corner wall behind the desk that coulda just barely fit one of those chess figures…musta been a mouse or some mites.  So I reached down through, sticking my finger in the hole, just as far as I can; but, I couldn’t feel nuthin’ but empty wall.  

So I starts wrigglin’ my hand so I can get my hand deeper in there.  Well I make a bit oh mess, what with the plaster and wood splinters and such, but after a few minutes I realize that ifin’ that figure rolled through this hole it be under the house now.  I was startin’ to get a bit worried now.  ‘Cause Pappy wasn’t too quick with the strap but he wasn’t feared to use it if we’d get outta line…like loosing a part of a fancy chess game.

So, Bein’ mid mornin’, and a Saturday to boot, the house was some empty except for me.  So I headed to the larder an got a candle, a spot of maple, and a match from the oven.  I rushed on out and walked about the house looking for a good place to enter.

She was a solid Marm but there was lots of places to sneak under her.  So, picking what I figured was the best of the bunch, bout ten paces past the back cellar…and a goodly distance from the kitchen window, I set about.  

Sucklin the last traces of maple from my finger, I dug down ducking under the brick and beam, squirming like a periwinkle, so that I might get all up under there.  Wasn’t too long until I was unable to see what nothin’ but the cuffs of my britches as I look back at my feet.  So I mustered up the candle and struck the match to light up the world.  What a world it was!

I should say now that Whimsies is all sorts of things.  They be little tiny bugs a crawling all about and they be spiders and ants and flies…and all sorts of small critters that we assumes not being nothin’ but bugs and insects.  But there’s one sure difference Whimsies can talk…and when they talk they light up like a sheet oh amber tossed across a cheery fire!  It’s a sight to be seen.

In the candle light, under the manor, a whole new world was liftin’ her skirts to me.  All these little creatures were scurryin’ about--busy with there own business.  Now, they all looked like little bugs to me at the time…but seein’ as I didn’t talk to none of them I can’t be sure…and I sure do bet there were some Whimsies mixed all up in the mess.

So, after I spent some time looking and exploring, really just happy to be under in this new world I spots a whiteness in the candle light.  Right down under where I can spy a crack into the house, where I was stickin’ my fingers through, a see a hole in the earth.  Now, the hole seemed a little strange in hindsight.  It was perfectly round and the white chess figure was just floating there suspended in the blackness…like the blackness was holding it up so’s I could look at it tempting me.  Almost like there was no other environment for me to hafta stuff into my story I’m telling you…strange-like.

So whatta I do.  I just grabs it.  That’s when it gets a bit weird.

Now bein’ as my head was a bit groggy I might get some of the particulars a might wrong but most of this should follow as is.  I woke up with my back leanin’ on the game piece.  That same chess figure was now bout 10 times bigger than I was tall!  Looking straight up I see nothing but black but as I start lookin’ to my sides the world seemed to light up in an eerie blue and green like I was floatin’ under water.  I wasn’t mind you…it’s just the light plays trick on the eyes and everything…bein’ as small as I was seemed so strange:  like weird magical plants and roots and grains of sand and dirt mixin’ about in a not-right way.  All them-such things looked outta place and wonky like I was maybe even deep in the ocean or sumsuch thing.

Now, it didn’t take long for me to start noticing something a terribly lot more ominous.  I wasn’t alone.  Part of the blurry landscape and twistin’ colours was the creatures moving all about.  Thundering loud buzzing flies zipping by, multitudinous centipedes lumbering amongst the ducks and weaves of the swirling new world I found myself felled into.  And there was one of the creatures stalking up to my meticulously slow-like as if sizing up its prey and how it was going to eat it like.

A large black creature with six spindly arms two bulbous eyes and large pinchers jutting from the front of its maw purposefully loomed closer and closer to me until I was up under its now gaping mouth. Its pinchers leaned back as if to get a running start at my head so as to eat me all of a sudden--and not have to worry about chewing and enjoying such a rare juicy morsel such as myself.  Just as I was finishin’ of the tail end of the first grace I could remember from Sunday school its large bulbous backside lit up like it was a crystal torch in a dark starry sky.

‘Excuse me sir.  This is a high traffic intersection.  You are unable to park your obelisk here.’

I was stunned.  The bright glowing behind shut back to black as night again.  All the swirling business busted into my periphery just liken before.  I closed my eyes and shook my head to clear-out the fuzzes and anything else that’d help me with the thinking and the looking that I might have to do after I open my eyes again.  I peaks open one eye again to clearly see the large black creature standing a good size and a half taller than me amidst the blue green bustle of this underworld.

Once again, his behind lit up like an orange bonfire outside a drunken barn-dance illuminatin’ all the pebbles of sand and bits of earth that the hustle and bustle was walking across.

‘Sir.  This is a commute only, non-transport, route.  You can’t park here.  Do you have the requisite permit to carry this obelisk on a commute only route?  Sir, you are holding up traffic it the middle of a busy intersection.’

I guess I wasn’t much on talkin’ and the cat went and ate my tongue and then crapped it out in the back forty.

‘I will take your silence as an admission of your guilt.  You are hereby charged with section 2 paragraph 7 of the Transit and Byway Authority Act.  You must report to the Magistrate immediately and remove this obelisk from the public thoroughfare of be forcibly detained and fined an extra ten whimsics under section 4 paragraph 1 forthwith.’

All I could muster was a few jaws of my mouth, and I think I nodded, as the brisk talking, glowing, ant-like creature winked back into blackness.  I soon followed as I think my mind wasn’t used to being kept in such a small package, what with me being a whole lot bigger normally and all, and fell into unconsciousness.

Now I hadn’t been unconscious before, none that I rightly know, so I don’t know ifen my earsplitting headache was normal or on account that I got all stuffed into a small little version of my-own-self.  Either way I awoke to my world a swingin’ and a bobbin’.  At first I thought I was fallin’ as the arched earthen walls an ceilin’ were shiftin’ as such--all the while it was flashing bright orange and then blue.

‘Course I was bein’ carried by that great big glowin’ ant right next to that giant chess piece.  Now that chess piece mustin’ been three times as big o the ant but it up and went an carried it like it was nothin’ but a half basket oh dander.  When my senses started to come back to my brain I realized the big flashing critter was talkin’ to somebody as we wound down a long twisting corridor that was much smaller than the big clearin’ I dropped into earlier.

‘Well.  You know that isn’t the proper procedure for a class 1 accident.  You need to file the proper paper work.’

‘Dammit Larry!  Why do ya always hafta go by the book.  Ya know there are plenty of other normal Yooneons I could hang out with.’

‘Sam.  It is clearly indicated in the preface of the entrance guide that life and work will coexist adequately if all codes are followed correctly:  not only for you, but all of your acquaintances.’

 ‘Well hoorah for adequately!  Come on Larry!  This is ridiculous!  Why are you dragging that strange looking pink pillow creature and that big old statue to the Suhbcomete.  There not gonna give two shakes about some traffic infraction.’

‘I beg to differ.  It clearly states in section 4….’

‘Shut up!  You gotta be kidding Larry!  We’re supposed to be half way around the Whimsicanna right now mouth deep in honey and knee deep in…’

‘Watch you language!  We’re in public.’

‘That’s what I mean Larry.  You gotta live a little.  Ditch this flesh bag, store the statue, and lets get going.’

Now, I wasn’t itching to get in the middle of the conversation so I stays as still as I could watching the dark ceiling flash by with little shadowy imprints of my silhouette flashin’ every couple seconds as the beasts talked back and froe.

But it didn’t take long until the ceilin’ started getting’ higher and higher like we were entering some grand chamber.  An a strange palpable sound started washin’ over my body like warm summer breeze.   I felt it before I heard it…ifn that makes any sense…not sure it does.  But this sound was like a church choir practicing in a dance hall, filled with a bunch of people, while you have cotton in your ears.  It was soothin’, present, yet away…and you couldn’t quite make out what it was sayin’.

‘Your just gonna get yelled at Larry.’

‘Sam.  Let me do my job.  You are a Venndohr.  You don’t know the proper ways of the Yooneons.  Article 34 demands I present myself in this fashion while dealing with any portion of section 4.’

‘Well, have fun with that.  I’m gonna wait by the spinward gate so that I don’t get splattered with your problems.’

We didn’t move much further and as Larry stopped talking to his other Whimsie friend, the orange light disappeared again an I was washed over with the murky blue green of the underworld I was a visitin’.  The choral sound grew stronger and I took a peak over the head of that there big ant, Larry, and spotted a mess oh stone heads all buried twixt and tween rock an plants and sand.  The big chamber continued to play tricks with my mind as the colours swirled like I was looking through a glass of water pointed at the sky.

Now them there half buried heads wasn’t just statues.  As my eyes started adjusting to the murky blue and greens I started a noticin’ them shiftin side to side like they was wisperin’ to each other.  Every once in a while an eye would open and look about the room and then close again as if it had lost interest.   Some heads were sittin’ upright like they was loungin’ on a beach while other was crooked sideways like they was puzzlin’ out a hard fact-o-life.  Now that I look back at it…it seems they was probably doin’ more than I thought.

Larry waited patiently.  I could see nobody else was in the huge room.  The light didn’t quite reach the walls on the farest sides of the chamber so as to make it look like we were in a world all to ourselfs.  It was a might disconcertin’.  Then, slowly, like a growing wave on the horizon the ambient sounds started loudening.  Then there movin’ heads started to come into focus--except in your ears instead of your eyes.  As they began to talk the words sounded like they were a million different voices not quite all in sync with the timin’ of what was happening.

‘State you case Yooneon 45792………two…….two……two.’

Larry then made a strange clicking sound that I’m a guessin’ was supposed to clear his throat…or however them there creatures managed to speak.

‘Thank-you Suhbcomete.   This creature is responsible for an infraction of section 2, paragraph 7, section 4, paragraph 4, 5, and 8.  As per article 34 and 17 I am presenting the defendant without direct authority from the Magistrate.’

‘Affirmative Yooneon 45792.  Stand by for judgement……ment………ment……ment.’

Now Larry seemed pretty calm ‘bout the whole thing.  But he wasn’t the one bein’ judged on…and he probable knew what he was a getting’ judged; whereas, I wasn’t so sure.  So I started a scurryin’ as best I could to get off the back o the big ant and drop down to face my accusers.

“Whoa, woe, woes,”  I says.   “What ya be talkin’ about!  I didn’t do nothin but fall down a blasted hole looking for some such playin’ piece so my Pa don’t skin the back right off my side!”

Ifin I could ever say that an ant ever looked concerned…it was then.  He looked at me with his big towerin’ eyes and then swished two of his spindly arms back and froe like he was desperately callin’ the play at home base.

The whole room took on a tumultuous shade of red!  Them there heads stopped idlin’ and whisperin and looked at me with hatred in them there eyes!  Every one o them stared at me like I was a brazen mouse saunterin’ through a cat’s kitchen.

“uh.”  I explained.

‘Don’t say anything while the Suhbcomete is session.’  Larry whispered in a tense strained voice.

The voices all seemed to sync up closer together and flicker with red and deep purple flashes as it directed its choral discussion to me.

‘You are a Nerworlder.  You have no place here.  Where did you come from?  Yooneon 45792, where did you discover this Nerworlder?

‘Intersection 10-43-67809.’  Larry stated much quieter than before.

‘The Ringbreach…….each……..each…….each.’

The red in the air stayed.  But a new orangey colour started a drifin’ in between and the voices started their dissonance once again makin’ it sound like the echo of a chorus in an empty barn.

‘The Ringbreach is a forbidden portal.  The Nerworlders built over the Ringbreach despite our best efforts.  They used mystical boards from the Otherworld to circumvent our disapproval.   This must be one of the Nerworlders responsible.  Yooneon, take this Nerworlder to the Severbreach so that it might go to the Nerworld.’

There was a bit o a dramatic pause as all of the angry heads turned a shade less frightenin’.  They seemed to be collectin’ some manner o which to talk to me.  Now, them colours and stares had taken a mighty scare outta of me so I was none to in-a-hurry to talk to those movin’ heads anytime soon.

‘Nerworlder.  Please submit to your people.  We need the Ringbreach to be clear from obstruction.  It is one of the sources of our livelihoods…it allows us to prosper in peace.  We are the Whimsies.  We need the magic that flows from the heavens to survive.  The Ringbreach allows us to feed off of the heavenly magic and live in harmony with the rest of nature.  The blockage over the Ringbreach was built with the spark of the old world that has the power to stop our magic and suppresses us further into the earth…and if our portals continue to be closed we will surely perish.

Please go forth as spread the word of our cause.’

“I aint rightly sure I can as do what you say.  But I promise I will rightly try if you get me back up to my home.”

The red and orange disappeared from the murky air and was once again replaced with the blue and green.  All them heads let the tension fall from their stiff faces and went back to whisperin’ and twitchin’ like I had seen them doin’ before.  Larry, that big ol ant, scooped me back up and set me on his back and set out to find his friend Sam.

Sam, it seemed, was a big ol ladybug all speckles and round, now that I finally got a look at him.  He lit up in the same manner every time he spoke except his light was polka-dotted srpayin’ more of a pattern on the walls we passed by when talkin’.  He didn’t talk to me an he seemed some angry with Larry.

‘Severbreach!  That’s right back from where we came from!  We wasted the whole day.  Come on Larry.  You. Are. Killing.  Me.  Im gonna go find Phil and make this day worth while.  Enjoy your subsections and paragraphs.'

Larry didn’t seem to mind much.  I get the feelin’ he liked doin’ his job more than talkin’ with Sam anyhow.  We didn’t really talk much except for a brief goodbye as he showed my the way home.  A small little hole, pitch black, with nothin’ but a floating mushroom sittin’ on a pillow of nothingness.  Worked pretty much the same way…I took a grab for the tiny floating mushroom and I found myself sittin’ down prone on a grassy hill surrounded by a reddish pack o toadstools.

Took me a bit o time to figure I was about ten minutes from home off on the other side of the creek…and unfortunately it was quite dark as I figured it was well past suppertime.

Sure enough.  I came home to a light on the porch a sternly cross Pa and a worry torn Ma fidgeting her hands up an down her untied apron.  

Now it didn’t get none to better from there.  As I had left the game sets strewn upon the floor, a fingerprint in the maple, was a blackened head-to-toe with dirt, and was still missin’ the piece o chess board that Pappy used to play the Reverend with.

Believe it or not, the stories of the Whimsies didn’t put my folks minds at ease about the whole situation.  But, that spark in that old house insured that my summers where filled with excitement and magic…and allowed me many a  adventure until that sad day when I stopped being able to visit my Whimsie friends in their ownself home…when I was unable to use the portals.

I’m a guessin’ that just too many portals were bein’ a built and filled and over time they just started to fade away.


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## Wild Gazebo (Mar 14, 2012)

Argg.  I thought I wasn't going to get it posted.  Good Luck!

I didn't sbock it...sorry.  I can't edit as per the rules.


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## Hellefire (Mar 14, 2012)

Good job not editing it - some of us do that as a knee jerk reaction then suddenly find ourselves disqualified! Actually I havent, but fully understand it. And it doesnt need to be in an sblock really, especially if you story is posted last.

Good job getting it in during the last 2 minutes 

Helle


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## Piratecat (Mar 15, 2012)

No need to sblock it if your opponent has already posted. Even then, sblocking isn't mandatory, just convenient. 

Good job getting them in on time!


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## Wild Gazebo (Mar 15, 2012)

Piratecat said:


> No need to sblock it if your opponent has already posted. Even then, sblocking isn't mandatory, just convenient.
> 
> Good job getting them in on time!




Yeah, I got a curveball yesderday.  I just barely managed to get what I had posted.


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## Piratecat (Mar 15, 2012)

I would always, always rather have an opponent post what they have instead of just defaulting. That's happened to me in the past, and it's so frustrating to have written a story and not have anything else posted at all. I have so much respect for folks who bust their butt to meet the deadline. 

So, in other words, thank you.


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## UselessTriviaMan (Mar 15, 2012)

*Ceramic DM R1 M5 entry*

*The Caretaker's Gift*

[sblock]
We always figured that Digger would die ‘cuz he did something dumb.

Well, we all thought he’d get caught stealing from one of the market vendors or something. He’s way slower than the other kids, but he can’t help that he’s a dwarf. His legs are just too short. He’s not old enough to have a beard yet, but he does have a couple of big black whiskers sticking out of his chin now. He’s awful proud of them.

Anyway, Digger’s not too bright. Everybody started calling him Digger ‘cuz when he first showed up in the marketplace, he was always making holes. The rest of us would make fun of him for getting so dirty, but he didn’t care. He’d just keep digging, using this old trowel he pulled out of the trash someplace, and the only thing that’d make him stop was when the guards’d finally notice and chase him off for making potholes. 

I always tried to look out for the little guy. I mean, sometimes he’d get so caught up in his digging that the guards would bop him with the back ends of their spears before he’d run away. I felt bad for him. See, I’m way smarter than him. And I’m the fastest runner out of all the market kids too, ever since Mathias got himself killed for trying a snatch-and-run at the silversmith’s stall. Mathias was the fastest, but he couldn’t run faster than a crossbow bolt. He was dumb, but Digger was even dumber. Digger didn’t know the best ways to beg for coppers, or how to lift some sucker’s purse, and with those short legs he wasn’t fast enough to pull a snatch-and-run on his own. So I watched out for him sometimes. I’m smart. I know the best places to get food. I can beg better than pretty much anybody. And I know which guards in the market’ll keep chasing you, and which ones will just shoot you. Digger didn’t know any of that stuff, so I kept an eye out for him. I shared my food with him sometimes, but then I’d get mad when he’d go and share it too. He was like that.

I caught Digger a couple of times, giving food to old Suraiym. He was this toothless old beggar with his head all wrapped up, and he talked with this really weird accent. Suraiym was always sitting in the market shade, smiling and just watching people go by, with his dirty brass coin cup sitting in front of him. He was harmless enough, but I’d never really talked to him much. But after I busted Digger passing Suraiym some of the food I’d given him, I quit sharing for a while. It didn’t last long though, ‘cuz Digger is dumb. Like I said, he wouldn’t last long in the market if I didn’t watch out for him.

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

The market is big. Like, huge. It’s really called the Market District of Freehaven, but we just call it home. We stay there ‘cuz that’s where the food is, but sometimes we go see other places in the city. Digger’s favorite place to go was the Temple District. He would get all excited looking at the fancy temple buildings. He really liked it when he could actually touch the buildings. He’d spend a long time running his hands over the fancy stone carvings and stuff. Somebody would usually chase us off though, after a while. I don’t know why – it’s not like we could steal any of it.

There were lots and lots of temples. A couple would even let us come inside, like the Temple of the White Lily (they worship Andur the Creator), but most of ‘em were totally off-limits to street kids like us. Out of all of ‘em, the coolest looking temple was Huntsman’s Hall. You couldn’t see it from the street, ‘cuz of this big thick hedge that totally surrounded the place. The one way through that hedge was the Thorny Gate, and the only way you could even see the temple building was if you got high enough to look over the top of the hedge. 

And the one place we could do that was on the upper balcony of the White Lily. I mean sure, we usually had to sit and listen to Brahmin Guptira preach for a while before we could go up there, but sometimes we got to eat rice cakes while he talked. He was always trying to convert us like that. But it was totally worth it.

Anyway, Digger and me would go up and sit on the balcony and look across the street at the Huntsman’s Hall. It was old, and green and black moss filled in the cracks. But the carvings on that temple were just so _cool._ We couldn’t see them all that well from so far away, but there were people and animals and plants and stuff we couldn’t even figure out carved all over the building. It was the kinda stuff that Digger just went nuts for, and that kid loved staring at that building. 

We were up there on the balcony again today. It was just starting to get dark, and like most days, I’d gotten bored with looking at the building way before Digger did. I was watching the people down on the street and thinking about asking Guptira for more rice cakes when I spotted something weird down there.

Three Huntsmen were dragging old Suraiym between ‘em, and they were headed towards the Thorny Gate. I said a word that woulda gotten me chewed out big-time if the Brahmin had heard me, and Digger looked at me in surprise. I didn’t say nothing else though, and when he looked where I was looking and saw what I saw, he said it too.

“We gotta help him!” Digger pleaded.

I was kinda worried. Huntsmen always wore these big black cloaks with green ivy ‘n stuff on them, and they were a lot scarier than most temple guards. You couldn’t ever see their faces really, ‘cuz they wore those big helms with deer antlers on ‘em. But they were really good at seeing _you_, and they’d just as soon stick you with a spear as look at you. Especially if you were someplace you weren’t supposed to be. And if we tried to help Suraiym, they’d probably end up sticking us with those spears. I knew Digger was scared, but I also saw the look on his face. We were gonna have to help his friend.

It was too bad Guptira wasn’t a fighting kind of cleric, but Andur is all about peace and stuff. None of his clerics fight if they can help it. They don’t even wear armor. So it was pretty much gonna be up to us, but there wasn’t much we could do from up on that balcony. Even if we ran the whole way, we never woulda got to them before they got inside the gate. We watched the Huntsmen drag Suraiym through the Thorny Gate, and then I grabbed Digger’s arm and made him look me in the eye.

“We’re gonna go get him out of there, Digger.” I just didn’t know how we were gonna _do_ it.

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

We ran the whole way down to the street and kept going. I was heading for the corner, to get out of sight of the Huntsmen standing at the gate. Maybe we could find some other way through the hedge. I thought Digger was still right behind me, but when I looked back he was running as fast as he could, straight for the Thorny Gate. I hurried and grabbed him just before he threw himself at the guards.

“YOU LET MY FRIEND GO!” he screeched.

At first the Huntsmen were ready to stick us with their spears, but for some reason they backed off a little. “You saw them bring in that man?” the shorter one asked.

All of a sudden I got really scared. There was something about the way he said the words that had my feet telling me to run away _right now._

One of the Huntsmen started speaking really weird words._ “Ast tasarak sinularan kyrnaw…”_

I let go of Digger and tried to run. I only made it a coupla steps…

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

I woke up with my cheek pressed against a cold, musty stone floor. I sat up, wiped my face and tried to figure out what was going on. Digger was lying next to me, still passed out, and I remembered it all. I looked around. The room had stone walls, like what I figured a dungeon would look like. Nobody else was in there with us, so I bumped Digger with my foot to wake him up.

As he sat up, the door opened and a lady came in. She was in this dark green dress that went all the way to the floor so you couldn’t see her feet, and she kinda glided instead of walked. But that wasn’t the weird part. The antlers sticking out of her head were way weirder than the way she walked. Me and Digger both scooted away from her on our butts until we were up against the back wall, but she just stopped and smiled at us.

In the market, Fat Grunda sells sweet pastries. Sometimes at sundown, she would let us have the old, stale sweets she couldn’t sell anymore. She is the ugliest old lady I’ve ever seen, but when she smiles it makes her kinda pretty. The antler lady was beautiful, but when she smiled it didn’t make her pretty. It made her look even scarier, somehow.

She just stood there staring at us for a little bit. Digger made a little scared noise next to me, and then she finally said, “You stated that the Suraiym is your friend. Tell me about him, and tell me true. If you will do this for me, I’ll let you go.”

I knew Digger was scared. He just stared at her with his eyes open real wide and shook his head a little. Me, I wasn’t scared. But I was pretty sure she wasn’t gonna just let us go, no matter what we told her about the old guy, so I didn’t say nothin’ either.

She just stood there, real still, for a minute. Then she cocked an eyebrow and said, “Do you urchins know of the Wild Hunt?”

We didn’t.

Then she started preaching at us, but it wasn’t anything like Brahmin Guptira’s sweet-talk about peace and life and good stuff. She just about scared us out of our pants, talking about the Huntsmen and their hounds and the Master of the Hunt, and how they never, ever failed to catch whatever they were hunting. Even people.

While she was talking, I was thinking. After she’d been at it a while, I finally couldn’t hold it in any more and asked, “Does this mean you’re gonna hunt Suraiym?”

She looked mad that I’d interrupted her, but she answered. “Perhaps. Do you know why the Suraiym was allowed to be in the marketplace unprotected?”

The Suraiym? I thought that was just his name, but the way she said it he sounded all important. But he was always just a beggar.

We didn’t say anything, but she musta figured out we didn’t know what she was talking about. Her mouth scrunched up like she’d just stepped in horse poop, and she turned around and walked out without saying anything else. The door slammed shut, and we heard the click of a lock. 
Digger looked at me. “What are we gonna do?”

I looked around. There were a couple barrels in the back of the room, and about a dozen big flour bags stacked next to them. Nothing we could use there. I checked my pockets. I still had my knife, but it was way too small to use like a weapon.

We were stuck in a storeroom, but it might as well have been a jail cell. There wasn’t anything we could do.

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

We were in there for several hours. I was trying to open barrels to see if there was anything in ‘em we could use, but my little knife wasn’t very good for that kinda stuff. It took me a really long time to even get the first one open, but when I finally did it was full of apples. I looked up to tell Digger the good news, and I saw he was just being Digger again. He had his nose almost touching the wall, and he was using his old trowel to dig at a crack he’d found. I already had a big mouthful of apple, and I tried to chew fast so I could tell him what I found.

But before I could swallow, he did something with the trowel and part of the wall opened up. Digger fell backwards on his butt with a squeak and scooted away from the black hole as fast as he could.

Nothing came out at us, and after staring for a few seconds I went over to take a look. It wasn’t very wide, but it was tall enough for me to walk through without hitting my head. Digger waited to see if I was gonna get eaten by something, but then he came over too.

I couldn’t see anything in there. I looked back at the one torch behind us on the wall, but it was too high to reach without something to stand on. I was headed for the barrels when Digger said, “I can see in there. I don’t need the torch.”

I looked at him. I had forgot all about how dwarves can see good in the dark. “Do you think we can get out that way?”

He nodded and held out his hand. I took a big breath and put my hand in his.

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

The tunnel wasn’t too bad, except there were a lot of cobwebs. Digger’s a lot shorter than me, so even though he was going first I kept getting hit in the face with them. The tunnel had a lot of twists and turns, and every once in a while we could see little bits of light where there were peepholes in the walls. Most of ‘em were too high for us to reach, so we just kept going. The tunnel ended at a stone ladder and we climbed up as quiet as we could. I can be super quiet when I want to be.

At the top of the ladder Digger whispered, “There’s a bunch of different ways to go from here. Where should we go?”

“I dunno. I can’t see, so you pick.”

He took a few seconds to think about it, and we were off again. We didn’t get very far before I spotted another peephole, but this one was low enough that even Digger could look through. I stopped to take a peek.

I looked out into a room that musta been a library. I’ve never seen one before, but it had books all over the walls, so that had to be what it was. I clapped a hand over Digger’s mouth when I saw there were people in there.  A gnome wearing weird clothes was standing in front of a big, fancy desk. I got kinda scared though when I realized he was talking to the antler lady.

“I assure you, my lady, that it will be ready in time.”

“It had better be. You are being well paid for your services, and if your contraption isn’t ready it will cost you much more than mere gold.”

The gnome looked a little nervous and offended all at once. “My armillary sphere is much more than a contraption, my lady. It _will_ trap the Suraiym’s power after you kill him, preventing it from traveling to the next chosen Caretaker.”

She looked bored, like this was something she’d heard a lot. “Then I’ll not keep you any longer. Finish your masterpiece. You have until midnight.”

I wasn’t scared before. Well, okay, I was a little scared of the antler lady before. But now she scared me _bad._ All I wanted to do was get out of there and never, ever even _look_ at this place again.

But Digger was right there with me, and he’d heard everything too. I took my hand off his mouth and we snuck away as quiet as we could. He led me a ways down the tunnel before he stopped and whispered, “She’s gonna kill the Suraiym. We gotta save him.”

How could Digger be braver than me? That didn’t seem right somehow. “We gotta find a way out of here first. We can’t rescue anybody if we don’t know how to get out.”

Digger just squeezed my hand with his and led me away into the darkness.

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

We explored for a really long time before we finally found another way out. The secret door opened up behind a big statue of a guy who looked like one of the Huntsmen, except he wasn’t wearing a cloak or even a shirt. He was holding this fancy spear like he was about to stab somebody with it.

The statue was at the end of a short hallway, and there was nobody in sight. We crept out as quiet as we could, and I peeked around the corner just ahead.

There was a long hallway. The wall I could see was covered in this huge painting, and now I knew what I saw there was the Wild Hunt. There were all these hunters on horses, and big dogs and wolves, and at the very back there was the Master of the Hunt with his antlers and his helmet and... then I realized the statue behind me was him, too.

I ducked back when two Huntsmen came walking around a corner way down the hall, but they didn’t spot me. I heard their footsteps though, and they went off down some other hallway. I peeked again, and realized they had come from outside. There was an open doorway, and I could just barely hear the buzzing noises of cicadas coming from that way.

I waved at Digger, and we started towards the way out. We were almost there when he grabbed my hand and turned me around.

“We hafta save him,” he whispered.

I almost cried. “Digger, we gotta get out of here! I don’t want that hunt to chase after US!”

Digger looked like he was about to cry too. “Then you go without me. I gotta help him.” He stuck out his bottom lip.

I almost left him there. Almost.

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

We had to dodge the guards one other time, but it didn’t take long to find where everybody was at. They were all in the main temple room, and we found ‘em by following the sound of the chanting.

There were a whole lot of Huntsmen in there, all kneeling on the floor. But they all had their helmets off, and I was a little surprised to see that their antlers were just part of the helmets. Underneath, they were all just people.

But the antler lady didn’t have a helmet. She was standing up in front, and I was a little embarrassed to see that she wasn’t wearing any clothes at all. But she was holding up a fancy knife, and she was standing behind an altar. And tied down on the altar was Suraiym.
Off to one side, the gnome was standing next to his contraption. He did something to it, and the rings started spinning by themselves. He looked over at the antler lady and nodded his head.


_And then she stabbed Suraiym in the chest._


Everything went really fast after that. There was this big flash of light, and it zapped from the altar to the machine. It got stuck there inside the rings, shining as bright as the sun.

And suddenly I realized Digger wasn’t standing next to me anymore. Somehow he was running as fast as he could toward the antler lady and Suraiym, and he had that old trowel in his hand. But just before he reached the altar, he turned and ran towards the machine. The gnome tried to grab him, but Digger dodged him and jumped up at the machine…

And he jammed his trowel in between the rings.

There was this awful screech of metal that only lasted for a second. It happened really fast, but I thought I saw the ball of light jump free and slam into Digger. Then the machine broke with a big bang and pieces of it went flying all over the place, and one of ‘em musta hit the gnome ‘cuz he got knocked almost all the way across the room.

The antler lady didn’t get hit though, and she was _mad._ Some of the Huntsmen were starting to head for Digger, but she was faster than any of ‘em. She was screaming all the way over to where Digger was layin’ on the floor. She still had the knife in her hand, and Suraiym’s blood was still on it. And then, before he could even get up, she used that same knife on my friend Digger.

The next thing I knew, I was running as fast as I could out the door. Suraiym was dead and so was Digger and I didn’t want to be next and there were guards chasing after me and I ran and ran and ran, and then there was the Thorny Gate and then somehow I was outside and there was Brahmin Guptira across the street and then it felt like I was flying and everything faded to a white nothing…

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

When I awoke, I could smell the unmistakably distinct fragrance of white Andurian lilies even before I opened my eyes. A soft burbling of running water was near at hand, but its music couldn’t entirely mask the sounds of the city beyond the walls of the temple.

I opened my eyes to a new day’s dawn. Brahmin Guptira was there at my side, and he offered me a silent, sad smile. No explanations were necessary. Just as the two thousand, eight hundred fifty-seven Suraiyms had been before me, I knew that I would be the new Suraiym for the rest of my days. The Suraiym – the Caretaker of Andur’s Wisdom – was his Chosen, the Keeper of his Secrets, his voice in this mortal world. And though Digger had only held that gift for the briefest of moments, his place at Andur’s side in the Seven Heavens was now assured.

The Mistress of the Hunt had been denied in her profane attempt to harness and corrupt the power of the Suraiym, and I knew instinctively that her own deity would be profoundly displeased by her actions. The Hunt does not slaughter helpless victims upon an altar; the hunt is in itself their holiest of services. She might not pay for her crimes in this world, but pay she eventually would nonetheless.

Guptira assisted me in dressing, reverently wrapping my head in its pristine white dastar before helping me into my robes. I briefly considered the day ahead. The two thousand, eight hundred fifty-seventh Suraiym had relished the feel of the earth between his fingers, and his predecessor cherished watching the people in the city market. I hadn’t yet decided what my own preferred pastime would be, but I knew what this particular day would bring.

I bowed to the honorable Brahmin and took my leave of him. As I walked to the marketplace, I smiled and nodded in greeting to all I met on the streets. Once in the market I found a good spot, hitched up my robes, and sat down in the dirt.

With a smile, I pulled a trowel from my pocket and began digging.
[/sblock]
3,996 words


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## Rune (Mar 15, 2012)

[MENTION=2810]Rodrigo Istalindir[/MENTION]:

That was a fun story you produced.  I couldn't help but see it as black-and-white, on a big screen.  With Ed Wood-style special effects.  Only problem, of course, was that the plot was too good to be a B-movie!

As for commentary on my own, I will let the piece speak for itself, except to post the _really_ brief version:

Travel the Mindway.
Seek, Shaman: what Woldshanks learns,
the Wormmammal _is_.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 15, 2012)

*Round 1, Match 5: maxfieldjadenfox vs. UselessTriviaMan*

Let Sleeping Gods Lie

Lahore, Pakistan, 1865

Lala Balhumal Lahuri read the signs. [http://www.aip.org/history/cosmology/tools/images-tools/nakedeyes-armillary-sphere.jpg]
The elderly astrologer shifted the outer rings on his armillary sphere, making sure that they aligned properly with the inner rings. He squinted out the window of the observatory at the night sky.

"It can't be," he said, and recalibrated the sphere again. And again. And again, he got the same results. Finally, after several hours of recalibrations, punctuated by long moments staring out the window at the odd pattern of stars and trying to convince himself that he was wrong, he took off his shoes and sat on the floor in full lotus position. 

"Pashupati, Lord of Animals,” he whispered, "I beg of you, send help. Pashupati, Lord of Souls, hear my prayer."

~

Pashupati, the Horned God of the Indus valley, opened his eyes.  He was resting quietly in the ruins of Harappa, the city which had collapsed during his battle with Ravana, the Devil. It had been buried for 6000 years, but today was the momentous day when Gupta, a young builder, who was helping to construct a railway, realized that the rubble in the track's path was more than just rubble. Today was the momentous day when, 120 miles to the south, an astrologer in the court of Jagatijit Singh Bahadur called his name in prayer. It was a prayer no one had spoken in a millennia. 

The God stood and stretched, his antlers spreading above him like the branches of a long dead tree. He was naked but for the torc around his neck, and his long grey hair fell around his shoulders like a mantle.

"Who dares to speak my name?" he thundered. He looked around. Much had changed while he slept. The once thriving city had been reduced to nothing, his subjects killed or scattered. He had been forgotten, and a God forgotten was a dead God. Once his domain had stretched from the Himalayan foothills in the north to Gujarat in the south and east and Baluchistan in the west. Once his name, "Lord of Animals" had grown so powerful as to mean "Lord of Souls." But then a new God, Shiva, took his place. His name ceased to be called and he slept, undisturbed.

"Who entreats me with the old prayer?"  

~
Gupta shivered and looked up at the sky. It was cloudless. Where then was the sound of thunder coming from? He picked up the brick, baked hard and covered with strange symbols that might be writing, and a small soapstone carving that seemed to call to him from the debris. Gupta thought of Hiran, the girl he hoped to marry. She had met him on the road that morning, and had said something very strange to him.

"Gupta, today you will find something. A gift, for me. You will recognize it when you see it. Bring it with you tonight, and I will make you curry for dinner."  She smiled up at him, looking through her thick eyelashes. 

She was beautiful, he thought, and had a mystical way about her. She could read the stars better than the astrologers. If she said something was going to happen, it usually did.  He slipped the small soapstone carving into his pocket. Later, when he had time to look at it, he saw that it was a man with antlers, his torso wound about with a serpent. The image unsettled him, but somehow he knew it would gain him favor with Hiran. 

He took the brick to his foreman, a burly Brit with a luxurious moustache. 

"Sahib," he said, "I have found something." The foreman took the brick and turned it over, his eyes widening as he surveyed the odd writing carved into the baked surface. He looked up to see the crew throwing the rubble aside, not realizing its value.

"Stop, you blighters!" he yelled at the workers. They stopped, stunned. "Put down your shovels. We're quitting for the day. Maybe longer." Amidst general grumbling, the crew did as they were told and made their way back to the wagons.

"What is it, Sahib?" Gupta asked. "Is it important?"

"Yes, Gupta," said the foreman. "I think we've found the lost city that Charles Masson wrote about."

Gupta nodded, although he had no idea who Charles Masson was.

~ 

Lala heard the God's voice as a rumbling inside of his head. At first, he thought he might be imagining it because he wanted so badly for it to be true, but then, when the God spoke again, he replied,

"I am your humble servant. I would not disturb you but at the greatest need. Ravana arises."

"Ravana," the God laughed, 'I dispatched Ravana long ages ago."

"The stars say he is back, Lord of Souls. They say he will devour the world. Shiva is too busy playing to be of any use. Kali's allegiance is questionable. There was no one I could call on but you."

"How did you come to know my prayer? A prayer that was forgotten?" 

"Not forgotten by all my Lord. My mother's mother was a priestess to you. She taught me your name, but she told me that you would not hear unless I was in the most dire need, and unless I said the old words of entreaty. I am in dire need, oh great Lord. The Rakasha are stirring in an ancient temple not far from here. The stars say Ravana will rise tonight."

"If what you say is true," said the voice in Lala's head, "I do not have much time. Ravana's army of demons is always ready. My followers are not so well organized.”

"Surly the animals will come when you call? You are their master."

"The animals will come, but they will not be enough to defeat Ravana."

Lala sighed. How could this God who had so little faith in himself save the world? The connection between him and Pashupati suddenly snapped. Had the God heard his doubt?

"Lala Balhumal Lahuri," said a voice in his ear. He turned to see the Lord of Souls, standing before him. 

"Show me the signs," he said.

When the God was satisfied that the omens were as Lala had told him, Pashupati rose to his full height. Although he was elderly, he seemed strong and vital, even after centuries of neglect. 

"Take me to the temple. We will make ready."
"I have armor, my Lord. And weapons." Lala said, surveying the God's nakedness. "Ravana will have armor."

The God laughed.

"I have a weapon that Ravana won't be expecting. I need no armor." 

Lala put on his white robe and turban as a sign of respect for the old God, and what was to come. Then he led him down the winding staircase of his tower to the path that would take them to the temple, and the site of the battle for the world.

~

Hiran took the soapstone carving from Gupta's hand.

"Where did you find this?" she asked, her eyes glowing. In fact, all of her was glowing. Gupta stepped back as Hiran seemed to burst into flames, her body engulfed in a nimbus of light. [http://cbsmp3.files.wordpress.com/2...christine-taylor_610w.jpg?w=405&h=285&crop=1] 

He thought he saw - but no it couldn't be - antlers sprouting from her head - and then she was gone in a spiral of fire. Gupta wept.

~

The temple was at war with itself. Dedicated both to Shiva and Ravana, in a vain attempt to placate both the God and the Devil, it had done neither. It was a haunted place, a place of spirits. When Lala and Pashupati came into the temple grounds, Pashupati stopped.

"What has become of my temple?" he asked. He walked around the building, touching it and then pulling his hand away as if the building had burned him.

"It is as it always was," Lala said.

"No. Before I slept, this temple was dedicated to me. It was a place of peace and harmony. Look at it now." 

As Pashupati spoke, a Rakasha demon burst from one of the statues. [http://www.jadedragon.com/graphics/BanteaySrei2.jpg] 

As its face exploded outwards, laughter rang through the temple complex.
Ravana appeared near the broken statue. He looked exactly the same as the last time he had faced Pashupati. He had not aged. He looked vital. Dangerous.

"You seek your death, old God?" 

Pashupati smiled. 

"I slept for six thousand years. What is death to me?"

Lala, who was standing as if frozen in the center of the temple complex made a move toward Pashupati's side, and suddenly found himself seated in a protected corner of the temple. He could see and hear what was transpiring, but found himself quite unable to move.

"Be still," said Pashupati's voice in his ear. "No need for you to die."

"But I would serve you, my lord," Lala said through unmoving lips.

"You served me by calling me, and you will serve me again. Be still and witness." 

The God and the Devil crashed together. The ghostly forms of the Rakasha swirled around them. A great tumult echoed around the temple as deer and goats, lions and dogs, geese and elephants, all kinds of animals swarmed in to the temple yard, snarling and bleating, trumpeting and roaring. They attacked the Rakasha with fierce swiftness, but the Rakasha were venomous and cruel.

Lala wished he could cover his eyes, but his hands remained clasped in his lap, his neck canted at an uncomfortable angle.[http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5175/5461829865_557b6d6034_z.jpg]  His eyes were fixed open to witness the fight, and he feared that Pashupati was losing.

"Ridiculous old God," said Ravana, "while you slept, I grew an army of followers who razed your temple and built a new one for me and your selfish son Shiva. These are the wages you pay for destroying your city as you tried to destroy me. You were foolish to believe that I, Ravana, Devil Lord, could be so easily vanquished. While you slept, I planned and built."

In the midst of the temple yard, in the very center of the battle that was being fought by the animals and the Rakasha demons, a flame grew. It swirled wide and encompassed the fight. When the flames subsided, the Rakasha were gone, and the animals circled about Hiran.

"At last," Pashupati cried. Hiran ran to him and together, they faced Ravana. Ravana's face crumpled. 

"What trickery is this?" he said, looking frantically for his demon hoard. "What have you done with my Rakasha?"

Hiran looked up, and raised her hands. Ash was falling from the sky like snow. 

"How can this be? You slept! You slept!" Ravana frantically swept at the ash.

Pashupati laughed.

"And while I slept, I dreamed. I dreamed a daughter."

Hiran smiled at the Devil, looking for all the world like her father.

“A daughter of fire as well as flesh,” she said. The ash fell thicker now, and Ravana, Lord of Devils, was cloaked in it. As the ash fell, it became solid, and soon, Ravana appeared to be just another one of the temple statues.

Pashupati brought a mighty fist down on his head and he shattered into a million pieces.

Lala Balhumal Lahuri, able to move once more, looked up at the sky. The evil constellation was gone. Pashupati and his daughter, Hiran, walked toward him. 

"You have accomplished your task well, Lala Balhumal Lahuri," said Pashupati. 
"Now I have a new task for you."

"Anything my Lord."

"Rebuild my temple." Hiran touched her father's arm. 

"I know a good builder," she said. "His name is Gupta."

"Teach people my name," said the old God. "I am tired of sleeping. I am  awake now."


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 15, 2012)

I was sooo excited that I figured out how to put in the links, and damned if three of them don't work.  Looking forward to reading everyone's stories now that I finished mine!


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## Gulla (Mar 15, 2012)

Thanks to all of you for writing exciting stories. Now if I could also find time to both read them properly and comment...

A piece of advice PirateCat spread around a few of the earlier incarnations:

Find (or start) a "practice thread" somewhere on the forum and test-post your entry there. Then you can edit and adjust formating and links and s-blocks and stuff to your heart's content, and then just finish up by copying and pasting it in this thread.

I think it was good advice, and thought it wouldn't harm to repeat it.

And still good luck to all of you! (The really lucky ones are us, the readers  )


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## steeldragons (Mar 15, 2012)

*Steel Dragon's Judgement of Roudn I: Match 3*

Round I: Match 3
Piratecat's _Bullheaded_
vs.
Deuce Traveler's _Acts of Murder

_The retelling/-envisioning of mythic tales and characters vs. a curious and enticing story of fantasy characters and the nature of magical use. Again, the judges are faced with an impossible choice. You guys are definitely "bringin' it!" Makes me feel like I should cancel my own Story Hour! lol. Make room for those who really deserve it!

As Gulla rightly commented, the readers are are the_ real _winners here.

On to the sorely difficult judgement...

1) Writing Skill & Style: You both are exceptional writers, capable of evoking fantastical tales_,_ imagery, and realistic believable characters...even as wizards and semi-divine "persons". Humor, curiosity, sympathy and more are all brought out of the reader on both occasions.

_Bullheaded's_ humor and use of a "modern day" voice with "yester-year" characters is both entertaining and refreshing.

_Murder's_ use of fantasy (specifically D&D) tropes and re-use/explaining/examination of them is equally so.

For the purposes of spelling, grammar, and evocative use of language seems to be paralleled.

To Deuce Traveler I would say, "Don't be afraid to make a new sentence." The repeated use of "and" seemed both excessive "and" unnecessary in several places. Make a new sentence instead of wrapping all of a single character's actions into one. If they aren't doing it in the same moment then it's (should be) a new sentence "and" it wasn't in a couple of places.
Though I appreciated the consistency of voice from Centuro's pov.

_Murder_ also seemed to have an editorial mistake or typo in a couple of places. 

For_ Bullheaded_, switching actions/POV's from one character to the next seems to demand a new paragraph. I don't always do it, myself. Though,  I know I should. Both pieces have [minor] trouble with this, but neither is overly egregious.

Characterization of both was beautifully constructed. Centuro's sense of the dutiful soldier played against the haphazard distracted Gallindor was thorough and immediately believable. Asterion's brash rude "bullheaded" manner against Ant's purpose and "clear headedness" played perfectly. 

I am inclined to give the lead here, simply on overall correctness not creativity, to Piratecat.

2) Picture Use: I found it refreshing and interesting that BOTH of you used the imp/gargoyle from the alley picture as interesting pieces in both stories. _Bullheaded_'s as a complete character seems to warrant an edge here. But _Murder_'s subtle and spooky "I thought the imp was staring down the opposite street, but on second glance I saw it was looking towards my side." was a very nice touch. 

The fact that _Bullheaded_ made the statue an actual focal character (which I probably never would have thought to do) gains it some serious points here, though. And the "leaning against the wall" translated as drunken guy peeing just killed me! Very funny.

The use of the cup in both stories was solid. Bringing it back in the end made it much more poignant in_ Murder._ It's recurring mention, though unseen/outside of the immediate story, as a cause for the minotaur's poisoning was inspired for _Bullheaded_.

The "angel" figure was similarly well used. Though, I would say Bullheaded's use as a central character vs. Murder's use as a "Summoned Monster" was more integral to the story. Though bringing in Centuro's intrigue for the graceful glowing woman makes it/her still potent in the storytelling.

The waterfalls, in both stories, are wonderfully and creatively incorporated.

I'd say, this is a draw. Both stories used all of the pictures in important but different ways.

3) Personal Enjoyment: For me....there is no judgement here. I thought both stories were equally entertaining.

_Murder _gave us a bit of an interpretation into the insight of "how wizard's work/think." I think Gallindor was a brilliant character. An NPC I would (and _WILL_) happily use. The "theories of magic" were beautifully explained and gave rise to thought about "arcane magic" use for my own games/campaigns. I also liked the integration of the "old school thought/game" that wizard's grow up and get their tower away from/outside of civilization for a specific reason. The "why don't wizard's rule the world" argument is answered, unquestionably, for me...finally!

_Bullheaded_'s use of the statue/constructed "Ant" was brilliant! I love that a secondary, if not tertiary, element of the picture became an integral character in the story. The one-horned minotaur as the central character was equally brilliant. The use of the "angel-esque" picture as more than a cursory spell effect worked for me as well. We are taken on a journey, through myths we already know, in an unexpected and humorous way.

I think, overall, for enjoyment levels, I have to again give the edge to Piratecat.

Steel Dragons' vote for winner, Round I: Match 3 is...
*Piratecat.*


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## Deuce Traveler (Mar 15, 2012)

Thank you for the excellent feedback, Steeldragons.  I'm glad you enjoyed it and I would be honored if Gallindor would become an NPC in any campaign.  I'm down 0-1 against the whiskered pirate and the anticipation is killing me.


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## FickleGM (Mar 16, 2012)

Deuce Traveler said:


> Thank you for the excellent feedback, Steeldragons.  I'm glad you enjoyed it and I would be honored if Gallindor would become an NPC in any campaign.  I'm down 0-1 against the whiskered pirate and the anticipation is killing me.



[sblock]My feedback usually sucks, because it's a weak-point of mine. I will say that, until the end, I found your story to be one of the most entertaining and, overall, I enjoyed it more than PirateCat's. I did not like the "winged girl" picture usage, and I didn't like the "how magic works" discussion (it felt like we just stepped out of the story and into a discussion of how you view Vancian magic...that's just a personal feeling that I got).

Aside from those to criticisms, which made the stories very close in my eyes, I really liked your story the best, as it's my kind of fiction. [/sblock]


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 16, 2012)

Now that I've posted my story, it's so much fun to get to read everyone elses! Thanks ya'll!

Maxfieldjadenfoxbadgerukelelebonanzastoat


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## Piratecat (Mar 16, 2012)

Steeldragons, thank you so much for the feedback. Really useful. I'm so glad you liked the story. 

It's interesting. When I'm up against the calibre of competition that this contest attracts, my challenge is to use the pictures as fully as I can. I've got to figure my competition is at _least_ as good a writer as I am.


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## FickleGM (Mar 16, 2012)

Piratecat said:


> Steel Dragons, thank you so much for the feedback. Really useful. I'm so glad you liked the story.
> 
> It's interesting. When I'm up against the calibre of competition that this contest attracts, my challenge is to use the pictures as fully as I can. I've got to figure my competition is at _least_ as good a writer as I am.



I've surveyed the field and I'm happy to report that your figuring skills are superb.

Yes, I know, trash talking when I'm no longer a member of the field is so much less effective.


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## Piratecat (Mar 16, 2012)

FickleGM said:


> I've surveyed the field and I'm happy to report that your figuring skills are superb.



Wait, that was trash talking? That wasn't even unistream recycling talking*!



* And sadly, neither was that.


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## FickleGM (Mar 16, 2012)

Piratecat said:


> Wait, that was trash talking? That wasn't even unistream recycling talking*!
> 
> 
> 
> * And sadly, neither was that.



While I think that I'm as goofy in person as I am online, certain aspects of my personality really don't come through as well for me in the written form.  I think that this attempt at trash-talking illustrates one example of such an aspect.


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## Hellefire (Mar 16, 2012)

Yer online writing is all squiggles!!


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## FickleGM (Mar 16, 2012)

Hellefire said:


> Yer online writing is all squiggles!!



Ss~¿S?s~


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## Piratecat (Mar 16, 2012)

I'm not obsessively checking this thread. Nope. Not even a little bit!


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## SteelDraco (Mar 16, 2012)

Heh, me either!


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## UselessTriviaMan (Mar 16, 2012)

Dagnabbit, I get my hopes up every time I see this thread's been bumped.

But I'm not being obsessive. Nope, not one little bit.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 16, 2012)

UselessTriviaMan said:


> Dagnabbit, I get my hopes up every time I see this thread's been bumped.
> 
> But I'm not being obsessive. Nope, not one little bit.




Me either. I just... um... enjoy the color scheme.


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## steeldragons (Mar 16, 2012)

Not to worry, obbsess-er-uh...gentle contestants.

The judges are dutifully weeding through all of the wonderful reading you've provided us.

To put, at least a few palpitating hearts at ease, we are trying not to post judgements on one match until all reviews are in for the preceding.

So everyone for matches 4-6 can just...take it easy for a few until we get all of the Match 3 (PC v. Deuce Traveler) judgments posted.

The Steel and Dragony Steel Dragons has spoken.
<cue the flame bursts, green smoke, fade the giant bulbous disembodied head from view>


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## Deuce Traveler (Mar 16, 2012)

It's fine.  I'm not obsessively checking either... every hour.


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## Deuce Traveler (Mar 16, 2012)

Or every half hour....


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## SteelDraco (Mar 16, 2012)

steeldragons said:


> To put, at least a few palpitating hearts at ease, we are trying not to post judgements on one match until all reviews are in for the preceding.
> 
> So everyone for matches 4-6 can just...take it easy for a few until we get all of the Match 3 (PC v. Deuce Traveler) judgments posted.




Ah, that is very good to know. Now I won't have to check QUITE as often.

Thanks to all the judges for the hard work!


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## Hellefire (Mar 16, 2012)

For the rest of you also feverishly clicking refresh, in case my ramblings are interesting in any way, shape or form, I have completed my critiques for round 1 (on page 3 of the thread as always).

This was a rough round...there were a bunch of really really good stories!! Better in a first round than I seem to remember in the past.

As others mentioned, the spectators get a nice treat as well. Though, I seem to remember more general spectator-ship and ongoing comments in previous contests. I'll bring that up in the super-secret-cool-CDM group! By the way, let me know if you are a current or past judge, contestant, organizer, spectator, cheerleaders, etc, etc of CDM and would like an invite to the group!

Aaron


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## Deuce Traveler (Mar 16, 2012)

Hellefire said:


> By the way, let me know if you are a current or past judge, contestant, organizer, spectator, cheerleaders, etc, etc of CMD and would like an invite to the group!
> Aaron





Especially cheerleaders.  We need more of them in the group.   I hear they now come in regenerative models.


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## Gregor (Mar 16, 2012)

Gregor's Judgement
*ROUND I: Match 3*
*Deuce Traveler's 'Acts of Murder' vs. Piratecat's 'Bullheaded'*

[sblock="My disclaimer:"]  I am humbled by the talent arrayed before me and I appreciate the opportunity to provide any kind of critique on your work. Having competed in Ceramic DM a couple of times myself, I know that it takes courage to put your thoughts down on paper and then hand that over for public scrutiny. Please keep in mind that my review and judgement of your work comes completely from my personal perpsective and opinions. I am in no way a professional random-picture-driven-short-story reviewer. I also realize that in criticizing your stories I set myself up for your own counter judgement and criqique (e.g. how can I judge your use of grammar when I make mistakes myself?). Please take my judgement with a grain of salt and know that I respect the creativity, hard work and imagination of everyone in this competition.  And now, onto the judgements.[/sblock]


Writing Style & Skill

Well … I suppose saying that you’re both really great writers won’t suffice, so let us nit-pick in order to fill this section 

Deuce Traveller gives us a relatively well-written piece which is told primarily in the past tense and includes good characterization.  It serves well as a read from someone’s journal.  There were a few awkward sentences, but nothing too glaring.  Additionally, I picked up on one or two stunted transitions.  Of particular note, for me, was the immediate aftermath of Gallindor’s  magical onslaught.  I anticipated some instant shock and awe from the troops, considering that they were spooked merely by his presence (let alone summoning angels and raining fire!).  Instead, the scene moves to the next chapter.  Some fleshing out of the transition would have improved the flow.

Piratecat similarly dishes up a well-written story dominated by quality dialogue and strong characterization.  The first change in scene feels a tiny bit wand-waved in that we are immediately snatched away at the mention of a dragon catching up to Ant and Asterion, for we do not meet the character until later and there are no signs of its presence or the damage it may have wrought when we see our main characters in the next scene.  Some reference to that altercation would have tied those scenes together a bit more tightly (e.g. When Ant looks over at the sleeping Asterion, perhaps we see a scratch or something from the chase or fight that takes place off camera?).

I’m definitely scraping the bottom of the barrel to find things wrong with these pieces.  They were both top notch in the writing department. 

Use of the Photo Elements

Deuce Traveller, you used the pictures quite well and each was utilized as a central component of your tale.  There was some overemphasis on restating the details in the images themselves (Gallindor’s tower), but you recovered very nicely by focusing on one of the statues in the first image and making it a dynamic piece on its own.  I also liked that the waterfall and marsh was used a central set piece at a pivotal moment in your story.

Piratecat, I think you did a bang up job of using elements in the pictures to play key set and character roles in your story.  I was particularly impressed by your choice to siphon your main characters out of our obviously wacky image of statues against a green wall.  Additionally, the horse cup turns out to be a main plot element that is referenced multiple times long before you physically use it as an illustration in the tale.  Lastly, I also appreciated how the waterfall image was spun around a bit and used as a jutting peak of rock leaking seawater – it hammered home the mythology that you played upon in the story (though more on that below).        

Personal Enjoyment

_Acts of Murder_ resonated with me instantly.  Perhaps it is because it was our first traditional fantasy tale, because I appreciated the D&D concepts woven into fiction, or because I could see this as an entry in a retired commander’s memoirs.  Regardless, I think you put something compelling together and I enjoyed the read.  I particularly liked how it discusses interesting issues that we as players and GMs discuss on a regular basis (Wizards with 9th level spells can indeed rule kingdoms, but they could not balance the books, handle logistics, deal with diplomacy, etc.) and Gallindor himself as a character was masterful.  Specifically I liked how you changed the way he behaved from someone perceived as a madman to a sagacious wizard once the burden of memorized spells was over.  It was clever and something I think I would strive to copy when roleplaying a spell caster in the future.  Lastly, I also enjoyed the ending discussion about the philosophy of magic.  It was well written, interesting, believable and just generally very well done.  In fact, it was the cherry on top for me in this piece.

_Bullheaded_ was a really great story.  The whole twist on mythology was fantastic and there were some genuine laughs made by this judge in his cubicle field whilst reading instead of working.  The scene where Ant first converses with Jason from the window sill was particularly funny for me. The ongoing dialogue and repartee between Ant and Asterion is nothing short of genius.  In fact, Ant and Asterion himself inspired a new NPC for my game (which I’ll stash in my brain for now): a drunken thieving minotaur and his mindful, wise and witty homunculus companion who tries to keep him out of trouble (hope you don’t mind if I poach that idea!).  I also enjoyed some of the little details you wrote into this story: Poseidon’s poison/curse taking on aspects of the sea; the referencing of the sailors searching for Ant and Asterion in the conversation between Ant and Gull; the mention of Asterion’s horn still lodged in the dragon; etc.  These details brought the tale to life and closed the loop on references you made earlier in the piece.  There was a touch of sadness and forgiveness in this story that I didn’t see coming.  It caught me by surprise in a story so filled with wit, but it was an excellent addition and I felt elated that Ant, Asterion and Gull all came together in the end for a common cause.     

*Final Verdict:*

This was yet another case of two really great writers (which has been and will obviously continue to be the case for this Ceramic DM): one who spins a high fantasy story laced with philosophic questions and interesting thoughts on weaving D&D tropes into fiction; and, one who crafts a comedic yet poignant spin on classical mythology packed with strong dialogue and characterizations.  

Yet another case of judge’s anxiety and internal debate!  

In the end, I chose the writer who I thought edged the other out in picture use and in my own personal enjoyment.

Through nail bitten fingers, I type in my vote for *Piratecat*.


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## Piratecat (Mar 16, 2012)

I'll wait until the final judge has weighed in before commenting, but Gregor, thank you for the detailed, incredibly useful analysis. I'm honored. And your point about expecting Asterion to have wounds in the inn room is so very obvious in retrospect that I can't believe I missed it! 

More later.


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## Deuce Traveler (Mar 16, 2012)

Thanks for the feedback, and I am glad that Gallindor is going to have influence in your game too.  As it looks like the hook-handed seaman has the edge here, I can at least be happy that the tale had some lasting influence on the reviewers thus far.


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## Wild Gazebo (Mar 16, 2012)

Hellefire said:


> Wild Gazebo vs. SteelDraco:
> [sblock]**Wild Gazebo - Summer Spark O Magic**
> *Grammar, etc.* - great - 9/10 (While the general tone allowed for technically incorrect grammar, there were a couple actual mistakes I believe).
> *Creativity* - Great mix of different aspects - old timer and magic and fairies and structured society. There were a couple places where their cohabitation seemed a little strained, but only a little. Very nice! - 9/10
> ...




Thanks for the critique!!

[sblock]

You seem to be doing some very fair reviews.  

I would be curious to know how you grade your picture use though.  Your highest grade for a contestant so far was indecipherable to me compared to others.  I mean if it is a key plot point, integrates well, isn't just a description of something in the story, and furthers the tale...I would grade it quite well.  Is there something else...or are you using a half technical/half preference type of yardstick?

I bring this up because I thought it was by far my strongest attribute to my story.  Unfortunately this was my unedited first draft...due to an unforeseen trip for family reasons.  There is a ton of typos and grammatical errors (that are kinda hidden because of the dialect)  the story doesn't really have any conflict...it is more of a Virgil through the Lookinglass type of thing, and I was unable to go back and finish the ending like I wanted to.

There was a significant problem when I came to some words like 'ambient' that should have been 'amb'nt'; but, I hadn't decided where clarity meets dialect (Something I was going to resolve in an edit).  Because the narrator has a very large vocabulary with a very strong dialect. 

So, I was really surprised to see my Grammar and Creativity at 9 and my Picture Use at 7.  That confused me.  The rushed disjointedness would obviously affect my All Around...I understood that.  I thought for sure I would get a 5 or lower on grammar.

I pretty much gave up on passing the round by the time I got home...and just barely managed to get it posted on time.  But I would be curious as to your method.  Or perhaps some thoughts on accessibly...did you have to go back and start reading again when you realized it wasn't poor grammar but a written dialect?

Thanks for your review!  I really appreciate the time you took.
[/sblock]


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## Hellefire (Mar 16, 2012)

Wild Gazebo said:


> Thanks for the critique!!
> 
> [sblock]
> 
> ...




[sblock]
I put grammar use at 9 because I saw that it was the character...accent...that required the use of drawl spelling and grammar, and I dug that...I considered putting it lower because there were a couple places that looked like mistakes as opposed to the character, but I wasn't sure on those areas, in some others I was fairly sure there were a couple mistakes. I put creativity at 9 because the story used a number of different elements (modern-ish life, fairy world, elder point of view and speech and structured society points of view all mixed together). Not extremely high wow factor, but impressive. I put picture use are 7 because I felt the use of everything looking underwater-ish as being a clever way to work around an underwater picture, but also a bit of cheating, the house was a main element but described more on the inside than from the picture, yet the chess piece you described including the background (the blackness around it) as you did the heads picture (couldn't see the edges of the room). Because of this I deducted a couple points. 9 is almost always the most I will give (if all of the pictures are used in an integral way to the story, in an important fashion, and there aren't any other main images I think I would want to see for that story). I may give a 10, but very rarely. Does that make more sense? 
[/sblock]


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 16, 2012)

Thanks for the comments, Hellefire! I really appreciate the time and thought you put in.


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## Hellefire (Mar 16, 2012)

maxfieldjadenfox said:


> Thanks for the comments, Hellefire! I really appreciate the time and thought you put in.




You're welcome buddy. I think that was the tightest contest in an unusual first round of extremely tight contests!


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## Mirth (Mar 17, 2012)

I'm not trying to do a fake out here, but my judgment will be at least a couple more hours in the making. RL threw me a curveball the last two days and then when I had free time this afternoon, the power went out. Working feverishly to get it done and my apologies for the delay. I will be posting forthwith!


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## Piratecat (Mar 17, 2012)

No worries, Mirth. Thank you.


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## Hellefire (Mar 17, 2012)

Yeah PC gets to be casual on this one now


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## Mirth (Mar 17, 2012)

Mirth - Judgment

Round 1, Match 3

Deuce vs. Piratecat

Very well done and very long pieces for this tired judge  But all's well that's written well...

Style -- Deuce Traveler gives us the story of a clash between a career military officer and a seemingly crackpot wizard. The tensions run high, the action is brisk and fierce and the soft moments are nice and poignant. Against this mostly serious tale, Piratecat gives us the epic farce of a flatulent, drunk bull-man with daddy issues. As much as I understand and appreciate the craft of Deuce Traveler's tale, I found it stilted at times,  becoming almost textbook-like when Gallindor gives his lecture on the nature of magic. It's interesting as a world-building gamer handbook, but not so much as a story. Piratecat's more irreverent tone served the story better by making the words fly by and keeping the chuckles coming. Very witty yet very broad humor at the same time.

Picture use -- Sadly, I felt that many of the pictures in Deuce Traveler's story were tacked on, or at the very least incidental to the plot. Gallindor's tower is described in passing, the horse-head cup is mostly a throwaway (although it is used nicely but briefly at the end), the angel woman could easily have been anything else, and only the watery swamp came close to being an integral part of the tale. Piratecat, on the other hand, used the pictures in very ingenious ways. Making the one-horned minotaur and the small imp statues into the focal characters of the story was a brilliant move. The horse-head cup drove the main part of the plot, the angel woman was a major foil, and the watery swamp as the entrance to Poseidon's realm was very well handled.

Personal connection -- I love me some bizarro wizards and grumpy legionnaires on a goblin hunt, but I guess a puking, farting minotaur speaks to the inner me.

Final judgment - The Traveler's travels have ended  

My nod for Round 1, Match 3 goes to … PIRATECAT!

(Now I'm headed for the pillow, but I will be around tomorrow to hand out some more punishme … err … judgments, so hopefully the wait won't be so long for the rest of you.)


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## Deuce Traveler (Mar 17, 2012)

Darn!  I even had my next story's first chapter outlined:

"The older, whiskered pirate groaned in his bed as the ship rocked.  He had spent the last few hours with his rigging, but could only get it up to half-mast despite his struggles.  Because it was a solo effort, he had thrown out his hip; a situation not uncommon amongst older seamen..."

In all seriousness I wanted to say congrats to Pirate Cat.  I jumped at an opportunity to be paired against him as he often makes it to the final round in these contests.  I felt that if I could beat him in round 1 it would have been a great accomplishment, and if not I would have at least learned a thing or two.  He is an excellent writer, and I advise readers to peruse his very well done detective short stories.  In this recent piece of his, the decision to use the imp and leaning bull as main characters in that locale picture was brilliant and an opportunity that my own imagination did not pick up upon.  I've taken the critiques to heart and hope to compete stronger next time.  I have no regrets, thoroughly enjoyed myself, and am thankful for the opportunity the judges and Pirate Cat have given me.

Congratulations to the feline shipmate.  Your unanimous victory was well earned and I look forward to reading your next whimsical tale.


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## Piratecat (Mar 17, 2012)

Wow. Deuce Traveler, I'm really honored to have gone up against you. This is one where I think picture use made the difference, not quality of writing. Your gritty style is really fun to read, and you wrote a gripping and interesting story. 

When I got the photos I considered, and rejected, using the minotaur as a protagonist. Then I noticed he sort of looked like he was peeing, and then I noticed that he was painted with a gold dress. "Dress?" I thought. "Or FLEECE?" After that, everything fell into place. I had a lot of trouble with the waterfall until I realized it could be rising up, and that brought me back to Poseidon as "earth-shaker." Suddenly, reading all those Robert Graves books about bull-dancing paid off.

Anyways, thank you everyone. The suggestions and feedback have been really useful.


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## FickleGM (Mar 17, 2012)

Congratulations, P-Kitty! I love your imagination...and your accents...but mostly your imagination.  I preferred Deuce's story, but you are right, picture use seemed to be the component that pushed you through.  Well done.


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## Hellefire (Mar 17, 2012)

Lotsa green and black beer being drunk today!
Happy St Pattys day!


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 17, 2012)

Hellefire said:


> Lotsa green and black beer being drunk today!
> Happy St Pattys day!




The only real beer is beer you can't see through... imho. Happy St. Pat's.


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## Hellefire (Mar 18, 2012)

Dammit, why don't people hang out on message boards while drinking car bombs? I mean besides me...


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 18, 2012)

Hellefire said:


> Dammit, why don't people hang out on message boards while drinking car bombs? I mean besides me...




I haven't had a car bomb in a long time, Hellefire. Drink one for me tonight!


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## Hellefire (Mar 18, 2012)

Done!


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 18, 2012)

Hellefire said:


> Done!




Yay! Sláinte!


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Mar 18, 2012)

maxfieldjadenfox said:


> The only real beer is beer you can't see through... imho. Happy St. Pat's.




Stop stealing my lines!

Had me some Guinnesses tonight, in drink and in cake form (made a Chocolate Guinness cake to take to a dinner party).


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 18, 2012)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:


> Stop stealing my lines!
> 
> Had me some Guinnesses tonight, in drink and in cake form (made a Chocolate Guinness cake to take to a dinner party).




I made Guinness ginger bread at Yule. Awesome! Will you share your cake recipe if I share my ginger bread recipe?


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## Hellefire (Mar 18, 2012)

maxfieldjadenfox said:


> I made Guinness ginger bread at Yule. Awesome! Will you share your cake recipe if I share my ginger bread recipe?




Will you both share them here?


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## Rune (Mar 18, 2012)

We had Guinness floats at my house.  (That's Guinness over vanilla ice-cream.)


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 18, 2012)

Rune said:


> We had Guinness floats at my house.  (That's Guinness over vanilla ice-cream.)




Love Guinness floats!


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 18, 2012)

Hellefire said:


> Will you both share them here?




Here's the link to the recipe I used. I didn't top it with whipped cream, and I made it in small loaf pans to share instead of in one big pan. I had to tweak the recipe for our high-altitude, but it was great! Guinness Stout Gingerbread Cake Recipe | MyRecipes.com


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## Sialia (Mar 19, 2012)

sorry I'm late. re: Piratecat's round 1 entry:
Very fine. "Disrespected" is such a mid-nineties construction. I think "been disrespectful" would have been less jarring. But a mere quibble. Overall, it made me miss Dranko, and reminded me of the police car I saw sloshing water out of it's trunk as it left the scene of the big SWAT bust on our block on Friday. Water all over the place. The leaking water out of nostils thing. Messy. Was expecting the horn to be transformed into something like the decanter of endless water--with a thing like that in the story, it wants to be _used_ for something. Opening scene much my favorite part--quick to establish character.


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## Sialia (Mar 19, 2012)

UselessTriviaMan said:


> *The Caretaker's Gift*





this is beautiful.
thank you.


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## Sialia (Mar 19, 2012)

re:*Ceramic DM R1M2: The Hitchhiker*  This is fine storytelling. Enjoyed muchly. Didn't need the "end gag"--the story was better than that. Fine, fine work overall, though.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Mar 19, 2012)

Sialia said:


> re:*Ceramic DM R1M2: The Hitchhiker*  This is fine storytelling. Enjoyed muchly. Didn't need the "end gag"--the story was better than that. Fine, fine work overall, though.




Needed to jump to the future for the 'circuit under the microscope' pic.

And stout cake:

[sblock]
Cake
1 cup stout
1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons butter (sliced)
1/2 cup Dutch process cocoa (plus a little extra for frosting)
2 cups sugar
3/4 cup sour cream
2 large eggs
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 1/2 teaspoons baking soda

Frosting:
12 ounces cream cheese
2  cups powdered sugar
1 cup heavy cream

Melt the butter in the stout In a large saucepan over medium heat.  When the butter is melted, whisk in the cocoa and sugar.  Let cool slightly.

In a mixing bowl, beat sour cream, eggs, and vanilla.  Slowly add the stout mixture.  When that has been fully combined, add the flour and baking soda.

Line the bottom of a 9” springform pan with parchment paper and grease the sides.  Pour batter into pan and bake at 350 for around 50 minutes, checking for doneness at 45 minutes.

Let cool on a wire rack.

In a mixing bowl, combine cream cheese and powdered sugar.  Gradually add heavy cream.  Beat until smooth and spreadable.

Move  ⅓ of the frosting to another mixing bowl and mix in a little cocoa powder until the color of the frosting is a light brown.

Frost top of cake with chocolate frosting.  Put cake in refrigerator to let top layer of frosting set.  Add second layer of white frosting.  When done, cake should resemble a poured glass of stout.
[/sblock]


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 19, 2012)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:


> Needed to jump to the future for the 'circuit under the microscope' pic.
> 
> And stout cake:
> 
> ...




Thanks, Rodrigo! Can't wait to try this!


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## Gregor (Mar 19, 2012)

Gregor's Judgement
*Round 1: Match 4*
Wild Gazebo’s _‘Summer Spark O Magic’ _ vs. SteelDraco’s unnamed tale

[sblock=”my disclaimer”] I am humbled by the talent arrayed before me and I appreciate the opportunity to provide any kind of critique on your work. Having competed in Ceramic DM a couple of times myself, I know that it takes courage to put your thoughts down on paper and then hand that over for public scrutiny. Please keep in mind that my review and judgement of your work comes completely from my personal perspective and opinions. I am in no way a professional random-picture-driven-short-story reviewer. I also realize that in criticizing your stories I set myself up for your own counter judgement and critique (e.g. how can I judge your use of grammar when I make mistakes myself?). Please take my judgement with a grain of salt and know that I respect the creativity, hard work and imagination of everyone in this competition. And now, onto the judgements. [/sblock]


Writing Style & Skill 

Wow, two very different styles of writing that play very nicely off of one another.  

Wild Gazebo comes out swinging with a fresh take on the stories: a tall tale or fairy tale.  The imagery is solid in this story, but there are some occasional misuses of words (e.g. then vs. than) and a couple of typos.  However, the errors were minimal and there was definitely nothing too glaring.  The stylistic commitment to the accent is the commendable and the consistency in its use is impressive.  Overall it is very well written.   

SteelDraco hits us with a completely different style with much darker prose.  There is some frequent word re-use (e.g. use the word lab in the opening, minutia in the second scene).  The story definitely could have benefited from a more expansive vocabulary in those circumstances.  There is also some quality imagery here and good foreshadowing.  Yet, there were a few curious changing of tenses and perspectives in the same sentences or paragraphs and a few minor typos.  Ultimately though, it’s a tightly written story with good flow and progression.

Use of the Photo Elements

Wild Gazebo, I think you did a pretty good job with the pictures.  However, I think you did a brilliant job with one in particular: the chess piece.  It was introduced slowly and logically and then you put it in a place where it made sense in the story.  You also worked it in so that you could have it suspended in darkness as it is shown on the picture itself.  However, the home run on this picture is that you also worked it in as a second setting (where the narrator finds himself laying on) which was really well done.  The ant is nicely done and worked in as a main character.  The stone heads feel a bit placed, but earlier in the story you give the protagonist the perspective of being at the bottom of an ocean (blueish-green light) so it ends up working fairly well as you keep playing on that theme.  

SteelDraco, I really think this may be one of the better use of pictures that I’ve seen thus far.  The ant, or more precisely what is within its abdomen, is solidly utilized and it becomes the basis for your entire tale – the lifeforce/drug that keeps the protagonist immortal.  Very, very well done.  The house is used fairly as a set piece, and you do a really clever job with the chess piece being the link back to the ants and the queen of the colony.  You even slowly introduce us to the chess game so that the image in her mind is natural and not forced.  Bravo.  The heads in the water were also used really, really well as the dump site of the previous calcified specimens of Dr. Heinrich.  Everything felt like it fit and was central to your story.  Colour me impressed.

Personal Enjoyment

Wild Gazebo, you delivered an enjoyable tall tale.  After a few paragraphs, I was sold on the concept that I had been transported to Kentucky, was sitting on a porch with a grandfather while sipping mint juleps and listening to one heck of a yarn from the old man (note:  As a Canuck, I have no idea if this is a Kentucky accent.  But bourbon comes from there and you need bourbon for a mint julep and …. well I digress obviously   )  I’m a big fan of good verbal story telling.  It’s a dying/dead art and I’d give you a high five for writing something that was very firmly entrenched in that tradition and style.  What helped to cement this was your attention to detail.  Primarily it was your dedication and consistency of voice for your narrator.  The chosen accent was believable and the turns of phrase were absolutely fantastic (‘squirming like a periwinkle’; ‘carried it like it was nothin’ but a half basket oh dander’; ’lit up like an orange bonfire outside a drunken barn-dance’).  I also liked the contrast you worked in by having one of the whimsies speak in formal bureaucratese.  Very nicely done.  From an actual plot perspective, I don’t think enough happened in order to fully hold my attention.  That being said, it was pretty tightly written and you excellently brought it full circle at the end (noting the fingerprint in the maple, the mess he made looking for the chess piece, etc).  The story also ends a bit abruptly and I think it would have been well served by a short bit of banter between the narrator and the silent audience (as in the start of the tale).  

SteelDraco, much like FickleDM in match 1, you deliver a very strong pulpy story with a good use of ‘the unknown’.  I have to say that I wasn’t too riveted when I first started reading, but your tale quickly roped me in, hog tied me, dragged me to a dark basement, locked the door and would not let me go.  You have very impressive scene setting and construction abilities that deliver believable atmospheric tastes, sounds and smells.  For instance, your introduction of the run down house and Patricia’s first entrance has great small details like old grass dying in the sun, the sound of heels clicking on dusty floors, etc.  Also, your description of the house and its contents (oil paintings, foreign objects, etc.), or the ambient aspects of Dr. Heinrich’s laboratory (him taking notes while the humming of a centerfuge winds down) strongly hammer home your scenes.  This story also had some great foreshadowing and the twist was executed very well.  For example, we hear of a ‘specimen’ but maybe we think it is the ants.  Nay, it is something else entirely.  Like a good writer of mystery and the unknown, you even give us an early hint by throwing in a mention of an IV bag in your first description of the lab.  We don’t know what its connected to and you almost gloss over it as a reader.  However, once Patricia ventures into the basement, we begin to see the wider picture and the stony calcified ‘specimen’ just before her demise.  There is some brilliant writing here.  

*Final Verdict:*

This was a very tight decision between two stories that could not have been more different.  In one corner is a quality tall tale worthy of any late night campfire gathering and in the other is a dark tale of a modern day lich weaving a mystery and on a quest for continued immortality.  Both were tightly written, albeit with a few mistakes in both corners.  Picture use began to create some distance for the leader and the win was cemented based on what held my attention the strongest.

My vote is for SteelDraco.


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## Wild Gazebo (Mar 19, 2012)

Thanks for the critique Gregor!


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## Piratecat (Mar 20, 2012)

I am vanishing offline, ninja-like, for about a week. I've let the judges know and they'll adjust timing accordingly. You guys need to trash-talk more to cover for me while I'm AFK!


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## Wild Gazebo (Mar 20, 2012)

Piratecat said:


> I am vanishing offline, ninja-like, for about a week. I've let the judges know and they'll adjust timing accordingly. You guys need to trash-talk more to cover for me while I'm AFK!




If I thought I was going to pass this round I would be all over that.  As is, I'll just say...dibs on his spot if he doesn't make it back!


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## Deuce Traveler (Mar 20, 2012)

Piratecat said:


> I am vanishing offline, ninja-like, for about a week. I've let the judges know and they'll adjust timing accordingly. You guys need to trash-talk more to cover for me while I'm AFK!




So... you're a pirate ninja cat?


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## Wild Gazebo (Mar 20, 2012)

Deuce Traveler said:


> So... you're a pirate ninja cat?




He's a ninjaing Piratecat.  I always assumed ninja could be a verb.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 20, 2012)

Piratecat said:


> I am vanishing offline, ninja-like, for about a week. I've let the judges know and they'll adjust timing accordingly. You guys need to trash-talk more to cover for me while I'm AFK!




I think it may be bad form to trash talk in the middle of a round... I think it's safer to wait and see if you're actually advancing. Promise though, if I do advance, I will trash talk so much that I'll get a littering violation.


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## SteelDraco (Mar 20, 2012)

I've certainly used ninja-ing in a verb just like that. I like it.

Gregor, thanks for the input. I really want to comment but don't know if it's appropriate before the other judges weigh in.

WildGazebo, I wouldn't have known you had any troubles if you hadn't said so - your story ended up being fun and conveyed the narrator's tone very well, I thought. I hope whatever was wrong has been solved with a minimum of fuss.


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## Wild Gazebo (Mar 20, 2012)

SteelDraco said:


> WildGazebo, I wouldn't have known you had any troubles if you hadn't said so - your story ended up being fun and conveyed the narrator's tone very well, I thought. I hope whatever was wrong has been solved with a minimum of fuss.




Thanks!

[sblock]I really wanted to put a bit of conflict in my story and at the end have it turn round as to better include the viewer by alluding to other stories.  The extra conflict would have added to the (non)tension when speaking to the talking heads.  

There are a lot of problems that editing would have caught like typos and punctuation.  As well, when the words got bigger, or more elaborate, I didn't add any dialect to keep it clear...something I might have changed in an edit.  Though, I must say the 'than' and 'then' was on purpose.

While I can't say everything worked out well in terms of my current 'problems' I don't see any serious issues in my immediate future.   

Thank-you again for the kind words.[/sblock]

Your story had _way_ more emotion and action than mine making it a lot more interesting to read.


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## Hellefire (Mar 20, 2012)

*Happy Spring!*

According to the Almanac people, Spring started this morning this year:
when each season starts 2012 2013 first day of winter, spring, summer, fall

So, time to dance nekkid


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## steeldragons (Mar 20, 2012)

Sorry for the delay. 

Have a great time PC, we'll see you when you return (hopefully we will be able to have Round 2 started, at least, by then! lol.

Round I: Match 4
SteelDraco's Untitled (which I'll refer to here, for simplicity's sake as "_Alchemist_")
vs.
Wild Gazebo's _Summer Spark O Magic_

This match brings us two tales of two houses. Each containing, in very different moods and ways, secrets all their own. Let's get right to it...

1)Writing Style & Skill: This becomes more and more difficult with the diverging of the types of story. _Alchemist's _dark and sinister undertones of a pulpy kind of story versus _Spark's _lighthearted and sincerely strange  romp into a folktalesy fairy realm in the "new world." Both do a wonderful job with description and evoking the mood of their respective piece.

Characterization in both is decent though I, for one, would have liked a bit more of Patricia fleshed out and the oddness of the Whimsies, while clearly conveyed, had a few moments that left me wondering/confused about their exact nature...but this lent to the overall "unbelievable" realm, itself. But all in all, well done to you both.

The settings of both pieces are thoroughly described, no small feat when trying to explain the unexplainable world of the Whimsies. There were several moments that my mind immediately went to a Tim Burton-esque stop-action animated story...which I do love.

That said, there are several mistakes (however unintentional) in _Spark._ "Might" where "mite" should be, "There" instead of "Their", etc. I notice Gregor mentioned one that had escaped m y notice. I've had it happen to me more times than I can count. But they are not unavoidable.

_[Steel Dragon's note/aside to all contestants: Spell Check is NOT the writer's best friend. You have to personally edit these things, preferably more than once, to catch these kinds of context-driven errors. They are real words so Spell Check is not gonna help you out with these kinds of, inadvertent I'm sure, mistakes.]_ 

Also, accents are *hard!* One needs a very clear idea of how the person sounds to attempt to tell an entire tale believably in an accented voice. There are times when the accent slips, both in description and speaking parts of _Spark._ I got lost a few times trying to discern if we were in the rural South of the U.S., or this was some undereducated black man telling the story. At one point, I thought it slipped into, what read as, Jamaican. While I admire the attempt, each of these moments gave me, as the reader, pause as I was drawn out of the story to try and figure out what/how exactly I was supposed to be reading the lines instead of being immersed/swept away in the story.

Also, as relates to accent, I believe (but don't quote me on this), that all of those uses of "a verbing" should be written as "a'verbing" or "a-verbing". Again, the lack of the punctuation contributed, somewhat, to my getting lost, mid-sentence, in the accent. For me, as a reader, this detracted from an otherwise solid "whimsical" American tall tale.

SteelDraco receives a more-than-marginal edge here.

2)Picture Use: Both stories did a wonderful job of utilizing them. The ant as a pivotal character in Spark was thoroughly enjoyable, along with the "strict by the book" attitude it is easy to imagine an ant would have. Use of the chess piece was similarly good.

The chess piece falls short in being "seen" other than the cursory mention of the game of chess, but then using it as an image the ants can grab and impress on Patricia's mind to make her understand was rather brilliant. Use of the faces beneath the sea as Dr. Heinrich's dumping ground was equally literal but completely engaging.

I am giving no one an edge here as both were equally good and creative with different images.

3) Personal Enjoyment: Again, the choice for the judges becomes more and more difficult. Alchemist's dark mood of the ever-young doctor who is very aware of the predicament of his work and addiction, his guilt, the rather dusty gloominess of the house all made the story congeal into a wonderful dark-ish pulp story.

_Spark's_, again, whimsy and fantasy of the world of Whimsies beneath the house, his transformation/falling into it and subsequent "trouble" when he arrives are all enjoyably reminiscent of an Alice in Wonderland kind of story and reads well as an actual American "tall tale" versus a strictly European flavored"fairy tale."

All in all, this would be a significantly more difficult choice for me if not for the interruptions of the accent in _Spark_.

I am left with little choice than to give  the "Enjoyment" edge to SteelDraco as well. 
Steel Dragon's vote for winner of Round I: Match 4 is...
*SteelDraco*


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## Wild Gazebo (Mar 20, 2012)

Thanks for the critique Steeldragons!

re: dialect
[sblock] I think that you will find that the sub-African strain and Jamaican accents have long 'a's and 'u's with quick staccato prose in between.  While a southern American dialect has tight 'i's and long 'e's and 'o's and will 'drawl' in between...almost lazily.

Thank-you for a very in-depth review.  I really appreciate your time.

[/sblock]


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## UselessTriviaMan (Mar 21, 2012)

Is anybody (else) still feverishly checking this thread for updates?


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## Daeja (Mar 21, 2012)

I poke my nose in a couple times a day still, just in case


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## Gregor (Mar 21, 2012)

UselessTriviaMan said:


> Is anybody (else) still feverishly checking this thread for updates?




Hey there,

We're just waiting on Mirth's judgement of match 4 before we proceed.  We want to make sure that all judges weigh in for each match so as not to have our critiques spread all over the place in a confusing manner.

Should be soon.  Hold fast friends.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 21, 2012)

UselessTriviaMan said:


> Is anybody (else) still feverishly checking this thread for updates?




Yes, esteemed opponent, yes I am.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 21, 2012)

Gregor said:


> Hey there,
> 
> We're just waiting on Mirth's judgement of match 4 before we proceed.  We want to make sure that all judges weigh in for each match so as not to have our critiques spread all over the place in a confusing manner.
> 
> Should be soon.  Hold fast friends.




Thanks for the update, Gregor.


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## phoamslinger (Mar 21, 2012)

take all the time you guys need.


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## Deuce Traveler (Mar 22, 2012)

Don't be in such a hurry to get yourself Judged.

http://hungrysparrow.deviantart.com/art/Judge-Dredd-94670879


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 22, 2012)

I am suffering from trash talk withdrawals so: Hefty Bags! Coffee Grounds! Egg Shells! Banana Peels! 

There. that should hold me for a little while.


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## Hellefire (Mar 22, 2012)

Neeeee!


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## UselessTriviaMan (Mar 22, 2012)

maxfieldjadenfox said:


> Hefty Bags! Coffee Grounds! Egg Shells! Banana Peels!



Durka durka durka durka... durka durka _jihad_.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 22, 2012)

UselessTriviaMan said:


> Durka durka durka durka... durka durka _jihad_.




I'll see your jihad and raise you an apocalypse...


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## Hellefire (Mar 22, 2012)

I'm a lumberjack and I'm ok...


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 22, 2012)

Hellefire said:


> I'm a lumberjack and I'm ok...




I hate that this site doesn't have a way to "like" a post except by awarding experience points which you can't award to the same person too often...


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## Mirth (Mar 23, 2012)

Mirth - Judgment

Round 1, Match 4

SteelDraco vs. Wild Gazebo

First, let me apologize for the lateness of my posts. In the last week, I have had to travel across the state I live in (NC) twice for unplanned, unannounced meetings for work and tomorrow morning I am headed out again for another state altogether (TN). I don't normally travel for my job, so this extra driving ate up all of my spare time that I had allotted for the competition. I will try in earnest to keep on top of my scheduling from here on out.

Now, let's get on with it -- 

Again, the stories that have been presented show true craft and deft use of plot, language, and characterization. This Ceramic DM contest is knocking my socks off!

Style -- SteelDraco brings us the tale of a doctor with a dangerous and deadly secret to hide. The creep factor is ratcheted right up from the very beginning of the tale and never falters. Both Patricia and Dr. Heinrich are well-rounded, fully fleshed-out characters and the story itself reads like a short film script. Although the ending seemed to be telegraphed a bit, the use of tropes were strong (not cliched) and the plot was conniving and edgy. I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Likewise, I felt that Wild Gazebo's acid trip journey through the looking-hole was a gob-smackingly great read. The characters were so vividly detailed that I could easily envision them in my head. The story filled me with childlike wonder. The narrative was so strong that the plot carried me from point to point, never dropping, never stopping and left me bemused and grinning. The two stories couldn't be farther apart in tone and setting, which is why I love this competition so much. You never know what is coming next. If I had one quibble in this category, it would be Wild Gazebo's narrator and his style of speech. It works for the most part, but it is sometimes inconsistent, and those inconsistencies are more glaring in their rareness, making them stand out to the reader. Also, if the narrator is telling this story, does he then halt his "patois" to talk in the more stoic, dry voice of the ant? I think that is the way the story is structured, but I don't see the narrator giving voice to the ant in that way and it made me disbelieve for a moment.

Picture use -- The picture use is solid in both stories. The aged house is used well as a setting in both, one belying the age of it's mysteriously non-aging owner, the other hiding a bizarre link to another world. Even more so, the ant was a focal point in both stories and used in equally unique and fascinating ways. The chess piece had a role to play in both stories that I did not expect, and those surprises worked wonderfully for me. And the image of the underwater heads was also utilized in strange and engrossing ways in both. If I had to give a nod in this category, it would be to SteelDraco who made an absolutely brilliant use of the underwater heads to put a grisly cap on an otherwise already horrific tale.

Personal connection -- Although I am not a horror fan per se, I do enjoy a good suspense story and SteelDraco provides that in spades. Never was gore the focus of the action in SteelDraco's story, which is what usually puts me off horror, so the queasiness and creepiness of the doctor's tale worked really well for me. On the other hand, I thought the journey through the land of the Whimsies was clever, well-crafted, and ultimately more appealing to my personal preferences.

Final judgment - Although both stories were top-notch reads and thoroughly enjoyable, I found that SteelDraco's stylistic mastery and slightly better picture use edged out Wild Gazebo's whacky, wonderful, whimsical whopper.

My nod for Round 1, Match 4 goes to … STEELDRACO! Congratulations!!!


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## Wild Gazebo (Mar 23, 2012)

Thanks for the critique Mirth!!!


[sblock]Really good point about the change of speech.  It probably would have worked better if I blended the narrator into expository--fading in and out.  I honestly didn't even think of that...really good point.  It really would have forced me to tighten up my writing and then I would have been able to use more words toward story instead of character.  Thanks.[/sblock]


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## SteelDraco (Mar 23, 2012)

First, thanks for the great round, Wild Gazebo!

I didn't want to respond to any of the judge's comments before all of them had posted, so I'll do so below.

[sblock]
Thanks to everybody for their critiques! Very helpful and reasonable. I hadn't written anything in a while, so the start is rocky - I had trouble getting started and didn't do as much editing as I would have liked. Word choice and a better start were definitely a problem on this one. The timeline of the first two scenes doesn't line up very well either.

steeldragon mentioned wanting to see Patricia fleshed out better - totally true. I wanted another character development scene to flesh her out but I couldn't get it to come together in a way that didn't drag the pacing way down. I didn't want to add any more characters, and too much conversation between the two of them would have felt too... show-y, I suppose. In my head, she's a political science student who's working toward being a chief of staff type; she works as a personal assistant for money while she's in college. I wanted to have a scene of her doing homework at the house and get distracted by visions of the door, but it slowed things down too much.

To Mirth, regarding telegraphing the ending: yeah, totally true. I knew she was going to die from the beginning, though I had to axe a long bit at the end - originally she snuck on the boat while he was disposing of the previous specimen, but that didn't really work at all after I started on it. I hacked it back to the basics.

I'm surprised (but glad!) people liked the use of the stone heads - I actually thought putting one of the images in the denouement was a bit of a cop-out on my part.
[/sblock]


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## Wild Gazebo (Mar 23, 2012)

SteelDraco said:


> First, thanks for the great round, Wild Gazebo!




Right back at-ya!

You know, now you have to win this whole thing just to assuage my poor injured pride.  So, there is a lot of responsibility with this win.  Please think of the children.

And good luck!


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## SteelDraco (Mar 23, 2012)

Wild Gazebo said:


> Right back at-ya!
> 
> You know, now you have to win this whole thing just to assuage my poor injured pride.  So, there is a lot of responsibility with this win.  Please think of the children.
> 
> And good luck!




Can I count on you to poison my opponents to help you keep your pride intact, then?


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## Wild Gazebo (Mar 23, 2012)

SteelDraco said:


> Can I count on you to poison my opponents to help you keep your pride intact, then?




I do not deny the nonacceptance of this wholly unfabricated event that must never pass as long as you say so.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 23, 2012)

I really enjoyed both of your stories, Steel Draco and Wild Gazebo! The best thing about CDM is how one set of pictures can inspire such different stories!


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## Hellefire (Mar 23, 2012)

I am waiting for the Crack Suicide Squad!


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## steeldragons (Mar 24, 2012)

Round I: Match 5
maxfieldjadenfox's _Let Sleeping Gods Lie_
vs.
UselessTriviaMan's _The Caretaker's Gift_

Let's to it, shall we?

1) Writing Skill & Style: You guys are good. Seriously, very good. In the face of two beautifully crafted settings, thoroughly enjoyable characters, and fantastically engaging plots, what is there to judge here? Typos? Not that I noticed. Spelling, grammar...nothing I can really readily see. 

The telling of _Caretaker's_ tale through the eyes of a street urchin and the relatively short but thoroughly evocative descriptions of his and Digger's day-to-day life in the streets was brilliantly done. The wonder and awe of a large fantasy city was, for me, brought to life. Every character, even the barely seen gnome (I'm going to assume) "artificer" of some sort and the kindly Brahmin priest feel like complete three dimensional character with barely a sentence or two devoted to them. The great black cloaked and antlered helmeted Huntsmen who would as soon skewer you with their spears as look at you, who from a child's point of view seem to me like giants. _I _don't want to meet them! Just wonderful. Everything wrapped around the (presumably) ongoing battle between servants of conflicted gods. 

_Sleeping God_'s story is equally evocative. Again we are served up with an ancient battle between deities...this time in our own world. The characters are equally solid, the use of the mythology intriguing. The actual battle between Pashupati and Ravana was again wonderfully evocative while maintaining a well written conservation of word. I loved the Rakashas bursting out of the statues. I thought the introduction of Gupta and Hiran was a bit clunky. Rather, maybe, it was the scene change and the necessity thereof that bothered me a little.  There was nothing wrong with Gupta or Hiran themselves. The whole bit about the railroad workers and finding the stone and Charles Masson was a cute tidbit and creative way to tie in the location (though I had to google him to find out what the reference was or was meant for) but I don't think it much helped to further the story, really, and feels kinda unnecessary.

All in all, however, if that is the only thing I can really say about the style/skill portion, that's really not a lot. Let's see if things diverge a bit more in the other categories.

2) Picture Use: Again, difficult difficult difficult. Use of the temple site for both stories work well as pivotal locations in each.

That contraption/astrolabe/armillary-wutzit was also used well if somewhat literally in _Sleeping Gods_. The same image in _Caretaker _offers us, not only some magical containment device, but uses the figure beside it in a most creative way, altering the dimensions of our perceptions to have him be the sphere's gnome creator. Nicely done.

_Caretaker _also delivers with the old man, as I originally took him, in passing, as a colorful but ultimately inconsequential "NPC" only to find, it's actually all about him! The use of the old man in _Sleeping Gods_ was weak, I thought. Using him as astrologer/summoner was fine, but again, the description is of literal picture because he was "put and stuck" there in just that position by the god seemed very forced, very "just [literally] stick it here", to me.

The antlered lady, I have to say when I saw that pic I couldn't really think of what to expect from each. Both stories used her to great effect, one as the foil, one as the savior. Nicely done by you both. In retrospect, the priestess of the Hunt and the (demi-?) goddess of another antlered mythological figure equally seem so obvious to me. But you guys thought of them and I didn't. So, well done to you both there.  

I think _Caretaker_'s getting an edge here for consistently strong and a couple of more creative uses.

3) Personal Enjoyment: Both read well. Both used the pictures well. Both plots pulled me in and had me eager to read "what's next." What's a judge to do?

This is not great reasoning, but this is the "Personal Enjoyment" portion after all. Simply put, I'm more of a sucker for some "fantasy world" fantasy than "supernatural stuff in the real world" kind of fantasy. Not a good reason but there it is, personal taste. I just plain enjoyed _The Caretaker_ tale better. 

I'ma say it again, "You guys are good." Both stories are very well done and writings you should both be very proud of.

I am almost ashamed to say, based on my own personal preference moreso than anything else, Steel Dragons' vote for winner of Round I: Match 5 goes to...
*UselessTrivaMan*

All of you guys gotta start submitting some sloppy, spelling and grammar error riddled, poorly thought out characters with disjointed plots. This is just getting too hard!


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## phoamslinger (Mar 24, 2012)

steeldragons said:


> All of you guys gotta start submitting some sloppy, spelling and grammar error riddled, poorly thought out characters with disjointed plots. This is just getting too hard!




how about if in our Round Two stories, all of us agree to omit all vowels after the first letter?

sppsdly, aftr a whl, yr sppsd t b abl rd tht wy and it wld dfntly mk it mr exctng fr yr jdgng, eh?

whch rmnds m, I nd t g bck and rd "A Void" agn...


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## mythago (Mar 25, 2012)

Piratecat said:


> I'm having to improv. Could be worse; could be hands, stone balls, or both. Friggin' Mythago. I still give her a hard time about that!




I can't believe you put "hands", "stone balls" and "hard time" together and didn't make a smarmy remark. The strain of the contest must really have gotten to you!


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## Deuce Traveler (Mar 25, 2012)

My Comments
[sblock]
I've been reading the stories again and just wanted to say that my two favorite yarns so far are Steel Draco's unnamed piece and The Caretaker's Gift by UselessTriviaMan.  

For Steel Draco's piece, I have to admit I don't enjoy horror, and I believe that evil Germans are an overused trope.  However, I do love weird tales and this falls firmly into that sort of fiction.  The characters and scenario left a strong impression after I finished the piece, so it is a tale I won't soon forget.

I also liked the Caretaker's Gift because it deals with normal boys dealing with a threat bigger than they can handle and I admire how their character is developed through the story.  Not to leave any spoilers, but I didn't believe the final character should have gotten the gift as it seemed to make the transference more about proximity than spiritual worthiness.  Still a good tale, though.
[/sblock]


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## UselessTriviaMan (Mar 25, 2012)

Deuce Traveler said:


> My Comments
> [sblock]...I didn't believe the final character should have gotten the gift as it seemed to make the transference more about proximity than spiritual worthiness.
> [/sblock]




[sblock]Thank you very much, Deuce. I realized too late that I didn't include any explanation about the transference of the Gift.  I meant to say that the Caretaker actually selects his own successor - Digger had already been chosen by the previous Suraiym, and at the end Digger chose his own best friend. I should have included something poignant about how, in the end, roles were reversed and Digger ended up taking care of the narrator.[/sblock]


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## Deuce Traveler (Mar 25, 2012)

[sblock]
Yes!  If you had added that piece of about the tranference it would have tightened up the story quite nicely.
[/sblock]


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## SteelDraco (Mar 25, 2012)

Deuce Traveler said:


> My Comments
> [sblock]
> For Steel Draco's piece, I have to admit I don't enjoy horror, and I believe that evil Germans are an overused trope.  However, I do love weird tales and this falls firmly into that sort of fiction.  The characters and scenario left a strong impression after I finished the piece, so it is a tale I won't soon forget.
> [/sblock]




[sblock]
Thanks, glad you liked it! I've heard several people say that they don't really like horror - I'll have to keep that in mind for next round's entry! I honestly think it's one of the easiest things to write for this contest. Usually the pictures have at least some modern elements to them - I've done three contests so far, and only one of them didn't have something in it that made a modern setting necessary. For modern stories, I usually read modern fantasy or horror, so that's where my mind goes in a modern setting. Ceramic DM isn't really the place for something non-genre stuff (I'm guessing, I don't like writing most non-genre stuff anyway).

You're right that evil Germans are an overused trope. I considered making him not German, but it's a short story and I didn't have a lot of room to flesh things out. I tried not to be too heavy-handed with it - originally I was going to have just his description and a couple of mentions of him living in South America, along with his appearance, and let the readers make their own mind up. I ended up dropping a few more things in, though. I probably should have omitted the accent - I put it in just to draw the reader into his speech.

Glad it's sticking in your mind otherwise, though!
[/sblock]


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 25, 2012)

I really appreciate the critique, steeldragons. Next time I'll try to leave in a typo or two, but I don't know if my little English major brain will let me. Typos make it twitchy.


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## Piratecat (Mar 25, 2012)

mythago said:


> I can't believe you put "hands", "stone balls" and "hard time" together and didn't make a smarmy remark. The strain of the contest must really have gotten to you!




I am the epitome of class and style. Also, I save all my really filthy jokes for in-person conversations. More or less. 

Also, I'm headed home from vacation. Can't wait to read the last few stories!


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## Hellefire (Mar 26, 2012)

I had a little horsie named Paul Revere...


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## Deuce Traveler (Mar 26, 2012)

Bumpity bump bump... I need my fix.
donde esta mi update?
wo ist mein updaten?

At least someone continue with some smack talk on hamsters and elderberries.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Mar 26, 2012)

Piratecat said:


> I am the *epitome* of class and style. Also, I save all my really filthy jokes for in-person conversations. More or less




I do not think that word means what you think it means.


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## Gregor (Mar 26, 2012)

Gregor's Judgement
*Round 1: Match 5*

UselessTriviaMan’s ‘_The Caretaker’s Gift_’  vs. maxfieldjadenfox’s ‘_Let Sleeping Gods Lie_’ 

[sblock=”my disclaimer”] I am humbled by the talent arrayed before me and I appreciate the opportunity to provide any kind of critique on your work. Having competed in Ceramic DM a couple of times myself, I know that it takes courage to put your thoughts down on paper and then hand that over for public scrutiny. Please keep in mind that my review and judgement of your work comes completely from my personal perspective and opinions. I am in no way a professional random-picture-driven-short-story reviewer. I also realize that in criticizing your stories I set myself up for your own counter judgement and critique (e.g. how can I judge your use of grammar when I make mistakes myself?). Please take my judgement with a grain of salt and know that I respect the creativity, hard work and imagination of everyone in this competition. And now, onto the judgements. [/sblock]

*Writing Style & Skill *

Again, another difficult choice between two really talented writers!  I’m not even sure what I can critique in this section, but let us see how they compare as we go through each in detail.

_The Caretaker’s Gift_ is, quite simply, very well written.  There were no discernable typos or glaring grammatical issues.  In fact, this may be the tightest story told so far from this judge’s perspective.  I particularly enjoyed the modern speech in an ancient fantasy setting which reminded me of Scott Lynch’s ‘Lies of Locke Lamora’.  In terms of style there was only one clunky section, but we’ll get to that a bit later.

_Let Sleeping Gods Lie_ is equally well written and stands toe-to-toe in terms of being one of the tightest thus far.  No obvious typos or other issues showed up on my radar and the flow was pretty good.  There is a great blend of history and fantasy in this piece and the setting is really well put together and presented.  There were also some minor style/flow issues, but we’ll discuss those below. 

Not sure what else to say here other than both authors did a really good job in the writing department.  This battle will need to be won in the next two categories.

*Use of the Photo Elements*

UselessTriviaMan, I think you did an admirable job of using the pictures in your story, though some were obviously better than others.  The weakest of the bunch was probably the picture of your Suraiym, but that isn’t a critique since he becomes one of your main characters.  Your use of the temple is very well done as the main setting in your story and I believed that it was an appropriate place of worship for the religion you created.  Again, your use of the antler-lady was solid and I think you did a really good job of foreshadowing your use of the picture by explaining that the guards wear helms with antlers on them (only logical that she would have real antlers as the head priest).  Lastly, the sphere-contraption was used well as a key plot piece and I like how you added a tinker gnome to flesh it out a bit.

Maxfieldjadenfox, I also think that you did a good job with the pictures you were given.  The first scene with the use of the sphere-device to measure and chart star patterns was great and it would have made for a good illustration if I were reading your story in a journal or book.  Like UselessTriviaMan you excellently foreshadow your picture of the lady with antlers.  You show us the God Pashupati as having such antlers which legitimizes your use of the woman picture later on (and her as a character as well). Similarly with the old man, you introduce him and explain him as being in his white adornments, but you do not use the picture until later.  Lastly, the temple was used really well as the setting of the showdown and I was impressed with how you used the carvings as your demons that come to life in the story.  You took that extra step beyond just using the temple as a set piece.  

At this point I still see two authors on equal footing.  On a personal note, I am glad that the temple at Bantei Srey (30 minutes, as the motorbike drives, outside of Angkor Wat in Cambodia) helped to cultivate so much creativity out of you two.  Having been there, on a scorching day a few years ago, I remember my nerd brain taking over and becoming inspired by the carvings.  Thumbs up to both of you.

*Personal Enjoyment*

UselessTriviaMan, you gave us a good high fantasy story filled with magic, clerics, dwarves, street urchins, warriors, etc.  It’s a chapter right out of a novel on a D&D campaign world – it even has darkvision! .  I really liked the religion you created with the Huntsmen, the Wild Hunt, etc. (I’ll probably be stealing that for my own campaign world, if you don’t mind).  You crafted very believable characters who I thought were the strongest part of your tale.  For example it was believable when Digger opens the wall in the cell by trying to dig it out with his trowel.  We know from the very first scene that he compulsively does stuff like that, so there are no surprises when he just happens to figure a way out.  I also think there were some great scenes in your tale.  For instance, I really enjoyed the scene where they are hidden inside the wall, listening to the Gnome and the high priest.  With the hand clasped over Digger’s mouth to keep him quiet and the image of peering through a pinhole of light, it was something you’d see in a good movie.  On that same note however, there were also a few scenes that seemed a bit forced or rushed.  In particular, we go from the death of Digger to the escape of the narrator to his anointment as the next Suraiym in record time.  Because your pace for the rest of the story was much slower, the ending felt very hand waved.  I think the piece would have been better served if there was some small hint towards the narrator's current position as a holy man at the beginning of the story (perhaps in the first paragraph where the narrator speaks of Digger’s death in the past tense).  I would have been happy with another few hundred words if it meant that the ending was measured and more effective.  

Maxfieldjadenfox, you put together a really great story that blended history, fantasy and mythology.  I really enjoyed what you constructed here.  In particular, I ate up the little things that fleshed out this mix, such as the building of a railroad over the ruins of an ancient and mystical temple in Pakistan in the late 1800s (though on a historical note, Lahore would have still been in Indian Punjab until 1947 … but it’s a fantasy story so let’s not get hung up on historical inaccuracies).  The attention to detail here is great considering that you added in British colonials as well.  Although this scene doesn’t really seem to progress to anything, other than a set piece for Gupta to find that stone, it is still really well done and excellently serves up the look and feel of the setting you are constructing.  Your settings throughout the story are also equally well served by small details: the descriptions of the gods; the demons emerging from the temple walls; the incineration of the Devil Lord’s minions into ash; Gupta’s perception of the newly awoken God’s words as thunder on a sunny day; etc.  These are all really excellent.  However, from a flow perspective, things feel a bit rushed throughout the story: Hiran’s role; the appearance of the Devil Lord, the quick resolution of the battle, etc.  Yet, I’m torn on this critique because I think this was the style you were going for: quick vignettes that tell a fully fleshed out story.  Thus, I think that what I would normally perceive as a misstep, is actually a strength in the telling of your tale.    

*Final Verdict*

Both of you came out swinging with very, very well-written stories.  I enjoyed  each and in all honesty, I struggled to find things to critique here (you can probably tell).  I thought that both of you sort of rushed things along at the end, but you're equally adept at creating scenes, giving settings texture and giving the reader some believable characters.  I read your stories multiple times, hoping to find something that would quickly sell me on the winner.  That didn't happen.  It still isn't happening.  If I could defer on this one, I would.  But since this is a 3 judge system, I cannot.  Thus, I will go with my gut and choose the story that was marginally more entertaining than the other.  

My vote goes to *Maxfieldjadenfox* and I shall force the burden of the deciding vote onto Mirth.


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## Deuce Traveler (Mar 26, 2012)

A tie... I'm excited for both of you and the anticipation weighs heavily on me.


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## Piratecat (Mar 26, 2012)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:


> I do not think that word means what you think it means.



I'm sorry, I can't hear you over the fart jokes.

And a tie is exciting! Can't wait.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 26, 2012)

Oooh! A tie IS exciting! Maybe Mirth could decide it's a tie too and we could both advance to the next round?


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## Deuce Traveler (Mar 27, 2012)

Or better yet, throw a club in between the two of you and we'll take the last man standing.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 27, 2012)

Deuce Traveler said:


> Or better yet, throw a club in between the two of you and we'll take the last man standing.




I love this idea, because it is clear to me that UslessTriviaMan is a gentleman, and would never dream of having an "altercation" with a lady, so I win by default... Ya'll forget - I'm not a boy, I just play one in 3.5. 

And if I'm wrong about UslessTriviaMan's chivalrous nature, keep in mind that I am a _Sicilian_ girl.


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## Deuce Traveler (Mar 27, 2012)

But it's our entertainment we are really after.  We get to watch a Sicilian girl beat on UselessTriviaMan with a broken off table leg.  Pass the popcorn and beer.


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## Gulla (Mar 27, 2012)

Why would the Sicilian girl use the broken off table leg? If he doesn't succumb to her gaze attack she could always use her knife? (It's like a natural weapon for Sicilian girls, so she would always have one  )


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## UselessTriviaMan (Mar 27, 2012)

maxfieldjadenfox said:


> And if I'm wrong about UselessTriviaMan's chivalrous nature, keep in mind that I am a _Sicilian_ girl.



I know far better than to go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line...


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## Hellefire (Mar 27, 2012)

UselessTriviaMan said:


> I know far better than to go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line...




*ring* *ring* ... Hello! This is Death!


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 27, 2012)

UselessTriviaMan said:


> I know far better than to go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line...




IT HAS WORKED! YOU'VE GIVEN EVERYTHING AWAY! I KNOW WHERE THE POISON IS! 


(There was poison in this conversation somewhere, wasn't there? And yes, Gulla, I have better than a knife, I have an athame!)


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## UselessTriviaMan (Mar 27, 2012)

Hellefire said:


> *ring* *ring* ... Hello! This is Death!



Just like the Postman, Death always rings twice... ;-)


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## Piratecat (Mar 27, 2012)

Oh man, Mirth, the crowd is revolting.  [smacktalk] Clearly, it's taking lessons from Rodrigo's photo use! [/smacktalk]


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 28, 2012)

Piratecat said:


> Oh man, Mirth, the crowd is revolting.  [smacktalk] Clearly, it's taking lessons from Rodrigo's photo use! [/smacktalk]




Hey PC. We may be a little ragged around the edges, but I think revolting is kind of a strong word.


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## Deuce Traveler (Mar 28, 2012)

Let him roll with it.  It's nice to see him trying to expand on his vocabulary.  He used to only communicate with "Aaarrrrrrr"s and "Meow"s.


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## steeldragons (Mar 28, 2012)

Deuce Traveler said:


> Let him roll with it.  It's nice to see him trying to expand on his vocabulary.  He used to only communicate with "Aaarrrrrrr"s and "Meow"s.




  <Not a judges thing, sorry. Completely unrelated to CDM statement warning>
Speaking of, did anyone see American Dad a couple of weeks ago? Steve's new dog was [almost] killed (in total American Dad/Family Guy non sequitur style)  by having a hot air balloon full of "pirate cats" land on it.

Guess who immediately came to mind? And couldn't, for the life of me, imagine where else such a reference would have boiled from.

Is Seth a friend of yours PC? (if so, soooo jealous! Love that guy and his work.)

</completely unrelated to CDM>

--SD


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## Hellefire (Mar 28, 2012)

Welcome to the Tundra, we got fish and game!


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 28, 2012)

Hellefire said:


> Welcome to the Tundra, we got fish and game!




I'd say that is the weirdest bit of smack talk on this thread. It's like the existential signs on the highway here in NM - "gusty winds may exist."


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## Deuce Traveler (Mar 28, 2012)

hellfire said:
			
		

> "Welcome to the Tundra, we got fish and game!"






maxfieldjadenfox said:


> "gusty winds may exist."




Both those statements have whole new meanings if you tack on "in my pants" or "in bed" to them.


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## Mirth (Mar 29, 2012)

Mirth - Judgment

Round 1, Match 5

UselessTriviaMan vs. maxfieldjadenfox

I'll spare the excuses and get straight to the biscuits...

Style -- The Gods are with us in these stories. We have UTM's freshly reincarnated boy-god vs. mfjf's reborn ancient god. It really is something to see the ways in which these pictures can craft stories of high dissimilar themes, like some of our previous matches have done, or ones with tangential themes, like these, that still develop in different ways. In UTM's story we start with the lowest rung of the ladder, street urchins, and work our way up to a being of the highest order. In mfjf's tale, the plot hinges on a forgotten god who awakens at the beginning and works to reclaim what was lost to him, his followers. Both stories ooze with creativity and I would be hard pressed to find fault with either one. I enjoyed each immensely, both as stories unto themselves, and also as touchstones for rpg world-building. Bravo on a job well done to both contestants, there is no clear winner here.

Picture use -- I also found the picture use to be very well handled in both stories. In UTM's story the temple was used to great effect as a set piece the main action, as was the head priestess with her antlers and her cruel smile. The beggar, which I thought at first was a throwaway, came back very deftly as the major cause of conflict in the story. The only issue I have was that the gnome and his device were sort of stapled on to the main narrative. However, the picture was still fairly well used, it just pales in comparison to the extremely well thought out use of the other pictures in UTM's story. In mfjf's story we see the astrologer, the last true believer of the forgotten god, as both the man with the device and the man in white robes later, which was a very clever way to tie the two pictures together and make them both relevant to the main plot, in fact, that character sets the plot in motion. Before we see the temple as a picture in the story, we have already "seen" it because mfjf set up the setting so well that it just confirmed our already preconceived notion of what the temple would look like. Again, very clever. Lastly, when I thought we would have another throwaway pic, mfjf brought back the antlered woman as the surprise daughter-goddess, a very nice trick to pull off. I would have to say that both were evenly matched in this category.

Personal connection -- So … we come down to my personal preference. I felt a strong connection to mfjf's story of godly reawakening and redemption. There was something palpable about the way the god was described as he rose from his slumber that spoke to ancient cultures and dead civilizations which I found most intriguing. But I also was captivated by UTM's narrative voice, which made me walk in his street urchin's footsteps, look through his eyes, and take in his world, all the while plotting and scheming against me as a reader and pulling a fast one on me at the end. This has been the toughest round for me so far. If I had the choice, I would call this one a draw. If find them equally good, with so few flaws that neither of them is a decisive champion.

Final judgment - But I don't have the freedom to call a draw, so I will go with my gut on this one. Although mfjf's tale was solid, practically flawless and highly entertaining, I found UTM's story to have a slightly better execution of craft in characterization and plot.

My nod for Round 1, Match 5 goes to … UselessTriviaMan!

EDIT: Having read the other two judgments, it looks like ...

THE WINNER OF ROUND 1, MATCH 5 IS *USELESSTRIVIAMAN!!!*


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## Deuce Traveler (Mar 29, 2012)

Congrats to you both for your stories!  Congrats to UselessTriviaMan for moving forward.  

Does this mean that it is time for the next round?


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## Piratecat (Mar 29, 2012)

Close one. Congratulations!


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## Mirth (Mar 29, 2012)

Mirth - Judgment

Round 1, Match 6

Hellefire vs. Daeja

More biscuits, less gravy...

Style -- These two entries couldn't be farther apart in style and substance if we had ruled them to be so. On one hand, we have Hellefire returning us to the glory days of the earliest Ceramic DM challenges with a good old-fashioned D&D adventure (of which, I wrote my share when I was a competitor). Diametrically opposed to that is Daeja's comedy of two wannabe sorcerers and the havoc they wreak with hardly any effort or remorse. I like elements of both pieces, but ultimately I feel they suffer from some serious deficiencies in their overall craft. In Hellefire's adventure, we have the aftermath of a dungeon (or mansion) looting gone astray. Hardly anyone writes in 2nd person anymore and I thought the voice of the DM was very strong in the opening scene. However, I expected that narrative to continue and perhaps work itself out as a log/journal of one group's campaign, a very risky and very creative choice for a story that I was excited to read. Instead, what I got was a railroad plot (can't go in the water, can't climb the cliff wall, etc.) with some small scenes sketched out between lines and lines of stats. Those small scenes have some tasty morsels in them (which I'll get to a bit in the next section) but sadly I felt the adventure paid short shrift to its narrative and plot and didn't really work as an adventure, either. Daeja's rollicking tale of whacko wizards and their magical misfires had its fun moments, but also suffered from some haunting questions that just weren't answered sufficiently for me as a reader. Given what Shanna and Felix have done at the beginning of the story, why would Yevin ever trust them to be on their own, unsupervised, for a week? Why would he let them take the foot with them? Why are there earth elemental creation eggs just lying around on a beach? Wouldn't the whole village be at risk of turning into raging elementals if the other eggs burst? Why are Shanna and Felix so scared of Yevin if he's so lackadaisical and easy-going about their offenses? The questions go on and on. It's not to say that I didn't enjoy some elements of both works, I'm just saying that both have problems and shortcomings that needed to be worked out. 

Picture use -- Picture use was also a struggle for both competitors. Hellefire's Rollin' Robby is an interesting concept and it's nice to see a non-combative wandering monster encounter, but he doles out magic and money like nobody's business and he adds nothing to the plot, whatever it might be. The same goes for the Vulture Turtle eggs, the Sharkgulls and the Foot of Marvin -- I love the concepts (truly), but they are just a list of items and monsters and not a story or a plot unto themselves. In Daeja's story, I felt the Sharkgull was used very well as both a character and plot device. The foot was also used in an interesting way, but it felt a bit shoehorned (pun intended) into the story as a whole. The eggs and the bee/tree creature both seemed forced and contrived (although I really liked the framing and description of the egg exploding and the spores hitting Felix).

Personal connection -- Not a fan of railroading and Hellefire's adventure left me cold. I believe with some concerted effort, there is enough there to make a grand adventure, but what is on the page isn't it. Daeja's tale was nice, breezy, and funny, but it was a little too light for my tastes --  it needs more meat on the bones, too.  

Final judgment - For Hellefire, the totality of the adventure needs to be tightened up, given more structure, fleshed out and in general, made whole for it to be serviceable. Some great ideas in there, definitely worth salvaging, but not nearly enough to win this competition without some serious work. Although I have my reservations about Daeja's plot and narrative construction as well, I feel that style and picture use won the day.

My nod for Round 1, Match 6 goes to … Daeja!


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 29, 2012)

Thank you judges for what turned into kind of a nail-biter for me! (If anyone drops out of the next round, I'd be happy to step in. ) Congrats to my worthy opponent, UselessTriviaMan - you must go forward and win for both of us now, my son...


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## Hellefire (Mar 29, 2012)

Deuce Traveler said:


> Congrats to you both for your stories!  Congrats to UselessTriviaMan for moving forward.
> 
> Does this mean that it is time for the next round?




Eeeeeeeeasy killer.
One round at a time!
I am merely wounded, but not yet down!!


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## Deuce Traveler (Mar 29, 2012)

But what will I read until then...


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## Hellefire (Mar 29, 2012)

Deuce Traveler said:


> But what will I read until then...




Armor? Guardians of the Flame? Legend? Some Myth adventures? War and Peace? JavaScript Bible? Some of that toilet paper with jokes written on it? The Art of War? Hop on Pop?


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## Deuce Traveler (Mar 29, 2012)

Nah.  Read them all.  I'm down to reading pdfs of old adventure modules.


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## Mirth (Mar 29, 2012)

Deuce Traveler said:


> Nah.  Read them all.  I'm down to reading pdfs of old adventure modules.




Joe Abercrombie's First Law Trilogy?

Patrick Rothfuss' Kingkiller Chronicles?

Rosemary Sutcliff's Sword At Sunset? Eagle Of The Ninth? (Really, any Sutcliff is good Sutcliff...)


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## Deuce Traveler (Mar 29, 2012)

I can't get any further with the Kingslayer Chronicles until he gets around to writing a new book, so I have gone onto Ernest Hemingway's "A Farewell to Arms".  I read through old pulp books like Robert Sheckley's 'The Status Civilization' while I'm working out on the bike at the gym.

I also finished reading the Labyrinth Lord adventure, "Wheel of Evil", and am reading through "Death Frost Doom" for kicks.  I am using DosBox to play fan mods of the Forgotten Realms Unlimited Adventure packs so I can play solo through Gary Gygax's old TSR modules and...

Oh god, I am so sadly bored here in Qatar.


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## Piratecat (Mar 29, 2012)

Deuce Traveler said:


> Oh god, I am so sadly bored here in Qatar.



You're in Qatar? SO COOL. Sometimes the Internet amazes me. 

I have the problem that I'm a literary sponge, so I can't read extensively when doing Ceramic DM. Last time i was re-reading the Travis McGee books and I started to write like John D. McDonald. Same thing with George Macdonald Fraser, Donald E. Westlake, Scott Lynch... It actually screwed up my own style a bit.


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## Mirth (Mar 29, 2012)

If George RR Martin's Game Of Thrones series is the Citizen Kane of modern fantasy, then Abercrombie's trilogy is Pulp Fiction -- gritty, raw, clever, and unfiltered. Highly recommended.

Sutcliff's Sword At Sunset is her Arthurian masterpiece and I would put it in equal steading with Bradley's Mists Of Avalon and White's Once And Future King. I have a Master's in Literature, specializing in Celtic and Arthurian Studies, so I don't say that lightly, either 

Try either of those and I swear you won't be bored...


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## Deuce Traveler (Mar 29, 2012)

I'm in Qatar for one more month, then I am done with this assignment and can return to the land of beer and chili burgers.  There is a free book library here and I've used it to catch up on pulp from the 1970s and prior.  Some of it has been good, but I haven't read anything I have been wowed by since I finished Joe Haldeman's "The Forever War" a few months back, and Tanith Lee's short story, "The Dry Season" from Lin Carter's Flashing Swords #5: Demons and Daggers.  I was blown away by Tanith Lee's grittiness, and so recently picked up her "Storm Lord" novel from the free bin here at base. 

 First I have to get through Hemingway's "A Farewell to Arms", and I am only on chapter 3.  But I can already see why he is considered a genius.  The man breaks the laws of the English language, writes in simple words, but weaves such complex and beautifully flowing paragraphs.


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## UselessTriviaMan (Mar 29, 2012)

maxfieldjadenfox said:


> Thank you judges for what turned into kind of a nail-biter for me! (If anyone drops out of the next round, I'd be happy to step in. ) Congrats to my worthy opponent, UselessTriviaMan - you must go forward and win for both of us now, my son...



maxfieldjadenfox, I will try my very best to win for us both. You were a wonderfully fun rival, and you taught me that elderberries are actually quite a pleasant scent!


And a big thank you to the judges for your time, your critiques, and your incredible fashion sense.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Mar 29, 2012)

Piratecat said:


> I have the problem that I'm a literary sponge, so I can't read extensively when doing Ceramic DM. Last time i was re-reading the Travis McGee books and I started to write like John D. McDonald. Same thing with George Macdonald Fraser, Donald E. Westlake, Scott Lynch... It actually screwed up my own style a bit.




I'm the same way; I have to drop the casual reading while writing.

OTOH, I find having the TV on helps with writing dialogue.


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## Piratecat (Mar 29, 2012)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:


> OTOH, I find having the TV on helps with writing dialogue.



If all my characters start sounding like Sterling Archer, you know you'll have done your job.


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## Hellefire (Mar 30, 2012)

innagodadavida....baby!


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## Wild Gazebo (Mar 30, 2012)

Hellefire said:


> innagodadavida....baby!




By I. Ron Butterfly.


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## Hellefire (Mar 30, 2012)

I am a Polish Boyfriend...
Not as funny as Testosteron, Day of the Wacko or Sexmisja, but then again those are movies.


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## Piratecat (Mar 30, 2012)

So we're waiting for a few more judge decisions and then round 2, right? 

Picture selection always fascinates me. Even more important, it always surprises me how much easier it is for me to write when I'm given the photo constraints. If you said "Hey, write a story!", I'd be more likely to suffer from analysis paralysis.

To me, this suggests that any writing I do should have artificially applied constraints on it. Don't say "write a novel," say "write a novel about a one-legged dwarven whelk-wrangler who must travel to the Bubblesphere for sausages." Much, much easier.

Anyone else have this happen?


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## Hellefire (Mar 30, 2012)

Piratecat said:


> So we're waiting for a few more judge decisions and then round 2, right?
> 
> Picture selection always fascinates me. Even more important, it always surprises me how much easier it is for me to write when I'm given the photo constraints. If you said "Hey, write a story!", I'd be more likely to suffer from analysis paralysis.
> 
> ...




Same exact thing for my coding...tell me 'write a program' and I'll look at you blankly and pour another round. Make it 'I need an object-oriented isometric game with melee and ranged combat and blue dwarves' and I'll...well...pull out a requirements analysis sheet and start asking questions. But at least I'll be moving!


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## UselessTriviaMan (Mar 30, 2012)

Piratecat said:


> Anyone else have this happen?



Yup. I think the pictures actually helped - they were anchor points that kept my story from straying too far away from where it needed to go.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Mar 30, 2012)

Usually it's one of the pictures that gets me going, and wedging in the others that takes the time.


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## Hellefire (Mar 30, 2012)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:


> Usually it's one of the pictures that gets me going, and wedging in the others that takes the time.




Finding those common threads that spark ideas and connections in your mind seems to be the trick. I usually look at the pictures for their similarities first, then go from there. And usually 2 have a decent connection, sometimes the third has a...bit of a connection. But invariably the 4th (and sometimes 3rd) have only very ephemeral similarities. 

The beach picture and the shark-gull picture, for example, go together nicely, because that is where gulls are and sharks are nearby. The tree-bee-thingy...well, there is a bit of flora on the beach picture, and I am from a small town in Alaska on the ocean, with mountains and forests going down to the water, so that...can fit. The foot? Well. Hm. It's. Part of an animal. The shark-gull is. Kind of an animal. The tree-bee-thingy is. A. Being. I guess.

So, there ya go, all the inner links I need to write a story.

Personally, I thought my set of pics was moderate level, but I thought...hold on I have to go check the pics again....

match 1 - not similar at all (the bird and the water/boat go together maybe), but not radically different (like a spaceship and a scene from Sparticus) - moderate
match 2 - disassociated AND various genres (trippy mind/sci fi and trippy fantasy) - difficult
match 3 - not similar but seems rather same genre (fantasy-ish) - easy
match 4 - disassociated but not forcing different genres/times/planets - moderate
match 5 - some parts seem to fit very well (old guy looks similar enough to be same guy) and some see very disconnected and difficult (woman with antlers) - moderate
match 6 - disassociated but not forcing different genres/times/planets - moderate (maybe on the light side)

So, I found them all in roughly the same ballpark, though I thing match 3 pictures had a more general theme and match 2 pictures has more diverging themes. 

Note this is not a criticism on the judges or any participants - writing styles and finished product are not necessarily a product of the difficulty of pictures. I think the harder the pictures, the more the writer has to concentrate on melding the story around them and the less time to touch it up, and the harder it is to use all pictures eloquently, but the more chance there is for creativity and thus 'wow' factor. Kind of how gymnasts and ice skaters and horse-jumpers and divers and rodeo riders get more points for more difficult feats.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 30, 2012)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:


> Usually it's one of the pictures that gets me going, and wedging in the others that takes the time.




First, I look for an overall atmosphere in the photos, and see which genre might work. Usually one picture will grab me and suggest a story; then, I need to see if I can weave the other pictures in rather than shoehorning them in. I agree with PC though, knowing that I have constraints seems to offer me more freedom rather than less. With a whole world full of ideas, it's hard to pick one...


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## Daeja (Mar 30, 2012)

It's interesting to hear how you guys approach this.  I 'played along' with the pictures before my set for a while, and brainstormed ideas that I could have written if I'd been in that round. But when my own set came up, I found myself paralyzed by the constraints rather than freed by them.  Possibly it didn't help that I kept circling around to one central idea, trying to figure out how to make that work with the other images. It's definitely something I'll have to work on, whether I make it to the next round or just keep playing along on the sidelines - being able to pass on ideas that don't fully leverage all of the requirements.


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## steeldragons (Mar 30, 2012)

Piratecat said:


> So we're waiting for a few more judge decisions and then round 2, right?




<*THUNDERCLAP* lingering rumble. The giant bulbous disembodied green heads of judges tribunal shimmer into focus.>

Just so, Cat of the Pirates.

My round 6 decision is on the way, momentarily. Then Gregor's.

Then I'll get around to pairing up you poor hapless mortalssserr...worthy combatants  for the Round 2 matches.

That is all.
<flashes of fire and billowing green smoke. The giant disembodied heads fade from view.>


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## Deuce Traveler (Mar 30, 2012)

Tsk.... where is the maniacal laughter?


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## Piratecat (Mar 30, 2012)

Daeja said:


> Possibly it didn't help that I kept circling around to one central idea, trying to figure out how to make that work with the other images.



If I do this, I'm doomed. I try to deliberately not think of any story at all until I find a way that all (or almost all) of the photos fit together. Then I slowly poke around the edges of the idea, gingerly, until I find a hook with the last one. That's when I start to develop the story. Nearly every single time I've fastened on something wonderful but then retrofit the photos, I've lost that round. 

The trick here is that I think it's not enough to be good unless your opponent has an off day. You have to be good and work within constraints. It's tricky.


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## steeldragons (Mar 30, 2012)

ROUND I: Match 6
Hellefires'_ MMI-7_
vs.
Daeja's _The Shift_

This round laid to rest, for me, something that I had seen in the beginning criteria and was wondering about in the subsequent rounds. Namely, that the Ceramic DM posts early on had mentioned that the pictures be used to write an "adventure" or a "short story." Given the entries thus far, I had been assuming that I had misinterpreted that and it was really a writing workshop for short stories. 

Here, we have a delightful match up of a literal "module" adventure against a fanciful tale of the folly of some ambitious young sorcerer's apprentices. If I thought judging between two stories had been a handful in the past rounds, trying to judge these two divergent styles of material really knocked that out of the park.

It becomes necessary to look and judge each individually, to a point. Am I  a reader taking in a casual fantasy short story read OR am I a DM, paging through a module? Not mutually exclusive, certainly, but a certain amount of different mindset is required. 

1) Writing Skill/Style: Both "stories" are enjoyable in their own ways. _Shift's_ story of a pair of apprentices delving into the "deep end of the pool" as it were, and the consequences that ensue was a decent well-known trope/story. But there are a few missed words (which I chalk up to speedy typing as I all too often do, myself) and a couple of areas that I would have liked the story taken a bit "deeper", I suppose. 

Characterization was generally weak, I thought. What does Shanna actually look like? Is Shanna a "she"? I was assuming so from my understanding of fantasy naming conventions, but that is not assured. What does Felix look like? Yevin? Some small word or sentence of detail is all that's needed, but just isn't there. These are not concerns for understanding the story, as a whole, of course. Their roles are easily understood to the fantasy genre reader, but a little more description could not have hurt.

In MMI-7, we have a short adventure of a group trying to get off, what sounds to be, a particularly deadly island. There was humor intermixed with the danger...mostly in the character of Rollin' Robby, but also the idea of the "Mystical Marvin" (was anyone else envisioning a short squat wizard, whose face you never saw, with large sneaker-clad feet?). 

The humorous bits interspersed with the "stats" entries and a random table, always necessary for a module, did lend to a bit of tearing one out of the read and into the realm of DM perusing a module. But, at the same time, it worked and read like I recall module adventures reading.

There were also the historically appropriate touches of inconsistency such as Robby "will respond to direct questions...but won't say anything specific" which gives me, as a DM reading an adventure, pause. Similarly, the bits about what the party might do with the foot gave me pause, while at the same time being completely appropriate for the genre of the piece. We all (or, rather, any DM would) know the party would come up with something else entirely that's not in the descriptions of "if they do this" or "if they do that".

But, again, these are a hallmark of many older modules and between that and the "jokey" names of "Robby" and "Marvin", it left me to wonder if what I was reading was supposed to be an adventure or a spoof/farcical telling of one.

Personally, and it's really neither here nor there, if this were meant to be read as part of a "real" module and not a spoof, then the stuff about "for use with the Expert rules" and "PC levels x-z" should have been in the beginning, not the end notes. But, again, I'm not sure if its a spoof or not.  

2) Picture Use: Solid use in each piece. I felt the use of the plant creature pic as the result of "spores" from the weird stones on the beach pic was a bit more creative tie in between the two. However,_ MMI-7's_ depiction of them as vulture-turtle eggs worked well for the adventure telling...and tied them, nicely to the shark-gulls, giving the island, if not the world, a bit a consistency in the types of creatures to be found there.

That said, _Shift's _use of the shark-gull as one of the main characters was a pleasantly unexpected surprise.

The stones (or whatever they actually are, I'm still not sure! hahaha) as some kind of spore-producing "this is how shambling mounds are born" kinda thing was also clever and unexpected. Again, nicely tying two of the images together as necessary elements of the story. But I don't think any more creative or enjoyable than them being egg-pouches for vulture-turtles (which I will definitely be stealing...er..."incorporating" into an adventure along with the shark-gulls, if you don't mind.) 

The foot...ahhhh, the foot in the box. I had some hopes for this which neither piece met. However, I can' judge them against what I think/how I would use them, but how they were used in the story. I thought the use of both were a bit plain. Yet, both work perfectly well for what they are supposed to do.

In a way, _Shift's_ use of the foot as a poignant reminder for Yevin and an implement needed for the casting of the Shift spell was more intriguing and essential to the story. 

But then, making it a supreme treasure/"artifact" and, from what we're told, a point of the initial expedition of the party/why they're there in the first place, is also good.

First thing I thought of when I saw that pic (from one of my fellow judges, sorry I don't recall which one of you) was "Ah! We're gonna get a "Monkey's Paw" sorta story with _that_ one." And making it a much sought after and heavily defended artifact touched on that, for me. Again, the B/X or BECMI randomness of elves and thieves getting a roll to notice to dig for the box made me nostalgically smile. However, it certainly made it able to be "missed" and, while relevant, not really essential to the adventure. It felt a bit like an afterthought and just "stuck in there."

[EDIT: Apologies! I somehow segued straight from Pictures to Personal Enjoyment to Final Judgement!

3) Personal Enjoyment: I like both. But as mentioned, previously, they were completely different types of reads, not just different genres or settings of a story.

For the tale it was, _The Shift _rises and falls on the style/skill and picture use. Just as much as _MMI-7_ does as a module. So there are no points or edges to be gained from this criteria. My ruling does not change due to anything in the area of "Personal Enjoyment." 
/EDIT]

Final Judgement: In my view, the judging of these works is the most difficult task we, the judges, have had. Even though we have been treated and entertained by many divergent stories, we haven't had to judge completely divergent types of work which a straight narrative and a module, complete with stats and random tables, certainly are.

For general enjoyment and some better tying together and overall use of the requisite images, Steel Dragons' vote for winner of Round I: Match 6 goes to...
*Daeja*


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## steeldragons (Mar 30, 2012)

Deuce Traveler said:


> Tsk.... where is the maniacal laughter?




Next time. 

*flash of lightning* BWAHAHAHA! *thunderclap*
--SD


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## Hellefire (Mar 30, 2012)

I'm going down...down...(down)...In a Blaze of Glory!!
*This is your captain speaking...listen...uh...we're going down, so light 'em up*
I'm going down...and I'm aiming for the fat kid in the wheelchair...

Daeja, congo rats!
I would say I expect you to win the whole thing, but that would be too cliche!
So, I'll just say...go Cowboys!

(Oh, and great job...in retrospect I see what the judges are talking about, but *I* really liked your story! First one I think I've ever given a nod over my own I think....)


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## Hellefire (Mar 30, 2012)

Mirth said:


> Personal connection -- Not a fan of railroading and Hellefire's adventure left me cold.




Mirth, I completely agree with you on the railroading thing. You see, I was trying to write a good old OD&D module - and honestly I generally run even modules fairly loosely, just taking ideas and going with what's in my head and the characters are doing. I think I got sidetracked by both trying to be complete and by this ISO thing RPGs have been doing since d20 days of standardizing and covering everything. It did not come out as well as I had hoped and I probably should have stuck more to my DMing style. 

Usually, when I prepare adventures, I like to draw random overview maps (like the map from the Hobbit) with only random symbols, and a good dungeon or two, then notes on a couple of the encounters and anything really important. But I pretty much wing it from there.

In any case, I agree with your assessment, and will try to work it out better next time. And I really wanted to try writing an actual adventure for Ceramic DM .

Helle


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## Hellefire (Mar 30, 2012)

Consolation prize - I picked winners 100% this round!
Experience prize - I have been in 4 CDMs, and nearly won 4 rounds!

Moving prize - In 3 weeks I am moving my family to a new continent! So, it is not such a bad thing that I am out...but I will be back. Oh yes, I will be back.

And up next...ooooh 3-person matches! muahhahaha!


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## steeldragons (Mar 30, 2012)

Hellefire said:


> Moving prize - In 3 weeks I am moving my family to a new continent! So, it is not such a bad thing that I am out...but I will be back. Oh yes, I will be back.




Wow! Cool...and sorry...and good luck! Always a huge undertaking.

Which continent?

Though, I won't lie, I am sorry I won't have a contact in Scotland for my anticipated visit this summer.


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## Gregor (Mar 30, 2012)

Gregor's Judgement
*Round 1: Match 6*

Hellefire’s ‘_MMI-7 Out of the Mouth of Madness_’  vs. Daeja’s ‘_The Shift’_ 

[sblock=”my disclaimer”] I am humbled by the talent arrayed before me and I appreciate the opportunity to provide any kind of critique on your work. Having competed in Ceramic DM a couple of times myself, I know that it takes courage to put your thoughts down on paper and then hand that over for public scrutiny. Please keep in mind that my review and judgement of your work comes completely from my personal perspective and opinions. I am in no way a professional random-picture-driven-short-story reviewer. I also realize that in criticizing your stories I set myself up for your own counter judgement and critique (e.g. how can I judge your use of grammar when I make mistakes myself?). Please take my judgement with a grain of salt and know that I respect the creativity, hard work and imagination of everyone in this competition. And now, onto the judgements. [/sblock]

Writing Style & Skill 

Out of the Mouth of Madness represents our first module entry into Ceramic DM.  As a module, it needs to be approached differently.  Let us begin.  Overall, I thought there was some good scene construction here, but unfortunately the style of the writing seemed to work against that.  There were some fairly glaring language and grammatical issues throughout which made reading a bit difficult.  Additionally, the opening scene setting is a bit confusing the way its written and there was some lack of clarity in the description of some of the encounters (e.g. Robby is hiding with a vine hidden across a path and then the next sentence implies that the PCs automatically trip, even though the previous sentence didn't indicate that it was there to trip anyone).  As a module it also felt incomplete or railroady.  

The Shift is a well written short story.  I do not have too much to say in this section as I enjoyed the style and thought that it lent itself, in a believable way, to a funny little tale about two shapeshifting sorcerers.  There is definitely some solid comedic dialogue in here and a pinch or two of good scene construction (more on that below).  I also enjoyed the use of italicized font to indicate the telepathic communication by the protagonist.  

Use of the Photo Elements

Hellfire, I thought you did a fair job with what you were given.  That being said, I didn’t really see or visualize your Robby in the image of the shambling mound man thing.  However, your use of the vulture eggs was clever though I wanted to know more about them and the creatures that lay them.  The shark gull was … well a shark gull.  I can’t really fault you on that.  Lastly, I thought that your use of the foot as a unique item was quite creative and was a good way of linking the PCs back to their objective.

Daeja, as with Hellfire, the shark gull is a shark gull.  However, I think you went a bit beyond that by making it your main character and linking it to your story concept of failed transmutation.  I also enjoyed how Shanna explains the how and why he/she ended up shifting into one (reminded me of Ghostbusters and the Stay Puft Marshmellow Man).  I thought your use of the   foot as a part of a former student turned werebeast was good and you fleshed it out by keeping it around as a reminder for Yevin, and as a plot item towards the end of the story.  Fair use on the rock-eggs which you used well to cause a transformation in Felix, which in turn gave you an opportunity to use the final image of the shambling mound man.

Personal Enjoyment

Hellefire, I give you two thumbs up for doing something much different than anyone else.  I really love D&D modules, and I think this suite of pictures lent itself very nicely to such a framework.  However, I will be honest with you: I wasn’t a big fan of this module.  I know that you were going for an old school feel, but I felt that there wasn't much of a plot or over arching story.  For instance, who is Marvin?  Where did he come from?  Why is he important?  Has anyone gone looking for him and his valuable body parts before?  Many of these questions can be filled in by providing opportunities for knowledge checks, finding old journals, notes on long dead adventurers, etc.  These things would have greatly improved the quality of the module and given the reader more back story and history to go on.  Additionally, the layout of the module forces us down only a single path: we cannot follow the cliffs (maybe we can, but there is nothing to go on other than an entry that we can follow for one hour of daylight and then what?); we MUST go to the beach; we MUST run into Robby, etc.  In the end, I was left with so many questions and I found my interest waning as I read on.  Again, I thought you had the makings of something really neat and creative here, but I just felt that the execution didn't deliver.    

Daeja, you served us up a well written comedic tale.  I really enjoyed the dialogue between your two protagonists and I thought that you cleverly wove your pictures in at key points and with plenty of context and background to make their use that much more believable.  I felt that there were flashes of quality scene making in this piece which is definitely a skill I'd like to see you expand upon if you make it to the next round (e.g. "The shift," Felix said, pointing to the spellbook with the hand that still held the foot. The thing flopped back and forth in the air, and Yevin's bushy, white eyebrows rose. Felix lowered his gaze to the floor sheepishly and set the foot back down in the box.”).  The only downside to your tale was the ending.  It felt very rushed and almost forced.  I would have liked some of your plot to stretch out a little more in order to avoid the feeling that your characters go from travel, to finding something, to getting sick, to turning into an earth elemental, to changing back, to going home and ending the story ... all within a page or so of text.   

*Final Verdict*

In a sweep, its Daeja for Round 2!


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## Piratecat (Mar 30, 2012)

I think the challenge of trying to write a module is that we all know modules _really_ well, and one that's not traditional length is going to seem skimpy. Heck, I'm 6000 words into writing one right now and I'm not even into the meat of the adventure yet. As a result, I think it'd be almost impossible to win a CDM round with an adventure put up against a story of equal quality.

Same thing with poetry. No one has ever won a round with poetry. I think it can be done, but the more traditional literary form usually gives judges a better basis for evaluation.

Still? Incredibly cool to see people tackle it.


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## Hellefire (Mar 30, 2012)

Thanks PC .


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## Daeja (Mar 30, 2012)

Thank you to the judges for their feedback and the time and effort they put into providing it. I really appreciated all the comments, and look forward to seeing if I can improve for round two! Can't wait to see what challenging photos you give us in round two!  

Thank you Hellefire - I really enjoyed the angle you took for our set of pictures. I hope your move goes really well! Such a huge undertaking, I hope it goes as smoothly as possible! And I'll do my best to represent our bracket well in round two!

To the rest of the field... Looking forward to reading more from you all!


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## Hellefire (Mar 30, 2012)

steeldragons said:


> Wow! Cool...and sorry...and good luck! Always a huge undertaking.
> 
> Which continent?
> 
> Though, I won't lie, I am sorry I won't have a contact in Scotland for my anticipated visit this summer.




Well, to be honest it isn't a 'new' continent, any more than it was when the vikings or Columbus got there. And actually I've lived there before...but my wife and kid haven't. After being in Europe for a decade, well, it doesn't have to do with that. Really it has to do with my wife and I deciding its time to build a nice self-sufficient home and start an eco-village. Mostly based on my favorite game of course  (SAGA...Saga: the Game ~Hero Edition hard cover by CP Bussell (Hardcover) - Lulu - shameless plug)

Sorry about not being here for your trip - I do have a couple contacts for gamers in Scotland though - where ya heading?

So anyway, flying into Vancouver, BC then heading to Anchorage and Seward for 2-8 weeks, then probably WA/OR for another couple months, then...well, depends on getting a job in Canada so I can move my family when we buy land.


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## steeldragons (Mar 31, 2012)

*Round ii*

Green and purple clouds spiral about your heads.

Lightning flashes, thunder crashes, and the judges' tribunal appears before you in all of their bulbous headed glory.

"Congratulations" the three heads speak as one, "to ye mortals.

"Be it known, here and now, that the Ceramic DM Round II proceeds forthwith.

 @phoamslinger 
meet
 @Piratecat 
meet 
 @UselessTriviaMan 

"Ye three take on the challenge of the Round II: Match 1.

 @Rodrigo Instalindir
meet
 @SteelDraco 
meet
 @Daeja 

"Ye three take on the challenge of the Round II: Match 2.

"Only two shall emerge from the challenges to compete for the supreme rule of Ceramic DM...Spring 2012.

"Round II Match 1 photos shall be posted shortly.

"That is all."
<lightning flashes. the heads fade from view. thunder crashes. A trio of voices cackle and trail off below, or is it behind, the lingering rumbles of thunder.>


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## steeldragons (Mar 31, 2012)

*Round II: Match 1*

Round II: Match 1

 @phoamslinger  vs.  @Piratecat  vs.  @UselessTriviaMan 

Start Time, 8:30 EST, Saturday, March 31st.
Finish Time, 8:30 EST, Tuesday, April 3rd.

Your Pictures...will be different than the ones previously posted, once everyone has ok'd that time. 

*thunderclap* Bwahahahahahahahaha...hehhuh*hack*gack*cough*kHAAAAHHHHHha.

--SD


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## Piratecat (Mar 31, 2012)

Steeldragons, PM coming your way.

Hmm, weird board glitch. Let me know if you didn't get it!


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## steeldragons (Mar 31, 2012)

We shall begin Round II once all Match 1 contestants have "checked in" and approved of the starting time. If they cannot, a different starting time shall be determined.

That is all.
*thunderclap*...<crickets>..."eh, who cares?"...cranky bent old man walks out from behind the emerald curtain.
--SD


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## Piratecat (Mar 31, 2012)

steeldragons said:


> Round II: Match 1
> 
> @phoamslinger  vs.  @Piratecat  vs.  @UselessTriviaMan
> 
> ...



That works fine for me. I can do any time, so long as I finish by Thursday this week.


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## UselessTriviaMan (Mar 31, 2012)

Aye, I'm in. Though Tuesday is my wedding anniversary, so I'd best be getting my story cranked out before then.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 31, 2012)

steeldragons said:


> Green and purple clouds spiral about your heads.
> 
> Lightning flashes, thunder crashes, and the judges' tribunal appears before you in all of their bulbous headed glory.
> 
> ...




Is this the part where I make a crack about three ways, or is that Rodrigo's job?


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## Deuce Traveler (Mar 31, 2012)

And there was much rejoicing...


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## phoamslinger (Mar 31, 2012)

steeldragons said:


> Round II: Match 1
> 
> @phoamslinger  vs.  @Piratecat  vs.  @UselessTriviaMan
> 
> ...




I see it.  let's dance.


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## steeldragons (Mar 31, 2012)

Round II: Match 2

[MENTION=2342]phoamslinger[/MENTION] v. [MENTION=2]Piratecat[/MENTION] v. [MENTION=6678460]UselessTriviaMan[/MENTION]

Start time: 9:15 AM EST, Saturday, March 31
Deadline: 9:15 AM EST, Tuesday, April 3

Good luck to all.
Your photos:


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## Deuce Traveler (Mar 31, 2012)

Two thumbs up for picture awesomeness.  I especially love how you have a statue in the tropics, indoor setting, desert location and seal in the tundra.  Ups the difficulty.


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## Piratecat (Mar 31, 2012)

Roger roger.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Mar 31, 2012)

maxfieldjadenfox said:


> Is this the part where I make a crack about three ways, or is that Rodrigo's job?




I thought the three-ways were PC's mom's job.


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## UselessTriviaMan (Mar 31, 2012)

Holy CRAP!

What the heck have I gotten myself into?!


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## Daeja (Mar 31, 2012)

Those are great! 

And I'm not going to say I'm glad not to be in the first threesome, because I'm sure whatever comes for the second group is going to be just as challenging! (but seriously... good luck, I can't wait to see how you guys tackle those!)


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## Piratecat (Mar 31, 2012)

Tough, well-chosen photos. I think I have something. It's fragile, and it's challenging, but I may be able to make it work. 

If not, I'm writing one hell of an epic limerick about seals.


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## phoamslinger (Mar 31, 2012)

moderately painful.  this one's tough.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Mar 31, 2012)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:


> I thought the three-ways were PC's mom's job.




Ooooh, let the smack talk begin!


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## Piratecat (Mar 31, 2012)

maxfieldjadenfox said:


> Ooooh, let the smack talk begin!



To be fair, if anyone knows about low-down dirty cracks it's Rodrigo.

Also, remind me to edit the thread a bit before I send my mom here to read my story.


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## phoamslinger (Mar 31, 2012)

ok, the story's written.  unlike the first time, I'm just going to sit on it and do a bit of editiing and try to firm up a couple of the pictures.  I'll probably post it tomorrow.


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## Piratecat (Apr 1, 2012)

phoamslinger said:


> ok, the story's written.  unlike the first time, I'm just going to sit on it and do a bit of editiing and try to firm up a couple of the pictures.  I'll probably post it tomorrow.



Whatever happens, I'm in awe of how quickly you turn thought to story. 

UselessTriviaMan, phoamslinger: good luck!


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## phoamslinger (Apr 1, 2012)

Ceramic DM, Round II, Match I: phoamslinger's entry

enjoy!

word count: approximately 3210

[sblock]The Favor

The gray skies of a wintery morning hung across the city.  Avoiding the townsfolk as they scurried towards shelter, Thuvis and Asperon moved with care through the litter and chaos of the street while high overhead a cow arced across the sky, bellowing madly in fear before landing violently (and explosively) on top of a nearby cloth vendor’s kiosk. Raising a hand to wipe a bit of bovine gore off his armor, Thuvis wondered if the reason for the cattle bombardment was that all of the neighboring rocks and combustibles had already been fired against the city in the previous weeks …doubtful.  There were always rocks around and the most likely possibility was just that the catapult crews  of the Denaxan Empire were bored with the more common missiles and were engaging in a bit of “let’s see what we can put over the city walls next”.  At least they weren’t using peasants from the surrounding farms anymore.  And besides, splashing renowned heroes such as himself and Asperon with cow entrails was just the sort of thing that the God of Twisted Plot Devices enjoyed.  Asperon gazed down at the blood splashed across his winter furs, then turned to his partner of many campaigns and began speaking in a strange lingo.

“I still don’t see why we don’t just hop the wall and go on a killing spree.  I know it’s a big army, but it’s probably ninety percent minions with only one hit point each.  We would go through hundreds of them before we even got hurt ourselves and besides, according to our class features, we both fight better when we’re bloodied.”

At these words, a small green ball of light appeared beside Asperon’s head.  A small spark of energy leaped out and zapped his ear.

METAGAMING INFRACTION.  THREE HIT POINT PENALTY FOR TWENTY-FOUR HOURS GAME TIME.  C’MON GUYS, FOLLOW THE BOXED TEXT.

Thuvis glanced over at his partner.  “I still want to know why it is that the God of Twisted Plot Devices only does that to us.  What is it that makes us special and no one else?   I’d also like to know what some of the words it uses mean.  “Game Time” suggests a competition of some sort, but who do we compete against?”

The barbarian looked confused as he rubbed the side of his head “Were my words possessed again?  All I know is that now my ear hurts.  Let’s get on to the temple and see what Joranz wants.”

The two adventurers had been together from the start of their careers.  Occasionally they had been joined by others whose talents complemented their own, but for obscure sounding reasons like “work”, “school”, and inexplicably “the ball and chain”, those others had gradually left the team, never to be heard from again.  Now it was just Thuvis and Asperon, warlord and barbarian, heroes of the realm who were (frequently it seemed) called upon to help those less capable.

From the very beginning, Thuvis and Asperon had been haunted, nay cursed, by the presence of the small green ball of light.  It had first appeared when they were but fledgling heroes.  They had answered a call to arms, tossing back a small goblin encroachment on some farmsteads and somewhere during that first adventure, the small green light had adopted them.  Over the subsequent months, they had determined that it was not a demon or a devil.  It was not aligned in any sense, nor was it magical.  Remove Curse had no effect on it, nor did any other type of arcane or divine ritual.  It appeared to be invisible and undetectable to almost everyone they met.  And while it followed only them, if anyone joined their band, they too would be occasionally targeted by the thing’s effects until that individual left once more.  Finally, Thuvis and Asperon had traveled to the capitol to consult with the master sage, Barnabus Barnaby.  It was Barnabus who had told them of an obscure deity outside the rest of the pantheon of gods, the God of Twisted Plot Devices or Deificus Maliciositi (or Dei Ehm in the Elder Tongue).  Omnipotent, and almost omniscient, it was written that the god would follow them until the day they retired, then it would move on to hover over and torment some other poor souls. But in all of his researching, Barnabus had found no other means of banishing the god.  The two adventurers had no intention of dissolving their partnership for a life of ease and retirement, so the damned thing was something they’d gradually learned to tolerate and mostly ignore.  The only side effect was an occasional tendency on their parts to speaking gibberish, which in turn would be punished by a spark from the green ball of light.  
The unfairness of it all was self evident.

Ever since the arrival of the armies of the Denaxan Empire outside the city walls, the two adventurers had been speaking with city officials and researching private libraries, looking for some way that they could end the war and bring peace to the land again.  It had seemed a fruitless task until the small green ball had appeared above them last night, just before an emissary from Joranz Jor had approached them with a possible mission.  

Thuvis and Asperon moved up the Avenue of Temples towards Summerhaem, the grand temple of Pelor in the city.  They went up the steps and through the doors and into the sunny warmth of the temple’s interior.  Several townsfolk were huddled in groups near the entrance, being fed bread and wine by the temple acolytes.  Many had lost their homes during the continuous catapult assault and the temples of the city were the first to open their doors to the needy and oppressed.   






They moved on to the other end of the main temple chamber and each dropped a few gold coins into the offering box.  Above them, the miracle of the Everburning Candles of Pelor blazed away, radiating heat and light, banishing the darkness and constantly demonstrating the power of the God to all who passed by.  It was said that even in the heaviest of winter snows, the area surrounding the grand temple remained clear of ice and snow, warmed by the God’s power.  But Thuvis and Asperon had yet to see this for themselves.  What was obvious was the chill of winter air outside had no place here.  Asperon cursed under his breath as beads of sweat appeared on his brow and he began hurriedly removing his heavy fur outer garments.  Thuvis threw back his winter cloak and turned as Joranz Jor, solar divine of the Sun God’s temple approached them.

Sitting comfortably in Joranz’s office and enjoying a cup of sacramental wine, the temple divine explained.

“Many years ago, during my own adventuring days, I met a creature from the elemental plane of Earth.  The creature’s name was Malichon and my adventuring group did a service for it with the promise that it would owe us a favor someday in return.  Many years have passed since then, but we never did claim the service we were promised.  At one point we went to speak with Malichon only to find that it had moved on to some other locale, and we never had the time to track it down.  In time we went on to other things and the whole thing was forgotten.

“During the past few weeks, as I have prayed for guidance beneath the Miracle of Pelor, I have been given a vision of Malichon sitting, gazing towards a distant horizon.  Using auguries, portents and divinations from blessed Pelor, I have since determined that Malichon is the key to breaking the siege of our beleaguered city.  It seems time now to call upon the favor due.  I would go myself, but my duties as the head divine keep me here.  So I am offering you this mission and the chance to save the city and win glory, honor and riches.   What do you say?”

***

The twinkling glow of the teleport circle faded around them and Thuvis and Asperon looked around at the scenery.  
“We’re a long way from home.” remarked Asperon as he began removing and packing his winter furs away.  
“Yes, judging by the tree cacti, it looks like the Fulani Desert, on the southern continent.  It’s mid-summer down here and you’ll probably be more comfortable with just your leathers.” 
“Sand and thorns.  I hate deserts,” growled the barbarian.
“Well,” replied his companion, “Joranz did mention that Malichon preferred desolate locations, far from the civilized lands. This desert was where they encountered him years ago.   It’s unlikely that he’s still around, but hopefully we can find out where he headed off to next.  At least Joranz gave us magical transportation so we didn’t have to walk.”

As Asperon finished his wardrobe adjustments, Thuvis coiled the enchanted circle of rope Joranz Jor had given them and stored it in his pack.  Asperon scouted around until he found the trail that Joranz had mentioned.  Then the two of them headed north through the cactus groves, leading towards a saddle between two hills.






After several days of fighting off manticores, great sand worms, swarms of blood flies and Fulani nomads, the two had had just about all of the exciting desert adventure they could stand.  Killing monsters from faraway lands was sort of fun but it didn’t seem to be furthering their quest very much.  Finally, under the watching glow of the green ball of light, they had met a Fulani wise woman in a village of tents.  Wracking their brains to find different ways of eliciting the knowledge they needed from her, the woman had sat patiently listening to one argument after another, faintly smiling under the green glow of the god.  Finally as if some sufficiency of reasons had been given to her, she had told them that yes, Malichon had once sat upon a nearby hill watching the skies turn, but had moved on several years past when she was just a young woman.  She had been a student of the creature, learning wisdom through patience and it had spoken a single word before departing, “Arctinis”.  The adventurers thanked her and then used the teleport rope to travel back to the capitol.    

The following morning, the two prepared to leave for their next destination.  The winter shedding warmth from the Candles of Pelor radiated down upon them once more as Joranz Jor continued to brief them.  

“Arctinis is a province in northern Galandria.” said Joranz.  “Watch out for the wind off the Frozen Seas.  It’s quite cold.”
“What?  Wait!  I need my furs from my-“ …and the twinkling glow of the teleport cut off the rest of Asperon’s protests.


A pack of polar bears, a remorhaz, a cryohydra and a small white dragon later, Thuvis and Asperon did not seem to be making much headway.  It seemed as if the bleak frozen tundra of the Arctinis coastline was home to a variety of creatures, but all of them had been more interested in eating the two adventurers, rather than talking with them or giving them some clue as to the whereabouts of Malichon.  The only exception to this had been a baby harp seal that they had startled with their sudden appearance when they had first arrived.  The seal had just stared at them with this comical look of astonishment on its face.  Asperon had almost clubbed the helpless creature to death, but Thuvis had cryptically said “it’s not worth any XP”, prompting a green spark to the ear.  The two had ignored the seal thereafter.






Now on their third night in Arctinis, they were camped around a fire debating if one of their former companions, a halfling of Littlehill, had been right about the correct method of roasting remorhaz steaks over a fire.  Thuvis continued asserting that the meat was too gamey, while Asperon kept saying that the barbarian tribes of the plains that he’d come from ate all sorts of things you wouldn’t find served at an inn of the capitol, and that remorhaz was actually pretty good stuff in comparison to some of the things he’d been forced to eat as a boy.  They both agreed that it was a damned shame the dragon had crashed into the sea and been pulled under by something in the water.  Dragon steaks were always the best no matter how they were prepared.

Thuvis glanced up at the God of Twisted Plot Devices.  
“You know it’s been hovering up there for most of the day now.”
“I know,” agreed Asperon.  “Normally it pops in for a bit and then leaves again.  We’re probably not making progress as fast as it would like.”  He turned to the small glowing ball.  “Maybe a hint or something?  Otherwise we’re just going to keep killing monsters and debating culinary techniques.”  But the green light just winked out, while out beyond the circle of firelight, the harping of the seals could be heard from the nearby shoreline.  

The two sat in silence for a few minutes while wheels turned, synapses fired, and a bit of thinking went on outside of regularly shaped boxes.  At least that’s what happened to Thuvis.  Asperon was busy gazing up at the starscape of the northern skies and fondly remembering a tavern back at the capitol and some of the things he’d tasted in the past.  Thuvis turned and began digging stuff out from the bottom of his adventurer’s field pack, eventually pulling out a small flask.

“What’s that for?” asked Asperon.
“Follow me.” replied Thuvis.

Making his way back to where they had first appeared, Thuvis walked over to the harp seal and squatted down in front of it.  Pulling the stopper, he drank down the liquid inside and then looked at the seal.  

“You wouldn’t happen to know of a being called Malichon, would you?”

Asteron watched as the seal blinked a few times, gazed soulfully up at Thuvis and then started barking happily.  Asteron moved away and listened for a while to the roar of the waves as they lashed the beaches.  “Not a twisted plot device, just one bent the Nine Hells out of all recognition. ”  he muttered to himself while behind him, a faint green glow lit the warlord and the barking seal.

“Malichon? Malichon?  He’s one of my best friends! He would sit and I would tell him stories, and he would sit and I would tell him more stories and he would sit and I would tell him even more stories!  Not even the seagulls sit around for even more stories after that, but Malichon would sit all day and listen and listen and listen!”  With the patience that only a warlord skilled at commanding armies, herding cats and driving reticent barbarians to his will could muster, Thuvis gradually waded through the exuberance of the seal and then walked over to Asperon.

“I know where Malichon went from here.”
“Excellent.  When do we leave?”
“Tomorrow morning should be fine.”
“Good.  I have something to take care of in the mean time…”

The following  morning, Thuvis laid out the teleport rope and set about laying out the ritual for their destination.  Glancing at Asperon with a smile on his face, he activated the device.  As the warm wet air of the southern tropics washed across them, Asperon tore his new seal fur hat off his head and threw it to the ground while Thuvis started laughing.

“It’s not funny.  After freezing for three days, I spent five hours curing the hide and crafting that hat.  How was I supposed to know we’d be back in the south again?”
“You should have left the seal alone.  I tried to warn you, but you didn’t listen to me. 
Thuvis continued, “The seal told me that Malichon said one word before he left, “Trellis”.  I’m assuming that he was referring to the Trellis daisies that bloom day and night, and are only found only on a few islands in the Sharkshead Archipelago.  Let’s take a look around and see if we can find this Malichon creature.”
Asperon responded, “Desert, tundra, tropics.  It’ll be the Wastelands next, mark my words.  I need a beer.”

The island was not all that big and it didn’t take the two long to quarter the island and search each part.  But other than a flock of gargoyles, dispatched with the duo’s customary style, and which Thuvis insisted were referred to as a “notre” of gargoyles, there was no sign of anything larger than a ground shrew anywhere on the island.  Asperon couldn’t understand what gargoyles were doing on a tropic isle, but Thuvis was encouraged because he thought they were elemental Earth creatures, which indicated Malichon might be nearby.  Finally they set up camp near a large patch of trellis daisies, finished off the last of the dried remorhaz they had in their packs, and Thuvis went to sleep while Asperon stood watch.

A short while later, the barbarian shook the warlord awake. 

“You gotta see this.  There’s a rock that keeps mumbling at me.”

Asperon led Thuvis to the center of the field of flowers.  There a large boulder could be seen peeking up amongst the blooms, but when Thuvis activated the radiant aura of his armor, the rockface shifted, becoming a humanoid head that seemed carved from granite.  The eyes on the head slowly opened and in a gravelly voice it asked, “WHY?” 






Thuvis addressed the head, “Are you Malichon?  The Galeb Duhr Rockcaller that was once aided by Joranz Jor and his party of the Bright Swords?  High Priest Jor calls upon you now to repay the favor owed to him and help us to relieve the siege of the Denaxan Empire upon our city.  By the light of Pelor’s Everburning Candles, the Sun God has shown that you can aid us.  What is your reply?”

As the two adventurers braced for possible combat, the stone creature sat there for a few moments, then it spoke.  

“Ragoshet.”

Then the head shifted once more, becoming nothing more than a boulder surrounded by flowers.

“What the hell is a Ragoshet?" asked Thuvis.  

Asperon sighed, “Ragoshet is the name of a barbarian hero of the wasteland tribes.  It is said his spear could break mountains.  Supposedly he was defeated in battle with a great dragon and the location of his tomb has never been discovered.  His spear is probably lying next to him and would probably scare the piss out of the Denaxans.  Or maybe we could use it to bribe them into leaving.  Or something.”

“The wastelands, eh?  We haven’t been there yet.  I bet they have different monsters to kill.  Well, go ahead and get some sleep.  We’ll use the rope tomorrow and head for the Western Escarpment.  From there we can get some provisions, head through the passes and into the wastelands beyond.  We’ll go looking for this tomb, find this legendary spear and see where things go from there.”

Asperon lay down on his bedroll while Thuvis settled down to watch the camp as the stars turned slowly overhead.  

A short distance from the camp, a small green ball of light hovered nearby, working out stat blocks for monsters and reviewing each type’s unique abilities to make sure next week’s adventure would be a memorable one.[/sblock]

Afterword: not part of the story, just a recap of the pictures and some thoughts on my entry.

[sblock]Picture Recap

The candle candelabra: The Miracle of Everburning Candles in the temple of Pelor, radiant enough to both light up and heat the temple to summer temperatures.  Also used as the means by which the cleric gets the initial information to relay to the characters.  I thought the warm red-gold filter of the picture lent itself to being in a sun god’s temple, better than using some other deity’s temple would have.  Thus the winter setting and opening the running gag of the barbarian’s clothing.

The California desert:  a very bland image, I tried to use not just the desert as a locale, but to give everything in the picture; the path, the hills, etc, at least some play, even if it’s just a bit of direction to move the story forward.  The idea of distant desolation tied all three outdoor images together, so that helped some too.

The harp seal:  spoken to by Thuvis to get information on Malichon.  The seal is the only creature of a non-hostile, kill-it-on-sight, nature that that the adventurers encounter in the frozen north.  This is the sort of arcane, how the bleep were we supposed to figure that out, sort of clue that I’ve run into in LOTS of adventures run by not-so-experienced DMs at conventions who later on have to explain where their train of thought was actually going.  So the image of a cute little baby seal worked nicely into the story.  

The stone head in the flowers: Malichon, a galeb duhr, sitting for many years amongst the Tellis flowers.  The story is obviously a fictionalized plug and play 4E adventure, with the one small exception of the galeb duhr, which 4e converted from pacifists to just another monster to kill.  I always liked the 3.5 philosopher version sitting motionless for years.  The image of a creature of stone sitting there while flowers grew all around it until it was almost obscured by them appealed to me.  In fact, that particular idea jumped out of the picture as the very first idea to build the story around. Dei Ehm’s prerogative and presto!  a dumb 4E monster becomes a 3.5 monster, and thus the basis for the story.


Like Deuce Traveler mentioned in his post (#327), three wildly differing picture settings suggested travel would need to be a part of the story.  I could either use modern to futuristic transport or teleportation.  Choosing teleporting moved the story towards fantasy, and fantasy has always been easier with my personal writing style.  If I’d gone the SF route, the story would have taken place on multiple planets and been much different.  But the idea of the galeb duhr, a creature I’ve never actually put into a campaign but have always liked the idea of, appealed to me conceptually.  With that, it was easy to move to a D&D framework and the story took off from there. 

I have always been firmly in the “I prefer 3.5” crowd, which means the reverse is also true (I dislike 4E).  But Rich Burlew’s observation of 4E’s “it works as long as you’re willing to suspend disbelief” lent itself to the story more than 3.5 would have.  That is why the skill test made it in there as well as the almost obligatory multiple monster fights.  I started writing out the first combat encounter then realized if I kept going I’d have a novella by the time I was done. So they got a mention, but no more than that.  I’ve always thought skill tests came across as forced plot devices, so why not write one as such?  The idea of player characters who don’t realize that they are player characters and don’t always play “in character” has been done lots of places (The Gamers, DM of the Rings, OotS, Andre Norton’s Quag Keep, etc.), but it was still fun to play around with and helped smooth out what would have seemed to me to have been a very forced picture juxtaposition.  I’m curious to see how PC and UselessTriviaMan work through them.

Once I had the images in place and the rough story outlined, everything mostly wrote itself.  Clearly, I do better with light hearted writing off the cuff, although I can do dark when the muse hits just right.  If I were writing professionally, I’d probably take the time to re-write this as a sci-fi piece, as well as write it as dark fiction, just to see the contrasts, then try to bring all of them together as a single piece.  That one would probably take a few weeks to finish though.

The word count ran longer than I’d hoped, but I didn't want to get docked points for dropping stuff out and hoping the judges would understand the inferences.  In my first entry I chopped an entire scene (the sword combat between the ambassadors in the gymnasium of the island - the actual picture in fact) and got judged negatively as a result.  So I figured it would be best to put as much in there as needed to be to make the story complete.  I hope it was as fun to read as it was for me to write.

Anyone who needs an adventure idea for their 4E campaign is welcome to try this one out.  If you do, let me know how it goes. [/sblock]


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## phoamslinger (Apr 1, 2012)

damn.  2 typos.  I thought I caught all of them.  oh well, consider them a gift to steeldragons (end of post #245).


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Apr 1, 2012)

Fire when ready, Gridley.


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## Deuce Traveler (Apr 1, 2012)

Good luck, phoamslinger.  I liked your last story more, but this was a tough one.  Way to crank one out speedily.


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## Piratecat (Apr 1, 2012)

I ended up throwing out Saturday's work after I just couldn't get it to gel -- one of the photos wasn't working with a horror theme, and I bet you can guess which one. This second story works much better. Now it's just a matter of continuing to type.


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## Mirth (Apr 2, 2012)

I will be posting the pics for Round 2 Match 2 tonight at 8pm EST.

Be ready.

That is all.


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## Mirth (Apr 2, 2012)

Round II: Match 2

Rodrigo Instalindir vs. SteelDraco vs. Daeja 

Deadline: 8:00 pm EST Wednesday, April 3.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Apr 2, 2012)

Are you boning us out of 24 hours, or is that a typo?


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## Mirth (Apr 2, 2012)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:


> Are you boning us out of 24 hours, or is that a typo?




Oopsie. Corrected.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Apr 2, 2012)

Mirth said:


> Oopsie. Corrected.




Heh.  The correct answer was 'April Fools!'


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## Daeja (Apr 2, 2012)

Intriguing images, thank you judges!

(and sorry my lack of avatar ruined things!)


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Apr 2, 2012)

This is the time when I say, "I'm really glad I'm back to working on my novel and that I don't have to come up with a story for either of these sets of images - tough!"  Looking forward to reading everyone's stories though.


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## Deuce Traveler (Apr 2, 2012)

maxfieldjadenfox said:


> This is the time when I say, "I'm really glad I'm back to working on my novel and that I don't have to come up with a story for either of these sets of images - tough!"  Looking forward to reading everyone's stories though.




It's the best part of losing.  Now you can lean back, relax, and laugh at their pain.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Apr 2, 2012)

Deuce Traveler said:


> It's the best part of losing.  Now you can lean back, relax, and laugh at their pain.




I'm in complete agreement! Still trying to figure out how to smack-talk from the sidelines though...


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## Deuce Traveler (Apr 2, 2012)

maxfieldjadenfox said:


> I'm in complete agreement! Still trying to figure out how to smack-talk from the sidelines though...




Try to hit them in the username.  Ahem... "Hey Pirate Cat, stop grooming yourself and put out your entry already!"  "Hey Rhode Island, knock it out sometime today!"


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## Piratecat (Apr 2, 2012)

*Repo the Seal*
_Round 2, Match 1: phoamslinger vs. Piratecat vs. UselessTriviaMan_


I'd had it up to here with the squonking. I kinda lost it. "No, there's no water. Does it look like there's any water? We're in the middle of the friggin' Mojave!" I think I was spitting. "That's a cactus, moron. This is a yucca. You don't see these in Antarctica. There's no water here. So shut. The hell. Up." I punctuated each period by poking him with my finger. He didn't care. He just looked up at me with these black, adorable blobby eyes.

But obediently the little bastard rolled over, squirmed off the rock and happily flippered around in the sand. He squonked at me. I was ready to squonk him up his squonkhole, but the first rule of the repo man is to never damage the merchandise. That's also why I wasn't sitting on the stone head. That was something I really didn't want to hurt.

We'd gotten both the head and the seal out of the hot van. The head Sheila covered with flowers and made a little Indian headdress out of, tried to make it feel at home, maybe? The seal we let loose to roam around and graze. I think that seals graze. Who the hell knows? 

Jimmy Bagatelli turned his head towards me. "Tony, I'm pretty sure the Antarctic is down south. You gotta mean the Arctic. Seals is from the Arctic. Like Canada." He spoke slowly, kinda like he had sunstroke, but Jimmy always spoke like that.

I turned on him, probably with a sneer. "Thank you, Mrs. Carmen Sandiego. You're fulla crap. Canada ain't the Arctic."

He stood up and clenched a big fist, but I just looked at him. Embarrassed, he sat back down. I could smell him from here. That sun was hot, and he smelled like stale beer and warm seal. "No, man, it is. I saw it on TV."

Sheila frowned. Her makeup was running and she was outta coke and she kinda looked like a sunburnt raccoon. That pale skin never does well in the desert sun. "Like Tonto, Jimmy? That's in Canada. They got seals in Tonto?" I didn't bother to correct her. 

Jimmy thought about it for a minute. "Yeah, I think so. The Tonto Seals, that's a hockey team. Or maybe Montreal? It's cold there, right? That could be the Arctic."

"Nope." Sheila shook her head, and her long dirty hair fell back into her eyes. "That would make him French. Does he sound French to you?" Sheila rubbed its back and the baby seal squonked. It slapped the stone head with one of its flippers and flopped over in the flowers. 

"He kinda does," said Jimmy.

"No he don't, moron." Sheila gave him the stinkeye. "Jimmy, you don't know crap about accents."

It was too much for me. "How the hell can either of you tell? It's a friggin' seal!"

"You can tell," said Jimmy. "You can always tell." He always tried to sound smarter than he was.

Sheila sniffled and then frowned again. She didn't smile much nowadays. I missed it. "I bet seals are from Calgary."

Even I knew better than that. "Calgary? They got that stampede thing there. Some kind of rodeo."

Jimmy squinted his eyes as he tried to think. "Is it a seal rodeo? That'd make sense. People ride seals, right? I think I saw that on YouTube."

Sheila rubbed her nose, sniffing a little. "You're thinking of walruses, dumbass."

"No I'm not. And don't call me a dumbass." Jimmy glared at her. "I'll show _you_ a walrus."

She snorted knowingly. "Only if they come in mini-size." And then the two of them were at it once again, fingers poking chests and voices screaming in each others' faces, and the sun beat down on us. Buzzards circled, insects buzzed, and the Indian head just stared at me accusingly. Dust coated my skin. Our van *pinged* a little as the dead motor cooled. The baby seal rooted around near the cactus while we waited, and from far away I heard the sound of a car. Police? Maybe they were looking for us, but that damn musician was going to find us first.

We should never have tried to repo the seal.

We were so screwed.

-- o -- 

Yesterday morning had been Sunday, so I'd been to church. A lotta people in my profession don't go to church in Vegas, they're too busy working, but I try to make an exception. My ma raised me religious. I may be a repo guy nowadays, taking away crap that gambling scumbags bought and don't wanna pay for, but that don't mean I ain't got God in my heart. I'll throatpunch anyone who says otherwise. Jimmy and me'd already had a busy morning, getting up at 6am to grab a bright yellow Hummer while the douchebag owner was buying coffee at Taco Feliz. We'd floored it down South Tropicana while the guy ran out, dropped his coffee and fumbled for his cell phone. Way too slow. Jimmy was driving the Hummer, doing all the dirty work. He's younger than I am, and stupider, and stronger, and he likes the excitement. Sheila's with Jimmy most of the time, and she handles our paperwork and all the stealthy work. Just the three of us at Tony's Repo and Repair, and makin' a decent living if you judge by the amount of empty takeout boxes scattered around the office or the amount of cocaine Sheila snorts. 

Jimmy loves this life. Sheila loves blow and Jimmy in that order. And me, I'm starting to look for the big score to get the hell out. You can only repossess cars for so long before someone puts a slug in you. And with respect to Jimmy and Sheila, I ain't exactly palling around with a high class of people at work. They're skeezebags. So am I. I just happen to know it. 

So there I am at church. It's real fancy for a casino church, you know? They named the casino "Cloud Nine" and their ads say, "Don't gamble on Heaven, gamble IN Heaven!" or somethin' like that, and it worked. They got angels in bikinis lowered down from the ceiling, and hymns in the bathrooms, and religion-themed slot machines, and a nightclub named "Perdition," and they're raking in money hand over friggin' fist. Their chapel is great. The organist learned from Liberace. They got statuary from Rome, icons from some church in Russia that ain't even Catholic but who cares, right? They got a freakin' wall of candles you can light to honor dead folks, and they got really hot nuns. 

Right after services I was sitting in front of one of those, and staring at the other.

Sister Katie isn't what you'd call a real nun, but how would you tell? She's a showgirl from Muncie who would make you want to convert pretty damn quick. We used to have a thing going back when she first came into town, at least on my part. I still have a thing for her. The casino puts her in this stripper-themed nun's habit, and gave her a jeweled wimple that makes her look like a piece of art, so _yowsa._ I saw her standing back there behind the white roses and candelabras, her face barely visible, but I knew she was looking at me. I could feel her eyes on me. I may have preened a little, but it's hard to look sexy when you're saying prayers for the soul of the ex-partner who you think someone whacked.

When I stood up, Sister Katie came on over, click click click. Her heels echoed on the marble and the rhinestones on her wimple really picked up the candle flames. No wonder this church always brings in the tourists. "Tony," she whispered, "we gotta talk." 

I grinned at her. "Honey, you're a nun now. That's kinda dirty."

"Not that kind of talk, silly. They call it 'none' for a reason." She punched my arm just hard enough to get my attention. "C'mon." A fat guy in a flowered shirt left the confessional and we both slipped past him into the small dark chamber. Same side. It was sorta awkward.

"Father," said Sister Katie, "this here's Tony the repo guy. The guy I told you about." I could see her wink. She was warm on my lap.

A shadow moved on the other side of the screen. Katie gave me a quick peck on the cheek and slipped back out of the confessional. It was just me and the priest now. Well, and the small slot machine built into the confessional, but that hardly counts. 

"Father?" I probably sounded confused.

"My son," said the priest, and you could tell he was one of them Native Americans. He also sounded pissed off at someone. "I've got a special job for you."

-- o --

I got confused when the security cameras turned off. We was watching them, and all at once their little red lights faded away. The power to the walled estate was still on, so someone in building security must have flipped 'em off on purpose. Interesting. The reason became clear about thirty seconds later when a white panel van turned the corner, pulled up to the wrought iron gates, and the gates slowly swung open. 

"A delivery at 1am?" asked Sheila.

"They got something they don't want no one else to see," said Jimmy. He swigged his beer and smiled, feeling smart.

"Never complain about good luck," I said, "C'mon. Jimmy, you be ready." Jimmy can't sneak worth a damn. Sheila and me slipped out the van and down the street and ever so carefully through the mansion's gates before they swung shut again. You always turn off the dome light in your surveillance vehicle. It makes getting in and out of cars without being spotted much easier.

We was wearing black. A good repo guy always wears a lot of black. Here in Vegas it makes you look badass, and it's friggin' superb for sneaking onto the estates of rich jackholes in the middle of the night. I'm not saying this was how I'd handle a normal repo job, but this one was special. I kept thinking about our contract.

"Fifty thousand dollars," the casino priest had told me. "And a bonus if there's no damage. Las Vegas performers always think they're above the law. In this case, he stole the head off the statue of an old First Nations shaman. One of my ancestors. An important man."

"First Nations?" I'd asked. "Like Africa?" Inside, I was still gulping about the money. This was my payday.

"No," said the priest. He sounded annoyed. "Like Native Americans. Indians. It's a little bit like someone stealing the head off your Lincoln Memorial. The problem is that our musician friend here has a fantastic reputation, and a lot of mobster associates, and my tribe has no proof. So we're hiring you to go in and steal it back."

"From who?" I asked. He told me. I may have gone a little pale. I ain't gonna tell you, but I'll say this: no audience members were gonna throw their panties at me if I got caught. This fat bastard was famous but mobbed up beyond belief. He had a reputation as a great performer and a sadistic, selfish son of a bitch. But fifty grand is fifty grand, am I right?

So there I was on his estate, in the shadows with Sheila clinging to me, and the sonnavabitch himself comes out of the mansion to meet the van.

"Do you have it?" He sounded eager, and his voice carried. Must be all that singing. He's old but I couldn't see many wrinkles on his face. Then again, the lighting was bad and they say he's had work done.

"Yessir," said the driver. "One baby seal from the San Diego Aquarium, smuggled out this morning." He was young and sounded scared.

The musician giggled. I know you don't believe me, but I swear he did. "Here's your money, young man." I heard the crackling of new bills, and then a muffled "squonk" from the covered cage. He whipped off the cover. I'm not exactly sentimental, but even I had to admit that white seal was pretty damn cute. Beside me I felt Sheila sigh. 

The old guy spoke. "Perfect. Perfect!" He turned, carrying the seal cage with difficulty. He finally figured out it rolled. That made it easier for him to move.

"Sir?" The driver had gotten his courage up. "What are you going to do with it? Is it for your private zoo?"

The old guy turned. "Not at all, young man." He smiled that famous gigawatt smile that had opened a thousand legs. "I'm going to eat it."

I think we all gaped. The driver said, "Wha-what?"

"I'm going to eat it. My chef - and he is a very good chef indeed, flown here from Paris after I bought out his restaurant - is going to cook it for me with shallots and a white wine reduction. I eat all sorts of animals, young man. I have eaten mountain gorilla, rhinoceros, giant squid, bald eagle, dolphin, and - on one very memorable occasion in China - giant panda." He was ticking them off on his fingers, smiling, lost in thought. "It was a little fatty, honestly, but better than that place in New Guinea." He refocused. "And now I'm going to eat baby seal. If you want to stay employed and alive, you will now take that large sum of money and drive very far away indeed."

The driver went. The seal squonked plaintively. Mr. Entertainment went up the stairs rolling  the cage, step-THUMP-squonk-step-THUMP-squonk. And Sheila and me stood alone in the hot summer darkness. 

"Tony." Sheila's voice was loud in my ear. Her breath was sour. "We gotta save that seal."

I gave her a look, not that she could see it in the dark. "You crazy? We're here after an Indian head. C'mon." She came, but I could feel her seething. It took us ten minutes to find the statue's head, stuck on a pillar back by the pool with a baseball cap on top. Sheila hadn't said a thing this whole time. She helped after I friggin' ruptured myself picking it up. We staggered back around through shadow to the front of the house and I put it down by the gate controls. Looks like they'd forgotten to turn the cameras back on. Even better. Then Sheila spoke up.

"We're goin' in for the baby seal."

"No we ain't."

"Yes we is, Tony, or I'm blowing this whole deal."

I looked at her. "You wouldn't." But I know her face. She surely would. She'd scream, we'd have to run, fifty grand out the window, and that would be bye-bye to my dream. She was looking at my face, too. She knew she had me beat.

"Tony, you're gonna have to repo that seal. Just think of it this way. What are you getting for this job, five grand?"

"Right," I said. "Maybe a little bonus." What she don't know won't hurt her.

"I bet the zoo'll pay double that to get the little guy back."

She was right. So I took a few precautions and in we went. The house was quiet and dark and I'm still not sure when we tripped the silent alarm. We'd hit the kitchens by then, big as a hotel kitchen but with nicer gear, and I had the baby seal all covered up and ready to move. "Squonk?" it asked, and I told it to shut up, and we was by the servant's door when all the lights flipped on. 

"What do we have here?" I'd heard that voice a thousand times on my radio. He stood in a belted bathrobe with a big-ass pistol pointed at me. "Home invaders? Goodness me. And you've got my seal. Once I shoot you, I'll have to hide him until the detectives leave. You're moderately annoying."

"This ain't your seal, mister," Sheila was saying, "and you ain't gonna eat him!" Her pupils were dilated. 

"Oh my dear," he smiled and stepped closer, "you're so very wrong."

That's when Sheila started firing. I never even seen her pull out the gun. And it wasn't a gun, it was a friggin' hand cannon, and the old guy with the perfect hair leaped backward as if someone goosed him. Part of the door frame disintegrated. She'd missed, but it was a hell of a miss. She emptied her clip in his direction as I was running down those stairs with the seal, bump-squonk!-bump-squonk!-bump, and then Jimmy was at the gate, and the lights were going on all over the house, and I smacked the gate button and ran for the van. Sheila was right behind me. Jimmy struggled to carry the statue head.

"What the hell just happened?" asked Jimmy. 

"Sheila got us a new mascot," I said, and the baby seal squonked.

"Aww, he's adorable!" said Jimmy. "Let's name him Repo." Then someone shot at us from the house, Jimmy was behind the wheel, and we were the hell out of there, tearing down the road and away from the estate.

"I knifed a few tires," I said, "but they'll have other cars. We get caught on the cameras as we left?"

"Uh huh," said Jimmy, "they got turned back on. Where's the handoff for the head?" 

"Little shack in the Mojave down 15 West. I'll call." I glanced back. Sheila was crouching beside the head and playing with her seal through the bars of its cage. It looked happy, not that you can really tell.

"Five grand," mused Jimmy. "Good money. It'll be worth the risk."

"Yup." I kept my mouth shut. They were probably right behind us, and if we got killed Jimmy wouldn't need to know anyway. Then Repo the seal started to squonk, kept squonking, and didn't stop for hours. I think the little jerk gets car sick.

We made it past Nipton and into the Mojave at sunrise, jolting down a dirt road as fast as we dared. A big-ass pothole did something very bad to our transmission. No way to move the oven-hot van. No cell service. Two pissed off and exhausted partners. Not enough beer. A hungry seal. An illegal head. The blazing morning sun. And yup, right on schedule, the people who wanted to kill us. 

-- o --

"Who do I have the honor of addressing?" Mr. Entertainment stood there in a tailor-made hunting jacket that had probably cost him three grand. Maybe more; it was monogrammed. He was armed, and so were the three guys with him. It's easy to find goons in Vegas. The hard part is paying them enough to stay loyal.

"Tommy's gonna kick your ass!" said Sheila, and I coulda shot her myself. I'd have used her gun for it, too, only she was outta ammo.

"I hardly think so. You have some property of mine, I think. I'd hate to have to cancel my dinner plans."

"Squonk!"

"Just so, my dear dinner, just so. Tommy, this is how it will go. If you hand over the seal right now, with no fuss, I am going to shoot you in the knee and leave you here. Your employees can get you back to a hospital before you bleed to death. If you do not hand over my seal, we will shoot all three of you and leave you here to rot. What's your preference?" He smiled warmly, like he was talking to Jay Leno.

Jimmy put a big hand on Repo's back, gently lifted the little flippery blob of fat, hugged him, patted him lovingly. "If we give you Repo and you shoot Tommy, do we get to keep the Indian head?"

"The what?" the old guy asked, and then Sheila stepped to the side and he saw the head on the ground. With the plants around it the head almost looked like a warrior come back to life, feathered headdress and everything, and it looked pissed. But not as pissed as the old guy. "My statue!" Now his cultured accent shifted a bit and you could hear the old Virginia in his voice. "You jackasses, I stole that trophy fair and square." He took two steps toward it, angry as hell.

That's when Jimmy hit him with the seal. 

He didn't exactly use Repo as a club, although that would have been pretty funny. Instead he threw him, catching the old guy in the middle of the chest with a very surprised "Squonk!" and knocking him down. Then Jimmy and Sheila were in between the goons and it was all fists, kicks, and crotches. I may have gotten a few in myself. It couldn't have been more than 20 seconds before I was putting a final boot in, there were three moaning goons on the ground, and Mr. Entertainment was lying there looking surprised and covered in seal crap. Jimmy reached down to pick up Repo. 

"Jimmy!" I said. "First rule of the repo man?"

"Aww, he's fine," said Jimmy. Repo bit him a little. "No harm done." Sheila rushed over to check on the seal as well, and Jimmy and Sheila locked eyes. They both had huge smiles. For today, at least, they were back in love.

I knelt down on the old guy's neck. "Here's how it's gonna go," I said. "We're takin' your Jeep, and we're takin' your wallet, and we're takin' your stone head, and we're takin' your seal. We're leaving you your reputation and your life. You think that's a fair bargain?" He nodded desperately. Bullies. They always break when they're cornered. 

I turned and took a good look around. Pretty damn desolate. I figured I'd call someone to go get them once I had a cell signal. "You're a jackhole," I advised. "Quit stealin' stuff and stick to singing."

"I'm going to find you," he said as we walked away to his Jeep. Sheila carried the little squonker, and Jimmy staggered under the weight of the stone head. "I will!" 

I turned. "Mister, you sing for a living. We take away the things that other people love. My advice? Don't mess with a repo guy." And then we left.

Repo ended up returned to the zoo, and we got paid for the Indian head. I split it fair and square then blew part of my share on a vacation with Sister Katie. I'm still looking for my big break, but you gotta do what's right, you know? For instance, this thing you're reading? I'm gonna post this on the internet.

I may have lied a bit about leaving him his reputation. What the hell.


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## Piratecat (Apr 2, 2012)

3800 words, give or take. 

A few thoughts:

[sblock]This is story #2. Story #1 was extremely creepy, a free-running monologue from a serial killer as he took his latest victim out to the desert. But you know what doesn't work with that kind of a story? A cute seal, that's what. Creepy stories usually have a paucity of seals.

Soooo, that got shelved.

Instead, I decided to bite the bullet and put the seal front and center. The candle picture would have been really easy to just use for candles, but I'm fascinated by the female shape in the back left. Icon? Art? Person? Her headdress reminded me of a showgirl's, so the story was suddenly set in Vegas with a hot ersatz nun who hands off the job and returns later to reap the rewards. 

"Hot ersatz nun" is now the name of my first album.

Las Vegas worked well for the desert photo, too. That yucca is a Joshua tree, and they don't have a very big range. I've been thinking about con men a lot lately; perhaps a Leverage-style game would be the right tone here, a bunch of (mostly) good-hearted repo men who steal from the wrong guy? I liked it, but based on an old RPG game from Qualidar I made them sleazy Repo men. I figured I'd send them in to repo the seal, and hilarity would ensue.

That led me to the photo of the head. If the story had magical realism it would be an oracle, but I wanted something more realistic and less predictable. What if they're sent in for the head instead, and repossessing the seal is incidental? That works much better. What kind of statue is it? Could be Roman. But it could also be native American, especially with those plants acting as a headdress... once I saw that, I couldn't unsee it.

And after that, it was just a matter of writing folks who would fit in well having drunk smack-talk at any neighborhood bar. I'm not using to writing in dialect, but the banter was a blast to write. I have amused myself, at least, and that makes me happy, even if I wince a tiny bit every time I use improper grammar.

Pre-feedback, there's only one thing I would change. Sheila calls Tony "Tommy" near the end, not wanting to use his real name in front of certainly-not-an-evil-Wayne-Newton-at-all-why-do-you-ask?, and Jimmy picks it up. Problem is, this could also be taken as a name glitch. I should have spelled it out specifically, but I'm okay with whichever way the judges choose to read it.

Thank you guys for letting me write this. I'm glad I did.[/sblock]


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## phoamslinger (Apr 2, 2012)

[sblock]you always forget something.  I forgot to mention the sunburst reminicent of a certain deity in the candle picture.[/sblock]


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## Piratecat (Apr 3, 2012)

11 and a half hours to go!

I welcome [sblocked] commentary on my story, by the way. Previous critiques and comments have been really helpful.


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## Wild Gazebo (Apr 3, 2012)

Constructive Criticism
[sblock]You are terrible at framing houses[/sblock]


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## UselessTriviaMan (Apr 3, 2012)

*Royal Pains*

*Royal Pains*
4,047 words

[sblock]
This stupid royal wedding was going to be the death of one extremely overworked court wizard.

Vashka made a valiant – but vain – attempt to hold her robes up above her knees as she waded through the swamp’s foul muck and mire, thankful that none of the princess’ simpering courtiers could see her now. 

She could see her destination just ahead – a large mud nest, full of the succulent gatorbear eggs the princess _insisted_ she simply _must_ have for her grand wedding feast.

She briefly imagined herself bursting into her majesty’s audience chamber, covered in reeking, greenish-gray mud, bearing her prize. The mental image of their horrified reactions made her smile, but her daydream was interrupted by a very unhappy voice.

“Do you have ANY idea how long it’s gonna take for this stink to come out of my fur?”

Vashka smiled at her familiar’s complaint. “Yes. It’ll take about five seconds and a snap of my fingers and it’ll be magicked away.” She grimaced as the swamp tried to eat her boot. Again.

Nuki had a slight advantage moving through the swamp; the white seal’s sleek body could slide through the watery mud far more easily than an awkward wizard’s flailing legs. He chuffed in annoyance as he swam past her. “Won’t matter. The smell will be stuck in my nose for _weeks_.”

Nuki had been her familiar for just over a year; they’d found each other when the adventuring wizard had rescued the seal pup from a hungry ice troll. Nuki’s face was simply too adorable to resist. Now the lovable seal was almost twice as big as when they’d met, weighing almost as much as the wizard herself.

She tuned out his continuing stream of complaints as she worked her foot free of the mud. They needed to collect those eggs and get gone before their mama came home; gatorbears were not known to be friendly in the best of times, let alone if an intruder on their territory happened to be caught stealing eggs from their nests.

With a grunt of effort Vashka finally tugged her boot loose and then promptly stepped into a hole, dunking herself quite thoroughly. Cursing and spluttering, she fought her way back to a standing position while she was serenaded by the soothing sound of barking laughter. Vashka wiped her eyes as best she could and swam the last few yards to the nest.

As she placed the first egg into her satchel, a roar of challenge erupted from somewhere much too close for comfort. The wizard rolled her eyes and sighed. It was going to be another long day... 

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

“Court wizard” was supposed to be a nice, cushy job, especially in a backwater little kingdom like Galenia. Vashka had been happy to trade crawling through dusty, musty old crypts or frozen cairns for a life in the lap of luxury. And Galenia was an utterly boring place; nothing ever happened there, and its only claim to fame was the palace’s expansive garden. The only people excited to visit the little kingdom were druids and topiary enthusiasts.

Princess Shianna, daughter of King Ulrich, was in line to become the ninety-third hereditary ruler of Galenia. The girl was only fourteen, a bit homely, and rarely set foot anywhere outside the royal gardens, let alone the palace. She didn’t even seem to have any interest in boys yet, so when she publicly announced to the court that she was getting married, it caused an understandable uproar. No one knew how she could have fallen in love when she spent all her time tending her flowers. But when the girl refused to say _who_ she was marrying, the royal court nearly exploded with outraged affront.

To say Ulrich had been furious was... well, actually it would have been generous. The king was something of a pushover, truth be told. Queen Anitra, rest her soul, had run thoroughly roughshod over her husband. The entire court had known who wielded the scepter in _that_ throne room, but after Anitra had passed away the king was forced to make all the decisions on his own. It wasn’t something he particularly enjoyed, or wanted. His was the soul of an accountant, and the king preferred to spend his time in the treasury, keeping tabs on all the kingdom’s finances.

Galenia hadn’t had a strong king in many years; the last had been King Gregan the Bold. He’d been king over a century ago, and legend said he’d vanished while foolishly trying to start a war with the kingdom next door. (According to the histories, the search for the missing king was neither thorough nor extensive. The kingdom had happily slapped a crown on his son’s head, cancelled the war, and called it a day.)

So when Shianna made her mysterious wedding announcement, Ulrich the Wishy-Washy barely batted an eye. And when Shianna produced a ridiculously long and outrageous list of demands for her wedding ceremony, the king had simply handed it to his court wizard and told her to make it happen…

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With a flash of green light a magnificently mud-drenched Vashka appeared in her chamber, the laughing wizard’s knees buckling under the weight of the frightened seal in her arms.

Nuki hopped down indignantly. “I don’t see how that was funny at all. That monster was trying to eat me, you hack!”

Vashka chuckled, “I had to act fast. The only thing I could think to do was make you look like one of her hatchlings. She wasn’t trying to eat you, she was trying to _feed_ you.”

The seal shuddered, sending spatters of mud across the rug. “It tried to puke on me. I feel violated.”

Their banter was interrupted by a quiet cough. Vashka froze, then slowly turned her head to see the castle’s chamberlain sitting daintily in her favorite chair. A look of horrific disgust twisted his face into a ridiculous moue, and she burst into a fresh round of laughter.

“Lady Vashkanika?” he stammered. “I… um, I was sent t-to…”

She grinned and stepped briskly forward with her arms outstretched, sending gobbets of mud flying. “FILLIPE! Come and give us a squinch!”

The primped dandy jumped up with surprising speed and retreated to the relative safety of the doorway before pausing. “I… I just stopped by to check and see if you’d been able to procure the eggs for the princess’ soufflé…” He kept a wary eye on the dripping wizard, ready to take flight if necessary.

“Yep. They’re right here.” Vashka lifted the satchel’s strap from her shoulder and gleefully tossed the bag to the chamberlain. His eyes widened comically as he reflexively caught it, the muddy bag splashing wetly against his chest. His squeal of indignant outrage hung in the air as he huffed away with his eggs.

Vashka sighed. She’d probably have to apologize to the little fellow eventually, but he just made it so _easy_. And fun.

She laid a hand on Nuki’s head and murmured a brief spell; as promised, the magic caused the caked mud covering them to vanish.

Of course, Nuki still complained.

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

For weeks she’d been kept busy teleporting across the globe, gathering exotic ingredients, foods, flowers and fabrics from all over the world, but Vashka had been particularly dreading this last item on her shopping list. Princess Shianna wanted two bouquets of white saguaro lilies to flank the altar, “because they symbolize my purity, beauty, and innocence.” Ugh. It was hard to keep a straight face with such an easy setup line, but somehow Vashka persevered.

The problem was, saguaro lilies were exceedingly rare. As in, only-one-place-in-the-known-world rare. And naturally the mysterious Ch’Quenya tribe of the Govarran Desert, who lived in that-only-one-place, considered their desert flowers to be absolutely sacred. And these savage halflings had a tendency to somehow turn unwelcome intruders to stone. They marked the edges of their sandswept lands with the petrified remains of their victims; this proved to be a very effective deterrent. People stayed away.

Vashka had been wracking her brain for some time, trying to figure out a way to approach the aloof tribesmen without getting herself turned into one of the royal garden’s bird-poop-gathering decorations. Her research into the tribe had turned up surprisingly little information; apparently no scholars had been able to successfully cozy up to these xenophobic halflings. The only thing she’d learned was that Ch’Quenya apparently translated to “Bird People” in the halflings’ language, but she couldn’t find any other reference to birds at all.

Time was running out and it was the only item left on her impossible list. Maybe she’d get lucky…

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

As they traveled through rocky canyons dotted with cacti and other desert flora, Nuki whined. It wasn’t a well-known fact to most people, but Vashka had long ago learned the hard way that harp seals love to complain. Since the moment they’d arrived in the Govarran Desert, Nuki had done essentially nothing but gripe. The wind, the heat, the bright sun, the sand, and the hot rocks were all his preferred topics, and when he ran out he would start all over again from the beginning. The fact that she’d cast a minor enchantment to protect them from the blistering heat was irrelevant, of course. He was on his fourth round of complaints about how the hot sand hurt his flippers when they came upon their first statue.

The rough stone figure was buried up to its knees in sand. It had a woman’s features, and she stood in a defensive crouch with the broken-off stub of a stone sword held out in front of her.

“We must be in the right place,” Vashka commented.

Nuki sniffed suspiciously at the statue. “Really? What was your first clue?”

“Quiet, flipperface. We don’t want to announce our presence to the locals just yet.” 

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

They walked for several hours without encountering another living thing, though they passed by about two dozen petrified people. All of them were worn by the sun and sand, and almost all were all in various action poses – running or fighting seemed most common. 

The canyon they were currently walking through had narrowed to the point where they almost had to walk single file, and the sun had just sunk from sight beyond the canyon’s rim when they heard a scream from just ahead.

Vashka moved cautiously forward with Nuki following right on her heels; only heavily armored fools went running blindly into unknown danger. She peeked around a bend and stared for a moment at a bizarre scene.

A statue of a halfling stood a stone’s throw away. Within an arm’s reach of the statue, two living halflings stood back-to-back, their spears poised to attack. The only oddity was that there was nothing else in view. Vashka looked everywhere, but couldn’t see any threats to the halflings at all. The puzzled wizard waited for a few seconds and watched the unmoving warriors; she was a split-second away from calling out a greeting when the attack came.

Even though she’d been looking for it, her eyes had totally missed the viper until it struck. The big snake’s camouflage was even good enough to initially hide it from the halflings, but as its head lashed out to strike, both spears dipped down in a blur to skewer its head before it could sink its fangs into their unprotected flesh.

As the dying snake thrashed, Vashka noticed the halflings’ feet. The thick fur typically seen only on top of a halfling’s foot went all the way around their ankles, almost giving them the appearance of fur-covered boots. Maybe their flesh wasn’t entirely unprotected after all.

As one, the warriors turned to face Vashka. Aside from their furry ankles they appeared to be normal halflings, though quite a bit thinner than average. Both were dressed in cured animal skins. In addition to their spears, both had unstrung bows on their backs and bone-handled blades tucked into their belts. The shorter one wore some kind of bone trinket necklace; it was only then that Vashka realized the shorter warrior was actually a woman with cropped-off hair.

They stared silently at each other for a few moments, until Nuki finally poked his head out from behind the wizard. “What’s happening, boss?”

Both halflings’ eyebrows shot up. 

As the seal shuffled forward, Vashka caught the movement of a second rock viper. It struck silently and far too quickly for the wizard to even shout a warning to the male halfling. She could only watch in horror as it buried its fangs into his arm.

It was over in less than a heartbeat. The halfling froze in place, calcifying almost instantaneously, his now-stony eyebrows still raised in surprise.

Vashka spat out an incantation as the rock viper turned its attention toward the other halfling, and her fiery bolt took its head clean off before it could claim another victim.

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

The female halfling’s name was Mara. Vashka couldn’t get the entire story from her, but Mara was apparently a personage of some importance in her tribe. When the wizard explained her needs, Mara bared her teeth in what Vashka hoped was a smile. The halfling ordered the wizard to follow her, but then paused. Mara bowed at the waist before each statue with an expression of profound sorrow, then laid a hand on the chest of each stone warrior. Vashka watched with interest, but was startled when Mara pulled her hand away, nodded her head briskly, and ran away down the canyon floor.

Unwilling to lose her opportunity, Vashka quickly followed. She was surprised to see Mara run to a trio of large birds standing in the shade of the canyon wall.

The strange birds were tall, with gangly gray legs and pink, bare-skinned heads and necks. Each bird wore a bridle, and had an odd little saddle cinched to its back. Mara leapt up into a saddle and turned to face the wizard, fierce tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Can you ride, outlander?”

Vashka gulped.

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

It turned out that these strange birds – Mara called them something unpronounceable like “orstretch” or something like that with too many consonants – couldn’t fly, but they were surprisingly fast and agile runners. Vashka clung in terror to her mount’s neck for dear life while a smug Nuki glided along behind, perched comfortably on a floating circle of magical energies. She ground her teeth in consternation, but it was the only way to bring the seal along. She just wished he didn’t gloat so much about it. Vashka had long since lost her sense of direction, but apparently her mount knew to follow the halfling’s lead.

The path to the Ch’Quenya took them through more deep, twisting canyons. Both Vashka and her mount were almost worn out when they finally arrived, well after nightfall. A large ring of angry-looking halfling warriors quickly surrounded Vashka and Nuki; up close, the wizard noted with some alarm that the tips of all the spears pointed at her were coated in a tarry white substance. She had a sneaking suspicion it was rock viper venom.

A defiant Mara shouted at the circled warriors. There was a brief but heated exchange, which Mara must have won. The spears went away, and Mara dragged Vashka by the hand to introduce the wizard to her father, the chief.

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After a night of dancing, feasting, and drinking to honor the fallen Ch’Quenyan warriors, Vashka woke to a new morning. She also woke to the overpowering stench of a loudly-snoring Nuki’s fish breath in her face.

She was startled to see Mara sitting quietly at her side in the early morning light. The halfling gave a small smile of welcome, then rose to her feet. Without a word, Vashka followed.

They walked through the camp and up a narrow path that wound through the rocks. Vashka somehow sensed that this was neither a time for wisecracks, nor for words at all. Mara took the wizard to the hidden, sacred vale where the saguaro lilies grew. Mara reached out and plucked a bloom from one of the cacti, then offered it to the wizard. Vashka nodded solemnly and accepted the fragile flower, then tucked it carefully into her magical satchel. The two women continued to silently gather flowers; as they harvested the sacred blooms they moved deep into the heart of the vale. 

Vashka was surprised to find a circle of ancient statues at the center of the saguaros, their features nearly entirely erased by time. She watched in respectful silence while Mara repeated her ritual with these halfling-sized statues, bowing reverently and laying a hand in the center of their chests. As before, the halfling nodded as she touched the statues; it almost seemed as if she was agreeing with an unheard voice. 

The wizard approached the statues, and Mara looked up at her. The halfling took her by the hand again, and finally spoke. 

“They are the Eldest. They are the Wise. They keep the secrets of our Way.” Mara gently placed Vashka’s hand on a statue’s chest. “You are the first outlander to learn of the Way.”

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_*Knowledge blazed through her every synapse, every capillary, every strand of DNA that made her utterly unique. The Eldest. The combined wisdom and knowledge of the entire halfling race had been gathered within them since the last time they had collectively drawn breath. 

Vashka couldn’t hold it. Her mind could barely begin to comprehend the most miniscule of their shared thoughts. She was an outsider. He/she/they recognized the trickle of diluted energy this wizardthingoutsider could wield. What came next was neither derision nor dismissal, but it also was. She did not belong. She was not welcome.

Vashka could see – almost touch – the loving embrace the Eldest shared with all their children. But she was denied. It was the most beautiful pain in all of existence…*_

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Vashka opened her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath as she pulled her hand away from the ancient stone. Mara stood watching, her eyes shining with pride and love.

Vashka now knew. “In the canyon… He was your brother, wasn’t he?” Mara nodded. “You could have freed him. The sacred lilies can break the enchantment. But he chose to stay with the Eldest.” The halfling’s smile was bittersweet.

Vashka’s tears began to fall. “Thank you. Thank you for letting me see.”

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

Upon returning to Galenia, Vashka found the kingdom in an uproar. The king had vanished under suspicious circumstances. No one knew who to blame. Vashka didn’t really care, except it would probably mean she’d be fired for incompetence, but that didn’t really matter anymore. There were things she needed to do.

First things first. She needed to talk to the princess.

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

She confronted Shianna in the garden, where the princess seemed to spend almost every single waking moment. If the rumors were true, she even slept out here most nights. It was already well-known through the castle’s gossip channels that Shianna had banished the royal gardeners from the princess’ private garden. The normally-well-manicured garden pool was beginning to show signs of disrepair.

Vashka and Nuki found Shianna busily arranging flowers on and around a stone head jutting from the ground. She noticed that the princess almost constantly kept a hand on the statue, caressing its surface like a lover’s skin. Shianna didn’t seem surprised to see the wizard at all.

“You’re marrying Gregan the Bold, aren’t you?” Vashka didn’t feel like being civil this morning.

Shianna smiled sweetly. “I expected you to figure it out eventually. The saguaro lilies are pretty enough, but I really just need them to free my love.”

Vashka grimaced. “You realize he’s actually your great, great, great-something grandfather, right?”

Shianna’s smile quickly turned to an ugly sneer. “Oh please. I’m related to every single noble in this kingdom. Save me the righteous speeches.”

The wizard glanced down at the mostly-buried statue. “He tried to start a war, so they zapped him with rock viper venom and buried him in the garden. Hell of a way to go.”

She watched the princess’ eyes slip just a little bit further down the path to Crazytown. “He knew he’d find me eventually. It took him years and years, but he finally climbed up out of that hole they’d buried him in. And I found him. He’s my love, my soulmate. And we’re to be married tomorrow morning.”

Vashka sighed. Puppy love was one thing, but this? She didn’t even know where to start. “And where’s your father, princess?”

Shianna’s expression grew darker. “Gregan told me daddy wouldn’t approve. Daddy won’t _have_ to approve now.”

Nuki barked derisively. “I don’t think Shianna’s stairs are going all the way to the top floor anymore, boss.”

Not for the first time, Vashka thanked her lucky stars that no one else could understand what her mouthy familiar said.

Shianna glanced at the barking seal and slyly grinned. “You know Vashka, I always wanted a pet. You could give him to us as a wedding present.”

Nuki promptly jumped into the pond and vanished.

Vashka was suddenly sick of the princess’ banter.

“You’re not going to get away with it, princess.”

Shianna just smiled. “I already have, _wizard_. My Gregan and I are going to be reunited tomorrow, and there’s nothing you or anyone else can do to stop us!”

Vashka smiled grimly and stalked away, seething.

Nuki joined her at the far end of the pool. “Boss? I think there’s something you should know…”

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The chapel was filled to overflowing with the brightest and the boldest of the kingdom’s subjects. As the first to appear in the ceremony, Vashka solemnly and slowly walked down the aisle. The opulence of the church decorations was staggering. In her ridiculously ornate costume (the high priest had insisted that that garish silvery-white headdress had been worn by the Royal Wizard in every single Galenian royal wedding), Vashka began lighting the nine-and-ninety candles on the altar one by one. She completed her duties by kneeling reverently at the altar, where she quietly cast a spell while her back was turned to the congregation.

When the princess appeared, the crowd was properly stunned by her dazzling gown. _They’d better be, considering the trouble I went through for that silk,_ thought the wizard. Shianna looked just as radiant as a new bride should, but there was still that hint of crazy around the whites of her eyes. She gave a contemptuous curl of her lip to Vashka, unseen by the rest of the room, before turning to face the crowd.

When the princess had finished her grand entrance, the crowd waited with an almost predatory anticipation. Where was the mysterious groom? Who was he?

Whatever they were hoping for, the blue-blood nobles of Galenia were most definitely not expecting to see a statue wheeled down the aisle. The dirt had been meticulously scrubbed away, but Gregan still wore his crown of white flowers. Harsh whispers erupted throughout the grand chapel. What would the king have said if he were there? Was anyone going to put a stop to this madness?

As a matter of fact someone was, and someone did. Just as Princess Shianna said “I do,” a pristinely white seal popped out from under the cloth-covered altar and touched his nose to the statue. “_*SHATTER,*_ sucker!” Nuki barked. Poor Gregan-the-statue burst into flying bits of gravel. The audience went a little crazy. The princess shrieked and tried to tackle the seal, but he quickly scooted up the aisle, his barking laughter leading the way. Shianna got tangled up in her grand gown and fell flat on her face.

Vashka stood off to the side in her ridiculous get-up and laughed until she cried.

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

The Court Wizard of Galenia stood by, overseeing the removal of the remarkably kingly statue from the depths of the royal garden pond. Her final official duty was going to be administering the antidote to Ulrich, undoing his petrification, after which she was handing in her resignation.

She wondered how Nuki would ever adjust to life in the desert. Maybe she could convince him that “orstretches” taste like fish. That just might do it…
[/sblock]


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## Deuce Traveler (Apr 3, 2012)

All three writers finished... it's on now...


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## steeldragons (Apr 3, 2012)

Deuce Traveler said:


> All three writers finished... it's on now...




I see that, Deuce Traveler. It would appear to, indeed, be "on now." I shall summon the Tribunal and we will do our utmost to hasten for your continued entertainment.


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## Deuce Traveler (Apr 3, 2012)

steeldragons said:


> I see that, Deuce Traveler. It would appear to, indeed, be "on now." I shall summon the Tribunal and we will do our utmost to hasten for your continued entertainment.




Are you sure we can't just toss in a club with a couple of nails in them and have the three sort it out themselves?


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## steeldragons (Apr 3, 2012)

Deuce Traveler said:


> Are you sure we can't just toss in a club with a couple of nails in them and have the three sort it out themselves?




<mulls pensive> A valid suggestion, to be sure...I will consult with the Tribunal and see if we can find something to use.

In the interest of fairness, though, we should probably allow one weapon per writer. So, instead of a spiked club, I'm thnking more along the lines of a toilet brush, a feather duster and a raw hot dog. That should provide some thoroughly enjoyable gladiatorial sport. 

Of course, it will depend on what Mirth and Gregor have to say on the matter.


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## UselessTriviaMan (Apr 3, 2012)

steeldragons said:


> <mulls pensive> A valid suggestion, to be sure...I will consult with the Tribunal and see if we can find something to use.
> 
> In the interest of fairness, though, we should probably allow one weapon per writer. So, instead of a spiked club, I'm thnking more along the lines of a toilet brush, a feather duster and a raw hot dog. That should provide some thoroughly enjoyable gladiatorial sport.
> 
> Of course, it will depend on what Mirth and Gregor have to say on the matter.



_Three men enter, one man leaves...

*WHO RUNS WRITERTOWN??*_


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## Deuce Traveler (Apr 3, 2012)

UselessTriviaMan said:


> _Three men enter, one man leaves...
> 
> *WHO RUNS WRITERTOWN??*_




Hmmm... do any of our writers look like this?


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## phoamslinger (Apr 3, 2012)

Deuce Traveler said:


> Hmmm... do any of our writers look like this?




now that's a useless trivia person if ever there was one.


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## Gregor (Apr 3, 2012)

Ahhhhhh three fresh lambs-....er 'stories' for the slaugh-....er I mean 'reasoned critique' 

I'm really looking forward to digging in and taking my time on these.  I may not have a chance to review today due to work load, but I'll have my reviews, comments and decision up sometime soon.  

Bonne chance!


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## Piratecat (Apr 4, 2012)

Deuce Traveler said:


> Are you sure we can't just toss in a club with a couple of nails in them and have the three sort it out themselves?



Writer knife fight: the best person to write their opponent's death scene wins!

Mine would surely include death by dropbear.


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## phoamslinger (Apr 4, 2012)

Piratecat said:


> Writer knife fight: the best person to write their opponent's death scene wins!
> 
> Mine would surely include death by dropbear.




UslessTriviaMan as PirateCat runs him through:

 "You know, pirates were much more likely to use belaying pins as they were cutlasses when trying to -urk!"

PirateCat as phoamslinger hands him a beer:

"Ah, that was thirsty work."  Drinks.  "This grog tastes odd... Wait!  PirateCats don't get dizzy!  Ahhh I'm falling overboard!"  Splash.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Apr 4, 2012)

*Ceramic DM R2M2:  Revenge is a Dish Best Served Sticky*

Miranda broke free of the jungle and stared up at the vine-shrouded ruins. Her goal was within her grasp, and yet she hesitated. It had been twenty years and thousands of miles since she’d last faced these creatures, since they’d dragged her from her father, kicking and screaming, into the bowels of their hideous lair. Their diminutive size and her desperation had made possible her escape, and but she’d never seen her father again. While she bore no physical reminders from that day, the memories haunted her. 

The other members of her party had not fared so well. They survived, barely, but the experience left them scarred and twisted. Except for one. One had escaped with his life and the prize, and while Miranda didn’t hate him for his victory, she had never contacted him until several weeks ago.

That brief meeting had been spurred by a mysterious letter that had arrived in her mailbox one rainy day. It was addressed to “Miranda Piker”, which was odd, as she’d adopted her step-father’s name after her mother remarried. Still, she’d had no reason to be suspicious. 

She nearly fainted when she saw it was a letter from her father, pleading with her to come to Africa and rescue her. She’d had no choice, really, but before she went she needed more information. She went to the only person who could possibly help: the winner of that damned prize.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The ruins were riddled with small alcoves, doorways into living quarters, she presumed, doubtlessly homes for the vile creatures that had assaulted her years before. There’d been rumors back then that they were African pygmies, dyed to hide their origin. It had been dismissed as slander at the time, and racial sensibilities had prevented anyone from investigating further. Apparently the rumors were true.

She began working their way across the rickety rope bridge that seemed to be the only means of accessing their hive. Despite its appearance, the bridge was solid. Perhaps the ruins weren’t as abandoned as they seemed.

Still, she made it to the other side unhindered. The small hollows, primitive but well kept, were unoccupied, and she had to search for quite a while before she found one that contained a door leading into the depths. Prudence warred with caution in the dark passageway, and she finally decided to turn on a flashlight. The element of surprise wouldn’t matter if she broke her leg.

As she descended, she noticed her feet sticking to the floor, like at a movie theater after a Saturday matinee, and she heard a distant yet ominous booming. It soon resolved into a low chanting, the beginnings of a song that haunted her dreams.


_Oompa loompa doompety doo
We're down here just waiting for you
Oompa loompa doompety dee
No sense in screaming or trying to flee

Who do you think you’re going to fool
Coming to our home with something to prove.
We had you once and let you get away
We promise that the same won’t happen today.

Oompa loompa doompety doh
I bet there’s something that you don’t know
But you’ll find out before this is through
Says the Oompa Loompa Doompety do_​
Miranda clutched the straps of her backpack nervously. She didn’t trust Charlie completely, but she’d had little choice. If he’d betrayed her – if the contents of the backpack didn’t work – then the Oompa Loompas would be dining on her bones. 

Or worse.

She paused when she noticed a door up ahead. She flicked off the flashlight and slid it through her belt. She crouched in the dim light coming from the cracks around the door and shook off her pack. 

“Ok, Charlie, let’s see if this works.”

She opened the flap and dumped the contents on the ground. The two blobs that plopped on the ground resembled marshmallows. They wobbled about for a few seconds, disoriented after their long ride, and then turned to look at her. Well, face her. Or something. 

The puffy orbs lacked eyes or external features, the smooth surface marred only by a thin crease. Unlike their darker cousins, the albescent knids had teeth, and one of them opened its maw to reveal quite a number of them. Miranda hoped they wouldn’t turn on her.

Fortunately, the Oopma Loompas chose that moment to start singing again, closer and louder, and the creatures reacted like knids on Christmas morning. They zipped towards the light and squeezed through gap under the door.

_Oompa loompa doompety doo
Come on inside, we’ve a present for you
Oompa loompa doompety dee
Come through the door, you’ll like what you see

What did you wish for in bed at night?
Whose voice did you hear when you turned out the light?
Whatever it was you’ll find it today
And we assure you everything won’t be okay.

Oompa loompa doompety AAAGGGHH!!!​_
The screaming continued for what seemed an eternity. Finally Miranda cracked the door and peeked through. Her stomach turned at the sight of the tangerine-tinted abattoir. In the middle lay two bloated and supremely satiated knids, titian blotches decorating their pale hides.

She didn’t notice the other occupant of the room until she crossed the threshold.

“Miranda, I continue to underestimate you. ” 

The silky voice was the same, as was the finery, but that’s where any semblance ended between the chocolatier and the skeletal figure casually resting upon a pile of treasure. 

“Where is he, damn you! Where’s my father? ”

“Patience, dear girl. He’s here, and still alive, which is more than I can say for my poor minions. I simply must know where you found those exquisite knids?” it said as pulled a handkerchief from its pocket and wiped a bit of Oompa Loompa blood from the silk tie around its neck.

Miranda sensed that her allies were too busy digesting their feast to be interested in desert.

“Charlie loaned them to me, if you must know,” she answered, stalling for time. “He used them for the last round of labor negotiations.”

“Ah, I wondered how he was keeping expenses so low. Well, time enough for that later. Let’s go; I’ve something you’ll want to see,” he said, as he grabbed her arm and dragged her through another doorway.

Miranda fought, but despite her captors lack of any tendons or muscles, she found it impossible to break his bony grip. Eventually she stopped resisting and allowed him to lead her deeper into the dungeon.

“Why, Wonka? Why now, after all these years?”

“Oh, my sweet, what are a few years to someone who can live forever?”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Eventually they came to a natural cavern. In the center was a large vat, its contents bubbling. The fire below it hissed and popped every time the viscous liquid spilled over the lip of the pot. At first she thought it was raining, the absurd notion banished when she noticed the steam that billowed from the pot condensing against the cool stone ceiling. Were it not for the small hole in the roof serving as a chimney, the entire room would have been overwhelmed with smoke from the fire. 

Dangling above the vat hung a cage. A human figure – male, judging by the long beard -- slumped inside, its wet, ratty clothing hanging loosely on its withered frame. 

“Miranda?” the wretch asked, “Is that you?”

“Father!” she cried, rushing towards the pot only to be yanked back the Wonka’s unyielding grip on her arm. 

He hauled her before one of the many gem-encrusted stalagmites that adorned the cave. A chain had been wrapped around its base several times, and Wonka locked manacles dangled from each end around her wrists.

“Not so fast, my dear. You have something I need. Give it to me, and I will set your father free at long last.”

“What, damn you? What do you want?”

“Your flesh. Not all, mind you. An arm’s worth, or a leg, will do nicely. A fair trade, all things considered.”

Miranda stared at him in horror, and only then noticed the table behind him on which a number of sharp implements had been placed. 

“Come now, you weren’t speechless that day in the factory. You were full of righteous indignation; I remember it if it were yesterday.

“And had you not managed to escape, I’d still be there. But I needed your flesh to power the ritual. Without the spell to maintain my body, I had no choice but to return here. 

“I turned the factory over to that goody two-shoes Charlie so that he’d keep making my addictive sweets, and I’d be assured of a good supply of fat children to snack upon when I staged my return.”

Wonka turned his back to her and began sorting through the saws and blades.

“I much prefer England to here, I must say. That horrid Tutsi witch doctor may have taught me the secret to immortality, but I really cannot abide Africa.”

With Wonka momentarily distracted, Miranda reached into her pocket and pulled out a round, purple candy. Unable to reach her mouth because of the manacles, she started to panic. When she saw Wonka settle on a particularly nasty bone saw, she knew she had no choice. Wonka turned just in time to see her flip the candy in the air, the purple glimmering in the crimson light from the fire as it arced towards the ceiling and then back down.

With a lunge and a gulp, Miranda snagged the candy mid-air. Immediately her skin turned a vibrant shade of eggplant, and she began to swell. Wonka barely had time to cross the room before her expanding form popped the shackles. She turned on her erstwhile captor.

Wonka skidded to a halt and tried to retreat, but Miranda managed to grab him. With a scream, she hurtled him towards the kettle, shattering the skeleton against the cast iron.

Miranda spit out the Three Course Meal candy, and within moments she’d resumed her normal form and hue. Charlie had warned her not to swallow it lest she explode.

Rummaging through her backpack, she brought out a flask, the last of Charlie’s gifts. She removed the stopper and took a swig of Fizzy Lifting Pop. She rose slowly off the ground. When she reached the ceiling, she pushed herself towards the cage. Grabbing the chain, she pulled herself down, her father reaching through the bars to help once she got near. 

A rustling sound below got her attention.

On the ground, the bones of the undead industrialist shimmied and danced across the floor, collecting in a pile beside one of the stalagmites. She noticed a large ruby shard embedded in the stone that pulsed rhythmically, like a heartbeat. Within seconds Wonka stood re-assembled, and he charged towards his former prisoners.

Together, Miranda and her father managed to force open the rusted door. Miranda clung to the side and handed her father the flask, indicating he should take a drink and then head for the chimney. 

“Go, father. I’ll be right behind you.”

Her father tipped the flask and handed it back. At once he, too, began floating upward. Keeping one hand on the cage, Miranda slowly rose behind him.

A loud clang accompanied a searing pain in her scalp. She looked down, and saw that the monster, balanced precariously on the lip of the pot, had slammed the cage door shut, catching her by her long hair. She screamed in pain and rage, and, holding on to the chain with one hand, yanked at her trapped tresses. The rusted metal refused to lessen its grip, but the motion caused Wonka to lose his footing. With a cry, he tumbled into the sticky goo.

Her relief was again short-lived. As soon as his bony hand had disappeared below the surface, the red stone started pulsing, and soon rivulets of goop began dripping over the sides of the poot and oozing across the floor.  Soon a reformed Wonka was once again striding towards her. She redoubled her efforts, her father pulling himself down the chain to help steady her. The cage began to sway back and forth, the tortured fastenings groaning in protest.

With a shriek, the hook connecting the cage to the chain broke. The enclosure fell towards the pot, ripping a long clump of hair free as it went. Blood poured down Miranda’s face, and when she put hand to her head, she realized the snare had taken some of her scalp with it.

Her last sight as she retreated up the chimney was of Wonka, reaching fruitlessly for the patch of left-behind skin, only to once more tumble into the molten candy.

She wondered how many liches it would take to get to the center of a Tutsi pot.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Apr 4, 2012)

D'oh.  Forgot to tag the pictures.  I trust their locations will be obvious.


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## Piratecat (Apr 4, 2012)

Oh, bravo.


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## Daeja (Apr 4, 2012)

*Ceramic DM R2M2*

[sblock] The door to Jack’s rented room eased open when Beth knocked on it, startling her. She nearly took off down the poorly lit hallway, but the importance of her task made her stiffen her spine and step inside. The village was depending on her; she could do this.

The haze of smoke in the hallway had not penetrated Jack’s quarters, Beth noticed first, though there was still some in the air here. And the second thing she realized was that the newspapers hadn’t lied or exaggerated about his condition, as she had assumed they did.

"You can leave the tray on the…” Jack trailed off when he set down his book and looked up to direct the serving woman he expected to the table in the corner of the room. “Beth Henley? Who let you leave Ogden? Does your mother know you're in the big, bad city?"

Beth forced a smile, though her hands clenching her skirts probably tipped Jack off to her sudden panic. Knowing Jack was cursed had not prepared her for the reality of seeing him in person.

Jack, whom she’d known since childhood as dark-haired, blue-eyed and carelessly handsome was now literally a skeleton of a man. Dressed in an expensive gentleman's suit, complete with top hat, he was reclining back on a blanket draped over a mass of pillows. He held a cigarette holder to his teeth, head tilted slightly as he, she presumed, took in her own appearance. Beth didn't know for sure what he was looking at as he no longer had eyes to see with, but she ran a hand self-consciously over the worn blue cotton skirt of her dress. She wished she’d taken a moment to wash the dust of travel from her skin, to run a comb through her blonde ponytail.

What had his question been, she wondered after another uncomfortable minute of silence. “She does know. I came looking for you.”

Jack put a monocle to one empty eye socket. "Whyever for?" 

Beth tucked her hands into the pockets in her dress. "We need your help. At least, I'm hoping you're able to help." When Jack didn't have an immediate response to this, Beth fidgeted. It was uncomfortable not being able to read any facial expressions; Jack had always had an expressive face. "We can pay you, of course."

Jack snorted, tapping the cigarette holder on his knee, sending ashes to the floor. He set it back in his mouth, and then lifted the blanket. Beth realized that what she'd thought were pillows were actually sacks with dollar signs on the side. ((IMAGE #4))

"You're kidding, right?" Beth moved closer to rub a hand over the sack.

"Would I do that?" Jack said. "You couldn't afford me, anyways." 

Beth sighed, stepping away from him and wrapping her arms around her body. “We can’t afford anyone, Jack.” 

He chuckled, mirthlessly, “I’m your last resort, then? Gentleman Jack, hero of the people, a last resort.” He snickered to himself and then got to his feet to pace away from her.

"We need you. I need you. Just for this one thing, and then I swear, I’ll never come looking for you again" Jack shook his head, and Beth wondered just how much he had changed over the years. There was a time when he would have done anything for the people he loved. Did he no longer love any of them, or was he just too selfish, too full of his own hype to help? 

All the cards on the table then, Beth decided. "Our problem is with the Burial Tower. At least, that’s what we think."

Jack leaned against the wall, hands moving to straighten his necktie. "What?"

"People have heard things in the woods at night. Mindy McClury saw the drapes moving, and Mr. Gellson’s prized pig was torn apart. The bite marks were definitely, ah, human.” She swallowed hard. “There haven't been any attacks on the villagers, but I think it's only a matter of time. And you know what everyone's like - we're not fighters, Jack. Not like you."

"What about the watch?"

"Ned Clarkson with a crossbow he doesn't know how to load properly and Davey Hudd with that rusty short sword are not going to protect the village from a fly let alone an attack of undead." Beth shook her head. "Come back with me, it'll take maybe two days out of your busy life. If it's nothing, you lose nothing. But maybe...."  She trailed off because she didn't want to make any promises. 

The scuttlebutt around the city was that Jack was looking for a way to remove the curse responsible for his skeletal appearance. Now, having seen him, Beth had to believe that was true. 

Because necromancers had been known to use blood crystals to animate and control the undead, it was the prevailing theory that he required one of the rare crystals to undo the curse. But no one had seen one in years because they'd all been destroyed when the necromancers were purged. But maybe, maybe if the dead in the Tower had been woken up, maybe then Jack would find a crystal there. 

It was a lot of maybes, but Jack must have decided it was worth a shot. "You need time to pack up?"

“No, I travelled light," Beth said. Jack grabbed a pack from the foot of the bed, slipping a belt around his waist with sheathed sword and a rack of daggers along the back.  He bowed deeply then, holding the door open for her. "Lead on."

She glanced at the pile of sacks, and Jack’s voice was full of amusement and something else, something regretful, “Leave them. No one would dare steal from Gentleman Jack.”

***

The Burial Tower was more impressive than Jack remembered. ((IMAGE 1)) Five storeys high, it had nearly been reclaimed by the forest in which it was built - probably would have been if the local flora didn't refuse to grow over the windows that marked each of the individual burial chambers. Drapes that were grey from sun exposure and dust hung in them all, most drawn open to let in the light. The fountain at the top, dedicated to a deity of the afterlife, though Jack couldn't remember which one, was bubbling away, water spilling down over the side of the building. 

"Anyone ever figure out what feeds it?" He asked, dismounting off of his horse. He patted the sorrel's nose, pleased that the horse was still willing to seat him. A lesser animal might have been frightened by his appearance.

The view of the Tower from the cliff they stood on was rather lovely, Jack had to admit. And the fresh air was a nice change from the suffocating closeness of the city. The curse had stripped him down to his bones, but he still retained his strength, sight, sense of smell. He still felt emotions and could think – which reassured him that he wasn’t simply undead. 

No, it was almost like his flesh, organs, skin, all of it was invisible rather than gone. But he'd done enough experiments to know better. Jack wondered if the witch who cursed him knew what hell it was to be able to smell food but not eat it, to still feel desire but not be able to act on it. He watched as Beth dismounted beside him, appreciating the easy grace of her movements before forcing himself to focus on the Tower again.

Beth shrugged. "I don't know. Magic? Divine influence? Or maybe there's a complicated water system inside the Tower. I've never been inside, so I really don't know. I don’t think anyone has, before now."

"Never? Why exactly did they send you to figure this thing out?" Jack asked, shaking his head.

"I volunteered, actually. And everyone thought I had the best chance of convincing you to help," she turned away but not quickly enough for him to miss the blush that pinked her cheeks.

Jack watched her as she fussed with her horse, checked the little bottle of holy water she carried in a pouch at her hip, the long knives, and so on. He wondered if she still thought about him, if she'd married someone or settled into a life alone since he had left. He hadn't wanted to ask while they travelled here from the city, still didn't want to hear the answer.

A decrepit-looking hanging bridge connected the Tower to the cliff on which they stood. At the other side was a wooden door, barred from the outside.

"Is the barricade new?" Jack asked as he moved to test the wood slats of the bridge.

"It wasn't there when I left," she caught her lower lip between her teeth.

"You want to turn back, head home? I can go in alone," Jack offered. "I know you must be worried."

"No, I can do the most good here," Beth said, forcing her shoulders back.

Jack was amused. He remembered that look of determination. She was going to see this right to the bitter end, even if only to prove to him that she could. He hoped that she wouldn't get in his way, because there was a vast gap between well-meaning and useful. 

"Let me test the-" 

Beth breezed past him before he could finish the warning. She moved nimbly from plank to plank stopping only when she stepped onto the Tower's doorstep.

"If someone was able to get across and nail this thing on….” She let Jack connect the dots as she wedged the blade of one of her older knives under a nail.

Jack quickly crossed to her. "What if they'd loosened some of the planks, hoping to kill-"

"You think anyone in Ogden believes a fifty foot fall is going to kill a zombie or a, ah, skeleton?" 

Jack touched her chin with his gloved finger, waiting until she looked at his skull. "Hard to say it, isn't it?" It was the first time she’d verbally, though obliquely, acknowledged his condition.

She pushed his hand away, "But harder to live with, I imagine."

"Oh yes," Jack said, touching the brim of his hat. "Much harder. I wouldn't have wanted you to see me like this."

One of Beth’s eyebrows lifted as she worked on freeing the nail from the board, "Why not?"

"I wouldn’t like it if you had nightmares of me, like this," Jack said.

"I've already had my fill of nightmares starring you." She flipped him another knife. "Enough talk, get to work."

Whoever had boarded up the Tower had done a thorough job if not a very skillful one. It took them the better part of ten minutes to pull out all the nails. All the work was done in silence, which suited Beth but left Jack feeling unsettled. He wanted to ask about her life after he had left, wanted to apologize for leaving with no notice. She had to have been expecting a proposal, a life together, and he'd been a real jerk to abandon her. Trying to explain now that he’d needed to go out into the world, to see as much of it as he could, well, it just didn’t seem adequate.

When the last nail popped free, Jack chucked the board to the ground. "I'd say ladies first, but...." He pushed the door open.

"Ever the gentleman," Beth said, rolling her eyes. She glanced at the forest around them before following him into the unknown.

***

The entranceway of the Tower was a gorgeous, dusty chamber with intricate stone carvings of the afterlife all over the walls and ceilings. The view was completely ruined by the musty odor that permeated the place. Years of being closed up, of molding fabric and decomposition had created a unique and unmarketable perfume. 

"The floor," Jack nodded at the dust trails worn through it. Someone or something had definitely moving around in here recently. "Would anyone have looked inside when they came to board it up?”

"I doubt it," Beth said.

"Then we may have company," Jack glanced behind them at the afternoon light. 

"We'll have a few hours before there's any, ah, undead activity, right?" Beth said. “Nothing before dark?”

Jack took his hat off and ran a glove over his head. “I’m not really an expert.”

Beth stared at him, and then started to laugh. 

His shoulders rose defensively, “It’s never been pertinent to my work.”

"Right," Beth grinned. She reached into the pouch at her side and produced two small balls of clay, which she began manipulating in one hand, rotating them from palm to fingertips and back.

"Feel any better?" Jack assumed the balls were for stress.

Beth shook her head, "No, I've learned a few tricks since you knew me."

Knew me. Jack opened and closed his mouth soundlessly. When Beth held up the balls for him to see, he was shocked to discover a little ear on one, and an eye on the other.

"You've taken up witchcraft?" Disapproval made his voice thick.

"Someone needs to take over for Delia," Beth bent down to roll the balls down the hallway. Jack remembered Delia as seeming ancient ten years ago when he left Ogden. She was the resident healer, the village not large enough to attract a proper doctor. Beth murmured a few quiet words and a glowing blue ball appeared over her shoulder, granting them enough light to see by.

They both stared into the murky darkness, waiting for the balls to return.

"I'm surprised you would do it. You never seemed too interested in magic. Distrustful of it, even," Jack said.

She shrugged. "I saw a need, and moved to fill it." She hesitated, and then asked, "Does it bother you? Given your condition, I mean."

"Did you want to confess to being the witch who did this?"

Beth's eyes were wide as she shook her head frantically in the negative. "Oh, gods, no. Never."

"Then no,” Jack mimicked her tone, “it doesn't bother me, given my condition.” He added under his breath, “Bothers me to think of you stuck in Ogden. Not that I ever expected you to leave.”

"Neither did I," Beth acknowledged, quietly.

They were saved from additional small talk by the return of the two balls. They rolled up into Beth’s hand, travelling slowly up her dress. Once they were settled, Beth ordered, “Report!”

The ear shrank back into its ball, and the eye slowly sank out of sight. The surfaces of the balls twitched on Beth's palm, and then they both rocked back and forth until the clay had split open into mouths, complete with lips, teeth and tongues. ((IMAGE 3))

The first ball began to speak, tone monotonous, enunciating each word carefully. "Quiet. A trickle of water."

The second added, "Burial chambers, none sealed. Dark figures in each, no movement. Spiral staircase down."

“Useful,” Jack acknowledged with a tilt of his head, “but not very detailed.”

“Only with me to direct them, before you ask,” Beth said, unable to keep from smiling. “And I’ve been working on it. Normally I only use them when I’m too exhausted to stay up with a patient, and there’s no one available to do it. They work adequately as a sort of alarm system.” 

“Fair enough,” Jack drew his sword and nodded to the hallway. “Stay behind me; try to let me be of some use on this little adventure you’ve dragged me.”

Beth inclined her head, “After you.” 


They quickly settled into the same pattern for each floor of the tower - the balls would scout first for signs of trouble, then they searched the rooms quickly, trying to find anything that would explain the reanimation of the dead. 

Jack found a trap on the level just about ground, a simple pressure plate that triggered several spears thrusting out of the wall. Their points scraped against the opposite wall before the weapons retracted out of sight. 

“I guess these people were serious about being left alone to enjoy their afterlives,” Beth remarked as Jack put a finger through a hole in his hat.

“We’ll have to go more slowly,” Jack grunted, putting the hat back on his head. “Where there’s one trap, there tends to be more.” Sure enough, most of the chambers on that floor contained a pressure plate somewhere in the entry way. Nearly half had speared someone – Jack tended to believe they were the bodies of the reanimated occupants, but Beth suggested they might be grave robbers who had deserved what they’d gotten. The stubborn jutting out of her chin told Jack that she didn’t really believe they deserved any such thing, but was determined to play it cool. 

Finally they reached the lowest level of the tower. It was subterranean, and a large, open space. At first, they saw only stalagmites rising from the cave floor, the debris from rock that had fallen off the ceiling. But then Jack saw it. "There," he flicked a finger towards a rock pillar that rose near the centre of the chamber. It was a little different from the rest, the head bigger than the base, the stem grooved slightly. Perhaps many years ago, the pillar had been decorative, but time had not been kind to it. ((IMAGE 2))

Beth stepped from the staircase, heading towards the centre of the room, with Jack right beside her. Her eyes never left the large red crystal seated atop it. "Is it...?”

"A blood crystal,” Jack barely breathed the words.

"How is it supposed to work?” Beth asked. As they’d descended through the Tower, Jack had told her a little about the curse, the coven he’d been hired to kill when they’d been found sacrificing humans to reinforce their power. She knew one of them had cast the spell, but Jack had been pretty vague about. 

Jack shook his head as though coming out of a trance. "Magic," he shrugged. "But the application of blood should-"

A cackle interrupted Jack’s explanation, growing louder and then tapering off as it echoed back at them from the walls of the cavern.

“Uh, hello?” Beth said, ducking down when Jack whipped around to look at her.

“Stay low, stay quiet,” Jack hissed.

“Too late now, Jack, my boy,” the witch moved from the shadows, rubbing her hands together. Her fingers were tipped with long, curling claws; her hair was a wild grey cloud around her head. She wore mismatched clothing: all brilliant, clashing colours that emphasized the sickly pallor of her skin.

“Kamila,” Jack said¸ moving to put himself between the witch and Beth.

“That’s far enough,” Kamila said. Jack stopped moving, aware now that she was not the only thing the shadows had contained. 

“I though you killed the witch that cursed you?” Beth hissed.

“So did I,” Jack said.

“I’m harder to kill than that,” Kamila crowed. “Harder than that.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Jack asked. 

“Finishing what I started when I cursed you,” Kamila moved towards him, her gait an odd shuffle-hop. “You ruined everything! You were supposed to be reviled, reduced to hiding, hunted because you finally looked like the monster you are.” Kamila said, pointing a finger at him. "You silver-tongued bastard, you twisted the truth, you made them love you. They honoured you for your 'sacrifice!' What about MY sacrifice?" 

“Your sacrifices are why I had to put an end to your coven,” Jack grunted.

Kamila snarled at him, “You should have done a better job.” She snapped her fingers and from the shadows around the edges of the room, undead began to stumble forwards. Beth’s stomach turned as she saw the long-dead corpses moving slowly around the debris on the ground, their eyes filled with an unnatural hatred for the living. 

“Beth, run, get out of here!” Jack shouted, pulling a pair of daggers from the sheaths at his back and throwing them at the witch. 

Kamila waved a hand, murmuring a few arcane words and redirected the weapons into the wall. 

Beth watched, paralyzed by fear as Jack charged at witch, his sword raised. The old woman would have been feeble if not for the strength she drew from her magic. Jack was quick on his feet, dodging the bolts of fire and ice that the witch threw as he tried to close enough to strike her. The blasts broke the rock formations, sending chunks flying through the room. A small piece flew across Beth’s cheek, the pain drawing her out of her trance.

She touched her fingers to her cheek, to soothe the pain, and came away with blood on them. 

Surrounded by corpses shuffling steadily closer, Beth looked around frantically for an escape route.

“The crystal, destroy it!” Jack huffed as he somersaulted under a blast of fire and slashed at the witch’s body. She screamed, but retaliated with a shot that struck him in the chest, sending him back into a stalagmite. 
Beth darted to the crystal, ducking low to use the rocks as cover should the witch’s attention shift from Jack. The undead loomed ever closer, and Beth flinched away from their outstretched hands, grabbing the crystal as she ducked and weaved away from them. 

Holding the crystal up, Beth shouted at Kamila, who was grinning while she watched Jack lurch to his feet, “Leave us alone!”

“Put the crystal down, neophyte. I could teach you so much, show you so much. Be smart now, girl, there’s a whole world beyond-“

Beth slashed her left palm with one of her knives, squeezing so her blood would flow. Staring defiantly at Kamila, she rubbed her hand over the crystal, coating it in blood. The crystal absorbed it all, the colour getting murky where blood had soaked through.

Kamila screamed obscenities as the undead all fell as one. Jack seized, rising up on his toes as his body shook before collapsing to the ground.  

Beth felt the lightning slam into her, jolting her off of her feet. She was barely conscious enough to raise the crystal, slamming it into the ground before Kamila could get the angle for another bolt. Beth heard rather than saw the witch’s agony. She closed her eyes, willing her body to move, gritting her teeth when the witch went silent. 

It took nearly four minutes for Beth to gather herself enough to drag her body towards Jack’s lifeless body. She focused on a patch of dust on his trousers as she slowly hauled herself towards him, battling nausea.

Finally, she lay on the ground beside him, reaching over to remove his hat. She gasped, and then grimaced in pain.

Jack’s face was starting to reform, muscles and tendons and skin blooming across his skull. Beth took his hand in hers, letting her head rest on the ground while she waited for him….

The End.
[/sblock]


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## Daeja (Apr 4, 2012)

Rodrigo,

[sblock]What a clever idea!  [/sblock]


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## SteelDraco (Apr 4, 2012)

*Shards out of Bond*

Gah, not going to get it done - this week has been busier than I expected. Sorry. Here's what I have.

Shards out of Bond
[sblock]
"Got in something strange. Need your help. Bring Vi. -Gavin" The note was tiny, in a cramped, blocky hand. The clockwork messenger chirped quizzically at me as it perched on the windowsill, its birdlike metal head cocked the side as it awaited a response. I waved it away, and the tiny thing blinked its crystalline eyes, then spread brass wings and flew away into the morning fog. Work from Gavin was usually interesting - he was a curio dealer out by Knightsgate, a section of the city that saw a great deal of traffic from the caravans and skybarges. Usually a pain, too, come to think of it. Gavin didn't call me for easy stuff - he'd been in the Mechanist's Corps with me, during the war, and could handle himself well. Common thugs don't usually bother a dwarf who can lift a fifty-pound cannonball in each hand, and Gavin had done that for years.

I considered the message as I got ready - quick wash, trim of my goatee, change of clothes, weapons check. If he wanted Viona along, that meant magic. She was a friend of mine who helped me out when jobs got strange in a magic way, which I knew just enough about to know I didn't know anything useful. I'd have to hurry if I was going to catch her before classes started. I locked the door and turned on the wards as I left home, not sure how long this job would take and when I'd be back.

The streets of Sansimel were bustling with activity, even this early in the morning. I live in a tradesman's district, and shipments were arriving everywhere. The clatter of carts dominated the streets, some with horses and some chugging along powered by elemental boilers. I dodged between them, pulling my regimental cloak tight against the chill. I took all the back ways, hurrying as best I could - I'd never convince her to come with me if I didn't get to her before first bell. I wasn't worried about running down alleys and over fences. Most people around here knew me by sight, and those that didn't saw my blue-and-silver airman's cloak and the rapier and revolver at my side, and knew to find easier prey.

The dark stone bulk of St. Iriadne's Academy was just down the street now - I was going to make it. I slowed to a walk as I approached the hulking magical university, catching my breath so I didn't look like I just ran across a quarter of the city to see Vi. That wouldn't do at all. I nodded to a couple of students playing catch with a ball of wisplight as I went inside and up to her chambers, and knocked quietly.

"Vi? Are you there? It's Cole." I waited a moment for a response, heard someone moving around inside. I straightened up and smoothed my cloak before she saw me.

"Mr. Lyonson. I don't suppose there's any chance that you'll go away?" She opened the door, her expression somewhere between frustrated and amused. She was ready for teaching - a practical, ladylike dress, brown-and-green hair pulled back in a bun, with a few wisps of hair curling on her forehead. Her features were beautiful, no other word for it - high cheekbones, large, green eyes, and a slight point to her ears that revealed her part-elven ancestry.

I smiled politely and bowed. "No, ma'am. None at all. You'll have to call security." She gestured me in, and I stepped past her into her apartment. It was pretty sizable, and far too tidy for my tastes. Most of it was decorated in books - old tomes of magical theory and history covered most of the walls. Two cats stared at me inscrutably from atop bookshelves. One of them - Tyraniel - meowed at me, his disdain clear.

She smiled. "He likes you, you know. What's going on?"

"Gavin. He's got a job, and wanted you involved. I'm going over there to find out details. Interested?"

She considered for a moment. "Yes, I believe so. Lecturing on proper conjuration safety protocols sounded rather dull, and none of them ever listen until they catch fire the first time, no matter what I say. I'll send a message to my assistant." She wrote a quick note, and handed it to one of the cats, who loped off down the corridor.

"That was easier than I expected," I said as I offered her my arm. I figured I'd have to bribe her to get her to abandon her duties.

"That cloak makes your eyes sparkle in quite a handsome manner. It may have factored into my decision." I smiled to myself as we walked, arm in arm, to see Gavin. "And you will be paying me fifty percent."

*****​
Gavin's shop is a large, rambling place - he'd added on a workshop and forge in back years ago, and taken over one of the neighboring shops and combined the buildings. A bell rang as we entered, and a grunt from across the shop suggested that Gavin was on his way. The place was full of all manner of objects, strewn haphazardly on shelves covered to bursting. Most of it was artistic - Taldori carved walking staves, carpets from the Venish Wastes, even a stuffed dragon's head. I knew some of it was enchanted, though - Gavin was one of Knightsgate's largest dealers in magical objects. 

"Cole, my boy!" Gavin stumped around a cage full of clockwork messenger birds and grinned at me. He was thick-set even for a dwarf, his arms corded with muscle, his belly starting to go soft in his age. Streaks of grey shot through his dark beard. "C'mere!" He pulled me into a tight hug, lifting my feet clear of the ground for a moment. "Good to see you again. It's been too long." He gave Vi a brief smile and nod. "Let's talk privately."

We followed Gavin into a back room. It was a well-appointed meeting room, used mostly for high-gold deals with important clients. On the table were a pair of lumpy white stones, each a little bigger than a fist. "Got these in last night as part of a lot I bought from a tomb raider coming in from the Gulbarak Jungle. Not sure what to make of them, but they've got me worried. Think they might be bound souls, and I can't be caught dealing with that. Guard's already watching me close enough after those bloody hobbits used one of my bags of holding in that bank heist last month. They'd auction my shop and send me up the river for sure for this. Can you help me, boy?"

I looked at the stones, then over at Vi. "I think _we_ can help you, yes." Viona and Gavin didn't get along well - professional disagreement from years ago, something about a golem she'd bought from him going berserk at a faculty party. I tried to stay well out of it, but Gavin knew I worked with her when magic was involved, and he trusted me. Wasn't hard to understand why he was worried - dealing with soulbound objects was bad business. Binding elementals and spirits was one thing, but binding a sentient creature's soul was a horrible crime, against the laws of both men and the gods. Even dealing with the things would get you locked away for a long time. "You should be more careful, old man. What was so important that you bought the lot without examining everything?"

He coughed a bit, embarrassed. "Caught that, did you? Suppose that's fair. This was in there, and don't think the fool knew what he had." He unlocked a small cabinet, and handed me a large chunk of stone, crystals of various colors poking out of it. ((PICTURE #2))

I whistled, and I heard Viona gasp in surprise. I turned the thing over in my hands. "Is this... what I think it is?"

"A shard the size of your arm? Yeah, boy, that's just what it is. See why I didn't look too close at the rest of his stuff?"

Vi took the stone from me and peered closely at it. "I would estimate this is worth at least... twelve thousand gold crowns? It seems quite pure."

"That it is, young lady. That it is." Gavin took the shard carefully from her, locking it back up. "Fool took four hundred for that, the bound souls, and a pile of worthless Taldori burial decoration. And I think there's more where that came from. Somebody's been moving shards into the market from out Gulbarak way, and I think this might be a clue as to who. I'd like to get in on that. Good money to be made from raw materials." He peered at both of us, his weathered face grim. "I'd pay well, for information like that. Already got me a map from the idiot who sold me this lot. I can't be going off into the wilds by myself any more. You two in?"

I nodded immediately. "I'm in. I'll get ready." Gavin had helped me through a lot, back in the war. He'd been the mechanic for my skimmer, along with the rest of the unit's devices. He'd personally led a rescue mission to save me, after a pair of blight-drakes brought me down during a scouting mission.

I turned to go, and Gavin laughed. "Not so fast there, boy - the bound souls, remember? They talk, but I don't speak whatever language they do. Hoping one of you might understand 'em."

"Good point, old man. Let's take a look." I've had clients from all over, and been to a good chunk of the known world, and I speak several languages. Vi knew a half-dozen more than I did, at least, and her magic could translate anything she didn't already know.

Viona picked up one of the stones, and immediately a grey mouth formed on its side. It hissed, and spoke in a guttural language. I smiled a bit.

Gavin looked at us. "Anything?"

It said "Who dares disturb mighty Jokjok?" It's speaking Gulbari goblin.

Vi put the stone next to the other one. A mouth formed on the second stone, and it said "Jokjok? You there? It so dark. Where we now? Where go talky man?" The voice was higher, less inclined to shouting, and clearly female. 

"Talky man gone, Zekki! Someone here to put me into MIGHTY GOLEM BODY! Jokjok be bigger and stronger and smashy! Jokjok not like being rock, but soon be HUGEST AND BESTEST!" The mouth on the other stone visibly cowered as Jokjok shouted. ((PICTURE #3)) "That right, strange person? Jokjok go from goblin to rock to GOLEM?"

Vi looked at me. I shrugged. "Er. No, we're not here to turn you into a golem. We're here to turn you back into goblins," she said. After a moment's consideration, she continued. "And I would never build a golem with a goblin soul inside. It would be far too risky. Elementals are far more tr-"

"Risky that I be BESTEST GOLEM EVER and make all others look bad?"

"Jokjok, shut up! I not want to be a rock or a golem! Nice lady want to make us goblin again! We sorry we stole shiny rock!"

Vi made a soothing noise. "Be calm, I'll take you back to the university and we should be able to get you back to normal by tomorrow. All will be well." She turned to Gavin and me, and switched back to tradetongue. "Cole, you get all of that?" I nodded. "Good. Fill Gavin in and get ready. They should be back in goblin form by the morning. We depart then?"

She scooped up the two stones and swept out of the room, looking grim. Gavin shot me a look. "She gonna have any problems walking around with those things?"

I shook my head. "She's senior enough at the university that she can handle it. They'll help her out. Bound souls are a bit of a touchy subject for her, I think. She'll figure it out." I put an arm around Gavin's shoulder. "Come on, old man. You get to come make sure my skimmer still works."

*****​
It did, and the five of us set out the next morning. Zekki and Jokjok were back in their old shapes - thin, floppy-eared goblins about three feet tall. They seemed overwhelmed by the city - it was huge and loud and far from their jungle home. Jokjok was fearless as we boarded my skimmer, asking constant questions about how it worked and such. I showed him the elemental boiler that generated power and lift, the propellers that let it move, everything. He was a pretty quick learner, and it had been a while since I had a chance to show the old girl off. I'd bought her from the military after the war, when they were decommissioning everything and tearing it all apart for parts for the reconstruction effort. I'd made a good offer for it, from my grandfather's nest egg - it didn't seem right to let them tear apart the machine that had saved my life so many times and turn her into a field hand.

Everyone was ready for anything - the Gulbarak Jungle was a wild place. I had put on my grandfather's old armor under my cloak, mithril chain so fine it just felt like a thick shirt. The enchantments on it were enough to protect me from most weapons, even gunfire. My trusty blade and revolver were in the skimmer, too. Vi was wearing her traveling robes, dark green and tight against her curvy body. Gavin lugged a bag full of weapons and ammunition, his favorite scoped rifle slung over a shoulder. He clanked as he walked, decked out in a corpsman's metal-and-leather uniform again, let out here and there to allow for the ravages of age. Even Zekki and Jokjok clutched short blades I recognized from Gavin's shop. 

We flew south like that for several days, stopping for breaks here and there to let the elemental spirit rest. The skimmer was a tight fit, and didn't offer a lot of protection from the wind - it had been designed as a scout craft, and everyone but me spent most of the trip clutching at wing supports. They were all very relieved when the dark shape of the Gulbarak Jungle appeared on the horizon. We sped over the treetops for a few hours before Jokjok clutched at my arm.

"Nice lady say land there! We close!" She pointed toward a small clearing, probably big enough for a safe landing. I nodded.

*****​
It wasn't my best landing, but we all got out of the skimmer without much trouble. After walking around slowly for a few minutes to get used to the ground again, Zekki got us oriented.

"Tribe that way maybe two hours walk. That where bad dead-man live who turn us into rocks. We stole shiny shard from him - he make tribe dig for shiny shards and then sell to bad men who come down river. Me and Jokjok hiding in cave when dead-man curse turn us into rocks. Talky man find us in cave before dead-man find us. Dead-man have big dead guards in armor."

Vi looked at me. "From the description, this dead man could be one of the lost lich-lords from the war. They never did find all of them. I had heard rumors about some of them running to Gulbarak after the army shattered their fortresses. Could be bad."

Gavin snorted. "Haven't killed any undead in years. Bring 'em on, I say. What you say, boy? Remember how it's done?"

I grimaced. "Still have the scars."

We made our way through the jungle as quietly as we could. I went ahead with Zekki - she was quieter than Jokjok by far, and seemed to know woodcraft better. Jokjok came and went, passing messages back and forth to Vi and Gavin. I didn't want Gavin anywhere near me when I was trying to be quiet, and he was miserable enough in the hot jungle in the jungle that Jokjok started referring to him as "angry fur man". I'd have to remember that. 

Eventually, we came to a clearing dominated by several conical stone constructions. Here and there, windows dotted the structures, and a wooden bridge connected the two largest. Zekki pointed to one from our wet, fern-covered hiding spot at the edge of the clearing. ((PICTURE #1) "Dead man at top of that one. He in big room full of money he took from our tribe." As we watched, several goblins skittered across the bridge and into the stone edifice, followed by a large figure, four-armed and taller than a man, covered in dark metal and carrying a quartet of axes. I sighed. A Venkatha dreadguard. No doubt about it, there was a lich in there. I hadn't seen one of those things since the worst days of the war.

Zekki tugged at my arm. "Uh. Nice Cole man? Where Jokjok going?" Zekki pointed, and I sighed in frustration as I watched the tiny figure of Jokjok move obviously from clump of grass to bush across the clearing. If I knew him at all, he was humming as he went.

"To get himself killed, it looks like." Jokjok had the subtlety of a dwarven cannon brigade. "Go with him, try and keep him safe. We'll find a way in." Zekki nodded and started across the clearing, doing a much better job of being inconspicuous than her mate.

*****​
We'd managed to put together some kind of a plan, huddled among the cloying vegetation of the jungle. Vi had brought along a couple of scrolls she thought might be helpful, and Gavin thought he could take out one of the dreadguards quietly. We waited there, on the edge of the jungle, for the next chance. It looked like the goblins came back every couple of hours, escorted by one of three dreadguards. One of the dreadguards was always at the mine about a half mile away; the other two stayed at the camp and guarded the lich, occasionally taking a patrol of the camp area. We'd have to hit fast and quiet - we couldn't deal with three of those things and a lich, all at the same time. We were pretty good, but not that good.

As the patrolling dreadguard stepped out, we got ready to strike. Gavin did something to his rifle, and suddenly sound all around us ceased - the incessant hum of birds and bugs throughout the jungle cut out. The dwarf took careful aim at the dreadguard's armored head, and the muzzle flashed silently. The thing's helm splintered, shattered by a silent bullet, and the thing dropped lifelessly to the ground with a crackle of black energy as sound returned around us.

"Move!" I hissed.
[/sblock]


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## Piratecat (Apr 5, 2012)

I've said it before and I'll say it again: folks who aren't able to finish, and post what they have so far instead of just withdrawing, win my utmost respect. While I'm sorry you ran out of time, well handled, sir.


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## Daeja (Apr 5, 2012)

Just want to second what PC said, and add that I love the world you were able to develop in the time that you had.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Apr 5, 2012)

Piratecat said:


> I've said it before and I'll say it again: folks who aren't able to finish, and post what they have so far instead of just withdrawing, win my utmost respect. While I'm sorry you ran out of time, well handled, sir.




Ditto.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Apr 6, 2012)

Rodrigo - the knids are alright!


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## Hellefire (Apr 6, 2012)

I found the second set of pictures more difficult than the first I think...though again that leaves more room for higher creativity points.

By the way, my sideline judgements are in, if anyone likes to read them. On Page 3 of this thread as always.

Great stories guys and girls!!
er..
Despite you sneaking past me!!


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## Hellefire (Apr 6, 2012)

Sorry for dropping an xp thumbs up on a story post...that is probably bad form, at least until the judges post their verdicts. I was trying to add my support for those who post what they have in the end instead of dropping out, but should have done so in a separate post as others did.

In any case, my bad, sorry about that, please forgive my infarction (and I watch Scrubs far too much).


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Apr 6, 2012)

maxfieldjadenfox said:


> Rodrigo - the knids are alright!




Stop knidding around.  Ceramic DM is serious business.


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## Hellefire (Apr 6, 2012)

Damn, more people need to post from the convention!


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## Daeja (Apr 6, 2012)

I'm following a few people on Twitter who are there and am *very* jealous.   

Also, thanks so much for your feedback: I've added a few notes to my collection of reminders for the brainstorming/edit phases!


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## UselessTriviaMan (Apr 6, 2012)

Hellefire said:


> [sblock]
> **UselessTriviaMan - Royal Pains**
> My only issues are some pressing questions - like why was the princess getting married if she didn't already have the flowers? Or if the flowers were on the statue why didn't they work? The end was a bit...jerky.
> [/sblock]



[sblock]Thanks for the critique (and the nod)! I finished writing this somewhere around 2:30AM, which I blame for both the grammatical goofs and the hurried, jerky ending. 

I actually used the white lily bouquets shown in the church scene as our saguaro lilies - Shianna's flowers on Gregan's "crown" weren't the ingredient needed for the antidote. I didn't spot the potential for a mix-up between the different flowers. Also, the saguaro lily was supposed to be merely the primary ingredient needed for the antidote, not the actual enchantment-breaking cure in itself. Shianna was supposed to be trying to hide the lilies in the long list of outrageous wedding demands. Again, it was late and I was tired. I shoulda spelled it out more clearly.

Thanks again![/sblock]


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## Hellefire (Apr 7, 2012)

Daeja said:


> I'm following a few people on Twitter who are there and am *very* jealous.
> 
> Also, thanks so much for your feedback: I've added a few notes to my collection of reminders for the brainstorming/edit phases!




Yeah I saw Felicia Day twittering about it. Ah well, heading back to North America in just under 3 weeks. Hope to make a con or two this year!
And you're quite welcome, hope my random babbling helps some!


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## Piratecat (Apr 8, 2012)

PAX East has been great. I am exhausted. These two things are not unrelated.


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## Hellefire (Apr 9, 2012)

More news about Con-ning or more judgments of doom plz thx!

All you judgments are belong to us!!


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## Piratecat (Apr 9, 2012)

Me, I'm holding out for the judgments. But PAX East was great - ran several "learn to play D&D" sessions, ran a "playtest D&D Next" session, ran the DM Challenge. Drank just about the right amount, ate well, slept too little. Chatted with Mearls & Jeremy Crawford, playtested a game with Mike Selinker & Zarathustran, played board games, went to panels, laughed my ass off. Really fun weekend.


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## Piratecat (Apr 10, 2012)

Quick question for the judges: do you have a feel for when you might post judgments? I'm ratcheting back my thread visits to match your timing.


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## Hellefire (Apr 11, 2012)

I think the judges are hanging out at the Con after party!


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## Gregor (Apr 11, 2012)

Piratecat said:


> Quick question for the judges: do you have a feel for when you might post judgments? I'm ratcheting back my thread visits to match your timing.




I'll try to have mine up tonight/tomorrow morning (EST).


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## steeldragons (Apr 12, 2012)

Apologies to all for the delay.

Between Easter weekend obligations, a nasty infection (you know the kind where you just have so much pressure your eyes water all the time, can't swallow and breathing feels like your cranium is going to explode? Yeah, that one.) and then, ya know *whispers* taxes, I've just been fairly swamped or incapacitated for most of the past week.

I am hoping to have a ruling for Round II: Match 1 up later today or tomorrow. But, again, sorry (to the contestants and my fellow judges) for my part of the extended delay.

--SD


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Apr 13, 2012)

steeldragons said:


> Apologies to all for the delay.
> 
> Between Easter weekend obligations, a nasty infection (you know the kind where you just have so much pressure your eyes water all the time, can't swallow and breathing feels like your cranium is going to explode? Yeah, that one.) and then, ya know *whispers* taxes, I've just been fairly swamped or incapacitated for most of the past week.
> 
> ...




I know if I were being judged, I wouldn't want the judge to do it with a nasty infection and in the midst of taxes. He could be cranky. Just sayin'.


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## Hellefire (Apr 13, 2012)

maxfieldjadenfox said:


> I know if I were being judged, I wouldn't want the judge to do it with a nasty infection and in the midst of taxes. He could be cranky. Just sayin'.





But since I'm not being judged....I just have to figure out how to keep the judges up for 4 or 5 days until they are hallucinating and then get them to post judgements...muahahaha!


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## Gulla (Apr 13, 2012)

I suggest you post your own stories for each of the picture sets, just to confuse them 

(No, it's got nothing to do with my desire for more good stories )


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## Piratecat (Apr 13, 2012)

I'll write a new story while the judges are working!

Once upon a time, there was a magic seal who lived in the desert. An itinerant artist promised to sculpt him in stone, but took the magic seal's money and just delivered a random head. In anger the seal killed him, and now lights a memorial candle for every artist that the seal has so murdered. There's... a lot of them.

Woot! Who's next?


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## Hellefire (Apr 13, 2012)

Gulla said:


> I suggest you post your own stories for each of the picture sets, just to confuse them
> 
> (No, it's got nothing to do with my desire for more good stories )




That is a spectacular idea!!!!


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Apr 13, 2012)

Once upon a time, there was an evil and malicious troll that lived in the north.  He would get all the dead animals he could find and make tasty, tasty food from them and tell all the villagers about it and show them miraculous paintings depicting the food in all its glory.  But the mean troll would only do this when they were too far away to share in his bounty.  

Eventually the villagers grew tired of the troll's taunting and cooked him on his own fire and ate him and made mobiles from his bones and sinew.

The End.


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## Piratecat (Apr 14, 2012)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:


> Once upon a time, there was an evil and malicious troll that lived in the north.  He would get all the dead animals he could find and make tasty, tasty food from them and tell all the villagers about it and show them miraculous paintings depicting the food in all its glory.  But the mean troll would only do this when they were too far away to share in his bounty.
> 
> Eventually the villagers grew tired of the troll's taunting and cooked him on his own fire and ate him and made mobiles from his bones and sinew.
> 
> The End.




Rodrigo, this makes me want to go smoke the 10 lb pork butt in my fridge. I've been working on my sauces and rubs, and I figure 10 hours hickory-smoked will be just right. I'll post photos once it's done!

But I have to admit, I don't really understand your story.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Apr 14, 2012)

Gulla said:


> I suggest you post your own stories for each of the picture sets, just to confuse them
> 
> (No, it's got nothing to do with my desire for more good stories )




Okay. I'll bite. Need a little time to make something worthwhile though.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Apr 14, 2012)

Piratecat said:


> Rodrigo, this makes me want to go smoke the 10 lb pork butt in my fridge. I've been working on my sauces and rubs, and I figure 10 hours hickory-smoked will be just right. I'll post photos once it's done!
> 
> But I have to admit, I don't really understand your story.




It will make more sense when I post the pictures.  Well, to the judges, anyway.


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## Hellefire (Apr 15, 2012)

And a beer....


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## UselessTriviaMan (Apr 15, 2012)

...In a tree?

[ame="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=32CwrOZVobo&feature=related"]...In a tree?[/ame]


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## Gregor (Apr 15, 2012)

Gregor's Judgement
Round 2, Match 1

Phoamslinger’s_ ‘The Favor’ _vs. Piratecat’s_ ‘Repo the Seal’ _vs. UselessTriviaMan’s_ ‘Royal Pains’
_

Apologies all around for the extreme delay in getting my post up.  I've been  really busy at work and just bought my first house (who knew there was so much paperwork!?) which has distracted me from this competition.  I apologize again for keeping you all waiting.  I'll endeavor to be way more punctual in the future.

Now, onto the judgement!  

Writing Style & Skill

As per usual in this contest, and especially so in the second round, the writing quality is crazy high.  There generally isn't anything constructive to recommend to you lads since you delivered such tight tales.  However, lets go through them.

Phoamslinger, I think you delivered a pretty well written story.  The style was pretty slick and your concept of players as PCs within a D&D game was delivered in a pretty clever way.  The pace is snappy, the flow is good and you deftly wrote in some legitimate humor.  

Piratecat, you delivered another very well written story.  You produce really great scenes that have discernible texture and you write believable and convincing characters.  Everything in the story feels the way it should and its a product of the little details you weave in.  Its sharp, snappy, witty and clever.  The only issue I noted was the weird name change at the end and I could not decide whether it was a typo or if Sheila was trying to protect Tony … but I oscillated back to it being a typo because I wasn’t convinced that Sheila was that smart based on the story.  After mulling this over, I admit that I read your thoughts following the story and saw that you in fact meant to do it.  That quenched my own thirst for the answer, but I think the lack of clarity on what you meant in the story remains.  It’s the only blemish in an otherwise air-tight tale.

UselessTriviaMan, you also produced a well written and tight story.  You had excellent pacing, good scene description and frequent but appropriate scene changes.  The character dialogue is great and there was a taste of game design in the story (monster descriptions and abilities lend themselves to a great game.  Gatorbear? Vipers whose venom turn you to stone ... great stuff).

Use of the Photo Elements

Phoamslinger, I think you did a pretty good job of using the pictures that were given to you.  The candles didn’t blow me away, but they made sense as a set piece in the context of a Temple to Pelor.  I like that you used the seal as a character who had lines and played a part in the story.  The desert was the least interesting image we provided in this group and I think you did exactly as much as you could have with it: a setting.  I’m torn on the earth head.  On the one hand, you used it exactly as I thought you would at the beginning of your story: the earth creature the two adventurers are searching for.  But maybe I was expecting more out of it when it was finally used.  Though I don’t think that is a picture use issue per se so I’ll mull that over in the personal enjoyment section.

Piratecat, you used the same recipe for success that catapulted you over the competition in the first round: you draw your main characters and concepts from the pictures given to you, which keeps them going through the whole story.  The perfect example of this is the seal.  Also, you are deft at describing the image early in your work but you save the reveal of the illustration for a more appropriate time.  I like that you focused on the white shrouded woman’s face behind the candelabra instead of the candelabra itself.  The weakest picture is the desert, but as I mentioned in Phoamslinger’s review, there isn’t much to do with the desert picture beyond using it as a set piece.

UselessTriviaMan, you did a pretty great job using the pictures.  I like that the seal was a key character (wizard's familiar) with a name and personality which was consistent across the whole story.  You used good foreshadowing of your later use of the image of the stone head when you tell us about savage Halflings who believe the flowers to be sacred and turn their enemies to stone.  As with the other competitors, the desert is a desert and while the candelabra didn't wow me, you used it fairly as the illustration for the opulent church where the royal wedding would take place.  

Personal Enjoyment

Phoamslinger, I think you delivered something clever, charming and legitimately funny.  I really enjoyed the perspective of characters in a game world being manipulated by the DM who the world perceives as a god.  I've sort of toyed with this idea myself and I'm impressed with how you delivered it.  There are snips of really great writing in here (e.g. “wheels turned, synapses fired, and a bit of thinking went on outside of regularly shaped boxes”) which I wish there was a little more of.  What I mean is that you have a definite talent in delivering lines like this and they turn sections of your story from just enjoyable to down right fantastic.  I would have liked to have seen more of it.  I like the running gag/theme of Asperon’s furs (blood splattered, too hot in the desert, forgets them before he goes somewhere chilly) and the teleporting was a neat way of tying together some rather divergent images especially in terms of environment/ecology.  However, the ending left me a bit cold after what I considered to be a really engaging tale that held my attention.  From my perspective, it begged for a more memorable final sentence so that you finish with a smile … maybe Asperon laying on his bedroll, staring at the skies and just mumbling to himself: “Wastelands…I told you it would be wastelands.” 

Piratecat, you delivered another home run with this story.  I'm not sure if you’re playing to my heritage, but I found the whole debate about where in Canada this seal might be from extremely entertaining (Tonto … haha).  I am continuously impressed by your ability to craft great stories out of a pile of bizarre images.  You distilled a storyline about a skeezy repo man, coke sniffing / idiot partners, a heist of a First Nations archaeological relic, a poor seal who wants to be eaten and a Wayne Newton criminal mob bad guy.  Can I read this novel please ...  or better yet, the movie.  But in all seriousness, this story was absolutely fantastic.  It had solid dialogue, great characters, fantastic scenes and was legitimately funny.  I don't know what else to say other than you hit it out of the park and I hope to read more stories about that repo man.

UselessTriviaMan, I think you put something really great together.  You sort of blended in some fairytale type vibes along with humour, high fantasy and then a bit of a dark turn towards the end.  The frequent scene changes give the story some great pace, but things happened almost too quickly for me to get invested.  Yet, its a testament to your world building that I wanted to learn more about those halfings, the story of Gregan, the relationship between Nuki and your court wizard protagonist, etc.  I was a bit confused by the ending and since it all happened so fast, I had to go back and read it a couple of times.  I didn't really piece together what was taking place and I thought that it was just inserted as a quick way to finish off the story.  I would have happily read another five or six hundred words if the ending flowed a bit better.  That being said, the overall story was highly engaging and you have a definite knack for dialogue.  The conversations with the court wizard and Nuki, the discussion in garden with the princess, etc. were all solid.  


*Final Verdict*

Based on the use of images and my own personal enjoyment, my vote for the winner of this round is Piratecat.


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## Piratecat (Apr 16, 2012)

Gregor, thank you for posting your judgment. I'm so glad you liked it! I was (and am) conscious that this would make a nifty Leverage/ Savage World / Modern game, but it's sure not fantasy or magical realism. That can be a risk in Ceramic DM, especially when your opponents are writing strong stories in Fantasy.

Two more judges to go. Will we have a three-way tie? STAY TUNED!


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## Hellefire (Apr 16, 2012)

UselessTriviaMan said:


> ...In a tree?




Woohoo, finally someone who gets it!!


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## Hellefire (Apr 17, 2012)

Though admittedly I have been in Europe for most of the last decade and they probably didn't get much bob and doug mckenzie here.

Still nice to have someone get my references


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## Piratecat (Apr 17, 2012)

Oh, I got it as well -- I've now been humming that song for days. Thanks a _lot._

While we wait, I'll ponder how interesting it is that my writing works better with external constraints. If you said "write a story about skeezy repo men," it would not be as interesting as one that forced me to include a seal. I think the lesson from this is that I should use this method when writing my own fiction. Pick a bunch of constraints, whether internal or from a photo -- "Grasping hands. Stone ball. Pool of bloody water. Annoyed looking sheep." -- and then tell a story around them. Presumably you can then remove the really goofy bits in the editing stage, but it's a nice technique.

I'll also mention that I'm currently taking a storytelling class. You can bet that I'm yoinking as many techniques for oral telling as I can and shoving them into my written work. Heck, I always read my stuff aloud before hitting Submit; that's the best way I've found to remove awkward dialogue and bad sentence construction.


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## Hellefire (Apr 17, 2012)

I have a sad story to tell you...


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## steeldragons (Apr 17, 2012)

Ok. Antibiotics have done their thing. Taxes done (don't owe. woohoo! But with my dad dying last year, there was all kindsa extra forms/paperwork I've never had to deal with before. Not gettin' anything back. But don't owe. Which is more important...to me.) ANYwho...on to the judgements.

Round II: Match 1
phoamslinger's _The Favor_
vs.
PirateCat's Repo _Seal_
vs.
UselessTriviaMan's _Royal Pains_

1) Writing Style/Skill: Who's brilliant idea was it to have to judge 3 of you at the same time?! Ugh. Ok, we have here three great tales. Three adept writers. Three stories with great plots, solid character development, descriptive text and a multitude of evocative settings...and a couple of typos (thanks phoamslinger  that really don't impact the skill or style points all that much...if at all.

I'll get into more of all of this under the "Enjoyment" section. But for strict Skill and Style, each does their job admirably and notably well. No edges here. This is a 3 horse race for sure!

2) Picture Use: _Favor's_ use of the images are all fairly straight forward. I very much enjoyed the magical everburning chandelier/candelabra in the temple. Made a ton of sense and evocative as a "temple of the sun god" ornament._

Repo's_ image of a Vegas "chapel" and the incorporating of the figure behind it as the "nun/call girl" uses it a bit more thoroughly.

But then _Royal Pains_ comes in with the elaborate candelabra that the main character actually interacts with versus just sees, use of the figure behind as Vashka (in a funny headdress the magess doesn't quite know why she's wearing) AND the bouquets of white lilies, which admittedly I really didn't notice until reading your story, as an essential element of plot. Wow. Way to use an image's details, UselessTriviaMan.

The seal. [everybody say "Awwww"] The seal on the rock. _Favor's_ use as one of the pivotal elements for the "Dei Ehm" (which I LOVED, but more on that later) plot device was not at all what I was expecting and enjoyed since I thought, at first, it was simple window dressing. Nicely done. I will admit being comPLETEly horrified at themention of the PC with the seal hat! lol. But, it is totally in keeping with what/how PCs will do things...and I can think of several players I've known over the years who would have done the extact same thing. hahaha. Very funny and a nice add.

In _Repo Seal_, obviously, the seal is a major element if not actual character, per se. But integral to the story and again, went from being "Ok, so they have a seal with them" in the beginning to fleshing out the how and why it is there was beautifully done. Perhaps, more importantly, it  gives us a nice facet to the main characters (who, admittedly, up to that point are not the most likeable individuals) and makes them sympathetic. Again, wonderfully done.

In _Royal Pains_, the seal is an actual character. Humorous. Independent despite being a "familiar" as we understand it in D&D. Very nicely done and, again, integral to the plot and with a hand in the resolution.

I do think, however, the beautifully woven crafting of the animal in _Repo Seal _and what it does for the story as a whole does go to PirateCat for this pic.

The desert, as my esteemed fellow judge mentions, it's a desert. It's a set piece and used nicely as such by all three. While the desert is a bit more important, fleshed out and interesting as a setting in _Royal Pains_, I don't really see an advantage here. It was a desert. There ya go.

The rock head of _Favor_ was exactly as I expected, the earth elemental creature that the Players/PCs searched for. Having read your expanded explanation of it being a galeb duhr...I really didn't get that from the story. Just that it was the elemental creature...and that's fine. It did what it had to do.   

The use as an indian artifact in _Repo_ was well done. Simple and furthering, if not initiating, the plot. The way you take each image and really make it count, not just as an image, but as intrinsic to character motivations is very much admired.
_
Royal Pains'_ petrifying venom was where I was thinking it was going. You had statues all over the desert and I thought, at first, that the head was just some throw away nod toward that. Come to find, while it is a petrified person from the deadly-halfling desert, but is actually the source or, well, the focus, of the princess' madness. Again, caught me off guard and pleasantly surprised me as more than I expected it to be. 

I think in the case of the stone head, again, we have a 3-way happening. 

Grr. SOMEbody's gotta get an edge around here someplace.

3) Personal Enjoyment: _The Favor_ was, for me, the most entertaining read. The recurring humor. The tropes. The "zapping green ball of light" known in the ancient tongue as the Dei Ehm. The PC/player interactions that I could "hear" occurring at any number of my tables. Very funny, a bit nostalgic and highly entertaining. 

_Repo Seal_ is a brilliantly told brilliant tale. While I'm not big on the "modern" genre, the detail, darker interactions/humor and characters, and creativity in general cannot be denied. We have stealth and intrigue, pacing, action...even a touch of horror (he's gonna EAT the cutesy wootsy seal?! NOOOO!) It is a great read without a shred of "magic" or "fantasy" to be found. I could see this as a great game/scenario/adventure in whatever modern genre game system you like.

_Royal Pains _started out, for me, kinda "eh." But very quickly became "oo!" The character development was solid. The setting sparked all kinds of things for me to use in an adventure. From the gatorbear to the petrifying venom and "primitive halfling tribe" who ride "ostretches" with the sacred/spiritual connection to their ancestors...lots of great ideas here. Throw in some dark insanity and a few flavorful snapshots of "life in the castle." I enjoyed this, ultimately, as much as _The Favor_ for a [non-spoofy] fantasy story.

Final Decision: I read all of these twice over...and didn't mind one moment of reading any of them. These are wonderful tales that might each be an exemplar for their type. When I boil everything down to a gooey thick paste of flavor and fun, I am left with only the most marginal of "leads." This 3 horse race ends in a photo finish, quite literally.

Steel Dragons' pick for Round II: Match 1 goes to
*UselessTriviaMan's Royal Pains.*


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## Piratecat (Apr 17, 2012)

Well done, UTM!


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## Gregor (Apr 17, 2012)

Hmmmmmmm will this turn into a 3-way tie requiring a SUPER SUDDEN DEATH LIGHTNING ROUND TIE BREAKER?!


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## Hellefire (Apr 17, 2012)

...it may hurt your feelings a bit...


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## phoamslinger (Apr 18, 2012)

good going PC and UTM, one judge to go...


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## UselessTriviaMan (Apr 18, 2012)

I know I'm kinda new around here... but I don't know if I'm up for a 3-way with you two guys. No offense.


And not that there's anything wrong with it. I'm just more into pitas than sausages, you know?


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## Hellefire (Apr 18, 2012)

Last night when I walked into my bathroom...


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## Piratecat (Apr 18, 2012)

UTM, I suspect a literary three-way is quite different and involves us rustling paper or sharing keyboards. Hygienically, I mean.

Any word from our beloved third judge? The suspense, it is keeelling me.

By the way, [MENTION=28129]Hellefire[/MENTION], I wanted to thank you for your story analyses and reviews (way back earlier in the thread). They're great to read. Thank you.


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## UselessTriviaMan (Apr 18, 2012)

No offense intended, PC.  I just had to laugh, 'cuz my warped mind kept jumping to Guccione's rag every time I read "three-way."


_"Dear... apartment-on-the-top-floor, I never thought this would happen to me..."_


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## Hellefire (Apr 18, 2012)

Piratecat said:


> By the way, [MENTION=28129]Hellefire[/MENTION], I wanted to thank you for your story analyses and reviews (way back earlier in the thread). They're great to read. Thank you.




My pleasure...In case you don't recall, I originally started doing that to give contestants some feedback and something to read while waiting for official judges (certainly a job I would not want). 

I think historically I was batting about .500 for my sideline judgements, but I was flawless in round 1 this time (unfortunately for me!). Which would put me down as wrong for the next 6 calls, if the odds continue the way they have lifetime. That is to say - nobody should take my judgements to heart (or my critiques probably - helle, I have yet to win a single match in CDM).

Next time though! You will all feel my wrath!!

(Oh, and in 6 days my family and I get on a plane with the last 3 suitcases of our belongings after giving the rest away, and move back to North America - so not sure when next time will be, and might be silent for a week-ish while we fly to BC and drive to AK).


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## Mirth (Apr 19, 2012)

Mirth - Judgment

Round 2, Match 1

phoamslinger vs. Piratecat vs. UselessTriviaMan

Ah sweet time, how you fade so quickly and run so fleetingly...

Style -- It must have been the cuteness of the baby seal that brought out the humor in these stories and each of them handled the funnyness in such different ways. We have phoamslinger (PS) with the tongue-firmly-in-cheek story of a dynamic duo being ruled by a god of metagaming. Piratecat (PC) brings us the implausibly plausible tale of a repo gone horribly wrong and yet oh-so-right. And UselessTriviaMan (UTM) closes it out with the rollicking adventure of a wizardly wedding planner and her increasingly difficult task list. All of them are exceedingly well written, plot and character driven fantasies of a high order. I can't find fault with any of them from a style perspective. Despite the common tone, the plots couldn't be more dissimilar and the characters more wildly different. Excellence abounds in this round. Kudos to all of the competitors.

Picture use -- The use of pictures was another area where all of the writers were fairly well matched. First, we had PS with the golden temple of Pelor, the cactus grove, the doomed hyperactive seal, and the sleeping earth elemental -- all fantastic uses of some admittedly difficult to marry pictures. That seal in the desert thing is a doozy. Next, we had PC with a couple of bizarre and well thought out macguffins (a possibly delicious seal and the head of a statuary icon), a holy strip club, and a Vegas repo gone to hell. So strange, so great, so strange. Finally, we have UTM's whiny seal familiar, the deadly hidden vale, a completely different iconic statue, and a wedding of great import. Deliciously wacky, that story. I found none of the pictures to be throwaways, all were used well and were integral parts of the plots in each. All I came away with was that you cruel bastards really don't like baby seals very much. 

Personal connection -- So … as with many of the great stories in this competition so far, we come down to my personal preference AGAIN. I was afraid at the outset of PS's story that it could become a trite, jokey affair with far too much nudge, nudge, wink, wink for my taste, but nothing could be farther from the truth. I thought the story held its own as a narrative and paid sly homage to the reason we're all here reading this stuff in the first place. PC then throws us a curve ball that flies like a Coen Brothers film right into all of our faces. The punchy, funny material hits the ground running and doesn't let up until the well-deserved end. By the time we arrive at UTM's tale, I'd already made up my mind that there was no way this could be a three-horse race, something had to give. However, UTM rose to the challenge with his quest for the perfect wedding where not everything is as it seems. UTM takes our codified expectations for fantasy tropes and how they work and uses them against us to give us not regular hobbits, but hobbits with a SOUL, and not a regular spoiled princess, but a necrophiliac psychoprincess. Cleverness abounds in this round and IT IS SO HARD TO CHOOSE A WINNER.

Final judgment - Ultimately, I found Piratecat's story to just a little too unbelievable as a whole and UselessTriviaMan's to be unbalanced in its resolution versus its buildup. Phoamslinger's had the perfect mixture for me and worked not only as a D&D plot but also as a great story.

My nod for Round 2, Match 1 goes to … PHOAMSLINGER!

EDIT: Having read the other two judgments, it looks like ...

Houston, we have a problem. Hrmmm... we'll have to get back to you. SO SORRY TO ALL, PLEASE HAVE PATIENCE WHILE WE SORT THIS OUT. (... more patience, I should say.)


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## Hellefire (Apr 19, 2012)

I stepped in a big pile of SH...........


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## Piratecat (Apr 19, 2012)

Yeah, okay, I didn't expect that.  

And never let it be said that we didn't pick balanced judges! I wonder: do you re-evaluate based on more stringent criteria? Pull in a tie-breaker judge? Do we monkey knife-fight at dawn? Do I cheatily ban my worthy opponents, then claim complete ignorance about their non-participation? SO MANY OPTIONS. I like the monkey knife-fight, myself.

Personally, I have no objections to you judging the other 3-way battle before figuring out what to do with us.


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## Hellefire (Apr 19, 2012)

Preposition count for the win?


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## steeldragons (Apr 19, 2012)

Piratecat said:


> Yeah, okay, I didn't expect that.
> 
> And never let it be said that we didn't pick balanced judges! I wonder: do you re-evaluate based on more stringent criteria? Pull in a tie-breaker judge? Do we monkey knife-fight at dawn? Do I cheatily ban my worthy opponents, then claim complete ignorance about their non-participation? SO MANY OPTIONS. I like the monkey knife-fight, myself.
> 
> Personally, I have no objections to you judging the other 3-way battle before figuring out what to do with us.




As much as I was ALL SET and ready to hand out the feather dusters and toilet brushes for the gladiatorial show down  _MIRTH_ had to go and get all "reasonable" n' stuff.  

At his suggestion, we have decided to rate the three of you with points: 1st, 2nd, 3rd place receiving 3,2,1 point respectively...Highest points will be the winner. Easy peasy. 

And yes, we will certainly post the results for transparency.

Furthermore, we will be diving into the match 2 stories with all haste and do apologize again, to all, for the lagging time. I am hopeful that by the weekend (or sometime therein) we should have our Ceramic DM Finalists.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have feather dusters and toilet brushes to put away. <slumps away, disappointed at the lack of writer bloodsport>
--Steel Dragons


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## Hellefire (Apr 19, 2012)

.....aving cream...be nice and clean...shave every day and you'll always feel keen (oom bumpuh oom bumpuh)...

Had to finish that off before I left. On my work computer now, mine is all packed up, in about an hour I am done and gone and probably won't be back until I get to Anchorage next Friday.

Good writing and judging until then!!

Aaron


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Apr 19, 2012)

Ooooh. This is getting good.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Apr 19, 2012)

Hellefire said:


> .....aving cream...be nice and clean...shave every day and you'll always feel keen (oom bumpuh oom bumpuh)...
> 
> Had to finish that off before I left. On my work computer now, mine is all packed up, in about an hour I am done and gone and probably won't be back until I get to Anchorage next Friday.
> 
> ...




Safe journey, Hellefire!


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## steeldragons (Apr 19, 2012)

Hellefire said:


> .....aving cream...be nice and clean...shave every day and you'll always feel keen (oom bumpuh oom bumpuh)...
> 
> Had to finish that off before I left. On my work computer now, mine is all packed up, in about an hour I am done and gone and probably won't be back until I get to Anchorage next Friday.
> 
> ...






maxfieldjadenfox said:


> Safe journey, Hellefire!




Yes, indeed. Safe travels and best of luck with the move and new home!


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## Piratecat (Apr 19, 2012)

Hellefire, hope your travels are superb!

Watch out for seals.


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## UselessTriviaMan (Apr 20, 2012)

Utterly awesome. Is it bad that I'd kinda hoped a tie might happen??

And just for Hellefire, once he's safely landed and settled in and stuff:
[ame=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fWFg5i9rE0M&feature=related]Shaving Cream![/ame]


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## phoamslinger (Apr 20, 2012)

Mirth, you are aptly named.  

when you decided in my favor, tossing it into a three way tie, I almost fell out of my chair I was laughing so hard.

best laugh I've had all week.  thanks!


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## Piratecat (Apr 20, 2012)

Not to be a nudge, but I'm going to be a nudge. Since the critiques are written, do you know when you'll have the ratings up?

Thanks!


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## steeldragons (Apr 21, 2012)

Piratecat said:


> Not to be a nudge, but I'm going to be a nudge. Since the critiques are written, do you know when you'll have the ratings up?
> 
> Thanks!




Would now work for you PC?

How 'bout now?

.................................Steel Dragons.....Gregor.......Mirth
UselessTriviaMan..............3.....................1..............1.......= 5

Piratecat..........................2.....................3..............2.......= 7

Phoamslinger...................1.....................2..............3.......= 6

Looks like...the writer moving on to the finals is...
PIRATECAT!

Congratulations!

I, personally, and believe I speak for my fellow judges in saying, that you are ALL talented and very gifted writers and should continue to write in the fantasy vein. It is my most sincere hope that you will ALL enter into any future Ceramic DM competitions. Excellent work by you all. You should be proud.

Cheers.
<thunder claps...lightning flashes...the gusts of wind make the trees sing.>
--Steel Dragons


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Apr 21, 2012)

Congrats, Pirate Cat! And thanks Phoamslinger and my old nemesis UselessTriviaMan for giving him a run for his money!


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## phoamslinger (Apr 21, 2012)

congrats on the win Pirate Cat!  good luck on the final round.  after the last sets of pictures, I'm sure the round 3 pictures will be LOTS of fun.

this contest was a lot of fun.  I need to consider getting back into writing again.  too much real life has pushed all of that to the side in recent years.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Apr 21, 2012)

Congrats, Piratecat.


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## Piratecat (Apr 21, 2012)

Wow, thank you! That was the closest race I can remember. Well written, you guys.


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## UselessTriviaMan (Apr 22, 2012)

Congratulations, PC!

Thank you all for letting me stretch my writing muscles again. It was a lotta fun, and I'm honored by the praise and the critiques received. I'm phenomenally impressed by the writing talents around here, and I'd be more than happy to give it another shot somewhere down the road a spell.


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## Piratecat (Apr 23, 2012)

While we're waiting for the final judgments in round 2: something awesome.

Three-Minute Fiction : NPR


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## Gregor (Apr 24, 2012)

Gregor's Judgement
Round 2 – Match 2

Rodrigo Instalindir’s ‘_Revenge is a Dish Best Served Sticky_’ vs. Daeja’s ‘Unnamed’ vs. SteelDraco’s ‘_Shards out of Bond_’

Alright, I know I've commented on how tight the competition is but this one seriously gave me pause.  I felt like I was being beaten up by three literary heavyweights.  When I finished reading, battered and bruised but smiling, I was not sure who was going to get my vote.  Everyone can write, use the pictures and produce something incredibly engaging.  In all seriousness, I lay in bed last night trying to sort out my feelings on the matter.  Well, lets see what my insomnia produced...

Writing Skill & Style

Rodrigo delivers a very sharp, tightly written piece of prose.  Absolutely great flow, good sense of mood and a solid mix of styles with the addition of poetry/song lyrics.  Also, the vocabulary and language use is just fantastic in this story.

Daeja likewise provides a well written piece with some really fantastic story progression and character dialogue.  There are a couple of typos towards the end of the story, but they are very minor and do not detract from the work. 

SteelDraco completes the triad of quality by also producing a very well written tale.  There are really great characters, totally solid dialogue, a good melding of styles (e.g. different dialects - Goblins).  There is a lot of fluffy flavour (that is a term I just made up right now) here and many scenes are filled the texture.  

As an aside, you all have some wicked world-building skills but I'll probably discuss those below in personal enjoyment.  

Use of the Photo Elements

Rodrigo, in all honestly, I think this might be the most creative use of photos I've seen in this competition (second place going to PirateCat in Round 1).  I honestly believe that you looked at what was presented to you and were inspired to write a dark story centered on the works of Roald Dahl.  If it was the other way around, then you surely convinced this judge otherwise.  Lets start with the knids as the white ball image.  These are spot on in terms of the theme you'r going for.  You also creatively use the multi-doored temple/ruins as a hive for your Oompa-Loompas and from what we know about their homeland (e.g. Africa) then it fits so nicely.  The skeletal Wonka is a wicked distillation from the image.  I also thought that your use of the stone/gems as evil lich Wonka’s phylactery made me feel happy inside.  Seriously, right outta the park on this one.

Daeja, I really, really like the idea that the skeleton is your Gentleman Jack and that he formed a main character.  It worked fantastically (especially tying in the money aspect of the image and then working it into the story) and it was the perfect illustration if I read this in a book.  As I've said in previous judgements, I really appreciate when someone gives me a tease before the image is shown.  Well, you do some great foreshadowing of the red crystal at the beginning of the tale and it is a solid story tool as an item Jack needs / what a necromancer used to control the undead in your world.  The jungle tower complex thing works well as a burial tower and it ties nicely as a set piece into your story (the search for something a necromancer might have / as a sight where the walking dead might come from).  I thought the white ball-creatures were also used creatively as scouts for Beth and believable as a sort of spell or magical creature.  Bravo.

SteelDraco, the white ball creatures work nicely as bound souls and I like that you don’t reveal the illustration until later in the piece.  I also like that you use them as characters, with personalities and voices (Bound goblin souls? Awesome).  You give us additional foreshadowing with the red shard/stone picture ... we don’t know what it is, but we know its valuable in your tale.  The temple complex is used in much the same way as everyone else and I would have liked to have seen where you went with it.  Judging by your story (which I elaborate on below), I have a feeling you would have fleshed it out in detail.  Its also a shame you didn’t get around to using the skeletal gentleman, but I presume he would have been your lich lord.   

Personal Enjoyment

Rodrigo, you produced a really fantastic short piece.  The introduction is fabulous and it sets a great pace and mood.  Quick and dark.  Ultimately, this story is an extremely clever spin-off of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory / Glass Elevator that I really, really dug.  I’m really impressed at your ability to write a really neat short story based in the world of Charlie but inspired by a totally random set of images.  It actually took me a fair amount of time to find all your little details and I admit that I rocked back and forth between wikipedia and your story JUST so I could see how many little details you added.  Lets pause here and discuss the best part of your story: Evil Oopma Loompas at the service of a Willy Wonka Lich Lord?  Ya ... Awesome.  You even throw in vermicious knid, but as a white toothed species.  Again, just awesome.  You have a really great way with words (e.g. undead industrialist; tangerine-tinted abattoir) and the tale was an absolute pleasure to read.  It deftly uses the images, is inspired and held my attention.  My only critique would be that it was almost too quick and the final confrontation felt a touch rushed.  In fact, I would have killed for a scene with Charlie, even if it happened in the past.  I would have loved to have seen what you would do with him and I think it would have strengthened the piece.  That being said, you really delivered here.

Daeja, there are things in your story that simply blow me away.  Is it entertaining? Absolutely.  Did it hold my attention? Definitely.  But what it does best is produce amazingly fantastic characters with believable emotions.  I love Jack.  I love Beth.  I believe they are real.  I believe that they would speak like the way you write their dialogue.  They have texture, detail and take on a real form in my mind.  Honestly Daeja, you rule here.  I also really like the world you’ve created.  This could easily be a chapter in a longer story and your hints of background and history in your fictional world are pretty great: a potential love history between Jack and Beth; Jack received a curse from some witch in his past and we have questions about the witch's coven that Jack slew.  I really could go on here, but in short: you wrote a wicked story that would have held my attention while at sea during a monsoon.

SteelDraco, when I went to read your story and saw that you did not finish I was a bit disappointed.  However, that feeling was set alight, reduced to ashes and blown away in the wind within 5 minutes of reading.  You unleash a salvo of fantasy goodness here.  The clockwork messenger has a wicked original Clash of the Titans feel which sets the dark steampunk meets sword/sorcery feel of your story.  You then immediately layer on an Eberron / Kingkiller Chronicles vibe and then pepper it with some names found in Golarion.  Serious fantasy cocktail happening in this piece.  Honestly, the first 3 paragraphs hooked me big time.  Will you write a campaign setting please?  You produced great characters, good dialogue, and solid background to your very magical world which gives it texture (e.g. that binding souls is a crime).  I also liked the little details such as needing the elemental spirit to ‘rest’ being the equivalent of refueling for machines.  However, things start to pick up the pace a little too quickly though, like the story was in a rush.  I got the feeling that the measured quality pace and style that I was becoming accustomed to was rapidly giving way to a need to submit something.  Its an absolute shame that you didn’t finish as I think you had something great going on here, but unfortunately its rushed paced ends up stopping short and that harms the piece in the end.  

*Final Verdict*

My vote ended up coming down to Daeja and Rodrigo Istalindir who I think were neck and neck by the time I was setting down my final thoughts.  Both produced fantastic stories that I enjoyed equally for different reasons.  Both were written amazingly and used the pictures cleverly.  However, in order to break the tie I went back to the spirit of the competition and had to assess based on who edged the other out in terms of using the random images the best.  Based on that, I still mulled and bit at my nails but I think one was ultimately better than the other.

My vote therefore goes to *Rodrigo Instalindir* by a freaking hair.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Apr 24, 2012)

For Gregor:

[sblock]Glad you enjoyed it.  

In terms of inspiration, I went from candy monsters to lich Willy Wonka in about 3.2 seconds.  Other than "Mind over Matter, where the bridge image  just clicked right away, I don't think I've ever settled on the topic for a  Ceramic DM story so fast.

Actually, in the first draft, Charlie accompanied Miranda on her adventure.  But I thought that split the focus, drew attention away from Miranda, and made a short story too crowded.  I also thought it would give the surprise away too soon; few people would recognize Miranda Piker, but Charlie Bucket would have been spotted instantly.

As to brevity, I can only plead 'it's Ceramic DM'. 

[/sblock]


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## SteelDraco (Apr 25, 2012)

For Gregor:
[sblock]
Yeah, you're totally right that I was rushing to actually get to the end of the story and submit something. Totally my fault, but I wanted to have something to post. Didn't end up getting done. Honestly I took too much time with my setting and introduction, but I was having enough fun with it that it was hard to tear myself away from that and get to the rising action. Writing the characters and dialogue ended up being more enjoyable to me than getting to the end of the story - something I should have been better about. I knew fairly quickly that I was in trouble, since I could tell that it was going to be pretty long and I didn't really get writing until the evening before the story was due.

Still, glad you enjoyed the setting and characters. I'm trying to get into writing RPG stuff - I sent off my first submission out last month (to Wayfinder), since it's a New Year's resolution of mine to get published somewhere this year.
[/sblock]


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## steeldragons (Apr 26, 2012)

Round II: Match 2

Rodrigo Instalindir’s _Revenge is a Dish Best Served Sticky_
vs.
Daeja’s _Untitled...(I'll refer to this as "Jack" for simplicity's sake)_
vs.
SteelDraco’s _Shards out of Bond_

Let's to it...shall we?

1) Writing Skill/Style: Not much to say here. You three are excellent, capable and knowledgeable in the ways of the pen (or keyboard, these days, I suppose). Descriptions are clear and engaging. Characters are rounded, particularly well for a series of short stories, I might add, and believable, sympathetic and horrifying (where they have to be). The writers are bringin' the thunduh to this match. Moments of lightheartedness, unspoken love, friendships, horror, fear, desperation, humor, nostalgia...You guys have covered it all! I really have no idea what I'm gonna do with the three of you...let's see how the rest pans out.

2) Picture Use: The pyramid is a setting piece. Each story used it as such as the foreboding site of adventure I had no doubt it would be. It's use as the home of the Oompa Loompas in _Sticky_ was a particularly fun touch. But then, the burial tower in _Jack_ was a colorful tidbit to the setting. I do very much wish we would have gotten to see a bit more (interior) of _Shard's_ lich-lord tower. But those deadlines are there for a reason. More on that later. I think there is no edge for this one.

The white...ball...glob...things. Loved 'EM! Their use in all three was spot on, creative, and took a completely bizarre "unbelievable" kind of image and made it totally believable! As the knids, the curious scouting spell (which I am TOTALLY stealing to use in game, btw) and, perhaps my favorite, the arguing bound goblin souls which had me just chuckling away. All three were brilliant. Again, no edge, three way tie of AWESOMESAWCE here.

The skeleton guy was an interesting addition in both _Jack _and _Sticky _(since we did not get around to seeing him in _Shards_). He is a solid character for both. I think the_ Gentleman Jack_ portrayal, as a one-time hero laid under a curse, gives him a bit more depth and, as the hero vs. the villain of Wonka-lich, he becomes completely accepted by the reader...Whereas_ Sticky's_ use of him as the eternal Wonka was just steeped in fantastically dark whimsy, and his "skeleton-ness" (?) is not at all lost or forgotten...which I think it does, a bit, in Jack. 

The red crystal, similar to the towering set-piece, is what it is. A big stone with a red crystal on it. It was used just fine in all three. I think _Shard's_ introduction of it early as a great treasure was well done. The saving crystal needed/sought out by Jack gives it a bit more plot significance in _Jack_...but we might have seen that in _Shards_ at some later point had we had the pleasure of a completed tale. Its use in _Sticky_ as Wonka's 'phylactery', for lack of a better term, was similarly well done, but did feel a bit forced in there. It has a definite plot purpose...but it feels, I dunno, just shoehorned in, to me. 

I don't know...I'm still not getting the "this one has an edge" that I was really hoping for, by now.

3) Personal Enjoyment: What's to say? These are three great stories. The horror-nostalgia of _Sticky's_ "look into what happened after" the chocolate Factory was just genius. It was, sincerely, "creepy" in all of the fun-yet-horrific ways creepy can be.I thoroughly enjoyed it._

Gentleman Jack_ gave us the tidbits of what seemed to be a well thought out greater world and a past that entices the reader to desire it explored. The "what happened between Jack and Beth before?" and "what will happen after they get out of this?" are just wonderful questions to make a reader wonder...To really enjoy looking into that snapshot of time of the short story and be interested and excited and wonder about what happened beyond that snapshot. That takes real talent and excellent craft. (which, to be clear, I believe all three of you have.)

_Shards_ was really really getting my gaming juices flowing. The characters, the friendships, some past experiences that the reader are "let in on", the relationship/exchanges with the transmuted goblins, the subtle detail of the clockwork bird, the description of Cole walking through the bustling streets...there's just an amazing setting here waiting to be played in! It feels "full", for lack of a better term. It's fleshed out and has a depth. As the reader, I want to go explore more of it.

I very very much hope, Steel Draco, you will indulge us all and complete the story. It really was off to such a great start. I am terribly sorry that its lack of use of all the images is the biggest minus to scoring, for me. Perhaps even moreso than the story being incomplete.

And, if I haven't said it already, I know others have, KUDOS and honorable mention for submitting what you had vs. just "bowing out". I, for one, am very happy that you did.  

But, at the end of the day, when it's all said and done...I do have to pick just one of you, don't I?...with a pure "personal enjoyment" _miniscule_ hair of preference...

Steel Dragons' pick for winner of Round II: Match 2 goes to...
*Daeja*


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## Piratecat (Apr 26, 2012)

Suspense! Can't wait to see Mirth's decision.


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## steeldragons (Apr 26, 2012)

Piratecat said:


> Suspense! Can't wait to see Mirth's decision.




We aims tuh please.


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## Mirth (Apr 29, 2012)

Mirth - Judgment

Round 2, Match 2

Rodrigo Istalindir vs. Daeja vs. SteelDraco

Man, I need to clone another me to get this done or start drinking more heavily… Sorry peeps for not distilling the knowledge on time.

Style -- These three stories are killers. So hard to choose because they all ooze style (in a good way). From the first moment I realized what was going on in Rodrigo's Evil Wonka tale, I was hooked. Dahl was all over that piece. Those who haven't read his work may not realize how dark Dahl can really get, but I felt Rodrigo captured the duality of cruelty and heroism that Dahl tried to instill in his writing and played it out to its inevitable end. Kudos for a job well done. Directly after that, we have the completely well-rounded, fascinating, and compelling tale of a skeletal gentleman adventurer and his ex-girlfriend, who is a true witch (iykwisaittyd). Beth and Jack's story is captivating and we gobble up all the sweet morsels of background as they are slowly doled out during the course of the story. Totally entertaining from beginning to end. Lastly, we have SteelDraco's equally well-drawn tale of treasure unbound and evil unmatched waiting for the right set of heroes to seize the day. The characters were multi-faceted and definitely not stereotypical. I want to find out so much more about the world they live in. Great stuff. Whew. Tough.

Picture use -- Ah pictures. Sometimes they can bring a writer to their knees. Other times they can take the story to places we never saw coming. Mostly, these stories fall into the latter category. The many-windowed hill was used so well in all the stories, from skin-lightened pygmy hive to burial tomb of horrors (!) to the towering home of the lord of lichs. That last one never made it far out of the gate, but the idea was strong, and the other two stories really made it an undeniably invaluable set piece. The jewel-encrusted rock was also made much of in all of the stories, first as Wonka's reanimation foci, then as the blood crystal which doubled as Jack's salvation and Kamila's doom, and finally, as the title suggests, a major plot point and serious piece of treasure in Shards Of Bond. At this point, we get to the white balls with mouths -- great picture and GREAT use in each story. The knids were brilliant, the magic scouts with ear, eye, and mouth were genius, and the polymorphed-against-their-will goblins were insanely inventive. Lastly, we have the bony, dandy, mister moneybags. Rodrigo casting him as an undead Willy Wonka is beyond crafty, Daeja's Gentleman Jack is thoroughly charismatic as lead, sadly we don't see SteelDraco's lich in the flesh (so to speak), so we have to infer how awesome he would have been. Still, all in all, the picture use was extremely well-done and without that deadline causing one downfall, I feel confident in saying that we might have had another 3-way face-off.

Personal connection -- All three tales pulled at different connective heartstrings in me. I loved Rodrigo's sinister chocolatier to death, but I also loved the unrequited love story at the center of Daeja's potboiler, and I loved the setting and characterization in SteelDraco's sadly truncated jungle jaunt. Each were so well-written and I enjoyed reading them all so much, it made my job fun and sucktastic at the same time. I mean, I HAVE to choose a winner, right? Sucktastic, folks.

Final judgment - We know that SteelDraco is unfortunately out of the running. I want to give a shout out to him regardless, because what we did get belied such a wondrous story that I am sorely disappointed that we had to stop reading when we did. Mucho thanks for giving us what you could SD. So it comes down to Rodrigo and Daeja. Of the two, I enjoyed the fully-realized, Romancing-The-Stone style of Jack and Beth bunches and bunches. I felt truly depressed when Jack made the ultimate sacrifice and then joyous when he started to come back to Beth. Fantastic stuff. But when Rodrigo turned the darkness meter on my Wonkavision goggles up to 11, he stole the show. Everything about the tale was just … perfect. The chanting, unseen Oompa Loompas, the fizzy-lifting potion, the three-course-meal candy, and Evil Willy himself. Just brillig.

My nod for Round 2, Match 2 goes to … RODRIGO ISTALINDIR!

And it looks like RODRIGO is the winner of the match and moves on to the final round vs. PIRATECAT!!!!

I WILL post the pics for the final round TOMORROW, once both Rodrigo and Piratecat have checked in.

Let's hear it for all of the contestants so far, in what has to be one of the best Ceramic DM competitions ever! WOOHOO!


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## UselessTriviaMan (Apr 29, 2012)

Congrats to both PC and Rodrigo! Well fought, well played, and well-crafted, gentlemen. I can't wait to see what's in store for the finale...


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## Hellefire (Apr 29, 2012)

In Anchorage and exhausted. But alive . Long drive!

Great job PC and Rodrigo!


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Apr 29, 2012)

Lots of fun reads in this last round! Congrats to PC and Rodrigo - looking forward  to seeing what you cook up next.


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## Daeja (Apr 29, 2012)

Congratulations Rodrigo!  A well deserved win! I knew when I read your story that I was in trouble.      I'm really looking forward to seeing what you and PC come up with in the final round (and am looking forward to playing along without all that pressure!)

To the judges: Thank you, thank you, thank you so much for all of your kind words. I really tried to take your comments in the first round to heart so that my second round entry was as much improved as possible. I really appreciate all the effort that was put into the judgements and the feedback therein.  Good luck making a decision on what I'm sure will be a very exciting final round!   

Thank you everyone for including me in the contest - I've really enjoyed myself even when I was panicking over what I was going to do with the images. You're a very welcoming, friendly bunch, and I hope to participate in future CDMs!  For the moment, however, I will happily sit back and play along with the final round, without all that pressure to perform well.  

Good luck PC and Rodrigo! Can't wait to see what the judges give you guys!


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## Piratecat (Apr 29, 2012)

Thank you, and congrats to my erstwhile opponent! Rodrigo, I hope this brief shining moment of success carries you through the dark and depressing morass of failure that will dog the rest of your contest. Err, I mean - congrats!

Rodrigo is at the NC Gameday, but I let him know via text. He reports (and I concur) that photos posted late-ish tomorrow night would be best.


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## Mirth (Apr 29, 2012)

Roger that, PC. Tomorrow night it is.


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## Deuce Traveler (Apr 30, 2012)

My favorite stories of these sets were Daeja's and UTM's, but ultimately I am glad to see a showdown of grizzled Ceramic DM veterans PirateCat and Rodrigo Istalindir.  They have been sniping at each other in friendly ways since the start of the contest.


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## Piratecat (Apr 30, 2012)

Deuce Traveler said:


> My favorite stories of these sets were Daeja's and UTM's, but ultimately I am glad to see a showdown of grizzled Ceramic DM veterans PirateCat and Rodrigo Istalindir.  They have been sniping at each other in friendly ways since the start of the contest.



Rodrigo doesn't have many friends, so he lashes out at those around him. Classic paranoid fantasies. Very sad, really, but common amongst the old. <makes "tsk"ing noise>

(In truth Rodrigo and I were born on the same day of the same year, but he was born just a few hours before I was. I thus have a tiresome and nigh-endless array of "old" jokes for him that I'm willing to trot out on a moment's notice. Oh, the hilarity!)


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Apr 30, 2012)

Don't sell yourself short, Piratecat.  You have a near-endless supply of tiresome jokes on a wide array of topics.

Thanks to the judges and my esteemed opponent.  This has been a great Ceramic DM.


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## steeldragons (May 1, 2012)

<thunder crashes. lightning flashes. the three glowing green faces appear above the smoking alter.>

Gentlefolk. Gentlefolk. Please! Good nature-ed jibing is is all well and good. But we have no reason to be mocking one's...jokes....No matter how old they be...the joke or contestant.

That is all.

<the green glowing faces slowly fade from view. As they disappear...the sound thunders across the ether> "Just you wait for these images. BWAHAHAHAHA!" <thunder crashes. lightning flashes. billows of green smoke bursts from the censers.>


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## steeldragons (May 1, 2012)

<lightning flashes, thunder crashes. a triad of glowing green faces appears above the alter. the censers billow a green smoke that smells distinctly of sulphur and...fresh mint?>

BWAHAHAHA! Welcome ye contestants to the final of the Ceramic DM Challenge, Spring 2012.

One of you worthy writers shall win the title (and bragging rights) of this season's extraordinarily well played [and written] competition.

As an added, extra, 2 for the price of one BONUS, to make the finale interesting for all involved...we, your trusted tribunal of judges, have decided to give our worthy finalists FIVE [5] images to work with as opposed to the boring four [4] we have seen in previous rounds.

[MENTION=2810]Rodrigo Istalindir[/MENTION] 
and
[MENTION=2]Piratecat[/MENTION]

Here are your FINAL Ceramic DM images...































And those, our champions, are your images for the final round. [brought to you by Mirth. *sing-songy gingle* If ya ain't got thuh girth, don't mess with Mirth. */gingle*]

Enjoy.

BWAHAHA! <thunder clap> BWAHAHAHAHA!


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (May 1, 2012)

steeldragons said:


> <lightning flashes, thunder crashes. a triad of glowing green faces appears above the alter. the censers billow a green smoke that smells distinctly of sulphur and...fresh mint?>
> 
> BWAHAHAHA! Welcome ye contestants to the final of the Ceramic DM Challenge, Spring 2012.
> 
> ...




I'm not seeing any images, just broken links...


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## steeldragons (May 1, 2012)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:


> I'm not seeing any images, just broken links...





I......hmmm. Ok. Well even when you quoted the message I had the images in the quote.

Let's try it this way...



*tumblr_lz1alti6kP1qatqtto1_1280.jpg*



*yusenze1996344.jpg

*

*tumblr_lesah8nXC31qe3jw1o1_500.jpg

*

*hawwai.jpg

*

*tumblr_m03sliePet1qgubzlo1_500.jpg
*
Are these showing up for you guys?


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## Daeja (May 1, 2012)

Nope.. it's linking me into a google account that I don't have.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (May 1, 2012)

steeldragons said:


> I......hmmm. Ok. Well even when you quoted the message I had the images in the quote.
> 
> Let's try it this way...
> 
> ...




You're linking to them in your gmail account, which is why you can see them and I can't.


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## UselessTriviaMan (May 1, 2012)

Those links take me to Google Mail for some reason.


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## steeldragons (May 1, 2012)

Hang tight, true believers, we are working on the issue to get you your images as soon as can be.

[when I get me hands on Mirth, I swear to...]

--SD

EDIT: SO! How anticlimactic is this?! Enh? Enh? We deliver nuthin' but thuh best here at Ceramic DM.


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## UselessTriviaMan (May 1, 2012)

No worries gents! Here are the images:


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## Piratecat (May 1, 2012)

Yep, nothing. I'd say to just Attach them to a post here at ENW. 

Anticipation!

EDIT: and by anticipation, I mean "oh, there they are." Got 'em.


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## steeldragons (May 1, 2012)

UselessTriviaMan has graciously offered to host them on his photobucket site. So, I want to give him a few minutes to get that done...and then post them here.

If THAT doesn't work (first I will hunt down Mirth and slay him, THEN) I will attach them here.

One moments prease.


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## Rune (May 1, 2012)

...Oh...I _like_ those...


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## phoamslinger (May 1, 2012)

those are GREAT pictures!

I just changed my wallpaper from the sharkgull to the ocean shot.  

now I'll just sit back, thankful there's no reason to twist my brain around them and laugh at those who do.

edit: ...and if I were writing, I'd already have my story done by now (yes I got an idea that fast).  what's taking you guys so long to finish?


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## steeldragons (May 1, 2012)

FRAGGIN' HELLS! "must spread some around before..."

All of you Ceramic DM fans, writers, and enthusiasts, give UselesstriviaMan some XP and a lil' luv for me for gettin' thuh job DONE!

THANK YOU, UTM!

--SD


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## UselessTriviaMan (May 1, 2012)

No problem, gentlemen. 

GAME ON!!


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## Mirth (May 1, 2012)

My apologies to the contestants and my fellow judges for my negligence in posting the pics for the final. Thanks to UTM and steeldragons for finding the solution and getting things done. By way of explanation, all I can offer is this:

I FORGOT I HAD TICKETS TO SEE DICK F'ING DALE PLAY IN A SMALL PUB!!! [It was incredible. That is all.]

[sblock]
	

	
	
		
		

		
		
	


	




[/sblock]


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## Daeja (May 1, 2012)

Awesome images! 
A nice combination of the evocative and the weird.


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## Gregor (May 1, 2012)

Hahahaha we judges never fail to impress with our punctuality and accuracy 

Good luck PirateCat and Rodrigo.  I hope those images fire up your nefarious creativity engines!


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## Piratecat (May 1, 2012)

Screw all y'all. I'm writing my story about Dick Dale and his surf guitar.


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## Daeja (May 1, 2012)

LOL bonus points for incorporating a sixth image?  

I'm having such a hard time setting aside the 5 images and focusing on the writing I'm *supposed* to be doing.


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## Deuce Traveler (May 1, 2012)

Someone give Mirth some XP for those images.  I have to spread some more around, but those are awesome.  Especially the drawing of the weird cats and stone giant.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (May 2, 2012)

Those are some fine images! Looking forward to reading the stories... and I too, am in a snit that I can't give points because I need to spread them around. You're not the boss of me. Oh, yeah, I guess in this case you are.


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## Piratecat (May 3, 2012)

writing writing writing writing

I need this week to have four more days in it.


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## Piratecat (May 3, 2012)

*PILLARS OF THE WORLD*
_Round 3, Match 1: Rodrigo Istalindir vs. Piratecat_


It takes some skill to settle into a sand dune while picking fish bones from your beard, but I'd had plenty of practice. 

I did this every day. It was both a joy and a tradition, like the way I'd greet the boy who brought me food. "Hey ho, Timothy! Have you shaken the pillars of the world today?" Or how I'd sing to the sea while I cooked my fish. Cooking is a moment of communion when you honor the fish's life. For instance, hold a fish in your hand and you can tell how well it has eaten. Was it mostly predator or prey? Sniff the scent of the thing and you'll know that elusive smell of deep water and flashing silver. Press your thumb against the roughness of its scales, and you feel the faint scars where it barely escaped a predator long in the past. For a long time now I'd felt that I owed the ocean a debt. I ate fish anyway. They tended to be delicious. Then I'd lie in the sun and groom my beard, appreciating the fish and my memories with every tiny bone I'd pick out by touch.

I couldn't do it by sight. My eyes faded not long after I came here to the shore. I didn't much miss them. Very few people were still alive who remembered when I could see. 

I no longer knew exactly what I looked like. I knew the sun had baked my skin mahogany-dark. I knew I was wrinkled from a lifetime of tropical days. My beard was tangled, my eyes faded, and I still had scars. Plenty of scars. This body has gone through wars. Timothy asked me sometimes, "Master, where did you get the scars?" I'd laugh and tell him a fabricated story that he always believed to be completely true. Timothy thought I could kill dragons and chain gods. He thought I sang away the ocean storms, flipped the mountains to spike down the land, and chanted away the seabirds that hang in the wind. Then he'd leave to walk back down to the village, and I'd flop in a dune with old dry seaweed for a pillow and take a well-deserved nap. I missed my old pillow, but this was the kind of life I'd secretly dreamed of.

Now I heard his hesitant footsteps on the path through the dunes. Odd timing. I called out, as I do. "Hey ho, Timothy, have you shaken the pillars of the world today?" 

His answer was the same. "Not yet, master. After lunch." It always made me laugh. He drew closer. "Master, I am sorry to bother you, but it is a day of odd omens. I am followed by a stray cat. The seabirds scream. Fishing is poor, and the tide is lower once again, as it has been now for a week. My father says that you are crazy but clever and that you may know why. He bids me to bring you fresh water and ask you for wisdom."

I laughed. "You overpay. But I'll gladly tell you anyways. This is nothing to concern yourself about. The moons that dance above us always sing to the Queen of the Seas. Chained to the bottom of the ocean, she certainly doesn't have much else to listen to. When she likes their song, the seas swell and the tides flood forth. When she dislikes it, the waters recede and draw back for a time. She must truly dislike the harmony she hears today." I smiled, pleased with the explanation, when a voice - not Timothy's, oh so different than Timothy's - hissed an interruption.

"Innnncorrrect. Lazy and ignorant. I have hunted a full week to find you, and that is long indeed for the likes of me. All to hear you talking blather to an unschooled boy? Appalling. You have gotten old."

It's embarrassing to say that I was caught off guard, but it was true. My hearing was very good, and I never heard anyone but Timothy approach. I knew the voice, though.

Timothy spoke. "Master," he said, choosing each word deliberately like it was the one remaining truth in a world suddenly composed of lies, "why did my new cat just speak?"

The voice again. "I am not yours, boy, and I wish I was not his. Nor am I a cat. I am all things. You have served your purpose by leading me - oh so slowly! May  your hut be filled by stinging wasps for a year to come! - to the one I sought. Mallister, you have hidden here long enough. Your bonds fail and the world dies. Time to go back to work." It paused. "And let me say, you have really let yourself go."

I could imagine Timothy gaping. I heard him turn to the cat, his voice rising as he spoke, a trill of panic and disbelief. "Wait, what? No. Mallister the Pilgrim is a myth. He's the Archmagi of the Shifting Wind from three ages past. He's the Adventurer, the Kingmaker, the Weaver of Spells. It's just a story. He's not actually real!" When Timothy spoke, darned you couldn't hear him capitalizing all those titles. I'd have to ask him some day how he did that. It was a nice herald's trick. 

"Timothy," I said gently, "you do know that you're explaining that to a talking cat, right?"

The boy fell silent.

"And it's not really a cat. It's my familiar, and it's a predator. It just prefers that shape because it likes to stalk its prey. Hello, Slink."

Every word dripped with disdain. "Mallister, pleasantries bore me. You are called. By Ogilvey's hymn, by Challa's knife, by Tatiana's sword, you are called. The elements wake, the oceans roar out, the world needs you. So get off your bony ass and let's get moving." It paused, its tone changing. "Hey, is that fish in your beard?" 

I grabbed my driftwood stick and turned to Timothy. I put my hand on his shoulder. I didn't usually touch people. It changes them. "My boy, I am apparently needed to go out and shake the pillars of the world myself. Look up at my shack. What do you see?"

His voice was confused. "Your shack, master. Old wood, white from the sun. Windows with no glass. Sand and weed and stone."

I flexed, and opened the doorways. I hadn't done it since before Timothy's grandparents had been born. "What do you see now?"

His voice broke. "Light! Oh, and.. and beauty. Endless spaces. Distance. Singing." His voice trailed away, and I kneeled down in front of him. 

"Look at me," I commanded. "I love this village, but there is more to the world than this. Every single one of those stories I told you was true. Every single one. I'm going to leave now, and once I do only you will ever remember that I was here." And as I said it, it was so, for this was my will. I disbanded Slink's earlier curse as I did. "You may want to marry a girl, to settle down, to fish and love and tell epic stories and sleep in the sun. Goodness knows that's what I'd do. But you also may want something more. So I give you a terrible gift. When you think you are ready, return here and open the door. More than one door will open. If you choose, Timothy, you can go out and shake the world." 

I kissed the top of his head, a benediction, and stood up. "I hope that day comes. If it does, and I still live, I will train you." Then I stood and marched arthritically towards my shack. Slink followed beside me.

"Pathetic," Slink said. "Maudlin. If he comes through the door, and I am there and you are not, then I shall eat him."

"Just like old times," I said, and we were gone.

-- o --

My tower came alive as I walked through it, and I rebuilt my body from magic and flesh. The driftwood cane grew and became one with the dawn staff. My homespun robe spun and shifted and became the garb of an archmagi. My beard shrank and my skin tightened. A hundred new eyes flew towards me and I selected two to rebuild my sight. The rest I spun into my robes with a gesture. They hid within the pattern of the fabric, blinking and twisting before they closed their eyes. Sight would be useful for the task to come. 

"You're looking more like an Archmagi of the Shifting Wind," mocked Slink from the floor beside me. He mimicked Timothy perfectly. My idle kick sunk deeply into his backside and stayed there, stuck in the malleable flesh, and we both laughed. 

"Why did I bind myself to you again?" I asked. 

"I was incredibly cute," Slink answered. "I was whatever you needed me to be. I still am. Why did you leave me for so long?"

I paused, then knelt down. The dent I'd put in the cat's side was gone. "Slink, the four of us - Ogilvey, Challa, Tatiana and myself - we really did shake the world. We started with goblins and became the four most powerful mortals alive. We did things no one thought possible. Cities rose and fell at our bidding. I can rip apart mountains. Gods would run from Tatiana's anger. And you know what? That gets really tiring. Sometimes you need to sit back and get perspective. You need to appreciate what you've won. For me, that meant disappearing for a time, even from the things I loved." I scratched his head, and he ripped a second head out of his body to get even more attention. "Sorry, buddy."

Slink sniffed from both heads as I stood up. "Not forgiven." But his body twisted and he came with me anyway.

I stood in the heart of my tower and I looked upon the world. I saw through the eye of magic; wherever a tendril of enchantment squirmed across flesh or stone, my consciousness went with it. And yes, the sea was going away. Perhaps some magic was going with it, leaving me plenty of blind spots. There was a hole in the ocean and the water was being swallowed by the stone. That was bad. And our likely suspects?

I looked. Imix was still bound in a boiling pool, his endless fires extinguished deep beneath the volcano where we'd staked him. Yan-C-Bin's prison was an airless chamber in solid rock, and I couldn't sense the evil prince of air; he was dead or gone. Yes, the stone lord Ogrémoch was still suspended in water, pinned beneath the mountain we used to trap him, and Olhydra... I couldn't sense her within the underwater volcanic pyre. Dead or escaped, and I thought I knew which. I'd never felt quite right about her fate, really; I liked her style but no one could trust her. Olhydra was as changeable as a stormy sea, and no mortal can detect an elemental prince's lies. She'd been imprisoned for hundreds of years in raw fire. Now she was free, and certainly vengeful. I knew from hard experience that I could not stop her myself, not even in my prime with all my power behind me, and I knew if she succeeded in stealing back her water then all the world's oceans would be left a desert.

Time to find the others. I opened a door and stepped through.

-- o --

The Leaning was what we called it. When I first walked into the decaying shanty all those years ago it was named "The Inn of the Ugly Dog." It was a most appropriate name; the owner's dog was even uglier than you'd expect, and we still have the beast stuffed in a back room somewhere. After the bartender was killed by doppelgangers the tavern changed hands, got burned down by our foes, changed hands again, got dragged into the Astral for a week or two, got hauled back by Ogilvey and some of his underpriests, and finally Challa bought it with the money she stole from an efreeti Caliph in the City of Brass. She named it The Leaning because it didn't have a straight board in the place, and it officially became ours. We strengthened the building with spells and prayers over the years. Nowadays it lived in shadow and appeared wherever we wanted it. 

I stood on a wooded path before the inn, cloaked in glamour with Slink at my side, and the cawing hurt my ears. Thousands of huge black raptors covered the building, beating at the walls, clawing at the roof, scratching at the door. Feathered assassins. They weren't likely to break the seals unless someone was stupid enough to open a door or window, but it must have been loud inside. 

I could help. I rolled back my eyes and saw the weave of magic. Thousands of lines of force, singing to me as they crossed and tangled in no discernable pattern. I exerted my will. Magical lines straightened, twisted, combined, and I quickly wove a repulsion spell that covered the building like a rising mist. I anchored the spell in a glowing rune of power upon my robe, raised the dawn staff, and plucked the final strand of power that would make my spell complete.

My glamour vanished, and I stood uncloaked before Yan-C-Bin's spies. "Begone!" I said, and my voice resounded, and the murmuration of their wings was a thunder as they fled that place with all their speed. Black wings faded into white and shimmering cloud above me. They would tell the archomental that I had returned, but I didn't mind. He'd find out soon enough anyway.

The door to The Leaning cracked open, yellow light streaming out into the shadow. I felt a kiss on my cheek. "Hello, Mallister," said Challa from the darkness beside me. Her elven eyes sparkled. "It's been far too long." I wrapped her in my arms, then held her out to look at her. Her smile was still dazzling. "You haven't aged a day," I said. "Now give me back my purse." She reluctantly complied. "And my focus." Challa sighed. "And my staff, and my wand, and my familiar." The elf grinned and did so. This, too, was a tradition.

"Impudence!" hissed Slink as he reemerged from whatever shadow Challa had hidden him in. "You will pay for that!" His cat form split in two and his hideous mouth sprouted fangs. He and Challa never particularly got along, and Slink had more dignity than he probably needed.

"Shush," I told him, and then turned back to Challa. "How are things?"

"Bad," she said. My, I loved the lilt of her voice. "You're the last to arrive. We sent Slink to find you after none of the rest of us could track you down. Thanks for dispersing the feathered assassins. We were at a disadvantage from within." I waved it away. 

"Come inside," she said, and stepped through shadow. Slink and I stood alone. So we strolled up the path and through the open door.

-- o --

"It wasn't actually me you've been hearing about," I explained through a full mouth of stew. "I set up any number of simulacrums across the continent. They all think they're me. It's been really handy except when they duel each other. What about you, Ogilvey?"

Ogilvey was leaning back in his chair, drink balanced on his ample stomach. "Technically it's Saint Ogilvey now." He looked a little embarrassed. "I found out when I became disincarnate and suddenly coexisted anywhere there was a shrine to me. I can see everything near any of my worshippers. I even have my own cult of warrior priests." He looked proud, and grinned over at Tatiana. "Do _you_ have a cult of warrior priests?"

Tatiana rolled her eyes. "Yes," she said.

"Oh." Ogilvey looked momentarily flustered, then recovered. "Still, I've got to say it's pretty handy. Our lord lives in me and through me. Took a while to get used to. The best part is hearing really selfish prayers, then getting to manifest and tell them to stop being jackasses. Saint Ogilvey is getting a reputation as a protector of those who help themselves. You should have seen the look on the Lord Bishop's face when I manifested at High Mass to lecture him on greed." We all laughed.

"I never liked that guy. Too pompous." Challa gestured with her beer. "Being one with the living shadow is mostly boring, so I've been setting up dungeons. I find 'em or build 'em, I stock 'em with treasures and monsters, I start rumors, and then in disguise I help train a new generation of heroes to go out and conquer them. It's ridiculous amounts of fun. I've made a lot of friends. You should see some of my latest traps."

"Don't many of the so-called heroes die?" Ogilvey raised his eyebrows.

"Not the talented ones." Challa shrugged. "No guts, no glory."

Tatiana stretched with the sound of a hundred little clanks. She didn't seem to have particularly aged either, but her voice had gotten hoarser. Her heavy armor and barbed weaponry glinted in the lamplight, and I could smell the weapon oil. "Challa lives inside the shadows and reshapes the world. Ogilvey is well on his way to becoming a demigod. Mallister has apparently retired to a beach. And me? Nowadays I'm known as the Queen of Razors. I went off to carve out civilization on a new continent. I must have fought a thousand battles since the last time I saw you, and when I'm not fighting I'm lending my skill to my generals and my armies. It's..." She shrugged. "It's enough."

I looked at her. "You miss us."

Tatiana brushed stringy black hair from her face and once again rolled her eyes. "Of course I do. I love who we are when we're together. Or who we were. Things were simpler back when we were fighting ogres in the Southdown mines, don't you think? And remember our first otyugh?"

We all smiled. Tatiana continued. "There we were in the sewers of Lost Nathal, waiting for this hideous monster to make its big evil monologue, and in a thundering voice it announces..."

Challa cut in, doing a credible imitation of the otyugh. "'I like poo! Do YOU have any poo?'" 

"Such an anticlimax," I said, "Although I seem to remember getting ripped in half by the damn thing when it was looking for some. Ogilvey saved my life."

"Of course I did," said the cleric.

"See?" said Challa. "I told you at the time. You should have offered it poo." 

"Wasn't going to happen. I had a reputation to maintain." 

We laughed again, then fell silent. 

"The ocean," said Tatiana.

"Right," I said, and we got down to business. 

I told them what I'd learned. Imix - crazy, murderous fire lord Imix - was still captured. So was the evil but methodical earth lord Ogrémoch. Yan-C-Bin, lord of Air, couldn't be found but he had his feathered assassins active, and Olhydra was nowhere to be seen. She'd be behind this. She was stealing back her ocean, so she'd escaped our prison.

The problem was that she was stronger than we were, at least in her own element. We'd beaten each of the archomentals through trickery more than raw strength. We were going to need an ally. The debate lasted for hours as we went back and forth about our options. The fire burned low and The Leaning settled around us with familiar creaks. Finally we voted. Three to one, with Tatiana opposed but willing to give it a try, and we bunked down for a few hours sleep before tomorrow's adventure. It was going to be interesting.

"Mallister," murmured Slink as we climbed into bed. He was in his traditional cat form. "How could not one, but two of the elemental lords break your bindings without you knowing it?"

"I don't know," I said. "It should have been impossible. They may have had help. We'll find out."

"I do not like this," said Slink. "It feels like a trap."

"It does indeed," I said. "That's why we're bringing a trump card of our own." Slink formed himself into my favorite pillow. I slept well.

-- o --

Ogilvey's voice shook the raw stone. I had ripped apart the mountain that marked this spot, Challa had disarmed the myriad traps we had left in ephemeral darkness, and Tatiana's spirit guards stood aside at her order. Now Ogilvey spoke the final words. "Arise! We call and bind you. By ancient pact and the right of conquest and the power of earth and stone, you are ours to command. ARISE!"

The earth shook as the evil lord of Earth pulled himself from his grave. Mist rose from him, water dripped off him, boulders fell from his shoulders. I had forgotten how tall he was, how _solid_. Stand next to Ogrémoch and you feel like you are a wisp of steam, a fragile leaf to be ripped in two. His presence draws the gaze. He is more real than the ground you stand on, and he was just the tiniest bit perturbed.

"MORTALS!"

"No," Tatiana said plainly. "Not in a long time."

"Long story short," said Challa and she pulled back her long red hair. She looked up at the stone archomental, being sure to keep eye contact. That's tough when the other person's eyes are made of stone. "We bound you and put you here, but only because Olhydra betrayed you. She's stealing the oceans. We can defeat her, but it'll be much easier if you assist. Do so and you will be freed from your eternal prison of water and darkness. We'll banish you, sure, but you'll live. Turn on us and you die. Deal?"

The stone giant stood motionless for minutes, the water from its prison dripping down its legs. A breeze blew in our faces and carried the musty smell of endless caves. It was impossibly large.

"AGREED."

"Challa?" asked Tatiana. "Transportation?"

"Not through shadow," she said. "Our destination is in the dawn. I can't take us until tonight."

"Then it's Mallister," said Ogilvey, and he was right. Opening doors was much more difficult with our new ally, but no one is better than I am at what I do. The dawn staff hit the ground three times. The Way opened, and we were gone. 

Seconds later we stood on balconies of conjured force and looked down at the end of the world. The ocean fled before us. Ogilvey chanted, and chanted again, and the five of us plunged down past the rift and into the watery dark. We followed the ancient trails of power that we ourselves had used back when we first bound Olhydra. It took hours. The sea changed around us from green to a pure black, and hideous predators nosed past to see if we were edible. We were not. After a time even the predators disappeared. Throughout the entire trip Ogrémoch said nothing. He crouched in his bubble of solid air and watched the water pass. Rocky fingers grazed the edge of the bubble, just barely trailing through the water as we dove deeper and deeper. If he was angry he didn't show it. He said nothing. We soon pretended he wasn't there.

As we sank, the rest of us spoke. Even Slink. It was nothing epic, just funny stories from the last hundred years. We laughed some, and once we cried when Challa told us about a human man who had loved her until he discovered who she truly was. Slink told us how he had started hiding in Challa's dungeons disguised as a treasure chest, and then how he'd chase around young adventurers who tried to open him. Some of them he'd try to kill, particularly Challa's favorites. The thief gave him a dirty look for that. Ogilvey spoke about what it had cost him to close a portal to Hell. Tatiana told jokes. I spoke about sand dunes and fish. 

And then we were there.

-- o --

More prayers, more spells. We floated before the smoking volcanic vent that trapped Olhydra in an eternity of fiery pain. I said a silent prayer of forgiveness for that. Olhydra had come to me once at the start of our conflict, cloaked in the shape of a mermaid and offering a bargain. I knew it was false, but the lies of an archomental are undetectable. We dallied for a bit, and she tried to betray me, but my counterspells protected my true soul and she gained no power over me. Or did she? I still thought on her fondly, didn't I? There was no way to tell if that was enchantment or misplaced affection. But now Ogilvey and I were quelling the volvanic vents, drawing apart the walls of fire to confirm that Olhydra had truly fled. Challa and Tatiana had their weapons out, Ogremoch stood ready to smite the watery Queen if she was there...

And by the Five Gods, she was.

I'd never seen her true form. She always cloaked herself as a mermaid or a living wave. Now I knew why. Her actual form was horrible, somewhere between a lacedon and a kapoacinth, jutting teeth and calcified skin and staring eyes. I started to regret my dalliance all those years ago. Olhydra was a creature of pride, and she would never have shown it to me if she were alive. That didn't turn out to be a problem. She was very, very dead. She lay on seaweed and stared sightlessly at the darkness.

We turned to one another. "Dead? How? Then who?"

Ogrémoch's laughter was like an avalanche of tombstones, slow and heavy and final. All four of us turned to stare at him. Ogilvey had the presence of mind to dispel the protective sphere from around the archomental. The inrushing water and crushing pressure did not affect him in the least. The cleric tried to exert his summoner's control. It failed.

"YOU KILLED HER, HEROES. THE CONSTANT FIRE BURNED HER AWAY. WHEN SHE WAS DEAD, ANY ELEMENTAL TOUCHING THE ENDLESS SEA COULD TRY TO SEIZE HER POWER." He paused to form his near-immobile face into the dry rictus of a smile. "AND WHERE WAS I? IMPRISONED BY YOU IN A BUBBLE OF ELEMENTAL WATER, SURROUNDED BY EARTH AND SUSPENDED IN SEA. I SIMPLY STOLE HER MIGHT. WITH MY NEW STRENGTH I SOUGHT OUT YAN-C-BIN, BETRAYER, TRAPPED IN SOLID STONE. I SNUFFED HIM OUT AND TOOK HIS POWER IN TURN. IMIX WILL BE NEXT. BUT EVEN WITH STONE AND AIR AND WATER I COULD NOT FREE MYSELF." 

Decades of adventuring experience teaches you to ignore the monologues, so we had not been idle. Ogilvey and I were casting as if our lives depended on it, which they did, and Tatiana was magically warded and ready for war. As expected, Challa was nowhere to be seen. Slink mrowled beside me, changed into some sort of fish, and disappeared from my sight.

Ogrémoch bowed with great difficulty from the waist. "SO I THANK YOU. I WILL REWARD EACH OF YOU WITH THE DEATH OF YOUR WORLD." We believed him.

The battle was joined.

Ogrémoch gestured and our protective bubbles of air and force were ripped from us, but Ogilvey had anticipated that and we were still protected. The cleric called down a powerful curse that should have boiled away the archomental's health, but no one was surprised when it didn't work. Tatiana swam close, only to be smashed by a huge fist. Ogrémoch grabbed her then, squeezing tightly, but Tatiana's spiked armor and jutting blades made this more painful than expected. She said a command word and her shield and armor sprouted a hundred razor-sharp spikes that pierced the archomental's hand. Then Challa slid out of the shadows behind him. Her slim dagger was forged from a fallen angel's hatred, and the tiny blade still carved huge chunks from the back of Ogrémoch's neck. "Sneak attack!" she screamed. She so loved doing that.

He spun, catching her with a backhand that knocked her towards a suddenly materializing whirlpool. Slink was there first, though, changing shape to barely catch Challa's leg with his claws and help anchor her in place. By now I was casting, beams of destructive force springing from my hand and being absorbed harmlessly by the archomental's chest. I'd have to try something different. Absorbing two other elements seemed to have bolstered all of his defenses.

The King of sea and sky and stone gestured again. He'd clearly learned something from Tatiana because razor-sharp spikes of volcanic rock jabbed upwards from the sea floor. My blood mixed with water. I then felt the air in my lungs turn to solid stone, but Ogilvey turned and counterspelled away the deadly curse before I could entirely fall unconscious. Tatiana had fought her way out of the monster's grip by now and was hacking at his chest, but Challa had been stomped before she'd been able to slip back into shadow. Her unconscious body twitched, shards of bones showing through broken skin in at least a dozen places. Ogilvey swam towards her. Slink was back in dual cat form now, grinding on one of the archomental's feet with his central mouth. It didn't do much, but it surely was brave. He was in position if I needed to channel spells.

I was in pain and I needed an edge. If one solid hit could drop Challa, Ogrémoch was far too powerful for us. Then I realized that I was thinking like the man I'd become, not the wizard I was. I was thinking like a old blind man. I'd regained my eyes. I wasn't blind any more.

I opened my eyes. All of them. My garments came alive with vision, and I saw everything.

I saw how the shadows swirled around Challa to keep her safe, and how if she fell here she would be reborn in another shadow at another time. I saw the enchantments - so many enchantments! - that pervaded Tatiana's weapons. One in particular, a small dagger that she'd probably forgotten she had, shone brightly in the darkness. I saw the spirits that surrounded Ogilvey, that kept him safe and anchored, and I saw his endless faith. I envied him a bit. I saw the bond between Slink and myself. 

Mostly, though, I saw Ogrémoch. Though my many eyes I could see that he held onto all of this power by only the barest of margins. It would rip him apart if we knew where and how to push. He was a being of stone, not air or water, and his command was more limited than I'd feared. Elementals hated each other for a reason.

I shouted to my friend. "Tatiana, the knife of Ixen! It's in your right boot. Use it!" 

She'd just taken a terrible blow from the archomental's fist. Her left arm was hanging useless, but her right hand still held an ancient sword that she'd buried in Ogrémoch's chest. She stared at me from across the black thick water. "Seriously?" she asked. But she trusted me, so instead of taking another attack with the Onyx Blade she drew the tiny little knife. I imagine she rolled her eyes. She pulled back her hand to strike...

...and Ogrémoch slammed her into the sea floor, planted one foot on her, and ground down. I heard bones snap. I couldn't see her in the sudden watery explosion of blood. 

The knife flew loose. Ogilvey muttered something about always needing to be on healing duty, and Ogrémoch turned his head to stare at me.

"YOU'RE NEXT," he said, and started to move.

That's when Challa reappeared, still hurt but healed enough to fight. She snatched up the knife of Ixen and yelled, "Hey Ogrémoch? SNEAK ATTACK!" The knife blade buried itself in the back on Ogrémoch's stony knee. That's when I cast. Using Slink as the focus, I called forth the fire of the volcano we were standing upon. I'd banked its fires and fumes when we approached, but now the full might was channelled through my familiar, right next to an old knife that stripped away elemental protections. All elemental protections. It was like being made of paper and being dunked in lava.

Carrying the weight of my focused spell, Slink's cat form opened its toothed maw and bit down. Four elements vied for supremacy inside Ogrémoch, all while his control was magically suppressed.

The results were spectacular.

The influx of fire disrupted Ogrémoch's careful control and he literally ripped apart. We were spun outwards and away, flung by lava and currents and bubbles and shattering stone. An earthquake shook the seas. It was another half an hour, just before the spells ran out, before we all found ourselves again. Ogilvey's miracles fixed shattered bone and scoured lungs and I watched with my many eyes as the elemental forces dispersed to their new hosts, wherever they may be. 

The seas slowly settled around us. And by the Five Gods, we had shaken the pillars of the world. Timothy would probably be proud.

-- o --

Challa stepped us directly from the blackness of the ocean floor into The Leaning. We dripped on the crooked floorboards, dropped our gear, and fell into our favorite chairs. No one said anything for a time.

"That," slowly announced Tatiana, "was fun."

I blinked. "Not the almost dying part?"

"Nope. But the saving the world part. The going on an adventure part. The being with friends part. What with all my armies and exploration, I've missed this."

"Me too," said Ogilvey. "Saint or not, it's been too long."

Challa pulled an inkpot out of shadow and spun a quill pen in her fingers. "I think I'm going to write up the epic saga. At least the good parts." She caught my eye and winked. I winked back.

Slink curled up on my foot, and the four of us sat there by the fire and looked at one another. And smiled.


----------



## Rodrigo Istalindir (May 4, 2012)

*Ceramic DM Finals:  The Inquisitor*

The Inquisitor strode briskly through the darkness, anxious to reach the end of his journey. The air was cooling swiftly on this autumn night, wisps of fog nipping at the road like playful pups. Ahead, the glow of oil lamps beckoned, promising warmth and food and companionship. Movement drew his eyes to the roof. Crows flitted among the eaves.

A murder, he thought. How appropriate.






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Jon stared at his son in disbelief, the letter that provoked their argument forgotten at his feet.

“My God, why? What possessed you to do that?”

“I see the messenger from the college beat me here,” his son replied. “Unfortunate.”

“That’s what you find unfortunate? Not getting kicked out of school, nor bringing disgrace to your family? Did you think we’d not find out?”

“I’d hoped to retrieve what I came for and be gone. “

Jon was afraid to ask Thomas what was so important that he’d risked coming home. 

“Confess to the Prior,” he pleaded. “Confess, and beg forgiveness. He owes this family that much.”

Thomas laughed, and Jon flinched. The boy was gone, and he didn’t know the man before him. 

“Confess to what? To turning my back on their willful ignorance, their corruption, their complicity?” he spat.

Jon had no answer. He’d given his life to the Faith, had suffered in its service and brought suffering to others. He’d known Thomas had blamed him for his mother’s death, and had hoped that sending the boy away to the university would, if not temper his tongue, at least minimize the consequences. 

He stood firm as Thomas tried to push past him, and said nothing when he left.

†††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††

The Inquisitor circled the building cautiously. The lack of sound within was a dead giveaway that something was amiss, and he couldn’t afford to take chances. He chased his quarry for months, and though he stayed hard on its heels, it had still managed to elude him, the bodies left behind like a macabre trail of breadcrumbs.

He whispered as he walked, exerting his will and drawing a Circle around the inn. He remembered the first time he’d performed the ritual; it was the first thing taught to students at the college. Only after it had been mastered were they permitted to advance to more dangerous studies. He’d been a slow student, and only the tutoring of his friend Samis had gotten him through that first semester. 

†††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††

Jon confronted Headmaster Samis at the University. Although he came as a parent, he wore his robes and carried the Staff of Judgment. A little fear might loosen the man’s tongue if friendship wouldn’t, and Jon was in a hurry. 

“Yes, Samis, I read the letter. Did you think I came here to reminisce?”

“Ah, yes, of course. I’m sorry,” the headmaster stammered. “It’s just that I thought… I wasn’t expecting…”

“No one expects us, Samis. Your letter was distressingly brief. I require additional detail.”

Jon waited while the headmaster regained his composure.

“What, exactly, did he do? ‘Violations of the First Rule’ is a broad condemnation.”

“I’m sorry, Jon,” he sighed. “I was deliberately vague. I hoped to spare him the fire and you the embarrassment.” 

“I’m afraid it was more than simply pushing the boundaries. A lot of students do – we certainly did – but while accessing the _librorum profanae_ is grounds for dismissal, we don’t generally expel students for trying and failing.”

“So, he succeeded?” Jon asked. “The vault is sealed a dozen different ways. No one has read those books for a hundred years. Not since the Schism.”

“I’m afraid he did,” Samis admitted. “We still don’t know how. I’m the only one that should be able to pass the wards, and even I lack the Word to pass the final portal. Only an Inquisitor…“

Samis looked up, hoping his mistake would go unnoticed and realizing it hadn’t.

“Come, Samis. We have some books to read.”

Hours later, the Inquisitor left. Samis remained behind in the vault, vacant-eyed and drooling.

†††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††

The Circle complete, the Inquisitor paused to gather his strength. The last time he’d confronted his prey, he’d nearly been killed. Although he’d succeeded in freeing Thomas, the battle had cost him dearly, and he’d lacked the strength to continue the pursuit. This time there would be a resolution, one way or the other. 

†††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††
The forest reeked of decay. Jon had grown up near such a forest – his father had been a lumberjack, actually – and as a boy the smell of rotting vegetation had been almost welcome, for it signaled fertile ground and sufficient rain.

Now it reminded him only of corruption.

Skills little used since his youth came back to him, and he picked up Thomas’ trail with little difficulty. The boy was careless, and the freshly-broken branches and still-muddy footprints told him Thomas wasn’t far ahead. 

On the road to the college he’d remembered the package that had arrived for Thomas the day before the expulsion letter, and he briefly considered turning back. He wished he had; the writing and maps in the parcel had told him enough that he wouldn’t have needed to spend Samis’ life in the vault. He’d been afraid that the detour home to search his son’s room would cost him dearly, but apparently Thomas didn’t know he would be pursued, or he didn’t care.

Lost in his thoughts, he’d also lost the trail. He stopped and looked around, apprehensive. Maybe Thomas had more fieldcraft than he’d thought.

“You’ve been to the college. I can taste the uncertainty.”

The Inquisitor jumped in spite of himself. He turned and saw his son standing nearby, but the voice that spoke was not the one he knew so well.

“What have you done with my child?” Jon pleaded.

“Fear not.”

“He’s here!”

“And he’s not alone.” 

Despite issuing from a single throat, the voices overlapped into a cacophony that trailed off into disturbing giggles.

Please don’t let it be too late, Jon prayed. Please don’t let it be too late to save Thomas from the creature that had consumed him, the creature he’d unwittingly invited into this world during his ill-conceived break-in.

He started the Rite of Expulsion.

“NO!” a thousand voices shouted at once. The wall of sound drove him to his knees, the words trailing off.

“Not yet. Our time will come soon, proud one, soon enough. But first, a gift. You found the truth at the college, even if you refuse to admit it. Let me give you the proof.”

The creature that was once his son took off into the forest. Grimly, Jon followed. They soon came to small clearing. Scattered around were several statues in various states of disintegration. Judging by their condition and the layers of moss and fungus that covered them, they’d been there for a long time.






“I don’t understand,” Jon said. “Why are you showing me some moldering statues?” 

“Not statues!”

“Look closer!”

“Open your eyes!”

The demonic chorus was unnerving, but Jon obeyed. He approached one of the statues, one that was almost completely intact. It lay in repose, as if sleeping. He took the hem of his cloak and scrubbed away the moss and lichens.

With a start, he realized he recognized the figure. Its likeness had stood watch over him throughout his time at the seminary. Saint Willem the Just.

The face was exact down to the finest detail, no, more than the finest detail. The scriptures had told of the scar that adorned Saint Willem’s chin, the result of a childhood accident while learning to ride. But doctrine dictated that the saints be depicted as perfect, as they would be in heaven.
And the tangle of moss was more than that. He saw a golden shimmer, and gently pried away some of the vegetation to reveal a rotten scapular, the gold threads all that remained after insects and decay had taken the fabric.

Laughter greeted his confusion, and he looked up at the creature that had led him here.

“I came to wake them. Can you imagine the chaos that would cause?” it smirked.

Enraged at the demon that had stolen his son and his faith, he shouted the first words of the _ritum expulsio_.

The battle lasted long into the night, and when it was over, the demon fled into the dark, driven from its host into a flock of birds.

Jon wept over the body of his fallen son. 
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The Inquisitor removed the badge of office from his cloak. It had been useful in his pursuit, but he was no longer able to tolerate the lies it represented. The power it represented was his own, and he’d come to understand in the weeks since he’d left the Reliquary that it had always been his strength, not the Faith’s, that had allowed him to accomplish the tasks set before him.

Armed only with his staff and one word, he was ready.

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Jon arrived at the Reliquary a week later. He ridden several horses to death to do it, and he hoped word of his travails hadn’t reached the Prior yet. No one in the many villages he’d passed through had dared question an Inquisitor demanding a horse or supplies for the road.

He drew his hood over his head, and stepped onto the dock. The Reliquary was the seat of the Faith, resting place of the various relics of the saints, and home of the Prior and his Inquisitors. No one would pay another anonymous servant of the Faith any attention.

He rode the ferry to the island nestled in the middle of the small inland sea, and paid for a horse-drawn carriage to take him to the Prior’s demesne. He wondered whether simply confronting the prelate was the wisest course. He needed the truth, certainly, but he also needed a way to locate his son’s killer. 

While he waited to be admitted to the Prior’s chambers, he walked around the rotunda, examining the busts of the saints. He paused next to Saint Willem, noting the unblemished chin.
The Schism had been the most important time of the Faith since its founding centuries before. A group of renegade priests had questioned the Faith, had called into question the absolute authority and infallibility of the Prior. The land had been on the brink of civil war when the Prior revealed the demonic forces behind the heretics. 

The teachings said there had been a great battle between the prelates and the demons, and that only the Prior survived. He’d returned with tales of the heroism of the others, and named them saints of the Faith, saying he’d witnessed their being bodily assumed into heaven. 

He’d also established the Inquisition, to ensure that the people remained true to the Faith, and that the corruption that lead to the Schism wasn’t allowed to gain a foothold again. In the century since, the Prior had ruled, unquestioned, his ageless body proof of his divinity.

“The Prior will see you now, Inquisitor.”

The voice startled him, and he nearly knocked Saint Willem’s head from the pedestal. He steadied his nerves, then bowed and followed the young acolyte that had come to summon him. 

“Welcome, Jon, welcome. It has been too long since we’ve had a chance to talk.”

“I’m honored you remember me, Excellency.”

“Of course I remember. You were one of our brightest students, and the best Inquisitor in decades. Few have the strength to do what God wills as you do.”

The oblique reminder of his wife’s death turned his stomach. He nearly grabbed the Prior, and only the knowledge that he’d be struck down where he stood without a chance to avenge his son stopped him.

“Again, you honor me.”

“Please, sit. Tell me what brings you back to the Reliquary.”

Jon told him of his son’s demise and his search for the missing demon, leaving out only what he witnessed in the forest. The Prior was renowned for his ability to sniff out deception, and the less he left out, the safer he figured he was.

“And what do you need to complete the task God has set before you, my son?”

Jon answered.

The Prior looked at him appraisingly for several moments before he nodded agreement. He stood and walked to a leather-bound book that sat in a glass covered case. He held the holy signet ring against the lock and opened the lid when he heard it open. 

“This is dangerous knowledge, Jon. Do not fool yourself into thinking it makes you the equal of this creature. It has had an eternity to practice deception. End it, quickly and without remorse or compassion.”

While the Prior paged through the book looking for the information he sought, Jon began reciting the Prayer of Resolve. Unheard by the Prior, Jon also worked in the Word of Revealing, a piece of forbidden knowledge he’d gleaned from the tomes he and Samis had uncovered. He’d wondered at the time why such a useful tool had been forbidden.

When he saw the Prior’s true form, he knew. It took all the will he’d acquired in years of service to look the Prior in the eye when he returned with a slip of paper.






“Thank you, your Excellency. I pray I will not let the Faith down.”

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The Inquisitor slowed as he neared the inn, taking care to step near the edges of the steps lest a loose board betray his approach. He raised his staff in one hand and gently eased the door open with the other. He’d though himself inured to blood and bone, but the carnage within shocked him nonetheless. The night stilled out of respect for the dead; even the crows that still circled above mute.

The sole living thing within the charnel house perched atop the bar, licking the blood from its fur. It sensed his approach and stopped cleaning itself to watch him warily.

“I know you. The time for deception is over.”

The cat hissed, then began contorting into impossible shapes, the brittle sound of breaking bones mimicking the crackling logs in the fire. For a moment he glimpsed the maw of the beast, and then one became two. Instantly, the process began again.






“I said, I know you, obscenity. I speak your True Name, and call you to account.”

“_Legio nomen tuum, quoniam multæ sunt_. Your name is Legion, for you are many.”

The demon howled in a harmony of rage and fear. Its multiple hosts began swarming, climbing the walls and racing across the ceiling.

The Inquisitor repeated the name. The howling reached a crescendo, and then suddenly ceased when he uttered it the third and final time. 

“_Cum nomen ego ligare te et tibi_. With your Name I bind you and command you.”

The demon’s forms stilled, and a hundred eyes gazed upon the Inquisitor with curiosity and, perhaps, hope.

“You seek a service, then?” it purred.

“I seek knowledge,” he replied.

The Inquisitor asked, and Legion answered.

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Jon stood once more at the dock at the base of the Reliquary. The towers of the most holy site reached towards God, but to the Inquisitor it inspired not awe or humility but anger and despair, a monument to blasphemy.

He’d given everything they’d ever asked, and it had cost him his wife, his son, his faith, and probably his soul. He had only one thing left to give.

Legion had laughed when he’d named his price for the demon’s freedom, and then offered him a single word in payment. 

The Inquisitor spoke the Word of Unmaking, and the waters came.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (May 4, 2012)

Hey, Mirth, you mind shrinking or sblocking that pic? It's playing hell with the page formatting.  Spent 20 minutes trying to figure out why I had oddball line breaks in the post preview.


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## Mirth (May 4, 2012)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:


> Hey, Mirth, you mind shrinking or sblocking that pic? It's playing hell with the page formatting.  Spent 20 minutes trying to figure out why I had oddball line breaks in the post preview.




Done, sir.


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## Gregor (May 4, 2012)

Gregor's Judgement
*FINAL ROUND*

Piratecat's _'Pillars of the World'_ vs. Rodrigo Istalindir's _'The Inquisitor'_

Congratulations to both of you for making it into the final round.  I believe I've voted for both of you in the previous rounds and I'm pleased that this is the showdown at the end.  I really dig the stories you two write so lets see what you offer up in hopes of taking the crown!

Writing Style and Skill

What is there to even say here?  You're both rock stars with the written word and while I noticed one typo at the end of Rodrigo's piece it was hardly relevant in terms of judging.  You're both equally matched in terms of style, use of language and flow.  This battle will be won in the next two categories, so lets turn our minds to picture use and enjoyment.

As an aside, I think we've learned that Enworld is stacked with talented writers so I think future Ceramic DM competitions can do without a judgement of writing style and skill.  Years of writing adventures, reading modules and books and just plain being nerds has made everyone a stellar writer!  

Use of the Photo Elements

Piratecat, you do again what you have continued to do throughout this competition: you build your images into the story before they are formally used as illustrations.  The prime example is Slink who we know can have multiple heads / can be whatever he wants when Mallister scratches his head in the tower.  Using the weird cat picture later only cements this.  I also think you did something particularly clever with the picture of the Inn.  I enjoyed that the ‘Leaning’ is the building in the picture, but you used the image to illustrate Mallister scaring away the crows.  Well done.  The lord of earth is used well and makes sense in the context of your story.  The dead creature serves satisfactorily as your dead water lord, but it feels a bit hand waved in.  Also, the end of the world image is good: it works really well because we know we’re looking for a place where the oceans are being stolen away.

Rodrigo, the picture of the man and the inn is really well used in your piece.  I think you distilled your whole story, or at least the mood from that image.  The shack serves as a central set piece where part of the story takes place, the man is clearly our inquisitor protagonist and the vibe from the image leaks into your dark, dark story.  The statue is alright, and it’s a nice touch for the history of your world, but I don’t feel much connection to the story itself since we do not have much resolution following Jon's revelation at the end.  Similar to your opponent, the dead creature is kind of tossed in there as the true form of the Prior and while I think your final image of the waves/sinkhole is a kind of clever way of finishing off the story it too felt a bit stamped in.  However, I dug the cat image.  We get a bit of a tease when Jon is chasing the demon in the woods and its voice is a chorus.  This foreshadows either many enemies or linked consciousnesses.  When the demon is revealed and the picture is used, it works incredibly well.  

Personal Enjoyment

Piratecat, I thought _Pillars of the World_ was a great short story.  I was picking up on a bit of an Oryx and Crake beginning with your Mallister serving as Atwood's Snowman interacting with a child of Crake.  As per usual, you serve up some delicious characters and fill them with tiny details that bring them to life.  I could expand on this, but I think everything positive I've discussed with respect to your previous stories is repeated here - kudos for consistency in this department.  Speaking of little things, there are some sparks of deep creativity in this piece such as the tidal story about the sea god needing to be pleased by the song of the moons in order to swell or recede.  It a small part, but memorable.  There was a bit of inconsistency with Mallister when he puts his hand on Timothy’s shoulder. He’s blind so while he can hear the boy, its unlikely he’d be able to touch him accurately. Again, small issue but it broke the illusion for just a moment in your story.  What I really enjoyed about this story of epic level adventurers (who may be the ones who ventured into the Temple of Elemental Evil!?) is the touch of 'humanity' you give them.  Sure they can effectively be immortal, but what they need is friendship and in some cases, peace and quiet.  I enjoyed the idea of a tavern that the adventurers kept for themselves and eventually, over the years made it something like a magnificent mansion (something PCs would do for sure!).  I also chuckled at the Otyugh poo joke (from an old post here on Enworld … I forget whose sig its on).  On the negative side, the story started really strong and detailed and then felt slightly rushed as the plot picked up.  The ending is the best example of this and I was kind of hoping that you'd play out the newly reformed friendship of the party members.  All in all it was a really great story and know that I will be stealing the idea of a dagger made from a fallen angel’s hatred (that sounds so freaking rad).

Rodrigo, I definitely dug your _'Inquisitor'_ tale.  I really picked up on a cool melding of fantasy worlds which you may or may not have purposely done.  There was a strong taste of a dark Kingkiller Chronicles thing going on and it could almost be set in that world’s past.  Then I felt like you tossed in a dash of the Warhammer world and it resulted in a really sexy marriage for a dark setting. Stylistically I enjoyed the simultaneous timelines of future and past going on, but it occasionally got a touch confusing.  Alot in your story is also not clarified or filled in and while I understand that that was what you were going for it created a war within me between appreciating the style and shaking my fist at the heavens for lack of detail.  On another positive note, your protagonist is a strong character and I can feel his sadness at the loss of relationship with his son, the increasing dread following his understanding that a demon had possessed his child and the gut wrenching of his final loss.  The added pain of realizing his faith is corrupt was a nice cherry on top of this black sundae. Ultimately though, I really wanted to know more about your world and the background.  I'm craving more about how and when the demons infiltrated the church, what exactly happened to those petrified saints, etc.  

*Final Verdict*

This was a solid match up and both stories were great.  You're both titans of the written word and your imaginations have given everyone in this competition a run for their money and inspired a lot of us for our own games, creative writing or just day dreaming.  Thank you to both of you for your strong performance in the final.

It is a shame that I must pick one of you as my choice to win the competition, but those are the rules I must follow them.  In the end, I made my decision based on the writer who used the images more creatively and who spun a tale that that more powerfully used those pictures to drive their characters, settings and plot.

My vote for the winner of Ceramic DM is *Piratecat*.


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## Piratecat (May 4, 2012)

Gregor, I wanted to thank you for the very quick response and the thoughtful, detailed analysis you've given us. It's tremendously useful.

More comments, sblocked for the convenience of the other judges:

[sblock]
While I was surprised that Mallister's touch drew you out of the story - it hadn't pinged on my "unrealisitc" radar as a problem - some of your other comments really hit home. In particular, I now see a wonderful way to end the story that hadn't occurred to me at the time. I'm well aware that conclusions are my biggest challenge when it comes to Ceramic DM, and I think you've helped me figure out one way to work around being so abrupt. 

Likewise, on my walk today I thought of an easy way to have better foreshadowed Olhydra's true appearance, giving the actual picture more weight. Next time. 

I've never heard of Oryx and Crake, but I'll look them up. I'm so glad you caught the "otyugh" joke. This story was my love letter to high level D&D, even stealing the baddies from the old 1e Fiend Folio, and it felt right to slip in an EN World story that really defines the game for me.

So anyways, good analysis and criticism. Thank you.
[/sblock]


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## Gregor (May 5, 2012)

Good luck Piratecat and Rodrigo!  

Sadly, I won't be able to see/read the verdicts of my esteemed fellow judges as I'm leaving on a jet plane tomorrow morning.  I'll be venturing into the Andes mountains on a week-long hike and camp before jetting off to the wind-swept isle of Curacao for a belated honeymoon with my wife.  I'm hoping to find the Lost City of the Mountain Kings and pray that our guides in the Guild of the Crimson Alpaca will be capable in seeing us through the sojourn.

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank everyone in the competition for giving me the pleasure of reading and judging your stories.  As a past Ceramic DM competitor (and one who lost his fight to Piratecat many years ago) I know how difficult this challenge can be.  I now know that judging is vastly more tricky.  What amazes me about Ceramic DM, and Enworld as a whole really, is how honourable, bright and real everyone is.  Its rare, on the anonymous information superhighway, to find a community of brilliant, creative and genuinely good people.  Yet, everyone who participated in this competition exemplified sportsmanship, good nature and a simple genuine desire to hone their word craft.  You literary champions have honored me by allowing me to examine your works and it has been an absolute treat being a part of this.

Good luck you finalists and congratulations to everyone who drew their pen from its scabbard and slashed, stabbed and riposted their way through an amazingly entertaining Ceramic DM.

Fare thee well!


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## Piratecat (May 6, 2012)

Oh beloved judges, any guess on timing for the last two judgments? Rodrigo and I can't effectively trash talk each other 'til we're done.


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## phoamslinger (May 7, 2012)

[sblock] actually PC's wizard hiding on the beach reminded me of Patrick Rothfuss' _Name of the Wind_.[/sblock]


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## Piratecat (May 7, 2012)

Phoamy, I've been wondering. What would your story have been about?


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## phoamslinger (May 8, 2012)

Piratecat said:


> Phoamy, I've been wondering. What would your story have been about?




another end of the world, gods & men vs something apocalyptic, and the good guys lost...

the main character would be going to all the remaining powers to try to stop the end of the world after the final battle created a world ending event.  the cat would have been part of a nightmare scene with Morpheus, master of Dreams.  

it looks like the ocean scene inspired a similar feeling to you and Rodrigo


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## Piratecat (May 9, 2012)

A quick bump for great justice (and judges' convenience.)


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## Deuce Traveler (May 9, 2012)

Both stories were great.  However if I were to judge I would pick...

[sblock]
PCs story.  I love the tone and setting of Rodrigo's story, but I do feel that Piratecat did a better job of tying the pictures to the tale and it seemed to have stronger prose. 
[/sblock]

Good luck to both of you and a fantastic final round.


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## FickleGM (May 10, 2012)

I know that I haven't been commenting on the thread, but I have been keeping up with it.  I just wanted to say that I pretty much agree with Deuce Traveler.

[sblock]I also would vote for PC's story, but my preference is much stronger. I liked Rodrigo's story, but didn't love it...it just didn't hold me.  PC's, on the other hand, pulled me right in and kept me engaged until its end. Also...I want to add that I also had an inkling of what sort of inspiration both would pull from the pictures and I didn't like it. It wasn't what I wanted to read.

With Rodrigo's story, my dislike of the theme made it hard to enjoy the story.  With PC's story, I didn't want to stay engaged, but I found myself unable to pull away...I just had a need to see it through to the end.

This is not meant to be a knock on Rodrigo, at all, but is meant to be a pat on PC's back. Well done...and a belated well done to everyone who participated. Regardless of the winner, it's always an entertaining contest. [/sblock]


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## Piratecat (May 10, 2012)

[MENTION=8964]FickleGM[/MENTION], a question for you!
[sblock]Thank you for the kind words. Thank you to Deuce Traveler as well. 

I'm curious now. What sort of story would you have wanted to read, or what sort of inspiration from those stories would you have liked to see?[/sblock]


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## FickleGM (May 10, 2012)

Piratecat said:


> [MENTION=8964]FickleGM[/MENTION], a question for you!
> [sblock]Thank you for the kind words. Thank you to Deuce Traveler as well.
> 
> I'm curious now. What sort of story would you have wanted to read, or what sort of inspiration from those stories would you have liked to see?[/sblock]



[sblock]I was hoping that one of the two stories would have been more "out of time/genre".  The pictures (especially the one with the house/ravens/cloaked figure), lent themselves to the stories presented.  I wanted one of you to take a chance and do something different.  I know, based on knowing the two of you and reading more than a few of your short stories, that you're both capable of doing something special and unexpected.

Once again, this is not to say that either story was bad, just not what I wanted (and really, whose needs are more important than mine?  ).  Yours just happened to grab me, despite this.[/sblock]


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## Piratecat (May 10, 2012)

FickleGM said:


> [sblock]I was hoping that one of the two stories would have been more "out of time/genre".  The pictures (especially the one with the house/ravens/cloaked figure), lent themselves to the stories presented.  I wanted one of you to take a chance and do something different.  I know, based on knowing the two of you and reading more than a few of your short stories, that you're both capable of doing something special and unexpected.
> 
> Once again, this is not to say that either story was bad, just not what I wanted (and really, whose needs are more important than mine?  ).  Yours just happened to grab me, despite this.[/sblock]



[sblock]Makes sense. After trying non-fantasy pieces for my first two stories (and getting dinged by a judge for it on round 2), I'd really been looking forward to a classic fantasy/D&D story for the third round. More traditional, I think, and not as stylistically ambitious as Rodrigo's story, but it was an awful lot of fun to write. Penning this story felt like coming home again. Interestingly, it really fell flat when I started. It was just a bunch of adventurers doing adventure-y things. I needed to add the emotional hook of old friends having a reunion, and reaping the result of a past adventure, before it started to sing to me.

Glad it grabbed you. [/sblock]


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## steeldragons (May 10, 2012)

<thunder crashes. lightning flashes. the ghostly green heads of the tribunal of judges appears above the dais as flames flare from the censers.

The face of the one called 'Gregor' speaks his piece and fades from view.

A mob of Munchkins -the Oz ones, not the D&D player ones- rush into the chamber to wave and wish him well.

The disembodied head of the one called 'Steel Dragons' speaks...>

"Hail and welcome, ALL, to this most worthy and well-written FINAL contest between the titans of typing, PirateCat and Rodrigo Instalindir.

We appreciate your indulgence of our absence and your patience for our most humble judgement of these masterful works."

THE FINAL ROUND JUDGEMENT
Round III: Match 1 

PirateCat's _Pillars of the World_
vs.
Rodrigo Instalindir's _The Inquisitor_

Gentlemen...however this pans out, know that you, and ALL of the contestants for this bout of Ceramic DM from day ONE, have given us the greatest pleasure and honor to be a part of. I am sincerely humbled (and somewhat embarassed) by the creativity, visions, and just damn good writing with which you have approached these challenges. You have made me, personally, a better writer by your submissions. I thank you from the bottom of my floating disembodied green head.

XPs all around!

Now...let's to it...shall we?

1) Writing style/skill: The tale woven by PirateCat is of remarkable quality...as have all of your submissions! The writing is tight, descriptions thorough and evocative, the characters are wonderfully brought to life through all of the constraints and limitations of space/word count. from our main protagonist, to the village boy, the other "epic" party members, and the malleable familiar, Slink, who almost literally jumps off the page/screen in 3-dimensions. The plot unfolds with expected tropes and unexpected twists. This is truly a masterpiece of D&D-inspired fiction. 

Rodrigo does an equally good job in character development, through a masterful crafting of flashback/what was vs/and what happens/is happening. We are brought into the Inquisitor's pain, his fear, his loss, determination and surprise. This is a bit more poignant in _Inquisitor_ because we are focused throughout on a single character. The horror and "weirdness" of the demon-cat and the demon-posed-as-Prior is thoroughly felt by the reader...and the surprise of the protagonist is shared. Again, simply masterful.

2) Picture Use: Ugh, this is a toughy. Though at this stage of the competition I would not have expected it to be.

First, the scene of the leaning cabin/cottage. While a setting for both, each piece makes complete use of the image in a way we have rarely seen throughout this contest. _Inquisitor_ uses the building, the crows about it, the approaching figure (the Inquisitor), and incorporates beautifully the "foreboding" and "gothic" touches of the image. _Pillars_, similarly, leaves no piece un- or under-used. The approaching archmage, the "flying assassins" about the roof, and the cottage/cabin, itself as the immortal-heroes base of operations is just fantastic!

No points here. You guys done good.

The ocean...or whatever that is..._Pillars'_ sinking ocean is brilliant. Not just using the image as a "scene" but making it the whole impetus and crux of the adventure plot...the ocean is disappearing, we need to fix this/call to action. Just beautiful and brilliant. I believe I mentioned in one of the previous rounds, your ability, PC, to not just use the pic but really make it relevant to various areas of the story is not to be trifled with. So good. _Inquisitor's_, in contrast, while very poignant, kind of reads as a rush/tack on at the end. It is a huge event at the end of the tale, the world is destroyed to cleanse it...It just seems fast...or an afterthought. For as good as the rest of the story was...this felt rushed...even anti-climactic. Not a BAD way to end a short story, to be sure. Unexpected, to say the least...again, not a bad thing. But I'm giving PC the edge here for the more in depth use of the image.

The weird calcified mummy/demon/thing image: _Pillars_ and_ Inquisitor_ both used this to great effect. As the dead "true form" of Olhydra it is just genius. As, again [interesting both writers went this route with it] the "true form" of the demon-posing-as-head of the church, it is again brought in in a most unexpected way that has thoroughly serious ramifications for the story/plot. Another beautiful twist of a most...what's the opposite of 'beautiful'? hahaha...unsavory image. Well done to you both, again.

The statue/rock giant/thing...As a statue that gives _the Inquistor_ insight, it is what it is. It is necessary to the plot, and offers a revelation (however disappointing) to the character. As the evil prince of elemental earth, who then turns out to be the true villain of the piece, I feel _Pillars_, again, warrants an edge here for use above/beyond a statue.  

The kitty...ahhhh the kitty....born out of a mind that rivals Erol Otus on smoldering myconid and absinthe stew...You guys made this a treat on both stories. As_ Inquisitor's_ immediate nemesis of the possessing demon...I was chilled with _The Exorcist_-style goosebumps. But was a bit disappointed by the brevity of its appearance. Still, totally fitting and relevant to the story. _Pillars _use of the image as the creation/character of Slink as the morphing familiar of our archmage [primary] hero is another stroke of pure genius (that I will totally be stealing for my games at some point if you don't mind, PC? So my players feel I am that much of a genius too!). The insinuation of Slink as the source of the D&D trope of the "mimic" monster just...I can't really describe...every cell of my being was just bursting with "That's soooo cooooool! Such a great idea!"

I am afraid, RI, that the edge for this image, again, goes to _Pillars of the World.

_3) Personal Enjoyment: I can honestly say (as I have with all of my judgements, of course!) that I enjoyed both._ Inquisitor_ gave us, as I said above, a bit of horror, loss, twists and turns and a finale that can only be described as the very "final" finale. But, again, it felt rushed...well, not the story part, but the ending. I suspect this may have been due to deadline time constraints and would thoroughly enjoy reading a more fleshed out version. However, as has been said in previous judgements, leaving the reader wanting more/wondering about things in the story, is definitely a GOOD thing. In this case, however, it just seemed a bit too...abruptly cut/end scene.

_Pillars of the World_ gave us some tropes, some surprises, some nostalgia, the comradery and humor of a group of old adventuring companions...as I read it, I totally was feeling the "group around the table" who hadn't seen each other in a long time and had dusted off their old characters for a reunion. Just as much as I was reading, following and interested in what actually happened to the characters...It was reading about PCs without thinking only about them _as_ PCs...if that makes sense? Yet not a mention anywhere to bring one out of the story. They just existed...on separate planes, as it were. Each character had a distinct voice and history, special abilities and items...and I've already mentioned the ultimate "coolness" of Slink being the mimic.

Final Judgement: It is with a bit of more thorough and integral weaving of  
the images as well as a bit of personal enjoyment that Steel Dragons' choice for the winner....and ultimate CHAM-PIOHNE for this edition of Ceramic DM goes to...


Spoiler



*PIRATECAT*



Congratulations and, again, superbly done both of you. Thank you for sharing you intense creativity and incredible writing skills with us all.

And thank you again for allowing me to be a part of this. I've never seen or been a part of a Ceramic DM before. I will happily again...perhaps even as a competitor. 

<the green floating disembodied head of the one called 'Steel Dragons' fades from view. Only the head of the one called 'Mirth' remains to make his final proclamation.>

Cheers all and hope you are all having good weeks and looking forward to the weekend.
--SD


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (May 10, 2012)

Congrats, Piratecat!  I look forward to a rematch.

Thanks to the judges for all their hard work (and i've judged several times, so I know of what I speak) and the other contestants for some really great stories.


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## Daeja (May 10, 2012)

Congratulations to both the finalists, and to PC for taking home the win!  It was so much fun to participate and to read all the stories - I look forward to the next incarnation of CDM!


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## steeldragons (May 10, 2012)

Ok...I've expended my allotment of XP for the next 24 hours...but it's coming for those of you who haven't gotten it yet.

Cheers, gentlefolk. Well done all around.

--SD


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## Wild Gazebo (May 11, 2012)

Congrats PC!


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## FickleGM (May 11, 2012)

Congratulations Piratecat!

Also, congratz to the other competitors for contributing to another entertaining competition.


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## Piratecat (May 12, 2012)

Home from a trip, to find fantastic news. Thank you!

This contest has completely jump started my writing and creativity. I can't thank everyone enough.


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## maxfieldjadenfox (May 21, 2012)

Congrats to you, Pirate Cat! Looking forward to more CDMs in the not so distant future...


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