# Ceramic DM - Spring 2005 (Late Bloomer) - We have a winner.



## BSF (Jun 13, 2005)

[pimpage]
Hey, for those home viewers out there, I just want to point out something.
*The Ceramic DM
 Selections from the Writing and Art of E.N. World* book is available.  
These are all donated stories from Ceramic DM folk.  The proceeds support the ENnie awards.  Those being the fan sponsored awards presented at Gen Con.  To do the awards well costs money.  Even with the sponsorship of Gen Con and DTRPG, there are still costs that need to be addressed.  So buy the PDF, or even the print-on-demand version. 
[/pimpage]


June 2005  Ceramic DM Contest (Late Bloomer)

*Judges:* BardStephenFox, Maldur, Rodrigo Istalindir, _Macbeth_

*Contestants:* Arwink, Berandor, Bibliophile, BigTom, Firelance, Hellefire, Herreman the Wise, MarauderX, RangerWickett, reveal, Speaker, yangnome

*Alternates:* tadk (In case somebody drops out.)

OK folks, here are your match-offs.  Please remember that if you don't check in by the end of Tuesday, I may give your spot to an alternate.  

As the organizer, I will be posting pictures.  You have 72 hours from when pictures are posted.  If you are curious on relative times, my time zone is Mountain Daylight in the southwestern USA.  As a point of reference, this was posted at 1:51 PM  on June 13, 2005.    Check that against your displayed time to determine the difference for your time zone.
Smack-talk, questions and comments are fully encouraged.

For tips and more information, check the Ceramic DM FAQ for Fiction thread.

*Quicklinks to Photos, Stories and Judgements:*
Use these to avoiding wading through smack-talk and scheduling discussions between stories.

*First Round* - 4 pictures, 5000 words max, 72 hours
1 Pictures - Firelance vs Speaker vs Hellefire - Judgement
2 Pictures - Berandor vs BigTom vs Bibliophile - Judgement 
3 Pictures - yangnome vs RangerWickett vs Herreman the Wise - Judgement
4 Pictures - MarauderX vs Arwink vs reveal - Judgement 

*Second Round* - 5 pictures, 6000 words max, 72 hours
1 Pictures - Speaker vs Berandor - Judgement 
2 Pictures - RangerWickett vs reveal - Judgement

*Final Round* - 6 pictures, 7000 words max, 72 hours
Pictures - Berandor vs RangerWickett - Judgement


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## reveal (Jun 13, 2005)

I'm good to go.


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## Macbeth (Jun 13, 2005)

So it begins... Mwaahahahahaahah...


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## Hellefire (Jun 13, 2005)

as long as my victims are ready I am 

Aaron

p.s. Are we going to have a commentator thread again? Or should I post my sideline judgements here? If here, should I save them until after the official judgements are in so that I don't give the perception of influencing judgements?


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## reveal (Jun 13, 2005)

[Smack talk]
My hat of MarauderX and Arwink know no limit! 
	

	
	
		
		

		
			





[/Smack talk]


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## Berandor (Jun 13, 2005)

Any specific time on Friday? Noon? (I'm guessing you posted this 1pm your time - guessing because I suck at time zone calculation )

Anyway, I'm good to go. Friday is great, because I can now go see Batman Begins thursday  (and weekend writing is nice, too)


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## BSF (Jun 13, 2005)

It is a good question Hellefire.
From the FAQ:

*Can I post comments and questions on stories?*
Absolutely!  Please do so!  Whether you are a spectator or a writer, we wholeheartedly encourage you to add your comments to the contest.  There are a couple of guidelines though.

Always be polite!  It is OK to like/dislike a story.  Your opinion is valid and any critique can be useful, but remember that the person that wrote the story is just a screen away.
If you want to post comments before a judgement is posted, please use a little effort to warn the judges that you are commenting on a story.  The judges do their best to be unbiased and they will likely avoid your comments until after they have sent in their decisions.  I suggest using the [spoiler] tag or the [sblock] tag.  This will obscure your comments.  You might also want to indicate which story you are posting commentary about in the subject field of your post.
Example:  If you type [spoiler]This is hidden text.[/spoiler]
You will get this result:  



Spoiler



This is hidden text.


 and you will need to select the text with your mouse to read it.

If you instead type [sblock]This text will be hidden so you can click a button to unhide it.[/sblock]
You will get this result:  [sblock]This text will be hidden so you can click a button to unhide it.[/sblock]
So please feel free to post commentary.


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## Berandor (Jun 13, 2005)

Did anyone notice I'm in the B-Round?

Berandor, Bibliophile, BigTom.

BigTom may read a lot, and Bibliophile may be tall, but I will B teh winnar


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## Macbeth (Jun 13, 2005)

Berandor said:
			
		

> Any specific time on Friday? Noon? (I'm guessing you posted this 1pm your time - guessing because I suck at time zone calculation )



BSF posted at 1:51 PM our time. He and I are in the same time zone, so we'll both have the same expectations/restrictions/feelings/whatever on times.


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## BSF (Jun 13, 2005)

Berandor said:
			
		

> Any specific time on Friday? Noon? (I'm guessing you posted this 1pm your time - guessing because I suck at time zone calculation )




Sure, be picky and ask for a specific time.  

Tell you what, let me think on that a little bit.  Noon my time is unlikely since I am at work during the day and my laptop with pics is at home.  Sure, I could bring it to work, but Eeralai is using it to check email and stuff while we move into the new house.  

Oh, it is 2:12 PM local time Berandor.  Does that help?


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## Berandor (Jun 13, 2005)

It helps a lot! So your time +7 = my time 

I don't really care at what time you post, I just thought if you'd post all of them at noon that might be good to know.


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## RangerWickett (Jun 13, 2005)

I'm okay with receiving my pics on Sunday.


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## MarauderX (Jun 13, 2005)

reveal said:
			
		

> [Smack talk]
> My hat of MarauderX and Arwink know no limit!
> 
> 
> ...




Pl-ease, leave behind your worst geeky gags,
Draw your best weapon, you verbal wimp;
We will read your story as to the thread it sags,
Your words are as clumsy as your sword is limp.   

 

edit: forgot to check in to say Tuesday the 21st is perfect.


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## Herremann the Wise (Jun 13, 2005)

Count me in.   

Best Regards
Herremann the Wise


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## yangnome (Jun 13, 2005)

Ready to go as well...


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## Speaker (Jun 14, 2005)

I am ready.


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## reveal (Jun 14, 2005)

MarauderX said:
			
		

> Pl-ease, leave behind your worst geeky gags,
> Draw your best weapon, you verbal wimp;
> We will read your story as to the thread it sags,
> Your words are as clumsy as your sword is limp.
> ...


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## arwink (Jun 14, 2005)

Red 5, standing by.


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## BSF (Jun 14, 2005)

I think we have everybody except Bibliophile, BigTom and Firelance.  I am sure they will amble on by at some point.  

I did notice our B round.  Though it wasn't intended that way, it kind of worked out that way.


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## FireLance (Jun 14, 2005)

I amble on by.
Ah! Less than two days to wait.
Anticipation.


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## BigTom (Jun 14, 2005)

Berandor said:
			
		

> Did anyone notice I'm in the B-Round?
> 
> Berandor, Bibliophile, BigTom.
> 
> BigTom may read a lot, and Bibliophile may be tall, but I will B teh winnar




Just bring it, B iatch!  

I am ready!


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## Berandor (Jun 14, 2005)

Varianor_Abroad, my pbp DM, asked "What is Ceramic DM all about anyway? Do you have to make up intricate pot devices?"



I just wanted to share.


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## Bibliophile (Jun 14, 2005)

Consider me ambling by.  And I'm ready to kick some seriou... I mean write some stories!


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## Maldur (Jun 14, 2005)

Ready to go!

*shakes judging stick*

Best of luck to all contesters, and may the best paying.........eh, writing person win!


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## Hellefire (Jun 15, 2005)

Wow, is everybody SO afraid of me they won't even hang out? I know my impressive record speaks for itself but come on people!


Aaron


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## BSF (Jun 15, 2005)

I think of it as a nervous quietude.  

Personally, I would prefer more banter, but maybe it will kick up once pictures arrive.

Speaking of which, I will likely post after work.  That means after 6:00 PM most evenings.


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## Berandor (Jun 15, 2005)

More banter? Gee, I'm at work, trying to hack into BSF's computer to look at the pics AND supposed to banter even more?


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## tadk (Jun 16, 2005)

*Well well well*

so is this most often a set of fantasy pictures, more SF, varies, what....Thinking I should get some practice in before I may get to take a turn..


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jun 16, 2005)

tadk said:
			
		

> so is this most often a set of fantasy pictures, more SF, varies, what....Thinking I should get some practice in before I may get to take a turn..




About the only common denominator is that there is no common denominator.  The picks are specifically chosento to be as diverse and diabolically frustrating for the author as possible.


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## tadk (Jun 16, 2005)

*ok*

well will make it more difficult...are all the pics for each pair the same or different ones.....not that it matters...just curious


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jun 16, 2005)

tadk said:
			
		

> well will make it more difficult...are all the pics for each pair the same or different ones.....not that it matters...just curious




Both participants in a match write to the same pictures, but each individual matchup in a round has different pictures.  So far as I know, pictures have never been repeated.


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## tadk (Jun 16, 2005)

*Time to warm up*

reading some of the past entries
thinking about my normal fiction style
wondering what will come out of my fingers this time if I get around to it


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## BSF (Jun 16, 2005)

Round 1, Match 1 4 pictures, 5000 words max, 72 hours from this mark.
Firelance vs Speaker vs Hellefire

Here are the first pics folks.  Good luck and keep it clean.  We expect to see your stories here in 72 hours.


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## Speaker (Jun 16, 2005)

I like it.


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## Herremann the Wise (Jun 16, 2005)

The pics look nice and general - good work BSF. Best of luck to Firelance, Speaker and Hellefire - I look forward to reading your entries.   

Best Regards
Herremann the Wise


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## maxfieldjadenfox (Jun 16, 2005)

*Can I still sign up to be an alternate?*

I'd like to be considered if anyone has to flake...


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jun 16, 2005)

maxfieldjadenfox said:
			
		

> I'd like to be considered if anyone has to flake...




Oh, no, another member of the New Mexico cabal...


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## BSF (Jun 16, 2005)

This is my first set of pictures to post.  I hope I didn't make them too easy.  

Picture re-use is avoided if at all possible.  Unfortunately, we don't have an ultra-convenient way to track pics.  So there is the chance that a picture could get re-used accidentally.  

Tad, if you really want to flex that writing muscle, just pick a set of pictures and write to them.  Even for your own amusement, it can be an interesting exercise.  But if you like the story and want a little feedback, post it to the Kiln-fired Ceramic DM thread.  That thread is seldom used, but it would be great to see more material in there.


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## BSF (Jun 16, 2005)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:
			
		

> Oh, no, another member of the New Mexico cabal...



Actually, a member of my gaming group.    As you might guess, our characters are distantly related.    

Thorod Ashstaff, from the previous contest is a mutual friend who used to game with us.  

New Mexico Cabal?  I can think of several folks from New Mexico on the boards.  I haven't met everyone, but I know a goodly number.  I keep meaning to try to organize a game day at some point.  It would be cool to meet Greywolf-ELM and MerakSpielman for instance.  At some point I will get coordinated enough to do it.


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## yangnome (Jun 16, 2005)

good luck to everyone in the first round.  I had some ideas come right to mind for the story, hopefully you will be as lucky.  There's nothing like sitting there pulling out heair, trying to think of a way to make them come together.


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## tadk (Jun 16, 2005)

*Thanks*

Yes I had decided I would write something with each set of pics and get comments from who ever wished to comment..should be able to make a nice like 2k some story tomorrow...
Thinking already and copied the pics to use for inspiration.....not going to use one of my existing settings...so tonight it thinking, tomorrow some writing...

Tad


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## Zenodotus of Ephesus (Jun 16, 2005)

You've made the front page news.


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## BSF (Jun 16, 2005)

Wow, check that out.  That's cool.


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## Berandor (Jun 16, 2005)

Hoody-hoo! It's on!

Very nice pics, BSF. Evocative, not too specific. No "deal-breaker", too, but it's the first round, right? I can't wait for the stories. I can't wait for my pics. 

I must say, the long break between contests might have been a lucky one. I know I was a little down on Ceramic DM last time, but I feel giddy as a schoolgirl again.


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## BSF (Jun 16, 2005)

Yeah, this is the first round.  I already have pics ready for the second round.    But I need to finish picking out the first round pics, post them, get the stories and find out who will be in the second round.


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## Berandor (Jun 16, 2005)

You know, this answer totally threw me for a loop.

"What is he talking about?", I wondered. Then I read my post, wondered some more, and then it clicked. Somewhat. Heh.

If it wasn't clear, I wanted to say that a cruel pic might be missing, but since it's the first round, this could be a) intentional and/or b) not too bad, since harder rounds are still to come. And for the record: While I love the pics, I have no sotry idea so far that would hold up to scrutiny, not even the "tale of the cursed furry".


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## BSF (Jun 16, 2005)

*laugh*  
It's been a long night.  I've been working while checking the board for any posts.  After reading my post, I can see where it doesn't make any sense.  

Yes, I am hoping that the second and final rounds are harder than the first.  But what constitutes a cruel pic?

Oh, if you don't have any ideas, it is a good thing this isn't your picture set.  Maybe you will feel more inspiration Friday?


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## Berandor (Jun 16, 2005)

A cruel pic would be something like a garbage truck in that set. You know, fire, water, nature - and a garbage truck. How the heck are you supposed to weave *that* in?


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jun 16, 2005)

Berandor said:
			
		

> A cruel pic would be something like a garbage truck in that set. You know, fire, water, nature - and a garbage truck. How the heck are you supposed to weave *that* in?




Easy.  New type of fey or elemental coming on the stage as the world becomes more modern.  Dryads have their trees, nixies have their springs, and they hate this disgusting newcomer that's ruining everything.  All that remains is to come up with a cool name for a garbage fey that's evocative of Oscar the Grouch without being obvious.


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## Berandor (Jun 16, 2005)

Show-off.


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## alsih2o (Jun 16, 2005)

Zenodotus of Ephesus said:
			
		

> You've made the front page news.





 Wow. If I am not mistaken, that is a first.


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## Macbeth (Jun 16, 2005)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:
			
		

> Easy.  New type of fey or elemental coming on the stage as the world becomes more modern.  Dryads have their trees, nixies have their springs, and they hate this disgusting newcomer that's ruining everything.  All that remains is to come up with a cool name for a garbage fey that's evocative of Oscar the Grouch without being obvious.



I am very glad I'm not writing against you... but that is one heck of a cool basis for a story.

Good luck to everybody. I look forward to seeing some stories and giving some (hopefully) useful feedback.


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## BSF (Jun 16, 2005)

It looks like Firelance and Hellefire have both been by the boards and had a chance to see their pics.  

Picture choices are a bit difficult.  I know I have an agenda with the pictures I chose.  But I won't mention my method or reasons because I don't want to create any artificial constraints on the writers.  It is one thing for me to be sure the pictures fulfill a certain role in my mind.  But the writers might go in a completely different direction.  That is one of the beautiful things about Ceramic DM.  We all get to watch how other people think, respond and write differently from ourselves.  

While this is neat from the writing perspective, I also find it fascinating for what it teaches me about myself.  I can look at some pictures and frame something in my mind.  But then somebody else might come up with something completely different.  That is when I step back and learn what some of my perceptions are, and how they are different from the perceptions of others.  Given that we have a variety of people writing, from all over the world, it is always very interesting.


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## Berandor (Jun 16, 2005)

Having now seen Batman Begins, I must try not to write up the film with the pictures 

But it was worth it. I'd see it again, but tomorrow I'm at the opera (La Traviata), and then, you know, writing.


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## BSF (Jun 17, 2005)

Well you know, bat begins with a 'b' as well...


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## tadk (Jun 17, 2005)

*Story*

well due to flying up north tomorrow to go to my brothers graduation (his masters courtesyof mom buying the tickets) I really only had today to work on the first round pic. Got a good chunk of a story done about 1700 words is all so far. Wont finish it tonight due to packing and what not. If anyone wants to read it incomplete let me know and I will email / message it to you if I get it before heading to bed...otherwise I will post it in the other thread come Monday...

Tad


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## BSF (Jun 17, 2005)

Have a good trip Tad.  I will probably avoid reading your story until after we finish Judgements, but I will look for it after.


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## Berandor (Jun 17, 2005)

Batman Begins... with B.

Is that the name of the sequel?

I'll read any and all stories after I wrote my own.


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## Bibliophile (Jun 17, 2005)

Mmm... My round's up to be posted within 14 hours or so... exciting times!  Although not nearly as exciting as when the outcome is in doubt... Ceramic DM trophy here I come!


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## BSF (Jun 17, 2005)

Bibliophile said:
			
		

> Mmm... My round's up to be posted within 14 hours or so... exciting times!  Although not nearly as exciting as when the outcome is in doubt... Ceramic DM trophy here I come!




By my clock, you posted at 3:05 AM.  I get off work approximately 15 hours after that.  Then there is the drive home.  I would guess it will be closer to 16 hours.


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## Hellefire (Jun 17, 2005)

*The Trip - Round 1 Hellefire vs Speaker vs FireLance*

The Trip


            I cannot change. I must change. To live. To breathe. To grow. But I cannot change. I thought I could once. Me and Jim. Jim and Jem. It was cute. We were cute. I was cute. Once. The world was bright. And full of colors. Oh the colors. And ever-changing. And we were changing. Why did they take him? Where have they brought me? Why? Why did they dress me? And paint my lips and eyes? [r1m1p1] To show me that Jim, more than I, cannot change? Jim. You and I. Jim and Jem. We were denied our ride. And what a ride it could have been. I can still see that day. Yesterday? The day by the lake. When my world came alive and I first saw the colors. Oh the colors.



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



            "Cough, cough. Sara! You're gonna pay for that!"



            "What is that? A buck fifty? And yeah I want fries with that!" Sara screamed with laughter as I grabbed her leg and pulled her under. Nobody dunks the mighty Jem! I flutter-kicked toward the shore. "Where ya goin'? Give up already?" Sara shouted after me.



            "Let's go get camp ready. I could eat a bear!" A little shiver traveled through my spine. Hungry or not, I didn't want to think about bears. The locals had told us that it was entirely safe, but it IS Alaska after all. "Well, a cheeseburger anyway. Yeah, yeah, with fries."



            Sara and I swam back to shore, climbed out of Ptarmigan Lake and walked to our campsite, shivering slightly. And stopped. There was a strange backpack lying next to mine. A branch snapped behind me, my breath caught in my chest and I froze. Slowly I turned around, still not breathing. My last thought before I saw him was, 'Bears don't carry backpacks!' My next thought was 'Wow!' as my breath stopped again.



            He stood looking at me, a stack of branches in his arms, his head cocked to the side, and a quirky smile on his lips. His long brown hair curled, and his brown eyes twinkled as he said, simply, 'Hi!' I couldn't help it. I burst out laughing.



            He laughed with me until I managed to stop. As I calmed myself down to light giggles, he smiled broadly at me and said, 'So, um, come here often?' It took another five minutes before my stomach cramped from laughing and I had to stop.



            I offered my hand. “Hi, I'm Jem.” He looked at me strangely, shaking my hand lightly.



            "Have we met? How did you know my name's Jim?"



            "Not Jim. I said Jem. As in diamonds, rubies, pearls, oh my."



            Understanding hit his eyes and he started laughing again. "Nice to meet you Jem. I'm, well, Jim!"



            I heard a small cough from the side. Sara! "Jim, this is, ah, Sara, my best friend," I stammered lamely. How had I forgotten my best friend?



            "Nice to meet you," Sara said as she smiled thinly, then rolled her eyes and walked to her tent. She started taking her tent down.



            "Hey, whatcha doin'?" I asked.



            "Quilting. What does it look like I'm doing? I'm packing my stuff, walking to the car, driving back into town and getting a room. These mosquitoes are killing me!"



            "Sara, this was our plan!"



            "Jem, this was your plan. I like most of it, but I need a shower. And a drink. Now, I'll come out in the morning and pick you up. We can have breakfast and you can tell me all about it." Sara winked at me and went back to packing. I sighed and went to help her. 



            Sara hugged me and headed toward our rented Honda. "Watch out for the bears," I shouted after her. She flipped me off and rounded a bend in the trail.



            "So. What's a girl like you..." Jim said from behind me, leaving the question hanging.



            "I've always wanted to see Alaska. So Sara and I had a week vacation and decided, what the helle. The sunlight is kinda cool. Still getting used to all this space though. The solitude is nice." I stopped, feeling like I was rambling. "And you," I asked, "what are you doing in this, ah, neck of the woods, so to speak?"



            "I just got back from Talkeetna Blue Grass Festival. It's a hippy party up by Talkeetna. Go figure." Jim smiles softly. "I wanted to get away from the crowds. I prefer to be alone for the Ride. Or in a small group of good friends."



            "Ride? What do you mean 'Ride?' I don't see a Tilt-a-Whirl around here anywhere," I joked.



            Jim pulled something out of his pocket. "The Ride. I can't explain it unless you see it or know what it is. Do you like colors?"



            "Colors? Like red, blue, green, alabaster? Those colors?"



            "Well, let's start with blue. We'll go from there." Jim smiled and opened his hand to reveal a bag filled with mushrooms, blue rings around their stems.



            "Are those, um," I stammered. Jim nodded.



            "It will be a great night for it too. Ptarmigan Lake gets a great sunset on a day like this." Jim made a pile of the mushrooms and started dividing it. "Of course, it's your choice. I, however, am going on a little journey to the land of the other colors."



            I stood for about a minute before deciding. Life is an adventure, right? I joined Jim on the ground, sitting on our backpacks. "What the helle. But be nice to me!"



            Jim's eyes sparkled. "I'm always nice. And so are my little blue friends here." He passed me one of the stacks and started chewing on his, one at a time. I tried to follow his lead, but almost gagged on the first one. Oh, what an awful taste! "Yeah it takes a little getting used to," Jim offered, "let's wander over to that clearing. We'll get a better view."



            We sat on the shore and started talking. We talked about our lives, our friends, our passions. I told Jim how I had lived on one farm my entire life. How I felt trapped, like I couldn’t move, couldn’t breath, couldn’t grow or live. Talking helped. I was feeling cozy and warm and kind of, glowing. I couldn't stop smiling despite the topic, and I really didn't want to stop. He told me that we have to move, to see, to live. It made sense. I was just noticing small lines in Jim's face, lines that gathered when he smiled, when he pointed toward the lake. "Now isn't that beautiful?" he asked. I looked, and had never seen such a beautiful sunset [r1m1p3]. 



            "See how the pinks stretch from the horizon, almost as if they are reaching toward us?" Jim asked. I looked and I could see exactly what he meant! It was like a living thing, trying to touch us. "There are living beings inside there. Fire sprites and fairies and elementals. All alive!" I was so excited! I could hear the passion in his voice, could almost see the little creatures inside the sunset.



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



            "Phaedra! I'm gonna catch you!" Sandy yelled as loud as she could while full-out sprinting. Phaedra jumped out from behind the leaf where she was hiding.



            "Boo!"



            Sandy shrieked and fell over trying to get away. "You scared me to death!" Phaedra grinned at her friend and sat down next to her.



            Sandy rolled onto her side, suddenly serious. "Phae, do you really plan to do it? To go? With him?"



            Phaedra smiled with her mouth and eyes and nodded emphatically.  "Absolutely. He is perfect. His ideas and imagination are amazing." She looked at her friend quizzically and asked, "Don't you believe in Flight Mates, San?"



            Sandy sighed. "Flight Mates? I don't know. I know you are that age. I know you have to go. I know that the Great Trip is coming for you soon. And me. I just don't like the idea of us...drifting apart. If you'll pardon the pun."



            Phaedra touched Sandy's hand. "I know what you mean. You're all I've ever known. You and this place. But it’s so hard to breath here. I can’t move. I can’t feel much. I have to change. I need it.”



            Sandy smiled through a tear. “You’re all I’ve ever known too, Phae. Ever.”



            Phaedra tackle-hugged her best friend. "Just always remember me. And find your Flight Mate. Pharaoh and I will look for you in the wind."



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



            Jim and I watched as the fairies danced toward the darkening horizon. It seemed to take forever, and that was fine; I didn't want it to ever end. Jim stood up and reached his hand down to help me up. "C'mon Jem, let's go for a swim."



            "It's almost dark! But, that seems like fun. I wonder what the water will feel like, sliding around my body?" In my mind I could feel the liquid, running around my body and touching me everywhere. I smiled. "That is a great idea! Race you!"



            I didn't realize until I was chest-deep in the lake and pausing to look back that Jim was going skinny-dipping. The more I thought about it, the better that idea seemed. I took off my bathing suit, knotted it and tied it around my wrist. The water felt, simply, delicious. I wasn't chilled in the least, and I could feel the little eddies and currents circling my body. 



            Jim disappeared under the water. I looked for him, but it was too dark. Splash! He popped up right behind me. Laughing, he put his arms around me and kissed my hair. I turned to look at him.



            "Jim, you know the fire fairies in the sunset? I saw them, but couldn't feel them. It feels like there are water fairies swimming around me, brushing my skin everywhere."



            Jim smiled and nodded. "Exactly! There are all types of elementals, in every element. Watch!" Jim ducked his head under the water, then jerked it up and flipped his hair backwards. Water sprayed out from his dripping locks. "In every drop of that water is a fairy, an elemental. Imagine them all playing there!"



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



            Wanda and Wayne flowed around each other, slowly at first, then faster and spinning in different trajectories. They giggled as they danced in unison.



            Sammy dive-bombed them, shifting into a hawk as she split them apart. "You too are so wishy-washy!" Sammy scolded as she flew circles around the couple. She laughed at her own joke, breaking her attempt at seriousness. "And you really think you can enter a human?"



            Wanda nodded strongly. "Definitely! I am so looking forward to assimilating a person. You've had, what, about 300 different hosts so far? But not a single human! But we will! I know we will!"



            Sammy shrugged and changed into a turtle. "You know how hard it is to get into a human? Most of the time, you'll end up in the ocean, or in the ground. I only got to absorb as many animals as I did because I landed in a river." She looked down. "Of course, being such perfect Float Mates, you might be able to go more places together than I could alone."



            Wanda looked intensely at Sammy. “I have to get out of her, Sam. I HAVE to. I’ve spent my whole life in this one bubble, this one fishbowl. I have to see things and learn things and touch things. I would die if I had to stay here.”



            Sammy looked up and tried to smile. “I know you do. Of course you do. It is the experiences, the forms, the changes that keep us going. That make life fun.”



            Wanda squished her best friend's head playfully. "Don't worry Sam. You know we all end up back here, during little breaks in the Great Trip. Time to reflect and play. We'll see you again soon!"



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



            We floated on the lake for a while, and then slowly went back to our camp. I was wonderfully cool yet was grateful when he started to build the fire. "S'mores?" Jim asked plainly.



            "Mmm. Yeah, sounds great. I'm not really hungry, but some melted chocolate would be perfect right now!" I got out my own marshmallows to help him.



            As we sat, dripping in gooey sweets and getting to know each other more, I realized I was feeling something warm and fuzzy deep down in my stomach. We crouched closer to each other, almost touching. Jim suddenly leaned over and kissed me, a light kiss that stretched into eternity then found purpose. His body felt warm and smooth and strong. His eyes were full of life and Love. When we started making Love, I'm not sure. When we finished, it was fully dark. We sat, snuggling and watching the flames leap and dance. My eyes drew down into the depths of the coals, where the air hit the heat and, spinning in quiet anger, turned the wood into ash [r1m1p2]. “And the fire fairies, they are there, too.”  I murmured, half to myself.



            Jim took out a pack of Camels and lit two, one for each of us.



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



            Pharaoh peeked from behind a bush. "Talking about me again?" He grinned at Phaedra and waved at Sandy.



            Phaedra smiled back. "Speaking of the Devil!" Her smile faded. "Are you ready Pharaoh? Do you think the time is coming?"



            Pharaoh hugged Phaedra close. "Yes, my wispy Love," he replied, "the time is short now. We must climb to get to the best departure point. Remember, when we hit the air, and start to float and swirl, hold tight to me. I have heard that the beginning is a bit, awkward."



            Phaedra walked over to Sandy and wrapped her arms around her, hugging as tight as she could. "Are you sure you won't come to the top with us San?"



            Sandy shook her head. "No Phae. I want to watch the others first. I have always been a watcher. I will wave to you as you take off first! Remember me in the wind." Sandy turned toward Pharaoh and warned, "Take care of her! Air-headed as she is sometimes, she is the best Flight Mate you could ever have."



            Pharaoh smiled. "I know. Take care, Sandy. It was great meeting you. We will be looking for you. You know, we all must change. It is the next step. Without change, we are no more. We MUST change! The Great Trip awaits!" He took Phaedra's hand, turned, and walked up the brown hill.



            They reached a point where they would have to climb. The leaves were dense and hard to hold on to. But they wanted to be first. They HAD to be first!



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



            Jim threw his butt into the fire, leaned over me, and zerberted my side. I pitched and tossed, grabbing his head and sinking in my nails. "Ow! Ok, I give!" Jim yelled, then leaned down and kissed me again.



            I smiled at Jim. "I've had all these thoughts and seen all these things and it's been wonderful, Jim. I've been thinking about, well, do you know what Soul Mates are?"



            Jim grinned back. "Well, I know the concept. I have always had my own concepts. That one I believe in. But my life goes by my rules. There is only one way to tell. You must take the Trip. Together. You must go there and back and everywhere. Together. You must change. Together. For without change we are nothing. We are gone. We are dead. But if we can. If we can take the Trip, and change, and be together. Then. Then we are Soul Mates or Cosmic Twins or Karmic Buddies or however you like to say it."



            I looked at him thoughtfully. "Sounds a little esoteric to me. But it sounds. Right. So, I was thinking. Maybe, we should take a ride sometime."



            Jim looked deeply into my eyes, for what seemed like a century. "Let's do that now," he finally said, "let's do that right now." We dressed, helping each other and feeling giddy. As I was zipping my sweater, I looked up into the sky, and a raindrop landed in my eye.



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



            Wayne and Wanda sat in the bottom of the ship, looking down through the ship’s transparent skin toward the ground far below. The sides ballooned out and gave a warped view of the surrounding whiteness. Slowly, the ship grew. The space around them expanded. They looked at each other, excitement and fear growing in their eyes.



            “RRRRROOOOOOAAAAARRRRRRR!!!!” An ear-piercing sound shook them as something large landed in their ship, poised to strike! [r1m1p4]



            Sammy changed into a mouse, laughing the whole time. “Oh, that was great! You should have seen yourselves jump! Ha. Wow, you two are so tense. Relax a little! Let it all flow!”



            The couple’s anger seeped out of them, and they burst into nervous laughter. “I am SO going to get you back next time I see you,” threatened Wanda, “but right now we’re about to drop. I wish we could all go, but you know the ship won’t hold together all the way down with three of us.” Wanda looked at her friend, anxiety covering most of her grief.



            Wayne reached over and touched both Wanda and Sammy. “Feel the pressure? It’s starting!” He looked at Wanda and asked, “Ready for the Trip?”



            Wanda nodded and smiled broadly, despite the small sadness of the situation. “Until next time, dear Sammy. We are finally going to change! We are going to change so much your head will swim! Take care of yourself. And leave a note if you go down again!”



            “Don’t forget; study everything, learn all that you can, and come back to the source.” Sammy hugged them both and darted out of their ship. With a small ‘blip’ their ship grew beyond itself, broke away, and headed…down.



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



            Jim and I threw everything inside my tent. “Don’t worry,” he told me, “we’ll be back for it. Or, maybe we won’t.” He had the most amazing mysterious smile on his lips as he took my hand and we headed toward the trail. 



            It was only about 500 feet to where his car was parked. It was a black Mustang convertible, with the top down and caked with a light layer of dirt. Jim opened my door for me, and then jumped into the driver’s seat. Led Zeppelin came out of the speakers as he started the ignition and threw it into reverse. He braked, put it in first, and took the dirt road toward the highway.



            “So, where are we going?” I asked as we reached the paved highway. 



Jim flipped an imaginary coin in the air, caught it and put it on the back of his hand. He let me peek at it. “What’s it say, babe?”



“Looks like left,” I answered. “How far are we going?”



            “How far do you want to go,” he asked, looking into my eyes purposefully as he pulled onto the black-top and lit a cigarette.



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



            Pharaoh and Phaedra fell as the world tilted and the wall next to them became the ground beneath them. They landed in some of the compact brown foliage that was their world. Rolling to their feet, they felt more than saw the fire.



            “So we will change, just like that?” Phaedra asked.



            “Yes,” Pharaoh replied, “we will, in the span of a breath, assume our new forms. We will be capable of flight! We will soar and float and see and hear and experience everything! And we will be the first on our block!”



            The flame died down to ember and rhythmically surged toward them. The heat approached, consuming the vegetation. The time was now! Let the Trip begin!



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



            Jim gunned the engine, and then let it purr as we sped along the highway. I could feel the wind, blowing my hair into impossible tangles. I could hear the music, the car, the night. I could smell the sweetness of plants, and the smoke from his cigarette. I could taste melted chocolate, still on my tongue. And I could see a million stars in one corner of the sky. I suddenly realized the rest of the sky was black, covered with clouds, as two more raindrops hit me. “Ack, we’re gonna get drenched with the top down!” I half-pleaded.



            Jim laughed. “I don’t melt. And I LOVE the wind in my hair!” He touched my shoulder and smiled into my eyes. I smiled back, but my vision was slightly blurred by an increasing deluge of rain.



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



            The pressure on the ship increased. Wanda and Wayne could both feel it, coming at them from all angles. The were plummeting, approaching that place where they would become something more than themselves. When they would see and learn and live. They had started their Ride!



            The view on the way down wasn’t much. It was night, and dark. Besides heavy, black clouds, there really wasn’t anything about. No birds, no flying objects, just other ships on their way to something new.



            “So, Sammy said the changes would be gradual, but never-ending. That it would take hours to assimilate something, days to learn it, then more days to find another host.”



            Wayne shook with anticipation. “Technicalities, all technicalities. I just want to do it already! What do you think we’ll be first? A tree? A mammal? Even a human maybe?”



            The ground was coming at them quickly. Wanda grasped Wayne’s hand and answered, “We’ll know soon enough!”



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



I tried ducking behind the windshield to avoid the worst of the rain. It only stung a little, but made it hard to breath. Jim didn’t even duck his head down to drag on the cigarette; he just held his head up and blew smoke towards the sky.



Jim took a deep drag, sucking the smoke into his lungs. In the cherry on his Camel, I thought, for some strange reason, that I saw a small movement. Then, it was consumed in glowing heat and smoke.



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



            Phaedra and Pharaoh saw their bodies changing. They didn’t really feel anything, but they could see their legs becoming grey and wispy. They saw the ember rushing toward them and starting to consume their bodies. They were changing into their next stage of development, looking upward toward their new playground.



            Wanda and Wayne saw the ground coming, fast. They took a deep breath and closed their eyes, holding each other’s hands tight. Then they felt, heat. Heat, boiling their ship and themselves. Their drop disappeared in an instant, their bodies were dehydrated and they opened their mouths to scream.



            Phaedra and Pharaoh were in the middle of the change, almost ready to fly. Suddenly, the heat that helped them change, that made them change, disappeared! It was sucked into a round, blue ball of something, from which two forms could be seen. Then the ball or bubble or whatever it was surrounded them. They could not breathe. They could not fly. They could not complete the transformation. As blackness covered them, they opened their mouths to scream.



            As I was looking into Jim’s cigarette, suddenly I heard many voices, cries of pain and fear and demise coming from it. Or were they inside my head? But no, Jim heard them too! He looked down in amazement at the tube in his hand, unsure what he was hearing. I could see the cigarette. And Jim looking at the cigarette. And the two bright areas of white behind the cigarette. They looked like stars, growing, flying directly at us. Jim did not see them; he was looking at his hand. And the screams from the Camel were joined by a metal-on-metal scream from outside me. And the bright, white lights became blackness.



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



            The blackness stays. I am changed. But I cannot change.

Aaron Blair


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## Hellefire (Jun 17, 2005)

Well, I had to change the spacing to make it look ok, then it changed it even more when it accepted it, and I can't edit it because of, well, rules and all. So please excuse the extra spaces between paragraphs. I did finish it in MS Word, and have to change the text to white so it would show up here. Anyway, glad to be able to read the htread again (I tend not to til I post my story to avoid seeing any competitor's stories). But...there it is, first story of the competition. Go get em!

Aaron


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## Macbeth (Jun 17, 2005)

Nice to see the first story. I just read it. Of course, no comments yet, but it is good to have something to read.

In the future, if possible, can we stay away from forcing the text to a color? Since you made it white instead of enworld default, when using the Stealth scheme it's hard to read. Not a problem, but in the future it would be nice to just see stories posted without colors, just text.

Now to re-read that and get ready for some more stories.


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## Hellefire (Jun 17, 2005)

Sure, just when copying from MSWord, it defaults to Black, and then it is invisible against a black background. I'll use wordpad next time, it's visible for whatever reason.


Aaron


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## Macbeth (Jun 17, 2005)

Cool. Thanks. It didn't make that big of a difference, but just something for the future.

And for myself I;ve found it best to write Ceramic DM entries in Notepad, therefore simplifying formatting.


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## BSF (Jun 17, 2005)

Ceramic DM FAQ for Fiction said:
			
		

> I highly suggest using a text editor (such as notepad) to stage your story. Yes, you probably have a more advanced word processor available, but that is part of the problem. Newer word processing software often includes html code. We have experienced some strange issues with a story posted straight from your word processing software. Use the software to spellcheck and save your story as usual. Then do yourself a favor and open up notepad. Copy/Paste your story into notepad and you can be sure that all the formatting codes disappeared. Then select/copy/paste your story from notepad onto the site.
> If you are in doubt about how your story will be posted, do yourself a favor and find an old post. Edit your post, copy your story in and preview the post. If you have any odd formatting/display issues, you will see them before you really post the story. Remember that once your story is posted, you cannot edit it. Any editing is grounds for immediate disqualification.




It isn't a big deal so don't worry about it Hellefire.   

Re: Whitespace - I would rather have too much rather than not enough.  If in doubt, add new lines.  It is much easier to skip large gaps when reading rather than trying to discern where paragraphs end/begin.  So again, don't sweat it Hellefire.  

We have our first story posted folks!  It looks like Hellefire needed less than 48 hours.  So where are his competitors?


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## BSF (Jun 18, 2005)

Round 1, Match 2 4 pictures, 5000 words max, 72 hours from this mark.
Berandor vs BigTom vs Bibliophile

Match 2 - The B round

Let's see what stories you write with these pictures.  Good luck and have fun!


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## BSF (Jun 18, 2005)

OK, I actually had a little time to try to get these up early.   I hope nobody minds.


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## Berandor (Jun 18, 2005)

Wow. I already have a story all lined up!


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## Berandor (Jun 18, 2005)

Scared you for a minute, didn't I? 

Heck, it's 2 am here, I'm going to bed now. Tomorrow's time enough for inspiration.


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## Bibliophile (Jun 18, 2005)

Interesting pictures... very, very interesting...


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## BSF (Jun 18, 2005)

*For the Spectators*

Remember folks, we are once again consolidating any and all spectator commentary into the main story thread.  If you read one of these stories and want to offer any commentary at all, *please do so!* 

Ceramic DM is fun because of the pictures, the smack-talk and the stories.  But it is also fun because of the commentary and discussions that come up.  Whether you want to discuss the mechanics and the craft of writing, or if you want to discuss specific aspects of a given story that you thought were interesting, go ahead and post.   You, as a spectator, are important to the fun of each contest.

All we ask is to note your commentary if it comes before judgements do.  You can use spoilers or you can use white space and subject headers.  Once a judgement has been rendered, you can comment on a story without worrying about noting that it is commentary.  Below is the section of the FAQ detailing commentary.

Thanks!



			
				Ceramic DM FAQ for Fiction said:
			
		

> *Can I post comments and questions on stories?*
> Absolutely!  Please do so!  Whether you are a spectator or a writer, we wholeheartedly encourage you to add your comments to the contest.  There are a couple of guidelines though.
> 
> Always be polite!  It is OK to like/dislike a story.  Your opinion is valid and any critique can be useful, but remember that the person that wrote the story is just a screen away.
> ...


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## Berandor (Jun 18, 2005)

BSF, do you want people to post their stories only after all the stories for the previous round have been posted?

And no, I'm not done... yet


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## Berandor (Jun 18, 2005)

Oh, and I'm sorry, but I can't find a translation:

What do you call this (see pic behind link):
http://www.verre-a-soi.com/images/mobile-gf.jpg

Is it a "mobile"? "windspiel"?


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## BSF (Jun 18, 2005)

Berandor said:
			
		

> BSF, do you want people to post their stories only after all the stories for the previous round have been posted?
> 
> And no, I'm not done... yet




Post whenever you are ready.  I will update the menulinks in the first post so it shouldn't matter too much.


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## BSF (Jun 18, 2005)

Berandor said:
			
		

> Oh, and I'm sorry, but I can't find a translation:
> 
> What do you call this (see pic behind link):
> http://www.verre-a-soi.com/images/mobile-gf.jpg
> ...




Mobile would be a good translation.


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## Speaker (Jun 18, 2005)

*The Lady For The Tiger*

The Lady For The Tiger

  Two figures on a distant beach, one male, one female.  They sit, eyes locked, her grey eyes locked on his.  Between them a stock of wood, arranged to burn but not yet aflame.  The sun is strong. 
  “Now." Whispers the lady, and the other leans forward, ever so slightly on the hard, rocky soil.  A deepening of mind, and suddenly-

  -he is at rest, on a strong branch of this tree.  This is his home, as much as any place may be home for one of his bearing.  For he is the true master of the wild, the Bengal White Tiger.  There is no animal like him, and the presence now beginning to fill his head knows that there will not be, never again, for this is the last of his kind.  Slowly his breed has been eliminated, and even those who live in captivity have passed away, victims of broken freedom and quiet boredom.  His fate is as desperate as any of those animals he may have fallen upon to prey in the past, and now he-

  -the fire is starting to burn, a flame from nowhere, steadily building.  The women nods to herself, almost imperceptibly, face and veil shining in the firelight (picture of a woman’s face), and the man holds his place.  Indeed, his body remains still even as his mind descends upon the noble beast, so far away and so lonely.  But as time passes, that distance decreases and the man becomes the tiger, and now he frowns, for something is happening.  The fire-

  -smells something on the wind.  It is a smell of another animal, but of a different sort.  And with that smell comes a memory of danger for the white tiger.  In one swift movement and uncoiling of powerful limbs, the tiger rises to its feet.  It pauses then for a second, making sure, testing the wind thoroughly.  For he is the greatest hunter of this place, yes, but there are greater hunters still.  And now he can taste many of them, with every breath.  
This is not the first time he has been hunted.  Those who seek him have become desperate, for with every death of his like siblings his value has risen.  Now his teeth alone would fetch the price of a manor, his hide a large tract of land, and his bones a great reward.  The tiger does not know this, now as he tenses for the chase, but the presence in his head understands and comprehends the desperate peril now at hand.  
And now the time for waiting has passed, for the smell of humanity is coming ever nearer.  The tiger leaps, and as he hits the ground his great feet are already moving.  A voice cries out in alarm, and then with joy, and now the chase is on.  But this is the tiger’s home, and for all the planning and the numbers of those who hunt him, the tiger now is at his finest and will not be made easy prey.
  Now the jungle passes by as the tiger picks up speed, and the presence marvels at how he might at one moment gracefully spring to this tall rock, then the next fling himself there, to that towering tree, not pausing and racing in mind as well as body, seeking refuge because the hunters are all about, and every way seems to lead to a desperate trap and defeat.  Now ahead the tiger catches a glimpse of a pursuer.  The man stands still, a weapon raised, and now there is a blast of thunder and the tiger turns only just in time to avoid the bullet.  With a bound the tiger could take vengeance, as the man throws down his makeshift firearm and turns in fear, but instead the sharp retort of the weapon sends the tiger charging past the man an on into the bush.  But the other hunters have heard the shot, and now their smell presses down on the tiger more sharply then before.
But finally a glimmer of safety.  At one moment the tiger is flying over a collection of misshapen branches and mossy rock, and the next the ground drops away fifty, a hundred feet.  Down the tiger drops, falling now faster, and then-

  -dances high now, flaring with the desperation of the chase.  The man sits rigid, eyes locked on the flames.  His companion, however, is now moving.  Slowly she rises to her feet, glances to the stars.  And more slowly still she begins to change.  The veil drops in to her face, becoming a pattern of black stripes, and her skin whitens and begins to grow fur.  As the fire crackles now she drops to all fours.  Her limbs begin to shorten and become more heavily muscled, her hands to become great paws, and now where stood a lady stands instead a-

  -there is water all around as the tiger completes his dive (picture:  tiger in water).  Bengal tigers swim as naturally as they run, and now the tiger drives forward with his powerful paws, pushes through the water of this clear pool and up towards the surface.  Now he enters the exiting river, floating downstream, a brief respite, paddling only to keep afloat.  The sounds of the chase are above him, but his puny pursuers dare not take the plunge to follow after.
  But something is wrong.  The tiger can still smell men.  And now up the river towards him comes a speedboat, its motor harshly blazing a trail, and the tiger lunges for the bank.  The boat is impossibly fast, heading his way against the current, and now its passengers can see the tiger and they too take aim and fire their own guns.  But the tiger has reached the bank, and even as his hide is scored by a lucky shot he pulls himself out of the water and dashes back into the green wild.  Behind him there are shouted orders and oaths, and the boat motors to shore.
  The chase is on as strong as ever, and somehow the tiger knows that this is his hour of final glory and releases all of his reserves.  The presence in the tiger’s head is once again awed, as the tiger now doubles its speed and swiftly powers over vines and through bushes.  For a moment, escape seems possible, even likely as the tiger plunges through and past the noose tightening around him.
  But this hunt is like no other hunt before.  The forest is teaming with enemies who have hunted his kind before, and now they are ahead and the tiger can smell their determination.  Swiftly he darts aside, heading almost back the way he came, and then again he turns before the river patrol can catch him and heads again in a new direction.  There are more shouts, and the presence in his head notes that this is a trap a long time in making, for the cordon of foes has not been shaking by the tiger’s tactics, either his jump into the water or his quick reverses, and now the tiger is forced into one path and one path only, and the tiger himself can sense the rap that is coming.  But of to go back or to cut to the sides would mean certain death, and so the tiger must run on and hope he can outrun death itself.  And then the trap springs shut about him, as-

  -Bengal white tiger, as terrific and as strong as the one occupied in chase so far from here.  The tiger-once-a-woman now leaps over the blazing fire, coming face to face with the concentrating man, turning at the last second to avoid bowling him over and instead gracefully sliding to his side, eyes locked on his.
  “Soon.” Is all the man says, and now his teeth are clenched shut together and his mind is so tightly wound to the tiger’s fate that he refuses to feel the fire’s heat on his face as it roars still higher, blazing for that far off tiger and the desperate, inevitable fate in hand.  The sun is dropping lower into the sky, but the fire is burning brighter and the heat is coming on hard now, and now the newly shaped Bengal white tiger and the man sit still as statues as events race to their final conclusion.  And then the time comes, and the fire-

  -the tiger, in his haste, crashes into the nets spread out to ensnare him.  Desperately the tiger surges forward, his muscles tense beneath his white skin, and with that lunge he almost breaks free, snapping two of the small trees that hold fast the net through sheer brute force and rending the net through.  But before he can slip out through the small opening before him, his hunters are upon him, dragging with them a heavier net weighted with stones, using their combined strength to throw it over the white beast they have cornered.  Now they grab fast the net.
  But the tiger is still stronger then all of them and the weight of the net combined, and with one great paw he sends a man flying.  Only the promise of greed manages to hold fast the others, and the next minutes is one of confusion as the tiger bears this way and that, sending some into the bushes and tearing at the cords that now garrote his white and black neck.  Then with a final lounge he pounded free from the moorings they sought to place around him, with a final gasp pulls the net from the hands of all those about him and sending them off their feet.  Now the tiger shakes free and prepares to begin the chase anew, even as one of the net minding enemies rolls for his gun.  The tiger races for the shelter of further woods, when there is a crash of thunder behind him, and then his thigh is pierced and he cannot but fall, carried by his own momentum forward into the bushes and once again he is falling, but this time there is no water and the slope is not so steep, and the great white hide of the tiger is scored with mud and welts and blood.  
  Panting, he attempts to rise to his paws, but he cannot.  The bullet that hit is thigh has disabled his hind legs, and now he is trapped, waiting for the end.  And the men are coming for their prize, safely assured of their victory, laughing and joking at a job well down.
The bravest among them is selected to have the honor of the killing shot.  Carefully he pushes forward, and the tiger bats towards him with his forepaws but he is too far.  The hunter lines up his shot, to be sure that the pelt is good and presentable for sale.  Now he will manage to feed his family, ensure that he can continue his habit of purchasing rich cigars, perhaps even buy a small motorcycle, from to proceeds of this sale.  So he things as he gently pulls the trigger, and the thunder of the shot is almost an afterthought, and the bullet now races to its target-

  -freezes in mid air, as time slows, and the man now reaches to pat his companion on the head, a final farewell between two friends who have set themselves on a path that could only separate them, a path more moving for what it means, only to them.
  “Now.” the man whispers, daring not to say more in case his voice breaks and reveals the sorrow he holds in check.  Then he raises his arms into the air and screams, and then time is moving again as the air around him twists-

  -the bullet performs well, and the tiger lies dead before the hunters.  And now they stand in awe, for with the death of the great animal it seems to change and become more beautiful then before.  The signs of the chase have faded away.  Even the wounds given to it from the quick shots of its pursuers and the roll down the embankment have disappeared.  The tiger is whole and nearly unmarked, save for the final, fatal shot.
For a moment then men bow their heads in a universal gesture of respect.  They know they will never hunt such a foe again.  The time of the white tiger has passed, and with it has gone the hunt.
  Now the hunters load the carcass onto the sling, carefully so as not to muss the coat of their prize, and perhaps with a touch of respect.  And then they are gone, and the jungle is left to its own devices.

  -and the fire dies, all at once and without a sound.  The ashes are still and cold, but one that burns brighter for the darkness (Picture – burning ash).  The man slumps backward, leaning against the tiger beside him, his tears now falling.
  They lay for some time like this.  Then, the tiger shifts, standing up onto its two good legs and turning its mighty head to stare the man in the eyes.  The man stares back, and the tiger’s piercing blue gaze seems to hold the two fast as the final ash finally succumbs to the chill air.
  Then the man rises to his feet, and placing a hand on the tigers head he turns to face the horizon of that beach.  Finally he nods, and then he and the tiger are gone as the air twists once more.

  Now the beach lies empty, as the sun sets in the distant sky, a bloody sunset to the hunt.


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## mythago (Jun 18, 2005)

Berandor said:
			
		

> If it wasn't clear, I wanted to say that a cruel pic might be missing




One person's cruel pic is another's fantastic story idea...


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## FireLance (Jun 18, 2005)

*Spring 2005 Ceramic DM Round 1.1: FireLance vs. Speaker vs. Hellefire*

*Judgement*

It had been a very bad day.

Thogar ran through the snow-covered forest, exhaling a puff of mist with every desperate breath that he took. The cruel wind brought to him the final screams of his fellow hunters and the triumphant roars of the Snow Demon.

A body of blue water appeared before him, and he realized that he had reached the river. Hoping that it would wash away his scent, he splashed into the icy water, swam to the middle, held his breath and dived below the surface.

The river current was surprisingly strong, and he tried hard to stabilize himself. Before he could do so, he heard something plunge into the river behind him. Whirling around, he came face to face with the Snow Demon. It looked like a large cat, pure white in color, except for its black markings. Its fangs were bared in a menacing snarl, and its paws reached out as if to grasp him (1). Thogar tried to swim away, but his left leg suddenly erupted in intense, numbing pain.  With his last reserves of strength, he flailed and kicked, and felt his right foot connect with something solid. His last memory, before everything went dark, was of the river current dragging him away from the Snow Demon.

When Thogar regained consciousness, he felt warmer than he had ever been in his entire life. Opening his eyes, he found that he was lying on a rug in a small wooden hut. His left leg still felt cold and numb, and when he examined it, he discovered a long, white scar. He deduced that the Snow Demon clawed him there during his escape.

"Ah, my friend, I see that you are awake," a voice came from the door of the hut. Thogar turned and saw that the speaker was a dark-skinned man with a broad, friendly smile. 

"Where am I? Who are you? What happened? Why is it so warm here?" Thogar asked.

"My name is Ulati," the man said, "You are in the village of Salesh, and I am the healer here. Some women found you washed up on the bank of the river yesterday and brought you to me. As to why it is so warm, well, I will be able to explain it better if you came with me. Are you able to stand?"

Thogar rose unsteadily and limped to the door of the hut. His left leg felt awkward, as if it was not entirely a part of him. The hut was one of several ringing a large expanse of greenery. In the centre of the space was a dais on which a great fire was burning. 

"This is the Warding Flame," Ulati said proudly, "Its power warms us and keeps us safe from the Snow Demon." With a start, Thogar realized that there was not a trace of snow or ice as far as he could see. 

"How did you find such a wonder?" Thogar asked.

Ulati shrugged. "It has always been in our village. Some say our ancestors built it, others say that it was a gift from the gods. Nobody knows for sure. But come, you must be hungry. Let us go and find some food for you."

Thogar feasted on fruits, nuts and berries from the trees and plants growing in the village, but although he enjoyed the villagers' hospitality, his thoughts went often to the family and friends that he had left behind. He wanted to return to them, but feared that he would encounter the Snow Demon again if he left the village. As darkness fell, he thought again of the Warding Flame. Perhaps if he was able to take some of it away with him, its power would be able to protect him.

He walked to the dais for a closer look at the flame. Up close, he could see that the flame seemed to be burning many small pieces of rock (2). Strangely, the flames merely seemed warm, and not hot like normal fire. Perhaps it would be possible to take a single piece away with him. Gingerly, Thogar stretched out his hand to take one.

A blast of intense heat and light flung Thogar off the dais. He landed heavily on the ground, and his right hand, which he had tried to pick up one of the stones with, glowed red and felt unnaturally warm. He heard shouts and cries around him, and he was soon surrounded by several grim-looking villagers.

Ulati strode to face him, his face dark with anger. "Is this how you repay our hospitality?" he demanded, "You try to steal our Warding Flame?"

"Thief!" someone cried.

"Ungrateful wretch!"

"Betrayer!"

"To the Cave of Judgement with him!"

The villagers dragged Thogar into a cave and sealed the entrance with a boulder. With only his glowing hand for light, Thogar could just make out that there was a passage in front of him leading deeper into the cave. Slowly, he made his way down it. 

Before long, he noticed a point of white light in the distance, as he got closer, he saw that it illuminated the head of a woman wearing a jeweled headdress (3). The woman's body was shrouded in darkness. 

The woman looked at Thogar. "I am the Oracle of Judgement," she announced, "Who are you, and what crime have you committed?"

"I am Thogar, and I tried to take a piece of the Warding Flame," Thogar replied, "So what will happen to me now?"

"That is a matter for you to decide," the Oracle said, "For in the Cave of Judgement, it is your own judgement that decides your reward or punishment. You bear the mark of one who was wounded by the Snow Demon. You fled from it, did you not?" Thogar nodded, and she continued, "You could choose to stay on in Salesh. The villagers will not deny you shelter after you leave this cave. But that is not your only option. You have touched the Warding Flame, and bear some of its power. You could try to use it to destroy the Snow Demon instead."

"I will not stay in this village," Thogar said, "I must return to my own. And though I would destroy the Snow Demon if I could, I would rather bring back the secret of the Warding Flame to my village. Is there anything I can do to accomplish this?"

The Oracle smiled. "You have already taken the first step. Follow the river back to your village, and seek the Warding Flame when the elements of nature - earth, air, fire and water – co-exist in harmony. Finally, remember that you did not choose the path of fear, or the path of hate, but the path of love." As she said this, she and the cave faded away, and  Thogar found himself standing on the riverbank a short distance from his village, just as the sun was rising (4).

A snarl and a flash of white at the edge of his field of vision alerted him to the fact that he was not alone. Slowly, menacingly, the Snow Demon emerged from the forest and advanced on him. 

Thogar's first instinct was to run, or to find a weapon to use against the Snow Demon, but he remembered the Oracle's words. Deliberately, he turned his back on the demon, and stared across the river, into the sunrise. At the very edge of the river, where the pebbles were lapped by water, cooled by air and lit by the sun, a handful of stones flickered faintly with the same flame that he saw in Salesh. Quickly, he ran to pick them up, and as he did so, he felt power flow from his right hand into the stones, which then blazed with warmth and light.

Thogar turned around. He was standing alone on the bank of the river, holding a handful of pebbles that burned brightly with the Warding Flame. In the distance, he could see the snow starting to melt.

It was going to be a very good day.

. . . . .

(1) The Snow Demon
(2) The Warding Flame
(3) The Oracle of Judgement
(4) The river bank


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## Berandor (Jun 18, 2005)

mythago said:
			
		

> One person's cruel pic is another's fantastic story idea...



 So true, as well as the other way round.


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## BSF (Jun 18, 2005)

Yea!  We have our first match stories all posted.  For those of you that are new, the Judges will now read the stories and determine which one we like the best.  That auther will then advance to the next round.  

I have updated the menu links in the first post.  I am trying out the [post] tags.  do me a favor and click on the links for the first match.  It should open into a new browser to the specific story in thread.  Then if you click on the pictures link for match 2, it will open only that post in another window.  You will not be able to directly access the rest of the thread.  

See which method you like better.  The [post] tags are shorter and open the rest of the thread at the same time.  Depending on preferences, I might migrate to those.


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## Berandor (Jun 18, 2005)

I liked the one better where the whole threads are intact.


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## Eeralai (Jun 19, 2005)

*Jibber Jabber*

Hooray!  Stories are up.  I read Hellefire's this morning and I see his two opponents are done as well.  I know I won't be able to read and comment on every story because we are still moving and I am trying not to make it an ultra sucky summer for our kids, but I know BSF is looking forward to people's comments, so I thought I would start it.  Of course, he can't read this until his judgement is posted, mwu ha ha!  In case I don't get the spoiler right, the rest of this post is about Hellefire's story, so judges, please read no further.

[sblock] Hellefire, to say I enjoyed your story is not quite right because it ends so sadly, but I have not figured out a good adjective to describe how I felt reading it.  I was pulled along throughout.  I thought you did a good job with the female perspective. I had a problem with the friend leaving Jem so early.  I know it was a love at first sight moment, but just leaving a best friend alone in the forest with a strange man no matter how they were looking at each other seemed like a really bad idea.  The scenes with the fairies were paralleled so well with the human scenes, except in the fairy scenes the friends stayed until the couple began their journey.  Why did you not let Jem's friend stay longer?  I also found it odd that Jem was so afraid of bears, but she was ready to go on a shroom trip with a total stranger.  I thought with you writing about her being afraid of bears, you were going to do something about her letting go of her fears, but instead it just seemed like a random feeling she had in the story. I really enjoyed the sunset scene, and I thought your wording when they were in the car with the rain coming down was lovely.  It is possibly my own problem, but I was a little confused by where the water elementals were located.  When Jem and Jim were swimming, I thought the water elementals were in the lake, so it took me awhile to figure out they were in a cloud.  You might look at that, but as I said, it might be my own reading comprehension problem.  Good story over all.  I've thought about it on and off all day, which, to me, is a sign of a good story.  Thanks for sharing it. [/sblock]


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## Hellefire (Jun 19, 2005)

Eeralai! Good to see you, and missing you in this cdm. I very much enjoyed reading your work last time. Thanks for the comments, and will reply to them after judgements are posted I think . Hope all is good with your move and your kids!

Aaron


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## Maldur (Jun 19, 2005)

Stories received and read, Im now stewing on judgement


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## Speaker (Jun 19, 2005)

Whew - I meant to post a follow-up earlier but had to leave before I could spend the time to read my opponent's tales.  I'm starting that now.

In the Clear:  I found the pictures for this match a very natural lead-in to some creative story writing, vague in the right places while tough to reconcile.

Now let me take a look at what else was found in them...


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## Berandor (Jun 19, 2005)

Ceramic DM Spring 2005 (Late Bloomer)
Round 1, Match 2: BigTom vs. Bibliophile vs. Berandor

*Disillusionment*

»Close the blinds, please.«

»Of course.« 

While her employer did as she had bidden, Cassie took a look at her surroundings. She always felt uneasy in hospital rooms. They were so antiseptic, so clean, so devoid of color and life. The beeping, blubbering and wheezing machines keeping their patient alive didn’t help, either. 

Cassie regarded the young woman lying in the bed. She was twenty-three, Cassie knew, but she looked at once like an old woman and a child. Her skin hung unto her like a dress two sizes too big, her shrunken face surrounded by a halo of golden hair. Cassie might have mistaken her for dead if not for her eyelids. They were fluttering constantly.

»This is her,« Hoffer said. »Sharon, my wife.« 

Cassie ignored the obviousness of the statement as she turned to him.  »She’s beautiful.«

»Yes.« He stroked Sharon’s cheek. »Can you save her?«

»Mr. Hoffer-«

«Timothy, please,« he interjected.

»Timothy, as I’ve told you before, there is no guarantee.«

»But now that you’ve seen her, what do you think? Can you save her?«

»I’ll try my very best,« Cassie answered. Timothy didn’t seem satisfied, but he let it go. »How much time do we have?«

»Four hours, maybe five,« he said. »I’ve told the nurse I wanted to say goodbye, and gave her a little money. She’ll leave us alone until the morning shift arrives.«

»That’s not very long.«

»It’s as long and we’ll get. Tomorrow’s the day.«

The day. It was the day when the hospital staff, empowered by a new law, would shut off the machines keeping Sharon Hoffer’s body alive. After three years of coma following a car accident, the doctors had declared her brain dead, and her insurance had stopped paying for her continued treatment. Cassie knew they were probably right, too. Only a small percentage of coma patients with no detectable brain functions were still alive; most had departed to the spirit world. 

Noticing that the windows couldn’t be opened, Cassie took a portable fan from her bag and plugged it in, and then aimed it at the bed. She also retrieved a mobile from the bag, ten paper cut-outs hanging from silk rope. Using a small hook she had brought, Cassie hung the mobile above the bed, the cut-outs dancing in the fan’s breeze. Traditional medicine had failed; Cassie had come to apply sorcery to wake up Sharon Hoffer. That’s what witches did, after all.

»I’m ready,« she announced. »Timothy, you must not touch me, or Sharon, while I am gone. It is imperative, in fact, that nobody touches either of us. That would instantly break the spell I am going to cast.«

Timothy nodded.

»Alright. Do you have anything to say before we begin?«

»Yes.« He leaned forward and caught Cassie’s gaze. His eyes burned with intensity. »Miss Morgan, I don’t believe in magic. I don’t believe one word of what you told me you would do. I think you’re just after my money – what’s left of it, anyway. But I don’t care. I’ve tried everything else, and time is running out. So do your spiel. I will do as you say. But bring back my wife.«

Cassie held his gaze for a moment and opened her mind, letting his desperation waft over her. She embraced the strength of it, siphoned it off, shutting it away for later use just as she shut Timothy out of her mind again. He blinked in confusion, sure something had happened but unsure of what, and then regarded Cassie with new doubts.

»Let us begin,« she said.

-

After a prayer to Zephyr, the west wind, Cassie had invoked the soul-joining spell. It had worked, so Sharon’s soul had not yet departed. Cassie transported herself into Sharon’s mindscape. That was the good news. The bad news was, Cassie had no magic. Every mindscape had different rules, and a traveler had to accept these rules in order to effect change. Sharon’s mindscape did not allow magic, at least not the kind Cassie used. Not even a simple light spell worked. And Sharon’s mindscape was dark.

When the spell had taken effect, Cassie had found herself in this darkness, unable to see her hand before her eyes. A little feeling around, and Cassie knew she was in a narrow corridor with smooth walls – probably bricks, since she felt the mortar between the stones – and a similarly smooth floor. The air was calm, and smelled faintly of acid. Lacking options, she’d started walking. Drift in the breeze, no matter where it blows, her mother always said.

In the darkness, thoughts came unbidden. Her mother would be ashamed to hear that at twenty-seven, Cassie still lived in San Francisco and cast soul-joining spells. This was no work for an accomplished wind witch, she would have said. To her mother, a wind witch could not allow herself to feel compassion, for when the wind called, she had to leave everything behind. Cassie had never moved with the wind. She heard Zephyr’s call, but she resisted it. There were too many people needing her help.

Her mother had warned her. »A storm will come«, she’d said. »And if you don’t let yourself be carried on its wings, it will crush you.« That had been seven years ago, when Cassie last saw her. Breathing deeply, Cassie exhaled these thoughts from her mind. This was not the place for doubts. She had to help Sharon. 

After a while, Cassie began to notice a faint sound in the distance. It was best described as a rhythmic _fwump_ every five seconds. As she walked on, the sound grew louder, until suddenly she stood in a gymnasium. A blonde girl was jumping on a trampoline, each jump accompanied by an elastic _fwump_. The girl wore a tight suit with a flame stitched onto its breast. Her eyes had sunk into her head, dark shadows beneath. The air smelled of sweat and fear.

Cassie took a step forward, and then froze. Her body felt different than before. Looking down, she saw why. Her body had become that of a young man in dark clothes; scratching her chin she even noticed the beginnings of a beard. Cassie shrugged. She might not always heed the wind, but she had learned to accept its fickle blows. She approached the girl.

»Hi.«

The girl looked at her, but kept on jumping. _Fwump_. »I am so tired,« she said. 

»Then why don’t you stop jumping?«

»I can’t,« she pleaded. _Fwump._

»It’s not hard. Just use your legs to counter the trampoline.«

»No, I can’t,« the girl repeated. »If I stop jumping, I will catch fire.« 

Cassie looked more closely. Indeed, every time the girl slowed down at the top of her jump, her features blurred as if emanating heat. Her hair looked close to burning.

»Sharon?« Cassie asked. _Fwump_.

»How do you know my name?«

»I’m here to save you.«

»Are you a knight?«

Cassie smiled, thinking of her change in appearance. »Yes, I suppose I am.«

»Then you need a sword.« Suddenly, a heavy sword hung at Cassie’s hip. »That’s better.« _Fwump_.

»Thank you,« Cassie said with a bow. »Do you have an idea how I can save you?«

»Just follow the garden until you reach a cave. You will find the monster there.« 

»The garden?« Cassie turned around, only to discover plants all around her. As she turned back, the gymnasium was gone, and with it, the trampoline and the girl. Cassie faced where Sharon had been, and held her sword forward in mock salute.

»I will save you, Sharon. By gust and gale, I will.«

-

As Cassie walked through the garden, following a narrow pathway, grass, dry as tinder, crunched under her feet. The garden was dying. The plants looked healthy, but when Cassie touched them, they proved as brittle as old paper. Every few steps the ground trembled softly. It wasn’t a real earthquake, but Cassie found it distracting, nonetheless. Furthermore, there was no wind, not even a slight breeze in the air. It was almost as if time had stopped around here.

The path led Cassie to a wide river. An ornamental stone bridge arched over it. A sign said, »River of Tears. Do not drink.«

Cassie knelt at the shore and dipped her finger into the water. It was cold, and felt refreshing under the suddenly hot sun. She tasted the finger. Salty.

»Are these your tears, Sharon?« Cassie wondered aloud. »You won’t have to cry much longer.«

Behind the bridge, the mindscape changed drastically. After a few steps, Cassie was in the middle of a rocky desert, and the dying garden seemed infinitely far away. The sun stood high in the sky, with not a cloud around providing cover. No wind, either. The tremors had increased in strength, their rhythm reminding Cassie of the trampoline. 

After a while, Cassie saw two figures in the distance, about as tall as a human. As she approached them, they turned out to be tall sunflowers.

»Damn,« she said.

»What kind of greeting is that supposed to be?« one of the flowers said – the left one.

»Not a kind one, that’s for sure,« the right one replied.

»You can talk!«

The flowers regarded her for a moment, and then turned to each other. »Do you think she’s stupid?« the left one asked.

»Maybe she’s just been out in the sun for too long,« the right one answered.

»Ah. Of course.« They turned back to her. »Yes. We can talk. I am Pete, and this here is Oscar,« the left one explained.

»Then maybe you can help me,« Cassie said. »Wait – how do you know I’m a woman?«

»Oh please!« Pete, the sunflower, said. »What do you take us for? Lilies?« 

»Violets?« Oscar added.

»Sunflowers?« Cassie ventured.

»That’s right, « Pete said, as if that would explain everything. »We’re sunflowers.«

»Just follow the breeze,« Cassie muttered under her breath. »So… can you help me? I’m looking for a cave.«

»That depends. Will you help us in return?«

»Help you? How?«

»Oscar here wants to leave the garden. I don’t want to, though, I think there was a reason why we were put here, and it’s not up to us to leave, even if the other flowers disagreed. They’re not sunflowers, after all, so what do they know? «

»Look, Pete,« Oscar said, »I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I will leave the garden, and if you don’t want to come with me, I’ll leave you, as well.«

»Now you see our problem, don’t you?« Pete asked.

»I’m not sure,« Cassie said. »What’s this about a garden again?«

»Too long in the sun,« Pete said. »You were right, Oscar.«

»How is she supposed to know? Does it look like a garden to you?«

»Hmm. Maybe you’re right.« Pete tilted its head slightly. »This is the Garden of Color. Once, it was full of flowers. All kinds of flowers – even orchids, and you know how they can be. Or maybe you don’t. Anyway, some time ago, the earthquakes started. The clouds left with the wind, never to return. The ground dried up, and any water a plant could draw was salty, useless. At first, we thought it was temporary, but it wasn’t. When Harriett died-«

»She was a rose hip,« Oscar explained.

»When Harriett died, all the other flowers got scared. So they left.«

»And we should have left, too,« Oscar insisted.

»How did you survive here?« Cassie asked.

»How often do I have to repeat myself? We’re sunflowers. We find a way.«

»We’re on a diet,« Oscar admitted. »We were much taller once.«

»Still,« Pete said. »I don’t feel good leaving the garden behind. It’s as if as soon as we are gone, it will cease to exist. I know it’s silly, but-«

»It’s not,« Cassie said. 

»What?« both flowers said in unison.

»It’s not silly. You’re probably right. You must stay. You must keep the garden alive.«

»See?« Pete said triumphantly.

»Now you’re listening to a human! That’s it. I’m leaving.« Oscar pulled its roots out of the rocky ground, and walked away. After a few steps, the sunflower began to shimmer in the air, and then disappeared as if it never existed.

»Well,« Pete said, »looks like I’m the only one left.«

»They will come back,« Cassie said. 

»Do you think Sharon will come back, too?«

»Sharon?«

»That’s what I said: Sharon,« Pete said impatiently, but then its voice lost its edge. »You know, she came to visit us. She danced among us, or just sat down and listened to us. I miss her.«

»I’m here to help Sharon. I hope that I can bring her back, yes. But I need your help. I’m looking for a cave.«

»Yes, I know of it. It is not a good place.«

»I still need to get there.«

»It’s a few hills over. Just follow the sun.«

Cassie looked up. The sun had begun to set. »Thank you,« she said, and turned what seemed to be west, following the sun.

»You know what’s strange?« Pete said after Cassie had left. »There’s never been a sunset in the garden before.« And then the sunflower shuddered, feeling the chill of the night to come.

-

The sun touched the horizon when Cassie finally came to a hill. The ground shook again, and this time she was almost knocked prone. Another tremor shook the earth, and another. Cassie no longer doubted what caused them. She imagined a distant _fwump_ with each quake. The hill was too steep to climb, but a wooden ladder led up to a cave, some fifty feet above her. The ladder didn’t look very stable.

She had climbed the first rungs when the next tremor came. Cassie lost her grip. She fell to the side, and then slid down the hill. Another tremor greeted her as she reached the bottom.

»Tornado’s eye!« she cursed. If that happened when she was further up, she’d hurt herself. Maybe she died. She’d heard of witches who died in a mindscape. It wasn’t pretty. She had to be more careful.

Luckily, her male body proved far stronger and fitter than her own would have been. She’d managed to climb half the distance when another tremor knocked her about. Again she fell to the side, but this time she kept her grip, dangling from the ladder thirty feet above ground.

»Sharon!« she screamed. Five seconds later, the ground shook again. And again. Cassie bit her lip. It was a last resort. Tasting her blood weakened the soul-joining spell enough so she could reach into her real-world body for a short time without leaving the mindscape. She closed her eyes and smelled antiseptics. A faint breeze wafted over her. 
In the hospital, Cassie mumbled a spell and freed the desperation she’d siphoned off Timothy. In the mindscape, Cassie felt new strength flooding through her. Grunting, she swung herself back on the ladder, and began to climb. The tremors grew even worse; each time, the ladder danced on the hillside like a drunken puppet. But Cassie climbed on. Filled with Timothy’s desire to see Sharon live, nothing could stop her. But she felt his strength receding already. Cassie grimaced and climbed on, step after step, rung after rung. As she reached the cave, another tremor knocked the ladder from under her feet. Cassie grabbed the edge of the cave and held on. With a last effort, she pulled herself up and into the darkness of the cave, just as Timothy’s strength left her.

-

Cassie lay in the cave entrance, catching her breath. The cave was dark, but light from the desert outside illuminated brick walls and a smooth floor. The tremors were gone; at least, they didn’t carry into the cave. Peering into the darkness, Cassie thought she made out movement. She stood up, and drew her sword. The blade glowed faintly in the dark, and Cassie looked into a distorted mirror image of herself. The image shuddered, and inched closer. It was a huge blob of jelly, the smell of acid preceding it. It filled the whole corridor side to side, but only reached half as high as the ceiling. Still, it was almost as tall as Cassie, and too high to jump.

»I am a knight,« Cassie reminded herself, and swung her sword. The blade cut the blob like air, and now Cassie was looking at two separate mirror images. The blob inched forward. Cassie took a step back. Behind her, the cave opened to the hillside, and the ladder was gone. She had to defeat this thing! Again, she cut, and again. Her sword danced through the air, tearing into the blob.

It was useless. Cassie looked into a dozen distorted mirror images, and she saw the desperation in her own eyes.  All that was left to do was to decide between falling down the hillside or getting eaten by amorphous jelly. The blob inched forward. In the distance, Cassie heard a faint _fwump_.

She had an idea. She took the sword and rammed it knee-high into the sidewall. Then, she took another step back – her heels touched the edge of the cave. The blob inched forward. Cassie waited. The blob inched forward again, touching the sword hilt and starting to dissolve it. Now!

Cassie stepped on the flat of the blade, and then jumped as high and far as she could. She flew through the air, felt her hands brush against the jelly, then her knees, and then she was past. 

She came down hard, but instead of wallowing in her pain, she stood right up again. The blob had stopped, and began to inch towards her again. But it was too slow. Cassie’s hands hurt like they were on fire, but she laughed despite the pain. The way was clear. In the distance she heard another _fwump_, and she started walking.

-

Suddenly she was back in the gym. Sharon was still jumping on the trampoline. She looked even more tired than before, and the jumps were higher, too. Cassie approached her.

»Hello, Sharon.«

»Did you defeat the monster?«

»Not yet.«

»But you said you wanted to save me.«

»And I will. Stop jumping.«

»I can’t. I will burn.«

»No, you won’t. It’s the jump that heats you up, and the higher you jump, the closer to burning you get.« Cassie looked at the girl, and saw her suspicion was correct. Since her jumps had become higher, the blur around her had intensified, as well. Now, her hair already started to smoke when she reached the top. Cassie noticed the ‘No Smoking’ sign on the wall in the back, and chuckled dryly at the irony.

»You’re wrong! If I stop jumping, I will die!«

»No. Stop jumping, and you will live. You know it, Sharon. You sent me to fight a monster in a cave, but in the cave, I found you. There is nothing keeping you here, except for yourself. Stop jumping.«

»I… I’m afraid.«

Cassie smiled, and spread her arms. »I am here. Come on, jump towards me. I will catch you.«

»Are you sure I’m not gonna burn?«

»Yes. Come now. I will catch you, Sha-«

»Get her away, at once!« Cassie felt herself yanked backwards. She was back in the hospital. A burly man held her tight, and a team of doctors and nurses swarmed about Sharon’s still body, inspecting her. In the corner of the room stood Timothy, tears running down his face.

»No,« Cassie said. She had been so close. »No!«

A doctor looked up at the mobile hanging from the ceiling. He ripped it off and threw it to the ground. The fan had already been disconnected. Sharon lay like dead, her chest rising only by the will of the machines. Her eyes had stopped to flutter.

»Mr. Hoffer«, the doctor said, having Cassie already forgotten, »I am very disappointed with you. I don’t know what you did here, but make no mistake: I will report you to the authorities.«

»I wanted to save her.«

»It’s too late for that, Mr. Hoffer. It has been too late for some time now. Nurse Walker, prepare to unplug the system.«

»No!« Cassie shouted again. »She’s alive! Please…«

The doctor looked at her. »Warden,« he said, »didn’t I tell you to get her out? Do it. Now!«

The warden pulled Cassie towards the door. She didn’t resist, but looked at Timothy. »I’m sorry,« she said, but he didn’t listen. He stood motionless, looking at his wife. Cassie turned to take a final look at Sharon, too. She saw her fingers move. Ever so slowly, Sharon’s hands began to close.

»She’s waking up!« Cassie shouted, as the warden pulled her out of the door. Now she started to resist, but to no avail. He was too strong for her. »Please, her hand! Look at her hand!« she screamed. She heard no answer, only the constant beeping of the heart monitor.

»Nurse Walker,« the doctor said. »Now.« 

A long, sustained beep followed, and then – nothing.


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## Berandor (Jun 19, 2005)

I know that as soon as I read my story again, I will notice a typo, but that's the way it is... And indeed, just now I remember something I wanted to change but didn't.

Fun! 

I'm happy with the story nonetheless, I hope you're at least somewhat entertained. Now to read the other entries!


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## Hellefire (Jun 19, 2005)

*Hellefire's Judgements - Round 1*

As I did last time, I'm going to do my own story critiques and judgements as we go along. Of course, last time I didn't have such a good track record of agreeing with the actual judges. I ended up joking about my kiss of doom. If I voted for you, the judges didn't. But, let's see how this one pans out .

My picture use levels (explanations to come as I further define them):
abysmal(0) - terrible(1) - very bad(2) - bad(3) - poor(4) - below average(5) - average(6) - above average(7) - good(8) - very good(9) - great(10) - excellent(11) - outstanding(12)

Hellefire vs Speaker vs FireLance:
[sblock]The Trip (by Hellefire) - Critiquing myself is very, very hard for me to do, but I will try (using some of Eeralai's commentary to help). Re-reading my story, I found one technical typo. I liek the story itself, how it builds on itself, though it is a little vague in points. Jem's fear of bears could/should have been expanded on later, but wasn't. Her best friend DID take off pretty fast (I had added some more, but for some reason thought the our word limit was 4000 and posted before I checked again...oops). I wanted to add another sentence or two talking about the water elementals ability to shapeshift into beings whos bodies they had passed through. I think I made that fairly clear, but I'm not sure. I was trying to instill the idea that elementals reside in all places (water in lake and rain, etc, fire in campfire and cigarette, etc) but maybe it was a bit confusing where the water elementals were. All-in-all, a good story, that maybe I should have used the extra day before posting time to revise a touch. Picture use - woman: very good(9), lake: very good(9), fire: great(10), tiger: average(6). Total: 34. Average: 8.5 (good-very good). Author's note: If I made one person look into their burning cigarette or a campfire, or into water or rain, and wonder, then I did my job.

The Lady for the Tiger (by Speaker) - Four or five technical typos. A very good, esoterical story. Took a little bit to get into it but the chase was a great piece of writing. The fire-to-chase intensity connection was very well done. I guess losing the woman as a woman was sad, but I was a little confused about that point (the sadness), or did that come fom the tiger dying? It seemed to be about witnessing the death of the last Bengal, whcih wasn't really the last because it was resurrected in the woman, I guess? Though, unless she was pregnant, it wouldn't revitalize the species anyway. And I was confused about why they just faded away at the end. Where did they go? I type a lot of criticisms, but really I liked the story a LOT. Picture use - woman: very good(9), lake: average(6), fire: great(10), tiger: great(10). Total: 35. Average: 8.75 (good-very good*2).

Judgement (by FireLance) - I didn't see any technical typos (kudos). The story was short and direct. I didn't mind this so much, it was well written and flowed well in general. It was a little, hm, abrupt I guess. I had a little problem with the cave of Judgement thing. You are judging yourself? While I appreciate this, and it applies to my feelings of life in general, most people don't so something if they think it is wrong. If they decide it is wrong, they feel bad, and hopefully try to make amends. So the cave of judgement just boiled down to a time-out to think about it. And, the villagers were very upset with him, but then would accept him to live among them if he chose. It seems they would either be angry, or understanding, but it seemed to jump from one to the other immediately. I liked the change from bad day to good day. I liked the lake and fresh beginning for his people and melting snow. It was a good story, but I think it should have been a little more fleshed out. Picture use - woman: very good(9), lake: good(8), fire: good(8), tiger: excellent(11). Average: 9 (very good).


My judgement - FireLance had the best use of pictures, but I think his story needs a little more work. Speaker had slightly better use of pictures than I did, but more typos, and left me confused about more things (then again I wrote mine  ). I can't be objective about mine but I'll give it to you anyway: my vote is for Hellefire 2-1-1.[/sblock]

Berandor vs BigTom vs Bibliophile:
[sblock]Disillusionment (by Berandor) - I saw a couple technical typos. Part of me says hey, that's understandable, English is your second language. But, I think I am going to hold you to the same standards as everyone else. Partly because it was such a great story. It really was. Though, you call *me* cruel. The ended surprised me. I really expected a happy ending. That gives it more strength in a way - I don't like predictable stories much. I was pretty gripped throughout. Reminded me a bit of that J-Lo movie, can't remember the name right now. When she was inside people's heads. Great imagery. The monster thing was a bit weak, and it's resolution didn't explain to me how she figured out that the child was doing it to herself. I liked all the references to the wind witch thing, though you mentioned that her mother would have been disappointed then left that lead not going anywhere. Also, she tasted the water/tears which said Do Not Drink, and nothing happened. I thought the sign was a pretty good indication that something would happen. Her weakening at the end might have been a result of that, but I might just be reaching to explain things to myself. 
also, why did s/he hld the sword in mock salute? It being a serious situation, I would expect it to be in real salute. Also, I was a little bothered at the beginning that the husband asked her if she could save his wife, and was concerned about her answers, then flat-out told her that he didn't think she could anyway, as if he never thought she could. I wasn't sure why he would question her so much when his mind was already made up about her anyway. A great story; I can't find much to criticize. Glad it wasn't against me this round . Picture use: bubbles: good(8), knight: good(8), ladder: good(8), girl: great(10). Total: 34. Average: 8.5 (good-very good).[/sblock]

Aaron


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## Berandor (Jun 19, 2005)

So... the other stories.

First off, does anybody else think the contrast of the dark grey background and the black cursor in the default style is a little low? When editing my story, I could hardly see where the cursor was. I'm writing this in stealth mode, which works far better 

In order of posting, and please remember these are only my opinions and I am not an editor or teacher:
*Hellefire, The Trip*
[sblock]It's a dramatic story, I'll give you that. I enjoyed it for the symbolism, though I could have done with a little less insistance on change. In all three of your narratives, the characters say something like "We must change, change is good, change is everything." By the third time, it feld redundant.
Also, I'll have to echo Eeralai's comments regarding Sara. They're in the wilderness, and a man shows up, and she leaves her friend alone? And I was confused with the water elementals, too. Maybe it was on purpose, to have a surprise twist, and I buy it with the tobacco/smoke elementals, but for a moment I wondered how the water elementals had gone from lake to cloud so quick. Maybe switching the order of the inserts around (so water when sitting at the lake, and fire when swimming) would help?
Still, the narative drove me onward, and I had to see the conclusion. The final scene was excellent, I thought. Very nice.
The Pictures
I thought your pictures were used fine, but not spectacularly. In hindsight, I'm sot sure what the "woman" is supposed to show. Is it Jem in her funeral gown, and if so, are you saying that Jem is trapped in her dead body, aware of everything? That's cruel! The "sunset" was very nice, especially with the drugs enhancing the otherworldy beauty of nature (heh). "coal" was great, really a great picture use. The afterglow of their love-making, the focus on one spot, one detail - wonderful. On the other hand, I thought "tiger" was thrown in. A raindrop changes into a tiger, in a cloud, and then changes back again. I could see no reason behind it being a white tiger, other than it was a required pic. [/sblock]

*Speaker, The Lady For The Tiger*
[sblock]Up front, you've got quite a few small mistakes in the story: missing words, spelling errors, time shifts. I'd suggest one more read-through before posting, because when stories are of similar quality, these details will often make the difference (but generally not in the first round, so no worries ).
Also with regards to editing: You have a lot (and I mean a lot) of "now" and "then" in the story. I'd guess you can cut 80% of them and still keep the flow of events understandable while at the same time making your language stronger.
Your story is a strange beast, I must say. I'm still not clear on what the man and woman were doing by the fire, what importance the woman changing to a tiger had, and why the slain animal healed its wounds (yet nobody seemed to care about that). On the other hand, I was totally engrossed in the narrative of the hunt, captivated, so I'm not sure it's important the story made sense. It was a good read, nonetheless. Thanks!
The Pictures
The "tiger" was very well employed, I thought. We'd been in the animal's mindset for some time, and so at least I felt for it and hoped it would survive the fall and subsequent swim. The "woman" was alright, and you explained the net in front of her face as she changed to her animal form. However, without seeing the reason for her being a changeling, it's not that well explained, either. The "coal" was good, as well. The longer the man was in the tiger's mind, the more detailed the fire became, so getting to the coal was then a sign of utmost concentration. The "lake" at the end was fine; it gave me the sense of something greater that the characters had just been a part of, made the spell they cast more ritualistic.[/sblock]

*FireLance, Judgement*
[sblock]
A very short story. I was worried a little bit because the only real conflict was quickly over (right at the beginning, the fight against the snow-demon). But somehow, it worked, maybe even because of the lack of conflict. This story seemed to me more like a parabel, like a story told to a tribe's young ones to explain where the fire came from, than an actual event. You know, being responsible for the path we take, not resorting to hate - these moral lessons strewn in really made this into a campfire story for children to me.
Still, as a story, there *is* a lack of conflict. The oracle lets Thogar choose his own path, the villagers will gladly house him even after he tried to steal the flame, and when Thogar meets the Snow Demon again, he can turn his back to the cat and calmly search the shore, then run to the rocks without danger. As I said, though, that made the Snow Demon more into a symbol of cold, hunger and fear to me, than a real demon.
The Pictures
The "tiger" is the Snow Demon. I really liked that idea, even though the pic came so fast. I liked the pic so much I was hoping for a little more built-up  Otherwise, it was fine, I think. The "lady", or oracle was also a nice use, since the pic does look mysterious, and the fact that her body is in shadow while her face is alight was a nice touch. The "coal" was the warding flame Thogar tried to take, and the heat opposing the Snow Demon fit thematically. Finally, the "lake" is where Thogar finds the coals of the Warding Flame, and where he changes the future of his tribe. It seems possible to find such mythical things at the shores of this lake, so well done, again. Competent picture use through-out.[/sblock]

So... nobody used the "coals" to make a fire elemental (or magma, or coal)? Come on! 

Waiting for the next stories to come along, now.


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## Berandor (Jun 19, 2005)

Hellefire: I also thought the word limit was 4,000. The Curse of the First Poster struck again, it seems


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## Maldur (Jun 19, 2005)

Judgement send on: Hellefire vs Speaker vs FireLance

*starts resharpning the judgement stick*


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## Berandor (Jun 19, 2005)

[sblock]


> Disillusionment (by Berandor) - I saw a couple technical typos. Part of me says hey, that's understandable, English is your second language. But, I think I am going to hold you to the same standards as everyone else.



And that's the way I want it, too  Can you point me to some of the typos, beause these will be things I have no idea are typos.


> The monster thing was a bit weak, and it's resolution didn't explain to me how she figured out that the child was doing it to herself.



Well, if I have to explain, I did it not good enough. The way I saw it: 
Don't forget it's Sharon's mind Cassie walks through. So Cassie sees the mindscape barren and dying because the water didn't nourish anymore, the weather "went away", and so on. The only one with power over the mindscape is Sharon herself (Cassie has to accept the rules, as well). Then, Sharon's jumps almost kill Cassie (on the ladder). The "gelatinous cube" is no entity in itself, it is just a distorted reflection of Cassie, clearly not capable of keeping anyone away. Now, Sharon sends Cassie on a needless travel (since the cave leads back to the gym) that nearly kills her, and she equips Cassie with a weapon that is of no use against the cave-guardian.
Well, o.k, it's confusing, I admit it 


> I liked all the references to the wind witch thing, though you mentioned that her mother would have been disappointed then left that lead not going anywhere.



That's because should I advance, I am pondering on having the next story be about Cassandra Morgan, as well.  Pics allowing, of course. 


> Also, she tasted the water/tears which said Do Not Drink, and nothing happened.



That was just a sign for Cassie to taste the water. It's an explanation for why despite the big river, the plants are dying. There's no rain anymore, only tears. 


> also, why did s/he hld the sword in mock salute? It being a serious situation, I would expect it to be in real salute.



That is a misunderstanding caused by translation, I guess. Cassie salutes, alright. But since she doesn't know how to salute, it looks like in the pic instead of "more real". So the "mock" is more an explanation for her curious gesture. 


> A great story; I can't find much to criticize.



Thanks. [/sblock]

And what is it with "what the helle"?  Is that a shout-out to yourself?


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## Hellefire (Jun 19, 2005)

[sblock]'Her skin hung unto her like a dress' - should be 'hung on her,' not unto.

'It’s as long and we’ll get' - should be 'as long as we'll get', not and.

'declared her brain dead' - pretty sure this should be 'brain-dead' (the way it's currently written, they are declaring her brain to be dead, not her to be brain-dead. A small difference but there's English and technicalities for you).

'She embraced the strength of it, siphoned it off, shutting it away for later use just as she shut Timothy out of her mind again.' - This is using past simple and past progressive tenses together, which can be done but should generally only be used if one activity is in the process of happening when another event occurs. This should be all in past simple ('She embraced the strength of it, siphoned it off, and shut it away for later use just as she shut Timothy out of her mind again.') or, if it is an activity that spans time (including embracing, shutting, etc) then the past simple tenses should be grouped differently - with an and instead of a comma, as it appears as a comma-delimited list, which should be all in the same tense ('She embraced the strength of it and siphoned it off, shutting it away for later use just as she shut Timothy out of her mind again.'). This is a slight technicality, and I don't think I would count it as 'wrong' if I was correcting a student's paper, just 'poorly written.'

'After a prayer to Zephyr, the west wind, Cassie had invoked the soul-joining spell. It had worked, so Sharon’s soul had not yet departed.' - Should be using past simple tense instead of past perfect. Generally perfect tenses are used to emphasize that one activity is completed, which leads to or explains another activity. The first sentence should be 'After a prayer to Zephyr, the west wind, Cassie invoked the soul-joining spell.' because there isn't anything happening after she invokes to necessitate past perfect. The second sentence is ok, because it is suggesting that the conclusion (Sharon's soul being present) is based upon the conclusion of the activity (the spell working). I try to think of perfect tenses as refering to an activity being perfectly complete...that is, it is important that they are complete or finished, not just that they were begun/are happening. There generally has to be something that happens the completed activity that relies on the previous activity being complete. I will/shall have seen her before tomorrow. I had read the book many times before the exam. I have already eaten dinner.

'Cassie transported herself into Sharon’s mindscape. That was the good news.' - I would add something positive to this to emphasize it is good news. ('Cassie was able to transport herself into Sharon’s mindscape. That was the good news.') Or some such. A little more than a style issue, less than an error.

'When the spell had taken effect, Cassie had found herself in this darkness, unable to see her hand before her eyes.' - Back to the past perfect thing. Two past perfects should not be used together in the same sentence unless they are part of a compound thought that groups them together (I had eaten dinner and brushed my teeth before I went to bed). When can be used in conjunction with past perfect meaning immediately thereafter (When I had finished my story I was happy), or in conjuction with past progressive meaning during (When I was writing my story I was stressed). It cannot be used as during wth past perfect, because by definition a perfect tense is a perfect, completed action and anything else you write is happening after the fact. This sentence should be: 'When the spell had taken effect, Cassie found herself in this darkness, unable to see her hand before her eyes.' Also, 'this darkness', refers to a specific darkness in relation to proximity of speaker or another instance of the same thing (this darkness versus that darkness). It should be 'found herself in darkness' or, strange but correct, 'found herself in a darkness'. If you are using quotes, as in something someone actually said, you could use 'in this darkness.' I say things that way myself sometimes, but it is incorrect.

'A little feeling around, and Cassie knew' - Should be 'After a little feeling around, Cassie knew'. The way this is worded, the thoughts are even. The way you meant it, one action followed the other. Again, people speak this way, but it is not correct. It is largely a style issue, and I would not count it as wrong on a paper.

'The air was calm, and smelled faintly of acid. Lacking options, she’d started walking.' - See above note for second sentence. I included them together because you used a lot of commas. I do too, but I would suggest in the first sentence, because it flows well, to write 'The air was calm and smelled faintly of acid.' I understand using commas for pauses, and for seperating equal level ideas from each other, but leaving a comma out would break the monotany a bit. Again, not an error, just a style issue.

'Drift in the breeze, no matter where it blows, her mother always said.' - This may or may not be an error, depending on what you mean. It is a little ambiguous. If you mean her mother is dead or they no longer speak to each other, it might be better to use 'her mother had always said.' or 'her mother always used to say.' If she still speaks to her mother, and her mother still says this, it might be better to use 'her mother always says.' The way it's worded, in past simple tense, could mean that her mother does not say it anymore because she doesn't say anything to her (they don't speak) or she doesn't say anything to anybody (she's dead or mute) or she changed her mind (she says something else now). Definitely not an error, just a note on implied meaning. *Note* You clear this up some later when you mention she hasn't seen her mother in seven years.

'After a while, Cassie saw two figures in the distance, about as tall as a human.' - Should be 'about as tall as humans.' or 'both about as tall as a human.' Don't start with plural and switch to singular.

'I don’t want to, though, I think there was a reason why we were put here, and it’s not up to us to leave, even if the other flowers disagreed.' - Should be 'I don't want to, though.' or 'I don't want to, though;' or 'I don't want to though, because'.

'After a few steps, the sunflower began to shimmer in the air, and then disappeared as if it never existed.' - Should be 'as if it had never existed.'

'You know, she came to visit us. She danced among us, or just sat down and listened to us.' - This is direct quote (a sunflower talking) so it is not an error. Just so you know, in case you didn't, it is using incorrect English. The way it is worded, Sharon visited them once, and she either danced or sat down and listened, but not both. It should be 'You know, she used to come to visit us. She would dance among us, or just sit down and listen to us.' That is assuming you (and the sunflower) meant that she visited the garden more than once, and that sometimes she would dance and sometimes she would sit and listen.

'»Thank you,« she said, and turned what seemed to be west, following the sun.' - Again, frequently spoken this way but incorrect. Should be 'turned toward what seemed to be west'.

'The sun touched the horizon when Cassie finally came to a hill.' - Should be 'The sun had touched the horizon' or 'The sun was touching the horizon.'

'Cassie no longer doubted what caused them.' - Should be 'what was causing them' or 'what had been causing them'. The second form if she believed they were finished.

'If that happened when she was further up, she’d hurt herself. Maybe she died.' - Should be 'Maybe she'd die.' The way it is worded, she might already be dead .

'She’d heard of witches who died in a mindscape.' - Should be 'who'd died in a mindscape.'

'Luckily, her male body proved far stronger and fitter than her own would have been.' - Should be 'and more fit.' Fitter isn't a word.

'Cassie mumbled a spell and freed the desperation she’d siphoned off Timothy.' - Again, frequently spoken this way but incorrect. Should be 'off of Timothy.'

'she swung herself back on the ladder' - not technically incorrect, but ambiguous. On can mean from off the ladder to on the ladder, or moving from one place on the ladder to another place on the ladder. Might want to word it 'back onto the ladder,' which means more specifically from off the ladder to on the ladder.

'But Cassie climbed on.' - Also ambisuous, particularly since you were just talking about swinging on the ladder. Possibly use onward or upward or 'continued to climb' or 'kept climbing.' Certainly not an error, and a style I generally like. It's just a little ambiguous here.

'Still, it was almost as tall as Cassie, and too high to jump.' - Should be 'too high to jump over.' The way it is worded, it means the monster is too high for the monster to jump.

'The blade cut the blob like air, and now Cassie was looking at two separate mirror images.' - Should be 'and then' not 'and now.' Now is present tense, everything else s past tense.

'Now, her hair already started to smoke when she reached the top.' - Should be 'was already starting to smoke' or 'had already started to smoke.'

'»Mr. Hoffer«, the doctor said, having Cassie already forgotten,' - Should be 'already having forgotten Cassie' or preferably 'having already forgotten Cassie.' Unless you're Yoda .

A few technical typos, some grammatical issues, and some style issues for you to ponder. Yes, I realize my notes weren't themselves technically correct as I shortcut my own typing sometimes, and I hope that doesn't hurt you more than it helps. If you have any questions about any of this let me know. Re-reading this, I see more typos in my explanations than you made in your story ).[/sblock]

I started using Hellefire as a handle on BBSes in 1989, and have used it ever since. I have had to explain the extra 'e' many times, and due to it's use ended up spelling helle with the extra 'e' as well. Of course, it is an error, but one I use on purpose. I am not famous enough to warrant getting away with it, I imagine, but I'll continue to use it anyway as my own personal style .

Aaron


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## BSF (Jun 19, 2005)

Round 1, Match 3 4 pictures, 5000 words max, 72 hours from this mark.
yangnome vs RangerWickett vs Herreman the Wise 

Happy Father's Day to those of us that are fathers.  I am posting this before we go out to dinner.   72 hours to integrate these 4 pictures into your story.


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## yangnome (Jun 19, 2005)

ok.  Got a story idea, now to get writing.


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## Herremann the Wise (Jun 20, 2005)

Thanks BSF, excellent pictures once again - you're really getting the hang of this.   

Best of luck to yangnome and RangerWickett. See you guys in 72 hours.

Best Regards
Herremann the Wise


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## RangerWickett (Jun 20, 2005)

Oy, this will be tough. I've got to work faster. Good luck to my competitors.


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## Eeralai (Jun 20, 2005)

Hellefire said:
			
		

> Eeralai! Good to see you, and missing you in this cdm. I very much enjoyed reading your work last time. Thanks for the comments, and will reply to them after judgements are posted I think . Hope all is good with your move and your kids!
> 
> Aaron




Thanks!  I miss writing a lot, but it is fun to watch Ceramic DM from the sidelines.  Even if we weren't moving, I had planned on sitting this one out because I would not want to put BSF in the position of choosing the best story or domestic happiness 

I like reading everyone's commentary.  It's like an online writing workshop, but probably better.


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## Sialia (Jun 20, 2005)

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> Round 1, Match 3 4 pictures, 5000 words max, 72 hours from this mark. . . . 72 hours to integrate these 4 pictures into your story.




oooh that's a darn fine set!  me jealous.


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## BigTom (Jun 20, 2005)

Round One, Match Two, Big Tom's entry

Andor's Quest

             "Enough of your riddles, witch!  I came here for answers, not questions!”

	Andor was angry with the witch.  Not because she asked him riddles he could not solve, and not because she was slow in answering the questions he brought.  He knew from his lessons that magic moved at its own pace.  What angered Andor was the disrespect the witch showed him.  Andor did not have the crown, but he was the rightful heir.  Instead of speaking to him with respect, the witch mocked and chided him.  She taunted him as one would taunt a child.  Andor was only six months past the tests of manhood, but he had passed them.  He would have her respect, or he would have her head.  In the heat of the moment, he had stopped caring which it was.

	The witch smiled at him.  She had the look of one who kept a nasty secret and was about to delight in the pain its sharing caused.  Then she spoke, her ragged voice cracking from age.  “Youngling, if you come with foolish questions, I will give you foolish answers.  You deserve no more.  You have neither throne nor crown, and if you had prospects of gaining either you would not have come to me.”  The witch cackled in a low voice, then continued, pointing at him with the withered claw that was her hand.  “You want to know how to gain your father’s throne.  The answer is simple.  Kill your uncle and take it.  Except your Uncle is a man who has earned the respect and loyalty of many good fighting men, while you are a boy whose friends are unblooded.  So we both know the real answer to your question.  You can’t take your father’s crown or throne.  It is now beyond you.”

	Andor gritted his teeth and held his rage.  The throne and crown were rightfully his.  On the day of his father’s death, his Uncle had arrived with many men and spoken many lies to the elders.  In the end, they had given the crown and throne to his Uncle because they feared to do otherwise.  Andor thought bitterly about his situation.  He had been robbed, and could see the thief, yet he could not bring him to justice.  Andor breathed deeply, slowly gaining control of the rage.  He knew the witch spoke true.  Yet he could not give up so easily.  He would not be his father’s son if he abandoned his birthright so easily.  Finally, he composed himself enough to speak.  

	“You speak truly, witch.  I cannot fight my uncle and win.  If I could I would.  You know I come here to seek another way.  I am barely a man now, and my friends are unblooded.  But that will change in time.  Witch, I ask you, can you guide me so that my future will hold victory over my uncle?  Can you look into the future and tell me how I may defeat him and claim my birthright?”

	The witch stared at him for a long time, the look on her weathered face less amused.  He could tell she was studying him, but he could not tell what she might be looking for.  He felt uncomfortable under her ancient gaze, like a schoolboy caught doodling instead of writing.  Finally she broke the silence.  This time her voice was serious, if not respectful.

	“Mayhap there is a glimmer of hope in you, child.  You have at least started to find wisdom.  You talk of the future instead of the present.  Good.  Thinking of the future is the first step to finding answers.”  As the witch spoke, she casually picked up a glass sphere and began playing with it.  It seemed to dance across her fingers and along her hand.  Andor could not help but wonder if it moved by magic or simple dexterity.  He found it strangely distracting but struggled to continue to hear the witch’s words as she continued to talk.

	“Our futures are not set things, child.  The future is ever fluid and flows where it will.  All we can hope to do is read how the riverbeds lay and try to steer ourselves through the rapids.  One misstep and you surely drown.  Ride them out and you may have a long smooth journey.  The question now isn’t how to sink your Uncle’s boat, but where the rocks are.”

	Andor heard her words, but they were becoming faint things.  They seemed to echo at him from a distance.  What he saw was the sphere, dancing on her hand.  He saw nothing else.  Then he didn’t see the hand.  All he saw was the sphere dancing its hypnotic dance and the void.  Slowly his mind realized what had happened.  While she spoke, the witch had used her magic on him.  Without taking his eye off the sphere, he called out to the witch.  “What should I do here?  Where have you sent me?”  The reply seemed to echo at him from a thousand different places.  “Watch and learn boy.”  So Andor continued to watch the sphere dance.  Slowly, he began to see his reflection in the sphere.  He got a strange sense of himself staring at himself.  He saw himself, and then he saw himself seeing himself.  Slowly, the sphere began to reflect itself as it reflected him, and he saw more spheres, forming into a large, roiling sea of dancing orbs, each reflecting him in a slightly different way.   Then in each orb, he saw himself acting.  In some he fought his uncle, and he saw how he died.  In one his head was removed from his shoulders.  In another he lay on the ground, his guts hanging from his belly and crows picking his flesh before life left him.  Then he looked at the other spheres.  In some he fled.  In some he stayed and bowed to his uncle.  He kept looking until he saw one where he was old.  He lay on his deathbed as an old man, surrounded by men and women who loved him, with rings on his fingers and silk sheets.  He thought to himself that that was a fine thing.  He focused his entire mind on that one orb as it danced in the jumble, seeing how he might get to that place.  He couldn’t get everything, as the orb moved and changed too fast.  He did see enough to realize what he needed to do.  The witch had been right about the rapids.  Yet now he would need to steer at a bigger rock than any his Uncle would lay before him, and get around it.  If he could surmount that one great obstacle, he could have smooth sailing for an entire life.  With this realization, the spheres seemed to fall away and suddenly everything was light.

	Andor’s people lived a precarious existence.  They lived in a great village in a fertile valley.  Yet danger lurked, for beyond the valley were the mountains, and within the mountains dwelled many evil things.  Some a sword would kill.  Others laughed at the weapons of his people.  The people of the valley avoided the mountains as much as possible, and relied on the king and his men when something came down from the mountains to threaten them.  Thus it had been for as long as the people of the valley could remember.  Sometimes their kings won great victories and there was peace.  Sometimes the kings lost and a great price would be paid to the invaders, be it gold, food or children, and life would go on.  The one thing that was known of the enemy was that just as the valley had a king, so too did the mountain.  No one in the valley had seen this king, or knew what it was, but the creatures that invaded talked of their king and laid down their lives for him willingly.  The king of the mountain had never attacked the valley himself, and those who went to the mountains to destroy him did not return.  Yet Andor knew that he could destroy the king of the mountain.  For he had seen the future where he did.  If that future existed, then the chance of victory must also exist.  So he would follow that path and die or live well.

	Andor spoke of his vision and his plan to the witch, and she listened intently.  She did not interrupt him, and she showed neither approval nor scorn.  In the end, she offered him counsel.

	“Young Andor, son of Gilean, blood heir to the crown and throne, hear me well.  I would have you live and I would have you succeed, although neither is likely.  If you would succeed, know this.  The king of the mountain dwells in a cave in a great canyon.  If you would find this canyon, seek the echoes, for all voices on the mountain make their way to the king.  Once there, you will have to overcome his guardian and enter his cave.  There, you may confront the king of the mountain and if the fates favor you vanquish him.  Carry with you an extra days worth of food and water, for where you must go that which may seem fair to eat may prove most foul, and the water may be more deadly than a blade at your throat.  Hold forth your father’s blade that I may offer you my meager assistance.”  Andor held out the blade, and the witch began to chant.  Her hands began to glow with white fire, and the fire slowly spread from her hands to the blade.  In time the chanting ceased and the fire dissipated.  The witch looked at Andor, and he saw weariness in those old, shrunken eyes.  “Hear me one more time, boy.  My magic has gifted your blade with the ability to strike both men and monsters.  Even spirits will feel its sting.  But know that his gift can only last for three days.  After that, your blade will be naught to the spirits of the mountain and you will surely die at their hands.  If you would go, go now and do not look back.  Go with my blessings, and may the spirits of the fathers watch over you.”

	Andor left immediately.  Along the way was the homestead of his friend Gerd.  He stopped long enough to grab the supplies he needed and let Gerd know what he intended to do.  If he did not return, he wanted his friends to know his fate.  Armed with an extra skin of fresh water, an extra axe, and his father’s sword, Andor hugged his friend goodbye and continued towards the mountain.

	Andor walked all day and half of the night until he reached the base of the mountain.  He located a small cave at the base of the mountain and hid himself as best he could.  There he rested.  He awoke with the light of dawn.  Andor’s plan was simple.  He hoped to locate the canyon before night fell.  He would find a place to hide and rest, and assault it by the light of dawn.  His father had always told him that the creatures of the mountain scorned sunlight, and he hoped that was true.  He doubted that it would help him with the king, but it might give him an edge on whatever guarded the king.

	For most of the day, Andor climbed.  The high ground would offer the best vantage point for finding where he must go.  The climb was treacherous, for the mountain had many steep, rocky climbs.  Andor was young and agile, and he kept his footing.  At the end of the day he stood atop the mountain.  He looked over the valley as the sun set, its golden rays lighting up the cloudy sky with an incandescent display of gorgeous red and gold.  He could see the village and the land around it.  The sight filled him with a strange sense of sadness.  He knew this might be the last he would see of his home.  He looked all around, and although he could see much of the mountain, he did not see a canyon.  Tired and frustrated, he lay down beneath a boulder, hoping to remain hidden through the night.  With light fading, he thought all hope for finding the canyon and the cave today were gone.  He would have to hope to find it tomorrow before the magic in his blade faded.

	Andor hid until nightfall.  The light of the sun made it impossible to sleep, so he lay awake thinking of many things.  He thought most of his father.  His father had been strong and proud.  Andor had spent his life trying to live up to that image.  Now, in a strange way, he had both abandoned and vindicated it.  To give up the crown and throne would have made his father ashamed of him.  Yet to pursue the mountain king and remove that threat to the village was the noblest of all quests, and he was sure his father would have been proud of his bravery.  His father had been a good horseman, but when the colt panicked and rolled, his father could not get out of the saddle in time.  No man could have.  His father had been dead before anyone could reach him, his chest crushed and his heart broken.  That single moment had completely changed Andor’s life, and now very well might lead to his death as well.  As the last light slipped from the sky, Andor tried to sleep beneath the boulder, hoping to awake with fresh inspiration.

	Two hours after the light was gone from the sky, Andor was still unable to sleep.  He lay on his back, looking at the stars and praying to any god that would hear his plea.  The night was deathly quiet except for the occasional call of an owl, and the rare call of the wolves.  As Andor lay thinking, he heard another of the calls of father owl.  Then he realized he was hearing something else.  An echo.  The words of the witch came back to him then.  Follow the echo.  He waited.  The next time the owl called, he listed for the echo, and he could faintly hear where it came from.  After two more calls from father owl, he had a direction.  It was dark, and this was the dangerous time to travel in the mountains, but Andor knew time was against him.  The mountain was dark, but the moon and stars did shed some light.  Enough, he hoped, to guide his feet towards the echo.  Slowly, measuring each step, Andor began the long climb down towards the returning call of father owl.  It was painful to move this way.  Many times his ankle tried to twist away from him as soft gravel slid beneath his feet.  Sometimes, the ground sloped in an unexpected way, and Andor had to fight to keep his balance lest he tumble down the rock face of the mountain.  Yet, he persevered step after step, minute after minute, hour after hour.  Finally, he reached out with his foot and found nothing but air beneath it.  Taking time to let his eyes adjust under the pale moonlight, he saw that before him was a vast canyon.  Andor knew he could go no farther this night.  He covered himself in a thin blanket and covered the blanket with gravel to hide himself.  He knew it wouldn’t keep the hunters that tracked by smell away, but it was the best he could do.  Then he lay on the hard earth and slept a deep sleep.

	The light of dawn brought Andor awake, feeling strangely refreshed despite the night’s travails.  Now he could see what lay in front on him.  The canyon was deep, but not impossibly so.  Far below, the early rays of the sun glinted off of a small river that ran the length of the canyon.  The side was made of solid stone, rough in its surface and full of holes.  With caution and effort he worked his way down the cliff to the bottom of the canyon.  Andor followed the river, thinking that the king was likely to live farther along it.  It was Andor’s experience that rivers grew as they traveled, and he was sure the king would live near somewhere with a better waterway than the stream he saw.

	Andor walked until the mid day sun beat down on him.  He took a small lunch by the side of the river.  He desperately wanted to cool himself in the river, but caution prevailed.  Instead, he took time to observe the river.  Soon, he realized that no fish swam in the river.  The few things he saw move did not look like fish.  They did not look like anything he had seen, and did not look like things he wanted to see.  So Andor remained hot and uncomfortable, but stayed alive.  So it was for another hour until Andor came to a bend in the canyon and, beyond, heard a low growl.  He pressed himself against the wall of the canyon and slowly crept forward until he could see around the bend.  What he saw nearly made his heart stop.  For he was sure he had found the king’s guardian.

	What Andor saw could only have risen from the deepest pits of hell.  The creature was enormous, larger than the largest ox.  At least a dozen appendages seemed to hang from the grotesque, bloated body.  Several of these ended in heads, while others seemed to end in claws and a few in hands.  The heads seemed to writhe around, watching in all directions.  As Andor continued to watch, he could hear the creature talking to itself.  Each head had a unique voice, but none were pleasant and none quite human.  Some growled deeply, while others squeaked and piped like a poorly tuned flute.  Andor knew he could not simply charge such a creature and slay it.  He realized his only hope lay in trickery.  Quickly forming a plan, Andor took a deep breath, puffed up his chest, and boldly strode towards the creature.

	“Hail the court of the mountain king!  I am Andor, a wizard, and I come to offer my services!”

	All heads turned for a moment to observe Andor as he walked towards the creature.  Some watched him intently.  Others quickly went back to their routine, watching in all directions.  One that looked much like a wolf seemed to watch him the most intently, and Andor realized it also smelled his scent.  The wolf growled out “I smell only manling.  I scent no sorcery.”  A second head, this one looking like a mountain cat, purred in reply “Maybe not, but I don’t trust such decisions to your nose.  The king should make the decision.” A third head, that of a dragon, surged forward, roaring out “men are food unless the king says otherwise.  I am hungry and I would feast!”  The cat replied, “Your hunger is greater than your sense.  Be still!”  The cat and dragon growled and hissed at each other for a moment, then a small, serpentine head wound its way forward through the writhing mass. It hissed a command “Silence all of you.  I shall judge this one.  Speak to me manling, and speak well, or you will surely make excellent dining for my friends.”

	Andor quickly began talking.  “I am a wizard from the valley folk, recently come into my power.  The old witch saw me as a threat to her position and turned the villagers against me.  So I come here to this court, seeking revenge against those who wronged me.”
	“A likely story” hissed the snake head, “but we want proof.  Show us some sorcery and we will present you to the king.  Otherwise, dragon will slowly tear away your muscle while wolf savors your guts.  Show me something manling, if you would pass.”
	Andor spoke.  “Demon, I know you come from the deepest hells, so I know you have their power.  If you choose, you can be impervious to the touch of mortals.  Only a wizard could touch you then.  Make yourself so.  I will come forward and grab the wolf’s snout.  If I fail to hold it, you can strike me down.  If I grip it, my claim is true.  What say you?”
	The snake hissed back with what seemed to almost be a chuckle in its voice.  “Very well, manling.  But know this.  We can come from our world to yours in but a second.  If you fail, you will not be able to run from us before we can strike you true.  If your plan is to charge through us while we cannot be touched, let me assure you all you will offer us is a short game and a quick meal.  Come forward, manling, and show us your sorcery.”

	Andor walked forward with a quick, deliberate step.  He desperately hoped he was not betraying the fear that coursed through his body.  If he showed this thing fear, he had no doubt it would strike him down.  His only hope was for the thing to believe him enough to keep its word about being incorporeal.  So Andor strode directly to the wolves head.  As he expected, the dragon head looped behind him, ready for the snack it anticipated.  Andor reached out with his left hand towards the toothy snout of the wolf.  He hoped the creature didn’t notice his other hand quietly gripping the hilt of his sword. As his hand passed through the snout, his other hand drew the sword.  Leaning forward and falling through the wolf’s head, he brought the enchanted sword down with all of the force he could muster.  He felt the sword strike bone and the wolf’s eyes suddenly went blank.  The force of the blow cracked the thing's skull and it hung loosely from the body, blood pouring from the mouth.  Andor let himself fall to the ground and rolled to the side.  As he expected, the dragon head had rushed to strike and had grabbed at where he had been.  Andor drove his sword straight up, slicing open the long neck of the dragon.  A strange black ichor erupted from the wound, covering Andor.  Andor twisted the blade, then rolled away hard, pulling the sword with him.  The dragon head collapsed to the ground and he narrowly avoided being crushed by it.  Andor rose to one knee, sword ready, as the serpent head swept down on him.  Down, and then through him.  Andor had guessed correctly. The wolf and dragon had been ready to attack, the serpent had not.  Andor swung the blade hard against the neck of the serpent and cut through it, severing the head completely from the body. Andor retreated as the thing lurched around.  With the strongest heads slain, the rest could not control and guide the body.  Andor retreated, warding the remaining heads with his sword, and waited.  Soon the creature began to weaken from the blood loss.  Realizing its plight at last, the remaining heads joined together for the only action that made sense, and the creature fled down the cavern with a dozen different howls of pain and defiance.  Andor stood alone at the base of the cliff.  A single ladder led up the side of the cliff to a small opening.  Beyond was the hall of the mountain king.  Andor climbed.

	Andor expected to find many things beyond the door.  Guardians and beasts.  Great halls with massive thrones.  Strange dungeons full of the awfulness of hell.

	He found none of those things.  Instead, he found himself standing alone in a forest.  The cave mouth disappeared as soon as he entered it, and he stood alone in a great wood.  The sun seemed to be blotted out and it was almost too dark to see.  Yet when Andor drew his sword, it glowed with the magic on it.  Andor quietly raised the sword in a traditional salute and offered a silent prayer of thanks to whatever god had guided him here.   
	Andor took a moment to get his bearings, and in that moment, he realized something.  There was no wind in the forest.  There was no rustle of leaves, and there was no call of animals.  Instinctively, Andor knew this was a sorcerous place.  Again he had to trust his intuition, and his intuition said this was a magical trap that would spring soon.  Andor thought back to the village elders teaching on ensorcellments. The thought that stood out was how one defeated an illusion.  The elder had said a magical illusion would stand up to any visual test, but it could not truly defy the laws of physics.  So, Andor pulled his axe and hurled it at the nearest tree.  It stuck into the tree with a satisfying thunk.  Then Andor carefully stepped over to the tree to retrieve the axe. As he had thought, there had been no tree for the real axe to stick in, and his hand passed through the illusion.  As it did so, Andor could feel a tingling in his mind, and the forest simply faded away.  Andor turned just in time to see the thing that stalked him.  It was a huge, hulking brute, seven feet tall and vaguely human.  Yet its features seemed to be melted and twisted.  It wielded a huge, spiked club that it swung with great force.  Andor barely dodged the blow.  However, Andor also could tell that for all the creature’s strength, it was slow.  Andor was fast and Andor had steel.  He stalked the creature.  The creature continued to swing wildly, but Andor was able to dodge its massive, clumsy blows.  Finally, the creature overextended itself trying to reach Andor and Andor struck back, cutting a deep wound in the creature’s arm.  As the creature reared back in pain, Andor charged forward and stabbed with all of his might.  The blade cut deep into the thing’s ribs, and it fell back with a piteous howl and expired.

	Beyond the cave was another room, and Andor charged in.  This room was carved from the rock.  Several cushions lined the walls, and the floor was covered with exquisite tiling.  Sitting in the center of the room was a boy.  He looked to be about ten, and his face was a mask of fear and confusion.  
“Sir, have you slain the king?”  
Andor looked at the boy.  “Do you mean that thing in the other room?”  
“Yes sir.  That was the strongest of the men of the mountain, so they named it their king.  It made a compact with hell to gain power.” 
 “Yes, I have slain it.  Who are you?”  
“I am Arthuk.  We were captured by the mountain men some time ago.  The rest of my family is behind that door.  Please, sir knight, would you rescue them?”
  “Certainly, lad.  Take my hand now.  I don’t want you getting lost.”

	As Andor reached for the boy, the boy shrank away from him.  Andor knew this was a natural reaction for a boy who had been traumatized, but his senses had detected something amiss.  He didn’t know what, but suddenly his reflexes all seemed to scream that there was danger.  Andor took another, cautious step towards the boy, and the boy again slid back from him.  Now Andor knew.  Where the boy had been was hot.  Too hot.  In his heart, Andor realized this boy was no boy, at least not any longer.  For he also smelled the faint odor of brimstone now, and knew this innocent looking boy was really a demon.  Andor took a half step away as if acceding to the boy’s wishes, then drew his sword and whirled around, intent on surprising the demon.  The demon was fast and dodged the blow.  It rolled away from Andor and come to its feet.  When it spoke again, it was no longer the voice of a child, but the deep roaring of a mighty conflagration.  “Impudent mortal, you dare come to my hall to slay me!  You have been clever and you have been lucky, but neither of those things will avail you now.  I am hell, and hell will have you.”  With that, the child seemed to erupt into flame.  Its hair changed from curly blonde to curls of fire.  Its eyes glowed with the heat of a furnace. Bits of flame seemed to float from different parts of its body randomly.  Then, the creature rose into the air, floating above the ground in all its demonic splendor.  Soon, it was too high for Andor to reach with his sword, and Andor knew he was in deep trouble.  The creature laughed with a deep rumbling.  “Fool, your blade is nothing to me.  I am the fire of hell and now you will roast.”  The demon pointed at Andor and a gout of flame shot from his hand.  Andor threw himself to the side and narrowly avoided being engulfed, but he did feel the skin on his back singe from the heat.  There was no doubt in his mind that a direct strike would burn him alive.  Andor hurled his magical blade at the demon, hoping to run it through since he could not reach it.  The demon easily moved from the path of the blade, continuing its mocking laughter.  The blade clattered harmlessly to the ground behind the demon.  Again the demon pointed and again flame leapt at Andor.  Again he dodged and again he felt the sting of the heat.  He knew he could not keep this up much longer.  The heat was already taking its toll on him.  Desperate, he pulled his extra axe and hurled it at the demon.  Instead of dodging, the demon grabbed the axe in mid flight.  For a moment, the handle flashed red, and then was burned away.  The fire seemed to flow into the creature and it seemed somehow to enjoy the feeling.  The head of the axe clattered to the floor smoking from where the handle had been attached.  “Tasty, boy, but not as tasty as man flesh”.  For a third time the creature hurled its fire and Andor dodged.  This time, he rolled forward, towards the demon and towards his sword.  In a final effort, he pulled his spare waterskin and hurled it at the demon.  The demon caught it and it was engulfed in flame.  Then the skin broke open and water struck the demon.  The water exploded into steam and the creature screamed. The light in the room noticeable dimmed as the demon’s fire momentarily faltered.  The demon plunged to the floor.  Andor did not take time to look, as he was already running for the sword.  He swiped it up in one hand and turned, using the turn to both propel himself forward and bring the blade around fast.  The blade struck true and the demon was cut in two.  The awful thing seemed to simply melt into the rock, leaving a scorch mark to show its passing.  In his heart, Andor knew the mountain king was dead.


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## Berandor (Jun 20, 2005)

Hellefire: Thanks! A few of these I was not sure of, and chose the wrong option, one or two I'm not so clear about (I'll get back to them when I'm home), but all very helpful! Thank you for the work of writing it up!

BigTom: More details later, but I like it


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## Bibliophile (Jun 20, 2005)

*Round 1, Match 2- Biblophile's Entry*

Grandmother note:  there's some light language that was absolutely necessary from a story perspective, and significant religious elements.  Read only if you won't get offended (unless you're a judge, then I'll feel honored to have extracted such an emotional response :-D )

In any case, I'm attaching it as a .pdf document because I couldn't get the formatting quite right with BBcode.  Sorry if this causes any undue hardship.  (I'll also attach it as a word document in case anyone can't read a .pdf file.

Now, without further ado I present:

*Saint Michael the Immortal
By: Bibliophile*


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## Berandor (Jun 20, 2005)

It does look nice as a PDF file.

Nice story, Bibliophile (may I call you Bib? ). Details when I'm home.


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## BSF (Jun 20, 2005)

I will have to take a look at it, but we generally frown on formatting for Ceramic DM.  We really want the contest to focus on content of a story as oppossed to layout and presentation.  So long as your PDf is pretty much straight text we should be good.


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## Berandor (Jun 20, 2005)

It's also good the file was attached, so it can't be edited even after posting. 

Not that I would ever think of such a thing


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## Macbeth (Jun 20, 2005)

I just sent in my critique (and judgement, should it be needed) for the first round. Hope what insight I can give proves to be helpful. 

I'll start reading the other stories that have been posted so far in a little bit. I want to thank all the authors so far for some really cool stories that I have greatly enjoyed reading.


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## FireLance (Jun 20, 2005)

Okay, finally managed to sit down and read through all the stories. Thanks to Hellefire and Berandor for commenting on mine. My own comments on the stories for Round 1.1 and 1.2 follow.

[sblock]*Round 1.1*

Hellefire: The Trip
I thought the premise of the story was very creative, even if it was rather difficult to follow. There were a couple of things that bugged me about it though. One was the idea that water fairies could be killed by fire - it just seems such a mundane way for magical creatures to die. Maybe they should have been killed by fire fairies, or something. As a secondary thought, it must mean that fire fairies are very short-lived. Where do they go when the fire is put out? The other was the tiger picture, which was referenced without really describing it. It was a mistake I made in my first CDM competition. Describing it as "a large, white, cat-shaped monster" instead of "something large" would have been better, I think.

Speaker: The Lady For The Tiger
I think I "got" the story on the first reading, althought it seems to have confused a couple of prior commentators. The man and woman seemed to be wizards out to save the last white tiger from being killed. The man linked minds with the white tiger to monitor its situation, the woman polymorphed into an identical white tiger, and just as the shot was fired, they froze time, the woman-turned-tiger switched places with the "real" tiger, and was killed in its place. The man and tiger then teleported out. I thought it was a great story, and the way the two separate but linked narratives wound through each other was an excellent stylistic technique. The pictures of the ash and the sunset (I assume it should have been referenced towards the end?) were evocative, but somehow didn't seem significant enough to warrant illustration. However, that could just be my own bias towards writing for CDM: I try to ensure that the pictures illustrate important story elements - a major character, an important object, or a significant scene.

FireLance: Judgement
Yes, it is a short story. Writing well takes a great deal of time and effort for me, and it is one of the reasons why I participate in CDM - to hone my ability to write well under time pressure. I was aiming for a folk tale feel, and from Berandor's comments, I seem to have succeeded to some degree. However, I think elements that seemed more like an action story narrative crept in, as well as several instances of telling, instead of showing. I definitely need to remove the rust on the old writing skills. Ah well, there's always the Summer round. 

*Round 1.2*

Berandor: Disillusionment
A good story, with a sad ending. You made me care about Sharon and I was really disappointed that she didn't pull through, so - good work. Only one quibble - I thought it might have been possible to foreshadow Zephyr's displeasure by making the wind somehow responsible for her discovery or failure. Perhaps she was discovered because an errant breeze blew a document that the doctor was holding into the room, and he came in after it, or a gale blew down the power cables leading to the hospital, and Sharon died before the emergency power could be activated.

BigTom: Andor's Quest
The story reads like a typical sword-and-sorcery narrative, and the use of the reflective bubbles to see the multiplicity of possible futures is an interesting idea. I thought the story ended rather abruptly, but that is common in CDM because of the time pressure. I also felt that the story got off to a slow start, and there was quite a bit of background that never actually got used (the whole bit about Andor being heir to the throne, for example). Cutting it out or summarizing it would have made the story flow better and made the narrative tighter, in my opinion.

Bibliophile: Saint Michael The Immortal
A really funny story.  The use of the cave ladder seemed rather weak, though, as it doesn't really play a significant role in the story, but otherwise, I liked it a lot. [/sblock]


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## Berandor (Jun 20, 2005)

Firelance, thank you for your comments. Your idea re: Zephyr is great! If I revisit the story, I'll definitely include something like it.

Hellefire, two things I'm not clear about:
[sblock]


> 'After a prayer to Zephyr, the west wind, Cassie had invoked the soul-joining spell. It had worked, so Sharon’s soul had not yet departed.' - Should be using past simple tense instead of past perfect. Generally perfect tenses are used to emphasize that one activity is completed, which leads to or explains another activity.



Since we're already in the mindscape, this whole paragraph has already happened. It's probably an awkward style, but is it still wrong then? 



> 'Cassie transported herself into Sharon’s mindscape. That was the good news.' - I would add something positive to this to emphasize it is good news.



The "good news" is that Sharon isn't gone yet. Cassie having transported herself to the mindscape is just a part of that thought. Or would: "...so Sharon's sould hadn't departed yet. That was the good news. Cassie had transported herself to Sharon's mindscape." be better? 



> 'When the spell had taken effect, Cassie had found herself in this darkness, unable to see her hand before her eyes.' - Back to the past perfect thing.



See above  it's already happened.[/sblock]
But as I said, very helpful! Thanks.

Now, I head to the new stories with some trepidation. I have my own ideas about the pictures, naturally, and I am quite aware of some of my story's flaws, so your stories are at once at a disadvantage and an advantage  Still, it feels a little awkward.

*BigTom, Andor's Quest*
[sblock]I really enjoyed the tapestry you weave in your story. The world you describe seems logical and cohesive, and your protagonist was believable. While I enjoyed the general story, some details seemed a little off. In the first part, we get a lot of exposition we don't really need for the story (such as how the old king died). I also wasn't too sure how to classify Andor: Is he a young man (or still a boy)m or an experienced fighter? Is he inexperienced, or does he have a lot of knowledge about demons (like their etheral jaunting). And what was the mountain king's plan in luring Andor to the next room? These are just minor details however. What I mostly missed was a resolution. The story ended very abruptly. What would the mountain tribes do now? How would killing the king help Andor with his quest for the crown? You could say I wanted more, which is always a good sign. But the story seemed like "part 1" to me, similar to when Sam and Frodo stood above Mordor at the end of "Fellowship of the Ring". But I still enjoyed reading the story and its atmosphere.
_The Pictures_
I must admit I have a penchant for literal picture use. It's a flaw of mine, since I haven't noticed anyone being told off for liberal interpretations, but that's why both of your "trampoline" pics really surprised me 
Overall, I thought your pictures were fine. The "caleidoscope" pic was a nice touch, with the possible futures swirling in front of Andor. A very cool idea. The "ladder" pic and the "knight" pic were alright, but compared to the valley and the guardians, they weren't too important to the story. I know I struggled with this, as well (that's why the earth shakes and almost knocks Cassie off the ladder). The "trampoline" pic was a liberal use (see above), but I found it very fitting. Funny how all three of us focused on the blur as flames 
[/sblock]

*Bibliophile (Bib), Saint Michael the Immortal*
[sblock]
This story really threw me for a loop, which is aways a good thing. I didn't notice any offensive words, but I must admit it bordered on being too irreverent to me. Otherwise, I really enjoyed Michael's travels and travails. The "Indian" part rang a little strange to me, too, but like me, you changed settings to fit each picture. By having your protagonist be an immortal angel, these changes are allowed, however, so you get away with it (hopefully I do, too).
_The Pictures_
I must admit I have a penchant for literal picture use. It's a flaw of mine, since I haven't noticed anyone being told off for liberal interpretations, but that's why both of your "trampoline" pics really surprised me 
Having the "caleidoscope" be Michael's drugged vision was a great idea. I almost laughed out loud, and I read this at work, so well done. The "ladder" wasn't too important, I thought, especially with the strange situation of Christian Native Americans. The "knight" was funny, as well, especially with the previous talk about dragonblood. The "trampoline" pic was a liberal use (see above), but I found it very fitting. Funny how all three of us focused on the blur as flames 
[/sblock]

All in all, while I was quite satisfied with how my story turned out, both of your entries made me worry about my win. Now I hope at least one judge will vote for me.


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## Bibliophile (Jun 20, 2005)

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> I will have to take a look at it, but we generally frown on formatting for Ceramic DM.  We really want the contest to focus on content of a story as oppossed to layout and presentation.  So long as your PDf is pretty much straight text we should be good.




The file is straight text, some italics, some bold, some underline, but all within reason.  Some of the text is in red as well, but again, within reason, and with a definite story reason.


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## BSF (Jun 20, 2005)

Bibliophile said:
			
		

> The file is straight text, some italics, some bold, some underline, but all within reason.  Some of the text is in red as well, but again, within reason, and with a definite story reason.




I will probably treat it like all the other stories.  Specifically, I will copy/paste the text into a text editor for my initial read through.  After my initial readthrough, I start analyzing the story and looking for where the pictures are used.  Sometimes that means I have to go back to the post and look for links, many times I do not.


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## Macbeth (Jun 20, 2005)

Unless Italics, Underlines, bold, and red color are preserved in your copy/paste, you'll have a hard time reading it, since there are many places where the formatting is the only thing that distinguishes one characetr from another. Granted, all of these are things that could have been done in a post, it just would have taken a while.


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## Berandor (Jun 20, 2005)

Wouldn't it be enough to open the word file?


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## Macbeth (Jun 20, 2005)

Berandor is right... if you really don't want the PDF, just use the text file. I read it from the PDF and I think it worked well there, and that there wasn't anything that deserved disqualification. the formatting is nothing beyond what could be done on the boards, it's just done more easily in these formats. I'd recommend reading it without copying/pasting. And it is in PDF, so it should be readable anywhere, any OS.


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## Hellefire (Jun 20, 2005)

Berandor:

[sblock]
Quote:
'Cassie transported herself into Sharon’s mindscape. That was the good news.' - I would add something positive to this to emphasize it is good news. 

The "good news" is that Sharon isn't gone yet. Cassie having transported herself to the mindscape is just a part of that thought. Or would: "...so Sharon's sould hadn't departed yet. That was the good news. Cassie had transported herself to Sharon's mindscape." be better? 


My main problem with it was the lack of clarity on which part was the good news. With a VERY simple sentence, you can avoid specifying what you are refering to as 'good'. For example: 'I passed my exam. That was the good news.' Now even some simple sentences can be confusing, for example: 'I ate a warm breakfast this morning. That was the good news.' Is it good that you ate breakfast, or that you ate it in the morning, or that it was watm, or some combination thereof? If there was information around that sentence refering to eating cold food all the time or not eating much lately or never having time to eat breakfast in the morning, then it would be more clear. In the specific case of your story, I wasn't sure if it was Cassie's ability to transport in general, or her ability to transport into Sharon's mindscape specifically that was good, and why (is there a chance of transporting somewhere else on accident?). The 'good; part was refering to Sharon's mind still being there to have a mindscape. I would add something to make that more clear. 'If there is a mindscape, there must be a mind.' or 'Her soul must still be here.' or even just add 'was able to,' in order to emphasize that the good part came from the possibility that she might not be able to. I think adding why is a good idea too, in a lot of cases. Letting the reader figure that out for themselves is a good thing as well, but I missed the connotation myself until you explained it. Maybe just my sleep-deprived mind though .


Quote:
'After a prayer to Zephyr, the west wind, Cassie had invoked the soul-joining spell. It had worked, so Sharon’s soul had not yet departed.' - Should be using past simple tense instead of past perfect. Generally perfect tenses are used to emphasize that one activity is completed, which leads to or explains another activity. 

Since we're already in the mindscape, this whole paragraph has already happened. It's probably an awkward style, but is it still wrong then? 


Quote:
'When the spell had taken effect, Cassie had found herself in this darkness, unable to see her hand before her eyes.' - Back to the past perfect thing. 

See above  it's already happened. 
Past perfect is used to show that an activity is completed. It is generally used for timing. It is only necessary to use when emphasizing the time of something else happening, or emphasizing the completion of an activity. In all cases it must be accompanied by another activity or event that occurs afterward the completed activity (that's a rule part). When emphasizing, you should stick to emphasizing one thing at a time (that's a style thing). For example (about emphasizing, not about past perfect): That guy is amazingly strong as I found out in an extremely funny way. This is technically correct. However, most people won't be sure if you are trying to point out how strong the guy was or how you found out about it. Even if they can deduce from your next sentence which you were trying to emphasize more, you still end up sounding like an 8 year-old on crack. Now back to past perfect.

'After a prayer to Zephyr, the west wind, Cassie had invoked the soul-joining spell. It had worked, so Sharon’s soul had not yet departed.'

The first sentence is technically incorrect, because the clause holding the past perfect-tensed verb must be followed by another activity or event. In this case the prayer happens prior to the invoking. It could be 'After a prayer to Zephyr, the west wind, Cassie invoked the soul-joining spell.' This simply shows a sequence of events. Or, it could be 'After she had said a prayer to Zephyr, the west wind, Cassie invoked the soul-joining spell.' This shows a sequence of events and emphasizes the fact that Cassie said the prayer first (emphasizing that she felt the prayer was needed and must be completed to perform the second action).

The second sentence is also technically incorrect, for the same reason. In addition, it tries to emphasize two different events, which is very bad form (and may also be technically incorrect, though I'm not sure). It should be 'It worked, so Sharon’s soul had not yet departed.' This shows that it working was a direct result of Sharon's soul still being present.

'When the spell had taken effect, Cassie had found herself in this darkness, unable to see her hand before her eyes.' 

Same as second sentence above. If it had been written 'When the spell had taken effect, Cassie had found herself in this darkness, and was unable to see her hand before her eyes.', it would still be incorrect from a style standpoint, but at least the second instance of past perfect would be followed by an affected result. It should be something like 'When the spell had taken effect, Cassie found herself in this darkness, and was unable to see her hand before her eyes.' or 'The spell took effect. Cassie found herself in this darkness, unable to see her hand before her eyes.' or even 'When the spell had taken effect, Cassie found herself in this darkness, unable to see her hand before her eyes.' Do NOT use two past perfect clauses in the same sentence unless they are at an even level (both happening simultaneously or independent of each other) and with a result that depends on both happening/being completed. For example: 'After I had finished my homework and Amanda had eaten dinner, we met for a movie.' There is a little leeway here, for example: 'After I had cooked and my wife had eaten we went to the party.' Obviously the cooking must have happened before the eating, but I am not emphasizing that my wife ate after I cooked and that we went to the party after she ate. I am emphasizing that after I cooked and she ate, then we went to the party. Does that make sense?

Hope this helps! I'll try to look up some different books which state 'official' rules, but don't time me on it. I already have a billion things to do.
[/sblock]

I hope that when my gf and baby and I get back to Poland, we can make a road trip sometime (or you can) and we can get together for a pint!

Aaron


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jun 20, 2005)

Judgement for Firelance/Hellefire/Speaker sent.


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## BSF (Jun 20, 2005)

Actually, using any formatting to differentiate between characters is part of my concern.  

Winter 2004 (January) Ceramic DM is the first use of a PDF for posting.  (Other notable trivia - first contest with a poem submitted, and Sialia wrote a trilogy and won.)  

If you look back through there, Sialia asked if there were any issues using a PDF.  Mythago, the organizer for that contest, was fine with a PDF so long as it was straight text.  Basically, it is OK to encapsulate the story in a PDF as a readable format for convenience.  

As I was Sialia's competitor at the time, I remember it well.    I personally did not object as I was confident that the judges would weigh the judgements based on content.  I need to assure that I give the other competitors a fair shake.  Even using colors in bbcode is not easy for everyone.  So I would still copy/paste as I do with all the stories so I can have the same 'quality' readthrough. 

It's nothing personal.  But it is a judging critieria I feel I need to follow through on.  If all the stories are equal in quality/enjoyment, then ease of readability becomes an issue.  It shouldn't be a big deal overall though


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## Bibliophile (Jun 20, 2005)

Sorry for it to have caused this much fuss.  I would have done without the formatting, and found another way to achieve the same ends if I knew it would be such a big deal, I just thought that the bold/italics/etc provided an effect in differentiating the dialogue that was very fitting for the story.

I think the bold/italics/underline should copy over to text editors, unless you're using notepad or somesuch.  The only thing  that wouldn't is the red color of several lines near the end.


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## BSF (Jun 21, 2005)

Bibliophile said:
			
		

> Sorry for it to have caused this much fuss.  I would have done without the formatting, and found another way to achieve the same ends if I knew it would be such a big deal, I just thought that the bold/italics/etc provided an effect in differentiating the dialogue that was very fitting for the story.
> 
> I think the bold/italics/underline should copy over to text editors, unless you're using notepad or somesuch.  The only thing  that wouldn't is the red color of several lines near the end.




Oh, don't worry about it causing a fuss.  If it makes the story easier and more enjoyable to read, that's great.  But one of the points we have always tried to reiterate is that formatting doesn't count for or against you.  As a judge, I have to worry about that aspect.  Especially since I have reiterated it in one form or another several times.

My preferred editor at the moment is Crimson Editor.  It has a lot of the features of UltraEdit for a lot less of the price.    Notepad works, but I like having the multiple tabs to switch between documents.


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## tadk (Jun 21, 2005)

*My First Ceramic DM posting*

Hello All,

Congrats to all participating. I plan to read the entries after I post this
Using the images in the first series, I started it Thursday, was out of town Friday to Sunday, finished it today. So only 2 days of writing time, just not within the limits.

If anyone would like to critique it, see if I am worthy to talk to you all, here is a link to it posted on the Kiln Fired Thread

http://www.enworld.org/forums/showpost.php?p=2344957&postcount=68

I could not figure out, swiftly, the way to link the images in. So rough as far as posting where the images go at. Hopefully you all can figure that out.
Hope that works. I do plan to work on it a bit more this week, wanted to post it, and then share it farther afield in addition..

Time to start reading
Tad


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## BSF (Jun 21, 2005)

Welcome back Tad!  Now go back and read all the stories that were posted.


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## BigTom (Jun 21, 2005)

Berandor,  thanks for your commentary.  My reply is in the spoiler box.

[sblock]
Andor is 17, not quite a boy and not fully grown into manhood.  I wanted him right on the cusp, as this is his real passage into manhood.  You are right though, more descriptives were needed.
The king luring him into the next room was an editing gaffe.  What was supposed to happen was that the next room had an illusionary floor.  Since the king could float, he could cross it.  Seeing the trap was what was supposed to alert Andor.  However, time ran short and I did this way to fast.
You are also right about the abrupt ending.  I do have an epilogue to the story, and will post it after judgements.  At 3am when I was finishing writing, I realized I was still over 5000 words.  Losing the epilogue cut it down just enough, and at that point seemed like the best solution.
My real problem was, the story was really about 7000 words long and I crammed it into 5000 words for the contest.
[/sblock]


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## Berandor (Jun 21, 2005)

BigTom: That makes sense. [sblock]I didn't count the words, of course, or it would have been clear what happened  I'm looking forward to reading the epilogue.[/sblock]

Hellefire: Thanks again! You put a lot of work into your comments, and I'll try not to make similar mistakes again. Very, very helpful!

tadk: I'll read the story now, but comments will come tonight sometime probably.

By the way, I dreamt the judgements had been posted. Talk about addicted.


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## Eeralai (Jun 21, 2005)

*chit chat*

Disillusionment:  I read Berandor's story Sunday night (I'm trying to read one from each set of pics) and had a few comments to offer:

[sblock]  I think my comments are going to sound more like someone reading it for a book club rather than from a writer.  I always like your writing style and have said before how amazed I am that English is a second language to you and not your first.  I so wanted this story to end on a happier note.  Maybe it was because I still hadn't gotten over the ending for Hellefire's story, but I think there was a little more to it than that, and I finally figured out what that was while packing up some more boxes.

No one else has commented on the Alice and Wonderland similarities, so maybe I am way off base here.  But when she delves into Sharon's mind, she sees Sharon as a little girl who has cried a river of tears, like Alice, and runs into the two sunflowers that seem very much like Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum from Alice.  Their banter does that is.  So I think this scene led me to believe that she was going to wake up, just as Alice had.  It's your story to write as you want, I am merely making an observation.

The story pulled me in though, because it was all about mind scapes and souls and those are some of my favorite topics.  As with Hellefire's story, I can't say that I enjoyed it, but I definitely wanted to read more, and was pulled right along by it.  Thanks for sharing it!  [/sblock]


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## Berandor (Jun 21, 2005)

[sblock]







> I think my comments are going to sound more like someone reading it for a book club rather than from a writer.  I always like your writing style and have said before how amazed I am that English is a second language to you and not your first.



Thank you. And "book club" is fine; if my writings were talked about in a book club I'd be supercalifragilisticexpialidocus!


> No one else has commented on the Alice and Wonderland similarities, so maybe I am way off base here.  But when she delves into Sharon's mind, she sees Sharon as a little girl who has cried a river of tears, like Alice, and runs into the two sunflowers that seem very much like Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum from Alice.  Their banter does that is.  So I think this scene led me to believe that she was going to wake up, just as Alice had.  It's your story to write as you want, I am merely making an observation.



Wow. I haven't picked up on that analogy, but it's there. Cool! Your expectations were correct, even though I should have made it more clear (a definite flaw of my story). Only it's Cassie who wakes up, who gets disillusioned. I wanted to put it in the story, at least, but I'm not sure it's actually there.



> The story pulled me in though, because it was all about mind scapes and souls and those are some of my favorite topics.  As with Hellefire's story, I can't say that I enjoyed it, but I definitely wanted to read more, and was pulled right along by it.  Thanks for sharing it!



Thanks for commenting on it. I'm not one for sweet endings, I must admit, more for bittersweet ones (or in this case, bitter). If I advance, and if I choose to continue Cassie's story, I hope she'll have at least a bittersweet finish.[/sblock]
And now nudge your husband a little, so the judgements get underway


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## BSF (Jun 21, 2005)

I am almost there Berendor.  I just finished the basic writeup for Firelance's story.  Now I need to wrap it all up and consolidate with the other judges.  But it is very late for me and I am tired.  I would rather make you wait for now.  Otherwise I may make a mistake somewhere.  Better to have a bit more patience.


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## Berandor (Jun 21, 2005)

Pfft. Mistakes! It's not my round, so mistake away 

No problem. I was just kidding, anyway. The real begging for judgement will come later


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## Berandor (Jun 21, 2005)

tadk, I read your story. Remember that English is not my first language, and read on if you will 

[sblock]
I'd call your story a typical "first round"-story. People haven't yet adapted to Ceramic DM's time requirement, and some things get rushed. There's a lot of good here, but also some bad. First off, it's confusing. You mix up the tenses and use pronouns that have no correlation in the narrative. When you introduce a character without descirption simply as "he" or "she", I have nothing to hold on to. Who are we talking about? There were one or two instances where you even talk about a group of people and then continue with "she", and not "them". Clarity is extremely important in a story.
Second, you use a lot of metaphors and similes, as well as other evocative vocabulary. That's not bad in itself; for me, it became too much to compute. It's just sensory overload. Imo you need a few simple sentences in there to tell me what's actually going on. Or some dialogue to break the spell.
That said, each paragraph in itself was tremendously enjoyable and atmospheric. I just couldn't get through the whole story at once. And I'm not sure what exactly happened, but that might be me (remember the second language thing). I also didn't recognize what happened in speaker's story. In any case, thanks for sharing  And let me reiterate that I really, really enjoyed the "steampunk"/"cyberpunk" atmosphere here.
_pictures_
*Aaargh! I looked for the wrong pics! See my apology later on!*
I can't really place all the pictures into the story. In the actual contest, if you have problems with links, try something else to denote a picture. For example "Henry stepped on a snail (snail pic)." Or "Henry picked on a snail (1)" with a foot note explaining "(1)=snail pic". Or even just a foot note: "snail pic: Henry stepping on a snail."
I noticed the tiger was used in the hunting sequence, and I guess it was a robot tiger controlled by the doctor, but I'm not sure. As I said, the plot or your story remains a little foggy to me.
[/sblock]
I hope that helps.


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## Macbeth (Jun 21, 2005)

Judgement Sent for Match 2, the B round. 

Now I need to go get me some food...


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jun 21, 2005)

Judgement submitted for Round 1, Match 2.


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## BSF (Jun 21, 2005)

Food?  Yeah that would be good.  I brought my laptop to work today and I plan on finishing up the judgements during lunch.  

Soon, yes very soon.  (I  hope!)


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## Hellefire (Jun 21, 2005)

/turning blue

Took the day off. Refresh key wearing out 

Aaron


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## BSF (Jun 21, 2005)

Judgement - Round 1, Match 1 Ceramic DM Spring 2005
Firelance vs Speaker vs Hellefire

It's judgement time folks.  Thank you for your patience.  Now that this is posted, you can posted unspoilered comments on these stories.  In facgt, if you wish, you can remove previous spoiler tags.

*Maldur*
It always amazes me that the stories for one set pictures, eventhough they have great variety, always have a odd similarity. This is most obvious in theme, so either all stories are fantasy, or all are mysterie, or all are detectives. This time its the same, all three stories are mysterious, what I call "new age-y" stories, and all three leave me confused, as to what was actually told.

Firelance: a nice short story, the "flow" of the story started a bit rough, but smoothed out at the end.

Hellefire: This story was the most confusing of the three. When are these the people on the beach, when are they "elementals", what are they anyway, how do these stories relate, and why the thelma and louise ending?

Speaker: powerfull story, it had an odd "jumping back and forth". It gave a very abrubt feel to the story, and it gave the impression of something very profound, but I am slightly confused as to what is was profound about.

Obviously, the tiger pic made the biggest impression on me, and I noticed that in at least two of the stories that was also the case. still for this round I can only conclude by being confused (Im starting to sound like a broken record )

But who gets my vote: 
[sblock]Speaker, Im not exactly sure why, but that story made the biggest impression on me.[/sblock]

*Rodrigo Istalindir*
Firelance - "Judgement"

Firelance's "Judgement" is a solid, although brief, entry.  From a mechanical standpoint, it is pretty well-written.  The prose is workmanlike, effective without being overly verbose.  There are a some odd word choices, such as "he deduced that the snow demon clawed him."  With 'deduced' you are usually implying some Holmesian thought process, whereas the protagonist obviously knew that the snow demon had clawed him.   There are also a few awkward sentences, such as  "He landed heavily on the ground, and his right hand, which he had tried to pick up one of the stones with, glowed red and felt unnaturally warm."  Instead, "He landed heavily, his right hand glowing red and feeling unnaturally warm" would accomplish the same thing.  In this case, it is safe to assume the reader understands that he lands on the ground, and can surmise that the hand that is glowing is the hand that touched the Warding Flame.  

Overall, the story feels somewhat perfunctory.   In the rush to make sure that the pictures are woven into the story, the setting and the details suffer.   Specifics such as the name of one of Thogar's loved ones, or even the name of his village,  would add some depth.  Having Thogar know a legend about the village of Salesh would help establish a link between Thogar's people and the Saleshi.   Instead of becoming involved in the setting, I found myself noticing wondering how his leg healed in a day, or why he didn't bother to even ask if he could have a piece of the Warding Flame before trying to take it.

The picture use is a mixed bag.  The white tiger as a Snow Demon was good, especially since it worked in the pouncing motion.  The burning coals as a magical talisman to keep out the cold also works, and is essential to the story.  The oracle is not quite as good, since pretty much any picture of a woman could have been used there.  Those kinds of generic pictures are always tough in Ceramic DM though.  The sunset on the shoreline is also kind of a throw-away, included purely for its descriptive value instead of advancing the plot.

There is the basis of a good story here, almost Howard-esque, but it really needs  fleshing out to add some sense of plot and character developement.  Just another thousand words, maybe  -- Thogar trying to acquire the stone by other means, some background on the world, and little more dialog with the Oracle.  

Hellefire - "The Trip"

An interesting, almost psychedelic story.  The beginning is mysterious, enigmatic, and it works pretty well, although I think it goes a smidge too long.  Unconventional, but it has a Sunset Boulevard vibe that grabs you.  The prose is very well done, evocative without being obvious.   Good use of details to set the stage, from the name of the lake to the brand of cigarettes.  The author also manages to breathe some life into the elementals' worlds in a few brief interludes. 

A little more clarity would have been nice, however.  The surreal mood of the story had me thinking that maybe I'd had a couple of those 'shrooms, too.  The ending fits the setup, the symmetry of the collisions (fire/water/air) and (metal/flesh)  is cool, but the way the story gets there is a little disjointed and forced.  

The picture isn't terribly well integrated with the story.  The sunset picture is the best, capturing the psychadelic trip of the young couple at the lake.   The shapechanging sprite who appears as a ferocious tiger to startle her friends is an example of including a scene to justify the picture, instead of using the picture to drive the story.  The coals in the campsite fire also promise more than they deliver.  The picture of the woman seems terribly out of place at first, although it makes more sense once you've worked to the end of the story.  

An interesting story, nonetheless, and a solid Ceramic DM entry.

Speaker - "The Lady for the Tiger"

Much like "The Trip", "The Lady for the Tiger" flips between differing viewpoints, this time between that of two far off observers and a tiger being hunted.  There is some nice imagery and word usage in this story.  The parts detailing the tiger hunt are well done, and the stream-of-consciousness style imparts the urgency that the tiger must feel.

The style is also the story's biggest shortcoming, though.  Stream of consciousness is best used sparingly.  Here, its effectiveness is weakened through overuse.  It also leads to repitition -- "now the tiger breaks free", "now the hunters load the carcass', "now he will manage to feed his family", etc.  What in small doses would have been breakneck pacing just seems tiring by the end instead of exciting.

The picture use is pretty good, including the best use in this matchup of both the woman and the tiger.  The merging of the veil with the tiger stripes was especially well done, and both are integral to the story.  The fire and sunset aren't used as well.  The sunset is a throw-away in the last sentence, and while there is some attempt to match the dying embers with the dying tiger, the setup could have been better.

It's very nice to get three very different stories.  All the participants are to be congratulated.  These were not easy pictures to work with -- nothing really meaty other than the tiger to hang a story on.  Whoever moves on should be wary, though, as the images will get more bizzarre and disjointed, and picture use will count more heavily.  

[sblock]Each author not only told a different story, the styles and approaches were different as well.  Still, the essence of Ceramic DM is the pictures, and while all three stories had some highs and lows, the way Speaker managed to tie the picture of the veiled woman with the tiger gives him the edge.  A difficult choice.  Judgement:  Speaker.[/sblock]

*BardStephenFox*

Hellefire - The Trip

Wow, what can I say?

We have a journey here. Actualy we have several journeys.  They begin as disparate threads and they tie together at the end.  I am not quite sure what to say about the journeys though.  This is the type of story that will stay with me a while, allowing me to think about it and contemplate it.  That is a good thing.  

Fiction has that flexibility of allowing you to think about things while feeling safe and snug in your life.  Fiction gives us permission to journey outside of ourselves and consider other ideas, new concepts and to see the world through the different viewpoints of characters and even authors.  Fiction might even give us permission to find ways to change ourselves.  Is that what this story is trying to do?  Did I 'get it'?  

Maybe.  I suppose Hellefire might be able to answer that a little better based on his intentions writing the story.  

The style of the story is clever.  We jump between different character viewpoints and dialogue.  But I found it hard to really keep track of the characters.  The transitions were, perhaps, a little too abrupt?  Or it might have been that there were too many characters?  It might have also just been the constraints of the Ceramic DM in which Hellefire didn't have enough time to really invest the characters deeply enough to grab me. I would have liked to have felt more empathy with Jim and Jem.  These are two characters I would have really enjoyed knowing.  I would have also liked to have felt what the faeries were feeling throughout the story.  As it is, I am left wanting a little more from all of them.  So there were either too many characters to be able to focus on them.  Or there wasn't enough of each character to really get to feel like I knew them.

Picture use:  Ceramic DM is all about picture use.  These are the illustrations for your story right?  So how did Hellefire use the pictures?

Picture 1 is the portrait of the woman.  The impact of this picture doesn't reach fruition until after the end of the story.  Initially I couldn't tie any real relevance to the picture and the story.  After the end of the story, I can really appreciate it.  I think I would have almost preferred that the picture be described at the beginning and illustrated at the end.  But that is just a preference.

Picture 2 is of coals in a fire.  Hellefire uses the picture in context here.  Basically, he reinforces the fire and the existence of elemental few within it.  He also acknowledges that Jem is accepting the existence of the fey.

Picture 3 is the lake at sunset.  Here Hellefire uses this picture to create an ambiance as well as a setup for the introduction of the faerie characters.  Using a scenery backdrop is not always easy.  I liked the ambiance and that Hellefire drew inspiration from this picture.  But I do wonder if an editor would have chosen to illustrate that scene with a sunset.   

Picture 4 is the tiger.  Hellefire does a good job reflecting the fey characters' unfamiliarity with the outside world by not describing the tiger as a tiger.  I found that it helped reflect their basic ignorance of the rest of the world.  However the introduction of the picture is still somewhat weak as it doesn't dramatically drive the story forward.  If this picture and this scene were cut from the story, would it matter?  No, not that I can tell.

I think Hellefire used the pictures mostly for inspiration.   In itself this is not a bad thing.  While I liked the elements that he drew in with the pictures, I can't really say tha these are the strongest uses of pictures we could have seen.  



Speaker - The Lady for the Tiger

Speaker presents us with an action packed tale with spiritual mystery.  Speaker chooses to tell this tale with a constat shifting of perspectives and scenes.  There is a bit of a risk with this approach.  You risk losing your audience in your transitions.  On the other hand, you might be able to pull it off.  I appreciate risks when trying to tell a story. So the question is whether this risk paid off for Speaker.

Unfortunately, it did not work for me.  Really it is a shame that it didn't work.  I sense a great story here.  I can see where there is a lot of great interplay and where there should be tension.  I should feel some deep empathy with this beautiful creature that is being hunted.  But I don't.  

Quite frankly, the transitions are too distracting from the story.  I found myself having to check, and re-check, the transitions.  I have been trying to figure out why this doesn't work for me for the last two nights.  Because really, I like the idea behind the story.  I just keep being jarred out of the story and that really detracts from the entire reading experience for me.  

I think I have finally begun to discern where the problem is.  I can't find the rhythm of the story.  There isn't a cadence I can latch onto to carry me through the transitions.  Speaker isn't shy about using complex sentences.  

_"Now the jungle passes by as the tiger picks up speed, and the presence marvels at how he might at one moment gracefully spring to this tall rock, then the next fling himself there, to that towering tree, not pausing and racing in mind as well as body, seeking refuge because the hunters are all about, and every way seems to lead to a desperate trap and defeat."_

_"The forest is teaming with enemies who have hunted his kind before, and now they are ahead and the tiger can smell their determination._

_"Desperately the tiger surges forward, his muscles tense beneath his white skin, and with that lunge he almost breaks free, snapping two of the small trees that hold fast the net through sheer brute force and rending the net through."_

These are complex sentences.  But within the confines of this style, they are too long.  They detract from the action.  They engage the reader too thoroughly.  Then when the story shifts, the reader is forced to break into another complex train of thought.  Speaker, I think you could shorten your sentences and work on developing a cadence that would carry the reader through the story.  Otherwise, you might consider changing the style of the storytelling.

I also notice a few tense shifts throughout the story.  I suspect that these might be typos due to the 's' and the 'd' being near each other on the keyboard. But it is difficult to follow at times.  This type of problem can only be caught by a good proofreading as the words are properly spelled.  

Now I don't want everyone to think that I didn't like Speaker's story.  I did!  As I said, there is a really interesting story here.  I just think I missed part of the message as I scrambled between viewpoints.  

Picture Use:  How well did Speaker use the pictures?

Picture 1 is the portrait of the woman.  I like that the woman starts off with no obvious purpose, but her significance is shown through the story.   

Picture 2 is of coals in a fire.  Speaker is a little clever with this one.  The coals are a metaphor and he puts forth a lot of effort building the significance of that metaphor throughout the story.  I anticipated that the fire would end up being the coals, but I also had the advantage of knowing that picture had to appear somewhere.  If I didn't know anything about the pictures, I would have appreciated the foreshadowing throughout the story even more.  

Picture 3 is the lake at sunset.  This picture is not clearly annotated anywhere.  Still, I think I know where it was used.  It is a nice ending piece to the story, but it could as easily not exist.  Like Hellefire, Speaker chose to use this mostly for the ambiance.

Picture 4 is the tiger.  With a tiger as the focal point of the story, it is hard to imagine that this wasn't used extensively.  Clearly Speaker drew inspiration for the story from here.  But the particular scene where it is used isn't particularly strong.  I found myself wondering why the first thing the tiger senses is the smell of humans on a speedboat coming up the river.  The tiger didn't notice the smell of an engine, or the noise of the engine.  The tiger noticed that more humans were around.  That is when I recognized that the story would be stronger without the river being included.  The story would have been stronger without that particular scene, and that 'illustration' being included.  So while the picture provides the impetus for the story, the scene in which it is used does not add to the story.

Overall, Speaker did a pretty good job with the picture use.  


Firelance - Judgement

Firelance checks in with a story that is quite a bit shorter than his competitors.  That's OK though.  Quality can beat out quantity any day.  

We have a short story about a man who finds himself in a strange place and has the opportunity to learn a little bit about himself in the process.  I liked this story.  It is easy to read this story and enjoy it as a quick little diversion.  But hidden beneath that is the message that love is stronger than fear or hate.  

The one problem I have with this story is that everything wraps up too nicely and too quickly.  We don't get much of a feel for Thogar.  He is afraid, he is a bit homesick, he is willing to steal to get back home, he chooses love over hate and fear.  But how did he feel about stealing from the people that saved his life?  If the Warding Flame is derived from love, then why did his hand glow after trying to steal it?  

These are niggling little details that I ponder.  I want more information, more characterization, and more story.  But it is Ceramic DM and there is that whole time limit issue.  I can overlook these issues and just enjoy the story for what it is.  

Picture Use:  Now it is Firelance's turn with the pictures.  So how did he do?

Picture 1 is the portrait of the woman.  In this story she is an oracle.  She is there solely to give us some insight in what the Warding Flame is.  It isn't a bad usage.  

Picture 2 is of coals in a fire.  This time it is the Warding Flame.  This is a key component of the entire story.  I like that it isn't a burning coal in the story.  It is close in that it is a burning rock, but it is still different.

Picture 3 is the lake at sunset.  This one is a little contrived.  But it works!  After all, this is not the easiest picture to work into the story.  Given the subject matter, it is hard to avoid using it as merely a backdrop.  

Picture 4 is the tiger.  Or in this case, the snow demon.  The picture is the culmination of the events that begin the story.  The snow demon diving into the water to try to catch Thogar.  It is a decent action pic that drives the story forward.  Especially in light of Thogar's later choice to avoid fear and hate.  

Comparison
All three of the authors spin an interesting tale.  I really appreciate the underlying themes for each story.  I do think the picture choices were a little difficult to integrate.  By and large, I chose pictures that had a vague context in which to write.  It has been very interesting to see what grew from these pictures.  

Noe of the authors presented the pictures in way that I was completely floored by them.  These are good stories with good ties to the pictures.  I also didn't get the feeling that any of the pictures were 'throwaways'.  Our authors tried to make each scene with a picture relevant.  However, I do have a few reservations, as noted above.  

Hellefire, I'm not sure I like your story.  But I appreciate it.  It makes me think and I enjoyed reading it.
Speaker, despite my criticism on the style, I think you have an intriguing idea here.  
Firelance, you have a story that is a fun, light read.  Your message is easy to understand.  

I want to thank all three of you for your stories.  Writing Ceramic DM is tough.  But your stories are wonderful to read.

At some point, I need to make a decision on my vote.  So here it is.
[sblock]
I can't get past the difficulty I had reading Speaker's story.  Firelance's story was a little too tidy and neat.  Hellefire's story has been running through my head since I read it.  Even if I didn't really like the story, it made me think.  I have to give my vote to Hellefire.[/sblock]

*Macbeth*
Hellefire:
Overall, a very strong entry. The introduction was a little too disjointed for easy reading. I got the sense that this was intentional, but it ended up being too much, and a little too disorienting.

However, from there the story builds nicely. I felt that at a few points it bordered on being sappy, but for the most part it stayed serious and wonderfully dark. I liked the early feel of the drugged haze, but I think it could have been taken a little further.

The ending was a bit of a disappointment. the entire story built this idea of a great journey undertaken by soul mates, but three of these journeys are interrupted by chance events. I'm not sure if you were aiming for a message or a theme, but for me this went counter to the rest of the work. This great, important journey can be interrupted by chance? I think the ending would have been more satisfying if, instead of a random event, it would have been ruined by some human (or other creature) failing. I did like the feeling of the ending, you communicated the feelings of all those involved very well, but plot-wise it seemed a little weak.

Picture use was good, but not great. The early drug trip used to point out the bright colors seems a little tacked on when you read through to the end. At first the trip seemed strange and vaguely unsettling, but it ended up being more of an explanation for some cool pictures.

And not a big deal, but a little question: if this takes place in Alaska, shouldn't these people wear a little more in the way of clothes? Just seems like they might be cold with all the swimming and such. 

Overall, I think the story had some great ideas, but the plot tying them together could use a little reinforcing. Your diction and imagery were a great fit for the story, but the drug trip and the coincidental ending seemed off.

Firelance:
I liked the basic idea behind this story, but the implementation lacked something. It slipped into too fast of a pace, and lacked description that would have made it stronger.

I think the primary problem was showing versus telling. Many of the plot points were told, not shown. Thogar never really developed as a character, since we're often told what he's doing, with no insight into why. When he decides to return to his own village, it seems like a reasonable choice, but one made without any passion.

The dialog had some of the same problems. The characters said exactly what needed to be said, and nothing more. A little bit of chit-chat or feeling would have added a lot. In the same way, the Snow Demon never really becomes threatening. We're told it's horrible, but we never really see this. Thogar gets away with a  fairly minor injury, and he escapes by chance. If a swift river can get him away from the beast, how bad can it be?

Overall, too much of the story relied on telling. More description would have made all the difference. Add details and a little more flavor, and this would be a great story.

Speaker:
A very interesting story. I liked the feel of it, your descriptions really made it work.

The plot was a little weak, just because I never really felt that I knew what exactly was going on. The strangeness of the mental connection and the lady becoming the tiger seemed to be tied to survival, but we never really get a good feel for how or why.

The weaknesses of the (intentionally ?) vague connection to the tiger was more then made up for by the strength of your prose. The descriptions were wonderful and vivid, giving a feel for the creature and the hunters. There were a couple of time that the narrative broke into statements as opposed to description that hurt the flow some. Why tell us that "Bengal tigers swim as naturally as they run," when it could just as easily have been described? Perhaps something like "the tiger leaped into the water and swam as smoothly as it ran" would be better, since instead of breaking out a fact you could give a description that enforces the mood.

Picture use was varied: the lady was wonderfully used (taking advantage of the details of the picture to link her with the tiger was a brilliant touch), as was the fire, but the water seemed a little less important.

The greatest strength was the vivid, descriptive prose, while the greatest weakness was the slightly clouded story.


Overall judgement:
[sblock]Speaker takes this round with 2 votes.  Congratulations Speaker!  Hellefire and Firelance, thank you for writing.  Please stick around the thread and post your thoughts and comments.[/sblock]


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## Berandor (Jun 21, 2005)

Yeah! Now Ceramic DM is _really_ underway! The first judgement is in, and congrats to the winner of a (imo) very close round!

Spoiler for my round:
[sblock]Just so the judges don't see this until after judging mine, but I just had a cool idea for the pictures of Match 1. Should I lose (that's why I post the spoiler ), I'll write it up for the kiln-fired thread. I don't know why, but it just leapt at me (like a Bengal tiger, incidentially).[/sblock]

Tired of me posting here? You ain't seen nothing yet, I'm here to stay


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## BSF (Jun 22, 2005)

Round 1, Match 4 4 pictures, 5000 words max, 72 hours from this mark.
MarauderX vs Arwink vs reveal

Sorry for running a little late on this one.  I am juggling some work concerns at the same time.


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## arwink (Jun 22, 2005)

Run late all you want - it means I'm actually awake when the pictures are posted


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## BSF (Jun 22, 2005)

Less than 24 hours left for round 3.  I think I have already gotten spoiled by early story postings from the first two rounds.  

Glad to see you are ready to go Arwink.  Hopefully your competitors will see the pics shortly and all three of you will be raring to go.


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## arwink (Jun 22, 2005)

I'm impressed with the pictures - at least two of them confounded my initial expectations when I clicked on the thumbnail and saw the full-sized image.

Fortunately, it was much easier to work the actual image into my idea than my intial thoughts.


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## Sialia (Jun 22, 2005)

yah. that is a great set of pics.


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## Bibliophile (Jun 22, 2005)

Just a note I thought I'd add about the first matchup now that the judgement's posted.

My first thought upon seeing the pics, and this'll probably become a kiln-fired post, was for a story tentatively titled "An Autobiography of Mr. Mortimer the Brief."  The catch?  That white tiger is Mr. Mortimer, recently awakened to intelligence in a human world 

In any case, I'll post my commentary on the stories so far tomorrow probably ;-)


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## Berandor (Jun 22, 2005)

Bibliophile said:
			
		

> Just a note I thought I'd add about the first matchup now that the judgement's posted.
> 
> My first thought upon seeing the pics, and this'll probably become a kiln-fired post, was for a story tentatively titled "An Autobiography of Mr. Mortimer the Brief."  The catch?  That white tiger is Mr. Mortimer, recently awakened to intelligence in a human world
> 
> In any case, I'll post my commentary on the stories so far tomorrow probably ;-)



 Another kiln-fired entry? 



Spoiler



Did we ever have 6 stories for the same pics


?


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## Bibliophile (Jun 22, 2005)

Berandor said:
			
		

> Another kiln-fired entry?
> 
> 
> 
> ...




I really 



Spoiler



don't know.  Is there any particular reason you put your question in spoiler tags


?


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## Berandor (Jun 22, 2005)

Bibliophile said:
			
		

> I really
> 
> 
> 
> ...





Spoiler



Paranoia


.


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## Maldur (Jun 22, 2005)

I pm-ed "El BardoStephanoFoxo" my verdict on set 2 

*hits himself on the head with the judgement stick, to clear the mind again*


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## Bibliophile (Jun 22, 2005)

Ohh man... all the judgements are in for round 2, except maybe StephanFox's.  Eeerrrrrr..... Do I stay up until they're posted?  Or go to sleep?

I think sleep wins this time.  See ya guys in the morning!


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## Berandor (Jun 22, 2005)

I'd say BSF is asleep, as well (he'd better be if his job is stressful!), so blissful dreams to you. 

And Maldur, careful with the sharp edges there.


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## Hellefire (Jun 22, 2005)

Congrats to Speaker!

Thank you all on your feedback. I will answer a few comments and continue my side-judging in a few days. At the moment, I have 9 CLEP tests to take in the next 6 weeks so I have a *little* studying to do.

Aaron


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## BSF (Jun 22, 2005)

Bibliophile said:
			
		

> Ohh man... all the judgements are in for round 2, except maybe StephanFox's.  Eeerrrrrr..... Do I stay up until they're posted?  Or go to sleep?
> 
> I think sleep wins this time.  See ya guys in the morning!




Berandor is right.  I was asleep.  Sadly I hadn't been asleep for very long since I was doing work stuff.

You know, that whole making a living to pay the bills thing just gets in the way of my recreation way too often.  I will be trying to read the stories tonight and make judging comments all in one go.  It is easier to compare the stories when I begin comments consecutively rather than waiting a day between them.


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## yangnome (Jun 22, 2005)

OK, enough procrastination.  I suppose I better get writing since the deadline is only a couple hours away... What?  Don't look at me like that.  I work better this way.


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## Berandor (Jun 22, 2005)

yangnome said:
			
		

> OK, enough procrastination.  I suppose I better get writing since the deadline is only a couple hours away... What?  Don't look at me like that.  I work better this way.



 Two out of three testers agree 

It's getting close for every contestant, though.


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## Macbeth (Jun 22, 2005)

Right down to the wire for this match, isn't it...


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## Berandor (Jun 22, 2005)

Yeah it's what? Three hours left? And barely at that.

It seems I won't read a story before bedtime


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## BSF (Jun 22, 2005)

Yep, pushing the limits.  Hopefully all three stories will get in under the deadline though.


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## Berandor (Jun 22, 2005)

Don't read the thread. Write judgements! 

(just kidding! Really! )


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## Speaker (Jun 22, 2005)

I have the chance to write again!  My thanks to Firelance and Hellefire for an excellent first round, and as always the judges were thourough and exhaustive in their judgements - I hope I can correct those mistakes I made and build on the strengths you have pointed out.  Good luck on those tests, Hellefire.

I am ready for round two, but of course I'm even more interested in following the rest of round one as it lasts - with more stories yet to come, how could I not?

I was definetly trying for something new with my entry - it has been a while since I plied my hand at fiction, and as with my previous write-ups I think my biggest weakness was laying on a bit thick.  And the beach scene was definetly underused, despite the fact that the picture itself was the one that struck me strongest initially - funny how that works.

But enough, enough - looking very much forward to round two.


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## yangnome (Jun 22, 2005)

*Destiny's Call*

*Destiny's Call*

 I tell you, it was the prettiest durn thing I ever done seen.  You might say I’m crazy, or on drugs or somethin’, but it was.  Hell, I’d think I’m crazy too talking about the end of the world like this an’ all, but it was.  I just can’t get over the beauty….her beauty.

She came down out of the clouds; it was like watching a sunset, but in 3D, x-ray vision if you know what I mean.  It was like she was right there, staring at me.

Me an’ Joe had been sitting outside drinkin’ and just passing the time, ya know.  It was a hot summer day and we were out in a park, sitting and listening to nature, sitting off a dirt trail near the Johnston park bridge.  

Well, Joe was in the middle of this story and off on the horizon, I seen her.  Seemed like all the world stopped for me an’ time stood still.  I jus’ raised from my seat an’ stared at her beauty is what I did.  I ain’t never seen anything like it before in my life.  I jus’ stood up from my seat an’ stared at it.  I couldn’t even hear what Joe was sayin’ anymore.

As I stood there an’ watched, she came down outta the sky.  At first when I seen her, she was just a small ball o’ light.  But as she came closer, she got bigger an’ bigger an’ you could actually start to see her.  The world around her, everything turned black, all I could see was her, an’ she was comin’ down towards me.

Well, she done come down, an’ she stood before me.  I couldn’t see or hear nothing’ else around, just her.  The trees and bridge behind her just faded and I couldn’t hear Joe, nor the insects that had been buzzin’ around us.   Her eyes locked onto mine and they wouldn’t let go.  It felt as if they was penetratin’ my soul.

She must have been more than 20 feet tall an’ made of pure light.  Her wings even made her look bigger.  I didn’t know whether I should speak to her or not, so I decided to do the polite thing an’ introduce myself.  I opened my mouth, but the words just didn’t seem to come out.

Then she told me “Quiet Jim, I know who you are.”

I couldn’t reckon how she’d know my name already, seein’ as how we’d never met before, But I let it go.  She obviously was somethin’ special an’ the way she looked at me, you could tell she knew me inside an’ out.

I stared back at her, still in awe, “Why’d you come here?” 

“Be at peace Jim.  I’ve come here because it is my time to come.”

Just then, a chill rushed through my bones. I didn’t know who she was, or what her purposes were, but I knew deep down that things weren’t gonna be the same after that moment.  I turned and tried to run, but I couldn’t.  My body felt frozen in place.

“Jim, there’s no use running.  You cannot escape from me, much like the world cannot escape from its destiny.”

The words chilled my bones. “What do ya mean by that?  What does the world have to do with it?”

“I have come Jim, it is my time and as such, the time of this world has come to an end.”

Needless to say, I was confused by all of this nonsense talk.  I just stood there and stared her back in the face, not knowin’ what to say, or how to reply.  

“Don’t be scared Jim, everything has its place and its time.” 

“I ain’t scared,” I told her, “I’m just wonderin’ why you’re tellin’ me all of this.”

Her gaze penetrated me and her eyes smiled, “Because Jim, you are my messenger.  You will go to the others and warn them before it is their time.  You will tell them what you see here today.” 

“Well, this may sound like a dumb question ma’am, but how am I supposed to tell others if the world is ending today.”

Well, then she began explaining to me the nature of the universe and all.  She said that it wasn’t those of this world I had to save, but those of other worlds.  Yeah, I wouldn’t have believed it either had it not come from a glowin’ angel standing in front of me.

I’d never been one to believe in aliens and other planets and such, all that was too complicated for my tastes.  Plus, if there was other life out there, you think we would have found it.

I was puzzled by her explanation, and it took her awhile to explain to me in a way I could understand.  The best way I can describe to you is that the universe, well, it’s got many worlds in it.  The fabric of the universe is made up of time.  There are many different worlds in the universe, but they all kind of run a bit differently.  

The way she described it to me was kind of like a big spider web. Have you ever seen a spider’s web that’s been covered with dew, or rain?  Well, you know how the water will catch on there in little balls?  Well, she explained to me that that is how the universe works.

You see, there are a number of different worlds that are spanned across a big web.  This web is time, or dimensions of time.  Each of these worlds is very similar, yet slightly different.

Anyway these balls of water on a spider web, sometimes something happens and one falls off.  There’s no real rhyme or reason to it.  Sometimes the wind catches a drop, sometimes something causes it to fall. Sometimes one of the balls of water gets too heavy and it falls off.

Well the universe is kind of like that.  Sometimes something happens and it is time for one of the worlds to come to an end.  And that is she was there for.  It was the end of the world, and she was there to deliver it.

Needless to say, my mind was spinning.  I’ve always been a fairly simple person, and I’ve never really thought much about life outside of my own.  The thought of the world ending, and as you can imagine, caught me by surprise.

 So I ask her if there’s anything we can do to stop this.  I mean, I don’t have the best life there is, but it certainly beats the alternative.  Well, just then wouldn’t you know, we were interrupted.

This Oriental guy approaches us from across the bridge.  He’s got a shaved head, and he’s wearing these funny robes, like those kung-fu monks you see in the movies.  He doesn’t pay me much attention, instead, he starts talking to her.

He puts his hands together and bows to her, “Suriel, we have waited long for your arrival.”

The angel turned and acknowledged him; a slight grin crossed her face. 

“So, you are the one who will stand against me then?  You realize that there is nothing you can do to prevent destiny from taking its course.  The end has already been written.”

“We will not let you bring death to this world Suriel.  I have prepared my whole life for this.  I will not fail to defeat you.”  The monk brought his hands up in front of his torso, bladed his stance towards the angel and lowered his weight.

The angel looked back at me.  A sad look then crossed her face momentarily.  She then turned to face the monk. 

“You know this is pointless Dongwan.  I am immortal.  You cannot kill me.”

The angel then turned to face him, assuming her fighting stance as well.  

“If this is the only way to convince you though, then so be it.”  She brought her hands up in front of her.  Her wings stood almost motionless, as her feet rested on the ground.

Both of them stood there for a few moments, but it seemed like an eternity.  It was the monk who finally made the first move.  He lunged forward at the angel, bringing his left hand towards her in a palm heel strike.  

The angel easily sidestepped the blow, maintaining her stance.  The monk lunged at her again, bringing a flurry of blows towards the Angel’s torso.  The angel’s wings flapped and she floated into the air, dodging the blows the monk set her way.  As she went aloft, she delivered a kick to the monk’s chin.

The monk flew back from the blow of the angel’s foot, probably a distance of 30 feet.  He landed on his back, but immediately rolled back up into a fighting position.  The angel using her momentum flew across the sky at the monk, fists both extended towards his torso.

Before the angel could strike though, the monk brought both of his forearms in front of his chest, closed his eyes and yelled something I couldn’t understand. 

The angel struck the monk so hard, you could see the force radiate from between them. The monk stood his ground though and did not move.  The blow did not faze him.  Instead, the monk seemed to channel the energy from the strike.  He released another yell, and brought his left arm out in front of him and his right arm to his rear.  In his right palm, he held the energy of the angel’s blow.  He then brought his arm forward and plunged the energy deep into the angel’s chest.

The angel fell back from this strike, though her wings kept her from falling to the ground.  She shook her head, trying to clear it and focused her attention back on the monk.

The monk was already moving back towards the angel. He almost seemed to run above the ground, up some sort of steps I could not see.  He threw a roundhouse kick at the angel, while ducking her fist.  As he ducked, her wingtip caught him in the face.  He lost his concentration and fell back to the ground below her.

The monk, quickly rolled out of the way, as the angel began a feet first dive towards where he had landed.  He narrowly escaped his blow.  The earth shook and the ground crumbled where her feet struck the ground.  He took another kick at her, striking her in the knee.  She began to fall forwards from the blow, but her wings caught her balance, and once again, she was aloft.

Her feet fluttered in front of him, delivering three rapid blows across his chest, neck and face.  He stumbled back from the blows, a bit stunned. 

 “You will not defeat me Suriel.  I have trained too long and too hard.  You are strong, but so is my mind.  It is not yet time for this world to pass.”

“You fool!  For all your studying, don’t you realize that there is nothing you can do to stop it?  You are tied to destiny, just as I am.”

The monk maintained his stance, watching and waiting for her to make another move.

“You expect me to sit here and allow this to pass then?”

Suriel then lunged at the monk, with both of her palms open, heels of her palms together.  The monk sidestepped her blow, and delivered his own to her back.  The angel flew forward; her momentum carried her into the ground.  

She rolled over onto her back. Before she could bring herself to stand,  the monk was in the air over her, raining down another kick.  The sky seemed to bend around him.  His yell pierced my ears.  He came down on top of her, and he delivered a kick so strong that it drove her straight into the ground.  Certainly it would have been enough to kill a normal man like you or me.

The earth shook with his kick, harder than I’ve ever felt it shake before.  I looked around for something to grab onto, but couldn’t find anything.  Now, I’ve been through a few earthquakes before, but this was much stronger than that, and it lasted longer too.  But after the shaking, another sensation overcame me.  It felt like I was falling.

It was then that the rest of the world came back into view for me.  A thick frost began covering everything around us, the trees, the bridge, everything.


The angel then stood up from where she lay, and a tear fell down her cheek.  She looked at the monk. He had the look of terror in his eyes.

“You cannot escape, or prevent destiny Dongwan.  Instead, your arrogance brought about what you had hoped to prevent.”

The angel then grabbed hold of me, and we flew up into the sky.  A brief moment later, I saw a what looked like spider’s web up above us   There were hundreds of small little bubbles of water, all reflecting back an image of us, but each one was distorted a little bit different.  Some were big, and some were small. 

I looked down and saw another droplet of water.  It was falling toward the void.  A moment later, it split apart and I couldn’t see it anymore.

The next thing I remember, I woke up here.  As you can imagine, I’ve got no place to go.  No one I can rely on.  I’m still not really sure what my mission is here in this life, but I imagine it has something to do with telling this story.  We can’t avoid our destiny and I guess this one is mine. I’m a bit hungry though.  Any chance you could spare a dollar brother? 


In case of formatting issues (OK for judges to read):
[sblock] I have Asian fonts and IMEs on my computer that sometimes will show up in a document or a post on a message board.  It doesn't matter whether I create the document in a text file, the post block or not.  It just seems to show up.  I cannot tell ahead of time whether or not it will happen on a post of not, and cannot see it myself.  Instead, I see glitches in other people's posts. 

I have tried for years to correct this problem, but haven't found a solution.  In case there is a problem reading this, I have attached a text file with the original story.  Hopefully the problem will not show up there.  Sorry if this creates any inconvenience for anyone.[/sblock]


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## Herremann the Wise (Jun 22, 2005)

*Ceramic DM Spring 2005 (Late Bloomer)*
Round 1, Match 3: yangnome vs. RangerWickett vs. *Herremann the Wise*

I have labelled the pictures - Picture 1, Picture 2,... as they appeared in BSF's posting.
Altogether, not including labels and breaks {***}: 4,999 words.

I hope you enjoy.


*Of Power and Peace*

*Introduction*

_For those who insist that they need to have a little background information… _ 

Our story takes place in The Land of the Three Realms within a crumbling empire that has slowly eroded over several centuries to a number of provincial territories. The Great War with the Northern Barbarians was almost forty years in the past yet still there was no firm resolution - just an exhausted cessation of hostilities as the Empire journeyed inwards towards conflict and collapse. However, the portended end of the empire could be nigh as the Barbarians unleash a power beyond imagination - once again they have discovered like their ancient forefathers before them, the secrets of dragonflight.

This story concerns the journey of Orrolo, a young man of the Empire who wishes for peace between the two realms. He is sent on a secret journey to garner the alliance of an old wizard of barbarian heritage deep within the misty and mountainous border between the two regions. He is then to travel to the heart of the barbarian land with the wizard as a guide to deliver a gift and message to the King of the barbarians - hopefully, something of enough significance to engender a fragile genesis of peace.

However, all is not quite as simple as it seems. Orrolo of the Empire must endure the arrogance of his elder cousin's attempts to hijack the mission for his own pride and ends. Not only this, but the barbarian wizard who is the linchpin of the mission has no love at all for the Imperials. Worse however, he was a prisoner of the Great War who magically escaped the clutches of the Emperor. Gaining his favour would seem impossible: for any... except for perhaps Orrolo of the Minsuno.

***​
_In one of the small outer provinces of the Empire inside the family temple of Minsuno, an argument ensues between the Lorus (spiritual leader) of the House and E’dhanus the arrogant second son and princeling of the Minsuno Patriarch…_

“But he is your cousin and family. Besides which he like you is fated for this mission and as such his participation is not for your choice or choosing.”
“The lad is but a stripling! Why dilute the glory of this mission that by rights should be mine!”

The raging E’dhanus, second in line to the family throne felt the hot fire of his blood course through his defined and arrogant veins. He had just been informed that his younger cousin Orrolo would not only be present for the secret mission to hunt down the barbarian wizard Bazreth, but he would then also be a key member of the ensuing delegation to the barbarian King. For one filled with the rigid pride of Minsuno, it was a poor and odious decision.

The Lorus however looked on unaroused by E’dhanus’s temper, the soft scent and peace of the candlelight within the small sacred auditorium assisting her in maintaining a semblance of tranquillity.
“I am disappointed you feel that the glory you might earn on a quest you are still yet to begin is the primary issue. If I were you, I would concentrate more on the expedition at hand. If you feel that the wizard Bazreth will open his doors to you and welcome you with honour and friendship, I suggest reassessing your delusions. As for your cousin whom may I remind you is of the blood of Minsuno, I firmly ask you to recast your judgment. How long has it been since you have truly seen Orrolo? Four…maybe five years? In this matter, you lack all prescience.”

E’dhanus’s stony face clenched in held rage at the diminutive woman; his shaved head revealing creased tension upon his bitter features as if by sheer size and impact of presence, he could force a change in the mind of the slight woman. Again, she seemed unperturbed. The crisp tone of a small bell distracted his ripening retort as he swung around, the Lorus glancing towards the wood-framed entrance as well.
“Your cousin has arrived. I strongly suggest you make him feel welcome,” said the Lorus in a low even voice – the hint of a hidden smile momentarily gracing her lips.

***​
For Orrolo, the weeklong journey from his father’s town of Goria had been uneventful although the full force of a hard, bitter winter was evident as the last small vestige of autumn was frozen from the countryside. He now waited patiently behind the ceremonial entrance to the Hall of the Mother, looking carefully to the attendant who was waiting for some unseen or hidden signal. Orrolo’s pure gaze through blue eyes – his mother’s unusual heritage – gave him a look of youth, yet strangely wisdom as well. His clear and handsome features looked up as the sweet sound of a small bell rang clearly and with distinction in the cold afternoon air. The doorway’s custodian politely opened the door before permitting Orrolo’s entry.

Orrolo moved inside; his compact, sturdy yet graceful frame bowing to the Lorus and his cousin the Prince according to the strict dictates of etiquette and decorum. Despite having heard the majority of E’dhanus’s earlier tirade against him, a smile broached his face as he looked upon the granite silence of his cousin. There was no point in making a poor situation worse.

The Lorus stepped forward as several retainers assisted her with her ceremonial robes. A beacon of magnificence despite her slight stature, she received the newcomer warmly.
“Welcome young master. Your arrival is most timely.” She glanced carefully at the stony faced E’dhanus before continuing despite the prince’s breach of etiquette. “I trust your journey was swift and without incident?”

Orrolo lifted from his genuflected position and answered carefully. “Greetings Mother Lorus and to you too Prince E’dhanus. There were several interesting happenings but nothing of great consequence. I am here now with only a few scratches, ready to serve your wishes good Mother.”

“Bah!” blurted E’dhanus, unable to hold his tongue a moment longer. “Be ready and upon your pony by the dawn’s bell otherwise I will be leaving without you.”
And with this he stormed off to much rustling amongst the various attendants, replete now with fresh gossip. The Lorus looked at the prince’s dramatic exit with a wearied sigh before returning her attention to Orrolo.

“He is stubborn and more a fool. But he is the Prince and his fate is cast amongst the stars above.”
Orrolo just shook his head in shared sympathy with the woman who had helped raise him before ascending to the position of the Patriarch’s Lorus.
Looking over to the exit leading above to the temple observatory she added, “Ah… come and walk with me Orrolo as there are things afoot and things you must know before leaving upon this special mission.”
Several servitors adjusted her ceremonial dress as she took Orrolo by the arm and lead him upstairs.

***​
The upper level of the Minsuno Temple encompassed a single large and open roofed room set aside for observing the stars and celestials; its simple yet dramatic architecture causing Orrolo to pause at its beauty. The Lorus pointed above to a series of constellations of astrological significance beside the twin planet Iriadeus.
“The stars following their strange orbits tell me many things young Orrolo… although the path I wish you to take, I cannot augur with any success. Come. Sit with me.” 
Orrolo sat.

“The time has come to return to the Barbarians what is rightfully theirs. They know it is within the Empire somewhere and they will keep returning their attention to us until they have it. I hope and believe that by gifting it back to them, it will sway their attention and interest away from the lands of the Empire. The Empire needs time for its chance to heal. Otherwise it cannot but implode upon its own weight. With the Barbarians likely to focus here once more with some new power beyond my divining, time is dreadfully short. While many would consider this gift a sign of weakness, wisdom guides me towards this path as a last resort.”
Orrolo listened carefully.

“I need you to journey to a place upon the border where I have divined that an old enemy lives. The wizard Bazreth was held prisoner by the Emperor himself for almost seven years, pinned to a dungeon wall. Through magic beyond our understanding, he eventually escaped and retreated far far away. I need you to find him and show him the gift, as he will know what to do with it. In fact without his help, the entire gesture will be of no use. He knows the secret behind this gift… or at least has the power to divine it.”
Orrolo leaned forward as the Mother Lorus continued.
“We need to sway Bazreth to this endeavour. However, be warned. Bazreth obviously shares no love for the Empire although I hope you can convince him otherwise.”
The Lorus stood up and looked directly at the young man who she had fostered so many years ago. “Orrolo, you are special in some way beyond my understanding and to this task, I wish for your help and assistance despite your cousin’s best efforts. While he is strong in the ways of battle and a powerful leader of men, he is weak in the soul. Your rich spirit however I can almost sense as you sit here with me now.”

She ventured then towards a wall, which opened unbidden before her to reveal a small altar in front of a colourful reredos. Upon the altar laid a small tabernacle that she opened with a sweep of her hand. A shallow luminescence was cast from the slight box dancing across the Lorus’s features in what almost seemed incandescent joy. She closed it once more bringing it over to Orrolo. Bending down, she pressed it gently into his hands.

“We will talk this evening about preparations for your journey as you must have a thousand questions. For now though, I just wish to talk to my foster son.”

They spoke long into the night.


***​
_About a month later upon a track deep within the mountains, the coldness of the winter is augmented by the sullen demeanour of E’dhanus, having recently discovered and forced his cousin to relinquish the gold box…_

The journey had been difficult.

Orrolo walked his pony up the chill path, several lengths behind E’dhanus’s gelding. While the journey deep into the mountain border had been relatively peaceful in terms of attack from the mountains native population, there had been several instances of conflict between the two cousins. Orrolo had found himself quickly assigned as E’dhanus’s personal servant much to his displeasure. While he had warned E’dhanus of the words of the Mother Lorus, E’dhanus was quick to dismiss her intentions and replace them with his own.

“The wizard will see that I as the senior member of this expedition am the person to discuss and entreat with. There is no point confusing him with additional input.”
Orrolo tried to conceive of how to confuse a wizard but could not. He saw too well through his cousin’s brash arrogance and as such merely hoped to mop up any gaffe that was sure to be issued from his mouth. While he had respect for his cousin in terms of being a Prince of the Minsuno and he would defend him, he knew in his mind that his allegiance must be to the dire mission foremost and his foolish cousin second. E’dhanus continued on ahead oblivious to Orrolo’s thoughts upon priority.

It was not too much past this point that Orrolo sensed a change in the immediate surroundings; something subtle and intangible.
“Cousin? Do you…”
Orrolo was stopped by E’dhanus twirling around upon his mount, anger clear upon his features.

“Sir,” Orrolo corrected, eliciting a grunt of satisfaction from his cousin, “Do you sense a change in the vicinity? Has the weather become… less oppressive?”

E’dhanus looked around obviously ignorant to what his cousin was sensing.
“What foolishness are you talking about, the trees still stand bereft of their leaves and my feet still sit frozen in my boots.”
Orrolo shrugged his shoulders as they continued onwards. The path meandered upon a flatter section before coming to a partially frozen creek, crowned by a small bridge crossing it. [Picture 2]

“Are you sure you don’t feel that?”
“Yes I’m damn well…”
E’dhanus’s harsh rejoinder was interrupted by a booming voice inside their heads.

_“Leave trespassers… NOW if you value your lives. Cross my bridge and you will feel my wrath!”_

Orrolo halted immediately while his cousin the Prince straightened, his attitude automatically attuning itself to one of arrogant defiance. He pushed his pony towards the seemingly innocent bridge unheeding. Orrolo was about to warn E’dhanus to stop but a hazy mist appeared upon the bridge. Stepping out from the captured fog was a tall man unlike any Orrolo had seen before. Black of skin with mercurial features, the aged and bearded man, robed in deepest blue looked upon the moving E’dhanus astride his small pony. In a deep resonant voice different from the one earlier, the man attempted to halt the Prince.

“Please good sir, do not come closer as my master is currently occupied with his own endeavours. Surely you have heard his warning and so please… do not force him from his current focus.”
E’dhanus slowed his pony and hurriedly assayed the most convenient protocol for the situation.
“We have need of your master’s services. Take us to him for we have travelled too far to be stopped and delayed by an underling.’

The robed man seemed untroubled by E’dhanus’s manner and could not help but elicit a small chuckle at the man’s supercilious assumptions. “My master would fail to appreciate such an exhaustive distance. Again; go and please do not intrude upon his current exercises.”
Unfortunately, E’dhanus once more failed to grasp the tenor of the message and launched himself from the gelding but several spans away from the bridge. With the black man’s cloak billowing around him, E’dhanus thought to sway the servant through threat and force. The response of Bazreth, Grand Wizard of the Northern Kingdom was instantaneous. The mist behind the robed man spiralled and twirled, immediately coalescing into a gigantic bearded face. The face looked down at the now stopped Prince, anger firmly upon its features. The fog extended, instantly forming an outstretched arm as power emanated directly from the pointing hand.

A rippling of shadow thundered down forming a vertical plane of force. The thin expanse of magic coursed towards E’dhanus jolting him skyward as shock finally registered upon his features. [Picture 3] Banishing him ever skyward, the force suddenly consumed his essence in a violent coruscation of exploded colours. The Prince was gone. Orrolo, stunned by the incredible display of power looked on in horror as the face found his position, its expression unchanged. The hand reached out once more.


***​
_A month earlier, deep within the misted mountains lying between the border of the fracturing Empire and the Northern Kingdom in the deepest part of the night, a very special spider spins its web…_

Bazreth looked on carefully.

The evergreen glade surrounding his gabled manse was dominated by a clear shallow lake of stunning effect in the evening light. The magic surrounding the glade held it in a temperate spring throughout the year with only the crispness of air to indicate the winter beyond. Bazreth, his rheumatic podgy fingers grasping a night pipe bereft of further intoxicants, leaned forward upon a small porch as he saw the small creature begin to spin and slide around the branches just beyond its home.

Like its entire and most unusual breed and species, the solar dew spider lived tightly inside a curled leaf before eventually journeying out to spin its delicate masterpiece. Using senses and perceptions beyond understanding of even the great mages of yore, it was able to cast its web according to the weight and position of the celestial bodies of the cosmos. Carefully throughout the night, it would traverse its web mimicking the exact and precise positioning of the celestials of astrological significance. With its ultimate performance finished, the tiny spider would then crawl back to its leafy home to expire; its life’s work as it were a final gift to the mortal realm.

Bazreth had kept this spider for what must almost be twenty years – many times it had threatened to venture from its leafy home but never for more than the light sustenance making up its requirements. Perhaps it had been the cool seasonal breeze that had set it upon its final path or perchance the celestials were in a position of import filling the small creature with an impossible impulse and desire? Bazreth looked upon the careful work of the spider, sighing as he pondered such thoughts. Filled with a giddy excitement yet at the same time a deepening sadness, he could not sleep but instead, Bazreth: one of the last wizards in the three Realms paid homage to his tiny friend of so many years as it travelled upon its final prophetic journey.

***​
By the morning, Bazreth had slipped into a semi-aware doze as the dew-touched web glistened with magnificence from the sun’s reflected rays off of the massive twin planet of Iriadeus high above. Saddened by the passing of his small friend, he looked carefully at the amazing work and masterpiece of the spider. Stretching over numerous hands of distance, Bazreth looked up and across at the constellation marking that of the Three Realms. [Picture 4]

At first, there were a few points of interest, such as the Tanesin constellation in periodaxis with The Ghost of Eddin. However, something further clasped his attention casting a brittle sense of unease between his broad but old shoulders. With a quick inspection at the various Gallicean termini represented at the luminous poles of the entire system, a hollow, prescient impulse of foreboding buried itself directly into his stomach. Was it fear he felt that the stony implacable wheels of destruction were in motion once more?

Bazreth carefully considered his next move.


***​
_At the bridge forming the entrance to Bazreth’s domain and glade, the gigantic magical face looks down upon Orrolo, about to smite him from the mortal realm…_

Bazreth’s misty hand gathered power around it, ready to strike down the other intruder. However, something stayed his hand as the arcane sight provided by the mist magic sensed a strange aura about the little man on the other side of the bridge. The magic upon the hand slowly evaporated.

_“Why do you wish to intrude upon my attention, young mortal?”_ intoned Bazreth, the change in attitude momentarily jarring Orrolo from his terrified semblance. Unsure of whether he was prolonging his existence or not, Orrolo answered with complete honesty.
“I, Orrolo of the Minsuno have been sent here master wizard by the Lorus of our family to seek your aid in attempting to dissuade the North from war with the Empire.”

_“And what makes you think that I would want to stop them? Is your Lorus a fool?”_

“No, no”, said Orrolo urgently. “She is very wise and wishes to offer them a gift. Something they have been searching for that is the source of their ire with the Empire.”
Orrolo looked up as the mist and fog of the face started unswirling. The wizard seemed to have reached some form of decision; Orrolo thought he saw some measure of curiosity in the face before it completely dissipated. The voice was heard in his head once more but without the dramatic volume of former announcements. “Moses, bring young Orrolo here to me in the glade. His statements shed an unusual light on our friend’s final message.”

Moses nodded, obviously having heard the same communication and so with a smile, he beckoned Orrolo across as he clucked to the two ponies that had scampered from the magical path. Orrolo looked back to where he thought he saw something momentarily glisten in the sky above. He did not know that it was the final wisp of his cousin’s spirit leaving the realm and cosmos.

***​
Orrolo looked on at the magical glade of Bazreth in wonder and amazement. The brewing of some strange refreshment awaited near his fingertips as he sat opposite the daunting form of Bazreth the Wizard. Also upon the table directly in front of the wizard was the tabernacle, opened and radiating the same glow upon his face that Orrolo had seen before. From his perspective, he could not see inside the small box.

Bazreth was dressed in delicate robes of white, unsoiled or marked. His bearded face seemed to focus heavily as his lips curled downwards in concentration before being released in slight surprise.
“Do you know of this… thing young Orrolo?” said the wizard looking up earnestly at the unassuming young man.
“No sir. I was told that you would understand its significance.”

Bazreth’s lips curled in a short bark of laughter. “Your Lorus has a greater faith in me than perhaps I deserve”, he said looking back down at the item inside the box. “The symbols I can understand and certain revelations given to me a month ago seem to be a little clearer now because of them. However, I can only speculate as to why she would wish to give such a gift to the King of the North. Perhaps there is some wisdom here beyond even my understanding.”

Orrolo, still unnerved but surprisingly not affected by his cousin’s harsh and foolish demise at the hands of the wizard, looked across at the small box. He could not constrain his curiosity any longer. “So… what actually is it? Is it some type of magic?”

“Yes… magic it is”, said Bazreth distractedly as he concentrated upon certain runes. Then all of a sudden he looked up, “No. I mean yes its magic but no… that’s not what the gift is. It’s held in a parcel of magic, bound together by great power. The gift itself according to the runes however, is something mundane… if exceedingly special in it’s own right.” He closed the box.

“Come Orrolo…Moses”, he yelled. The blue robed man with the black skin appeared almost instantly as if expecting the summons. Moses looked down at Orrolo and then over at his master.
“You know the preparations I have been making Moses?” questioned the wizard. “I believe now is the time my friend.”

Moses looked around the glade, taking in the surroundings. He had known the wizard for what must be almost forty years. Sharing a dank cell as prisoners can force a bond between people tighter and stronger than that of any family thought Moses, pondering his relationship with the wizard. He looked back at Bazreth, his toothy grin splitting his face. “I guess that means we’re going home sir.” It was more statement than question.

“Yes Moses, we’re going home.”

And with this and by morning, Bazreth looked around for the final time at the magical glade that had been his temporary home for so long. The portent of the solar dew spider weighed heavily upon his mind. It was time to go.


***​
_After a month travelling from the compressions of the mountainous terrain to the low arid wastes of the outer realm of the Northern Kingdom, a sight beyond imagination is seen…_

The journey had been eventful with several interesting exchanges between Bazreth and some of the stranger denizens of the wastes. Orrolo of the Minsuno had assisted here and there with eloquent grace with the blade but such efforts were perhaps of less consequence, with Bazreth not wishing to expunge his power upon some creature of minimal threat. At this moment though, framed by the massive twin planet of Iriadeus behind him, Moses through slightly misted eyes looked up and to the far horizon [Picture 1]. Silhouetted by the setting sun was the breathtaking beauty of a dragon and her riders; the magnificence of the sight turned Moses eyes from awe to the crinkled tension of fear and then terror. The beast was headed directly towards them.

Bazreth, who was just behind the enigmatic Moses, saw the threat, raised his staff and countered it with significant magic and power. A dome of force suddenly surrounded the group, the twinkling of evanescent reflections coursing its breadth. The pure majesty of the dragon was evident as it circled around Bazreth’s magic. Almost the size of the Minsuno temple, the wings spread out gloriously as it glided in a single massive sweep. Orrolo looked at Bazreth, his outstretched staff holding the glassy shield in place. Turning back to the terrifying creature, Orrolo saw its low flight stutter as its wings suddenly swept up and its legs extended. The earth around them shuddered as the beast lowered itself and its riders to the ground.

The foremost rider stood high on top of the creatures raised neck, just behind its head. His frame was encased in black metal, a lance couched at his hip and a sword hilted on his left. In a thin voice barely penetrating the shield he shouted.
“Who travels here in the Dragon Realm?”

Bazreth having forced a parley of sorts cancelled the powerful magic. Looking up to the rider and with his most powerful and distinctive voice, he answered back, “My name is Bazreth as your father would have told you and his father before him. I am the last Grand Wizard of the North… and I am coming home.”
The dragon looked down unsettled, obviously able to understand some of the wizard’s speech. Meanwhile, the riders having reached some unspoken consensus climbed down, caution upon their faces but to a certain degree, awe and reverence as well. Looking upon the old wizard of the North, they both prostrated in supplication touching their heads to the ground.

Orrolo looked at the wizard in surprise as Bazreth smiled back at him, a twinkle in his eye.
“We have need to speak to the King on important diplomatic matters. I assume you can be taking us to his seat at Drammen Castle?” Bazreth asked pointing towards the conveying framework upon the dragon’s back. “I have someone I would wish him to meet.”

And with this, the group saw the world unlike how they had ever seen it before, the arid wastes giving way to hills, dales, forests and spectacular rivers and waterfalls. The beauty of the Northern Kingdom swept all to briefly beneath the dragon’s mighty wings.


_***_

_In the Hall of the Barbarian King some time later…_

A certain level of excitement pervaded the Drammen throne room as news was garnered of the imminent return of the last Grand Wizard of their age. Light flowed through the magnificent windowed arches caught inside by the dizzyingly high multi-domed ceiling. The pageantry of banners from all five dragonclans was present, each being carried by servants shadowing the first riders of each clan. With the King majestic upon his raised and mighty throne, all looked to the massive entry foyer as the King’s Bell sounded from the pinnacle of the tower immediately adjacent to the sweeping hall.

The appearance of Bazreth, robed in cloth of the finest weave drew an intake of breath from the noble crowd, highlighted by the magical ball providing illumination from several spans above the wizards head. Several mutterings however were heard as questions abounded amongst the throng. Directly behind Bazreth was a robed dark-skinned man from the far North but alongside of him was the slight stature of a Southerner.

What was an Imperial doing as part of an honoured procession to the King? Several exclamations could even be heard questioning the lack of restraint upon the free-walking Southerner. The King however, radiating the power of rulership seemed neither surprised nor in ire of the man. Unbeknownst to the nobles crowding the Drammen throne room, several meetings had already ensued between the men present. The King of the North was in fact most impressed, not only with Orrolo of the Minsuno but also with the gifts and agreements that had been bargained under the guidance of the returned Grand Wizard.

As the procession advanced to the King’s immediate presence, there was a hush as the King spoke.
“Welcome Grand Wizard and Orrolo Minsuno, delegate of the Minsuno Province.” With bows from the processionists, the King continued. “May I announce the signing of a treaty between the Minsuno Province and that of the Kingdom promising peace and cooperation for hopefully many years to come? In kindness, they have seen fit to return something priceless to our Kingdom of the North. Grand Wizard Bazreth… if you would do the honours please with your arcane touch?”

Hushed whispers of excitement swirled through the masses as Bazreth placed a small gold box upon the ceremonial altar to the side of the throne. With a slight motioning of his open hand, the lid opened. Carefully, he then pulled out a strange floating and glowing device made of perfect gold and round in aspect; a smattering of strange runes etched into its surface. Again there was a casting of magic where the gold device and something else seemed to coexist a hand above the opened container. Having finished the transformation, a perfect and massive egg hovered in suspension above the Minsuno tabernacle. However, it was no normal egg as its shade was that of purest crimson. It was the last male dragon egg in existence. With only five dragon-does left in the kingdom, it augured that the Dragons would truly fly again once more.

***​

_And so ends this tale, as Kuroku Minsuno closes the dragon-embossed Book of Legends for his young son the Prince, having read him the story of how his great grandfather Orrolo found peace for the Empire; garnered by giving Its ancient enemy the true weapon and power to destroy It. For with power, occasionally comes peace._


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## yangnome (Jun 22, 2005)

OK, I finished with an hour and one minute to spare .  I guess I'll make some comments about my entry while they are still fresh in my mind.  I'll do these behind spoiler tags so they will not influence any judging decisions. 

[sblock]

This was a difficult story for me to write, mainly due to the nature of the photos.  Of course, I guess that is what CDM is all about .   The pictures did speak the story to me right away.  I was not joking when I said that I had a story a minute after the pics had been posted.  I don’t know if this was good or bad though, as I really didn’t get a chance to ponder other alternatives.

The type of story I wrote is very different from what I generally try to write.  I think that the monk photo really forced that though.

I immediately decided that I wanted to black guy in the cowboy hat to be the narrator of the story.  I really enjoyed that picture, and the expression on his face was priceless.  In my opinion, the story had to be about whatever he was looking at.

The look on his face, wasn’t just an ordinary look though.  He was looking at something spectacular.    The look on his face is one of awe, but I also feel impending doom there.  I guess that is what led to the end of the world.  I would imagine this look on someone’s face if they were unexpectedly staring at a mushroom cloud of an atomic blast.

 I guess I’ll discuss the spider’s web next.  Each of the beads of water on the web reflected the same picture.  I had a hard time thought figuring out ho to incorporate something so small into something as epic as the end of the world.  

Each of the beads of water though kind of resembled a globe.  I don’t think it was a far stretch to tie these to planets.  Since they each reflect the same scene in their own way, I decided that it would represent the universe…or perhaps a way that alternate worlds exist.  

As I said, the monk was a tough one to include.  It really forced my style into new territory.  The picture to me though seemed very obvious.  Due to its nature, I would have to interpret literally.  I decided that since the world was going to end, he could try to stand against that and protect life as we know it.  The actual pose of course, became his final blow.

The frosted scenery with the bridge was also difficult to integrate.  The winter scene evoked a few emotions from me.  Obviously, winter is used to signify death.  A bridge can also represent transitions.  These were both themes that I wanted to include in my story, but the scene itself was hard to fit as well.  The first picture of the man, and the picture of the monk, didn’t seem to correspond with the weather in the scene.  

I decided to make the scene the backdrop of the story…or at least a partial backdrop.  I suppose the spider’s web is a backdrop as well.  The frost spread once the world began to die.   In my opinion, this was my weakest pic use, but I couldn’t fid a way to use it that didn’t seem forced.  I hope it didn’t come across as too bad a throw away.  I really wanted to integrate it better, but couldn’t figure out how without making it too forced.

Overall, I am not sure that I am happy with the story.  It was shorter than I expected, but given the pictures and the story, I couldn’t really see extending it any further.  I could have had the angel talk to the narrator more, or extended the fight scene, but I didn’t think either should go much longer.

I tried to end the story leaving the reader to decide if the story were a true happening, or just the drunken ramblings of a homeless man.    I also hope that didn’t seem too forced.  I also hope that the judges realize the intentional use of the incorrect grammar and slurred pronunciation of words.  I tried to write this as if a drunken homeless man were telling the tale.  I had originally used this to a greater degree, but went back and changes a lot of his speech patterns as I found them distracting. 

Anyway, I enjoyed stretching my boundaries a bit.  I look forward to seeing what  Ranger Wickett and Herreman the Wise do with the pictures.  It will be interesting to see how the pictures spoke to them. 

[/sblock]


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## RangerWickett (Jun 22, 2005)

Ceramic DM – Summer 2005
Round 1, Match 3
By RangerWickett

Being woken up by El-Hadje was like playing Starcraft online and suddenly getting a pop-up ad mixed with a spam email. At least he didn’t have a virus. The asylum was very sterile.

“Time for work.” 

El-Hadje’s voice was clipped, thickly accented with Nigerian or Sumerian or something.

I rolled in my cot, pulling the blanket closer. “Why the hell is it so cold?”

“Time for work,” El-Hadje said again. “You see, um, lots of work?”

Shivering, I finally opened my eyes and glared at the old man. He was grinning widely, and I saw that Robert was leaning against the wall, trying to sleep despite the nightmares he always had. The lights were painfully bright, gleaming off El-Hadje’s gold teeth. I’d asked him once how he could afford gold teeth, and he had said something about slam dunks. 

I squinted at him. “You’re lucky you don’t speak English.”

El-Hadje hesitated, then nodded happily. “Yes! Lots of work. Is good we inside, yes? It is, ah, cold, yes?” 

“Yeah,” I muttered. “Cold like space.”

He was putting on his uniform, complete with his bagger’s hat. El-Hadje had been in the asylum a long time, and Batwarden let him get away with a few personality quirks like wearing things other than his uniform.

“Yes.” El-Hadje tied his apron, adjusted his hat, and left, laughing. As the door swung open, I could hear the morning screams of the other inmates.

With El-Hadje gone, Robert stared at me like he wanted help, but he never said anything. Knowing I’d get chit from the keepers if I didn’t get to work on time, I got off the cot and got dressed. It was like a straight-jacket without the straps – very stylish, but nowhere near as well coordinated as El-Hadje’s. 

“How do I get out of this shicken-chit outfit?” I asked Robert.

He shivered.

*Part One: Supermarket Asylum *


Nothing interesting ever happened in the supermarket. It was always the crazies on the outside bringing their troubles into our world. Normally we would never have seen normal people, but the psychs thought that social interaction with those who were not criminally insane was good for us, so we had work. It was a well known fact that food service is the neutral ground between the everyday man and the lunatic.

I had been arrested a year earlier, caught by the FBI just before I could get back to my dad at the North Korean consulate in Atlanta. I remember them saying they wanted to talk to me about pirating some music. I had laughed and told them it hadn’t been “some music,” it had been all music. Ironically, though it had erased all chance of me getting an innocent verdict, it had been just perfect to allow me to enter a plea of insanity. Normal people just like hip-hop, or pop, or rock, or oldies, or Inuit love songs. Only nuts like everything.

Despite the cold, I needed to do business, so I hopped into the netnet for some quick music downloading. I kept my netnet hidden under my personal book collection, assuring that no one would ever find it. I had gotten them smuggled in – both the books and the netnet – in exchange for getting a friend a copy of a musical jingle they played at the 1910 World’s Fair. Retro was once again the new thing in advertising.

The netnet was one of the silver beaded ones, equipped with wireless magnetic hooks so I could toss it up on the ceiling and jump online in a cinch. Robert, poor braindead bastard he was, was the only person who could pin anything on me. The proximity sensors I’d bought (paid for with a jazz remix of the Roman Imperial Anthem, c. 215 A.D) would give me more than enough time to get out of the net and activate its hide feature. In a pinch, the whole thing would cling to the ceiling, flattening itself so it could be mistaken for a cobweb.

I settled into the neuroactive mesh of the netnet and loaded my Artanis avatar. From the Starcraft-T game site I was able to ditch the avatar and slip out of the asylum network – it may sound simple to some of you, but I’d never been big into the hacking end of computers, so it took me a while. The netnet NPU knew what songs I needed to pick up, and it sent out spiders, giving me time to visit my father.

“An ice storm is coming,” he told me.

He could not hear it, but I had Amidst The Badger’s “Lucky Fallout Bastard” playing. It added a bit of charm to the old garden in the center of the Korean consulate.

“I can see,” I said. The garden was coated in a thin sheen of ice. I had visited the garden at least once a week since my institutionalization to train with my father. For once I was glad that it was the digital version, not the real one, since the ice would be hell to spar on.

I giggled at the ice pun. My father’s avatar sneered at me, and with just that provocation the fight began. Another benefit of fighting online: the heavy metal soundtrack, in this case an epic war song by The Jimi Hendrix Experience in an alternate timeline where World War III had started in the late 60s.

We slammed fists and shins into each other, threw each other into trees and shattered the bridge over the frozen pond. My father never talked. I think he was afraid he would catch some of my insanity. 

I was preparing for my first aerial dive kick when the system began to glitch. I lose all physical sensation, so I misjudge the force of my attack and drive my leg through a tree.

“Time out,” I said. “Something weird’s going on.”

My father cancelled the garden program. “There are many people nervous about the ice storm. It has been manifesting on the net already, though the weather is still a few hours away. Power may go down.”

I shuddered at the thought. Once I’d been taking a shower in the public facilities and Patrick had turned off the lights as a prank, then started his heavy breathing routine. I had ended up spending ten minutes in a defensive stance in the dark, naked except for the organic soap lather, before I realized no one was going to attack me.

“I’ve been on edge,” I say. “I need some organic coffee.”

“Take your meds, Chou.” Then he logged out, leaving me only a few moments to get back to the Starcraft boards before his system security fried my brain.

If I had any friends in the asylum, I would joke to them that the only mental problem I have is the first half of the Oedipus complex.

*	*	*

I had one more stop before logging out. My father had handed over most of my personal belongings when I’d gotten caught, including all my Starcraft trophies, but I’d liquidated my other assets and hidden them in a safe deposit box in a Decatur bank. I had a security contact named Tyrone inside the bank willing to break in and get my safe deposit box, including the millions of dollars I had accrued by selling pirated music, but he was asking for money up front. And, sadly, he wasn’t a music fan.

“Five thousand,” he said.

We were in a virtual of Little Five Points, a shady, artsy cluster of restaurants and shops where I felt comfortable, and older people like this guy were always on guard. The live feed flickered between the early morning sun frying the sidewalks, and the digital freeze that was creeping across the netnet.

“Like hell,” I replied. “I’ve got . . . well, I’ve got lots in there. What are you waiting for? Just get it, I’ll give you six thousand, and we’ll be good. And don’t think of trying to just steal it yourself. It’s rigged to fry the cash if I don’t provide the right password.”

Tyrone said, “Five thousand is for the gear to even get the box. Me doing the job is another ten. I know how to get in, but I need the right equipment.”

I cursed his mother in Korean, then said, “Fine. I’ll see if I can drum up that much cash.”

“Better hurry man,” he said. “We’re changing security systems in two weeks, and I might not be able to get it once they install the new system.”

*	*	*

Lesley snatched the c-stick out of my hand, greedy to listen to all the karaoke versions of Backstreet Boys songs. A little mainstream, but full of good spirit.

“Keep it under wraps,” I told her, and she nodded with a snarl. She headed into the warehouse, and I tried to mentally prepare myself for the storefront.

Forcing a grin onto my face, I shoved the double doors open and strode through, letting them flip shut behind me. Usually, the first thing to assault me was the cleaning supply scent that permeates the entire facility and has mild psychotropic powers, but today I was struck first by how intensely cold it was. I had once heard that a clerk had died in the frozen food section, that they had found him coated with that white frost you see on the sides of ice cream cartons. The walls here were coated with that same frost.

If nothing else, the cold suppressed the neurotoxins in the cleaning solution vapors, but to be safe I hurried to the produce section. My watch showed only two minutes left until my shift started, barely enough time to eat my daily organic peach.

The aisles were crowded beyond reason. I saw no children, and few elderly people – Wednesdays were senior citizen discount days, and the store seriously transformed into senior singles night every Wednesday evening, as the geriatric folks pulled out their best suit from the 70s, dusted them off, and tried to pick up chicks in the diaper aisle – and Christmas had been months ago, so there was no excuse for this level of manic shopping.

Pam – the front service manager on duty, who used half her paycheck for food and the other half for her weave – flagged me down, and when I reached her she discreetly shoved a packet with my meds into my palm. “Get a till and go on register six.”

Pam probably did not even know if I spoke English. I gave her my grinning nod and headed for the cash room.

About a third of the other inmates were at the registers, either checking out or bagging. Everyone else was either answering customer questions on the floor like the good drones we were supposed to be, or they were sleeping to prepare for the night shift. Or they were like Robert, too catatonic to work, the lucky fraghead.

The entire front service area was bright, gleaming with intense fluorescent lights reflected on ice. Occasionally I noticed another gleam – the gold of El-Hadje’s snaggled teeth. El-Hadje was helping Edie – renowned for the French Maid Massacre – and whenever he stopped to stretch, he grinned, waved at me, and shouted something incomprehensible.

Trading pirated music was easy in an asylum. The managers were so concerned with making sure the lunatics didn’t give away free food that they’d never notice a guy like me handing over a c-stick when I passed back their credit card. In exchange, the customers would occasionally ‘forget’ a bag of groceries, and the bagger would take the bag to the freezer. On my breaks I had enough time to swing by the freezers, take out whatever I’d bartered for, and hide it for eventual trade to the other inmates. They might have been paranoid hackers, drug-fried thieves, and unpatriotic murderers, but they understood that I got them things, so they generally didn’t give me any chit.

Patrick was my bagger this day, though, and I didn’t trust him enough with the drops, so it was a slow business day for me, which was probably for the best. With my luck the store would run out of yogurt, and one of the managers would check the freezer to see if any had been returned, and they would end up stumbling across a stash of VR hentai music videos, or occult textbooks, or – even worse – brand name foods from the competitor, Red Market.

It amazed me that I never had to ask for information – people in line were always volunteering it. At Christmas they’d talk about what they were getting their kids. On Martin Luther King day they’d say how guilty they felt that things weren’t the way he’d wanted them to be. They’d mention their birthdays, their kids’ birthdays, the birthdays of their kids’ friends. If all the other cashiers got talked to the same way I did, it was a miracle none of them had killed any customers. At least, not that we knew about.

Right now they were talking about the weather, and for once the weather was something special. Most of them had gone on the net for their morning news, and had seen everything coated in ice. It was only affecting the Atlanta metropolitan area network, but most of the users were too old to be comfortable flying across the world to get their news someplace sunny and dry. Weather reports said the city would be hit by a crippling ice storm this evening, dropping enough sleet to bring down power lines and close the city. We had already sold out of portable generators, firewood, milk, and bread. The milk in particular amused me. They all knew they needed to stock up for the impending power outage, so they bought all the perishable food they could.

“Ooh.” The voice was high pitched and far more excited than anyone had right to be in a grocery store.

I looked over the register, and behind the crowd of people in line waiting to buy such emergency rations as butter and tilapia fillet I spotted a Jewish kid. He was maybe fourteen, and was staring at the Sports Illustrated on the magazine rack, on the cover of which a topless blonde was covering her own rack with just her hands and a football she had caught with the aid of her cleavage.

The kid grabbed a friend and pointed him toward the breasts that were so enthralling. I watched, not really needing to devote much effort to scanning canned goods. Unfortunately for the kids, the first kid’s mom saw what they were looking at and gasped. She pressed her way through the crowd, grabbing the magazine and forcing her way to stand in front of me.

“I’m sorry sir,” she said, “but do you condone children seeing these sorts of things?” She shook the magazine at me.

“No ma’am,” I said. “Not during ice storms. Swimsuits and snow make for a confusing message for children.”

“I want to talk to your manager.”

I shrugged and shouted for Pam, then pretty much ignored the issue, except to toss the kids a VR porn c-stick. What can I say? I’m sympathetic to the plight of the youth.

Hours passed with nothing more eventful than Pam putting an opaque plastic sheet in front of the swimsuit edition. El-Hadje was being louder than usual, and the store kept getting colder, until actual fog started filling the aisles. One of the cashiers panicked and had to be taken away so the doctors could explain to him that the fog couldn’t hurt him. Between the manic food-buying crowds and the ice that was starting to freeze together the buttons on my register, though, I was a little worried for my own safety.

Things were still busy when it came time for my break, so I had to wait for Patrick to head off before I had an excuse to leave – we didn’t have enough baggers, because apparently the lunatic mind is more suited to customer interaction than it is to dealing with plastic bags. But when Patrick finally went to go to the bathroom, I followed him, unpleasant as he was.

He whistled as he pissed – “Jailhouse Rock” – and when he finished he walked into the handicapped stall and locked the door. I could hear him breathing heavily, so heavily that it looked like smoke was pouring out of the stall from his foggy breath.

I was trying to get hot water to come out of the faucet when the restroom door opened, and a citizen walked in. This was the Employees Only restroom, and for good reason.

“Get out of here!” I shouted at the guy, but Patrick had already pushed open his door. He coughed vapor and scrambled for the clueless man. He managed to bite the man on his lips and rip something out before I reacted.

I couldn’t use all the same moves as I did online, but the principle was the same. A kick to his leg knocked him down, and another to his chest stunned him. The customer screamed and ran out of the bathroom, and Patrick glared up at me.

“You’re gonna be sorry when Hajji hears about this.”

I shrugged and went back to the sink, careful to listen if he was going to attack me. Which of course he did.

Patrick was one of the mundane inmates – not really crazy until he got here and got meds shoved down his gullet. He had just gotten placed in here to dodge prison, and had not been smart enough to throw away his pills. Because he was just a thug, I expected him to try to hit me, or maybe pull a shiv, but when I turned to block his attack I got flashed in the face by Bluetooth, an Ice used by cops to stun criminals. It shocked my brain into activating the implants that would normally let me go on the netnet, and if I hadn’t had a wireless connection it would have left me unconscious for a few hours while my mind tried to figure out why the universe was empty.

Still, it did shock me, and when I recovered enough to log out, I found myself in a headlock, my face being pressed toward the toilet Patrick had not flushed. I struck backward and gouged at his eyes, and he stumbled away. Before he could rush me again I yanked up the toilet seat, kicked into the hinges to knock it loose, and smashed it into Patrick’s face. He fell limp, and the urine-colored ice covering the restroom tile cracked with the impact.

“Where the hell did you get a Bluetooth?” I said, but I’d knocked him out, so I just riffled through his clothes. He had another Bluetooth charge in his pants, and a felt pen. Pens weren’t allowed in the asylum, so I gave him another look-over. Finally I spotted the map he had drawn on his shins, complete with a big A for the asylum, and an X with two R's for the nearest railroad.

I hid Patrick’s body in the handicapped stall and went back to work like nothing was up, but I watched El-Hadje more closely. The African man had been my cellmate, along with Robert, for a year now, and he had never seemed the type to take revenge, at least not compared to Anthony “Usher” King, the gangslord. His two personalities had each run their own gang in east Atlanta, and they said he had ordered his other personality’s girlfriend shot, which sparked the gang war that brought him down. He was one of the few inmates whom the meds actually helped.

On my dinner break I hit up a conversation with Usher. It was getting dark, and the crowds were more insistent, to the point that they were buying even the expensive brands because they needed taco seasoning, and the generic brands were sold out. Usher and I met in a cubby where sometimes the women hung out to put on make-up. It had a window to the outside, the closet thing to a mirror in the asylum.

“Have you seen anything suspicious?”

Usher held out a hand, and I passed him the collected works of John Tesh. “The netnet’s fritzin’,” he said. “I know you’re fond of it, but you betta’ plan what you’ll do without it for a few days.”

“Patrick attacked me earlier. He had a map of the neighborhood.”

The grin on Usher’s face worried me.

“I’m out of the loop,” I said. “Right?”

“Yes,” El-Hadje said. He peeked around the corner of the cubby. “People, they, ah, crazy, yes? Lots of work. I you saw my lots of work? Netnet.”

I gaped at him. I was pretty good with deciphering his gibber, but what he’d said made no sense for a completely unusual reason.

”Wait,” I said, “you did that? On the netnet?”

“Lots of ice, yes. Work, burr, hard.”

Usher smiled. “In half an hour, the power goes down, and we’re getting out. The trains should still be running, so we should be able to get to Savannah before anyone starts looking for us. You want in, Chou?”

I considered it. I had another year at least before the psychs would consider saneing me, but if I could get my safe deposit box, I could bribe my way out of here with a clean bill of sanity. I didn’t want to be on the run.

“I’m in,” I said. “But a quick question. Patrick flashed me with bluetooth. I know I didn’t smuggle that chit in.”

Usher grinned. El-Hadje frowned, then nodded and smiled. “Yes. Bah, big boss, no? Rattle and hum, yes? I, ah, go. Big freeze, yes.”

I had only ever smuggled in my own netnet connection, to make sure no one could give me competition. I had no idea how El-Hadje could be accessing the netnet, and he had never shown any skill in programming. Of course, just because he didn’t speak any English or Korean, I had assumed he was as braindead as half the other people who were committed here.

El-Hadje left, and I stood to go back to work, but Usher grabbed my wrist.

“You’re getting out, man. Don’t get a grudge because you have competition now.”

I laughed. “Not a chance. Vendettas are unhealthy. You learned that lesson twice.”

I pasted on my medicated grin and slipped into the shopping crowds, letting them carry me to the doors that led to the warehouse. Beyond the warehouse were the living quarters, and I needed to get there to alert the authorities before El-Hadje froze the netnet. I had been faking contented insanity so long, the managers and psychs here would never believe me, so I had to hope the cops would just respond to a bomb threat and be here in time to catch the escapees. I certainly did not consider myself a criminal, and after spending a year here I knew that letting the loonies out would be a bad thing. 

As I pressed through the crowd, I picked up a few frozen organic bananas to help clear my head.

Lights were starting to flicker in the warehouse as the ice storm – maybe the real one, maybe the digital – began messing with power lines. The floor was frozen, and while the shoppers had coats, we inmates weren’t allowed them, so no one bothered me. I reached my room, nodded to Robert who was still sitting and shivering against one wall, and got out my netnet. I was stretching it out so I could climb in, and my back was to the door, when I saw movement reflected in the silvery beads on the netnet’s web mesh. Something behind me was moving, and I had not heard it over the roar of the air conditioning.

I spun to face my attacker, expecting El-Hadje, but it was Robert. I had never seen him stand to his full height, and he was over six feet tall, balding and wide-eyed, hardly the brain dead man I was used to.

His voice was surprisingly friendly and nerdy. “I had an idea you would do this. I’m sorry, but I can’t let you mess with the plan.”

“Does everyone here fake being crazy?” I asked.

He grinned maniacally and swung a meaty fist at me. I staggered back out of range and fell into the netnet, but it was not fully stretched, so it tangled one of my arms. Robert grabbed my head with both hands and tried to head butt me, but I kneed him in the groin, then pulled the bluetooth out of my apron and flashed him. He staggered, spasmed for a moment, and then fell down.

“Some criminal mastermind,” I laughed. “You’ve probably been using my netnet while I was at work too. Nicely done, bastard.”

He twitched a bit, but looked fully catatonic. Of course, he had fooled me before, so I went to my stash and found another goody I had smuggled in. It took a little work to make his hands grab the knife, but the sterile gloves the supermarket made us wear would keep my fingerprints off it. There was a nice pool of blood around each of his wrists before I felt comfortable logging on.

As I expected, he had a wireless connection of his own, and he was waiting when my avatar manifested. He had created an avatar of a lightning-taloned griffon, whereas I was just in my sparring outfit. We were alone in an icy wasteland, and the visual processors were breaking down in the distance, rendering clouds in green wiremesh.

I held up a hand to forestall an attack.

“Wait, Robert. I overreacted. I’m sorry.”

The griffon looked confused. It cawed out, “I don’t trust you.”

“You probably shouldn’t. Look, you’ve been piggybacking on my connection, so I’m just going to download a few quick files to your brain, okay? You like Disney music?”

He cried out at me and scrambled forward on paws and talons. “It’s a Small World” was beginning to play in his head as he swiped at me with a talon, and I blocked the strike with ease. My own soundtrack was playing something off my randomized fantasy movie soundtrack collection, and I got into a nice rhythm of dodging beak strikes and claw swipes to the beat of the music.

Finally, in frustration, Robert took to the air, his wings swinging him into a frozen sky. He circled overhead, waiting for an opportune moment to strike. I decided not to give him the chance, and leapt into the air, preparing for a diving kick.

That was when my body stopped working. I was left floating in the air as the gravity was disabled.

Robert swooped past me, giving a mocking cry. “I’ve been hacking your system for a year now. Hell, they put me in here for programming people’s minds to make them insane. Did you really think you could defeat me online?”

“Um, no.” I couldn’t move my body, so I just followed his path with my eyes. “That’s why I slit your wrists before logging on. Oh, and your jugular. I’m surprised you’ve lasted this long. You really might want to log off.”

El-Hadje’s hacking was taking effect, the world starting to break down as the netnet connection faltered. Robert logged off in a panic, and I sent an urgent text message to the area police stations, reporting a bomb threat. Not the best course of action, especially since when the system crashed, if I was still online I would go unconscious and be trapped in a dark room with a perhaps not-dead Robert. But I couldn’t move, was stuck in a stupid posture mid-kick, and couldn’t log off, so I had nothing better to do than send out some emails.

Which is why I’ve sent this email to you. As you can see, I’m in a bit of a tough spot. With luck, the cops will realize I was just trying to help, and they won’t press charges. They might even let me out of the asylum. But that still doesn’t help me get my safe deposit box. My Nigerian friend El-Hadje might want to take revenge on me, and I need protection. If you’ll just transfer $5000 to my account, I’ll be able to get my safe deposit box, and I’ll gladly share my millions with you. Please just help out a poor Korean Starcraft player who’s fallen on hard times.

Oh, and buy organic.


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## FireLance (Jun 22, 2005)

Congrats to Speaker! I was half expecting the outcome (and half expecting Hellefire to win).

Thanks to all the judges for the comments. One of the problems I had in earlier CDM matches was ending weakly. In trying to end better, I seem to have wrapped things up too neatly this time. I will also have to work on describing things better. It's an old problem of mine - my school essays were often criticized for lacking detail.

Anyway, it's been a fun round, and I suddenly have the urge to stat out a half-fiend cold element dire tiger...


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## Herremann the Wise (Jun 23, 2005)

Hi yangnome,

Spoiler blocked but free for all to read except obviously our judges.

[sblock]
Excellent story! I really enjoyed it.
Your writing was excellent in capturing how the narrator thought.

I agree with you so much about that picture though! If you look at his face in it's entirety - his expression is absolute and utter awe but then when you focus upon his eyes, you can feel his sensing of fear. I don't know where BSF got that photo from but my goodness was it fantastic to base a story around.

Unlike you, I really struggled to join the pictures together. It took me pretty much the whole of "Day One" as I called it to come up with a basic storyline joining the images. By Day Two I'd only written 1600 words with five and a half sections still to write - and they were the big ones too.

What can I say but that the whole Ceramic DM thing has just blown me away. The experience was fantastic! I don't care if the judges rip my story apart, I'm so happy to have finished it in the time constraints because I'm a really slow writer - just ask those people following my Story Hour.   

Anyway, best of luck.

[/sblock]

Best Regards
Herremann the Wise


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## BSF (Jun 23, 2005)

Sheesh, even Rangerwickett had seven minutes to spare.  Not quite down to the wire, but pretty close.


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## yangnome (Jun 23, 2005)

This comment should be safe for judges to read:

Wow, I am really glad that all three of us managed to get our stories in on time.  When I saw that I was the first one with an hour left, I began to worry that one or both of you might not make it.  A big part of the enjoyment of CDM for me is to see how each person looks at the pictures.  We definately turned in three very different stories.  I enjoyed both of your stories.  I'll try to post some thoughts and comments sometime this evening.


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## Herremann the Wise (Jun 23, 2005)

Hi RangerWickett,

And I thought I was cutting it fine.   

As before, free to all except our wonderful judges.

[sblock]
What can I say. That was just absolutely brilliant. I've read a couple of your stories to see what the first round opposition was like and they were pretty damn good.
However this one was just brilliant. EXCELLENT ending!  

 Enjoy Round 2   
[/sblock]

Best Regards
Herremann the Wise


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## Herremann the Wise (Jun 23, 2005)

yangnome said:
			
		

> This comment should be safe for judges to read:
> 
> Wow, I am really glad that all three of us managed to get our stories in on time.  When I saw that I was the first one with an hour left, I began to worry that one or both of you might not make it.  A big part of the enjoyment of CDM for me is to see how each person looks at the pictures.  We definately turned in three very different stories.  I enjoyed both of your stories.  I'll try to post some thoughts and comments sometime this evening.




Unfortunately this comment might not be so:

[sblock]
I was a little worried myself but RangerWickett came through and how!
Isn't it interesting how those pictures could be used in such different ways.

I'm more a fantasy person myself more so than sci-fi so I was a little concerned leading up to the pictures being posted. I only have a single Story Hour and it's straight fantasy. My experience with sci-fi, not only writing but reading is incredibly limited which is not ideal for this competition. As such, I bent the images as best I could, trying to suck out all the strange little pieces of information in them.

Anyway, I was thinking of posting a diary after the round is judged; this being my first experience Ceramic DMing.

What I can say however is I can see now why Alsih2o was so forthright when it came to judging in the initial thread. Unless you have been under the pump, trying to figure out how to put four pictures together in under 72 hours, I'm not too sure you would be even close to having the right perspective. I mean that first day, I was wondering - how the hell am I going to do this? This is impossible!

To then go on the Ceramic DM ride and finish off a story, you can imagine the journey each writer takes as they finally produce their finished piece. Anyway, I'm rambling. i'm still on a high actually finishing my story so please excuse my enthusiasm at the moment.   

If I get knocked out, I'll provide some judgments for the 2nd and 3rd rounds. I've got a silly scheme worked out that should at the least be amusing, if not overly informative.

Anyway, best of luck yangnome and RangerWickett, excellent entries from both of you.   
[/sblock]

And finally to BardStephenFox,

Have you ever thought of running a Virgin Ceramic DM competition where all contestants are Enworlders who... you know... haven't done it before. It might make for an interesting competition - I know how much I have enjoyed participating in this for the first time.

Best Regards
Herremann the Wise


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## BSF (Jun 23, 2005)

Herremann the Wise said:
			
		

> And finally to BardStephenFox,
> 
> Have you ever thought of running a Virgin Ceramic DM competition where all contestants are Enworlders who... you know... haven't done it before. It might make for an interesting competition - I know how much I have enjoyed participating in this for the first time.
> 
> ...




That came up in the backchannel discussions before this competition started.  I had considered it and Alsih2o had suggested it as a possibility.  I just wonder if we would actually have 8 new people that would want to jump in.  One of my reasons for running the sign-ups for so long was to try to encourage people to speak up if they are interested.  Even if they couldn't make it in this contest, it would give us a chance to see how many people really are interested.  

Each contest we seem to bring in a few new people.  But it doesn't seem like we ever have a full 8 new people interested in writing.  Maybe they stay lurking if it looks like the contest is full?  I don't know.  

In any event, I agree that the first contest is fun.  They all are, but there seems to be a little more tension and excitement in your first time.


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## alsih2o (Jun 23, 2005)

Wow, just in off the road and catching up. This is some great stuff to catch up to.

 BSF is kicking tail and the stories are looking great. More!


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## RangerWickett (Jun 23, 2005)

I hope Arwink wins round 4, because he's the only guy I know well enough to be able to trash talk. Of course, he probably won't be able to finish his story because he's moving again. (note: not a crack at BSF or alsih2o or anyone else moving).

[sblock]I wanted to read through all the stories posted here, but I had to go visit a few friends of mine who work in the supermarket that inspired this story. I worked at Publix in Atlanta for 4 months, and had an . . . interesting time. Anyway, I managed to only finish reading the first rounders. Need sleep.
[/sblock]

Peace.


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## arwink (Jun 23, 2005)

RangerWickett said:
			
		

> I hope Arwink wins round 4, because he's the only guy I know well enough to be able to trash talk. Of course, he probably won't be able to finish his story because he's moving again. (note: not a crack at BSF or alsih2o or anyone else moving).




Marking, actually. 

And once again, the general quality of ceramic DM entries pretty much creams about 70% of the submissions in the creative writing course.


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## Berandor (Jun 23, 2005)

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> In any event, I agree that the first contest is fun.  They all are, but there seems to be a little more tension and excitement in your first time.



For me, there was a little more sucking in my first time... err, quality-wise. But yeah, I remember it "fondly" (i.e. waking up screaming) 

I just got up, will read now. Congrats, y'all, for making it in time.


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## BSF (Jun 23, 2005)

RangerWickett said:
			
		

> I hope Arwink wins round 4, because he's the only guy I know well enough to be able to trash talk. Of course, he probably won't be able to finish his story because he's moving again. (note: not a crack at BSF or alsih2o or anyone else moving).



No offense taken.  I just got back from finishing off the garage at the old house.  It's 2:00 AM and I need to get a few hours sleep so I can function at work in the morning.  

The good news is that we close on that house on Friday and we will be done with that aspect of moving.  The bad news is that I still don't have a judgement for folks.  But hey, I promised within 4 days.    Trust me, I would love to be done with another judgement by now.  But I haven't forgotten you guys.  Just hang in there a little longer.  

While you wait, discuss the cool aspects of writing or something.  Like maybe somebody would care to share where they drew inspiration for a story?  How did you try to fit the pictures in?  Stuff like that.  That would be cool!


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## Berandor (Jun 23, 2005)

Maybe someone lese will share his or her secrets with us?

For now, I'll comment on the three newest entries.. and tadk. 

*tadk*, when I went to bed last night I realized I had looked for the pics to my round in your story! No wonder I couldn't find them.  There I lay, wondering where you had hidden that ladder pic, and whether the explosives were meant to be the multiple mirror spheres. Only when I thought, "but the tiger was nice", I realized what had happened. So - yeah, I ed up. Sorry 

*yanggnome, Destiny's Call*
[sblock]It's the end of the world as we know it... and I feel fine  A very nice story about the end of the world. I didn't mind the speaker's "voice", but I think in the combat description you lose it and become very clear and technical, where perhaps a more "muddy" description might have worked better. I always like these kinds of "what ifs" - what if the homeless man warning us of our doom actually was correct? The situation also seemed very "personal", very "local" to me. The end of the world started in Eerie, Indiana. (actually, that might make a good first sentence for a story) So how did the monk know where and when to be? And if he appeared, why not several others? Why didn't he bring some heavy weaponry, or a clan of ninjas with him? And what would have happened if he hadn't punched a hole in the world? It's a fine entry, but these questions remained with me afterwards.
_The Pictures_
*checks to see these are the correct pictures for the round*
Alright, I loved the way you used the "gaping smile" - looking at Angelic Destruction might indeed cause such a reaction. Making the man the narrator was a great choice. The "ki jump" was a fairly straightforward interpretation, but hard to do differently. The "frozen bridge" was nice, but mainly for the image. Having frost stretching out after a hard punch was a fairly random thing to happen, I thought. The "spiderweb", finally, was a very nice visual. Alternate realities hanging on these threads - I like it very much.
[/sblock]

*Herreman the Wise, Of Power and Peace*
[sblock]One thing is missing from your story, just one miniscule thing: a word. Couldn't you have put another adjective or adverb somewhere? 4,999 words? 
But there's my problem with your story right there: it's wordy. That's not to say your sentences aren't beautifully constructed, as far as I can tell. But you use so many adverbs and adjectives - I was longing for something to be simply the way it is. Just a table. Just a smile. Just a spell. I realize you wanted to craft the atmosphere of a fairy tale, of a time of wonders long past, and you succeeded. I just felt it was too much.
My second quibble would be with the conflict. What conflict, you ask? There you have it. There is none. The gift to the barbarians is in Imperial hands from the beginning. The wizard immediately listens to the boy and takes him to the barbarian lands, whereupon they are immediately transported to the emperor, before a peace treaty is signed and the dragon egg returned. There are fights, yes, but they are glossed over, as are any problems in crafting said peace treaty or even being received by the barbarian emperor.
That said, it was still a very enjoyable read, and you do craft very fine sentences. And the final note, of giving power to your enemy, was wonderful. I really liked that.
_The Pictures_
The "gaping smile" is the wizard's servant seeing a dragon for the first time in decades. It's a nice image, but not a spectacular use. The "spiderweb" was very nice, and I think I will yoink the idea of the dew spider for later use. I thought the "ki kick" was an innovative use with the brother being yanked back, even though his demise was so early in the story. The "frozen bridge" was a nice use, but I wasn't quite clear on the significance of the ice, since you write later on that the wizard's valley was always in temperate climate, the threat of winter yet a promise 
[/sblock]

*RangerWickett, Part 1: Supermarket Asylum*
[sblock]First: Why "Part 1"?  Now, I had some problems getting into the story. It just took until the protagonist meets his father on netnet that I felt comfortable in it. I can't really pinpoint why, though. The world you describe is - to put it mildly - really, really strange. Which is good in my book, of course. Everytime I felt the story didn't really click with me, there was a little throwaway reference that pulled me back in. People buying perishables. The Sports Illustrated. (though I felt a little queasy with the - to me - inherent commentary you provided. I try to stay away from these things in Ceramic DM) And of course the catatonic cellmate wasn't; all that was left to find out was wther he'd be a good guy or a bad guy. I guess he was bad.  And despite that overall, I liked your story but wasn't terribly impressed by it, your ending earned you a load of bonus points, of course. A really, really great meta-commentary/twist, especially since these scams rely on this exact scenario: "What if it were true?".
_The Pictures_
Interestingly, yanggnome uses the "ki kick" as forward motion, whereas Herreman the Wise let the kicker fly backwards. You have him freeze in the (artificial) air. Who would have thought this picture to be used so differently? (Well, BSF obviously. Kudos, there!) I liked your use, though it didn't take me by as much surprise as Herreman's.  The "spiderweb" as a modern piece of cyberware was very nice; I really think this pic did get the best interpretations overall. The "gaping smile" was a throwaway, though. There was just no significance to the situation (maybe there is on a second read, when you know that the cold was engineered by the Nigerian). Finally, the "frozen bridge" is a difficult one. On the one hand, the ice storm features strongly in the story; on the other hand, it is simply an artificial environment created by the father. I *think* you tried to show that the netnet weather cannot be influenced by the normal user (the remark about people being too old to get their news elsewhere), which would explain the frozen part, making this a good use.
[/sblock]

All in all, again a very good and very close round. I wouldn't want to judge between two of these stories, let alone three of them.


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## Berandor (Jun 23, 2005)

Here's something from Herreman's spoiler comment that I think can be unspoilered and might be interesting to talk about.



> Unless you have been under the pump, trying to figure out how to put four pictures together in under 72 hours, I'm not too sure you would be even close to having the right perspective. I mean that first day, I was wondering - how the hell am I going to do this? This is impossible!




It's fun, isn't it?  But that's really what Ceramic DM is about: Seeing people sweat their behinds to nothing and then deliver a cool story. ANd so far I think every story has delivered. But getting these pics to work, and take up an important part in the story no less, can be hellishly difficult. Until the moment where it all falls into place. Then it's wonderful. But sadly, this moment doesn't come with every story. And even after figuring out how to connect the pics, you still have to write the story.

For me, it was a lucky round in that a theme I had had in my mind for some time before fit right in and actually facilitated the picture use, but there were times when I courted the deadline, as well, once not even managing a final look-over.

So, perhaps to the other contestants: How quickly did you have your story, and was the picture you thought of as easy really the easiest to employ?


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## reveal (Jun 23, 2005)

Quick question:

My story will have some Eric's grandma-unfriendly words in it. Do I put the story in a spoiler or simply post a warning at the beginning?


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## Berandor (Jun 23, 2005)

Just put a warning up front. And remember - grandma-unfriendly words turn up as smilies, so you might want to use different words in order to not  up your story, err I mean in order to not freak it up.


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## BSF (Jun 23, 2005)

What Berandor said.  I think that might have been one of the unspoken reasons Sialia wanted to use a PDF.  She didn't want one of her character's personalities to be smilied.  Just be sure you have warnings before the story so folks can elect to pass it up.


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## reveal (Jun 23, 2005)

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> What Berandor said.  I think that might have been one of the unspoken reasons Sialia wanted to use a PDF.  She didn't want one of her character's personalities to be smilied.  Just be sure you have warnings before the story so folks can elect to pass it up.




Is it ok to put it in PDF or Word then? The words mean a lot to the story and I don't want them to show up as smilies? The only formatting I use is the italics. And I will put the name of the picture when I use it. I just can't think of any other way to get the words to show, unless I put it in a spoiler block and put spaces in the word, but that kind of messes with the flow.


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## Maldur (Jun 23, 2005)

I did email my verdict for round 1-3, so BSF can go to town with posting them 

*gets a new judging stick as I just broke this one against something*


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## BSF (Jun 23, 2005)

Reveal, go for it.  As mentioned earlier in thread, I will judge it based on non-formatting.  But I am all for using whatever you need to to keep the integrity of the story intact and make it a good reading experience for the non-judges out there.


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## reveal (Jun 23, 2005)

Ok. Here is my entry. It turned out a lot better than I expected when I first saw the pictures, but that's not really saying much. 

Two things:

1) This contains Eric's grandma-unfriendly material.

2) There are links inside to the pictures. I am including both the PDF and Word versions so you can open them up in whichever one you want. I am doing this because of point 1.


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## reveal (Jun 23, 2005)

One more thing, since I don't want to edit my previous post.

3) This is not a Fantasy story. Hopefully the judges don't frown upon that too much.


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## yangnome (Jun 23, 2005)

reveal said:
			
		

> One more thing, since I don't want to edit my previous post.
> 
> 3) This is not a Fantasy story. Hopefully the judges don't frown upon that too much.




I don't think that will be of any concern to the judges.  I've noticed that a lot of the time, the pictures seem to dictate the time, place, season, and even genre of the story.


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## Macbeth (Jun 23, 2005)

Don't worry that it's not a fantasy story. In all my time in Ceramic DM, I can only think of one or two stories I've wrote that are even close to being Fantasy.


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## yangnome (Jun 23, 2005)

Berandor,
[sblock]


You brought up a number of astute observations.  I think I pretty much agree with most, if not all of the points you make.  I’ll try to address them one by one to show the reason for my choices.  



> It's the end of the world as we know it... and I feel fine  A very nice story about the end of the world. I didn't mind the speaker's "voice", but I think in the combat description you lose it and become very clear and technical, where perhaps a more "muddy" description might have worked better.



I agree with this.  I’m not very good at describing combat, especially when dealing with epic level fantasy martial arts stuff.  Throw the wings of the Angel into the equation and I had a full plate in front of me.  I think in trying to describe something cinematic, I slipped out of character.  I began trying to picture the fight in my mind, and I didn’t filter it through the eyes of the narrator. I think I could have avoided this mistake had I been a bit more comfortable with the topic I was writing.



> I always like these kinds of "what ifs" - what if the homeless man warning us of our doom actually was correct? The situation also seemed very "personal", very "local" to me. The end of the world started in Eerie, Indiana. (actually, that might make a good first sentence for a story)




Indeed, that would have been a good opening line to the story.  I toyed around with trying a different opening line that introduced conflict a bit sooner, but couldn’t come up with something I liked.  I think your suggestion is nice and simple and would have made a good alternative.



> So how did the monk know where and when to be? And if he appeared, why not several others? Why didn't he bring some heavy weaponry, or a clan of ninjas with him? And what would have happened if he hadn't punched a hole in the world? It's a fine entry, but these questions remained with me afterwards.



These are questions I thought about answering in the story, but decided to leave them unanswered.  Looking back, I think I should have at least answered why he came alone.  Doing so would have helped stress one of the themes behind my story.

Of course, some of the questions you ask let me know that I might not have covered this theme enough…or perhaps I did cover it just enough.    This theme was the arrogance of man.  In the telling of the story, it seems as if the angel of death is the evil character, bringing with her the end of the world.  The monk makes a stand for humanity.  In the end however, it is the monk’s arrogance that brings about the end of the world.  His kick brings the fatal blow to the world.  He destroys what he originally set out to save.  Had he not shown, would the world have ended?  Well, I guess that is where destiny comes in.  I guess it is similar to the question, ‘what if no one had crucified Jesus.’

As to the question about the hole he put in the earth, it wasn’t this that destroyed the world.  I think I was a bit too subtle with this for the audience to pick it up, but his kick shook the world.  It shook it hard enough that it destroyed the balance and caused it to fall from the web of reality.  This of course, brought about the destruction of the world. 



> The Pictures
> *checks to see these are the correct pictures for the round*
> Alright, I loved the way you used the "gaping smile" - looking at Angelic Destruction might indeed cause such a reaction. Making the man the narrator was a great choice. The "ki jump" was a fairly straightforward interpretation, but hard to do differently. The "frozen bridge" was nice, but mainly for the image. Having frost stretching out after a hard punch was a fairly random thing to happen, I thought. The "spiderweb", finally, was a very nice visual. Alternate realities hanging on these threads - I like it very much.
> 
> ...


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## Herremann the Wise (Jun 23, 2005)

Hi Berandor,

Comments within,   

[sblock]


			
				Berandor said:
			
		

> *Herreman the Wise, Of Power and Peace*
> One thing is missing from your story, just one miniscule thing: a word. Couldn't you have put another adjective or adverb somewhere? 4,999 words?
> But there's my problem with your story right there: it's wordy. That's not to say your sentences aren't beautifully constructed, as far as I can tell. But you use so many adverbs and adjectives - I was longing for something to be simply the way it is. Just a table. Just a smile. Just a spell. I realize you wanted to craft the atmosphere of a fairy tale, of a time of wonders long past, and you succeeded. I just felt it was too much.



That's fair comment. My writing is shall we say... indulgent, to a certain extent. It's a style thing and I suppose it isn't to everyone's taste. For me, I love words and putting them together in different ways to elicit different effects. Perhaps even, a lot of it comes from the way I actually write. I see a scene in my head and I play it out as if it's a movie and I'm there with my camera. I block everything out and try and see and feel. Then I write.

The following I suppose is an approximate overview of my 72 hours of pleasure and pain.
Pretty much this whole story was written at work over the space of three 8-hour blocks.

The first block was trying to make heads or tails of the pictures - I had something after about three hours but sheesh were there some confidence issues. Even when I had decided a path and trail through the pictures, I questioned myself whether it was good enough. Finding the courage to move forward with it was actually quite difficult for me. I had an outline but I wasn't sure of exactly how to end my tale. Regardless, time was moving past too quick to get lost. I had to start writing.

Which by the second block I had. I'd written the introduction, half of the opening and the part with Bazreth and the solar dew spider. However, this was really strange for me. I normally write sequentially with the end product completely written as you see it upon the page. However, I was sought of stuck with exactly how to present the Lorus and Orrolo. Time was flying past all too fast and so I jumped forward to write ahead. I'm glad I did otherwise I really would have run out of time. Anyway, it was the end of the 2nd day and yet there was still so much to write. I really wondered whether I'd have to drop out with tail firmly between my legs.

Anyway, on the third day, I really got pumping and finished the final three and a half thousand words. However, the ceiling of 5000 words was so difficult. I suppose it comes back to that famous quote: "I would have written a shorter letter but I did not have time". A quote _so_ true. Anyway, the story was finished so I printed it out like I had every other day to take it home to edit with my trusty red pen. Cleaning up certain phrases, making others a little more accurate and tidy.

And so, with the deadline at 8:51am on a chilly Thursday morning in Sydney, I finally posted up my first Ceramic DM entry.

Anyway, I suppose I followed the same advice given to my from these boards when I started my Story Hour: write for yourself.
And so my style is the eventual product. And I love Jack Vance, what can I say.   


			
				Berandor said:
			
		

> My second quibble would be with the conflict. What conflict, you ask? There you have it. There is none. The gift to the barbarians is in Imperial hands from the beginning. The wizard immediately listens to the boy and takes him to the barbarian lands, whereupon they are immediately transported to the emperor, before a peace treaty is signed and the dragon egg returned. There are fights, yes, but they are glossed over, as are any problems in crafting said peace treaty or even being received by the barbarian emperor.




Again fair comment. The limits of telling a long story as a short story I suppose is the key here. In the end, it had to become more a tale that did not get bogged down in such issues.
Again, the restrictions brought about by following the pictures dominates here.

However, I hope there was enough conflict to drive the story, between E'dhanus and Orrolo, E'dhanus and Bazreth and I suppose wondering how it would all turn out - I mean, what was "the gift" anyway. I tried to leave this hanging until the end.

I suppose the conflict that I was using to drive the story was a little too subtle; particularly compared to the more standard Ceramic DM entries. Unfortunately, there was simply not the space to go into the more minute details of how or why. In fact, I wanted to keep things somewhat vague in regards to motives.

For example, did the Lorus send E'dhanus because she knew that Bazreth would smite him for his arrogance while Orrolo as a beacon of spirit and portent, would blind the wizard with his significance? Was the gift not only the Dragon's Egg, but giving Bazreth back to his people? There is simply not the space to push these things forward so explicitly. With more time, and I suppose a better writer, these issues could be more neatly folded into the story.



			
				Berandor said:
			
		

> That said, it was still a very enjoyable read, and you do craft very fine sentences. And the final note, of giving power to your enemy, was wonderful. I really liked that.



If you enjoyed the story, I achieved my aim.   



			
				Berandor said:
			
		

> _The Pictures_
> The "gaping smile" is the wizard's servant seeing a dragon for the first time in decades. It's a nice image, but not a spectacular use. The "spiderweb" was very nice, and I think I will yoink the idea of the dew spider for later use. I thought the "ki kick" was an innovative use with the brother being yanked back, even though his demise was so early in the story. The "frozen bridge" was a nice use, but I wasn't quite clear on the significance of the ice, since you write later on that the wizard's valley was always in temperate climate, the threat of winter yet a promise




I was happy with my use of the pictures overall. I was dead set scared to begin with though. Here's just a little explanation of each one:

The Smiling Man
As you can see, this is Moses with Bazreth in the background holding his staff. Behind them is the massive twin planet of Iriadeus. As I mentioned before, if you look at "Moses", he is looking in awe, but if you then focus upon his eyes, you can see the fear in them. The reflected sunset in his eyes was also a key. He needed to be looking at something magnificent. As such I really tried to capture the natural flow that was inherent in the image - the best I have seen in my opinion from looking through a good selection of past pictures.

The Spider's Web
I really liked this. With several reference's in the story - "our friend's final message" - for eample, I thought I meshed this in pretty well. It was the portent that changed the mind of Bazreth and gave him a reason to trust Orrolo - at least to a certain extent. I thought of using the reflection in the dew drops more and in fact did although you would not easily find it. If you look closely, there appear to be two riders and so, that's how I had the dragons; with two riders - what the web was auguring to Bazreth.

Ki Kick
Obviously, this had the dominant effect once I knew this was E'dhanus. That would mean that he was more oriental, and so I decided to make them part of an Empire to match with that. However, the distortion in the middle of the image seemed important to use. If you had not noticed, I really tried to suck the last drop of marrow out of each picture using them as literally as I could. His expression, seemed one of defiance, pain and surprise so that is how I used it. The distorted line was the vertical plane of magic that would destroy him.

The Bridge
This was the most general image. However, the winter it spoke of set the entire environment for the scenery in the Empire. Combined with the cloudy background of the Ki Kick, it set the weather arrangements - in direct contrast with the summer-like aspect of the Northern Kingdom of the arid wastes. This is why I needed to divorce those images as far apart as possible in terms of space within the three realms. While this was most likely the weakest use of a picture from my perspective, I tried to have this place significant as the "portal" to Bazreth's magical glade and the dramatic scene of E'dhanus's demise and the discovery of Orrolo's link to the portent. I thought, if I can't use this picture that effectively, it might as well be the place where some interesting things happen.
[By the way, the glade is meant to be magically protected and thus why it is in eternal springtime compared to the surrounding Winter.]

Anyway, Berandor, thank you very much for the critique. I will take on board your comments in either the next round or the next Ceramic DM, which ever comes first. 
[/sblock]

Best Regards
Herremann the Wise


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## Herremann the Wise (Jun 24, 2005)

Maldur said:
			
		

> I did email my verdict for round 1-3, so BSF can go to town with posting them
> 
> *gets a new judging stick as I just broke this one against something*




In anger, amazement, frustration or perhaps because it wasn't working quite right?
I suppose we'll have to wait and see.   

Gotta be careful with those judging sticks, temperamental things I'm sure.   

Best Regards
Herremann the Wise


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## Berandor (Jun 24, 2005)

Interesting comments! Thanks, guys. 

To bridge the time until the next judgement, let's address the newest entry.

*reveal, [not a fantasy story]* 
[sblock]First off, I didn't think the grandma-unfriendliness was out of line. Though when posting here, you might have written "Well, f*** you, too!" That was the only problematic word I could make out in there.
What I liked was that you gave us the outcome up front. We knew both Eddie and Susan Eric and Sonia would survive, so we could enjoy the getting there. Sonia winning the match was good; I doubt she could have been "saved" by a stronger man (the chip on her shoulder, you know? ) - though even silenced guns are usually quite loud, and Fat Jack died very quietly.
One thing I noticed was that Eric thought, "Tomorrow I will die for love", which seemed to be only in there because it's a cool thing to write. He didn't make any preperations for getting killed (calling family or friends, for example), and in the segment after this statement, he's still planning to save Sonia and leave with her. I also wondered where Sonia sleeps, since Eric spends roughly 24 hours in her apartment without her showing up.
Other than these two, though, this story continues the string of good entries so far. I liked it a lot. Thank you.
_The Pictures_
The "snowmen" is an interesting idea - what a great amusement park that would be, as long as there are no people in snowman costumes prancing about. But to the story, it could be any kind of refuge - perhaps if not for its quiet. The "marbles" were a great idea. Just using it as an art project wouldn't have been a good use, but the explanation was very nice. "Fat Jack" was a good use, but fairly straightforward. Since Fat Jack has an important part in the story, however, the picture is fine. "Sparring", finally, shows maybe the key moment of the story, when Sonia beats Eric and herself in a way. I'm not sure you can block a leg sweep and push it that high, but who cares? [/sblock]


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## MarauderX (Jun 24, 2005)

RangerWickett said:
			
		

> I hope Arwink wins round 4, because he's the only guy I know well enough to be able to trash talk. Of course, he probably won't be able to finish his story because he's moving again. (note: not a crack at BSF or alsih2o or anyone else moving).




A larger gauntlet of smack couldn't have been laid down!  I am not cannon fodder for your Arwink to practice with!  I am not a stepping stool for your dear friend to use so that he can look you in the eye once more!  If I go down, I shall go down striking a mortal blow to whomever the victor is!  Should you face someone other than I, know that your victory will be hollow as they will not recover quickly enough from doing CDM battle in my round!  Or something like that.  

reveal will need to speak up for himself.


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## reveal (Jun 24, 2005)

MarauderX said:
			
		

> A larger gauntlet of smack couldn't have been laid down!  I am not cannon fodder for your Arwink to practice with!  I am not a stepping stool for your dear friend to use so that he can look you in the eye once more!  If I go down, I shall go down striking a mortal blow to whomever the victor is!  Should you face someone other than I, know that your victory will be hollow as they will not recover quickly enough from doing CDM battle in my round!  Or something like that.
> 
> reveal will need to speak up for himself.




I'm not going to say anything. I prefer to let my victories speak for themselves.


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## RangerWickett (Jun 24, 2005)

Sweet. Exhaust yourselves all you want. I don't need a challenging victory. I was actually looking forward to grinding Arwink into the Aussie dust.


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## Macbeth (Jun 24, 2005)

Sorry for any delay with the round 3 judgements. My Great Aunt is in the Hospital, I've got the stomach flu, and I don't know if I'll be able to have them done until Monday. I may be able to get them done this afternoon, but given how my stomach is doing now, I don't know.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jun 24, 2005)

Macbeth said:
			
		

> Sorry for any delay with the round 3 judgements. My Great Aunt is in the Hospital, I've got the stomach flu, and I don't know if I'll be able to have them done until Monday. I may be able to get them done this afternoon, but given how my stomach is doing now, I don't know.




So, ah, whose story were you reading when you started feeling nauseated?    

Hope you feel better  (your Aunt, too).  Sucks to be sick on a weekend.


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## MarauderX (Jun 24, 2005)

Round 1, Match 4
MarauderX vs. reveal vs. Arwink

*Insight*

Abe didn’t like his internship.  It was his first and he still had another year of computer science study to go before he would graduate.  He tapped away at his keyboard, lazily cutting and pasting information from the internet into a spreadsheet.  He sneered as a fellow over-anxious intern, Kim, volunteered to stuff envelopes.  There would be no menial tasks that were appropriate for him, and he despised the mundane that he had to do for himself.  He hated having to make his own coffee and his demeanor let him keep a wide berth from his supervisors, leaving him bored in his cubicle.  No, he’d wait for a project a little more suited to his abilities to fall into his lap.  Then he would more than prove his worth to the company, should they ever listen to him.  

Abe dressed in conservative yet stylish clothing that made him fit in with his peers.  All of the interns lunched together in a big pack, just like frightened freshmen back at college.  The others dressed the same, some a little more edgy than others, but none of them flashy enough to be memorable to other diners out for a cheap lunch.  They talked idly about music, movies and the latest news.  Once they discussed politics and international policy, but that ended with Abe bickering with Kim about the rising price of German steel caused by U.S. import taxes.  Others may have seen it as a lover’s spat, but both of their hushed voices held tones of frustration and bitter anger.  Abe’s fury turned to indifference as he thought she was immature and not nearly as worldly as he.  

He ate with them for the last time at a Thai restaurant.  Having never eaten Thai, it was a stretch by the others to get him beyond burgers and fries.  After a lengthy diatribe on why he had so little to do at work Abe gobbled up his meal.  His throat swelled to match the size of his head and a few of the others snickered.  He had found out too late that he was allergic to something in his meal and was rushed to the hospital.  

* * * * *

Liz skipped through the snow along the promenade between the columns as they marched along.  She was happy, and those who knew her thought the condition was chronic.  She had no reason to be sad, in her mind, as she could change was she saw around her to whatever she wished.  It didn’t really change, but she believed it so adamantly some days that it would stick that way to her eyes. 

What Liz couldn’t change was what she heard.  Her mind, which was so good at choosing what she saw, could not let go of even the smallest of slights.  The voices in her mind would sometimes ring for hours, dulling her thoughts.  She disliked lengthy conversations and, after her last boyfriend, she didn’t like to delve any deeper into a subject than a casual mention or wispy opinion.  After all, to Liz, if something was understood why did it need to be discussed?  

She stopped, waiting to cross the street, when she saw the red lights of an ambulance glint off of the nearby buildings.  She smiled and wondered who she’d get to meet today.  

* * * * *

Abe shuddered.  He had nearly lost consciousness for a third time as the paramedics unloaded him from the ambulance.  He was rushed down several halls and the barrage of questions went unanswered as his throat had closed up completely.  His perky cubical mate Kim had punctured his trachea to allow him to breath.   She had used a batch of straws from their drinks to allow him to breathe through the opening and they protruded upward as he was guided around another turn. He had passed out the first time from the sight of his own blood, not the lack of oxygen, but Abe would never admit that to anyone.  The hole in his throat had saved his life but he swore to himself the next time he would see Kim would be in court.  

Abe was stopped long enough to receive a shot before he was placed in a curtained area to strip out of his tightening clothing.  Abe pulled his shirt over his head and suddenly she was there.  She curtseyed and told him her name, Liz, and asked if she could help him.  Annoyed as he was, Abe could only grunt and remain motionless.  She knew Abe’s condition and took any communication as a positive as she glided over to him.  

She idly talked about how she was waiting for spring.  
“As much as I like winter, I can’t wait for spring.  That’s when my favorite flowers bloom.  Do you know what my favorite flowers are?  Daffodils.  I like the way you can tell which way they are facing, and when they look directly at me I blush.  I can’t help it, it just makes me squeal!” she said, hopping.  
While she continued rambling on she removed Abe’s socks and showed him where he could find his things.  She asked if he would like her to call family or friends, and slowly he shook his head with eyes lowered.  

With his smock finally on, Abe felt around his throat with puffy fingers.  Liz had seen this out of the corner of her eye and fetched a mirror for him.  
“Wow, you are lucky you had someone nearby to save you.  Often there isn’t anyone brave enough to even try something like that, and with all the lawsuits I know the restaurant employees wouldn’t have done it.” She said.  “You must have an angel watching over you.”  
He grunted.

Dr. Reed introduced himself as the practitioner who would operate on him as well as oversee his wellness.  He said he appointed Liz to aid him, and she would be assigned to him as long as he was at the hospital.  Dr. Reed removed the straws from his throat and placed a medical breathing apparatus in their place.  Abe was given an intravenous drip to feed his body and for access to periodically deliver a mild antibiotic.  He was moved to a room on the same floor to wait for the swelling to subside.  Once it did Dr. Reed would repair his throat and he would be released.  

Liz returned to visit Abe, humming and smiling.  Abe’s lack of speech left her mind to wander and she imagined daffodils blooming around his bed.  His eyes were beady gems surrounded by marshmallow eyebrows.  A thought sprang into her mind and she returned from the pediatric wing with a chalkboard and a small nub of chalk.  She weaved a piece of floss through two of the chalkboard’s eyes and tied the ends together.  Humming, she presented the board to Abe and he looked at it then back to her as if he could care less.  She hung it around his neck and told him to try to write something nice for her to read when she came back.  

Abe was at a loss.  In the hours he had been at the hospital he had felt imprisoned and vulnerable.  He couldn’t talk, and without his voice or face he couldn’t convey sarcasm nearly as well.  He liked to wield his wit as a weapon to force others to yield to him, and it had always worked to push people away so he couldn’t be hurt by them first.  His thoughts churned up more anger.  ‘I’m being cared for by a clueless nurse who probably finds this whole situation hilarious behind my back’ he thought.  ‘Now she wants me to write something on this ridiculously small chalkboard.  I couldn’t find enough space on a chalkboard a thousand times its size to tell her what I think!’

* * * * *

Liz returned again, her head cocked to the side and a grin spread across her face.  Abe wondered what the hell she was thinking about him now when she asked if he had seen the view out his window yet.  He looked and saw snowflakes falling like feathers to the ground.  Liz focused on the outside, her mind depicting the commuters as snowmen bustling about the streets.  She described what she saw to Abe and he simply stared and thought she might be an escapee from the mental wing.  She said that Abe should try to imagine walking with her among all those snow-people, and holding her hand to keep her warm.  She slid her hand into his and the pressure of her grasp sent Abe’s pulse racing.  His eyes glazed over, and for a moment that could have lasted forever he actually saw himself walking between the snow-people during rush hour.   Liz’s hand retreated from his, and Abe blinked.  The snow-people were gone, replaced by their human counterparts.  He examined them again, blinking several times while staring at the greek restaurant on the corner.  When he couldn’t make the snow-people reappear on his own he turned to Liz, but she had slipped out of the room.

* * * * *

Abe stared at the TV across the room as the news cycle on CNN repeated itself yet again.  In the corner it read six o’clock.  The workday was over and he knew his roommate Marty wouldn’t miss him if he didn’t show up that night, or even for a week.  They had separate rooms, Abe had insisted after all, so they could come and go as they pleased.  The real reason was Abe didn’t trust him and wanted to make sure he could keep his things protected.  He wondered if his laptop would be safe, and whether Marty would try to get into his locked room.  Abe thought about his new guitar and figured it would be the first thing his goon-like roommate would play with, probably scratching the finish or dropping it before pawing through the rest of his things.  His chin was set in anger when Kim walked in.  

She took off her stylish pink winter hat and matching black and pink scarf.  
“I hope you are doing okay,” she said, “I guess you’ll be sticking to burgers and fries from now on.”  
She paused as if waiting for him to answer.  He did is best to scowl as he tried to convey his displeasure at anyone witnessing his condition, but it was lost in his swollen face.  
“I know you’ll be missed at work, and already people are asking where you’re at.”  
‘And you probably told them, you knife-wielding lunatic, and now you’re here to take pictures’ he thought.  
“Your computer was on, so I saved the two spreadsheets you had open and shut it down.” ‘Yeah, and you probably scanned over my C:\ drive too, maybe sent a mass email calling the CEO is a lesbian tramp.’  
Another uncomfortable pause followed before Kim sat down in the room’s only chair.  
“Did the doctor say when you might be released?  Well, I can find out from your nurse.  You really lucked out with her, she’s very sweet.” Kim said.  
He stretched his hand toward the chalkboard around his neck.  
“Hey, that’s cool.  I guess they have a good amount of patients that can’t talk.  Maybe they all ate the same meal at Thai Tanic.” she said smiling.  
Then her face dropped a little.  
“I… also came to say I’m sorry.  Your face went purple then blue, and your eyes were bulging… no one knew what to do…” she stammered, “the hostess just watched… I’m sorry, I’m so sorr—“  
“These are lovely, don’t you think?” Liz said as she burst into the room with a big bouquet of flowers.  “I’ll just put them over here.  If you look at them just right you can picture them as daffodils, yes?  I can already.  They’re lovely.  Have you been writing to your friend?  She’s very pretty.  Oh, you still haven’t written anything yet.  Your fingers probably still sting, right?” she asked without looking at him or waiting for a response.  

Kim dabbed at tears that had welled up in her eyes as she looked away from them both.  Liz said, “Well, don’t give up, and be sure to thank her.”  
Looking at Kim, Liz said, “He’s grateful, really, and please stop by again tomorrow for lunch.  Maybe you can take him back to work with you by then.”  
Liz and Kim smiled politely at one another.  
“I should let him rest.”  Kim said.  
Liz nodded in agreement then both stopped as they heard the click of chalk as Abe scribed a message.  

Abe flipped the chalkboard to show the word “THANKs” scrawled across it with the letter ‘s’ crookedly squeezed on the side.  Both women smiled and nodded in appreciation.  Each thought assuredly that he had written the message for the other and that made both of them glow inwardly.  

* * * * *

Abe woke the next morning feeling much better.  He checked the mirror and saw that the swelling had subsided.  On his bedside table was an invite to breakfast at the Sky Lounge on the roof of the building, and he accepted.  He felt refreshed and glad to be able to have something to do.  Abe was guided to the elevator by a nurse and at the top floor the doors opened up to reveal a large domed roof and a clear blue sky above.  In front of him an exercise class performed a routine of moves and behind them tables and chairs were set up in front of an a la carte kitchen.  His throat was still very sore and he had trouble swallowing, but Abe thought he would start with a little orange juice.  

When he made his way toward the kitchen, Abe noticed Dr. Reed jumping into the air and throwing a kick over Liz.  Abe didn’t realize it, but he had stopped and was staring at them.  Dr. Reed paused and waved and Liz turned to see him.  She smiled and trotted over to fetch Abe, and then Dr. Reed wiped the sweat from his brow and looked at Abe’s neck.   The doctor said that the swelling had gone down enough for him to close the wound.  Dr. Reed patted him on the shoulder and told Abe that he’d be able to go snorkeling again very soon.  

Liz and Abe had breakfast together, and she guided him to drink the less acidic orange juice.  She asked him if he could speak yet, and Abe flipped around the chalkboard.  On it the phrase “Just because I can’t talk doesn’t mean I’m deaf” was neatly written from the night before.  Liz snickered, as she knew the night nurses were notorious for being loud when patients were trying to sleep, which had nothing to do with Abe’s hearing.  Abe was glad that what he had written made her smile.  He marveled at the view from the top of the twelfth floor, and for the first time in years he was appreciative.  

Liz took Abe back to his bed and at the end of it was a lab report on his blood.  Abe pulled it out and Liz began to leaf through it, explaining the numbers and charts to him.  His cholesterol was a little high but the test showed he was typical for the most part.  The report stated that he was not to eat any more peanuts or peanut byproducts as it would likely lead to a recurring reaction.  

Lastly Liz pulled out a small handbook on allergies.  Her hand touched his again, and suddenly he saw the bouquet of flowers on his nightstand transform into daffodils.  Abe thought he should recoil from her but he liked her touch.  He thought that he should stop thinking that she cared more for him than anyone else, but the way she touched him jumpstarted his heart every time.  Liz held up a page between them that showed a normal blood cell in green in the upper left and a mass of bloated cells that were the result of an allergic reaction.   Abe gripped the pamphlet in his hands, and when he lowered it they were face to face.  Her deep brown eyes were only inches away and he felt like he was swimming in them.  He reached his hand around her waste and leaned his lips closer to hers when she bowed her head.  They turned to see that all of the daffodils were facing them, and Abe felt Liz roll out of his arms.  The daffodils disappeared from sight and he slumped onto the bed alone.  

* * * * *

Dr. Reed was fast and accurate with the surgery.  He inspected the opening in Abe’s neck with care and used a laser to patch the trachea closed.  Dr. Reed finished by sewing the skin together so that it would only have a hairline scar.  Abe was carted back to his room to wait to see if any complications would occur.  His IV was removed and he couldn’t stop swallowing as the surgery left him with the feeling of something caught in his throat.  

Abe tested his voice and found that he could whisper, but Dr. Reed warned him not to strain himself by talking too much.  Alone, Abe asked himself what he did wrong with Liz.  He whispered curses to himself for behaving like an idiot and looking like desperate moron.  He looked out the window just then to see Kim’s pink hat walk beneath his window and turn into the hospital.  Abe grabbed the mirror and inspected himself, making a frantic attempt to flatten his skewed hair.  He licked his chapped lips when Kim knocked on the door.  

Abe waved her in and motioned to the chair.  He flipped his chalkboard sign and she read the words “Hello!  How are you today?” written in a fluid cursive.  She sat at the chair’s edge and held out a large fast-food cup.  
“I’m fine, thanks.  It’s a milkshake.  I’d hoped you could drink it by now.  It’s chocolate.  I know you can eat chocolate since I see you at Lindsey’s desk with peppermint patties once in a while.”  
Abe took the cup and for the first time since high school his brain didn’t stir up paranoid thoughts.  The thick, cold milkshake soothed his inflamed throat and he relaxed.  He erased his greeting and broke the silence with a playful game of tic-tac-toe.  

A conversation grew with Abe asking questions about Kim and her family, her upbringing and she came to be an intern with him.  Abe didn’t speak and he let Kim go on as he listened intently.  Little by little he was realizing there was much more to her than the perky go-getting attitude she often conveyed.  

Kim had been adopted ten years ago by parents that had had one child of their own.  She was loved as much by them as her older brother, but it was clear that she was not their natural child.  She grew up trying to fit in and please others and tended to be impatient with people who lacked a similar work ethic.  Kim had strived for approval ever since she was a child. She had fought off feeling sorry for herself so many times she had locked away those emotions forever.  Kim’s acute awareness of herself and status led her to dress conservatively compared to her peers.  She kept abreast of current affairs, not that she enjoyed it, but so that she would have something to say if asked how she was doing.  

Abe reflected on his own adult life as she talked, feeling regret for squandered opportunities.  He had been living a golden life by comparison to hers, and he felt wrong for judging her every day of their internship.  He felt he had been making excuses why things had not gone his way all the time and realized how spoiled he was to have come this far in his life and not be thankful.  Abe again compared himself to Kim’s strength and determination and found himself wonting.  Normally this would have made him jealous and angry, and he might have blamed someone or something for holding him back.  But now he felt like he had found a fountain of strength in her, that now he was seeing her in a new way.  

Abe got through this outer shell of Kim’s by scratching out a few words in chalk and listening.  The lunch hour was over quickly, but Kim didn’t mind staying with Abe a little longer.  She felt as though she owed him for stabbing a hole through his throat, and she apologized again before turning to go.  Now that he understood her, Abe felt a flood of emotion begin to grow.  It erupted through his eyes, and tears streamed down his cheeks.  He didn’t know what was wrong with him or why he couldn’t maintain his normally stoic face until she had gone.  Kim was suddenly in tears as well, and before either of them knew it she was sitting on his bed and holding his face in her hands.  Abe reached his hands up to her shoulders and gently pulled her to him.  They kissed with a passion of longing, of need, and of understanding.  When their lips parted Abe could see daffodils staring at them.  

* * * * *

Marty had put on Kim’s hat and scarf.  The hat was crooked to one side and the scarf was lazily slung around his neck as he watched his roommate Abe saunter down the hall.  
“You okay man?” Marty asked.  
Abe felt his throat, thought better of speaking and simply nodded.  
“Whoa, are those stitches?  What happened?” Marty asked.  
Abe was forced to croak out an answer.  “Allergies” he said.  
“Dude, that is some nasty allergy to rip open your throat like that.  Looks like you mighta spawned a baby alien outta there.” Marty said.  
Abe started coffee and motioned to his head and neck, indicating the scarf and hat Marty was wearing.  
“Oh, right. Whose are these?  I was worried that you might’ve been out cross-dressing… y’know, starting a new career since you hate your internship and the people there.”  
Abe shook his head and gazed down into his empty coffee cup and tried to think of a response using as few words as he could.  He pointed toward his room.  
“Hope,” his scratchy voice eked out, “understanding… trust…”  But he knew those words weren’t working as Marty stared at him blankly.  “True love” Abe said and nodded, satisfied with the expression of surprise from Marty.  

Kim had padded softly down the hall to hear them talk.  When she saw Marty with her hat she couldn’t help but giggle and they both turned to see her.  Shocked, Marty rose from the chair and the hat fell to the floor.  Marty gave the hat and scarf back to Kim and she told him all he had to do was ask next time and she would be glad to loan him something to wear.  Kim called work and told them both she and Abe would be very late in coming in due to recovery complications.

* * * * *

Liz skipped through the snow, again letting her imagination brew up a new concoction of visions along the way.  When she arrived at the hospital to check in she saw that Abe had been checked out.  ‘Whew,’ she thought, ‘that couldn’t have been more awkward, and it’s a good thing he never managed to say anything.’  A few hours later a bouquet of mixed flowers arrived addressed to her.  She smelled the daisies, lavender and snapdragons as she pulled out an envelope addressed to her and Dr. Reed.  Inside was a small piece of green slate with a message on it written in chalk.  It read “Kim and I both thank you.  I hope you enjoy the daffodils! – Abe”  Kim gleefully giggled and looked at the flowers before her, now daffodils, and they looked back.  She loved her job and strode off to show her daffodils to someone new.


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## Berandor (Jun 24, 2005)

Macbeth said:
			
		

> Sorry for any delay with the round 3 judgements. My Great Aunt is in the Hospital, I've got the stomach flu, and I don't know if I'll be able to have them done until Monday. I may be able to get them done this afternoon, but given how my stomach is doing now, I don't know.



 Get well soon - both of you!


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## Berandor (Jun 24, 2005)

And here I am with the next-to-last, nay the penultimate comment for round 1 

*MarauderX, Insight*
[sblock]Very, very nice! I really enjoyed your story, watching two people - well, we don't watch them fall in love, but rather we watch them discover they've already fallen in love. A sweet ending and unusual (in Ceramic DM terms) topic.
Two things sprang out to me, one of them will be detailed below. The other would be a scarcity of dialogue, especially in the first half of the story. I would have loved to hear Kim talk to Abe, or Liz (what's with the three-letter-names? ) confer with the doctor. You could have shown us Abe's gruff demeanor in his reactions to her first visit, maybe in the things he writes on the chalkboard, slowly softening. I know there's a time (and word) limit, but maybe starting the story with Abe in hospital and a short paragraph detailing the situation might have given you some room there. But really, I am a sap at heart, and this story was pretty much down my alley. Thanks.
_The Pictures_
I felt you had two very nice pics and two more or less throwaways. The "snowman" picture was nice. Not only that I really love the visual, transferring a piece of quiet to Abe with it was a good touch. The "blood cells" were an innovative use; very nice. The "high kick" was just odd; I mean, a nurse and a doctor making Kung-fu sparring in the hospital cafeteria? Finally, the "Fat Jack" (see reveal's entry) was a throwaway, too. The roommate had no real presence in the story, no real function except to appear later on as the pic. I thought at first the pic showed Abe, and I would have applauded you for such a use; being overweight would have instantly formed a connection to his cynical and grumpy demeanor.
[/sblock]


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## BSF (Jun 24, 2005)

Dude, you don't get sick on the weekend.  They don't give you sick days for times when you aren't there.  

Seriously though, I hope your Great Aunt gets better soon.  


Good news folks, I finally closed on the house we are selling.  I have the rest of the day off and I will be trying to do my judgements for match 2.

We will see how match 3 works out.  I will try to get those done this weekend as well.  We also have match 4 finishing up.  Woot!

Everyone in Match 2, please check later tonight if you are able.  Speaker, can you weigh in on your availability for Round 2, match 1?  I would prefer to kick that off this weekend if everyone is available.


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## Berandor (Jun 25, 2005)

All right, that's it. It's 2 am, I'm going to sleep. If I win, just put up pics; I'm ready.


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## arwink (Jun 25, 2005)

Not quite the story I wanted to tell, but a friday night game that ran late and sleeping through my alarm meant I've already blown the deadline so I thought I'd put up what I had.

Round 1, Match 4
MarauderX vs. reveal vs. Arwink

Cold Comfort

*Arrival*
The Prague field office barely deserved the name, consisting of little more than a back-alley flat only a little larger than your average bed-sit. Dane had been warned not to expect much, but even his low expectations couldn’t match the reality of the room – cables snaking across ancient furniture, printouts hung over the doors, wet socks dangling from thin lines of string that ran over the heater. The entire place smelled of wet wool and cigarettes, his local contact asleep in a leather couch behind the desk. O’Banion’s pudding-dough face was half-covered by a little girl’s hat, a half-empty bottle of scotch still sitting by his side. The briefing said he liked to drink, but it said nothing about pink hats and scarves with bows on the tassels. Dane wasn’t sure which of the two traits was less appropriate in a field contact. Every instinct told him to walk out, just accept that the hassle wasn’t worth it. 

He coughed, loudly, and watched one of O’Banion’s beady eyes snap open. Dane placed his SIG on the desk, eliminating any doubt that he was armed.  It saved time in the long run, especially with the backwater offices. He was almost impressed when O’Banion didn’t glance at the gray steel, keeping his eye trained on Dane’s own.
“Who are you?”
Dane resisted the urge to sigh.
“Dane Kruger,” he said. “LA branch, arrived two hours ago. You requested an investigator.”
O’Banion looked him over again, raising an eyebrow.
“Where you from originally, before LA? Jamaica? El Salvador?”
“Los Angles. My mother was Brazilian.”
“Right. Figures.”
O’Banion tapped a keyboard, waiting for the slow whine of the computer to signal it was ready to work. Dane waited quietly while the older man ignored him, focusing in the computer. After a few minutes, O’Banion swore.
“Well, you weren’t joking. You’re supposed to be here,” he said. He eased his bulk beneath the table, rummaging through a box of manila folders.
“The seers know what they’re doing, normally,” Dane said.
O’Banion laughed, a barking sound like a dog being strangled.
“Sure they do,” he said. “Listen, how much do you know about snow.”
Dane picked up the SIG and slid it back into its holster.
“I come from Los Angeles,” he said. “I know enough.”

*Snow*
In Los Angeles the agency used Chryslers. Big cars that had the grunt and power to glide through traffic like sleek sharks. O’Banion used a compact mini, and European invention that seemed to wrap around his bulk like a sardine can. The engine roared like a lawnmower as the Englishman shifted gears, cutting down a back alley at high speed.
“First reports came in a few weeks ago,” O’Banion roared over the sound of the engine. “People being barricaded in their house by snowmen. Nothing to it really – local newspapers started referring to them as pranks. Open your door one morning, find a small horde of mutated snow sculptures built on their front lawn.”
Dane took notes, his cold fingers scribbling in a notebook with a stubby pencil.
“Always the same neighborhood?” He asked.
“Always. Usually the same two streets.”
“So what changed?” 
“Bodies,” O’Banion said. “Six of them, originally. They started appearing in the middle of the snowman swarms, dead from frostbite. Most of them were blue by the time they were found, limbs so stiff you could snap them off if you wanted too.”

Dane nodded a few times, chewing on the pencil. Tires screamed as O’Banion took another corner.
“Locals think it’s a serial killer, don’t they?” he said. 
O’Banion nodded
“They’re calling him the White Death,” he said. “More prosaic than they would have been back home, I’ll give them that. People are locking their children up at night, trying to keep them safe.”
The mini slides around another corner, skids to a stop. 
“We’re here.”

Even after reading the report, knowing what to expect, there is something unsettling about the laneway. The endless expanse of snow men, locked in a frozen mockery of a street scene. Coal eyes glared at him from a hundred faces, a hint of malevolence in their beady expression. The pounding headache he always got when faced with psychic residue started almost immediately.

“Yeah,” Dane thought. “Of course you’d think this is a prank.”

*Seeds*
Dane left O’Banion to talk to the locals, focused his attention on scouring the area. His head throbbed as he walked down the street, as though something inside was battering at the sides of his skull, trying to get out. He ignored it as best he could, let the training take over. His attention focused on the narrow beam of the flashlight, the blue-tinged corpse left in the heart of the street.

It was male, approximately fifty years old, a man whose teeth and withered features still bore the legacy of the occupation that would have dominated his childhood. Bad Russian dental work, the kinds of scars that suggested early beatings, a nose that had been broken and reset. Probably a revolutionary in his teens. Dane made a note of the details, photographed the frozen face. It might not be important, but it paid to be prepared.

The police would search the body for signs of trauma, if they bothered searching at all. Dane just looked at the eyes and swore.

He found the first egg-sac hidden in the ear cavity, a tiny ball wedged behind the lobe. The swirling green membrane bulged as the light hit it, stretching and flexing as something tried to reach out for the source of the change in warmth. Something small and dangerous wanted out.

Dane switched off the flashlight and lit a cigarette. With shaking hands, he buried the burning tip in the corpses ear and waited for the smell of sizzling ichor.

*Interlude*
Dane held his hands as close as he could to the mini’s small heater, waiting patiently for the athsmatic gasps of warm air to thaw out his fingers. His head still buzzed with energy, the lingering after-taste of psychic phenomena, but the pills were chipping away at the pain. Now all they could do was wait, be ready for the moment when all hell broke loose.  O’Banion opened a small hip-flask and took a long hit of the contents, offered it to Dane when he was done.  Dane just shook his head.

“You sure they were seeds?” O’Banion asked.  Dane nodded. 
“Damn.”

Silence. The snow falling on the street. The evil glare of the snowman a dozen yards from the windscreen. O’Banion kept drinking. Dane kept his eyes on the street.

“I lost my daughter to those bastards,” O’Banion said. His voice seemed out of place, empty and hollow against the silence of the car. The maudlin tinge of alcohol beneath the words. “Years ago, before I was recruited.”

Dane didn’t say anything.

“She was seven,” O’Banion said. He shook the hip-flask, listened to the sloshing sound. Sighing, he pushed the cap in place and buried it in the folds of his jacket. One broad hand pulled the scarf in place, ran a finger along the pink bow.

“Get some sleep,” O’Banion said. “I’ll keep watch.”

*Dreaming*
The hammer of the drum filled the air, driving the pulse faster and faster. Dane was ducking and weaving, lost in the dance, letting the music push him further. The sun pounded down on the courtyard. Rio heat, his body covered in sweat, moving in tandem with his partner.  Dane kicked out, the other man leapt to avoid it. The other man punched and Dane was already gone. 

“Fighting or dancing?”
The voice echoed in his head, thundering through him like a bolt from god. Dane almost faltered, let his partners fist get a fraction to close to his face before he ducked. He cursed himself for making a rookie mistake.
“Both,” he said. Another kick, another leap, a dodge that become a forward flip.
“Why?” 
The voice wasn’t curious, it knew the answer. Dane just had to say it.
“They were slaves,” ge said. “Weaponless, watched, never free of their masters vigil. They pretended to dance in order to escape detection, to prevent the guards from knowing they were learning to fight.”
“They killed for their freedom?”
“Yes.”

The other man’s leg flashed forward, too fast to dodge. It caught Dane in the stomach, sent him tumbling backwards. He could feel the ruptured rib, the wheeze that came with a punctured lung. He landed badly, struggled to rise, but the other man was already on top of him with teeth and claws driving for his throat.

“So will I.”

*Storm*
The red-button eyes of a snowman were glaring at Dane through the window, it’s cold face pressed close enough to the glass that he could see the handprints of it creator. Dane started back, one hand diving for the SIG, got tangled in the seatbelt. Cold air hit the back of his neck. O’Banion was gone when he checked over his shoulder, nothing left but a shredded seat-belt and the broken glass of the window.

Snowmen were swarming the car, frozen bodies clustering around it. Both the doors were blocked, covered by a wall of snowy bodies and faces. Dane pulled himself free of the seatbelt and kicked at the windshield. When it refused to give way he fired at it, shattering the glass. He pulled himself onto the roof of the mini, gun still gripped in his hand. No use firing, but it made him feel a little better. He could see footprints in the new snow, O’Banion’s by the size. 

Dane looked at the clustered snowmen, four men deep around the car. His head was just about splitting open, pounding like a hundred drums. He let the beat carry him and ran, bouncing off the bonnet and into the air. He could feel a surge of hate reaching for him, almost wrapping around him as he soared through the air, then he hit the ground running.


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## arwink (Jun 25, 2005)

And because I forgot to link the pictures:

Pic One: Street full of Snowmen - Most of the story
Pic Two: The style looks like copereira, which is the basis for the martial arts and history section in Dreaming"
Pic Three: The seed pod hidden in the coprses ear
Pic Four: Is O'Banion in his daughter's scarf and hat, particualrly as he appears in Arrival.


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## MarauderX (Jun 25, 2005)

Berandor said:
			
		

> *MarauderX, Insight*
> [sblock]Very, very nice! I really enjoyed your story, watching two people - well, we don't watch them fall in love, but rather we watch them discover they've already fallen in love. A sweet ending and unusual (in Ceramic DM terms) topic.
> Two things sprang out to me, one of them will be detailed below. The other would be a scarcity of dialogue, especially in the first half of the story. I would have loved to hear Kim talk to Abe, or Liz (what's with the three-letter-names? ) confer with the doctor. You could have shown us Abe's gruff demeanor in his reactions to her first visit, maybe in the things he writes on the chalkboard, slowly softening. I know there's a time (and word) limit, but maybe starting the story with Abe in hospital and a short paragraph detailing the situation might have given you some room there. But really, I am a sap at heart, and this story was pretty much down my alley. Thanks.
> _The Pictures_
> ...




Hey, thanks for the quick comments.  
[sblock]Aside from the first picture I was at a loss for how to use them.  I've been reading some Steinbeck so I was trying a little less dialogue and practicing using paraphrased descriptions instead.  I was also trying to not let the pictures be the story focus but as small asides.  I thought that having Abe as the overweight guy in last picture would be too easy, and besides that guy's pear shape didn't match the guy in the snowman picture.  With little inspiration hitting me when I had time to write it was just easier to cop out with a sappy story instead of action/horror/etc.  I had a hard time getting started and with real-life limitations (sleep, work, whatever) we gotta make due with the luck of the draw.  Now we wait for the outcome.  [/sblock]


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## Berandor (Jun 25, 2005)

quarter to ten am, and I'm glad I didn't stay up 

MarauderX:
[sblock]Well, if you intentionally tried for less dialogue, all right. It's just that "more dialogue" has been such a frequent criticism of my stories, I kind of got that hardw-ired into me.  Good luck with the judging.[/sblock]

arwink, I'm off now but I'll be back to your story in a spell. And while waiting for the judgement yesterday, I half finished my idea with the pictures from Match 1, so I'll probably post the Kiln-fired story later today (for me), as well - unless I have to scramble for round2


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## Berandor (Jun 25, 2005)

*arwink, Cold Comfort*
[sblock]
A very "cool" mystery story. Nothing much gets resolved here, neither O'Banion's and Dane's fate nor the nature of the snowmen threat. I have always trouble writing exposition, because it _is_ more natural for people in the know to talk in shorthand: "It's them?" - "Yes." They know what they're talking about - why explain it, and to whom? So while you leave almost everything open, the story flows very well. The characters become clear to us as you show them, not tell us, for example in the way O'Banion drives. 
It's a very accomplished style, I think. I just would have liked to understand some of what was going on behind the scenes. At first, I wasn't satisifed by the ending, but then it felt "right" in that the whole story felt more like a prelude to something big. Thank you, I had fun reading it.
_The Pictures_
"Fat Jack" is the Prague contact that at first glance is just a drunkard, but then reveals a hint of tragedy in his past. A good use; you made me care for the guy and hope he survived. The "egg sack" is a very nice visual, with something stirring inside. But with a lack of explanation _and_ attacking snowmen, this threat is not as important, nor does it feel very well connected to said snowmen. The "snowmen" themselves, of course, are central to the story. I was surprised to see the previous stories hadn't made them the center of the action, since I think it's a very evocative picture. Well done. On the other hand, the "flying kick", while possibly capoeira, was an interlude I could not connect to the story. Are snowmen slaves and want to break free? Or what is this about? As a result, this use didn't impress me very much.
[/sblock]


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## Herremann the Wise (Jun 26, 2005)

Oh well, all the stories are in. Let's wait as patiently as possible for a little judgment.   

[sblock]
If I had to pick a top three for the round across all matches:

1. RangerWickett
Simply brilliant and a standout amongst all entries. Good and innovative use of the pictures as well as by far the best conclusion out of the twelve stories.

2. Berandor
Entertaining yet such a frustrating ending that the reader could not help but become involved. Good use of pictures and along with RangerWickett's, the most _complete_ of all the entries.

3. MarauderX
Well written with a good dashing of sugar. Holds well together as the surprising love shared between two people is carefully revealed. Picture use pretty good but perhaps not as high a standard as the other two.

Special Mention:
Bibliophile - For making me choke on my tea with laughter when Jesus pipes up - the monitor's still wearing it as I type
Hellefire - For a good story that I believe got us in and made us all think


All in all, an enjoyable round to read. Whatever decision's the judges make, I believe everyone's story lived up to the high ideals of Ceramic DM.

Any more commentary?
[/sblock]

Best Regards
Herremann the Wise


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## BSF (Jun 26, 2005)

Yes folks, I am sorry.  Rather than spending time doing Judgements yesterday afternoon, I took my son for a little hike into the foothills where we now live.  He loved it!  But it did fritter away a few hours.  Then I finally got some of my gaming group together for the first time in a month.  We didn't have the full group, so we ended up plahying Gammarauders instead.  It was 4:00 AM before I won.  

I am a wreck and I am behind in judgements.  I apologize profusely.  Moving has been been a lot more stressful than I anticipated.  But it has been real nice to start reading the stories today and begin that relaxation process.  

I am trying to give everyone a bit of feedback.  I suppose I could rush through the judgement just so we have them out there, but I would prefer to give you a little feedback.


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## BSF (Jun 26, 2005)

MarauderX and Reveal - Since Arwink's entry is late, Arwink is elegible for disqualification.  

Historically, we have allowed competitors to waive a missed deadline.  This option is available to both of you,  but it would require that both of you agree to waive it.  Please, do not feel any obligation to do this.  Your competitor did miss the dealine by more than an hour and a half.  As well, since this round has three competitors, your story will still be judged against another story.  

There is no pressure to accept a late entry.  Indeed, there is very little motivation to do so.  But the option is available for both of you.  If you want to exercise that option, please email me (davidmoore   zianet.com).  If I do not receive an email from both of you indicating a waiver on the deadline for Arwink, I will assume that you do not wish to do so.  Again, feel no pressure to do this if you don't want to!

Arwink, I will still provide some feedback for your story, regardless of the situation.  I look forward to reading it.


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## Maldur (Jun 26, 2005)

Verdict on 1.4 send, I am in the clear.

Super first round peoples, For everyone through to the next round: good luck.
And for everyone done for now, thank you fr writing, and I hope to read more next time around!



* gets the bigger and sharper judgement stick ready for round two*


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## Berandor (Jun 26, 2005)

Herreman, without spoiler I can honestly say if the judges followed your evaluation, I'd be happy 

In other news, despite one picture not looking like I remembered and therefore not really fitting, I have posted my story in the kiln-fired thread, using the first-round pics as inspiration. If you don't have something better to do (like taking your son for a hike), you're free to read it - but you don't have to, by any means.

Oh, and

WARNING! This Story Contains Adult Material And Language! Proceed At Your Own Risk!


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## Berandor (Jun 26, 2005)

First, to BSF: If I advance to round 2, please don't post the pics immediately afterwards anymore 

I just wanted to share a nice definition of writer's block, courtesy of Ubersoft:



> Having writer's block is sort of like having the MS Office help following you around all day. A cheerful little voice in the back of your head keeps giving you useless suggestion after useless suggestion, and there's no way for you to make it SHUT UP so you can concentrate on coming up with ideas that might actually WORK. Wherever you go, that cheerful little voice follows you around, saying, "hey Skipper! It looks like you're trying to write! Can I help?" And you say no, and all it does is LAUGH and try to "help" you anyway. That's when you start begging it to just GO AWAY, but it WON'T. And eventually you just give up and go INSANE.




So, what do you look for in Ceramic DM pictures? What do you look for in a story? As for me, I'm trying to find a "moment". One pic hopefully makes me think of a climactic way to use it. Then, I can start forming a story to built up to that moment.
That's not always easy, however, and often it leaves me with a fairly soulless protagonist (when I thought of the story before the protagonist) or an empty story (if the "moment" deals with a protagonist specifically).

It's also often that I have an ending to a story in mind, and then must find a way to get it there. It's sometimes probelmatic because I get impatient and want that ending to happen, but at the same time I must spend time on the built-up to make it count. If a picture can give me that ending as a moment, then it's all the better.

How about you?


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## BSF (Jun 26, 2005)

*Round 1, Match 2 Judgements*

Hello folks.  
I must apologize for my extreme tardiness in this judgement.  I was overcommitted to different things in life this week.  Despite my efforts, I was still unable to keep my committements to Ceramic DM.  I could have tried to rush through the judgements but I didn't want to do that.  Something had to give in that case and this time it was time.

But I am finished with my match two judgements now.  Here is my commentary, followed by my fellow judges.  

*BardStephenFox*
*Disillusionment - Berandor*

A fine, fine story.  I was engaged throughout.  And yet another story that forces me to stop and think.

Berandor, I have to wonder why Sharon could not be saved.  You established everything that needed to be done to make it happen, but then you yanked the cord.  It is heart wrenching to some degree.  But then, that was the point wasn't it?  And so I quietly applaud you for writing a story that is engaging and compelling and then takes a risk by delivering the message you are seeking to convey.  Very nice.  You could have tried to convey the message with a happier ending. But then there would have been the temptation to preach the message.  Instead, you allow the reader to ask the questions of themselves, and answer them.  It was very nicely handled.

Mechanically, I notice a few small errors.  Misspellings or strange word usage perhaps.  But there is nothing that leaps out at me and detracts much from the story.  That is a good thing.  At worst, there are a couple of sentences that strike me as strangley worded.  Truth be told, I am willing to cut Berandor a little slack on that since English is not his native language. 

I really enjoy the characterization.  Cassie uses phrases that are consistent with being a wind witch.  Her focus on the wind air, little exclamations, and recollections help draw a picture of what she is.  These little touches help breathe life into the character.  

Sharon's mindscape is a very clever device to draw disparate pictures together.  Given that we are on a journey through the mind of somebody in a coma, there is a lot of leeway for what we can experience.  It was a clever device.  Some people would take this as an opportunity to dump the pictures into the story and get them out of the way.   However, Berandor still works to make sure all the pics fit into place sensibly and importantly.  

The girl on the trampoline is the object of Cassie's quest.  Her bouncing contains a thematic element throughout the story.  
The knight with the sword is the overlay in the mindscape of Sharon's savior.  I found this to be interesting as there was no particular reason why the protagonist had to be female.  Indeed, if the picture was going to be used as a knight, it would seem to make more sense if the protagonist was a man.  But Berandor chooses to have the protagonist be a woman, and for Sharon's perception of the person who might save her to be a man.  There are interesting implications in the mindset of each character in this case.  I like this sort of characterization and Berandor does a good show 'showing' it to us rather than 'telling' us.
The cave taps in nicely with the 'dark recesses of your mind' theme going on in the story.  The fact that it provides a circular path back to Sharon being the source of her own problems is nice.  Sharon directs Cassie to the cave to find the monster.  Once Cassie gets to the cave, she fights the blob so she is able to address Sharon once again.  This time, Sharon admits her fear.  Sharon, through Cassie's efforts, is able to begin addressing her fear.  
Possibly the weakest picture use was the blob.  I am not entirely sure why it has to be a blob, except for the fact that the picture has to be include.  Perhaps I missed a detail that would have helped this make more sense?  Still, I appreciate that Berandor begins Cassie's journey with the smell of acid in the air.  There is a little bit of foreshadowing for the blob later on.  

I think there are three very good uses of the pictures here and the last picture was well integrated.  In the end, I think an editor would have chosen to illustrate the flowers before the blob.  

This story has good characterization, interesting dialog, a nice 'setting' in the mindscape, good picture use, and an underlying message that can engage the brain on a different level.  I very much enjoyed reading it and I thank you for this entry Berandor.

*Andor's Quest - Big Tom*

Here we have a story smacking of classic fantasy tales. We have the rightful heir that cannot claim his throne because his uncle stands in his way.  We have the weathered old witch providing forced humility as well as advice and a peek at the future.  We have the foul beast that the boy king must defeat.  In all, this ia a very fun story to read.  

Bigtom holds a strong tone throughout his story, but there are a couple of places where it falters for me.  "So Andor remained hot and uncomfortable, but stayed alive" makes the story sound more like a parable that the village elders would share with the children.  The rest of the story feels like thrid person present narrative rather than third person past narrative.  There is also the lesson of the elders in the village when dealing with illusion magic; "but it could not truly defy the laws of physics."  We have Andor speaking to witches and listening to Father Owl, but worrying about the laws of physics.  While it is true that the basics of physics have been known for quite some time, I never imagined physics being taught by the village elders.  Call it my own bias, but it struck me as odd. 

These are the big annoyances for me?  These are what I am criticizing?  These are piddling details that aren't even problems.  OK, maybe there is more that I can comment on.  

The hunt of the mountain king seemed a bit too easy.  Perhaps BigTom was running out of time and had to tie everything up too quickly?   That is almost a shame since the story already eclispes the 5000 word mark.  (5199 not counting the title.)  I admit that a creature that uses illusion will likely be easier to defeat than initially seems possible.  But Andor's handling of the abberation outside the cave seems much more clever than the battle with the mountain king.  Still, this is ceramic DM and rushed endings are an unfortunate hallmark of stories written in this manner.  

Of course, we are dealing with a Ceramic DM story and it isn't possible to discuss the story without discussing the picture usage.  How well did BigTom's pictures fit his story?

The witch's spell that took Andor into possible futures was a very clever use for the mass of bubbles!  If I were to quibble over it, I think the description of the orbs implied more that they were hanging in space independently.  I think an illustrator would probably illustrate the picture in that way.  However, the picture does match the scene pretty well.  

Unfortunately, Andor's salute with his sword seems almost pointless.  I do my first read through of the stories in a pure text editor.  Partially because I chose the pics so I know what I am looking for.  Without being able to see links, I can look for pure description and judge picture use based on that.  I find it interesting that I expected this picture to have been used in the witch's cave.  The picture was used in the story, but it does not drive the story forward in any significant manner.

The integration of the cave was acceptable.  With a picture like that, the story almost dictates that something will happen in a cave.  In this case though, the cave was a destination.  To be sure, it was an important destination for Andor.  But the actual cave held no significance to the story.  Indeed, Bigtom uses the picture at the end of a much more dramtic scene.  In this case, it is nothing more than the glue that holds two significant scenes together.

Then finally there is the child bouncing.  This time, BigTom uses the picture as the transitional phase of the demon.  I had to actually go back and look to see where the picture was used.  The problem with this picture is that the environment it is taken from does not easily lend itself to Bigtom's story.  This is a pitfall with the pictures in Ceramic DM.  There are times when the elements of the picture are too disparate from the rest of the story.  It takes significant effort to change the context of this picture to fit BigTom's tale.  However, being the picture chooser in this case works to BigTom's favor.  As it is, I know why I chose that picture so I probably give BigTom a little more leeway than the other judges might.  We will see when I actually open their emails and PMs to bring together all the comments for the final judgement.

Unfortunately, BigTom's picture usage is not strongly compelling.  This is an excellent tale with some minor mechanical issues.  The largest problem really seems to be that it needs to be longer to feel complete.  Still, it is already over the word limit.  His story is an excellent homage to the roots of Ceramic DM though.  It is fiction, based around pictures, that evokes a gaming ambiance.  Regardless of final judgements, I can truthfully say that I think I would enjoy sitting in on a game that BigTom was running.

*Saint Michael the Immortal - Bibliophile*

Bibliophile presents us with a wonderful little tale spanning the centuries.  The battle betweeen good and evil and those involved with it on a divine level.  This is a delightlful little yarn that mixes in a bit of history and religion and doesn't seem to suffer for it.  Bibliophile also mixes in humor to keep the protagonist a bit humble and provide the reader with small laughs.  

I have only read this story in text form, so I have not seen most of the formatting that Bibliophile has dropped in.  To be honest, my fear was that dialog would be muddled without the formatting.  I am happy to say that this is not the case.  The dialog tends to be crisp and clear.  However, I can see where formatting for the different voices would be enjoyable.  The story is interesting in that it is almost entirely about the dialog.  

The biggest pitfall to the story is the picture use.  None of the pictures present anything terribly compelling to the story.  In fact, each of the pictures could have been removed and the story wouldn't be affected at all.  Each of the scenes where the pictures were used could have been eliminated, or completely changed, without any real affect on the story.  It has been said that some Ceramic DM stories are like a merry-go-round.  You get one, pass through each picture, then get off at the end.  This story hsa that feel to it.  

Bibliophile, you have a delightful story here and I very much enjoyed reading it.  If you have more stories like this, I would have a blast reading through them.  You have good dialog in your story and you manage to characterize very nicely.  Heck, you even refer to Lucifer as Lucy, I dig that.  Regardless of the outcome from this match, I hope you continue to write stories in Ceramic DM.   

Comparison
[sblock]These are three disparate tales told around the same pictures.  Each of our writers has provided a very enjoyable story.  Bibliophile's story is too weak in picture use.  BigTom's story is too long.  Even if it weren't though, the story is not as compelling as Berandor's.  I must award this round to Berandor.[/sblock]

*Macbeth*

Bibliophile's Saint Michael the Immortal:
First of all, I really like the premise of this story. I'm a sucker for this kind of never-ending good versus evil battle, especially in the form of good ol' angels against demons. It also seems like your slightly irreverent tone added something, giving it a style much like the movie Dogma.

So far this is all good. However, I think the format detracted some. It seemed too episodic, without enough insight into the main character. Sure, he starts off being a bit naive (getting tricked by the women/witch), but he never really seems to grow much. The Indian scene seems to imply that he has grown and changed, but in the last scene he came off much like the first scene. Given this episodic format,t he changes in the character are one of the most important things, and Michael just didn't seem to develop enough. Don't get me wrong, he was a likable character, he just didn't evolve.

Using the formating to convey who was speaking leaves me with mixed feelings. I liked that you didn't have to bog down the conversation with too many "he saids" or "she saids," but it did seem like the easy way out. This format turns who's speaking into a kind of meta-element of the work. It works well in this format, but I can't help but wonder how it would turn out in a bigger work. It almost reads more like a script then a short story. This isn't anything that detracts from the story, but if you ever rework the story you might want to consider changing the formatting so that less information is found in the format and more in the writing.

Picture use was good, but not amazing. the use of picture one seemed a little weak, but the others were reasonably strong.

Overall, it was the tone of the story more then anything that carried it. The casual approach to the voice(s) of God, the very human Michael, referring to Lucifer as Lucy, it all builds a very good feel. I think the very episodic format took something away, as we never really see Michael change, and there is never really much conflict. There's no sense of resolution, really, since each episode is fairly short lived. I think it's a great story that could use having each episode expanded a bit.

Big Tom's Andor's Quest:
When I first read the title, for some reason I thought it was going to be some kind of Boolean math allegory or some such. And/Or's Story. 

Anyway, as for your actual story: I thought it was a very good concept, but too wordy.  I think this story could have been condensed a good bit, and still been very enjoyable. Too often you use two sentences that could be easily rolled into one, or add words that don't need to be there. It does give the story the feel of a long-winded epic, but for all the wrong reasons. In particular, near the end, when the demon shoots fire for the second time and you essentially repeat the same sequence but with each sentence preceded by 'Again' I felt that a good part could be cut. I've already read this once, why not roll it into a sentence like "The demon shot fire again to the same effect, leaving Andor mostly unharmed but a little singed."

Andor as a character almost came alive to me, but he needed a little more depth. As the story stands, he comes off as a fairly typical 'knight in shining armor' type, but the reader gets the sense that there's a little more about him. If he was given a little more personality, something to really move him out of the stereotype and into the real, he would be a great character.

Picture use was good, but not great. Each picture was used very literally, but without too many details. I feel that what really makes a good Ceramic DM picture use is grabbing some detail from the picture and making it really work in your story, and while all these pictures are used solidly, none of them really stand out.

I liked the concept of the story, and I enjoyed the epic feel, complete with the clever hero who defeats most challenges with his mind. Really it was a good story wrapped in a cocoon of too many words.

Berandor's Disillusionment:
These kind of dream walking stories are a favorite of Ceramic DM, probably because they give the author room for some weird pictures. Oddly enough, I felt the strangest and perhaps best part of Beer-and-door's story was the Sunflowers, who were not even tied to a picture. Usually in these kind of dream sequences it seems that the best parts are the pictures, but here the Sunflowers stood out to me.

Picture use was very good, mostly for the subtext added to each one. Meaning was added to each one, which tied them together, avoiding the disjointed feeling that can otherwise be common in dream stories.

I was a bit confused by the concepts of the dream world. I (perhaps wrongly) felt that Sharon jumping on the trampoline was meant to be her heart beating. In the end when the protagonist tells her to stop jumping I thought this was supposed to be her letting go and moving on, but she still doesn't want to Doctors to pull the plug. Maybe it all stems from the fact that felt the trampoline was her beating heart, but overall I didn't quite get what was supposed to be going on.

The details of the story really made it. The Garden, complete with the rather comical sunflowers, added a good bit to the story. Overall, I felt that the details of the dream world grabbed a decent story and made it great.

And I want more of the conversation with the sunflowers. 

*Rodrigo Istalindir*
Ceramic DM Judgement
Round 1, Match 2 "The Killer B's"

Berandor - "Disillusionment"

A very nice story.  Very good characterization with Cassie.  Her skills and compassion and her history all come through succinctly and effectively.  She comes across as a three-dimensional character, something that is hard to do within the constraints of Ceramic DM.   The transition from garden to desert is also handled well, and the bickering of the sunflowers well done.  The 'mindscape' hook can sometimes be a cheap trick, a way of shifting location without having to pay the price of realism or continuity.  The dying garden metaphor smoothed what could have been a jarring jump from one locale to another.   The repeating of the 'fwump'  from the virtual-Sharon jumping on the trampoline also ties things together.  And the ending -- the story would have worked either way, but the downer ending is a nice bonus.

A couple minor quibbles.  For all the effort into making the other characters seem real, the doctors at the end come off heavy-handed.  For a story that already has some political overtones, this is unfortunate, and I think unnecessary.  Having the doctors and nurses be compassionate and caring would have worked just as well (if not better).  A tale with some moral ambiguity is often more interesting than one where the villains wear black hats.  Also, the fight with the blob seemed out of place, especially coming on the heels of the garden scene.  Perhaps if Sharon had been dying from cancer rather than a car accident, the blob as a manifestation of the disease would have made perfect sense.  As it is, it seems inserted merely to serve the picture.

Picture use is at least solid, if not inspired.  The girl on the trampoline works well, though more do to the sound than the visual.   The blob, as mentioned, seems out of place.  Cassie manifesting as a man with a sword foreshadows the strenuous climb as well as the battle with the blob, and it was nice to see the sword put to more creative use.   The author stretches things a bit with the ladder to the cliff-dwelling  but not to the breaking point.

Big Tom  -- "Andor's Quest"

A revenge / coming of age tale.  Nicely written, especially at the beginning.  The witch is almost perfectly done, wise without being cryptic, assured without being arrogant.  The dialog and description are  well executed  "She had the look of one who kept a nasty secret and was about to delight in the pain its sharing caused." is a great line.    Also well-wrought  is the scene of Andor's potential futures, as he views his myriad destinies  and chooses his path.  "He thought to himself that that was a fine thing. "  

The brief exposition on the nature of the land and the king of the mountain is effective, and just the right length.  So, too, is the Andor's memory of his father's death.  A little goes a long way to establishing the setting and the character.  

The battle with the psuedo-hydra is well-conceived and executed.  A little deception coupled with a little ass-kicking is a nice combination, and establishes Andor as more than just a straight-ahead warrior.  Even in a short story, it's nice to see a little character development as Andor goes from the impatient young man to a real hero type.

Unfortunately, the rest of the story doesn't live up to the expectations that have been set.  The final fight with the demon is anticlimactic and not nearly as exciting as its predecessor.  The tale ends abruptly, as well.

Picture use:  The high point is the multiple facets of Andor's future.  An integral part of the tale, and a good use of a difficult picture.  The burning child/demon/king of the mountain is adequate, but could have been set up better.  The ladder and knight pictures are merely descriptive, and play no real part in the story.

Bibliophile -- "St. Michael the Immortal"

An amusing tale of the eternal struggle.  Clearly, the strong point of this story is the dialogue.  Very funny at times, and the banter between St. Michael and God has a quality very reminiscint of Christopher Moore.    It also serves to establish the main character, which is essential as everything else (setting, time, physical form) changes several times in short order.  The individual anecdotes are amusing, for the most part, especially the first.  The mortal fallibility of Michael is a nice touch.

The downside is that there is no narrative consistency to tie each of them together, leaving the reader to accept the premise without anything to back it up.   We get told that there is an eternal struggle, but don't get much sense of it.   The recitation of the Beatitudes by the Native American seems a little incongruous, as well, although the point that there are multiple ways to battle the Foe redeems it, as it were.

The conclusion seems a little forced, as if the author couldn't figure out how to resolve such an interesting premise.   Given how clever the set-up, and how delightful the dialogue, it was a bit of a let down.  

Picture use:  Each picture is used fairly well, but the structure of the story prevents any of them from playing an important role or being referenced multiple times.  Bonus point for using the ladder to the cliff-dwellings in situ rather than fudging it as a natural cave.   


Judgement:  [sblock]Three very good stories, and once again each different than the others.  BigTom's story has good characters and setting, but is hampered by the rushed and inconclusive ending.  Bibliophile's story has stellar dialogue, and an interesting premise.  Berandor has excellent characterization and an solid ending, and is a more cohesive story with some emotional impact.  Picture use is pretty even across the board.  All are strong first round entries, but my judgement goes to Berandor.[/sblock]

*Maldur*
Ceramic round 1 part 2

The contest with the three B's.
ok, I am proven worng, these three stories, have different genres, different styles, and different feel. Well done chaps!

Berandor
Like your story, it has a nice idea, that of "semi-known" magic, combined with that delightfull twist at the end, makes great storytelling. Im a sucker for plottwists, and the unhappy ending was great.

Big Tom
A more classic fairy tale, several quests, creative problemsolving from the maincharacter (it has an player character feel to it). And a nice happy, and open ending. What I esp like is the feel that this is one story, not a few stories stuck together.

Bibliophile
Interesting take on the arch angels, cussing and carousing through the world, guided by "voices". The different era's made it a bit patchworky to me, but your milage may vary.

Judgement[sblock]
Hard one as the stories differ so much, but in the end, Bibliophile created the best short story, both the other made something that would suit better as a chapetr in a longer story.[/sblock]

Judgement for the match:
[sblock]Berandor takes this match with 2 votes.  Thanks to all of our writers and I really hope to see more stories from you in future competitions.[/sblock]

Now to share a little bit with the audience.  Since the contestants in this round all have screennames beginning with 'B', I chose pictures that all began with 'B'.  
The girl on the trampoline was titled 'Bounce'.  The man with a sword is, if I recall correctly, named Ben.  The cave entrance is a picture of a cave at Bandelier National Monument.  If you are ever in northern New Mexico, I highly suggest a stop at Bandelier.  It is a neat place.  Finally, the last picture is 'bubble'.  Round 1, Match 2, the 'B' round.


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## BSF (Jun 26, 2005)

I have updated the menu links on the first post.  I have spoilered the contestants for Round 2, Match 1.  However, I do need some feedback on when both contestants will be ready to go.  Posting from both of you would be appreciated.


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## Berandor (Jun 26, 2005)

First off, thanks to the judges for your comments!

I'd like to address a few things. These are not excuses, but merely intended to shed light on my decisions.

First, the "politicalness" of the story, as Rodrigo Istalindir remarked on it. I really, really tried to keep away from making this political or sharing my views on coma patients. So the "school medicine" was relegated to a plot device. As I wanted the end that I had, I also needed the reader to be there when the machines were cut off from Sharon; now, I'd probably make it a post-sciptum to the story, but then I wanted to make it happen right then. So the doctors came off as very uncaring. I mean, effectively killing Sharon in front of her husband, and then doing it so matter-of-factly? But that was a case of me having the ending firmly in my mind and being unable to change it on such short notice 

I toyed with the idea of having Sharon's jumps be her heartbeat; in fact, I even toyed with having doctors trying to re-animate her, with the defibrillator making "fthump". But that would have totally changed the ending, and as I was pondering revisiting Cassie in later stories, I abstained from it even though I recognized the parallels - probably a story flaw.

Finally, the blob. It really seems to have been a very weak connection - not surprising, since it's still confusing in my own mind -, but the bubbles reflected Cassie's (transformed) face. I wanted to say that there really wasn't a monster there, but that part of Sharon didn't want Cassie to rescue her - she was relying on "modern medicine" to be saved, waiting for the doctors to do their thing. So Sharon invented a cave monster, in a way confronted Cassie with herself and made the monster immune to Cassie's weapon. It was a way of just scaring Cassie with a mirror. I still don't know if that makes sense, but that's what was going on in my head when I wrote it.

Again, thanks a lot for the comments!

Oh, and BSF:
[sblock]If at all possible, I would extremely appreciate having at least one day of the weekend to write. If you post the pics like this time, that'd mean a wednesday posting (which is thursday morning for me, giving me the saturday to work on the story). We're gaming on sunday, so that day's out anyway. I'll be on vacation starting the 8th of July to the 15th or 16th - just to look ahead  However, from 4th on I'll be off work, so weekday's no problem anymore then. 

So, if it's not possible to have a wednesday picture, I'll try to make do as best as I can, but knowing how tired I am on weeknights I'd rather not have to. [/sblock]


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## BSF (Jun 26, 2005)

Berandor said:
			
		

> So, what do you look for in Ceramic DM pictures? What do you look for in a story? As for me, I'm trying to find a "moment". One pic hopefully makes me think of a climactic way to use it. Then, I can start forming a story to built up to that moment.
> That's not always easy, however, and often it leaves me with a fairly soulless protagonist (when I thought of the story before the protagonist) or an empty story (if the "moment" deals with a protagonist specifically).
> 
> It's also often that I have an ending to a story in mind, and then must find a way to get it there. It's sometimes probelmatic because I get impatient and want that ending to happen, but at the same time I must spend time on the built-up to make it count. If a picture can give me that ending as a moment, then it's all the better.
> ...




When I am writing, I am trying to look for something that sparks a scene to build from.  I always feel like I am trying to shoehorn a story into existence.  Sooner or later I will latch onto one of the pictures and I can start crafting something from there.  Sometimes it is an action, sometimes a scene.  But once I have a solid element to build from, I start fleshing out from that point.  

One thing I have found is that the picture that often inspires me to begin the story is the picture that ends up with the weakest use.  Once I have found my beginning, the other pictures often end up being more valuable to the story.  It is an interesting dichotomy and I don't know what it says about me. 

Endings aren't quite as important to me, but I do appreciate it when a story pulls a message out of me.  The stories I enjoy writing the most are the ones where I pulled something out of myself and put it into the story.  At times I have found that I hav emore feeling and passion for an ideal than I realized.  So the writing is a learning experience for me.


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## BigTom (Jun 27, 2005)

I would like to thank the judges for their time and their analysis.  Two judges mentioned the story seemed to have an abrupt ending, and this is absolutely true.  I got to the end of the first draft and realized I had a story that was 5700 words and absolutely no time left for the editing it truly needed, so I had to make a lot of fast decisions and quick rewrites, and the ending defintely suffered for it.

The one thing I cut that I absolutely should not have cut was how Andor was supposed to discover the demon's nature.  What was supposed to happen was that the demon was trying to lure Andor into another room with an illusionary floor.  Since the demon could fly, it could walk across the floor.  Andor wouldn't have that option.  His spotting the floor was what lead him to realize what he was up against.  At the end, I chopped this for word count and it absolutely muffed things up.

I also had a wrap up to the story that I think would have addressed some of your issues, but again I had to lower the word count and a straight cut got me 500 words.

I plan to fix this up and post the final version in the story area.


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## Herremann the Wise (Jun 27, 2005)

BigTom,

[sblock]The story is rounded out by what you are talking about - as you hinted at in an earlier spoilered post. I thought you did a pretty good job considering you tried to tell a fantasy story with what I thought were the hardest set of pictures. (The images from Match 4 were also tough but were stronger images to hang ideas upon). Personally, I feel much more comfortable telling a fantasy story to sci-fi and so was happy with the match 3 images that lent themselves to the genre - only the clothes of the smiling man gave me pause.

Just curious about a few things as you were the only other writer to go for a full fantasy story:
How did the three days go for you in terms of creating, planning and writing?
What for you was the dominant image in your set?
With just a little more time, I'm sure you could have fashioned the story true to your plans. Look forward to reading the final product.[/sblock]
Best Regards
Herremann the Wise


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## BigTom (Jun 27, 2005)

For those who are interested, the full version of the story is now posted in the Story Hour area under the "Fire Kilned Ceramic DM" thread.

Click here to go to the story.


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## Herremann the Wise (Jun 27, 2005)

BigTom,

Reading the "Full Weight" story was more fulfilling than the "Diet Lite" version. About the only thing I could comment upon was the paragraph breaks. Them huge, meaty slabs of full weight beef paragraphs are perhaps just a little bit too much to swallow in just one sitting.

Anyway, congratulations on a good fantasy story.

Best Regards
Herremann the Wise


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## Herremann the Wise (Jun 27, 2005)

Well... since there seems a little time to waste between the final two judgments of round one and the exciting round two match-ups, I thought it might be time for a:

*Shameless Commercial Break*

***​[Think deep, resonant smarmy voice over]

Have you read:

[size=+3]The Happenings of Lucifus Cray[/size]

If you enjoyed my Ceramic DM entry then may I suggest the above link if you would like to know what happens when you take a powerful specialist conjurer/alienist with really high intelligence and really really low wisdom and mix it with a player who has their character take the leadership feat so that his character can round out his exotic harem.

Combine this with Lucifus's mixed motives in regards to the group he has just joined (a bunch of goody two shoes really) and you have an intriguing tale of an itinerant, thieving, devil-summoning, raven-owning, evil toad carrying, half-orc possessing, warlock-titled, godless, former assassin trying to fit in.

Is redemption possible for the misguided Lucifus or is he taking the whole group on a quick trip to Hell?

The Happenings of Lucifus Cray ventures into a little of Lucifus's unsavoury past while setting up numerous layers of conflict, just waiting to explode as the group discover exactly what they have got themselves into. Filled with humour, darkness, heroism and pure chutzpah, enjoy the ride others are now discovering.

Drop by for a quick read and even a comment or two if so inclined.

***​
We now return you to regular viewing.



Best Regards
Herremann the Wise

PS: Sorry for being a little cheeky and putting this shameless pimp inside the Ceramic DM thread. However, if anyone wishes to continue the commercial breaks...


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## reveal (Jun 27, 2005)




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## Macbeth (Jun 27, 2005)

Sorry for being behind, but I'm reading the last story I have from match 3 now, and I should be writing up a judgement/comments in just a bit.

And thanks for the well wishes. I feel much less sick now, and my Great Aunt is out of the ICU, which is a good start I suppose. All in all, I'm much more ready for Ceramic DM then I was Friday.

Aside: Nice Avatar/Title Berandor. one of my favorite graphic novels ever.  I just hope the movie doesn't suck.


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## Berandor (Jun 27, 2005)

Thanks.  Truth be told, I miss my old avatar, even though I really like the new one. I'll give it a chance to sink in, though, before possible reverting back.

And I just read V on a whim, and because I couldn't find "Watchmen". A very, very good substitute, let me tell you.


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## Macbeth (Jun 27, 2005)

V is a very close second to Watchmen for my Top Comic Ever. I've found that V gets better with more readings, also. You just catch that much more...


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## Berandor (Jun 27, 2005)

Yes, I've heard a lot of good things about Watchmen. But it seems extremely difficult to get in Germany, so I'll have to make do with what I get.

Some time soon I'll buy "From Hell".


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## tadk (Jun 28, 2005)

dont worry about it Berandor....I liked your comments and didnt post my really short attempt with the second set of pics. I might anyway since it wont matter. Getting caught up on the posts and no real comments over than I think I need more time to write than the real competitors.....Tad


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## Berandor (Jun 28, 2005)

tadk said:
			
		

> dont worry about it Berandor....I liked your comments and didnt post my really short attempt with the second set of pics. I might anyway since it wont matter. Getting caught up on the posts and no real comments over than I think I need more time to write than the real competitors.....Tad



 Yeah, you don't know what it's like until you done it


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## Herremann the Wise (Jun 28, 2005)

Hi Everyone,

[sblock]
In case of any judgments in this time:
Just a quick note to say that I'm going to be offline for about 2 days. I'm travelling to Adelaide for my Uncle's funeral and shall be returning Thursday lunchtime - Sydney time (about 16 hours in front of you guys I think).

For Match Three, I'll congratulate RangerWickett at this point for his excellent story and act surprised if the judgment is otherwise. If needed, I'll be ready as above.

Congratulations to all winners and best of luck to the semi-finalists.
[/sblock]

Best Regards
Herremann the Wise


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## BSF (Jun 28, 2005)

Update:

Macbeth is recovering from illness, but will likely have his judgement to me this afternoon.  I will post them after I get done with work late this evening.  

With luck, we will be able to do the remaining judgements this evening and can then schedule Round 2 in it's entirety.  Speaker, I am still waiting to hear if you have any preference on picture posting.


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## Macbeth (Jun 28, 2005)

Over lunch my car died. As it turned out, it was just a bad conection to the battery, easily fixed, but it slowed me down a bit. Judgement sent for Match 3, and my appologies to everybody. I can't believe the string of bad luck Iv'e had, I guess I can just be thankful all of it has been relatively easy to recover from.

I'll also note that Match 3 is, in my opinion, the closest so far this tourny. I make a judgement just like the other judges, in case it's needed, and this one was a hard one to make.


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## RangerWickett (Jun 29, 2005)

*eager bump*


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## Berandor (Jun 29, 2005)

don't eager-bump us! At least say something about your story, or update the ENnieCeramicThread


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## BSF (Jun 29, 2005)

Blech!

I am hoping to leave work here shortly.  But I have been at this for nearly 21 hours.  I'm tired.  It will be a little bit longer before I can post judgements.


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## Berandor (Jun 29, 2005)

In the sign-up thread, speaker wrote: 



> Friday, followed by wednesday works great


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## Herremann the Wise (Jun 30, 2005)

Just checking back in after a day and a bit off. I was able to log on at the hotel but alas, a nervous wait still ensues.

BSF, I hope things are OK at work; 21 hours straight would certainly fry my brain. Take as long as you need. I'm sure everyone prefers the in-depth and considered comments to the actual judgment.
Looking forward to the judgment whenever it comes.

And Macbeth,
[sblock]
Sometimes you just have one of those days.   

However, I'm a little surprised that you judged our match so close. I thought RangerWickett's was quite the standout. {There may be a little ray of hope for yangnome and myself yet...   }
I eagerly await the judgment and comments.
[/sblock]

Best Regards
Herremann the Wise


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## BSF (Jun 30, 2005)

I have spent nearly 40 of the last 48 hours at work.  Unfortunately, the issue we are dealing with could go on for quite a bit longer.  Right now I am hoping to be done before the fourth of July because it would be nice to see my family on the holiday at least.

I do have an option I can exercise.  We have the judgements in from everyone else on Match 3.  We could exercise our sideline judge and post those judgements just to keep things moving forward.  

Would the contestants support this move?  It isn't my preference, but letting the contest become bogged down simply because I have RL work issues doesn't seem fair to everyone writing this excellent fiction.  Barring that, I can be quite a bit less thorough and compile some judgements with my sleep deprived mind.  I just want the writers to have solid feedback. Whether you win or lose, the feedback is important.  

What is everyone else thinking?


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## Maldur (Jun 30, 2005)

I have no problems with this.

*sending problem solving vibes*


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## Herremann the Wise (Jun 30, 2005)

I don't mind either way. If others wish to keep things moving then that's cool. If others want to wait for your excellent and considered feedback - that's cool too.
However, what will happen in the unlikely/likely event of a three way tie?

By the way, if you wish to just cast a judgment that's cool and perhaps provide further comment later on when able?

Anyway, I hope things settle down for you at work and if you do end up with time for some feedback later on, your thoughts and opinions would always be appreciated.

Best Regards
Herremann the Wise


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## RangerWickett (Jun 30, 2005)

BSF, I'll gladly let you take one burden off your shoulder. I'm cool with this plan.


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## reveal (Jun 30, 2005)

Sounds good to me.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jun 30, 2005)

Works for me.  And I don't think it a bad idea for an alternate judge to become standard practice for future contests, like alternate contestants have become.  Stuff happens.  I know I've been busier the past week than I had any expectation to be (and if I'd been just a little bit less lucky, I'd have been pulling a 40-hour shift last weekend myself).


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## Empress (Jun 30, 2005)

Isn't Macbeth here exactly for such a situation? 

I want more stories!


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## Macbeth (Jun 30, 2005)

Heh. Looks like all the judges are quite busy. At my job we've got some new software going live in... about 24 hours.  Luckily I'm kind of the low man on the totem pole, so I don't get too much pressure, but it looks like judging Ceramic DM always means work gets hectic. C'est le vie.

I'm fine with my judgement being used. I'm probably not as helpful as BSF as a critiquer, but if it moves things along, sure. I've been sedning in a judgment with all of my comments, so BSF has my input if need be.


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## yangnome (Jun 30, 2005)

I'm fine with whatever solution works best as well....


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## Hellefire (Jun 30, 2005)

Hey everybody!

Sorry I've been away so long. RL hits when you least expect it 
I will still be busy for a bit, but hopefulyl will have time to come hang out and talk!
Berandor! Grats! So...winner buys the beer, right? 

Aaron


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## Macbeth (Jun 30, 2005)

BSF, do we know if we're judging Arwink's story with the other two? Could you send an email out to the judges letting us know what we're doing with that Arwink's story? Thanks.


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## BSF (Jul 1, 2005)

My last post was while doing work.  This post is from home.  I should have at least 4-5 hours to myself right now.  Let me get a quick bite to eat and see if I can provide any useful commentary.  If I can't, then I will begin to compile judgements and I will exercise the Macbeth option.    Empress, you are correct, this is what a spare judge is for.  

I feel pretty badly about this because I tried to avoid having these lengthy waits between stories and judgements.  But organizing all of this has been a learning experience.  Fortunately, you guys have kept the conversations going with informal critiques and discussion.  I really appreciate that!  As a spectator and as a competitor, I always enjoyed the discussion and commentary.  Ceramic DM should be a fun experience.  I always hope to learn a bit more about writing and a bit more about fellow EN Worlders when these crop up.  So, please feel free to engage in commentary.  Even if you are not competing, your thoughts are very much appreciated by the writers.  

Thanks for understanding folks.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 1, 2005)

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> If I can't, then I will begin to compile judgements and I will exercise the Macbeth option.




Glad my name isn't Duncan.


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## BSF (Jul 1, 2005)

*Round 1, Match 3 Judgements*

OK folks, I am partway through judgements.  I am very much enjoying reading your stories.  But I am also starting to nod off and I am expecting a call in a few hours to go back in to work. I am going to use Macbeth's judgements in place of my own and annotate my comments later.  Hoefully sometime Friday, my time.  

*Macbeth*
Sorry for the delay, my car died over lunch, only to find out it's a really simple problem AFTER I got people to push it out of the street. This is really starting to sound like a string of bad excuses, except it's true... Anyway, here's Match 3:

Herremann the Wise - Of Power and Peace
This story has a very understated solidness about it. It's big. It's long. It's very well written.

This strikes me as a good story, but not a great one, and I don't really understand why I feel this way. I have every reason to think the story was really great, since it has a very deep setting, some strong prose, and a fair plot. But it just doesn't click for me.

Why doesn't it click? I think that has a lot to do with the wordiness. I'm kind of split on this: your prose it strong and flavourful, but all those words seem to bog things down a little too often. It's one of the problems I often find with 'traditional' fantasy tales, since authors seem to like to grab and adjective they can to describe with. Here it bogs down an otherwise strong story. It doesn't wreck it, but at times I felt like I was wading through a sentence to move on to something else.

Your characters come off as a bit melodramatic, but that's fine for this genre. I sometimes found myself thinking "Who talks like that?", but I'll let it slide since it's expected whenever princes, swords and wizards are involved.

RangerWickett
This story was strange, to say the least. I liked it, and you managed to keep things moving well. Never a dull moment in the story.

However, it seemed to me that part of what kept me reading was trying to figure out exactly what was going on, and even by the end I wasn't too sure. Overall, the narrator's point of view impared my understanding of the basic premise of the world. I kept on hoping for some more exposition as to what exactly this world, with the 'netnet' and all, was like. It seemed to me that you were trying to avoid a flat explanation of the world, but I think something like that was needed. I got the story, and I got the important bits, but I felt a little lost as to how the world beyond the grocery store worked.

All of the characters seemed a little flat, but with enough details to make them interesting anyways. The little things (choice of music, speech patterns) made the characters strong, but they lacked depth. They were like a movie set: a nice facade facing the street, but it's just propped up.

Picture use was above average, but nothing too amazing. The use of details was very good (the frost on the ground, the 'frozen' appearance of the kick), but the way of using most of them (the world of the netnet) was a bit contrived. Ceramic DM stories often feature a dream world or internet world to allow strange things, and it always seems like a bit of a stretch. the fact that not all of the pictures were in the netnet is good. If all of the pictures had been from an imaginary world, it would have been a bit of an escape.

Yangnome - Destiny's Call:
The first thing that struck me about this entry was the narator's voice. It really pulls you in, and give the story that hook that gets you through the begining of the story.

However, the middle part of the story, the fight, was a bit off. The concept of it was great, but we didn't need this much detail. Even the writing is good, but we just don't need this much about a fight. It's well described and needed for the story, but we don't really need this much of a blow-by-blow account. Use some of the same description, but drop it to a lower level of detail.

Characterization is good for the most part, but then again, only the narrator really gets any depth. I would have enjoyed having an interaction with another 'mundane' character to give us some idea who this guy is when he's not caught up in strange, otherwordly stuff.

Picture use was solid. All of thepictures were used in a very matter-of-fact manner except for the web, which was one of the stonrger pics. Sure, it was farily abstract, but the picture was definately something I would choose to illustrate. On the other hand, it seems like frosted ground wasn't too important. It does play a part in the story, but it's not as strong as the others. Overall, above average picture use.



Judgement, should it be needed:[sblock]
Ranger Wickett gets my vote by a hair. Despite a slightly confusing setup, the story edges out a win. It's worth noting I would say this is the closest round so far. Great jobs, all around. [/sblock]


*Rodrigo Istalindir*
Ceramic DM Judgement Round 1 Match 3

Yangnome - Destiny's Call

A great opening.  Jim's narration is perfect, the dialect spot-on, and it leads directly into the first picture.  The writing is full of nice imagery and details and really sets a nice stage.  This opening grabbed me, and continued strong into Jim's meeting with the angel.  

The dialog with the angel really comes across well.  It hits all the right notes, and I couldn't help but think of some poor yokel in the backwoods being visited by aliens.  The spider-web explanation works well, and sets the stage for the picture at the end.  More dialog and less exposition would have been better, though.  It kinda broke up the rhythm you had going between Jim and the angel.

The fight with the monk, defender of worlds is a little dry and goes on a bit. It also takes Jim out of the story, which is unfortunate.  A little more background on the relationship between Suriel and Dongwan would be a welcome substitution.  

Picture use:  The picture of Jim is just priceless, and works exceptionally well with the prose.  The spiderweb is also integral to the story, and is a good metaphor.  The monk is conventional, but sometimes you just can't ignore what something is.  The bridge in the woods, cloaked in ice, is a little weak. Perhaps if Dongwan won, and by so doing deprived the world of Sueriel's light and heat (referring back to how she appeared to Jim), would have provided a tidier resolution and also tied the picture in more strongly.  


RangerWickett -- Untitled

Wow.  What a story.  It follows in the fine tradition of Stephenson and Gibson, and is a nice piece of cyberpunk. The setting is wierd but recognizable, and filled with little details and observations that bring it alive such as the overreactions of the shoppers to a little bad weather.  The lingo and dialogue fit perfectly.  There is just enough exposition to frame the story, but the majority of the tale is told through the interactions of the characters, something that is easy to overlook in Ceramic DM.

There are some shortcomings.  While the nature of the genre expects the reader to go with the flow and not nitpick over details, having inmates from an asylum for the criminally insane working retail moves the story to far into the absurd.  Satire works best when it operates on a serious level and is just plausible enough to make you think twice about whether or not the author is pulling your leg.  

The ending is beautiful, serving to both wrap up the story in an effective way and as an inside joke to the net-literate.  Lose the supermarket, or tone it down, and this would be a stellar story instead of just very good.

Picture use:  Robert looming over the protagonist is effective, though it comes early in the story and really doesn't tie into anything else.  The spiderweb as the netnet interface, on the other hand, is textbook Ceramic DM, making something out the picture that isn't obvious and making it integral to the story.  The garden is mostly a throw-away, although it does presage the coming ice-storm.  The monk/protagonist is slightly more effective, especially as is uses the still-motion to reflect the frozen avatar.  Truth be told, I'm of mixed minds with the last too pictures.  Virtual reality (like the 'mindscapes' in Berandor's entry) is kind of a shortcut, one step up from using the pictures as pictures.  The strength of the story carries it through, though tying the pictures more concretely to the story would have been better.



Herreman the Wise -- Of Power and Peace

Here, the author does a nice job of making the reader feel as if he's stepped into a large world, with a deep and rich history.  The deluge of names and places can be a little off-putting at first, but are essential to the setting.  The prose and style suit the story, and there is an archness to the writing that accentuates the sense of age and culture.

The conflict between the arrogant elder son and his cousin is quickly established, though unfortunately short-lived.  For all the setup, I'd have liked to see E'dhanus' demise come at the end of the story, rather than the middle. 

The flashback with the wizard and the spider is brilliantly done.  We all assume wizards are wise and mysterious -- it's neat to see something to back up the stereotype.

For all the detail and description, though, not much seems to happen.  Long stretche pass with a simple transition, and the ending doesn't seem to follow well with what was done before.  Too, the returning of the dragon egg to the barbarians is an unusual action, and while I think it could be justified, I don't think the story sells the conclusion.  The story cries out for a longer, more detailed treatment.  

Picture use:  The solar dew spider and its web is absolutely brilliant.  Consider that yoinked for future use.  A really cool creature, unfortunately reduced to a cameo here, but worthy of its own story.  The bridge is merely descriptive, but once again the author takes a slight twist and instead of going conventional with the monk, makes it a picture of the unfortunate prince hurled skyward.  Moses' amazement is well-expressed with the final picture.

Judgement:  [sblock]The trend of three wildly divergent stories continues, and this is a good thing (tm).  Herreman evokes a deep and complicated fantasy world, RangerWicket gives us a wild cyberpunk tale, and Yangnome an end of the world slugfest.  Some really spectacular picture use this match, and writing to equal it.  Still, RangerWicket's story oozes creativity and polish, and edges the competition. [/sblock]

*Maldur*
Oh my, ceramic is heating up.

Yangnome
End of the world, angels, monks trying to safe the (a) world. nice fast paced story, I esp liked the way that the main person, was besides the action, but still a part of the story.

Herremann the Wise
A more fairytale/fantasy style story of the humble, and wise hero, an ancient wizard and dragons   
The reacurance of the dragons as the "power item" when they were only mentioned in an offside manner in the intro, was very nice.

RangerWickett
Cyberpunk style! I like it. A nice way of twisting the famous african aspam mail" into a new and exciting story.


Verdict: [sblock]Ranger not only wrote a story in my favourite genre, risky because I could have easily hated it to the core, he also wrote a damn good story. Well done.[/sblock]

Match Results:[sblock]
RangerWickett sweeps this match.  But there is no denying that all three competitors provided great stories.  Thank each of you for your writing.

RangerWickett, please post what would be best for your schedule as far as pictures for Round 2 go.[/sblock]


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## RangerWickett (Jul 1, 2005)

I'm honored to have had my work mentioned as having anything to do with Neal Stephenson or William Gibson. I'm mostly just glad that people enjoyed the story.

BSF, I'm not really _free_ at all, but I have time here and there to write, so any day works other than the 4th of July. I imagine we won't get the judgements on match 4 until then at least anyway. And I'd prefer if you not post pics on a Friday. Other than that, though, I'm all good.

Thank you to the judges, and to my opponents for a fun round.


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## BSF (Jul 1, 2005)

I would like to kick judgements up today.  But I have already been at work for 6 hours and it might be quite a while longer before I am done for the day.


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## Macbeth (Jul 1, 2005)

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> I would like to kick judgements up today.  But I have already been at work for 6 hours and it might be quite a while longer before I am done for the day.



Before I write a judgement, I want to know if Arwink's story is being judged or just commented on! I'm not sure it'll make a difference either way (I haven't decided anything yet), but I'd like to know where we stand.


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## BSF (Jul 1, 2005)

Arwink's story was late and is not eligible for judging.  However, I am sure he would appreciate feedback.


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## yangnome (Jul 1, 2005)

Hello,

Just writing to say congrats to Ranger Wickett and thanks to the judges.  I agree with pretty much all of the judging critiques of my story.  I've already discussed many of the issues that were brought up in response to critique from Berandor, so I won't bore you with a repeat of the same commentary.  Good luck to Ranger Wickett and all others moving on to the next round.

Yangnome


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## Macbeth (Jul 1, 2005)

My comments (and judgement, if needed) for Match 4 have been sent. Nice stories, all around. I've been very impresed with round one, not a single story has been bad. Some had flaws, but all were still a joy to read.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 1, 2005)

I sent my round 4 judgments on Tuesday, so we're all caught up now.


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## Herremann the Wise (Jul 1, 2005)

Congratulations to RangerWickett for what I thought was a truly excellent story. I look forward to reading your entries in the coming rounds.

Alas yangnome, for us we are left in tatters, swept aside by the RangerWickett juggernaut. Congratulations though on an enjoyable read.

And to the judges, thank you again for your excellent critiquing. For but a few thousand more words and a little more time, I ponder what could have been... a common Ceramic DM comment I'm sure.   

For what it's worth, I really enjoyed my virgin Ceramic DM ride.

Best Regards
Herremann the Wise


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## Berandor (Jul 2, 2005)

> For but a few thousand more words and a little more time, I ponder what could have been... a common Ceramic DM comment I'm sure.



You discovered the essence of Ceramic DM, youg padawan


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## BSF (Jul 3, 2005)

Hey folks,
I have a bit of a quandry here.  Speaker hasn't logged in since 06/26.  Does anybody have an out-of-band way to communicate with Speaker?  I don't want to post pictures and risk having Berandor go without any opponent.


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## Berandor (Jul 3, 2005)

Just a reminder that I'll be on vacation starting friday, so wednesday afternoon (thursday morning for me) pictures would be the last date before that; I'll be back between the 15th-17th of July.


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## BSF (Jul 4, 2005)

*Round 1, Match 4 Judgements - MarauderX vs reveal*

Round 1, Match 4 Judgements - MarauderX vs reveal	

Everytime I think I am done with work this week, I end up going back in to work.  It is a bit of a pain actually.  I barely know what day it is right now and I have a headache from sleep deprivation.  Blah, blah, blah - the question is who won?  Right?  Again I will need to beg off and pull Macbeth in right now.  If I had known I would have so many issues at work, then I would have not agreed to run this Ceramic DM.  *sigh*

This round is a little tough because one of the competitors did not make the story in on time.  Our judges have provided comnmentary and I have tried to pull that commentary out gracefully and append it at the end.  Arwink, please scroll all the way down for your comments.  

Again, thanks to our competitors, we have some great fiction.  Now, on to the judgement.


*Rodrigo Istalindir*
Ceramic DM Round 1 Match 4

MaruaderX - "Insight"

A sweet little story, with a bit of winter to cool you down this hot summer day.  The author starts out right away with a bold gambit, offering us a protagonist both obnoxious and whiny.  A risky approach in Ceramic DM, as the time and space constraints offer little room for character development.     He is the polar opposite of Liz, the young nurse assigned to care for him, and the natural conflict between the perpetually cheerful and the permanently grumpy is effectively drawn.  

The other scenes in the hospital are somewhat mixed.  Realistic, concrete settings can work both ways.  Tale an environment everyone is familiar with, throw in some specific details to flesh things out, and you create at rich setting.  On the other hand, you also run the risk of jarring the reader out of the rythm of the story when a detail rings false.  In this case, everyone has seen enough emergency tracheotomies on TV to accept it at face value, and that creates a nice bit of tension as well as setting the stage for the action in the hospital.  On the downside, several things seem off -- Abe undressing himself while injured, for example -- and that hurts the attempt at realism.

The scenes with Liz, whose cheerfullness helps Abe see the world in a different way, are well done.  The brief visions of daffodils and snowmen and such are much more effective than simple exposition or dialogue.  Abe and Kim's discovery of their mutual attraction is a little rushed, but still plausible, and the reappearance of the daffodils is the perfect touch to tie it all together.

The penultimate paragraph could be dropped.  Other than to include the roomate (and accompanying picture), it serves no real purpose.  Skipping directly to the last paragraph would have been more effective.  As it is, it kind of breaks the mood.  Beautiful ending, though, and the bouquet of 'daffodils' is a brilliant touch.  Almost Tom Hanks/Meg Ryan cute, but a little of that doesn't hurt.

Picture use:  The snowmen as a vision of winter wonderland is a great choice.  Very easy to go in other directions, but perfect for this story and the mood.  The blood cells is a little awkward -- something in the text to tie it to Abe's emotional development would have made it stronger.  Even a brief mention of how it made him feel vulnerable, or something.  As it is, it's just there.  Same with the roommate wearing Kim's hat.  It was kind of jarring, since there had been no transition between them kissing in the hospital and her being in the apartment, so my suspicious mind jumped into overdrive, imagining Kim and the roommate being involved or some such.  The kung-fu kick is just totally out of place.  I'm not sure how I would have worked it into the story, but it just doesn't work.

Reveal - "Untitled"

Similar to MarauderXs story in that both deal with troubled people turning over a new leaf, but it couldn't be more different in tone.  It starts off harsh, gets a little rough in the middle, and ends with a bang.   The relationship between Sonia and Eric is believable, and the dialogue , snappy and gritty, rings true.  I'd lose the first two paragraphs, though.  Starting with the profanity is unnecessary, and the second paragraph gets a little confusing.  Leading off with "Do you think the blood will come out of this shirt?" is a near-perfect way to begin this story.

The author makes a couple of good choices.  First, showing Sonia as a victim makes her more sympathetic.  This makes her turn-around at the end a little easier to swallow.  Within the Ceramic DM constraints, that might have been hard otherwise.  Also, by telling the story as a series of flashbacks, events can be spaced out over years, making the changes the characters undergoe more plausible.

Still, the perils of a realistic setting come back to bite, and the resolution seemed too clever by half -- the kind of overly complicated scheme that only works in B movies.    Why go to all those lengths?  Who took the pictures?  Why beat Eric in the fight, when losing would have given her an out?  

This is a story where I think the only true ending would be a bad one.  I was expecting it, was looking forward to it, and instead of being pleasantly surprised, I felt a little cheated.  

Picture use:  Excellent picture use, here.  The snowman graveyard is very evocative, something that brought me back to my childhood and the schoolyard across from my house that was filled with snowmen in the winter.  The 'marbles sculpture' is also a creative use, intricately bound into the story in several locations.  The kung-fu kick is also crucial (although it really doesn't look like a sweep).   Fat Jack in his pink hat is perfect, and the accompanying text really justifies it.



Judgement:[sblock]

   MarauderX's story of a grouch opening his eyes to the beauty around him is really sweet and magical.  Reveal's tale of love lost and found is dark and dirty.  Interesting to see those last two stories deal with similar themes in such radically different ways.  A tough decision, as I feel both stories worked well and were well writtten.  In the end, picture use is the deciding factor, and Reveal clearly had the edge with better use of the marbles and especially the man in the hat.[/sblock]


*Macbeth*

MarauderX - Insight:
First things first: I really liked the feel of the story. It managed to never become to sweet, and in fact seemed bittersweet more often then not. The characters were deep and interesting, but they changed to quickly.

The biggest problem was that the end didn't seem to flow from the begining. Abe's change seems rushed (which I guess is to be expected for a Ceramic DM story), but I really liked the direction it went. Adding a few more scenes, to make Abe's change more gradual, would have made all the difference. As it stands, while the change was fast, it at least seemed in character.

Your prose was nice and brief, a good fit for this story. It seemed like you were tempted to become to wordy, but especially in a story like this it is important to show love rather then tell us that Abe is in love, and you do that very well.

Picture use was, I felt, a bit week. The snowmen were by far the best used, giving us the first glimpse of a world like Abe has never seen. On the other hand, the karate-style picture of the fight was fairly week. It really felt tacked on. the blood picture was very creative, but wasn't all that important.




Reveal:
I liked this story a lot. Interesting that two of the stories both got love themes out of that set of pictures. Maybe green blobs imply love?

Anyway,this story opens strong, continues reasonably well, and finishes strong. I liked the picture use, all of it was solid, if not amazingly creative. The most creative use was the green globs as art, which made for an interesting story point and a metaphor for the relationship. The rest of the pictures were just above average, though you did make good use of the fight picture, which barely fit into the other two stories.

The story itself was well told. You had some particularly strong prose near the begining and end ("Her tears froze to her face, creating a
hauntingly beautiful mosaic of sadness in the midday sun." in particular stodd out to me), but the middle of the story was a bit straightforward. Being just straight forward isn't nessecarily a bad thing, but compared to some of the imagery at the begining and end, it wasn't as good.



Judgement, if needed:[sblock]
It's a shame Arwink's story wasn't finished, since it had a lot of promise. But, given that Arwink only really gave us a preveiew of a longer story, Reveal is my choice. All of the stories were strong, but Arwink's didn't seem complete and MarauderX's suffered from some iffy picture use. [/sblock]


*Maldur*
MarauderX vs. reveal vs. Arwink

Emotions are the pivot of these stories, hate and love for reveals, Again hate and love for MarauderX's, and contempt and fear in arwinks (allthough arwinks story is more "muted").

I personally find it odd, that only one of the three stories names the fight pic as Capouera, but that might be just me.

reveal
Intense story, with an odd twisting end, my first reaction was: "that woman is insane, run dude run!"

MaurauderX
ok, that was just plain odd, hallucinations, a cranky selfproclaimed genius, and a freaky nurse. Odd, odd odd.

Verdict:[sblock]
Eventhough the question if arwink is on time with his story still stands, my verdict wont change: I say reveal produced the best flowing story this time. so reveal it is   [/sblock]


Judgement Summary: [sblock]Reveal takes this round with 3 votes!  Now we just need to get through Round 2 and see who remains.[/sblock]


*Commentary for Arwink*

*Rodrigo Istalindir*
Arwink - "Cold Comfort"  

A nice beginning, juxaposing the mundane with the hint of the supernatural.  Some nice bits -- comparing the cars in LA vs. Prague, the description of the corpse.  Very noir, and it really sells the setting.  There is  a real assurance in the way the author lets the story develop, using the prose to fill in the edges, but letting the actions of the characters speak for itself.  "With shaking hands, he buried the burning tip in the corpses ear and waited for the smell of sizzling ichor."  Excellent -- with one sentence establishing that Dane has been through this before, and that it was really bad, without actually saying it.  Wonderfully done.  Similarly, waking up from his dream with O'Banion already fled is a great stylistic choice.  What you don't see is often scarier than what you do, and this was a much better approach.

Unfortunately, the story is incomplete.  The dream interlude doesn't tie into the rest of the story.  Although there are hints as to Dane's background and experiences, they aren't developed as much as they should be.  No explanation of the green eggs is offered, or of Dane's psychic abilities, etc.  Go back and finish this -- the elements are there for something truly good and creepy.

Picture use:  Very good.  The 'White Death' is suitably creepy, and very well realized throughout the story.  The green egg portends bad things, though unfortunately we never get to see what.  O'Banion wearing his dead daughter's hat and scarf is touching, and a very effective way to bring some depth to the character.  The martial arts kick is a throwaway, since the scene it is in doesn't tie back to the rest of the story.

Arwink's tale doesn't live up to the promise.  Unfortunate, since it was shaping up well, and what there was I found really engaging.

*Macbeth*
Arwink - Cold Comfort:
What we have here is a really good begining for a story. 

I know the time constraint really kicked in on this one, but I don't have too many complaints beyond the obvious abrupt ending.

The only other thing I felt was lacking was conclusion. Perhaps it's a side effect of the short story, but I felt confused when I reached the end. We've got eggs in people's ears, psychic snowmen, and some weird voice in a dream, all of which is well done and interesting in and of itself, but none of them tie together.

With another few paragraphs, maybe even just a few more lines, this story could have been very good. As it is, it seems more like a sample: good, intersting, but not enough to stand on it's own. It almost seems like a preview, given away to make you want to buy the book.

Picture use was very strong on a picture-by-picture basis, but they didn't work together. The green goo as eggs was probably the most straight forward and solid use of that picture in these stories, and the snowmen were obviously important. The fight picture was not all that important, but the story behind it ("Weaponless, watched, never free of their masters vigil. They pretended to dance in order to escape detection, to prevent the guards from knowing they were learning to fight") really caught my fancy. If I knew more of why that strange dream happened, it might be more integrated, but as it stands it's a great picture with fairly little to do with the rest of the story. However, a group of slaves trained in dancing as fighting is a great idea for some D&D monks. 

*Maldur*
Arwink
Psychic agency, "eggs", mutant killer snow men. It seemed a bit short, the story was under developed. Frankly I expected more from you.


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## BSF (Jul 4, 2005)

Rangerwickett posted earlier today that he is off-board until Tuesday.  Speaker still hasn't spoken up on when he is good.  

Berandor & reveal, whould the two of you be up for pictures?  Like maybe immediately?  If so, I will rearrange the pairings for Rangerwickett vs Speaker.


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## Speaker (Jul 4, 2005)

I am ready to go, the sooner the better - I'll keep a close eye on this thread!


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## BSF (Jul 4, 2005)

OK, Berandor vs Speaker it will be then.  I am doing some quick time calculations here.  Berandor is coming up on his Monday morning.  Speaker is coming on his midnight.  Berandor goes on vacation on Friday.  If I post in the morning, it will be Berandor's afternoon and Speaker's morning.  That will give both of them less downtime immediately after the pictures are posted.  I think I will do that.  

Expect pictures in the morning.  Berandor can brainstorm over supper and Speaker can brainstorm over breakfast.

PS - Berandor, sorry about the suboptimal time.  I wish we could have caught it on the weekend.  But then again, I was at work all weekend.  Maybe it just works out?


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## BSF (Jul 4, 2005)

*Query*

Out of curiosity, how did everyone feel about the first round being 3 competitors instead of 2?  

Yes, I know the judgements were behind.  I'm sorry about that.


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## Maldur (Jul 4, 2005)

I liked the three stories per set, had a nice feel to it.

Good luck on round two peoples


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## Maldur (Jul 4, 2005)

> Macbeth
> 
> However, a group of slaves trained in dancing as fighting is a great idea for some D&D monks.




Google capouera, it is a southamerican dance/martial art


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## Berandor (Jul 4, 2005)

It's all right. Pics today mean 72 hours of qriting time, so I'm fine. I was dreading thursday morning 

Three stories was nice, but I advanced, so... I think having two people to write against ups motivation, but might spell doom easily. We haven't had a bad first-round entry, at all, this time, not even a particularly mediocre one.

But the judgements were late


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## yangnome (Jul 4, 2005)

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> Out of curiosity, how did everyone feel about the first round being 3 competitors instead of 2?
> 
> Yes, I know the judgements were behind.  I'm sorry about that.





I think I would have prefered two in each round.  I understand that you were trying to create a set up that would offer even brackets for the competition in order to avoid a round with a bye.  I think though that pairing contestants whether you have eight, ten, twelve, etc. is perhaps a better option.  I think feedback would be a bit more focused and it wouldn't be as large an effort for judges(at least in one round, overall it would be a larger effort as you'd need to judge more matches) .  

When you reach teh round that has the bye, the judges can select the best story from the losers of that bracket (the round that was just decided, not out of the whole contest) to move on and fill that slot, thereby giving them a second chance.  While this may seem unfair due to different pic groups, or the chance that someone lost a round could still conceivably win the tournament, I think it would add an interesting element.  This would allow a talented writer who may have written a stronger story than winners in some of the other matches to get a chance to progress.  I don't think we've seen it yet in this contest, but previous CDMs have witnessed early pairings of strong writers.  This of course, wouldn't save all such cases, but it would allow the chance for one person to get a second chance, which I feel is in the spirit of the competition.  To make it even more fun, perhaps the selection from teh loser bracket could be decided by all judges and competitors (all of those in teh tournament, not just those left in the bracket).

Anyhow, this is just a thought.  It isn't meant as a criticism, or as sour grapes (My suggestion wouldnt have effected me anyway as both the peopel I competed against wrote stronger stories than I did).


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## yangnome (Jul 4, 2005)

While I am throwing out random musings and selections where they do not belong…

Have you given thought to having more than one judging team?  Provided you can drum up the people for participation, it would be interesting to see this put in place.  Two teams could ease the burden for all judges as well, which would provide for a better chance of timely feedback.  For instance, had each of you only had two matches to judge instead of four, feedback would have likely been a lot quicker, even with the work situation.

I understand that different judges would provide potentially different results, but as long as the same judges review the same stories, it shouldn’t be too big an issue.  Sure, personal preference of judges might come into play, but this will be a factor no matter how many judges there are.  It wouldn’t affect the competition round for round though.  Once at the end, five judges (or three) could be selected to judge the final two stories.

This could even be done with a pool of five judges where three are randomly selected to judge each match.  Either solution would help ease the demand on the judges.  It might also help avoid a situation where a judge might be judging a friend’s story (or a friend who doesn’t/can’t compete because they are close to one judge.)  Additionally, if the real world should interfere with a judge’s life (or even multiple judges), one of the other judges could step in and the tournament could progress.

While I’m making suggestions that assume we have infinite manpower… It might be a good idea to have the contest organizer not judge the competitions.  That in itself is a big amount of work.  Organizing rounds, selecting the pictures, posting the results, etc. takes a lot of time.  Using this as a separate position, or as an emergency fill in judge might be a good option.  As an added benefit, this change would also free up an involved person to provide outside critique while waiting on judging results.  It’d be interesting to hear how or why the pictures were selected as they were and what stories they might have drummed up inside the image selector’s head.  This would all help tide the time between the time the stories are posted and the time the decisions are posted.

Anyway, I guess that is all for now.  Once again, none of these selections are meant as a criticism of the way things are being run now.  I think you all are doing an outstanding job.  I just thought I’d share my random musings.


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## reveal (Jul 4, 2005)

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> Rangerwickett posted earlier today that he is off-board until Tuesday.  Speaker still hasn't spoken up on when he is good.
> 
> Berandor & reveal, whould the two of you be up for pictures?  Like maybe immediately?  If so, I will rearrange the pairings for Rangerwickett vs Speaker.




Whenever you want to post the pictures, I'll be ready.


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## reveal (Jul 4, 2005)

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> Out of curiosity, how did everyone feel about the first round being 3 competitors instead of 2?
> 
> Yes, I know the judgements were behind.  I'm sorry about that.




It worked for me. It just made the competition that much tougher.


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## reveal (Jul 4, 2005)

Thanks everyone! MaruaderX, you had a wonderful story and I knew it was going to be close. Arwink, I wish you had gotten yours in in time.



			
				Rodrigo Istalindir said:
			
		

> Why go to all those lengths? Who took the pictures? Why beat Eric in the fight, when losing would have given her an out?




The way I looked at it, she knew that Fat Jack would never let her go. If she lost, Jack would just kill Eric. If she won, she could get Jack alone and kill him. Basically, she just used Eric. This is something I didn't want to just come out and say, but figured the reader could infer that.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 4, 2005)

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> Out of curiosity, how did everyone feel about the first round being 3 competitors instead of 2?
> 
> Yes, I know the judgements were behind.  I'm sorry about that.




It lets more people compete and speeds things up.  Those are good things.  It isn't a hardship on the judges, I don't think.  That said, I think it is a little harder to write the critiques when its a three-way competition.


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## BSF (Jul 4, 2005)

yangnome said:
			
		

> While I am throwing out random musings and selections where they do not belong…
> 
> Have you given thought to having more than one judging team?  Provided you can drum up the people for participation, it would be interesting to see this put in place.  Two teams could ease the burden for all judges as well, which would provide for a better chance of timely feedback.  For instance, had each of you only had two matches to judge instead of four, feedback would have likely been a lot quicker, even with the work situation.
> 
> ...




There are some interesting ideas here Yangnome.  I will definitely have to re-read and consider when I have come closer to catching up on sleep.  That way I am sure I catch all of your ideas for consideration.  

FWIW - Most of the effort in organizing comes up front for me.  Work really has been an intrusion into my life lately and that rolls over to gaming and to EN World.  I have had to cancel games recently because I wasn't home from work, and would have been too tired to do anything even if I were home.  This last week, work sucked up 80+ hours of my time.  I have spent most of my time at home in 3-5 hour increments trying to sleep.  The prior week wasn't quite as bad, but was pretty nasty.  This is uncommon for me.  But the error I was working on required the assistance of people across 4 continents.  It took a long time to find developers that wrote the code that could help us resolve our issue.  Even then, we lost a significant chunk of data that we have been trying to repopulate.  Fortunatley, this particular system was at the beginning of development rather than honest production.  We probably didn't lose more than 6 man weeks of work.  

When I was younger and actually exercised on a regular basis, I would have been irritable by the end of this week, but I would have still been ready to do nearly anything I wanted.  Nowadays, it takes a larger toll on me immediately.  I can't control age, but I could exercise more.  

My point is that we have had a convergence of really bad work issues for me and time in Ceramic DM.  As much as I love EN World, and the Ceramic DM, both of those things do give way to a regular paycheck when it comes to the wire.    Judging each entry takes a lot more time than organizing.  On the plus side, without my notes, the judgement entries are shorter.  

My biggest regret is not having the wisdom to admit that RL was becoming too much of a bear and pulling Macbeth's judgements in sooner.  I think none of us like to admit that we aren't able to keep up with our committments, but I should have set the ego aside and done so sooner.


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## reveal (Jul 4, 2005)

Maldur said:
			
		

> Google capouera, it is a southamerican dance/martial art




They used that on Stargate: SG-1 when a bunch of Jaffa were training. It was really, really cool looking.


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## Maldur (Jul 4, 2005)

The trolls in World of warcraft have it as their dance moves


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## reveal (Jul 4, 2005)

Maldur said:
			
		

> The trolls in World of warcraft have it as their dance moves




I prefer the Orcs dance myself. 

http://movies.collegehumor.com/media/movies/orcdance_.wmv


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## BSF (Jul 4, 2005)

*Round 2, Match 1 - 5 pictures, 6000 words max, 72 hours*
Berandor vs Speaker

As promised, the pictures in the morning.  This round is a bit of an homage to various EN Worlders.  The reasons may not be entirely clear to you, but they are to me.  For longtime fans of Ceramic DM, I hope you will understand why a couple of these pictures are dedicated to Piratecat (and by extension to Mythago for causing Piratecat such a quandry.)

Berandor and Speaker, I hope the two of you find these pictures inspiring enough to hang a story around.  

See your stories in 3 days, or less.


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## Maldur (Jul 4, 2005)

hammer time 

(Krazzak Orc,lvl34  rogue, dragonmaw eu server)


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## Berandor (Jul 4, 2005)

BSF, I got the picks.

I hate you. 

See you in 7 hours.

ETA: That should read 72 hours. Blame it on wishful thinking.


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## BSF (Jul 4, 2005)

Good!  

Check it out, that makes my 3000th post.


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## Berandor (Jul 4, 2005)

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> Good!
> 
> Check it out, that makes my 3000th post.



 At least you made it a meaningful one.

A story is slowly forming in my mind, but I am 99.9% sure it will not involve Cassandra Morgan. As it is, I'm also 99% sure I'll only use two of the pics, but hey - better than nothing, right?


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## BSF (Jul 5, 2005)

I am hoping Speaker has seen the pics.  

Rangerwickett & reveal - When would you like your pics?  Is tonight good?


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## reveal (Jul 5, 2005)

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> I am hoping Speaker has seen the pics.
> 
> Rangerwickett & reveal - When would you like your pics?  Is tonight good?




Tonight's fine.


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## BSF (Jul 5, 2005)

If we can get Rangerwickett to agree, I will get them up after I get home from work.


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## reveal (Jul 5, 2005)

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> If we can get Rangerwickett to agree, I will get them up after I get home from work.




So 3 days from now?


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## RangerWickett (Jul 5, 2005)

Tonight's fine.

And BSF, stop apologizing for lateness. You're being generous to run this competition, and we're having a fun time because of it.  Thank you for doing this.


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## reveal (Jul 5, 2005)

RangerWickett said:
			
		

> And BSF, stop apologizing for lateness. You're being generous to run this competition, and we're having a fun time because of it.  Thank you for doing this.




What he said.


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## BSF (Jul 5, 2005)

Only 3 days from now if I get stuck at work for a protracted period of time.  Otherwise, it is a matter of pulling them from my picture folder on my hard drive.


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## Berandor (Jul 5, 2005)

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> Only 3 days from now if I get stuck at work for a protracted period of time.  Otherwise, it is a matter of pulling them from my picture folder on my hard drive.



 Would that it was so easy for my story


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## BSF (Jul 5, 2005)

Round 1 was for me to start figuring out how to pic some pictures.  I was careful to cover a couple of key elements I felt I needed to include.  

Round 2 is me getting a little more familiar with the pictures.  I have the elements I think are still required, but now I begin to adopt the Mythago approach.  When somebody asks me how the pictures will make up a story, I think "That's not _my_ problem."


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## BSF (Jul 6, 2005)

*Round 2, Match 2 Pictures*

Round 2, Match 2 - 5 pictures, 6000 words max, 72 hours
Rangerwickett vs reveal

Here you go gentlemen.  Five special pictures, just for you.  We will see you in 72 hours, or less.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 6, 2005)

You area  cruel, cruel man.  I love it.  Those pictures should come with complimentary laudanum and absinthe.


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## reveal (Jul 6, 2005)

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> Round 2, Match 2 - 5 pictures, 6000 words max, 72 hours
> Rangerwickett vs reveal
> 
> Here you go gentlemen.  Five special pictures, just for you.  We will see you in 72 hours, or less.




YOWZAS!


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## MarauderX (Jul 6, 2005)

Hey, thanks for the great competition.  I had nothing with those pics, and it showed.  Sorry Rodrigo, I couldn't come up with as a good a use for them as reveal, and that's what it's all about.  Perhaps we'll get to square off in the future, if I'm lucky.  Good luck, and take this thing from Berandor!


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## RangerWickett (Jul 6, 2005)

Interestingly, my ex-girlfriend once told me, "Chicken is the best vegetable."

This should be fun, but I should have realized that 72 hours puts the end of this round smack in the middle of my D&D game. No worries, though. I should be able to finish by 5 that afternoon.


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## Macbeth (Jul 6, 2005)

Those have to be some of me favorite CDM pictures ever. Military Chicken... CRazy guys in black-and-white... Love 'em.


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## BSF (Jul 6, 2005)

It should be noted that these pictures were pretty much dedicated to the illustrious Alsih2o.  Heck, he provided one of the pics many months ago.    But these pictures all made me think, "I bet Alsih2o would dig that pic."  I hope I am right.


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## Berandor (Jul 6, 2005)

alsih2o isn't writing, is he? Well, neither am I.

Argh!

Close to a rant Berandor


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## BSF (Jul 6, 2005)

Nope, Alsih2o bowed out of competing because he knew he would have 'other engagements'.  Probably stuff like moving across states and setting up shop, little things like that.  

Are the pictures throwing you that much for a loop?  I remember that happening to me once.  I got fixated on the chile in one of the pictures and I couldn't stop thinking about salsa.  

Mmmmmm, Salsa.  

I ended up giving in to the fixation and tried to integrate it into the story.  It kind of worked.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 6, 2005)

I think I've discovered the hardest part of judging....it's letting go of the story ideas the pictures spark in me and not looking at the entries as competition.

I would have loved to have that last set.


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## Berandor (Jul 6, 2005)

No, the pics are good.

I have a story, even, but it... writes... so... slowly...

It's as if I was trying to catch the words with a butterfly net that had holes in it big enough for them to escape again. They're fluttering all around me, and I get exhausted, and then I see just another fifty words written down.

I could lay down and sleep, even though I slept 9 hours. Maybe it's my body catching up (since I'm off work), but no matter what it is - I want it to stop 

I think if I ever get to the end of that thing, I'll just post it here without a second look, just to get rid of it.


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## BSF (Jul 6, 2005)

You know, for a screename like Speaker, there sure is a lot of quietude here.  We have one competitor struggling to get a story out.  I mean, Berandor is practically begging for a Mythago-style smackdown in the middle of the story.  But Speaker remains quiet.  Either Speaker expresses more wisdom than I ever did and can stay away from refreshing the thread, or Speaker is just a lot more compassionate for Berandor.  

Admittedly, there hasn't been much smack between Rangerwickett and reveal either.  

I miss the good natured taunting.


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## reveal (Jul 6, 2005)

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> You know, for a screename like Speaker, there sure is a lot of quietude here.  We have one competitor struggling to get a story out.  I mean, Berandor is practically begging for a Mythago-style smackdown in the middle of the story.  But Speaker remains quiet.  Either Speaker expresses more wisdom than I ever did and can stay away from refreshing the thread, or Speaker is just a lot more compassionate for Berandor.
> 
> Admittedly, there hasn't been much smack between Rangerwickett and reveal either.
> 
> I miss the good natured taunting.




I won. Why speak ill of the defeated? 

Plus if I do start talking smack, I will definitely lose. So I keep my mouth shut.


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## Berandor (Jul 6, 2005)

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> You know, for a screename like Speaker, there sure is a lot of quietude here.  We have one competitor struggling to get a story out.  I mean, Berandor is practically begging for a Mythago-style smackdown in the middle of the story.




Too late! Too frigging late!

I am just now making final changes on this bitchy bastard of a story, and then I'll send it off without farewell or tears. I defeated the beast!

Of course, now I'm really, really tired.


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## Berandor (Jul 6, 2005)

Ceramic DM Spring 2005 (Really, really late bloomer)
Round 2: Speaker vs. Berandor

_*Cold Fish*_

Druids don’t steal. 

People have strange ideas, often deeply rooted in prejudices and stereotypes. To them, a druid is someone who sleeps in the woods, derives nourishment from berries, roots and creeks, and generally lives in balance with nature.

That’s all well and good, until you factor in the Industrial Revolution. Druids are masters of the wild, and man doesn’t allow woods to grow wild and unchecked anymore. Wild animals are hunted, wild crops uprooted. Cities are the new woods.

Me, I don’t even like nature. It’s hard enough for me to read a human; how am I supposed to know what a squirrel is thinking? When my motorcycle is hungry, the gas meter shows it. When a bear is hungry, it tries to eat me. I know what I prefer – despite the rising gas price.

And that’s only part of it. Try living in the city without paying rent, for example by sleeping in a park. The cops will wake you up in the middle of the night and demand you leave, often after a solid beating. And not a lot of people will give you food for free, either. So a druid does what he has to do. And stealing is just so much fun.

I still shouldn’t have set my sights so high. Of course, it’s a little too late for regrets. I should have listened to my instincts right at the beginning, when that darned cat approached me. 

Did I mention I hate animals?


_Part 1: The Set-Up_

»Dale Shepherd?«

»That’s what it says on the door.«

The woman nodded. Her eyes were hidden behind mirrored sunglasses, and she wore a black suit. A wire connected her ear to a hidden receiver like an electronic umbilical cord. She was, in short, a typical bodyguard. Upon hearing my confirmation, she deliberately scanned the room before putting a short-nailed and manicured finger to her wired ear.

»Clear.«

That’s when I was getting impatient. It seemed like such a ridiculous show of money and power that I wondered whether I was in a bad movie. Still, being somewhat on the lacking side of money and power, I chose to play along, and instead of conjuring a gust of wind to push the woman out of my office I just summoned a flame to my thumb and lit a cigarette. I sat in my chair and looked at the woman. She stared back like a robot, hiding behind those mirrored glasses. I gave her my best poker face in return.

Finally I heard the elevator’s bell ring, and its doors open. I focused my attention on the entrance to my office. In walked the ugliest cat I’ve ever seen. It was almost hairless, its patchy fur only half covering its body. To make matters worse, it wore a grotesque hat, a rose-colored something garnished with gold and a slit for the cat’s left ear. 

I was too surprised to comment on this freak show outfit, however. I knew the cat. It was Mr. Meowth. The Mister Meowth. A decade ago, this little kitten – then cute and cuddly, now crude and cranky – had conquered the world of cat food as the model and spokesperson for Whiskeys. Now, thanks to smart stock investments and what some claimed were more than shady business practices, it was one of the three wealthiest animals in the western hemisphere. And with a quick hop, it sat right in front of me on my office desk.

»Pleased to meet you, Mr. Shepherd,« Meowth said. »I am in need of your service.«

I smoked silently for a moment. »Listen,« I finally said, »I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but I don’t work for animals.« 

»And that is precisely why I have need of you, Mr. Shepherd.« I started to speak up, but Meowth interrupted me with a sharp look from its slit-pupilled eyes. »Now why don’t we pretend you protested, I didn’t care, you pointed to your business ethics, I pointed out your ethics are for sale, you said they were expensive, and I agreed to pay five times what you normally ask from a client. Would that be fine?«

For a moment I sat stunned at Meowth’s arrogance. I was of a mind to throw him out right there as I was filled with a dislike I normally only reserve for my ex-wife. But I had to pay my ex, whereas this guy promised real money. And if I had two flaws, they were vindictiveness and greed.

»Five times normal?«  Meowth said nothing. I put the cigarette out and smiled. »For that kind of money, I’m your dog, Mr. M.«

Meowth regarded me with cold eyes. “I will keep you on a short leash, Mr. Shepherd.« Its voice was icy, and for a moment I could glimpse behind the mask of social veneer, see how calculating, cruel, and mean Meowth really was, and I almost called the deal off. I remained quiet, though, and then it was too late.


_Part 2: Hook, Line, and Sinker_

I entered my office and closed the door behind me, slinking against its frame and breathing heavily. Sweat covered me from head to toe, and I was too scared to turn on the lights. I couldn’t stay here, shouldn’t have even returned here. Still, I needed a moment to come to my senses, grab what I needed, and then plot my revenge.

Meowth had set me up. My “job” had been to break into the Whiskeys office and steal some pictures they were keeping on the cat, leverage to keep it from selling the factory. Meowth had provided me with access codes, and the watchdogs were no problem for a druid. But when I entered the CEO’s office – where the pictures were supposedly waiting for me in a safe behind a painting of Meowth itself – I found said CEO lying dead in a pool of his own blood. That’s when the alarm went off.

After two seconds of expletives and five more of rapid thinking, I knew I was screwed. The only chance I had was getting out of the building before the police arrived. I don’t know how, but I made it. I reached my motorcycle just before the police reached the entrance, and got away. All the way home, I saw the security camera point its red eye at me, and I could imagine Meowth sitting in front of the monitor, zooming in on my face and cackling evilly. Could cats cackle? In my imagination, they could.

-

I sat slumped against my office door. After I had calmed down a little, I lit myself a cigarette. Inhaling the smoke helped me clear my thoughts. My best bet was to leave the city and go into hiding. But then the cat would have won. With each pull on the cigarette, I became angrier, as if the cigarette was made of hate and not tobacco. I’d go into hiding, all right, but first I’d get even.

I packed what I needed to take with me and burned what files I didn’t need, and then I made a phone call. 

»Seaside Travel,« a husky voice answered.

»Hey Madison, it’s Dale.«

»Dale.« She didn’t sound happy to hear my voice, understandable considering our latest outfall. »What do you want?«

»I need to see you, Maddie.«

»I don’t want to see you, though.«

»Look, Maddie, I’m so-«

»Don’t tell me you’re sorry. We both know you’re not.« She sighed. »How much?«

»Pardon me?«

»How much is in it for me?«

»Twenty just to meet me. We’ll see about the rest then.«

»Fifty.«

I gritted my teeth, close to hanging up on her. Then I thought about Meowth, cackling evilly and languidly licking itself. »Fifty it is.«

»Thirty minutes, the usual place. Don’t be late.«

»Bye,« I said, but she’d hung up already.

-

The usual work for a druid is taking tourists on a hiking trip, finding runaway pets, or smooth-talking angry flowers. The profitable work is smuggling rare fauna (and flora), and if you know whom to ask (me, for example), breaking and entering. However, tourists expect a druid to lead them anywhere they want, and sometimes air travel or the main entrance to a building is just too dangerous. Never having perfected the art of shape-changing myself, I realized early on that I needed help for aquatic endeavors.

Madison was almost perfect for my needs. Being a mermaid, she couldn’t leave the water, so I didn’t have to be afraid of her taking my jobs away from me. She didn’t think much of going topless, either, which always meant extra money from male tourists, even if their wives protested. And most importantly, she didn’t care whether a job was legal or not.

Still, she was a mermaid, and I was neither willing to trust her farther than I could spit, nor did I particularly like working with her. Seeing her – admittedly attractive – female torso reminded me all the more of the fish tail keeping her afloat. I liked her well enough, but I hated her kind, and sometimes I voiced my opinion.

The last time we’d worked together had been a few weeks ago. After the tourists had left, she looked at me with those green eyes of hers and smiled, casting a web of seduction intended to snag me off my feet and into the ocean.

»Let’s go for a midnight swim,« she said.

»Do I look like an eel to you? Do I smell like fish?« I answered, and that was that.

So now I had to give her fifty dollars just to have her show up. But if I wanted to get even with the cat, I had no choice. And I wanted to get even, desperately so.

We met at our usual meeting place, at the end of a breakwater reaching out into the bay like a giant tongue lapping at the water. In the moonlight, Madison’s skin glowed pearly-white, and her eyes sparkled like emeralds. I handed her the money, and she stowed it away in one of those waterproof envelopes of hers.

»All right, here I am. What do you want?«

»You know how you told me there was an underwater entrance to Meowth’s estate?«

»That was six months ago. You didn’t want to hear about it.«

»Like you said, that was six months ago. Things have changed. Did you tell anybody else?«

»No.« She smiled. »I knew you’d come around. So what do you want to steal? The hat? Stocks?«

»Meowth itself.«

She looked at me for a moment, and then broke out laughing.

»Stop it,« I said. »I’m being serious.«

»That’s what I find so funny. And I’m not going to help you.«

»Why not?«

»Because I don’t want to help you kill yourself.«

»You don’t understand,« I said, and then I told her what happened, and of my plan to drug Mr. Meowth while it slept and kidnap it. It felt good telling somebody, and a little bit of my anger faded away during my tale. She was quiet afterwards. I sat on the rough, wet stone, waiting for her to break the silence, listening to the sea and watching the moonlight on her skin.

»It’s not going to work,« she finally said.

»What?«

»Taking him.« Whereas I refused to call animals by their gender, Madison had no such qualms, probably since she was half fish herself. »You’re not going to surprise a cat, asleep or not.«

»You’re probably right,« I admitted. »But setting me up was a mistake, and it needs to understand that.«

»So what about stealing his hat? It’s been all over the news how much it’s worth, how it’s custom made, and so on. They even incorporated it into the company logo. Imagine the uproar if the hat was stolen. The Flipper Estate would pounce on the news as if Meowth had been caught eating tuna.«

I had to give it to her that it sounded good. »I guess it could work,« I said.

»It will work,« she emphasized, and won me over.

»All right. Tell me where the entrance is.«

»I’ll do even more. I’ll give you a waterproof envelope to transport the hat, but I want a fair share. Fifty percent.«

»You know I can’t sell the hat for a long time, maybe never.«

»I can wait,« she said. »Sooner or later you will sell it, even if you sell it back to Meowth.«

I considered her offer. It seemed fair, and I really wanted to pay the feline back. »Done.«

She handed me an envelope. »Enter the old steam tunnels beneath BSU. From there on, you need to dive for about two miles, then past a narrow gate, and you’re in. Meowth’s villa is built on old catacombs. He kept them intact because of the rats. Meowth likes to hunt them. There’s a map in the envelope.«

»Thank you,« I said and turned around to leave.

»Dale?« she called me back.

»Yeah?«

»Don’t try to betray me.«

»Don’t you,« I retorted. Madison just laughed, and disappeared into the dark water. I held the envelope in my hands. I had a plan. I had a map. It was time to pay the cat a visit.


_Part 3: The Sting_

Ball State was almost right across the river from the mansion, so the swim wasn’t as bad as I had feared. Still, I was glad for my whaleskin clothes keeping the cold water out, and I knew the leathery fabric would dry quickly as soon as I was out of the river. Madison’s map led me to a rusty grate standing partway open, and after swimming for a few more yards, I ended up in a shallow pool in the corner of a big vault.

I climbed out of the murky water and looked around. My night vision spell was still active from the steam tunnels. Black and white forms danced before my eyes, and it took a while before I understood it was just the shadow of a huge fan set into the wall. The vault was empty otherwise, reminding me more of a movie set than an actual place. I could not believe I was beneath the mansion of one of the wealthiest living beings on earth.

A small staircase led up, and I ascended the stairs, stopping in front of a closed and electronically locked steel door. I whispered a spell and my right hand tingled. It was a spell of my own design, and now my index finger was coated with acid, the middle finger was charged with electricity, the ring finger could produce water, and the little finger a tiny welding flame. The thumb held a potent sleep poison, but I wouldn’t need that here. It only took a few moments until I had overridden the security files and unlocked the door.

Behind the door was the milk cellar, where bottles from all around the world were kept in just the right temperature and climate to keep them fresh. Out of spite, I turned the temperature control a few degrees up before taking the stairs to the ground floor. At the top of the stairs, I cast another spell that would clad me in darkness, and then I slipped out the door.

»Did you hear something?«

»Hrm. Probably just a cat.« The guards laughed. Both were female, just like the bodyguard had been, and again I was reminded of the deviousness of Meowth’s plan. I did not work for animals, and it only employed women. Nobody would believe me when I told him or her I had been set up. But I’d show it not to mess with Dale Shepherd.

The guards were sitting in the kitchen, each with a cup of coffee in front of them. The cellar door opened to a small hallway between the kitchen and the living room, so I turned that way. My night vision showed me a luxurious chaise longue with scratch marks on its wooden feet, a warm fireplace with coals still smoldering in it, and a signed “Aristocats” poster on the wall. I crept forward and into the central hallway. A large wooden stairwell led up to the first floor. The cat lift fastened to the railing was waiting for me as I reached the top of the stairs. 

Meowth had to be upstairs, as well, but I wasn’t looking for it anymore. I was looking for the bathroom. Much had been made of Meowth refurnishing the bath as a safe, secured by technology and magic. That’s where he would keep his money. That’s where he would keep his hat.

The bathroom was easy to find. Every door had a cat’s door in it, except for one. I searched for the opening mechanism. I had to remind myself to look in a cat’s shoulder height before I found it: a retina scanner. I smiled. I had never really been fascinated with changing my shape into an animal’s; I had been more interested in changing miniscule features of myself. You know, fingerprints, skin color, and the like. Sadly, druids were not capable of imitating human shapes, so most of what I wanted to do was right out. All I managed was animal features, for example giving myself leopard skin. Or cat eyes.

I changed my eyes with a moment's concentration. I saw my surroundings like a cat would. I hated that perspective; it was like looking through a fish bowl. Now, everybody knows cats don’t have fingerprints, but what most people don’t realize is that they also lack unique retinas. They’re all the same. The only way to identify a cat is to analyze its fur. Fortunately, the bathroom/safe door wasn’t secured with a fur scanner, probably because Meowth’s fur was falling out.

After I had transformed my eyes, all I had to do was crouch. I put my right eye directly in front of the scanner, and a moment later the door unlocked. I entered the bathroom and closed the door behind me.

»Phew,« I whistled. Even in night vision, the room in front of me was impressive. A three feet high stone pedestal rose up from the floor. Two stairwells led up to it; one on my side of the room, the other connecting three more doors to it on the opposite side. One of these doors led to Meowth’s bedroom, I surmised, the other two I had no idea. The floor around the pedestal was made from pressure sensitive fabric – obvious from the many pressure points visible even in night vision. 

The floor didn’t concern me, as it was easy to circumvent. The guardian monsters were much more frightening. Their backs had been melded into the stone of the pedestal, and their hot breaths had turned the pressure floor around them to polished marble. My heart beat faster in fear, just as my mind reeled at the cost of permanently binding a dozen gorgons to this place. Even now, green fumes started to waft from their noses. I had to work fast.

First, I turned on the lights. The gorgons had to be able to see me. Then, I dropped the darkness spell around me. Finally, I called a small whirlwind around me. It would hopefully protect me from the gorgons’ petrification breath, if push came to shove, but I didn’t want to risk it or their alarm cries.

»Shhh,« I said, holding my hands out in a calming gesture. I stared the closest gorgon in the eyes, hoping they were capable of communicating among themselves. I could not possibly stare down a dozen gorgons simultaneously. »Quiet, friend. Calm and quiet.«

The gorgon held its breath. I could see fumes gathering around its maw, and I knew it was ready to turn me to stone. But it waited. I had its attention.

»I come to free you,« I said. »I will loose your bounds, so you may run again.« Now I had all the gorgons’ attention. I closed my eyes, and then I met my gorgon’s gaze again and smiled. »That’s right. I will free you.«

The fumes disappeared from their noses, and the gorgons pawed the ground restlessly.

»Shh,« I said again, hushing them. »Just be quiet, stand up straight, and let the magic do its work.« The gorgons straightened out. I could see the longing in their eyes, the dreams of an endless steppe that must have tormented them every night. With trembling hands, I pulled a handful of pebbles out of my pocket. I murmured the words to a spell, and the pebbles – twelve in all – turned into little globs of flesh. I could feel the magic rushing out to the gorgons, taking hold in them, changing them as well. Only with them, it was the other way round. I forced myself to look into one gorgon’s eyes as it changed, see the panic as it understood what was happening, happening too quick to punish me for my betrayal. I saw desperation, then hate, and then I looked into the empty eyes of a statue. I had turned the gorgons to stone, but I could not smile at the irony.

I took a few deep breaths, and then I looked around the room for some way to open the safe. I found a simple pressure plate and pushed it. There was a hiss from the pedestal, and then the column in the center of it started to disappear into the ceiling, lifting the lid off the safe. 

As the underside of the lid became visible, I started whistling Beethoven’s Ode to Joy. Ever since having seen it in a movie, I just had to accompany opening a safe by it. A lamp was built into the lid, and as it receded upwards, it looked like a normal part of the ceiling. I could not help but admire my work. The gorgons were petrified, the safe was open, and the pressure floor had been turned off easily. I had done it.

With a few steps, I was on top of the pedestal and looked down into the safe. There were a bundle of stocks, a few pieces of jeweled toys like a plastic ball with a golden bell in it, and a black mahogany box. I grabbed the box and carefully pried it open. The inside was laid out in ret satin. Meowth’s hat had been carefully bedded on the satin, but the other item in the box made my heart jump even more. It was a tiny, cat-sized hearing aid. Mr. Meowth was deaf.

I slipped the hat into Madison’s envelope and held the hearing aid in my fingers. My mind told me to just run for it, but my instincts wanted more. They wanted revenge. 

I went back and closed the safe again, turned off the lights, and renewed my darkness spell. One of the three doors opposite me led to Meowth’s bedroom, I was sure of it. I couldn’t just walk out now. Not after I had come so far.

I made my way over to the doors and quietly opened the first one. The floor was covered in some sort of grains, and it took a while until I understood I was looking at a room-sized litter box. The next door led to a small room. An old-fashioned film-projector stood close to the door, and a white screen hung from the opposite wall. Glancing at the film roll, I could make out the title written on it. The rumors were true: Meowth had bought the sole copy of the Tom-and-Jerry special, the one where Tom won.

On to the last door. I should have known it would come to the last door; that’s the way things work, isn’t it? I opened the door, and it swung back to reveal a big bedroom. A plush carpet stifled my steps as I made my way over to the double bed dominating the chamber. Right in the middle of it lay a sleeping Mr. Meowth.

I have to admit my heart raced at this moment. I expected the cat to wake up any time, guards to come crashing into the room, even the gorgons to turn to flesh again and attack me. Still, with trembling hands, I cast my favorite spell, reached out to Meowth, and touched it with my thumb. It shook once, and then it lay like dead, comatosely asleep.

I lifted the cat up. It was even lighter than I would have guessed. I studied its face, marveling at its ugliness, and then I stuffed it into the front of my jacket. Now I really had to get out, and quickly so.

I made my way back to the wine cellar without interruption. The guards hadn’t been in the kitchen anymore. I should have been more careful. But I felt the hat in its envelope in my pocket, and I felt the abominable cat slumbering peacefully against my breast. I almost giggled, so giddy was I, and I got careless.

»Halt!« a voice said as I ran the stairs down from the wine cellar. I froze. »Who are you?«

»I…« What was I supposed to say? Standing in front of me, the giant fan backlighting her features, was one of the guards. She was just as surprised to see me here as I was. »I’m the new gardener,« I said, hoping to confuse her even more.

»The-« She blinked, and then went for her stun gun. I started my spell when she was blinking; still, casting a spell is much more time-consuming than drawing a gun and shooting at a harmless thief and kidnapper standing in front of you, and you can’t fumble any words when shooting. What I mean to say is, she was faster than me.

Her gun came up and pointed right at me. She pulled the trigger as I was halfway through my incantation, and two tiny bolts flew towards me, ready to discharge a painful dose of electricity. The bolts lodged themselves deep into Mr. Meowth’s sleeping flesh, and if the cat woke up from the pain, it was sent back into sleep by the shock right afterwards. 

The guard stared at me, disbelieving, wondering how I had withstood her weapon – and maybe why I smelled of burned cat. I grabbed opportunity by the horns and finished my spell. The guard resisted, but unsuccessfully. Her body began to contort. She dropped the weapon and shook her head in dizziness and pain. Her hair grew longer – and thornier. Her skin hardened. It took no longer than a breath’s time, and then I stood in front of a guard-sized willow tree.

I rushed past the guardian willow and into the shallow pool of water. Calling upon the whirlwind I had summoned in the bathroom, I asked it to surround me and my feline passenger with air, promising it freedom as soon as we would reach the steam tunnels. It obliged, and contrary to what happened with the gorgons, this time I kept my promise.


_Part 4: Aftermath_

As soon as I stepped out of the university building, I knew something had gone very, very wrong. It must have been the police cars waiting for me. I held the hat-filled envelope in my hand, my umbrella in the other.

»Hands up, Shepherd!« a policeman shouted. He pointed a gun at me, a real gun, and he was just one out of half a dozen cops to do so.

»You are arrested for the murder of Harry Yeller, CEO of Whiskeys Animal Food, and for breaking into the Meowth mansion. Drop the umbrella and come peacefully with us.«

I smiled and pulled down the zipper on my jacket. Just a little, enough so they could see the cat’s head. »Now what would Mr. Meowth say if you shot me?« I wondered. »I’m sure it’d be stunned.«

»Don’t shoot!« the cop called out to his colleagues immediately. »He’s got the cat!«

Languidly, I opened my umbrella and held it over my head. »I didn’t kill Mr. Yeller,« I said. »The cat set me up.« 

I knew they wouldn’t believe a word I was saying, but I had to get it off my chest, anyway. Then I summoned a fresh wind, and after a little leap, it carried me up into the sky. The policemen stared after me, too afraid to shoot, and I thought I had gotten away for good.

I was drifting fifty feet above the river when I realized I still held the envelope in my hands. Before I could put it away, it began to hum and twitch and huff, as if breathing.

»Oh no, she wouldn’t,« I said to myself, when I already knew she would. Just then, the envelope sucked in a mouthful of air and blew itself into a little ball. The sudden change broke my grip on it and, still thrumming, the ball fell down towards the river. Just as it was about to hit the surface, Madison came out of the water, held her hands up, and caught the ball as tenderly as she would catch a soap bubble. Then she was gone again. For a moment, I was terribly angry with her, but it didn’t last long. After all, I still had the cat. The hat was nothing to me. Where I was going, I wouldn’t be able to sell it, anyway.

With a shrug, I turned my umbrella to the west.

-

Of course, they got me. I wouldn’t be talking to you if they hadn’t. Oh, don’t look at me like that. You asked me why I was in here. I know it sounds a little far-fetched, but it’s true.

I’m still a little annoyed the mermaid tricked me. Now I know why cats eat fish – the fish don’t deserve any better. Anyway, they found me hiding in Yellowstone a few weeks ago. I guess the police have their own druids and rangers, of the kind that don’t hate nature like I do. I’ve been waiting for my trial ever since. I’ll plead “not guilty”, of course. Doesn’t everybody?

What happened to Mr. Meowth? They found parts of it when they caught me. I know it was foolish to keep them around, but you know what they say:

A cat that good, you don’t eat all at once.


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## Berandor (Jul 6, 2005)

There you go, and good riddance!

[sblock]By the way, this is the first story I ever wrote (aside from a short 1,000-word character piece) in first person perspective. Maybe that's what gave me the head-aches.

ETA: Of course, I already found some mistakes and inconsistencies. Argh! Now off to bed (it's 2 am). [/sblock]


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## Sialia (Jul 7, 2005)

I am slain.

If I weren't knocked flat by the photos, I'd have hit the floor pretty darn hard by that story.

Looking forward to the rest . . .


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## Berandor (Jul 7, 2005)

I just looked at the second set of pics...

Thank you, BSF, for putting me in the first match.  These picctures are all very evocative, but I'm not sure they evoke a consistent narrative. Wow. Great pics, anyhow. I'm looking forward to see what RangerWickett and reveal do with it.

Now, I know Eeralai has asked me about it, and maybe somebody else is interested, so here's what I had in mind for the continuing saga of Cassandra Morgan:
[sblock]Part of the problem of using these ideas, I'm sad to say, resulted from the long time between photos. I had too much time to think about the next story, so I had a narrative pretty firmly in my mind. This left not a lot of wriggle room for the pictures to fit in.

_Second Round:_Tentative title: Exorcism. The story starts with Cassandra in a mental institution or prison. Her mother visits her and tells her how to get rid of the wind magic. Cassandra doesn't want to be a wind witch anymore, as she blames herself for Sharon's death. (Her mother tells her the trampoline jumps were Sharon's heartbeat, anyway, so all she did was convince Sharon to let go). Cassie mind-travles to a cliff, where she expels the wind from her - all but the most capricious storms, which choose their own welcome and farewell. In the real world, it seems as if Cassie tried to commit suicide. Jump to a few months later. Cassie lives across from a playground, continually watching children jumping on trampolines. She's not well. Strange things start to happen (cue picture use). It turns out that Sharon's spirit has appeared to her husband, and together they have come for revenge. Sharon's spirit is capabale of fire magic, and Cassie hands herself over. She thinks she deserves to die. In the end, though, something (?) happens that rekindles her will to live, and in her suffering she allows the storms inside her to take over. Anger and darkness take over, but Cassie is saved (Sharon's ghost is  defeated and her husband dies in the fires). Now she blames the hospital staff for stopping her.

_Final Round:_ Tentative title: The eye of the storm. Written from the perspective of Sharon's doctor. We learn he's had severe problems of coping with the way he acted that morning, fueled in part by his wife's decision to file for divorce, and in part by fear of losing a promotion. He's taken unpaid leave, and has traveled to a small desert motel to get himself sorted out. A storm draws closer, and in its wake, Cassandra Morgan enters the stage. While the storm rages outside, there's a calm and quiet menace in the motel itself, and bad things start to happen (cue photos). Finally, the doctor gets a letter from Cassie's mother, stating that a willing sacrifice might calm the storm inside her and bring balance to Cassie's soul. The doctor decides to be that sacrifice, his life in tatters anyway. He throws himself on a hoe (or similar object), but Cassie calls up wind to keep him afloat. "No!", she cries. "This is not yours to give." Then she pushes the doctor away and propels the hoe into her own body, impaling and killing herself. As the doctor stands over her, he sees she lies peacefully. The storm around the motel calms, and Cassie is lifted on a gentle breeze, and then she dies. A small whirwind escapes her mouth, dancing an arm's length away from the doctor. He understands its her magic, wind magic, and it's offering itself to him. Having just seen the power that would be at his fingertips, the doctor starts to reach out, but draws his hand back. He declines the offer, ending the story for good. End with doctor getting into his dust-covered car and a hopefully inspiring, tear-jerking and extremely powerful closing sentence. [/sblock]


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## Speaker (Jul 7, 2005)

*Gift of Life*

Ceramic DM Spring 2005 (Really, really late bloomer)
Round 2: Speaker vs. Berandor

Gift of Life

“Micheal.  Micheal.”  The voice, insistent, insipid, internal, eternal.  Strange that the familiar might be made from something so strange, Micheal thought.  Stranger still that all the events that had led to this place now seemed to rush back to him, as his consciousness teetered uncertainly, breathlessly, perhaps sometimes fading, sometimes spring back with its full force, the strength of sheer life seeking its own preservation – Micheal couldn’t tell, could barely feel his life pour away, as his memory reached back…

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

It begun with the cat, of course.  Cats know things.  A mantra his friend, a strong rugged soul with a twinkle in his eye and a menagerie of animals to keep him company.  Cats know things that we do not, they see beyond and this is what makes them so aloof, because they see those things which we all know are there.  The shadow in the corner of the eye that moves of its own.  The trick of the light that defies our expectations.  And more grimly, the unseen attacks upon our mind that defeat so many and keep puzzled men in white coats, padding down hallways of padded rooms and barred windows, busy so.
	And of course Micheal had wanted to know things as well.  Perhaps a native want to all – to see things as they really are, not as they seem.  No matter the cost, he had thought.  No matter the cost, he had bought.
	It had happened a lazy afternoon.  The exact day didn’t matter, but he still remembered the rain.  It had poured, streamed, sputtered the day through, and when Michael had returned home from the tedium of his job, returned home disgruntled, feeling hollow, wishing for more as so many do (except those who do see more, and wish they hadn’t) and that was when she had found him.
	There in his bare living room, with its bar framed view of the city – this was the hard part of the town, where good men all lived behind bars in fear of the night – she stood, bending in a wind that did not exist, rooted in the earth that lay far below Micheal’s sorry apartment.  A collection of branches jutted from her hair.  How long before Micheal believed?  It was too good to be true.  She offered him the way, the path to see all that he had dreamed of, a gift given to few and offered freely to none.  But that was why she was there.  To offer him the ability to see things, to know things.

(Lady of Branches)

	And finally, hardly waiting, he had said yes.  Not listening to the cost, not listening to her as she spoke of duty and commitment and yes protection – none of that mattered, not when his eyes would clear and he would know!  Or so he had thought.  And the lady, she of many names and named only by the foolish and the careless, had bent her begrowthed head in the faded light of his barred apartment and suddenly the world was open to Micheal.  He could see.
	He had run out into the rain then, barely pausing for his umbrella.  Ran free, down narrow streets and into something greater.  Greater, yes, but also more dangerous then he could have imagined.  The hook was always well hidden by the bait, lest the harvest be bare.

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

	“Micheal.  Micheal.  Micheal!”
	A rhythmic fading of mind and body, but then a wave of consciousness came to Micheal, and he was more aware then ever that his face was harsh against the cool floor and the blood warm on his side.  He knew he should move, and the voice pressed him so, but he could not.  Or perhaps he would not, too stubborn to rise, stubborn enough to die.  Just to flaunt that voice.
	But then the other voice came, stronger, harsher, and full of malice.  “Ah. Micheal.  We find ourselves at the end, my old friend.”  And as Micheal vision finally swam to its fullest, he saw it before him, a collection of shadows, holding in a dark hand an orb, half filled with light and half filled with something that looked like water, but felt like something else.  How had he found it, Micheal wondered as his strength and will seemed to slip way.  Ah, yes…

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

(Man in Rain)

	So he had ran through the rain, jumping and leaping, because now that he could see the world was brighter, the sun seemingly stronger even as it fought to penetrate the clouds and bring an end to the storms conquest.  And so he leapt and jumped with the joy of knowing.  And all about him the world seemed full of strange and wonderful things, as he turned this way and that in his run.  Over there something big and powerful swam through the cloudy sky.  Here, a beggar was in fact robed in jewels, golden smile flashing in the rain.  In a puddle he saw a tiny sylph, who paused in its revels to wave.
	And then a harsher voice had broken his celebratory mood.  Micheal's old friend of the cats, a strong rugged soul with a twinkle in his eye as he welcomed Micheal to his world.  “Ah.  Micheal.  Cats know things, and I followed them here, Micheal.  And now you have followed.  Welcome to this world.”
	And then he and Micheal embraced, and the man of cats had promised to show Micheal around.  The twinkle in his eyes a mask, though Micheal could not have known it then.

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

	And now here the Man of Cats sat watching Micheal die.  Sat on the floor, catlike, and every once in a while when Micheal was almost dead, when he had just about given up and let the loss of blood do its damage Micheal’s vision once again passed into another world, a third world which he had never seen before.  The world of death.  

(Cat in Hat)

And in this world the Man of Cats became himself unveiled, a cat with a jaunty hat placed precariously upon its head, and the sight would jerk Micheal unpleasantly back into the real world, horrible on some level not visual but inside, and so the Man of Cats teased Micheal, playing with his prey.  But on the inside, a voice continued to beseech:  “Micheal.  Micheal.”

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

	“Micheal!” sang the warm voice, as Micheal wandered through the Museum.  Time had now passed, and Micheal had begun to feel the hook.  Always she summoned him, always he went.  This task needed to be done, always important, always vital, and with time for relief in between, yes, but never enough.

(Stone Fountain)

	And so now as Micheal had taken his time walking through the museum, come on her summons, he was unpleasantly reminded of his promise to serve.  And there it was.  A fountain, carved from stone with bulls all around.  From Spain, perhaps.  And as Micheal watched his vision meant that he could see the stone animals all straining, straining against the stone as if attempting to lift the fountain out of the floor.  And from inside this fountain, the voice came.  So Micheal went to it, and climbed the stairs that rose up its side.  And he stared into the water, as the lady, herself nameless, now made half from blue water and half from kelp green, rose to greet him.  “I have a gift for you, Micheal.” She said.

(Lady in Water)

	He groaned inside.  A gift?  She had already given him a gift, and now it was a curse despite all that it allowed him to do.  To see.  But still he waited.  And she rose from the water and gave to him a glass orb, letting it float above her fingertips, half filled with light and half filled with something that looked like water.  And all too often now she would give him an item that he would have to take elsewhere, sometimes just to throw into a lake, or thicket, or to deliver to some fantastic beast or being.  Always with the warning to deliver it exactly and never let another have it but the intended recipient.
	“The gift of life.” The lady intoned.  “A trap, perhaps.  You find yourself enmeshed in a solemn burden to do as I desire.  So much so that you have forgotten what you have and what you know.  So take this, and perhaps later it will give you more.  As always, this is your gift alone.  Let none have it.”
	Micheal took it, of course.  But all he felt was relief that she had not sent him on another seemingly useless mission, had not co-opted him as a pawn for some strategy or game.  Another delivery.  So he took the orb, and walked back into the world.

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

	Months passed.  And after one particularly grueling mission, in which Micheal had been required to traverse the sewers in search of a small puck, only to have the trickster being steal his wallet as well as the package the lady had asked Micheal to deliver, the Man of Cats had come to Micheal.  They had talked, and Micheal had brought up the orb and how he had been given it.  And the Man of Cats asked to hold it.
	Micheal, weary, feeling his grip on sanity fade by all the mind-numbing seemingly useless tasks of the Lady, had handed it over.
	And then the Man of Cats had smiled, and before Micheal could move he felt himself being flung into a wall, then torn through with claw and blade, as the Man of Cats discarded his guise and prepared to make off with the orb, the Lady’s gift.

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

	But before he left, he waited to watch Micheal die.  Toying with his mind, tossing the orb from hand to hand in a carefree manner.  And Micheal lay there dying.  The lady had been right; he should not have given up his gift.  The Man of Cats, Micheal realized now, had waited all along to waylay Micheal on one of his shipments, to steal something of the Lady’s.  A power play Micheal was not privy to, but now saw gathering force.
	But this was no ordinary package run, Micheal reminded himself.  This was a gift, from the lady to him.  And then he smiled, because he suddenly realized the nature of the gift.  A trap she had said, and Micheal hadn’t heard, or had interpreted it wrong.  A trap for her foes, and this Man of Cats was one of them.
	And Micheal reached.  Up, and up from where he lay, his hand moving faster then even the Man of Cats could imagine, knocking the ball away from its flight even as the deathly Cat tossed it from one hand to another.  And it fell, smashing on the ground.
	The Man of Cats wailed!  For a moment Micheal saw back into the land of death, where a bright light had burst and water that was not water leapt from the broken orb to clasp the Cat in its embrace – the embrace of life in the world of death.  And then the Man of Cats was no more.  And the remaining life descended on Micheal, knitting his side and thoughts.  Bringing him back into the world.

	Micheal stood.  He looked about him, at the colours his gift painted on a world that he now remembered had been drab before he could see.  At the fantastic that surrounded him at every turn.  And he walked away.  Micheal knew things.


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## Speaker (Jul 7, 2005)

Ach, formating issues, always a pain (groan).  But there it is.

I hoipe I do not offend with my silence - my name was a joke, of sorts, as I have lurked about the ENWorld boards for a long time now, saying little - I doubt any would remember the breif, brief time when I was active on the boards.  With Ceramic DM, I have always hoped to give back a little bit of the creativity here that inspires me - whether I succeed or not, of course, is up for debate.  But I hope ya'll will enjoy - and I am watching.

Cheers.


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## reveal (Jul 7, 2005)

*Ceramic DM Round 2 - RangerWickett versus reveal*

"Jeremy, if you don’t hold up the sewing machine, I won’t be able to get the UPS truck in the background."

“Mom, do you have any idea how weird that sounds?” Jeremy asked, smiling and holding the wedding gift up a little higher.

“It’s no weirder then some of the things I’ve heard come out of your mouth, young man.” Jeremy’s mother held the camera up, focusing on her 16 year old son. She couldn’t help but feel proud of him, especially on the day of his big sisters wedding. “Now say cheese!”

That’s when the truck exploded.

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

“Wake up, boy.”

The inside of Jeremy’s head was pounding so hard, he swore that if he kept track of the pulses his brain would actually be signaling SOS. The first slap had stirred him, but it was the second slap which caused him to open his eyes.

Bright light stung him and he had to open and close his eyes many times to keep from going blind. Two men were crouched in front of him. One man was wearing a top hat and was looking at him with a kind of fixated wonder. The second man had a weird grin on his face and raised his hand to slap Jeremy again. The man put his hand down as Jeremy started to sit up.

“Who-Who are you? Where am I?” Jeremy asked as the blood rushed away from his head. For a second, the two men where in black and white. After a few moments, however, color came back into the world.

The grinning man laughed and said, “I’m Zeke. This here is Geryon. What are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”

Jeremy slowly looked around. He was sitting in the middle of a field of grass, with no civilization in site. In the far distance he saw a large forest but, besides that, there was nothing but a sea of grass flowing in the wind.

“I don’t know,” Jeremy said as he slowly stood up. Zeke stuck an arm out and gave Jeremy some support. “The last thing I knew, my mom was taking a picture of me and…”

Jeremy’s eyes widened and his heart began to pump faster, pushing the blood back into his head. 

“Mom? MOM?!” Jeremy looked around again and again, turning, trying to find any evidence that his mother still existed. “MOM!!!”

“It’s alright son, there’s no one here but us,” Zeke said softly. “It looks like you have a nasty bump on your head.”

Jeremy put his hand on his head where Zeke had pointed. He winced in pain as he felt a knot the size of a goose egg on the right side of his skull, just above his ear. He franticly continued looking around. He started to walk away from the two men when Zeke grasped him firmly.

“Hold on, son. I think you need to calm down and tell us what happened,” Zeke said quietly.

“I was… I was standing in front of my mom and she was taking a picture. We were at my sisters wedding and I was holding up one of her wedding gifts. There was this big UPS truck behind us-”

“You-Pee-Ess?” Zeke asked with a puzzled look on his face.

“Yeah, UPS. You know? ‘What can brown do for you?’” Jeremy explained. Zeke just shook his head.

“Anyway,” Jeremy continued, “So I’m standing there, getting my picture taken and the next thing I know there’s this loud sound and…”

Jeremy stopped. He now realized what the sound was. He had heard it in a lot of movies. It was an explosion. Somewhere behind them, an explosion had occurred. It was probably the truck. This probably meant that-

Jeremy stopped thinking and looked at Zeke. “Is this Heaven?”

Zeke, the puzzled look still on his face, said “Well, I’ve never heard of this ‘Heaven’ before, but if that’s what you think this place is, you’re wrong. This here is Thorgil. It’s an island right off the coast of Malebolge.”

“Malebolge?” Jeremy asked quizzically.

“Malebolge,” Zeke answered. His grin had come back. “Good thing we found you here. There ain’t many people who come walkin’ through this part of the island. Me and Geryon were doin’ some travelin’ and happened to pick this way to come home. If we hadn’t, the animals would’ve probably eaten you alive. One time, I was in them woods over there and this _huge_ bear comes-”

“I think he wants to go home.”

Zeke stopped and both he and Jeremy looked at Geryon. This was the first time the man in the top hat had spoken.

“Isn’t that right, Jeremy?” Geryon finished this sentence with a sly grin.

Jeremy looked at him blankly, “How do you know my name?”

“I know a lot of things, Jeremy. I know you were born on the night of an eclipse. I know your mother always treated your distantly, even as an infant. I know you never felt like you ‘fit in’ when it came to school or family. And, Jeremy, I know how to get you home.”

Jeremy felt the bile rush up his throat and heard it splatter onto the ground next to him. The vomit steamed as it lay in the grass.

“How the hell do you know so much?” Jeremy asked as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Jeremy, Jeremy, Jeremy,” Geryon said as he put his arm around this young man’s shoulders. “Do you know anything about magic?”

“You mean the card game?” Jeremy asked.

“There’s a card game about magic?!” Geryon rolled his eyes at this silly notion. “No, not the card game; real magic.”

Jeremy shook his head, “I’ve only seen it in movies.”

“Watch then. See the pool of stomach acid you expelled onto the grass?” 

Jeremy nodded.

“Look closely. _Vocum Jruno_!” Geryon waved his arms and Jeremy’s eyes widened to the size of saucers; the puke vanished! It looked like it had never even been there.

“How’d you do that?!” exclaimed Jeremy, forgetting completely about his current predicament and completely enthralled with the man in the top hat.

“Elementary magic, my dear boy. And that is how I know so much. I have studied. I have listened. I have learned everything I can in this place.”

“You mentioned something about getting me home,” Jeremy said as he quickly remembered where he was.

“Ah, yes. My home is just beyond that forest. If you wish, I can take you there. The answers you seek should be in my lab.”

“Let’s go then,” Jeremy said authoritatively and started walking towards the forest.

Zeke and Geryon smiled at one another and started to follow the child.

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

The forest was like none that Jeremy had ever seen. It was extremely thick and heavily wooded.

“This must be what the States looked like before everything was torn down to make way for suburbs,” Jeremy thought to himself. He had taken a position behind Zeke, figuring that he knew the way through this place.

Jeremy was asking Geryon a lot of questions in rapid succession, scarcely pausing to breath. “So how long have you been studying magic? Was it hard? Did you have to go to school? What’s with the top hat? Is it like a wizards hat? I saw this cartoon once where this wizard used to pull all kinds of things out of his hat. Usually they weren’t useful things, but he would always pull the right thing out at exactly the right moment. Now what was that called? It started with a ‘D.’ Oh well, I’ll figure it out eventually. So how long-”

“Enough!” Geryon whispered harshly. “Jeremy, please, these woods are fraught with danger. We need to be careful or-”

“Or you’ll alert the animals that someone’s coming. Is that what you were going to say, Geryon?”

Everyone stopped and looked up in the direction of the new voice. What they saw surprised the hell out of Jeremy, to say the least; it was a tiny chicken carrying a tiny shotgun.

For a split second, Jeremy just stared at the small fowl. The next thing he knew, he was laughing maniacally at the gun-wielding bird.

“What the hell is that?!” Jeremy breathed between guffaws. “A baby chick with a shotgun?! I’ve heard of birdshot before, but this is ridiculous. What are you gonna do?! You don’t even have fingers?!”

“Why you little-” The sentry didn’t even finish his sentence before he pulled the trigger. A microsecond after he did, Jeremy stopped laughing; he was too busy screaming and holding on to the bloody piece of flesh that used to be his left ear. He dropped to the ground, kicking and screaming.

“Shut him up before I finish the job!” yelled the bird with the smoking gun.

Zeke quickly bent down and put his hand over Jeremy’s mouth. Muffled screeches were all anyone could now hear.

“Now, Geryon, what are you doing in our forest?” the bird asked as he trained his gun on the man in the top hat. “You know you’re not welcome here.”

“We were just passing through. This young man,” Geryon said as he gestured to the still-squirming Jeremy, “was lost in the fields outside of your forest. He does not know where he’s from or who he is. I would have simply skirted around your beautiful home, but this boy needs to find his family immediately. He is lost and frightened, now more than ever I’m sure.”

The bird thought about this for a moment and then lowered his gun.

“Can you help him?” the bird asked. “At the very least, shut him up?”

“Of course. Thank you, sir,” Geryon said as he bowed deeply. He bent down and positioned himself over Jeremy’s flailing body. “Hold still, son. This will only take a moment.”

Geryon waved his hands over the bloody stump of flesh and said the words “_Curious Ectos_.” Seconds later, the wet nub was replaced by a fully healed, and fully functional, ear. Jeremy stopped screaming immediately and reached up to grasp his newly formed ear. After he verified its existence, he removed Zeke’s hand from his mouth and stood up. He glared at the sentry but, wisely, didn’t say a word.

“Now, Geryon, it is time for the three of you to leave. I will escort you the rest of the way through our forest. But if I ever catch you in here again, I will make your head resemble that boys ear.”

Geryon humbly nodded and waited for the bird to lead the way. Jeremy tried to speak but Geryon just put a finger to his mouth. It was best to wait until they were out of the forest.

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

Five yards outside of the forest, Jeremy turned around, put out his hand, and extended his middle finger in the direction of the bird that shot him. The sentry cocked his head, looked at him quizzically, and flew off back into the trees. Geryon and Zeke were also puzzled by the gesture.

“What are you doin’?” asked Zeke. He was mimicking Jeremy, trying to figure out what he was missing.

“I’m flipping him off. You know, ‘giving him the bird?’” Jeremy half-heartedly chuckled at the irony and lowered his hand. “It doesn’t matter, let’s get going. How much further?”

“Not far,” said Geryon as Zeke continued to hold out his hand. Zeke was now using other fingers to ‘give him the bird.’ “About an hours walk will take us to the shoreline. We’ll stop there for the night and continue on in the morning. We should be there by noon tomorrow.”

“Do we have to go through any more forests?” Jeremy asked, unconsciously touching his new ear.

“No,” laughed Geryon. “No more forests; only beaches. Zeke, why don’t you practice that later and lead the way.”

Zeke dropped his hand quickly, nodded, and walked in front of Jeremy.

A few minutes later, Jeremy began to speak but quickly closed his mouth. He did this about four times, at which point Geryon asked, “Is there something you want to say, Jeremy?”

“Well,” Jeremy said cautiously, “Yeah. What did that bird mean when he said you weren’t welcome in the woods?”

Geryon let out a long sigh. “Jeremy, would you say that I was ‘different?’ That if someone saw me casting magic, I would be labeled a ‘freak’ and someone to avoid?”

Jeremy nodded.

“That is why I am prohibited from entering the forest, Jeremy. I am different. I cast spells and I make the world work in ways that I determine. I am a ‘freak.’ I am someone to avoid. At least, I am in their eyes.”

Geryon stopped walking and put his hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. He slowly turned Jeremy around to look at the boy’s face. “But do you want to know why they think that way?”

Jeremy looked at ground, trying to scratch at the dirt with his foot. He shook his head slowly.

Geryon put his hand under the boys chin and gently lifted it up, so that he was looking directly into Jeremy’s eyes.

“I am no different than they are, but I have an ability they do not. They do not understand me, Jeremy, and people fear what they do not understand. So rather than try to understand me, they scorn and ridicule me. That is their nature and I do not begrudge them that. Do you understand me, Jeremy?”

Jeremy didn’t say anything for a few moments. Slowly, he whispered, “Only too well” as he fought back the tears.

“Well then,” Geryon said cheerfully as he took his hand away from Jeremy’s face, “When we get back to my home, I shall do as I promised. I will show you how to get home. But I will also help you in other ways. If you are willing, I can teach you a few simple spells to help you if you run across people who don’t understand you. Would that be okay?”

Jeremy smiled and nodded vigorously.

“I’m glad we understand each other, then,” said Geryon as he put his arm around Jeremy’s shoulder and continued to walk towards the coastline.

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

When they crested the final hill, Jeremy stopped and looked on in awe. Before him was a breathtaking view of the ocean in all it’s glory. Or, at least, he thought it was the ocean. All the oceans he had seen were blue; this one was purple. But it was still beautiful. The waves tumbled to and fro; the water gently caressed the sand like a lover; the sounds and smells were a feast for the senses.

“We will stay here tonight,” said Geryon. “Zeke, prepare camp.”

“Aw, boss,” Zeke whined. “Can’t you have your guy do it?”

“What does he mean ‘your guy?’” asked Jeremy.

Geryon sighed, “If I must; stand back.”

Geryon reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a small bit of string and what looked like a toothpick. He help them in his right hand and, with his left, made sweeping gestures.

“_Inviso Pajorm_,” the spellcaster said strongly. “Prepare camp.”

“Who are you talking to?” Jeremy asked, looking around.

“Just watch,” said Geryon patiently. Suddenly, footprints appeared in the sand in front of them. Jeremy’s eyes widened as rocks seemed to fly in the air and place themselves in a perfect circle on the beach.

“What is _that_?” Jeremy whispered captivatingly.

“That, my dear boy, is magic; haven’t you learned anything yet?” Geryon laughed and clapped Jeremy on the back. Jeremy smiled and decided not to ask anymore questions; he just sat back and enjoyed the show in which Geryon created firewood, food, water, and three wooden chairs for them to sit on. The bedrolls were supplied by Zeke, who had been carrying them.

As they supped, Jeremy asked questions about the world he was in and even more questions about Geryon. Geryon explained that he lived far away from other humans so that he could study in private. Zeke was a friend that he had known for a long time and enjoyed his company. Zeke did not judge him as many people had done in Geryon’s old home. Jeremy just nodded, attentively taking in all the information. He was fascinated by the man and was loving every minute of this adventure.

When they were finished, the invisible creature cleared away a space for the bedrolls. The creature removed all the dishes used and stacked them in a pile as instructed; Geryon knew they would disappear once the spell duration was over. Rather than put them to waste, Geryon also instructed the creature to place the chairs in the fire.

“The less firewood I have to create, the better I say,” Geryon said as he winked at Jeremy, who just smiled and nodded.

As Jeremy laid his head on the pillow, Geryon said, “Don’t worry Jeremy; we’ll be at my house tomorrow and we’ll start work on getting you home.” Jeremy didn’t say a word; he just closed his eyes and went to sleep. Honestly, he didn’t know if he wanted to go home anymore.

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

The next morning came quickly for Jeremy. After all the excitement, he slept harder than he had in a long time. It felt as if he had laid down not five minutes ago when he felt a hand on his shoulder gently shaking him and heard Zeke’s familiar voice.

“Wake up, Jeremy. It’s time to go.”

Jeremy stirred, opened his eyes, and blinked a few times to take in the morning light. Initially, he had wondered if it was all a dream, but seeing the purple swells told him otherwise.

He slowly got up as Zeke finished rolling up the bedrolls.

“I trust you slept well,” asked Geryon as he, too, stretched his limbs towards the morning sun.

“Yeah. I slept like a baby,” Jeremy answered. “So how long is it again till we get to your place?”

“Just a few hours. We just follow the coastline until we reach my tower. You’ll see it from a distance shortly.”

“You have a tower?” asked Jeremy smilingly. “That seems quite clichéd, don’t ya think?”

Geryon laughed. “I guess I’m just not that original. Zeke seems to be ready; let’s get going.”

They had been walking for a couple of hours along the beach when Jeremy saw the top of a building off in the distance. “Is that it?” he asked.

“Yes. ‘Home sweet home,’ as they say in your world.” Geryon replied.

Jeremy glanced at Geryon quickly and thought, “How would he know that?” But, just as quickly, he dismissed the question. After all, he was a learned man. He probably knew a lot about a lot of things.

Soon, the tower came into full view. If Jeremy didn’t know any better, he would have sworn he was in one of those shows he watched on the History Channel; it looked like something out of medieval Europe. It was a large, grey stoned tower that extended at least 100 feet straight into the air. The top of the tower was fashioned in such a way that it made the whole building look like a giant rook.

“Rook takes pawn,” laughed Jeremy.

“What did you say?” asked Geryon from behind him.

“Rook takes pawn. It’s a chess term. It means the rook piece, or the ‘castle’ as some folks call it, defeats the pawn piece. It’s a fun game.”

“Oh how right you are,” said Geryon under his breath. Sadly, Jeremy did not hear this.

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

When they finally reached the base of the tower, Jeremy could see the front door at its base. When they got closer, however, he noticed that there was no keyhole.

“No keyhole?” asked Jeremy. “How do you get in? Hold on, let me guess: magic.”

Geryon smiled and nodded. He moved towards the door and reached into his belt pouch. He produced a small key, which he held in his hand. “_Porto Laso_,” he said firmly. The door quickly opened.

“Now then, Jeremy. Let me be the first to welcome you to my home.” Geryon motioned for Jeremy to step inside. When he did, Geryon quickly went through the door, as did Zeke, who locked it behind them.

Jeremy stood in the center of the ground floor, mouth agape, staring at his surroundings. While it may have looked big on the outside, the inside was enormous. He hadn’t been in a place this large since he stood in the middle of the Smithsonian’s Air and Space Museum. 

“This place is huge!” exclaimed Jeremy. “It’s got to be a thousand times bigger in here than it looks from the outside.”

“You’re quite right, Jeremy,” said Geryon as Zeke helped him take off his coat and top hat. “It is quite large. It’s an extra-dimensional space. This means it does not exist in any particular world but, rather, in the area between worlds. Come, let’s look around.”

Geryon placed his arm around Jeremy and motioned around the room.

“I have traveled to many places, Jeremy. I have seen many things and I have learned much in my travels. I have learned about space and time; about matter and how to manipulate it; about people and how to manipulate them.”

Jeremy stopped walking and looked at Geryon. “What do you mean?” he asked cautiously.

“Come in here, Jeremy,” said Geryon as he led the child through a door into another, smaller, room. In the room was a long, low table made of some sort made of black rock. On the table were dozens of black candles, all lit. In the center of the room was a tripod which looked like a talon-like hand rising from the floor; it grasped a perfectly round ball made of glass. Jeremy could smell spices in the air and, on the far side of the room behind the black table, he could see a dozen or so knife-like implements hanging on the wall. For the first time since he arrived here, Jeremy was afraid.

“Let me show you something,” Geryon said as he walked Jeremy towards the glass ball. “Look in here as I explain a few things to you.” Geryon let go of Jeremy as the boy gazed into the sphere.

“You see, Jeremy, I know about your world because I have watched it. I have never been there, of course, but I do have slight influence over what happens. For example, that UPS truck you said was behind you when you were getting your picture taken. Do you really think it was there by accident?” Geryon chuckled. “No, son, it was there because I wanted it there. I needed a distraction. Look closely and you’ll see what I mean.”

Jeremy stared into the ball. The picture was distorted, but he was able to make out what was going on. He was looking at the UPS driver from the passenger side of the truck. He saw Geryon bending down, whispering something in the drivers ear. Jeremy looked up from the ball and locked eyes with Geryon.

“He couldn’t see me, if that’s what you are going to ask,” Geryon said and motioned for Jeremy to look back at the orb.

Jeremy looked down and saw the driver stiffen in his seat, accelerating until he had crashed into the side of a small incline. The image in the ball changed, as if the person in the passenger seat turned to look out the front window, and Jeremy realized he was looking at the back of himself.

“Jeremy, if you don’t hold up the sewing machine, I won’t be able to get the UPS truck in the background,” he heard his mom say.

“Mom?” Jeremy croaked. He looked up quickly and started screaming at Geryon. “WHAT DID YOU DO?! WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?!”

He started to move forward but a pair of hot hands grabbed him from behind. He swiveled his head and looked up to see the most horrific face he had ever laid eyes on. The creature’s skin was red and smoking; its eyes were black and slick; its breath reeked of rancor. Jeremy struggled as the creature easily kept him in its grasp.

“Come now, Jeremy. Is that any way to treat your old friend, Zeke?” the creature asked as its mouth filled up with razor sharp black teeth in a twisted smile.

Jeremy stopped and simply stared. His bowels loosened themselves and a puddle formed at his feet.

“You see, Jeremy, there is no escape. You might as well just make these last few moments less troublesome.”

Jeremy turned his head back towards Geryon, his face a mask of defeat.

“Jeremy, you are special. You are a child of violence born on the night of the crossing of the stars Kelops and Horsus. You are who I waited 17 years for. You are my portal to Earth and I used the distraction to bring you here.” Geryon lectured Jeremy as if he were the teacher and the boy was the student. “Look back into the ball, Jeremy.”

Jeremy looked down and saw a very young, yet very familiar, face in the contorted image. “Mom?” he asked again.

The scene in front of him was of a young woman holding an umbrella, walking in the rain. She was having trouble holding her umbrella as the wind tried to rest control from her. A man approached her and offered to help, which she accepted. He tried to keep her struggling umbrella under control and, once he had tamed it, the man gave it back to the woman and started to walk away. As he turned, he suddenly stiffened, just as the UPS driver had done. He turned again, stalking after the pretty woman as a tiger stalks its prey. As she walked by a dark alley, the predator struck.

Jeremy turned his head, closed his eyes and yelled, “I’ve seen enough you bastard! Stop it!”

Geryon smirked and mockingly comforted Jeremy. “Jeremy, Jeremy… Tsk tsk tsk. I was just trying to explain what was happening. You seem like you were interested in what I was doing. I guess I was wrong.” Geryon face turned cold and he barked, “Take him to the altar.”

Zeke grabbed Jeremy and forcibly moved him to the black table. He lifted Jeremy into the air like a child’s toy and placed him on top.. He held him down with one hand while he strapped him down with the other.

Geryon moved to the wall and picked up an implement from the rack on the wall; it looked like a cross between a knife and a human bone.

Once strapped down, Zeke let go of Jeremy, who started to struggle again immediately.

“Jeremy, shhhhh,” Geryon said as he stroked Jeremy’s hair. “Please, stop struggling. You didn’t really need your eyeballs anyway.”

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

Back in the forest, the sentry cocked his head as he heard the screams wafting on the wind.

“Poor kid,” the small bird thought. “I guess I should have finished him off myself.”


----------



## BSF (Jul 7, 2005)

Speaker said:
			
		

> Ach, formating issues, always a pain (groan).  But there it is.
> 
> I hoipe I do not offend with my silence - my name was a joke, of sorts, as I have lurked about the ENWorld boards for a long time now, saying little - I doubt any would remember the breif, brief time when I was active on the boards.  With Ceramic DM, I have always hoped to give back a little bit of the creativity here that inspires me - whether I succeed or not, of course, is up for debate.  But I hope ya'll will enjoy - and I am watching.
> 
> Cheers.




Offend?  Not at all Speaker!  Just some good natured ribbing on my part.  It gets quiet between stories and anything to liven the conversation up is welcome.


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## reveal (Jul 7, 2005)

Speaker and Berandor, awesome stories! 

It's funny how both ended up being about a theft of some sort.


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## Berandor (Jul 7, 2005)

I don't know if I'll be able to read the stories and comment on them tomorrow.

I'm exhausted right now, and tomorrow at noon I'll go on holiday. So if you don't hear from me, I'll be back on the 15th or 16th - just in time for judgements


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## Eeralai (Jul 7, 2005)

Berandor, I have not read the new story, but the story ideas for your continuing saga sound great.  Maybe another set of pics in the future will prompt one of them to come out.  Have a good vacation!


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## reveal (Jul 8, 2005)

So.... Um..... How _you _doin?


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## RangerWickett (Jul 8, 2005)

Me? I'm doing _fine_. I keep it real, y'know?


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 8, 2005)

Round 2, Match 1 Berandor v Speaker, judgement sent.

Looks like I'm going to have a 'BSF-style' weekend, so I'll get to the next match as soon as I can.


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## BSF (Jul 9, 2005)

I feel for you Rodrigo.  I received the judgement and will work on mine this weekend.  Good luck this weekend and may yours be easier than mine was.


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## RangerWickett (Jul 9, 2005)

Ceramic DM – Summer 2005
Round 2, Match 2
By RangerWickett

The drugs kept me from really grasping my situation.

A year earlier I had been arrested for internet piracy. I had pled insanity, figuring a brief stint in an asylum would be easier than spending my life behind bars for pirating every song ever. But I didn’t remember this now. I just knew that work is good. I had to pay my way in life, y’know, and people needed to buy groceries. And skin mags. And electrical appliances. And dry ice.

Two weeks ago I could have escaped, could have joined up with my roommates El-Hadje the Nigerian internet scam artist and Robert the geeky comatose guy to slip out in the confusion of when El-Hadje hacked the netnet and convinced all the weather sites an icestorm was going to hit Atlanta. I had stayed behind, and actually tried to stop them, because I had figured good behavior still counted for something in this world.

But I didn’t remember this either. I just knew that the dry ice I was holding, trying to scan for a guy who was rambling on about what he’s going to do for his girlfriend on Valentine’s Day, was burning my palms. 

It took a while for the pain to make it through the cloud the meds surrounded me with, and when I finally cried out in pain, I was blissfully too injured to keep working. My supervisors checked me for hidden weapons, wrapped my hands in too-sterile bandages, and sent me to my room to rest. I have the day off, they said, which made me happy, even though I also knew that work was good. Gotta pay my way, y’know?

I slept alone in a room intended for three inmates – the blood stains marked where poor Robert had taken his life, right next to the chair he had sat silently in for years; there was no reminder of El-Hadje’s presence, though.

The door opened while my mind was wandering through vague memories, hollow without music. I smelled the sweet scent of roses, which stirred me from my dreaming. I had never liked the smell of roses; people said they were sweet, but I simply never noticed any smell from them. But I was quite aware that I was smelling roses, and that worried me.

A thorny hand pressed over my face, forcing something into my mouth, and then I felt a woman’s weight on me, pressing me down and pulling something over my eyes. I mumbled, then winced at the pain of the woman’s skin cutting into mine. A switch flicked audibly next to my ear, and light flashed into my retinas, digitized beams trying to focus into my drug-blearied eyes. The sound keyed on with a tremble, and I heard a laugh.

“Chou! A pleasure to see you. Can you spare a favor for a fellow grocer?”

I mumbled in Korean, asking what he wanted. 

The visor finally got a lock on my eyes, and the image rasterized into solidity. Two men sat before me, rendered in black and white. One, glum in his crumpled top hat, was silent. The other, grinning like the madman he clinically was, answered me.

“Well, old Chou-y bud,” he said, “we at Red Market are convinced that our boss is the ultimate incarnation of evil. We’d like you to kill him.”

*Part Two: Supermarket Assassin*

It was disconcerting, feeling the woman holding me down while my ears and eyes were a half-mile to the east, inside the warehouse of our competitor, Red Market. Whatever the woman had slipped me must have been organic – it was clearing my mind of the drugs – but I felt an awkward tingling from having the prickly woman so close.

I shook my head. Disconcertingly, the image did not move. They really _were_ using primitive equipment – non-tracking, not even in color. I was so used to the virtual experience, I was getting nauseous. I groaned.

“Sounds sick,” the hatted one said.

“Aye, so he does. Chou-y bud? You doing alright? Don’t tell me you’re afraid of killing a man.”

I asked, “Who again? Cut me some slack. I’ve been drugged for . . . well hell, when is it?”

“He like music,” the hatted one said. “Jack, I sing?”

“Not now, Walter old boy,” said Jack, the grinning one. He slapped his companion on the back. “Sorry Chou. It’s mid-Feburary. The thirteenth, in truth. Lucky day, lucky day, I say. So, will you do it?”

“Your boss?” I asked. “Why do I care what goes on at your store?”

Jack leaned close to the camera and snarled at me, “Because he’s the devil! Don’t you understand, Chou? He’s the devil, and he’s getting married! We cannot allow the devil to have a son!”

I considered, unfazed by the outburst. In fact, the biggest distraction was the woman. I personally was irritated, but my body seemed to be quite enjoying her presence. But I focused on the immediate concern.

“Why do you think he’s the devil?”

“You know how, on a phone, there are letters on each number. Well if you dial our manager’s initials – Mickey O’Malley – M.O.M. It’s 666, the mark of the devil!”

I nodded. I could see why they’d think that.

“How’d you clear my head?” I asked. “They’ve kept me thoroughly dosed since the ice storm. Which I saved the city from, by the way.”

Jack slapped his knee. “Exactly why we thought of you in our time of need! You’re the man for the job. And don’t think we’re asking you to do this out of the goodness of your heart, old chap. No no, we’re willing to clear your credit history _and_ give you these $5,000 limit credit cards.”

I snorted. “Like hell. Thanks for wasting my time.”

“Good pill,” Walter said.

“Yes indeed,” Jack said. “What my slightly addled friend here wants to tell you is that you drive a hard bargain, Chou-y boy. You see, we have come into possession of some products.”

He stepped aside to reveal a huge stack of cases behind him in the warehouse, marked HERB-ALIVE. Above the crates was a massive globe and numerous other display items. I felt brief sympathy for them. Setting up displays was always a pain in the ass.

“Red Market has become Look on it, Chou: one hundred thousand dollars worth of medicinal herbal products. We’ll pay you half if you can eliminate our problem with the prince of lies.”

“Why me?” I asked. “How am I supposed to kill ‘the devil?’” I chuckled, unafraid of the lunatic on the other end of the conference visor.

“Boom boom,” Walter said.

“Indeed,” Jack said slyly. “Look, old chum, we’ve got a bomb, and we need someone he won’t suspect to put this in his car. A bit bland of a plan, but it was Walter’s turn to plan a murder.”

“Look,” I said, grimacing, “I don’t kill people. How about I just break up his wedding?”

Jack smiled, showing teeth like a Cheshire cat. He laughed. “How about we just have our lady friend cut you into pieces? Don’t be so contrary, Chou.” 

Then he grew coldly serious. “That’ll get you killed. Or at least maimed.”

From the real world I felt something slice me near my kidney, and then I felt a pressure at my crotch.

I gulped and smiled. I’d had lots of experience faking enthusiasm at the supermarket.

“Two questions,” I said. “These pills? Are they organic? And, how much can I get in advance?”

*	*	*​
We finished our negotiations, and I waited until long after the soft and thorny woman who had slipped me the herbal supplement left my room before I took off the visor. The woman, whoever she was, was apparently able to get between our store and Red Market, and she’d be bringing over a small case of pills in an hour. I couldn’t deny that organic pills would help me clear my head and hopefully get out of this asylum, but I had learned my lesson last time I’d tried to do a good thing. Trusting people – cops or lunatics – gets you screwed.

Which was ironic, I thought, because . . . well, I won’t mention that.

I could not trust Jack and Walter, and I had no idea why they thought I would be the best choice to kill their boss, but they seemed quite willing to kill me. I needed to know more about the situation, and to do that, I needed my netnet. Batwarden probably had my netnet locked up in his office, and I was more scared of him than of these two most current lunatics.

My implants would let me still access it wirelessly as long as it was in the building, but my connection would likely be limited to either visuals without tactile sensations, or simple text. I hadn’t enjoyed the detachment of being drugged, nor the schismed sensation of my little teleconference with Walter and Jack, so I chose text

I sat awkwardly against the wall, trying to get comfortable, but I guess I still rattled by the woman attacking me. With a few thoughts I was out of my body, trying to access any local wireless network. My various inboxes were clogged with requests for pirated music, but I had no way to listen to anything myself. Growing increasingly irritated, I sent a request to my father, hoping he could pull some strings and help me find out about the manager of the Red Market.

The reply was terse and as affectionless as I expected from my father. He was busy with his ambassadorial duties, but he had gotten his aides to do research. My target was Mickey O’Malley, a 26-year old senior manager of the Toco Hill branch of Red Market. He was getting married tomorrow, on that most disgusting of holidays – Valentine’s Day. My affections for Valentine’s Day had grown cold long ago when I realized that while love songs were sung year-round, there were almost no Valentine’s Day songs. It was a holiday that had contributed nothing to the improvement of humanity.

A little more research revealed O’Malley’s fiancee, one Jessica Kusanagi. She was a model, gorgeous, blonde, and voluptuous, renowned for swimsuit shoots and her mocked by the media for her uncharacteristic interest in acting in musicals. I had seen her before on the cover of magazines in the checkout line, but reports on the net suggested her career was dying. I felt sorry for her. In part because she was gorgeous, and I don’t like to see to see gorgeous people not getting the success they believe they deserve. And in part because I was going to have to kill the man she planned to marry.

I decided to track her down and talk to her. Perhaps with this information I could negotiate some help for myself. A good deal of snooping turned up that this evening she would be at Peachtree Street, a historical virtual construct where she was going to audition for a role in the stage show Aural Pleasure.

A knock at my door pulled me out of the net, but no one said anything, so after a moment I opened the door and pulled in the first payment for my services.

“HERB-ALIVE,” the case read, “Organic Health Supplements.” “Green Blossom” and “Faithful Natural Spring” were the names of the products. “Super Fast Acting,” they proclaimed. The descriptions of the pills effects were a bit unclear, mentioning things like ‘whole health improvement’ and ‘achieve the body you believe in,’ but they were certified organic. I swallowed two of each to clear my head, then hid a bottle of Green Blossom in my apron.

I waited.

*	*	*​
I was even more aware of the disconnect between my netnet persona and my real body when I logged on that evening. Peachtree Street was an old-fashioned construct of red brick buildings and cobbled streets, full of deep mingling music from numerous bars and entertainment houses. I had no physical sensation and dulled hearing, but the music was music to my ears, sweet enough to distract me from the strange persistent lurch I had below my stomach.

I arrived early for her audition and sat amid throngs of people there to see a beautiful woman in a slender black dress, with no regard for her voice. Nevertheless, she was stunning, as beautiful or more than what I had seen on the covers of Sports Illustrated. If I’d had my library of music, I would have found myself unconsciously accessing some old noir tracks. She was the kind of woman I would gladly suffer to be with. I’d even live in black and white.

And then she sang.

Most people don’t understand that the foremost measure of talent in music is enthusiasm. In that regard, Jessica Kusanagi was perhaps the greatest singer to ever lend her digitized voice to the netnet. Her voice, thick like Spute brand organic honey, rippled with desperation, and though the song she had chosen for her audition was Ecit Bangbang’s upbeat “See the Ouija,” I could feel that she was afraid.

The audience jeered her. I walked through them out of the theater in anger – one of the benefits of not sitting in my netnet was that I could, if needed, force myself through people’s virtual bodies. It was rude to do so, but so was their reaction to her bare-hearted virtuosity.

I waited outside in the back alley, hoping to speak with her before she logged off. The road was empty, and the air was filled with the stringy notes of Howling Wolf’s “Red Rooster.” It took me a while to notice that ice was beginning to creep across the cobbled stones, and snow was drifting down from the sky.

The back door of the theater opened, clanging dully, and Jessica stepped out. Her eyes were rimmed with tears – she must have been using the highest-end netnet to capture that level of detail – and she nervously shivered before ordering an umbrella to keep the snow off her. She had not seen me, but I was about to address her when her engagement ring flared with red light, and her body shimmered with the telltale pattern of turning off a filter.

Where before had been a curvaceous, tanned athlete, now stood a slender, crying woman. She looked down at herself and shook her head in despair. Her face was the same, but I realized that her body before had merely been a screen, an illusion to conceal her true form. Though I knew it was possible for people to wear fake skins in the netnet, for as long as I had been using it, it had been taboo to do so unless the skin was obviously not real, like the gryphon Robert had attacked me with. I wondered if every photo I had ever seen of the gorgeous Miss Kusanagi had also been a fake.

But that had been her real singing voice, I knew for certain. It had been too true to have been an illusion.

“Miss Kusanagi,” I called.

She turned to look for me, but just then the wind picked up. Snow cut viciously and pulled her umbrella from her hands, and every surface in the alley became glazed with a sheen of ice. Jessica tried to step toward me, but the virtual began to warp around her, twisting her body and spinning the buildings and ground in an undulating surge. 

Jessica cried out in confusion, and her umbrella was torn from her hands. The wind carried up the umbrella to the roof of one of the alley buildings, and for a moment in the orange light of a street lamp I thought I saw a rooster, crowing into the storm.

“Help!” she cried, her voice now filled with a much more immediate pain.

Even though I knew I could not touch her because I was not solid, I ran to her and tried to pull her free from the effect that was distorting her body. To my surprise, I felt my hands wrap around her, and when I pulled, she moved. We stumbled away, and she and I briefly occupied the same space as the netnet corrected itself and made me intangible again.

I was on my back, and she pressed up onto her hands and knees, looking down at me.

“My god,” she whispered. “I thought I would die. You saved my life.”

Relief flashed across her face, and she smiled at me. My heart quickened.

“You sang beautifully,” I said. “And, call me crazy, but . . . you’re much skinnier in person.”

Pale fear crept across her face, and she staggered to her feet. She was about to run when the rooster on the roof called out again, and the distortion in the air ended with a loud snapping sound. The ice that had formed on the ground shattered and vanished into green wireframe, fading to null polygons.

“Wait,” I said. “You’re in danger.”

She nodded like what I had said was the most stupidly obvious thing in the world, and then she fled. I was about to follow her – which would be easy since I could run through walls – but it only took her a moment to remember where she was. She logged off, leaving me in an empty alley.

I sighed, then noticed the rooster. It was floating down from the roof, flying tail first without flapping its wings.

“You have a great task ahead of you,” the rooster said. “You alone can aid me.”

It landed, and I considered it for a moment, rubbing my chin both in person and on the netnet.

“And who are you?”

“A mighty magician,” the rooster boasted. That little fleshy flap under its beak waggled proudly.

“You know, I’ve already been asked to kill the devil.” As I said this, I had to wonder whether the organic nutritional supplements were actually helping stave off the medication. I certainly thought I sounded crazy. “I’m not really impressed by a talking rooster.”

“The devil? Oh, you mean Mickey?” The rooster chuckled. “Yes, he does need to be dealt with. It’s good to see you taking initiative.”

“Why’d you attack her?”

“I didn’t,” the rooster said. “Come, Chou. Walk with me. Let us discuss this some place private.”

I followed the rooster deeper down the alley, deeper than I remembered the alley being, until eventually we emerged in a forest. Peachtree Street had vanished behind us.

“Try anything and I log off,” I said. “What do you want?”

“I want your help. You’ve not been on the net for two weeks, so you’ve missed some of this, but the world is in peril. Since the dawn of civilization, from the moment the first note of music was banged out on a rock with another rock, madmen have had insight into dangers the sane do not perceive.”

“Are you saying I’m crazy?”

The rooster laughed deeply. “Not at all, young man. But those two jokers at Red Market sense something is amiss. Mickey O’Malley is about to spearhead a new social movement that will destroy life as we all know it. Let me ask you, Chou, have you ever been jealous?”

I thought back to a moment earlier, looking into the eyes of Jessica, who was certainly too beautiful to be marrying the devil.

“Yeah,” I said, “once or twice.”

“Good, it’s natural. Perhaps not healthy, and it causes a lot of conflict, but it is key to human nature that they be able to feel jealousy, and overcome it or fall victim to it. The scourge of communism came close to destroying the world because it sought to give everyone the same amount, so that no one would be jealous of anyone else. Thankfully, with the blessing of American consumerism, communism merely succeeded in making the Russians more jealous. You saved the world, son. You should be proud of your nation.”

“I’m Korean,” I said.

“Don’t sass the ,” the rooster clucked at me. “You know you like America!”

I rolled my eyes. “Who the hell are you?”

“Putting aside O’Malley’s vile plan,” the rooster said, “there is also the problem of the netnet. Your roommate the Nigerian pulled quite a scam last month. Convinced all the weather sites that Atlanta was going to be hit with an ice storm. Convinced ‘em so well that people believed it too, even though you knew it shouldn’t happen. In fact, he convinced so many people, not only did the netnet start to manifest ice, so did the real world. Belief is a powerful thing. Do you believe that?”

“No.”

The rooster hesitated, then nodded. “Fine. What I need to ask you is where this Nigerian is. He escaped, and left the netnet in tatters. I’ve been flying around virtual Atlanta trying to stop the ice, but it’s spreading. I’m only one mage, and if I can’t find my enemy, both worlds might slowly be consumed in glacial ice.”

“El-Hadje escaped,” I said.

“And no one left in the asylum knew where he was going,” the rooster said, cutting me off. “No one alive at least. I’m emailing you a ritual spell that will let you contact the ghost of poor, suicidal Robert by séance. You’ll need an item of his to make the spell work properly, but I’m sure you have something. Email me back what he tells you about this El-Hadje’s location, and I’ll make sure that when you confront O’Malley, you are prepared. The worlds are counting on you, Chou.”

I kicked at the chicken, and to my surprise my foot connected. It exploded into a burst of feathers. My connection alerted me to a newly arrived message with an attachment.

“Stupid,” I said to no one in particular. “I don’t have anything that belonged to Robert. And why the hell should I help you?”

I opened the email. It was from zorok@world.wrld. The text of it was brief:

_Because Jessica doesn’t want to marry O’Malley, and you want to get a new job._

*	*	*​
The attachment gave me what I needed most – the seventeen song fragments of heroic skald verse that, when played in the proper order, would call forth Robert’s spirit – but left it up to me to acquire the bricks for the binding circle, the fire to make the spirit visible, and the item of Robert’s to make sure no other spirit came instead. For the first two, I traded my hard copy of the _War of the Worlds_ BBC musical to get the nurse to bring me Kingsford’s Charcoal, landscaping bricks, a Bic lighter, and a portable media player.

For the third, I had to sit and think a while. I popped two more pills, and the irritating problem was not going away. I shifted in the old wooden chair beside the door, wishing I owned looser pants. I’m not proud of how long it took me to realize that I was sitting in Robert’s old chair.

Ten minutes later, I had a small fire burning on the floor of my cell, Robert’s chair sitting in the middle of it. Shaking my head at my own insanity, I turned on the media player, and listened to old norse verse.

Smoke was clogging the ceiling when Robert’s spectral form appeared before me.

“No time to spare,” I said. “Where’s El-Hadje?”

“You killed me!”

“Yeah, and apparently people think I’m good at it, because now they want me to kill the devil. Too bad there wasn’t a Doom league back home. Now, where’s El-Hadje?”

Robert’s spirit glowered. “He’s in Savannah, working at the Wendy’s on Chatham.”

I choked with laughter. “That was his big plan? Get a job at Wendy’s?”

“He grew up in Nigeria,” Robert sneered. “He ain’t picky.”

And then he vanished. I shrugged, logged on to email a reply to the rooster, managing to send it off just in time before the sprinklers went off, and I was dragged away by asylum security to Batwarden’s office.

*	*	*​
An ethereal Danny Elfman tune played in the Batwarden’s office, written by the composer’s ghost. Children wove fey laughter into the beating and strumming of drums and violins.

“Mr. Senwan,” said the Batwarden, his voice deep and fiery, “I’m not going to ask you how you got those implements. Nor shall I ask why you lit a fire in your room. You’re insane, so I should be more surprised with how normal you have been otherwise.” 

He reached forward and opened a storebrand carton of eggs on his desk, his massive hands plucking up two and cracking them over a glass. Behind him, the sun was just starting to rise. I’d been in solitary all night, and I’d barely been able to hide my organic herbal supplements, or else my mind would be addled now by the medication.

The Batwarden leaned back, shaking his head. He looked up at an illustration of Batman on his wall, as if looking for strength. He sighed, then glared at me.

“No, Mr. Senwan. What I ask you is, what shall I do with you?”

I bit my lip. 

He turned in his chair to look out the window as he drank his eggs, leaving his back to me. On the desk between us, one of the eggs popped out of the carton and cracked on the table. From inside the shell a tiny yellow chick emerged, holding a toy rifle, wearing a belt with toy bullets.

I knew I had gone insane, and I silently cursed the asylum for their medications. Then the chick glanced at me and cocked its head toward the Batwarden. I felt the latches on my straight jacket give way, and I knew that I could stand and likely crack the man on the head with one of his prized framed pages by Bob Kane before he knew I was free.

The Danny Elfman themed rose dramatically, and the chick eyed me, urging me to kill the warden and escape.

My lip began to bleed. I pulled my arm free from the straight jacket, wiped it, and put my arm back in. As I moved, I realized how tender I felt. I wondered if I’d been beaten last night.

“Um, sir?” I asked. “I could get you some songs, like Adam West’s lost vocal arrangement of the Batoosi. And then you could transfer me to Red Market?”

The Batwarden – I had always heard rumors of his obsession with Batman, and now I knew the truth – swiveled in his chair. His stare smoldered across me for a moment.

“Very well,” he said. “We’ll send you over tomorrow.”

“Um, I need to go today, sir.”

The Batwarden stood suddenly. “That place is a vile pit of communism, staffed by un-patriotic murderers. Why would you wish to go there any sooner than necessary?”

“Um.” I looked down at the chick with the rifle, only to see it had vanished. “Well, I _am_ crazy.”

“You’re a model inmate.”

*	*	*​
They let me take my media player, and even handed over my netnet, since I said I needed it to get the Batwarden his music. I knew I wasn’t a free man yet, and my entire body still felt like I was sitting at a load screen and hadn’t realized the system had crashed, but I was close to my goal – either to kill O’Malley and be rich, or buy my freedom from O’Malley by turning over Walter and Jack.

The asylum van had no windows, but we did not have to drive far.

I drowsed through the paperwork, discreetly taking another few pills to keep my head clear. The interior of Red Market was much uglier than that of my old supermarket, and the cashiers and baggers leered at me. They weren’t all insane, I had heard; it was just that Red Market was the bottom end of the minimum wage scale. 

After half an hour I was ushered into the office of the store manager, Mickey O’Malley. His office was immaculate, as clean as his store was filthy. His smile was charming, and I almost found him handsome in his tuxedo. He was, of course, to wed the woman I had fallen in love with just last night. He lounged in his chair, unconcerned that he likely would be at the altar within an hour. He certainly did not look like Satan.

“Do you know what communism is, Chou?” asked my new manager.

I sighed. “Yes.”

“Then you know that communism is a glorious system intended to improve mankind and make us all equal. But, sadly, it didn’t go far enough.”

I looked down. My new uniform was tight around the chest.

“Chou,” he said, “I know you’re not crazy.”

That got my attention. I realized that I might be able to reason with him.

“You see, Chou, I want to talk to you because I think you’ll understand my concern. You’re smart. You’ve seen both sides, and you know how uneven things can be. So yes, communism was meant to better mankind, but it didn’t. That is why I have invented a new order. I call it . . . hyper-communism!”

The room suddenly seemed very hot. O’Malley stood and helped me up.

“Come with me, Chou. I’m taking over the wedding presents to the reception, and I want you to meet my fiancee. Oh, I mean my wife. She is so charming, and beautiful too. Or at least she will be soon.”

I glared at him, but nodded.

“Hurry up and get me a wedding present,” he said. “Pick anything from the store. It’s for dear Jessica. I’ll pay for it, but we can say it’s from you.”

We rode in a brown van to the reception, the back of it crammed with boxes of gifts from customers and employees of Red Market. O’Malley himself drove. A wire mesh separated us, keeping me from attacking him.

“In hyper-communism,” he said, “everything costs the same. You want a steak, it’s a dollar. You want a house, it’s a dollar.”

“If I want a chicken,” I said, “it’s a dollar.”

“Exactly,” O’Malley said. “Now the challenge is no longer to the consumer to make enough money to buy what they need. It is to the producer to make everything worth _one dollar_.”

“You’re as crazy as my roommates were,” I said. “Worse, even. Are you planning to start this at your store?”

“Yes. For the first week, everything will be a dollar. It will take a while for producers to adjust, but in that time, your poor supermarket will be driven out of business. And that’s not all. Not just goods will all be the same. When I control all stores in Atlanta, indeed all _people_ will be the same as well. I believe you’re acquainted with our HERB-ALIVE line?”

I grew suddenly cold.

“Oh yes, Chou, I had know my employees gave you samples. I’ve been keeping close tabs, as those little pills are key to my plan for Atlanta domination. I can see by your discomfort that you’ve been taking these pills too.”

“What are they?!” I demanded.

“Hormone pills. Penis enlargement. Breast enhancement. With of course some minor side effects like dementia and heightened suggestibility. All natural, completely organic. The FDA loved ‘em. In small doses, they just make people feel healthier, smarter, a little sexier. But slowly, over several years – or in your case of insane pill popping, over a day or two – it transforms you in an easily molded puppet. People will take them to feel better about themselves, to look better, because they feel they have to. 

“In a world where everything costs the same, all that matters anymore is who you are, and I will destroy that too. Oh, yes. It is all coming to fruition soon, my dear Chou.”

“You’re insane!” I screamed.

“Yes, likely. Oh, look, the chapel is coming up.”

“How does Jessica fit into this?” I shouted “She has dreams. She’s a beautiful singer. And when I saw her, she didn’t look like her pictures on the magazine covers.”

“The _anti-_herbal pill,” he said. “What can I say? Jessica’s hot. I threatened to turn her frumpy if she didn’t marry me.”

I gasped. “That’s why she was singing last night. She . . . she wanted to find something to be famous for other than her looks.”

O’Malley laughed. “Fat chance. Ooh, that’s an idea. A fat pill.”

I growled, “You are the devil.”

Earlier that morning, I had checked my email and found one file – a song. The email had merely said that it would defeat O’Malley. I knew I had no chance of working with this madman. I simply had to defeat him, then destroy those pills. And for God’s sake, stop taking them myself.

I reached into my pocket and activated the media player, and it belted out a live recording of the actual fiddle competition that inspired “The Devil Went Down to Georgia.”

O’Malley cried out in dismay and clutched his ears, and the van spun out of control. The divine fiddle playing of the legendary Johnny of Georgia filled the van, and as we careened through the air and hurtled toward a hill, O’Malley’s skin began to sizzle from the purifying power of music.

*	*	*​
“Well,” Satan said with a grin, “you beat me.”

The cops had pulled us out of the van, and I had given my testimony. The bride to be, despondent in her wedding gown, had supported my seemingly mad claims, and when they found the massive stockpile of herbal pills at Red Market, the cops finally believed me.

“I think I’ll keep your wedding gift,” Satan said, hoisting the tiny sewing machine.

Then the cops took him away. They told me I had to go back to the asylum, but they would give me at least a moment with Jessica. 

We embraced, both of us knowing we owed so much to the other. When we pulled away, she looked down, embarrassed. “I promise I’ll get you out, Chou.”

“I just hope these pills wear off,” I muttered.

“You do look good,” she said, smirking.

She leaned forward and kissed me. Across my lips she whispered, “I know you’re not crazy.”

I nodded. “Neither are you. But I gotta go. I want to see you again, but I don’t feel comfortable with that giant hen watching us.”

She looked over her shoulder, confused, and by the time she turned back, the doctors were taking me away, and my last sight of the devil’s bride-to-be was obscured by a giant .


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## RangerWickett (Jul 9, 2005)

Okay, for the record, those smilies are a synonym for rooster.


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## RangerWickett (Jul 10, 2005)

Jeez. Someone reply, okay? The tension is killing me, and I'm terribly afraid I offended someone.


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## Maldur (Jul 10, 2005)

how could you use the word 

Bad RW


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## Maldur (Jul 10, 2005)

OK, judgement send.

A bit short ebven for me, but I did stew on it for a day or so 

Great stuff from all, best of luck to the two finalists!


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## Speaker (Jul 11, 2005)

RangerWickett said:
			
		

> Jeez. Someone reply, okay? The tension is killing me, and I'm terribly afraid I offended someone.




One Less!


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## BSF (Jul 11, 2005)

Hey Folks,
I am still waiting for Macbeth.  As you may recall, he has no access on the weekend.  So I anticipate the judgement being posted Monday at some point.


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## Macbeth (Jul 11, 2005)

Sorry about the lack of word over the weekend, writing and stewing now, should be sent before lunch.


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## reveal (Jul 11, 2005)

Ya know, the longer I wait, the more nervous I get thinking that someone's sitting there going "Ok... Now how else can I tell reveal his story sucks?"


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## Macbeth (Jul 11, 2005)

Sent my Berandor v. Speaker judgement. Had to use one of my alternate email accounts since apparently the mail server at my college is down. I hope BSF catches the email from gmail...


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## reveal (Jul 13, 2005)

Bueller? 

Bueller?


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## BSF (Jul 13, 2005)

*Round 2, Match 1 - Judgement*

*BardStephenFox*

*Berandor* Cold Fish

OK, Berandor takes the pictures and begins to mix in some modern day fantasy themes.  He couples it with a some banter, a splash of humor and then tosses in the 'in-jokes'.  This story was a fun read.  

To be sure, there were some spots that were a little rough.  There were a couple of things that might seem just a tad contrived.  The picture use was very competent.  In all, it is a very solid Ceramic DM story.  

The protagonist began as a little difficult to empathize with. Still, by the end of the story I wanted to see what happened.  I think the implied character of Meowth steals a lot of Dale Sheperd's thunder.  Berandor put a lot of effort into making Meowth interesting.  The cat has hearing problems, a special hat and likes Tom & Jerry.  He also has a huge litterbox.  What do we really know about Dale?  He is an urban druid and he doesn't like to be played for a fool by animals.  Still, he doesn't agaonize over being played by Madison near the end of the story.  This is a slight inconsistency.  It isn't enough to ruin the story, not by any stretch.  Still, it is indicative of some of the smaller details that Berandor could clean up if he ever chooses to revisit the story.  

The security guard turning into a tree and Madison the mermaid were both a little stretched for the pictures.  Still, the rest of the pictures did a good job with the story.  They convey interesting and relevant points of a story that I could see being illustrated.  

Berandor, thanks for the story and for the laugh at the end. 

*Speaker* Gift of Life

Speaker gives us an imaginative tale that seems to have a cautionary element.  I get the impression that Speaker would be an interesting GM to play with.  I can easily imagine playing in a game with Speaker and questioning whether I picked up all the subtlties of everything after the session/adventure were through.

I really enjoyed the ideas here Speaker.  You do a good job creating some vivid images.  But in the end, I didn't feel anything for any of the characters.  That weakens your story quite a bit for me.  Michael didn't have any emotional impact for me.  The story very much leaves me feeling that Michael was just a small pawn in a larger game that still doesn't have any impact on anybody else.  

The picture of the Lady in Water is the picture I enjoy the most.  Primarily because it seems to drive the story forward.  The rest of the pictures pretty much depict events that could happen in the story, but don't need to.  

In the end, I am left with a story that has some interesting ideas, but I don't have the emotional involvment to investigate those ideas later.  

*Judgement*[sblock]Berandor's story was a more enjoyable read for me and seemed to have stronger picture use.  I must award this one to Berandor.[/sblock]


*Macbeth*

Speaker - Gift of LIfe:
Perhaps the biggest weakness of this story is that it never really
feels involved. The third-person point of view makes Micheal seem a
little distant. We never really get much in the way of dialogue, and
all the action seems almost summarized. It reads a bit like a first
person story summarized into a third person narrative.

Beyond this problem, the story is really quite strong. Your prose is,
again, very flavorful and probably the best element of the story. the
language you use is excellent, but it coul dbe put to better use from
a different point of view.

Picture use was good, but not outstanding. The lady of branches has to
be my favorite pictre use, it really melds into the story. The jumping
in the rain picture at first seems weak, but it still has importance
(it illustrates Micheal's happiness quite well). The fountain and
lady-in-water were very literally used, but they didn't add any
flavor. They fit the story, but aren't integral.

Overall, I enjoyed the style of the story. Thanks for a enjoyable read.


Berandor - Cold Fish:
This entire story, I was debating in my head if Dale Shepherd was ment
to be a dog or not. With a name like Shepherd, and his self
description ("For that kind of money, I'm your dog, Mr. M."), made me
wonder if our druid was, in fact a dog. That's probably all in my
mind, but it might be worth making it clear who's an animal and who's
a man.

Overall, I liked the story. I felt some of the magic references were a
bit forced, but the idea of an urban druid private eye was just
wonderful.

The tone varies a bit much. At some points it's very noir, at others
it's entirely fantasy. A middle ground would have made the story more
even, and would have been a neat nitch to write in. You don't get many
fantasy-noir stories.

Picture use was creative, well integrated and enjoyable. You managed
to make a picture of a cat in a hat seem vaguely sinister, the
fountain came to life with gorgons, and even the umbrella made sense.
The mermaid recovering the 'bubble' envelope was a bit of stretch, but
the other pictures more then made up for it.

*Maldur*
For round two I noticed that several contestants have stoories that remind me of book I recently (re)read. RangerWickett's story remiminds me of Bruce Bethke's Headcrash, ad Berandors story reminds me to a book I cant seem to find now (memory failure is my middle name). I like the fact that writers I like have influence on more than just me   

Great round peoples!


Speaker vs. Berandor

Speaker
This story has potential, but I find it a bit choppy. 
The "sepreate scenes" style is not working out completely, eventhough the ideas of the story are nice.

Berandor
D&D meets Film Noir meets Shadowrun meets Daktari.
Weird little story, esp the roomsize litterbox is a nice touch (and the P-kitty reference)

Judgement: [sblock]berandor has the better story I esp like the mood of the piece.[/sblock]

*Rodrigo Istalindir*
Ceramic DM Judgements
Round 2, Match 1

Berandor - Cold Fish

What a story.  I love the hard-boiled tone, and I've no doubt Shepherd would feel right at home tossing back a drink with Marlowe and Spade.  This wonderful little tale takes a stock detective storyline and turns it on its tail.  Chock full of the details that make the fantastic seem commonplace (and I mean that in a good way).  The Tom-and-Jerry cartoon, is priceless.

The story is lean, tightly writtent, and doesn't waste any time getting things moving.  A common pitfall in Ceramic DM is spending energy on setting without advancing the plot.  Here, the author does an excellent job of letting the action fill in the backstory as it goes along.  Of course, I'm predisposed to dislike cats, so some of the work was already done...

Having the main character a druid that doesn't like animals is a neat touch, although this is one place a little more history would have been welcome.   The elements of the caper are consistent and well-paced, and the mansion really is believable.  The 'Five-finger Elemental Palm of Doom' is a neat spell, btw.

One jarring note was the retina scanner -- if all cats have identical retinas, I don't think anyone would use one as a security measure.  The author tries to tap-dance around it a bit, but I think there were better ways to go there.  Also, the ease of access to the mansion strains credibility a bit.  I'm really being nit-picky, though.  This was a great story.

Picture use:  Excellent use all around here, without a really weak element in the bunch.  Each is well integrated into the story as a whole, and none seem included just because they had to.  The author does a good job of setting up the mermaid pic at the end, the cat as the antogonist is a wonderful choice, even the man with the umbrella is perfectly consistent with the story. 


Speaker - Gift of Life

A tale of a foolish man, who bargains for the ability to see things as they truly are without asking what it will cost.  Another flash-back story, told by the protagonist as his lifesblood drips away.  This story has a surreal tone, dream-like, that makes it hard to get a grip on what's going on.


Unfortunately, the pacing and wording of the story suffer.  Much like his first round entry, the repetitive use of 'And' and 'then' and 'now' to start sentences becomes wearying.  The isn't much tying the parts of the story together -- Micheal goes from normal human, to errand-boy, to victim without much of a thread to pull it together.  Aside from his brief introduction, you don't get any sense of him as a person, and that makes it hard to care when you spend most of the story thinking he's about to die.

The story does get stronger as it goes, as if the author knew where he wanted to end up and just couldn't figure out where to start.  Always nice to see someone get their comeuppance, especially when its through their own greed and overconfidence.  The Man of Cats toying with Micheal as he lay dying was a nice touch, very feline.

Picture use is a bit weak.  Both the 'Lady of Branches' and 'Lady of Water' refer to the same person, changing form without much rhyme or reason.  The 'Man of Cats' turning out to really be a Man-cat, his true nature revealed in a moment of expected triumph, was good.  The fountain and man with the umbrella were merely descriptive, and not integral to the story.


[sblock]Speaker's tale ends well, and with a little fleshing out, especially of Micheal, this would be a better story.  You've got good ideas, and a knack for description.  Concentrate more on the flow of the prose, and you'll do even better.  Berandor puts forth a superlative entry, one that really doesn't have a weak spot.  Some minor plot issues that could be tightened up, perhaps, but a clever story, excellent tone, and top-notch picture use.  Judgement:  Berandor[/sblock]

*Summary*[sblock]Berandor takes this round with three votes.  Thanks for your stories in this contest Speaker.  I certainly hope to see you return for a future contest.[/sblock]


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 13, 2005)

Round 2 Match 2 - Reveal v RangerWickett judgement sent.  Sorry for the delay -- I wanted to let them percolate in the back of my head for a day.


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## Macbeth (Jul 13, 2005)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:
			
		

> Round 2 Match 2 - Reveal v RangerWickett judgement sent.  Sorry for the delay -- I wanted to let them percolate in the back of my head for a day.



I had the same problem, mine hsould be in by the end of the day, maybe by lunch if I get the chance.


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## Speaker (Jul 13, 2005)

Brilliant judgements - I can feel no shame in saying Berandor certaintly deserved his victory.  Cheers to that!

I do hope to return again, another match or two away.  But let the stories continue in this one, for the best is yet to come...


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## Macbeth (Jul 13, 2005)

Just barely got my judgements in, their a bit briefer then I'd like, but I've been busy. I'll try to expand my comments when the full judgements go up.


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## BSF (Jul 14, 2005)

*Round 2, Match 2 - Judgement*

*Rodrigo Istalindir*

Ceramic DM - Round 2 Match 2 Reveal v RangerWickett

Reveal - Untitled

This (aside from a couple jarring typos) was an exceptionally well-written story.  The opening paragraph works really well -- quickly sets the scene and then WHAM! jumps in a completely different direction.  Nicely done.  I also like the way this story was paced.  Pretty even beginning to end.  Whereas sometimes Ceramic DM stories start strong and peter off, this one builds at a steady pace.  Some really solid use of foreshadowing, which can be hard to pull off.  It can't help but give a little of the ending away, but when done well (as it is here) it lets the story become less about the 'what' and more about the 'how'. This also played into the pacing...in a shorter story, it wouldn't work.  Here, the author is patient and lets things develop.  The occasional 'real world' references by Jeremy are also effective.  Too many and it loses its effectiveness, too few and they either seem tacked on, or worse, like the author wasn't really thinking through the consequences of the setting.  Here, the right balance is struck.  Zeke practicing 'the bird' was amusing at the time; looking back it's even funnier.  Very Aahz-like.

The ending did seem a bit (just a bit) rushed.  Even if it still ends poorly for Jeremy, it would be nice to see it play out a little bit.  Lots of running around screaming and scheming would have been welcome.  Even better, having him escape his fate but be stuck in the new world would set the stage for a nice recurring character.  As mentioned, a couple typos came at inopportune times -- one in the hyperlink to a picture.  Overall, though, a really strong entry.

Picture use:  The picture use wasn't as strong as the story, unfortunately.  No single picture really tied the elements of the tale together.  Instead, Jeremy in front of the truck, the portraits of Zeke and Geryon, and the burning chairs are merely descriptive of the action rather than integral to the plot.  The use of the skewed woman with the umbrella as a picture viewed through a crystal ball was pretty good (although skirting dangerously close to the 'picture as a picture' no-no), but when I first saw that picture I'd had higher hopes.  Given the rooster overlooking the scene, the potential to tie this picture in with the shotgun chick was a lost opportunity.


RangerWickett - Untitled

Hmmm.   Hard to judge this story, a sequel coming hard on the heels of the original.  But, Ceramic DM stories have to be judged soley on thier own and singular merits, so I will endeavor to avoid referring back to the author's previous entry.  (Aargh....very hard to judge this story by itself).

Here we have a curious tale, a mix of high-tech and magic, the devil you know and the devil you don't.  The story starts awkwardly, with a synopsis of previous action that confuses more than enlightens.  (Herein lies the peril of doing a sequel.  If you assume the reader is up to speed and isn't, you lose them.  If you try to catch them up, you risk boring someone who's already following along.)  It's hard to get a sense of place or person, and before we know it, we're neck deep in the action without anything to ground it.  This continues throughout the story.  The mix of technology and the supernatural doesn't help, as it removes any possibility of internal consistency.  What's left is an 'anything goes' feeling that robs the reader of any sense of involvement.  If you think anything can happen without much rhyme or reason, it's hard to create suspense or surprise, both of which require the writer to play fair with the reader.

It's unfortunate that the story isn't up to the technical and artistic merits of the writing, which is top-notch.  The dialog is always solid, sometimes stellar.  The style flows really well, and is quite engaging.  Basing the story in an asylum is a nice touch -- the echoes of 'Catch-22' and 'Alice in Wonderland' create a nice vibe, and the pop- and geek-  culture references are sly enough to be funny without being over the top. (Until the last sentence:  that was really, really bad, and crude without being funny.)  

Picture use:  The picture use here suffers from the nature of the story.  Two of the pictures (Jessica with the umbrella, Jack and Walter) take place in virtual reality.  This is a bit weak -- since anything can appear as anything in VR, there is nothing solid to ground the pictures.  Similarly, the chick with the gun is apparently some sort of hallucination, another instance where it's easy to incorporate any picture because it doesn't have to make sense.  The burning chair as a means to summon the spirit Robert was better (and would have been better still if it was something that would be considered personal rather than just a chair).  The devil with the sewing machine doesn't really work, mostly because the boy doesn't really look demonic.  (He does look like a 'Micky' though    )

Judgement:  [sblock]Reveal puts forward a really good entry, with a nice setting, good foreshadowing, and an interesting protagonist.  The ending is a bit abrupt, but still workable.  Picture use is adequate, but these pictures were a real tough lot.  RangerWickett brings superlative dialog and the hints of a cool setting, but the plot he's chose lets him down, and the picture use isn't up to par.  Judgement:  Reveal[/sblock]

Addendum:  FWIW, RangerWicket, judged as a sequel to your previous entry, this one still doesn't fare very well.  The first one was tight and creative, and saves the clever punchline for the end.  This one rambles a bit and tries too hard to mix disparate elements that just don't fit, and in some respects feels more like a rehash.  

*Maldur*

RangerWickett versus reveal

reveal
Alternate worlds, nasty betrayals, and a chick that should have saved him.
Nice story, but a bit patchwork. 

RangerWickett
Chapter two in the story from the first round, always a gambit. But it turned out well.

Judgement: [sblock]Once again RangerWickett, lets just say Im a sucker for cyberpunkish stories[/sblock]

*BardStephenFox*

*Reveal* - Untitled
Reveal spins a yarn about a boy named Jeremy experiencing some weird stuff.  

Reveal has some tasty ideas in this story.  The nature of Geryon comes through in little bits and pieces.  I can appreciate that.  The clues are all there ahead of time, starting with the name.  This si good, and fun.

Unfortunately, Reveal's story being to suffer from the format of Ceramic DM.  The pictures for this round were meant to be a little more difficult to integrate smoothly.  Reveal makes a good effort, but in many ways everything feels disjointed and forced.  

The nature of the forest is nicely built up.  The introduction of the shotgun wielding chick is nice.  But ultimately, what purpose did the forest or the chick serve? The use of a magical servant and the conjuring of food and chairs is nice, but then the chair burning seems to have been squeezed in solely to fit the picture.  The picture of Jeremy in front of the UPS truck is revisited at the end, but even then it seems to have lost any significance.  Geryon blew up the truck to bring Jeremy to him, but the impact of that revelation is almost non-existant.  

I really like the ideas in this story.  But I sense that Reveal would write this story in an entirely different manner if he could have ditched the baggage of these pictures.  Sadly, Ceramic DM is all about taking the baggage of the pictures and making them relevant components of the story.  In this case, there is a fine story here, but the pictures feel like clunky bolt-ons that exist mostly because they must be included.  Unfortunately, this really hurts the overall story.

Dialog in the story is good.  I like the dual nature of Geryon and Zeke.  Zeke is quite clearly subservient, but it is the feeling of casual master/servant.  I actually find the implications of that relationship to be much more interesting than what Geryone wants/needs Jeremy for.  There are also the little characterizations pointing at Jeremy's naivete.  I get a feeling of a young man that is, perhaps, a little less mature than his age would indicate.  He is just the type that Geryon would enjoying torturing and using.  Somehow, it make Geryon seem more sinister than if he Jeremy had been a little more jaded on life in general.  

Now, I have knocked Reveal around a little bit on the pictures.  But really, there are the makings of a good story here.  I think that the pictures this time around just didn't cooperate with Reveal while he was writing.  I'm not sure I would say that I 'enjoyed' the story.  It ends on a bit too much of a downer for me right now.  But I enjoyed reading the story.  Thanks reveal!


*RangerWickett* - Untitled
RangerWickett takes a chance here by exgtending a previous story into the second round.  There have been a number of tries to carry over stories in Ceramic DM, but most do not hold up under competition.  The key is making sure the story can stand-alone.  So, does RangerWickett succeed?

The beginning of the story is a bit rough.  Background is heavily frontloaded into the tale.  This background quite clearly pulls the two stories together as well as giving the reader enough information from the previous story to understand what Chou's baseline is.  My instinct tells me that an editor would consider cutting a good portion of the intro.  However, the rest of the story continues to pull references in from the previous story.  The background in the introduction must remain for people that have not read the previous story.  This is risky, because the story is a little less self-reliant.

The premise of the story is a little strained.  A couple of madmen want to have Chou murder their boss because he is the devil.  As proof, they offer up the 'fact' that his initials spell out 666 on a telephone keypad.  Of course, these are crazy people.  As well, they are willing to apply a little pressure on Chou.  When the carrot doesn't work, you can always try a stick?  Oddly enough, it all works.  The frame of reference is so preposterous that I am willing to go along with it.  It's fiction and I am reading it to have fun.  So sure, I can accept that Walter and Jack just might be right.  If there is a drawback to this, it is that I have that moment where the frame is visible.  I know it is a story and rather then being immersed in it, I consciously engage my willing suspension of disbelief.  

But that's OK.  At least sometimes it is.  

This story has good dialog.  There is good characterization .  Chou is consistent and believable. It is not a stretch to imagine him on his netnet deck idly scrolling through music files for the appropriate music while he is engaged in the virtual world.  There are enough casual details to breath life into Chou without feeling too forced.  I really appreciate that.  Of course, the story also weaves in fine plot elements.  Mickey's plan to take over the world through hyper-communism; the way Mickey has snared Jessica Kusanagi; the nature of the organic health pills.  These are all interesting.  They both elicit a brief laugh, and give the reader pause to ponder the nature of these 'attacks'.  In the end, they seem plausible.  

That is a strong point in favor of the story.

Picture use was quite strong.  The chick emerging in Batwarden's office was, perhaps, a bit too absurd.  But it was foreshadowed by the appearance of the rooster magician earlier in the story.  Perhaps the weakest picture was of Mickey holding the sewing machine.  It came at the end of the story and didn't serve to push anything forward within the story.  I really enjoyed the integration of the picture of the warped buildings on the street.  That was well done!

The end of the story comes too quickly.  While using the Devil went down to Georgia was a great idea, it just seemed a bit too easy.  The story wrapped up too neatly.  I suspect that RangerWickett was running out of time, and possibly out of words.  I think the story would definitely be worth revising in the future.

In all, there is a good character with good dialog and good picture use.  While there are parts that might be a little too stretched, and the ending comes on too quickly, the story unashamedly demands a suspension of disbelief.  It is a good, fun read.  Thanks Rangerwickett.

Judgement: [sblock]After reading my critiques, I don't think it will be any surprise that I award this round to RangerWickett.  Ceramic DM is about the pictures and Rangerwickett's picture use was stronger than Reveal's.[/sblock]


*Macbeth*
Whew. Hard work. Here we go:

Reveal - Untitled:
Your biggest strength was your build, but the greatest weaknees was the conclusion. All in all, a very good story, but the ending was a little abrupt.

I really liked the story until the last few paragraphs, when they reach the tower. Your characters had a great amount of... well, character. In particular Geryon had a very old, otherworldly quality. A kind of almost Victorian feel, but not quite. Overall, a very strange character, hard to pin down, but very intertaining.

The main character was a little harder to understand. At times he seemed young a naive, while at others he seemed adult and mature. PLaying across from the strong personality of Geryon, I just had a harder time enjoying him.

Around the time they make camp, when the clues to Geryon's true nature start being dropped, it suddenly became obvious he was somehow evil. Perhaps if his odd knowledge and behaviour weren't pointed out to the reader (i.e. of the main character didn't catch it), it would seem like a more gradual build, but as it stands, it seems a bit abrupt and obvious.

The ending just fell flat. I loved early deatils like the bird, but the ending was abrupt and, to some degree, impossible to see coming. I just felt that it was a rushed way to draw the plot closed once you had used all the pictures.

Picture use was a bit iffy. At first the first picture with the UPS truck seems like a complete throw away, but it grows in importance considerably. The others are a mixed bag. the chair in the fire is used fine, but still isn't actually imprtant.


RangerWickett - Untitled:
When it first began, I felt a little lost. Just as last time I was a bit confused at the end of the story, the choice to use the same setting made this story hard to start.

But boy did it pick up.

Not only did it hold together better on it's own, it even explained the last one! I liked getting a better feel for ahy things were the way they were.

The ending here still left me a bit confused. I still can't say I really get the setting, but I got enough of it to really enjoy the story.

All the characters came to full life, a step above your last story. I especially liked 'Satan,' and realizing just how evil he was.

Picture use was very good. All of the pictures were at least solid, and a couple (the imaginary chicken, the black and white video) really stood out. 


*Summary:*[sblock]Rangerwickett takes this round with 2 votes.  Reveal, thanks for your stories.  I really hope that you join us in a future competition.[/sblock]


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## Maldur (Jul 14, 2005)

Gongrats all!

Thanks again for all contestents leaving us at this time, and good luck to our finalists.


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## RangerWickett (Jul 14, 2005)

[sblock]I appreciate and fully understand the critique. I got invited to dinner at 6:30 on Friday, and I had to get the story in by 9, so the last hour or so (from the Batwarden's office onward) was rushed. If we were judging the stories on the basis of endings alone, I'm pretty sure reveal could've taken me. It was a good match.

For the next round, I'm free this weekend, until Monday evening. If you could post the pictures for next round Friday afternoon or evening, that'd be best for me. Berandor, good luck, you mustachioed villain, you.

[/sblock]


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## reveal (Jul 14, 2005)

RangerWickett said:
			
		

> [sblock]I appreciate and fully understand the critique. I got invited to dinner at 6:30 on Friday, and I had to get the story in by 9, so the last hour or so (from the Batwarden's office onward) was rushed. If we were judging the stories on the basis of endings alone, I'm pretty sure reveal could've taken me. It was a good match.
> 
> For the next round, I'm free this weekend, until Monday evening. If you could post the pictures for next round Friday afternoon or evening, that'd be best for me. Berandor, good luck, you mustachioed villain, you.
> 
> [/sblock]




[sblock]Thanks for the competition. I'm glad I could make it as tough as the judges seemed to have it. I'll definitely sign up for the next one. [/sblock]


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## reveal (Jul 14, 2005)

[sblock]Before I forget, let me thank all the judges for their hard work. Was making us wait a way of just building up suspense? 

Seriously though, I'm touched, and a little surprised, that y'all actually like my writing, even with its flaws and its dark nature. I say "surprised" because I did surprise myself. I've never done anything like this before but was shocked when I was able to whip up such, I think, wonderful stories in a short period of time. If nothing else, I think that every DM, heck any person with any kind of creativity, should try this competition. It definitely makes for a stronger writer. [/sblock]


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## Macbeth (Jul 14, 2005)

reveal said:
			
		

> [sblock]Before I forget, let me thank all the judges for their hard work. Was making us wait a way of just building up suspense?
> 
> Seriously though, I'm touched, and a little surprised, that y'all actually like my writing, even with its flaws and its dark nature. I say "surprised" because I did surprise myself. I've never done anything like this before but was shocked when I was able to whip up such, I think, wonderful stories in a short period of time. If nothing else, I think that every DM, heck any person with any kind of creativity, should try this competition. It definitely makes for a stronger writer. [/sblock]



[sblock]Well, let me say thanks to you for the stories. Even when getting the judgements done was a bit of work, the stories were still great fun to read. I really enjoyed your stories, and I look forward to seeing you in the next Ceramic DM. Maybe we'll even write against each other.

I'll try to post a few more comments today, my judgement was a bit ruched. I finished it just as I was getting off work and rushing off to dinner at a friend's house, so I fell I could still say more (or at least correct some spelling and grammar mistakes).[/sblock]


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## BSF (Jul 15, 2005)

OK Folks, remember that Berandor is on vacation.  Hopefully he will drop in soon and volunteer a day for pictures.  Then we will have the final showdown!

For the last round, I am planning to use pictures that EN Worlders hold the rights to.  That way, we can choose to allow publishing that benefits EN World/the Ennies in the future for the final round.  I don't have all my pictures decided for the final round yet.  Tell you what, if you have any Ceramic DM worthy pictures that you are willing to allow limited re-use on in the future, feel free to drop me an email.  Maybe I will use one of your pics?

_By limited re-use I mean just that.  If there is a future compilation of Ceramic DM stories, you might be approached to allow the picture to be used in the compilation.  I wouldn't expect you to sign over any artistic rights, or otherwise undervalue your work as an artist/photographer.  Just keep it in mind as a possibility._


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## BSF (Jul 15, 2005)

Due to the problems w/ EN World this morning, I am receiving out-of-band communication from Berandor via Eeralai.  It sounds like tonight would be good for Berandor and for Rangerwickett.  I will try to get the pics together and posted this evening.


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## Berandor (Jul 15, 2005)

My official "I'm back" post 

First off, I still haven't read speaker's story, but thanks for giving me a run for my trophy anyway, and thank you to the judges who saw fit to pit me against the Ewok itself 

A Friday afternoon picture set would be best for me, as my work starts again on monday, and with me coming back and a colleague leaving for vacation... well, it won't be pretty 

Edit: Ha! BSF and me thought alike  Say another round of thanks to your wonderful wife who played the mailman for me!


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## alsih2o (Jul 15, 2005)

LOL!

 BSF, that chick with guns pick is Ceramic DM Hall of Fame worthy!

 I am SO jealous you found that.


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## RangerWickett (Jul 15, 2005)

Request - I sprained a finger playing basketball, and it is hard to type "lop." I dont want to inconveninence berandor much, but can we perhaps wait a day or two to get started?


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## BSF (Jul 15, 2005)

So long as both of you can agree on a start date/time, I am OK.


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## Berandor (Jul 15, 2005)

I don't mind a later starting date, since I don't want to hand RangerWickett his excuses on a silver plate for his inevitable defeat.  Especially with the database problems at the moment.

But I have no idea what awaits me on monday at work, so I would have to ask you to postpone the pics until I know how stressful it'll be, and probably until thursday/friday (so I get the weekend).

If that's agreeable, then I'm in.


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## Macbeth (Jul 15, 2005)

I don't think this'll be an issue, but I'll be in Scotland and England starting August 3rd, so we need to have things wrapped up by then. If we do it next weekend, that should be fine.


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## Berandor (Jul 16, 2005)

In Scotland?

Stay away from Dunsanine.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 16, 2005)

Macbeth said:
			
		

> I'll be in Scotland




Stay away from people waving sticks and guys born by C-Section.


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## BSF (Jul 16, 2005)

Presumably Rangerwickett is OK with waiting until Thursday or so.  We lose a little momentum in the contest, but I want both folks to be ready for the final round.  Though I would point out the opportunity for a little smack talk.  

So what do we talk about the next few days to keep the thread alive?  I miss the banter discussing why decisions were made about a story.


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## Berandor (Jul 17, 2005)

Alright, decisions in my story...

Early on, I decided my story would be a good one 

When I saw the pictures, I noticed a certain thread linking them. The "hair in the underground" one immediately said tree to me, by the way, so I noticed a hint of nature or the elements in the pics: an animal (the cat), water (twice), air (the umbrella man) and a tree. This lead to the druid. The pics were contemporary (especially the umbrella man), however. The cat just had to be intelligent.

I must admit my first anchor into the story was the swimmer picture. To me, the whole story was about what the woman was catching (or giving up?) there, something small enough, and light enough, to be contained in a soap bubble. The story kind of evolved from there, and away from it.

So the swimmer was catching something precious, and the cat was intelligent (and obviously mean - look at that pic!). It's about a heist! I had already thought the ceiling of the "whirl pool" pic could have been the cover of the pool, and the jump to making it a safe was quickly done. And the umbrella was our hero escaping. But how did the "tree" fit in? And what to make of that catching thing, now that our hero escapes through the air.

My first idea was to make the "mermaid catch" his plan B, that when the hero hears police helicopters approaching, he steers over the river and drops the package. But what's a heist story without treachery? And when I got the idea of using Piratecat's signature as a close-off, I knew I would have to have it end badly for the narrator. But the cat couldn't win, could it? He? She? That's where the hero's speci-ism came from, and it gave me the reason why the mermaid would betray him.

I knew the "tree" was still a stretch, even though it gave me the chance to strengthen the mermaid's part in the story (and the hero's clothing in the umbrella pic), and her betrayal was too contrived (I mean, how did she know he'd fly over the river, even though she tipped off the police? Yeah, I know you didn't know that, but I did ). But I still felt the scenes were remarkable enough to warrant illustration, so the pictures weren't throw-aways.

And as I really, really struggled with that bitch of a story, I just said to heck with it and wrote the damn thing down 

Now I return to Harry Potter's final chapters.


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## Macbeth (Jul 18, 2005)

Berandor said:
			
		

> Now I return to Harry Potter's final chapters.



Final chapters already? I'm less then half way through! But then again, I did buy the DMG II at the same time, and I did a lot of...  other things, besides reading, this weekend.

And I'll be sure to be careful in Scotland, thanks for the thoughts.


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## BSF (Jul 18, 2005)

I won't begin HArry Potter until sometime after Eeralai is done.  

Hey, Alsih2o is having a little Ceramic-DM diversion and is giving away Ar Magica 5th ed.  Go checkout his Pseudo Ceramic DM contest thread.  Sign-up and let's have a big free-for-all.


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## Hellefire (Jul 19, 2005)

Hey all,

Grats to Berander and Ranger! Sorry I have been gone so long..moved 2 houses over and my internet company (SBC) keeps screwing up getting it reconnected. And I will be following my girlfriend and baby back to Europe this weekend due to an extreme family emergency. I have felt bad missing out on so much of the CDM this time, but it was necessary.

Good luck in the final. I don't know that I'll even get to read them until some weeks from now, but give 'em helle!

I'll drink a Polish beer to toast winners this weekend!

Aaron


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## RangerWickett (Jul 20, 2005)

I'm okay to write now. Not great, but I'm ready. So yeah, posting Thursday or Friday would be fine. Friday would be more fine, though.


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## BSF (Jul 21, 2005)

It is Thursday, still no word from Berandor.


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## RangerWickett (Jul 22, 2005)

I certainly intend to revise my latest entry before I show it to anyone else. I want to work in a joke where the love interest is famous for acting in movies where she's a "chick with a gun."  I'll probably shuffle some of the story elements to pace it better, and I'll actually write an ending as opposed to hammering one out in 30 minutes. I also need to hint at The Devil Went Down to Georgia more in advance. Perhaps have a propaganda broadcast from Red Market.

From the moment I finished Supermarket Asylum, I intended to shoot for a trilogy. The problem, of course, was to make weird stuff work, regardless of the pictures. I've got a trick up my sleeve yet to come, and I hope it works out.

Oh, and I do want to play up the 'supermarket' aspect more, because I've been reading "Otherland," which has virtual reality, and I want to make sure I don't just mimic that book's style.


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## Berandor (Jul 22, 2005)

Where are the pics? 

Is it my fault? Sorry, I thought it was clear I'm okay with a thursday posting no matter what.

I'm really sorry. 

Now post pics 

Edit: Friday posting is fine, as well.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 22, 2005)

They were posted at 10:00 Eastern on Tuesday, Berandor.  Didn't you seem them?  Oh well, you've still got a half-hour....


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## reveal (Jul 22, 2005)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:
			
		

> They were posted at 10:00 Eastern on Tuesday, Berandor.  Didn't you seem them?  Oh well, you've still got a half-hour....




That's just mean, man.


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## Berandor (Jul 22, 2005)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:
			
		

> They were posted at 10:00 Eastern on Tuesday, Berandor.  Didn't you seem them?  Oh well, you've still got a half-hour....



 I'll answer that with a story you can't help but vote for.

Written in half an hour.


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## BSF (Jul 22, 2005)

Sadly, the computer with my custom pics that we would have permission to re-use is on the fritz.  Fried the power supply earlier this week and I haven't had time to replace the powersupply, or slave the drive to a different computer.  I could probably get it fixed tonight, but that would push back picture posting even further back.  

For expediency, I think I will create a new set of pics.  But we won't be using all originals.    I want to get the stories finished off though.


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## Berandor (Jul 22, 2005)

Maybe we could just change our references around when you get to the original pics?

"Max lifted the tiny chick, staring down its gun" would become "Max lifted up the airplane crash, staring down its garden gnome in the foreground, grinning maniacally."

It _could_ work.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 23, 2005)

I think it might be fun to do one sometime where the pictures don't get posted all at once.  4 pics, 1 every 12 hours, story due 24 hours after the last picture was posted


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## reveal (Jul 23, 2005)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:
			
		

> I think it might be fun to do one sometime where the pictures don't get posted all at once.  4 pics, 1 every 12 hours, story due 24 hours after the last picture was posted




Well, this is Ceramic *DM*. And DMs are supposed to be able to come up with interesting plots on the fly.


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## BSF (Jul 23, 2005)

*Final Round - Berandor vs Rangerwickett*

*Final Round* - 6 pictures, 7000 words max, 72 hours
Berandor vs Rangerwickett

Here you go - A couple of pictures in which you must weave a story for the amusement of the crowd.


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## BSF (Jul 23, 2005)

I expect Rangerwickett will see these first.  It is only 10:00 PM his local time.  But it is something near 4:00 AM for Berandor.  I hope he got a good night's sleep before working on the pictures.


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## Steve Jung (Jul 23, 2005)

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> Sadly, the computer with my custom pics that we would have permission to re-use is on the fritz.  Fried the power supply earlier this week and I haven't had time to replace the powersupply, or slave the drive to a different computer.  I could probably get it fixed tonight, but that would push back picture posting even further back.
> 
> For expediency, I think I will create a new set of pics.  But we won't be using all originals.    I want to get the stories finished off though.



Well you could hold a reverse Ceramic DM. Put up a story and have the contestants find pictures to illustrate.


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## Berandor (Jul 23, 2005)

Got the pics.

FYI. the "long legs" says "quickest way to the airport".

And what's with all the kung-fu poses?

Pondering Picture use now.


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## BSF (Jul 23, 2005)

I kind of wondered what the sign said, but I hadn't taken the time to look it up.  

Martial arts pictures tend to be good at implied action.  The writer is obviously free to integrate the picture in any form that she wishes, but I didn't want too many static pictures.


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## Berandor (Jul 23, 2005)

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> I kind of wondered what the sign said, but I hadn't taken the time to look it up.
> 
> Martial arts pictures tend to be good at implied action.  The writer is obviously free to integrate the picture in any form that she wishes, but I didn't want too many static pictures.



It's just that I had been glad I had missed these pics so far, but now got tackled with one. These pics always give you two more characters to integrate, and a specific action, and it's gotta be important...  (And I *think* there are three pics from the same set in this contest, aren't there?)

Doesn't matter anyhow, I got the pic nailed down, starting to write as soon as I finish dinner.


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## RangerWickett (Jul 23, 2005)

I've seen the pictures. They're challenging, and I'm terribly interested to see what we would have gotten if your computer hadn't died.


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## MarauderX (Jul 24, 2005)

Berandor said:
			
		

> (And I *think* there are three pics from the same set in this contest, aren't there?)



Yes there are, and I know you'll both come up with an entertaining tale.  Something has gotta drag me out of the post-Harry Potter slump.


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## Berandor (Jul 24, 2005)

MarauderX said:
			
		

> Yes there are, and I know you'll both come up with an entertaining tale.  Something has gotta drag me out of the post-Harry Potter slump.



 Funny you should say this. My first idea involved a WB lawyer trying to track a thirteen-year-old boy before he could tell his little sister who the half-blood prince is


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## Berandor (Jul 24, 2005)

First draft is done, and it's... weird.

Not as weird as the Harry Potter idea, though (and yes, I really did consider that one).

Interesting tidbit: I write while listening to music. The song I was listeing to when I finished the story was "The devil came down to Georgia". From what I read, it's featured in RW's last story (which i still haven't had the time to read ).


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## Berandor (Jul 24, 2005)

Three hours to go, but it's already 12:30 a.m., so here goes!

Ceramic DM Spring 2005 Tournament (Will you bloom already?)
Finals: RangerWickett vs. Berandor

*One hour later, three days ago*

Michael Carpenter hadn’t dreamt since his wife had told him she wanted a divorce, and when she filed for sole guardianship of their daughter, he stopped sleeping altogether.

-

That’s a pretty good beginning to a story, isn’t it? I know you’ve come here for a good yarn, and I will try to oblige. I have to get a few things off my chest, though.

First off, this will be a sad story, at least up to a point. If that’s not to your liking, then you might not want to stay. You might regret leaving, too, but then don’t say I didn’t warn you. 

Then, you’re probably asking yourself who Michael Carpenter is. Let me explain:

Michael Carpenter had been a writer once. In fact, Stella claimed that had been the reason why she married him, to offset her dry and matter-of-fact life as an attorney. Shortly after they’d married, Stella became pregnant. The usual nine months later, she gave birth to a beautiful, blond, now-nearly-six-feet-tall-but-then-much-smaller girl, Samantha. Stella went back to work as soon as she was able to. Michael was at home writing anyway, so he took care of Samantha. He would sit beside her bed and tell her stories, made up on the spot. Watching his daughter inspired him, made his imagination soar. He spent hours just looking at her face, and even more time exploring the world with her. 

Michael and Samantha became an item much more than him and Stella had ever been, and Stella felt the pricks of jealousy, wishing she could spent as much time with Samantha as Michael did, but wishing even more Michael would spend as much time with her. To make matters worse, Michael dedicated his first novel to Samantha, not to her. The novel refused to sell. Secretly, Stella was happy. That’s when her and Michael started arguing, and they didn’t stop for years.

When Samantha was seven, Stella filed for divorce.

»Why?« Michael asked, and Stella answered just as she had so long ago, when he’d asked her why she’d fallen in love with him: Because he was a writer, and an unsuccessful one at that. It had been a hurtful thing to say, and not at all true (though not at all untrue either). 

There had always been two things keeping Michael from being more successful. One, he was the stereotypical nice guy. There was nothing he couldn’t understand, no opinion he couldn’t accept, nothing he couldn’t empathize with. And to be honest, that probably played a large part in Stella leaving him for a hockey goalie. But it also played a part in his writing. As Michael had no spine whatsoever (at least metaphorically), he could not bring himself to tell his imagination to concentrate on one specific project. He had started nineteen novels in the past five years, but finished none.

Two, Michael was unable to keep a deadline, any kind of deadline. He had even missed the date of his birth, his mother spending 27 hours in the delivery room. Whatever he promised Stella to get done on a specific day, he would not get done at all.

Stella might have been required to support Michael financially, but Michael had had to file the papers by a specific date, and naturally he missed this deadline, and he didn’t want to ask Stella personally, didn’t want to appear needy.

And so, Michael had been forced to get a job, his first real job in nine years. And on the day the divorce was finalized, Michael swore that he would do everything to insure Samantha had a good life, and that she would look up to him not as a foolish dreamer, but a successful businessman just like her mother. He stopped writing. During the week, he would work long hours, getting home and falling instantly asleep, so that he could spend the weekend with Samantha. He stopped telling her stories, too. He stopped dreaming.

-

You can imagine how Michael felt when Stella filed for sole guardianship on the grounds that Michael neglected his duties as a parent. And worst of all, it was true. The past months had been very stressful at work and Michael had had no time for Samantha during the days she was with him. And that’s where we begin our story.

-

Michael Carpenter hadn’t dreamt since his wife had told him she wanted a divorce, and when she filed for sole guardianship of their daughter, he stopped sleeping altogether.

»Why?«

»When did you last have time for her?« Stella looked at him with the weary eyes she adopted when dealing with her husband. »When did you do something with her? Visit the zoo, or go swimming? When did you last tell her a story?«

»You know I don’t do that anymore,« Michael said. »I’m a businessman now.«

»But your daughter needs a father.«

There was nothing Michael could say. His mouth opened ready for a scathing response, but only silence emerged. His wife nodded grimly and told him that as soon as possible, she would take Samantha to a country far away, home of the hockey goalie, where people ate fries with vinegar and drank warm beer.

The next months passed in a haze. Michael took pains to make time for his daughter, but his workload increased proportionally to his attempts at working more quickly. And then, suddenly, it was two days before Samantha would leave for good.

-

_Saturday_

»Hey, dad.«

»Hi, Sam.« Michael bowed low to peck her on her cheek. Samantha grimaced.

»I told you to stop doing that. I’m twelve years old!«

»Sorry.« Michael turned to his ex-wife.

»Are you all right?« Stella asked. »You look like you haven’t slept in ages.«

»Tell me about it,« Michael said. He knew he looked terrible: sunken, red eyes almost hidden beneath dark shadows. »I’ve started to carry sleeping pills with me, so I can get a handful of sleep wherever I get the chance, but it doesn’t help.« He showed he the plastic tube of pills.

»I’m sorry. Maybe you should simply work less? Anyway, I’ll fetch Samantha tomorrow at six. Please make sure she’s ready.« Michael nodded, and together with Samantha he waved Stella goodbye as she drove off.

»So, what are we going to do?« Samantha asked. »You said you wanted to go somewhere special.«

»Did I?« Michael said with mock confusion. »Wait. I think I remember.« His face became serious. »I thought we might go to the Renfair.«

Samantha squealed. »Dad, that is so cool! When are we going?«

»As soon as I finish the report I have to write,« Michael said, and watched his daughter’s face fall.

»I’ll be in my room,« she said glumly.

-

»We’ll go tomorrow,« Michael said as they sat down for dinner. »I promise.«

Samantha said nothing. She ate her spaghetti, avoiding Michael’s gaze.

»Really,« he said. »We’ll get up at nine – eight if you want -, and go right after breakfast.«

No response. After sitting and eating in silence for a minute, Michael tried again.

»I noticed you still have the old backpack I gave you for your tenth birthday.« He pointed his fork at the backpack. It was a bulky thing made of black plastic. »Don’t you think you need a new one?«

»I like it,« Samantha said. »It reminds me of a giant beetle.«

Michael looked more closely, but he was unable to see it, the effect of not dreaming anymore. »Really?« he wondered. »How?«

Samantha started to explain, pointing out where the beetle’s horn was, and how the straps were its legs, but soon gave up, seeing the confusion in her father’s eyes.

»So do you want to watch a movie tonight?«

»Not really.«

»What do you want to do?«

»Read.«

»Read? What?«

»A book?« Samantha said, rolling her eyes. »Your book,« she continued, almost whispering.

Michael grimaced. »Sam, we’ve been over this. It’s a bad book, and I was a bad writer. I’m much happier now.« He yawned. »Listen, I’m sorry, but I’m terribly tired. I’m going to bed. I want to be fit for the Renfair.« 

Samantha watched her father gather the dishes and put them into the dishwasher. He yawned again, and went up the stairs to his bedroom to toss around and lie awake all night. When he was gone, she pulled a book out of her backpack. The pages were wrinkled and yellowed, and some had come loose. Slowly, reverently, Samantha opened the book and read the dedication on the first page: “For Sam, my joy, my love, my life. My muse.”

»I love you, dad,« she said. A single tear ran down her face.

-

_Sunday_

The car stopped at office building where Michael worked. The smile Samantha had worn since Michael woke her this morning faded away.

»What are we doing here?«

»I’m just going to copy my report and drop it off, Sam. It’ll take no more than ten minutes. Come, you can wait in my office.«

»Can’t I wait in the car?«

»Don’t be silly. Come now.«

Michael took her up to his office. It was bigger than others, but not the biggest one, so Michael was always reminded of what he had achieved and that he hadn’t achieved everything yet. He logged into the network and sat Samantha down at the computer.

»You can play Hearts while I’m off in the copy room.«

-

It took him a few minutes to copy the report. It was a very important report dealing with the ideal distance of smoking zones to the workplace in order to minimize smoking breaks while still ensuring satisfied employees. Michael’s boss, Candice, had to have the report on her desk on Monday, and she always wanted a print version in addition to the electronic copy.

Finally, the copy machine died down and went back to its state of perpetual preparation. Michael gathered the copy and left the room, nearly colliding with Candice.

»Michael! Good to see you!«

»Candice! I didn’t know you’d be here.« As far as he knew, Candice was married with two children. »It’s Sunday, after all.«

»Paul took the kids to some costume event. I think it’s silly, so I came here instead.«

Candice was a very young woman, younger than Michael even. She had a thing for extravagant hairstyles, and today she wore an exceptionally hideous design. Michael couldn’t help but stare, even though his dream- and sleep-deprived mind could make no sense of her appearance. There were flat blades, spiking out horizontally, and a long woven tail of hair stretching out at the back of her head.

»New hairstyle?« Michael asked.

»It’s a helicopter,« Candice said proudly. »Watch.« She took out a remote control connected and pushed a button. The “rotor” started spinning.

»Very… ah… it must have been very expensive.«

Candice rolled her eyes. »You have no idea. Is that the report?«

Michael followed her gaze to the sheets of paper he was holding. »Huh? Oh, yeah, it is.«

»Great! Why don’t you come to my office so we can discuss it?«

Michael hesitated. Candice looked at him suspiciously.

»Do you have something better to do?« she asked. Her voice had a touch of ice.

»No, of course not,« Michael hastened to say. »Lead the way.« And he followed the spinning blades of helicopter hair, wishing he could fly away, but having no idea how.

-

»Did everything go all right?« Stella asked when she fetched Samantha that evening.

»Yeah, well, I had planned to go to the Renfair with her, but I got held up.«

»Your work.« It wasn’t a question, but her tone mellowed as she continued, »Listen, Michael, we’re leaving tomorrow afternoon. Check-in is at gate nine. Just be there at half past five and you can say goodbye.«

Michael turned to Samantha already sitting in the back of the car. She hadn’t said a word to him after he had left her sitting in his office for several hours.

»I’ll be there, Sam. I promise. Nothing could make me miss this. You know that, don’t you?« 

She said nothing.

»Well,« Stella said, »we’d better get going.«

Michael stared after them for a long time, feeling incredibly hollow inside.

-

_Monday_

When Michael got to work an e-mail was already waiting for him. Candice wanted him to compare productivity with mandated hourly bathroom breaks and with employees deciding to take a break themselves. It was a very important project, so Michael started working on it immediately. Soon, he had forgotten about the events of the weekend as he pursued the deadline. He had become very good at keeping deadlines in the past years. It was one of the few things he was proud of.

Michael stayed in his office through lunch, continuing to work. When he focused on a project like this, he didn’t feel how tired he was, he didn’t feel hunger or thirst. It was like a higher state of being, he often thought, even though it was really more like the degenerate existence of a robot. He worked until Murray entered his office. Michael liked Murray. They would sometimes stand beside the coffee machine and talk about baseball, or basketball – never hockey, though. 

»Didn’t you want to get off early today?« Murray asked.

»Why? What time is it?« Michael looked at his watch. »Oh sh*t! My daughter’s leaving in an hour! I have to get going!« He raced out of his office, down the stairs, and out of the building, onto the big plaza in front of it.

»Michael!« Candice shouted from across the plaza. »I need to talk to you!«

Michael swallowed a curse and forced himself to approach her. »What is it?«

»You’re leaving early today?« Candice said with furrowed brow. »That doesn’t seem like you.«

»I’ve got an appointment,« he said. »You wanted to talk to me?«

»Oh, right. Did you get my message?« Michael nodded. »Good. Do you have some results for me?«

»Candice, I really need to get going,« Michael said.

»Oh, come on. Let’s go to the cafeteria, and you give me a quick rundown. What’s five minutes between friends?«

-

Thirty minutes later, Michael dashed out of the cafeteria and to his car. He sped towards the freeway, cursing Candice and her hair all the way. Suddenly, there was a loud bang as the front tire burst. The car lurched sideways. Michael pulled at the wheel, but to no avail. The car crashed into a parked truck, shaking Michael in his seat. Blinking through the pain, he stumbled away from the car. A few people were gathering around the crash site, staring at Michael.

»I need to get to my daughter,« Michael explained to no-one in particular. He started running. The airport wasn’t far away, perhaps fifteen minutes on foot, but it was late, so late. Michael ran. Sweat poured down his brow, his heart beat painfully in his chest, but the image of Samantha waiting for him at the airport kept him going. His lungs were on fire. His running slowed to a hustle. He still saw Samantha in his mind, but it didn’t help anymore. 

He passed an advertisement for railway transfer to the airport, and marveled at the man with the long legs depicted on the billboard. He could use those legs right now. He banished the thought as quickly as it had come. That was silly thinking, and he was no silly thinker anymore.

Michael’s steps became ever slower, his breath ever more ragged, his hustle a walk, until he had to stop. He fell on his knees, coughing, heart pounding in his chest, and motes of light dancing before his eyes. 

»So this is what a heart attack feels like,« Michael said to himself, and indeed, that was what a heart attack felt like. His left arm went numb.

Someone would find him, but strangely, the thought didn’t fill him with hope. What did he have to stay alive for? Stella had left him years ago, and he had never had another relationship afterwards. He didn’t have any dreams anymore. And now Samantha had left, as well. 

Michael heard a plane flying overhead, and he knew Samantha was on it. He was too late. Tears ran down his face, and still his chest hurt. He had lost everything.

He stood up, and stumbled off the road, into the woods behind the billboard. He only managed a few steps before he fell again. Rolling onto his back, he propped himself up on a small hill, looking at the autumn woods. It was a beautiful day. A soft wind tossed fallen leaves on his body, on his head, covering his vision, but he didn’t wipe them away. He thought about lying there and being totally covered up by leaves, and then by snow, until they would find his body next spring. He liked the idea.

Michael pulled the sleeping pills from his pocket. His chest still hurt, and he might die anyway, but it was best to make sure. He swallowed all of the pills. Then he turned his attention back to his surroundings, allowing his imagination to fill his final breaths. The forest had been painted in watercolors, yellow, red, and orange, and sunlight filtered through the leaves like the gentle fingers of an angel. He listened to the wind sing in the trees and whisper in the bushes, and he smelled the fresh earth beneath him.

And with a final, heaving sigh, Michael Carpenter fell asleep, never to wake up.

-

I told you it was a sad story, up to a point. Well, as you may have guessed, the point is right here. While this is what would have normally happened, this isn’t what actually happened. Some might say it’s because God is someone who can empathize with fathers who lose their children, but in truth, it’s because of the DDDA. The Divorced Dreamer-Dad Association was formed in 1978 when Joshua Rimauld (a Frenchman, but don’t tell anybody) managed to harness the power of imagination and survived an otherwise lethal parachuting accident. In 1998, the DDDA, working in secret, built their greatest invention: a time machine, enabling them to send a small pod a few days back in time. Just like in that TV series, only that the DDDA can only go back three days, and they don’t send people back. Not at all. What they send back is more or less an impulse intended to supercharge one’s imagination, and they sent it back to give Michael Carpenter a second chance.

Michael died in the woods, but then, one hour later, it was three days ago…

-

_Friday_

Michael left the office late. He had hoped to finish his report today, but it had proven too complex. He would have to apply some finishing touches tomorrow. He hoped Sam wouldn’t mind.

He was walking past a smaller side building when he heard a faint sound, not unlike a siren. He looked around, and then up, as he noticed the sound coming from somewhere above him, but he saw nothing. Suddenly, there was a bright flash. Michael reflexively closed his eyes. He opened them again, and then had to blink to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. 

Right in front of him stood a giant ball. No, not a ball, but a structure composed wholly of polished hexagons, an almost round isokaeder. There was another flash in the air, not as bright as the last one, but enough to illuminate the yard as if it was day. 

Slowly, Michael approached the structure. He looked around, but nobody else seemed to have taken notice, probably because most employees had already left. Michael was the only one around. His mind raced. Was this the result of an experiment? If so, was it a failed one, or had it worked? Was it dangerous?

Michael stood right next to the isokaeder now. It was taller than him, and as wide as it was high. Along the hexagons, he could make out slightly glowing seams. The structure didn’t give off any heat. Hesitatingly, Michael reached out his hand and touched it. Instantly, the seams’ glow intensified, and the structure vibrated, pulsated. And then it exploded.

-

Michael shook off the daze and opened his eyes. He found himself lying on the ground thirty feet away from the structure. The structure had blown apart, looking like a broken egg with other pieces of shell lying all about. He wondered what might have hatched from that egg. He pulled out his cell phone to call security, but a sharp pain in his head made him drop the phone. As he picked it up, he remembered that Human Resources had said something of installing a piece of art in the yard. This was probably what they had talked about, and Michael, surprised at seeing it, had imagined things. He laughed at himself and his overactive imagination, and then he went home, still shaking his head, but already forgetting the incident.

-

_Saturday_

»Hey, dad.«

»Hi, Sam.« Michael gave her a peck on the cheek.

»Dad! I’m too old for that!« Samantha complained.

»Just be lucky we’re not Swedish,« he said. »In Sweden, you get as many pecks as you're years old.«

»So I’d get twelve kisses?« She seemed repulsed by the idea.

»Just wait till you’re sixty!« he joked, and they both laughed. Michael turned to his ex-wife.

»Are you all right?« Stella asked. »You look as if you haven’t slept for ages.«

Michael looked up and down the street suspiciously. »I’m not really allowed to tell you,« he said in a whisper loud enough so Samantha could hear as well, »but I’ve stayed awake each night for a secret project I’m working on in my basement.«

»A secret project?« Stella asked incredulously.

»Exactly. I can’t tell you what it is, obviously, it being secret and all, but it has to do with genetics, and constructing an evil clone of Sam that will go with you while the real Sam stays with me.«

»Do we have to go through this again?«

»No, of course not,« Michael protested. »I’m fine. I was just joking.«

»Yeah, but… it doesn’t matter. I’ll fetch Sam tomorrow at six. Make sure she’s ready.«

»Yes, Ma’am.« He saluted. Stella got into the car and drove off.

»What happened to you?« Samantha asked him when she had gone. »You seem… different.«

Michael shrugged. »I don’t know what you mean. Anyway, are you ready to go to the Renfair?«

Samantha let out a little shriek. »The Renfair? That’s so cool! How did you know that?« 

»Well, to be honest, your mother told me.«

Samantha didn’t seem to mind. As they went into the house, she asked, »Are you really fine with us leaving?«

»Of course I am,« he said. »After all, your mother gets the evil clone, doesn’t she?«

-

»Look, I told you it’s an important report. We’ll go tomorrow, all right?«

Samantha didn’t answer. She ate her spaghetti silently. Michael swore inwardly, mostly at himself, for being unable to set that stupid report aside for the weekend. Who needed to know the distance between workplace and smoking zone, anyway? Who cared?

»Look, I promise you. We’ll get up early, and go to the fair right after breakfast. What do you say?« Again, no answer. Michael tried to change the subject.

»I see you still have the old backpack I gave you. Doesn’t it creep you out?«

Samantha looked up. »Why should it?«

»I don’t know,« Michael said. »It kind of looks like a beetle, doesn’t it?«

She almost coughed on her spaghetti. »Really? You think so, too? I thought I was the only one!«

»No way!« Michael said. »Look, the straps are its legs, and there is its horn, and…« A yawn escaped his lips like Harry Houdini from a county prison. »Sorry, Sam. I feel like a flat tire. I need to get some sleep for once. Can I leave you alone?«

»Sure, dad. I’m just going to read a little bit.«

»Hey, that’s nice,« he said while filling the dishwasher. »Better than watching TV, anyhow. A book I know?«

»Yours.«

Michael looked up from the dishwasher. »Wow. I’m flattered. But I’d rather you read some good books.«

»I like it,« Samantha said earnestly. 

»Yeah, well, then you’re the only one.« Another yawn. »Anyway, Sam, don’t stay up too late.«

When Michael had gone upstairs, Samantha pulled her overread copy of his book out and opened it at the dedication.

»I love you, dad,« she said, smiling.

-

_Sunday_

When the car stopped at the office, Samantha’s smile vanished from her face as quick as a mungo dropped into its hole at the sight of a snake.

»What are we doing here?« she asked.

»I just have to drop off my report. Come on, it’ll only take ten minutes tops.«

They went up to Michael’s office. He took Samantha with him to the copy room so she could copy herself making funny faces. When the machine worked on his report, he pointed to its big belly.

»It’s sad, really.«

»What?«

»The copy folk have to work on Sundays, too.«

»The who?«

»The copy folk. Don’t say you’ve never heard of them before. They’re small people living in copy machines. Every once in a while, you have to feed them, or they eat the paper instead of copying it.«

»Yeah, right.« 

Michael gave her a look of exaggerated exasperation. »My own daughter doesn’t believe me. Did you hear that, guys?« he asked in the direction of the copy machine. Right then, the machine spewed out the report’s final page and went into stand-by. »You see? You’ve offended them.«

Samantha rolled her eyes at him.

As they left the room, Michael nearly collided with Candice and her newest try for most disturbing hairstyle in the history of mankind. 

»Hi, Candice! Do you know my daughter Sam?«

»Samantha,« she corrected him.

»No, I haven’t had the pleasure. Nice to meet you, Samantha.« Candice smiled at her, but she seemed unsure whether she should be annoyed at meeting a child at work. »Is that the report?« she asked Michael.

»Yeah. I just, ah, flew in to drop it off in your office. Is that a new hairstyle?«

»Yes, indeed. It’s a helicopter.«

»You don’t say,« Michael said, causing Samantha to giggle.

»Watch!« Candice said, oblivious. She pushed her remote and turned on the rotor.

»Nice!« Michael said, trying not to laugh, while Samantha had long stopped trying. »Must be very useful at parties.«

»Parties?«

»Yeah, you know? For mixing drinks?«

»Oh,« Candice said, her face freezing faster than spittle at the North Pole. »Yes. Do you want to come into my office and talk about the report now?«

»I can’t, sorry. I promised Sam to take her on a little trip to the Middle Ages.« He handed her the papers. »Why don’t you read it on your own first, and I’ll answer any questions you have tomorrow?« He took the still-giggling Samantha’s hand and led her to the stairs.

-

»Did everything go all right?« Stella asked when she fetched Samantha.

»It was great!« Samantha said. »We went to the Renfair, and dad totally sang songs with a bard!«

»You can sing?« Stella asked incredulously.

»No, he can’t.« Samantha giggled. »That’s why it was so funny!«

Stella looked at Michael as if she hadn’t seen him for years. »You did that?« Michael blushed. 

»You should have been there, mom!«

»Maybe I should have. Now, get in the car.« Stella regarded Michael silently for a moment, shaking her head. »You’re still able to surprise me. Anyway, don’t forget, gate nine at half past five if you want to say goodbye.«

»I’ll be there.« Michael said, and then to Samantha, »You’ll come and visit me in the holidays, right?«

»Why?« she answered. »I’m only the evil clone, am I not?«

»Yeah, you are,« Michael said. »You can stay where you are, then.« 

He stared after them for a long time, and despite missing his daughter tremendously, he felt better than he had felt for a very long time.

-

_Monday_

At work, Michael was met with a message to meet up with Candice ASAP. He went right to her office.

»Michael, there you are,« she greeted him.

»What’s up? I practically flew here.« He cursed himself for alluding to her hair, suppressing a grin.

»It’s about the report. It’s not up to your usual standards. We’ll have to talk about that.«

And that’s what they did, up until lunch. When Candice finally let Michael go, she had ordered him to compose a comparative report between employer-mandated and employee-chosen break periods.

»And remember: I need the report tonight.«

Michael nodded and, ignoring his growing hunger, locked himself into his office. Before he started working, he called one of his colleagues.

»Hey, Murray, it’s me. Could you do me a favor and call me up at four? I need to leave early today.«

»No problem, man. I missed you during coffee break.«

»The helicopter lady had me in her clutches.« Murray bellowed a laugh and hung up, not before promising once more to call.

Michael went right to the report, occasionally shaking his head at the silliness of it all. As time sped past, Michael found he couldn’t really focus on working. His mind drifted off, remembering the past day and how happy he and Samantha had been, and how many days he’d spent working instead of doing something fun with her. He started imagining what he’d do when she came over for New Year’s Eve.

The telephone forced him out of his reverie. It was Murray.

»Sorry man, I’m a little late, but I hope you’re still one time.«

Michael looked at his watch. »sh*t!« He raced out of the office building, but as he did so, he saw Candice coming right at him.

»Michael! I need to talk to you.«

Michael shook his head in desperation. Not now. But how could he avoid her? She was his superior. No, she wasn’t. She was his opponent. She was… yes!

In his mind, Michael saw the plaza deserted. Only he and Candice were standing across from each other, dressed in fighting suits. It was a battle against time, a match against Candice and the seconds running out. Michael bowed to Candice, and she did the same. The fight began.

»I need to talk to you about the comparison,« Candice said. Michael saw her avatar throw a deadly punch right at his solar plexus.

»I haven’t finished it.« He blocked, but the force of the blow threw him backwards, into a defensive position. Candice pushed on.

»You haven’t? But it seems like you’re leaving.« A high kick, followed by a leg sweep. She wanted to get him off his feet.

He tried some evasive maneuvers, staggering backwards in the process. »I can’t talk to you right now, Candice. I’ve got an appointment.«

»If you can’t talk to me about work you’re not doing, then I hope your appointment is with a job counselor.« A deadly move. Candice stood on her head and activated the helicopter. She began to turn, slowly at first, then ever faster. Her legs swished past Michael’s head. Candice began to advance, forcing him to backpedal or be hit.

»You know what? I quit!« Michael took a quick step, and then he threw himself forward, jumping over Candice’s rotating legs, coming up running.

Candice watched Michael run past her, blinking in astonishment. In the back of her mind, a tiny voice confessed to envying his choice, but she quickly silenced it and went back to work. 

-

Michael jumped into his car and sped out of the compound. As he turned towards the freeway, a tire exploded with a bang and threw the car against a parking truck. To Michael, the explosion was reminiscent of the bubble holding his hopes bursting apart. He had to get to the airport in time! He stumbled out of the car and past the gathering of curious bystanders. It was only a short run to the airport. He could still do it.

Michael ran. Sweat broke out on his forehead, drenching his clothes. As his chest started to hurt, he forced himself into a steady hustle. Still, he made good way along the streets. He passed an advertisement for railway transfer, and looking at the long-legged man made him laugh so hard he had to stop running for a moment.

Panting, he wiped the sweat from his brow. »I don’t suppose you could carry me to the airport?« he asked the man on the billboard. 

»Are you kidding?« the man said. He turned his head left and right, and when nobody was looking, he stepped out of the billboard. »Do you have any idea how my legs hurt at night? I’m not going to carry anybody.«

»But I need to get to the airport in time to say goodbye to my daughter,« Michael pleaded. The man pondered this.

»I’ll tell you what,« he finally said. »I’m going to run alongside you, so you know to keep a constant pace. Just try to stay on my heels, and we’ll get there in no time. What do you say?«

»If that’s your best offer, I’ll take it.« 

The man walked in the long, awkward strides of a two-legged spider. Michael hustled alongside him. Or, at least he imagined he did, because obviously billboards don’t come to life outside of a Steve Martin movie. But imagining having the man beside him helped Michael overcome his chest pain, his burning lungs and most of all the lazy part of him that didn’t want to exercise, no matter why or how.

Finally, he saw the airport in front of him.

»I have to leave now,« the long-legged man said. »If the train company gets wind of me taking off, I’ll lose my job.« He patted Michael on the back. »Good luck!« Then he turned, and walked back the way they’d come.

»Thanks!« Michael called after him, and then renewed his pace. He entered the airport running, sweating, looking for Samantha. Suddenly, he stopped, and cursed. He had forgotten the gate number. Desperation flooded over him, trying to drown him as the dam of his hopes fell apart.

»No,« he said, and took a deep breath. »I will find her.« And he set off at a brisk pace.

-

And that’s my story. Michael went on to write several very successful books, and soon he moved to the country across the ocean where Samantha lived, and they saw each other regularly. He even found another wife, but that’s neither here nor there.

As to why he didn’t suffer from a heart attack like he did the first time around, the answer to that question should be obvious. Whereas originally, his heart had been reduced to a mere organ, the second time around it was filled with hope and love and imagination, a powerful cardiological protection, as any doctor worth his salary knows (though granted, not many doctors are worth their salary).

Many of you will probably claim this is a silly story, and anyway, there’s nothing like the DDDA, and the comment about God was disrespectful. Well, maybe you’re right. If you’re so intent on keeping things real, then you should stop reading before the pod gets sent back in time. It’s your choice: Do you want Michael comitting suicide on a warm autumn day? Or do you want someone to save him, even if you have to accept a little time travel along the way? I know what I want.

As to whether Michael found Samantha at the airport and said goodbye to her? Well, of course he did. 

After all, she was the only girl around with a beetle on her back.


----------



## Berandor (Jul 24, 2005)

Whoa! There it is!

[sblock] To be honest, I'm afraid the story doesn't work at all, but that's the one I had in my mind, and with time running short... oh, well, maybe it's just a lack of distance to it, and I'm totally wrong about it.

Still, I like the idea, but I'm not convinced at the execution. Let's hope RW's finger gave him more trouble than he suspected [/sblock]


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## RangerWickett (Jul 25, 2005)

Berandor, you do realize you still have over 24 hours left, right?


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## reveal (Jul 25, 2005)

RangerWickett said:
			
		

> Berandor, you do realize you still have over 24 hours left, right?




Ya, the pictures were posted on July 22 and it's only the 24th.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 25, 2005)

I was gonna say something, but I figured that would be cruel.....

Thanks for doing it for me  

Maybe it was just a cunning plan to fool RW into posting before he was finished....


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## BSF (Jul 25, 2005)

Maybe it's Berandor's self-handicapping plan?  Is this really a subtle effort at smack talking?  I mean, Berandor is practically saying he doesn't need a full 72 hours to win.  You have got to admire that type of audacity in the final round.


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## BSF (Jul 25, 2005)

How did I miss that?  According to the board, today is Maldur's birthday.  Of course, today is almost over so I guess that means it will be yesterday for most readers.  

Belated or otherwise - *Happy Birthday Maldur!*


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## Maldur (Jul 25, 2005)

Thanks, BardStephenFox


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## Berandor (Jul 25, 2005)

Happy birthday, Maldur!

I remembered I had a day left as I went to bed. Doesn't matter. What's done is done, the entry's good enough as it is. I mean, who needs 72 hours, really?

This lame attempt at smack-talking was brought to you by the latter M.


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## Berandor (Jul 25, 2005)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:
			
		

> Maybe it was just a cunning plan to fool RW into posting before he was finished....



That's a cool idea! From now on, this will be my answer.


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## RangerWickett (Jul 26, 2005)

Ceramic DM – Summer 2005
Round 3, Final Match
By RangerWickett

Open email. Soundtrack: Prince’s “Lament for Di” (1997)

_Dear Chou,

I’m sad to hear that the Supermarket warden denied your request for sanity trial. They’re morons. I’d talk to the police, but they looked like they wanted to put me away too when I told them my fiance was the devil, and that he had threatened to poison me and ruin my career as a model if I didn’t marry him. To make matters worse, they pushed back the trial a few more months, so he’s out on bail, free to do whatever he wants. The police are incompetent. All they told me was that the people in charge of Red Market were putting pressure on them to keep Mickey out of jail “for a little while longer.” The private investigator I hired to follow Mickey said he lost him.

I think something bad is coming, Chou. The netnet is still frozen in some places, the news is busy talking about how all sorts of infrastructure is slowed down, and now with Mickey vanishing, I’m scared.

I promise I’ll find a way to get you out, alright? Right now, I’m hoping that if I can raise public awareness about you, it will help your case. I’ve sent out a letter explaining your situation (though I left out some of the stranger stuff with Mickey), and I’ve asked all my friends to send the letter on to at least ten friends each, and them each on to another ten. I’ve also got the $10,000 you said you needed to get your belongings out of the safety deposit box, but wouldn’t it be easier for me to give it directly to your security contractor, instead of trying to get it to you in the Supermarket? Either way, I trust you.

Chou, you were my savior. Even if you are a little addled in the head – and who can blame you, being stuck in that asylum – you’re the most honest person I know. These letters between us have made this one of the happiest times of my life. I know you’re suffering there, but whenever I print out one of your letters and clasp it to my bosom, I feel warmth knowing that you love me. And warmth is especially important now.

I’ve arranged for a special shipment of organic peaches, since I heard that there’s been some hiccups in the normal deliveries. I hope they’re enough to tide you over. Oh, and . . . heheh, I’ve attached some _photos_ of myself. I hope they keep you warm until I’m able to see you again.

Winks and Love,
Jessica_​


I opened the pics with a faint smile. They were promotional shots from Jessica’s latest _Chicks with Guns_ movie, and she looked as gorgeous as Helen of Troy, if Helen of Troy was covered in sweat and armed to the teeth with the latest high tech firepower.

I hadn’t seen a movie in two and a half years.

Months had passed since I had driven off the devilish Mickey O’Malley, manager of the Toco Hill Red Market, whose evil plan of hypercommunism would have reduced the world to homogeneity. My reward had been to return to the Supermaket, along with all the former employees of Red Market. Lunatics all of them, probably in no small part to working under O’Malley.

For the first time in several weeks, I made my way to my father’s reflecting garden at the virtual North Korean embassy. The trees and lake were frozen, covered in the digital ice that had lingered on the netnet since January, when my roommate El-Hadje had sabotaged the Atlanta network to cover his escape from the Supermarket.

“Chou,” my father said, “what darkness have you brought to my already bleak world today?”

He stood on a bridge over a frozen brook, running his gloved hands across the icy wood. I knew he blamed me for much of what had happened, though he only had rumors of the truth.

“I don’t have any bad news,” I said, more than a little irritated. “I came to spar.”

Like so many times in the two years since I had been institutionalized, my father and I sparred quietly in the digital construct of his garden. I listened to the angry metal remix of the Starcraft VII end credits, and my every punch and kick was fueled by two years of pent-up frustration and a desire to get out.

My father’s final blow sent me into the air and down onto the hard surface of the lake. The ice did not even crack with the impact. Fallen leaves were frozen beneath me, unable to die, trapped in an endless winter.

I stood and bowed to my father. He did not seem to notice.

“Chou, it is not enough that you bring me no bad news. There is nothing beautiful left in my world. Look, all is ice, snow, pale and white. Even in the real garden, the plants do not flourish, the flowers do not blossom. You are my son, but simply being my son – for neither good nor ill – is not enough.”

“Why not?” His words stung me.

He thought for a moment, then said, “It’s just not. There is so much more to this world, Chou. Why should I settle for what is merely good enough?”

He walked away from the lake.

“Goodbye, son,” he said, and then he logged off.

I left as well, muting my payback rock which felt so hollow now. Sitting in the virtual waiting room of the Starcraft arena, I clenched my fists, trying to press all my anger down.

I could feel freedom, just outside my grasp. I might be able to bribe the doctors to sane me, but no doubt O’Malley would have bribed them with more. I could try to escape, but security was up with the new crowd of inmates, and even if I succeeded I’d be a fugitive. I still had my netnet, and the Batwarden looked favorably on me because he couldn’t pin down which Batman villain I most resembled. I had a gorgeous woman who loved me waiting for me outside, and the frustrating presence of my fat, waddling new roommate keeping me from enjoying decent online time on the inside.

Hausten “Lame Duck” Von Mallard cleared his throat on cue, reminding me I was not alone in the real world.

“You are verking? Getting music, _ja_?”

“No,” I said, logging off and glaring at him. “I’m not working anymore.”

“Vhy not?”

“’Cause I gotta go to work.” I stowed my netnet, tied on my apron, and headed out the door, leaving Von Mallard to the book he was reading, _I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings_.

I wanted out now more than ever.

*	*	*​
Lee-Chin, affectionately known as Iron Chef Murder, was serving free samples to customers in the produce section. I nibbled on one of the peaches Jessica had given me, waiting for a lull so I could talk with her. She was as pleasant as you could expect for someone who had made an entire elderly community into unwilling cannibals. I hear the dessert had been delicious, though.

“Oh, Chou! How are you?” She grinned, one of her eyes half-closed with a tic. “Have some lunch.”

I took the offered tiny plate of fish and rice, and started to eat with the tiny plastic spoon, like the one used for sampling ice cream. I ate, trying to ignore the lingering stares from the various inmate-employees who knew I was responsible for their transfer from Red Market. The store was crowded just with all the new workers, and with the customers it felt like an overloaded server. Everyone was on edge, and nothing was getting done.

After a few bites, I grimaced.

“This isn’t organic,” I said. “Lee-Chin, I thought we had an agreement. Nobody here’s going to get better if they keep eating the crap Batwarden feeds us.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, her eye twitching. “The organic shipment didn’t come today. But this is all canned food. Not nearly as perishable.”

I frowned and was about to walk away when I caught the smell of roses and overheard a faint tune I recognized as Will Smith’s “Getting’ Jiggy Wit It.” Against my will, I felt a tug below my gut, a bit of longing as I remembered the time when, in the dark, a strange prickly woman had pressed me down and forced me to accept a mission to kill the devil. My assassin days were long over, but I had long wondered who the woman had been.

I turned, trying to find the music, finally spotting a young black woman, her hair woven with vines into a trellis of strange shapes, almost as if her hair had a life of its own. She was listening to headphones, pulling chemically-treated lettuce from the produce refrigerator. She smiled and looked at me, and for a moment I thought her hair moved on its own. My attention was distracted by her strange hair, and it took me a moment to realize when she broke into a run and fled.

I gave chase, following her down the employee-only hallways, lined with freezers and crates of drugged fruit. She dodged around a dumbfounded janitor, then hurled two heads of lettuce at me before ducking around a corner. The first head of lettuce struck the floor and cracked open, spewing forth a green gas, thick with the cloying scent of roses. The second struck me in the leg and grabbed me with leaves lined with thorns. I held my breath and swung my leg into the wall, cracking the second head of lettuce, which released another sickly sweet burst of green vapor.

Coughing, I staggered back down the hallway, until I found clean air. When I looked back, the woman was gone, but the janitor lay dead, his hands clutching his throat. An expression of shock was on his face, but his eyes were quickly dissolving, and roses sprouted from the sockets.

My playlist switched over to a love song by Chirnabog, that demon from _Fantasia_. I caught motion in the corner of my eye behind me, and I turned to see a young boy, staring at me with a smirk.

“Get out of here,” I said. “It’s not safe. Stupid kid. Don’t you know you should never go into an ‘Employees Only’ area?”

I bent down and pulled thorns out of my leg from where the lettuce had struck me, expecting the boy to head back out into the main store. Instead he walked past me, toward the lingering cloud of floral death.

“Stop!” I said. “It’s poisonous.”

On the boy’s back, something shimmered darkly, and for a moment I thought I saw a giant bug clinging to his shoulders, whispering into the boy’s ear. Before I could stop him, the boy walked through the gas, and after a few seconds of violent shaking, he fell to the round, gagging and whimpering.

I ran forward, covering my mouth, and grabbed the boy’s leg to pull him out of the mist. My eyes burned, but I spotted something dark scuttling away down the hall. The boy began to cough, and I dragged both of us to safety.

“Chou,” a voice whispered from beyond the mist, “I knew you could see me. And I am _certainly_ watching you. It will only be a matter of time before your oh-so-organic antidotes run out, and then you will work for me. You have powers you do not realize, powers that will be quite useful to me.

“But,” the voice continued, “I’d much rather work with you as equals. Come to me through the mist. I know you have great strength, that this world is not so real to you as it is to others. You will be safe. Come to me, and I can free you.”

I looked down at the boy. His skin was blistered with vines, his eyes tinged green with toxin, but he was alive. I snorted mockingly.

“Don’t tempt me,” I said.

“Too late,” the voice said.

The green mist had faded, sucked away by the Supermarket’s air conditioning. There was nothing in the hallway beyond the mist. No thorn woman, and no evil bug.

I might have been going mad. The organic food might have been losing out to the overwhelming strength of the hallucinogens in the Supermarket’s cleaning solution. But I could not believe what I had seen was a hallucination. There was only one to whom I could turn for help now.

*	*	*​
Tim Curry was singing “I Can Make You a Man” from the Rocky Horror Reunion Tour as I made my way down the alley on Peachtree Street on the netnet. The road was slick, and the alley was deep, but not deep enough. Before I had walked this way and had found a hidden forest. Now I found only the brick wall of the back of the playhouse theater.

“Damn,” I muttered. “Where is that stupid co-”

A cluck from behind me cut me off. I turned and saw the rooster, hovering three feet off the ground. “Chou, you have come. Took you long enough. Follow me.”

The rooster vanished, and I shook my fist at it. “How am I supposed to follow when you disappear?”

“Location is all about perception,” said the rooster, and I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to look, and saw that the brick wall had disappeared. The rooster clucked and floated away, leading me into the forest.

“Enough with the mentor Morpheus crap,” I said. “Ever since I ran into you, I’ve been seeing things in the real world that shouldn’t happen, but that I know aren’t hallucinations.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Yeah,” I said, sneering, “I know I have no proof. But I don’t sound crazy, do I?”

“How should I know?” the rooster said. “I’ve never heard you sing.”

Neither one of us said anything for a moment, and then I broke the silence.

“What? Now? Do you want me to sing?”

“Are you afraid?” the rooster asked. It watched me with the intense gaze of a sage.

I didn’t reply.

“Very well,” the rooster said. “You _are_ insane, because you work at a Supermarket. You’re less insane than some, but as long as you stay where you are, you’ll never be free.”

“Obviously I am insane, because I thought a talking rooster would have something more important to say.”

The rooster sighed. “The world is built on people’s beliefs and perceptions. You have a special power in that you _don’t_ believe that. You think the world just is, so the beliefs of others can’t affect you. That’s why you haven’t gone crazy, despite the fact that everyone expects an asylum inmate to be insane. Everyone’s a little insane, because they let other people influence who they are.”

“What are you saying?”

“Working at a Supermarket is a crappy job. Stay there, and whether you believe it or not, you’ll be shaped into the same level of mediocrity the customers expect. You’ll become the same as everyone else – faceless, dreamless, hopeless. Just the way a communist would want you to be.”

“Uh huh.” I shrugged. “You’re still not explaining why I keep seeing animals all over the place.”

“Well, this is hard, because you don’t believe the world changes to perceptions. But perhaps you’ll accept that _perceptions_ change based on perception.”

I waited.

“Stand on your head, Chou,” the rooster said. “Should be easy for a martial artist like yourself.”

I started to stand on my head, asking, “What is this for?”

“When you turn the world on its head, everything is upside down and backwards. In genetics they’re called restriction enzymes – palindromic strings of base pairs that turn genes on or off. In the netnet, coding works the same way, with palindromic strings of ones and zeroes. Restriction coding always looks the same way, even upside down, but read the code backward, and. . . .”

Just then I got my balance, my weight supported by my hands and head. The forest around me was obscured with a flickering cascade of snow, through which I could barely make out what looked like the exterior of the Supermarket. I had not seen it since I had first been committed two years ago. The encoding was very realistic, but there were glitches, huge hexagonal polyhedrons sitting in the open where there should have been a field of grass.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“That’s the code when you read it backward. That is what you so foolishly call ‘the real world.’ If you wanted right now, you could cross your eyes and pop into ‘the real world.’ It’s like Terra, and we’re on Gaia, practically identical, but, well, a wee bit different where it counts.”

The rooster shoved me in the leg, and I lost my balance, tumbling to the ground. I cursed and stood up, swiping at the rooster. It vanished and reappeared a few feet to the side.

“I didn’t want you running off yet,” the rooster said. “That’s why you can see these strange creatures. For a  moment your mind wandered, and something unconscious read the code backward, revealing something that should not have been there. Mickey O’Malley, your ‘devil’? He was possessing the boy you rescued. He’s that little bug you saw.”

“It wasn’t a little bug,” I muttered. 

“Sorry, what was that? I had feathers in my ears.”

I tried twisting my head and leaning sideways so I could get upside down again, but it wasn’t working. I grumbled. I had always been good at video games, good at playing around with the netnet if not really understanding it. I didn’t care why it worked, but if what the rooster was saying was true, I could get out and go to Jessica.

Solemnly, the rooster said, “You want to see the woman you love. I tell you now, it’s not safe. El-Hadje is still threatening the two worlds with his digital sorcery, and O’Malley only hasn’t killed you yet because he thinks he could use someone with your natural talent.”

“What do I do, then?”

“You have to stop El-Hadje first. At O’Malley’s directive, your Nigerian friend has stopped all shipment of organic food to the Supermarket. You may have a greater task ahead of you, but if you cannot restore the shipment, you’ll end up in the big supermarket in the sky.”

“What were those objects I saw in the ‘real world?’”

The rooster, floating, turned upside down and squinted at nothing. “Planar gates. El-Hadje must have hacked the local network. I imagine that’s how the druid was able to get into the Supermarket. Hm. This could be useful.”

“El-Hadje is in Savannah,” I said. “Even if I do believe what you’re saying, and I got out of the asylum, I’d have to get to Savannah before I could deal with him.”

The rooster chuckled. “You can get to Savannah easily enough on the netnet. Cross over then. You have more free reign on this side.”

“And what am I supposed to do?” I asked. “Kill him? I’m no assassin.”

“No, you’re not. At least not in this story. But you’d better hurry. Whatever O’Malley’s planning, it’s going to come to a head soon. To defeat him and El-Hadje you will need powerful magic, things primordial from the earliest days of the netnet.”

The rooster began to fade out, and the forest started to reboot as a different location.

“Wait,” I said. “If the netnet is code, and the real world is just that code reversed, then where’s the _real_ real world?”

The rooster was gone, and I was standing in a virtual recreation of some historical house in Savannah. Plato’s The Cave: the Musical began to play, and I skipped to the next track angrily. A commercial ditty from the early days of Wendy’s started to play, and I started to wonder if the rooster had tinkered with my playlist.

One brief search later, and I had the address of El-Hadje’s new place of employment. The digital storefront of the Chatham Street Wendy’s was cluttered with delivery options and offers for recipes. I remembered coming here once before when I needed to buy an obscure music track. The site had not been user-friendly, but at least here, out of Atlanta, not everything was covered with ice.

I did not truly believe I would be able to get free, but I had no other options worth trying, so I stood on my head and saw the view shift to the real world. Cars were streaming through the drive-thru, the drone employees of the fast food chain having already prepared appropriate food as soon as the car’s computer alerted them that it was headed their way.

I crossed my eyes, and fell over onto the parking lot. I stood, stared in through the window, and saw El-Hadje standing behind the register. Flexing my hands for a fight, I pressed open the door and walked into the restaurant.

The line was short, but I waited patiently. I had escaped the asylum. I did not mind if a few Big Bacon Classics barred the way to my ultimate goal.

“El-Hadje,” I said when it was my turn to order.

“Yes?” he had the same half-eager, half-confused grin I remembered.

“So pleasant to see you again, old friend.”

He squinted, nodded, and said, “Yes. _Il-shihatra shadammu arlan._”

The register and counter exploded outward like a grenade had gone off, spraying debris through the dining room. I covered my face to block the shrapnel, and while I was looking away, El-Hadje kicked me in the stomach, his long legged-strike knocking me off my feet.

“Big ice time. Make big money, yes?”

I wiped blood from my mouth and rolled out of the way of his next kick, then used the waiting line railing to pull myself up as I lashed out with my foot at the tall Nigerian’s face. It connected and knocked him back, and I flipped across the railing. Customers cried out in terror and fled.

“Why are you doing it?” I asked. “Just the money?”

El-Hadje smiled teeth and shrugged, obviously not understanding me. He was easily a foot and a half taller than me, and his kicks kept me back, though he never got any more strong hits in. I backed away, using tables as cover. I grabbed a chair and tried to hurl it at El-Hadje, but he rushed while I was turning to throw, and his kick knocked me into one of the booths.

He grabbed the same chair I was going to use and lifted it to smash down on me, but I rolled out of the seat and under the table, then scrambled past El-Hadje’s legs. He swung the chair down at me anyway, but I dodged. When I came to my feet, I had a table, covered with hastily-abandoned dinner, between us.

“Turn off the ice,” I said. “You’re ruining Atlanta.”

El-Hadje laughed. “No. You, ah . . . you say, not in Atlanta, yes? You no ice?”

He had a point. I had gotten out of Atlanta, had left the ice behind. I could go on living my own life, and Jessica could get out of Atlanta too. We’d be free together.

I glanced out the window and saw it was starting to snow. El-Hadje had been muttering under his breath while I had been stuck thinking about escaping. Thunder rumbled, shaking the building, and El-Hadje smiled an entirely different sort of grin than I had ever seen on his face. 

“This is going to hurt, isn’t it?” I said.

He narrowed his eyes at me and snarled, “Yes.”

I cartwheeled sideways and crossed my eyes, just as the room filled with an intensely bright flash of light. My skin felt like it was boiling for a second, but then I was upside down, seeing and existing back on the netnet, and the lightning stroke El-Hadje had conjured crackled through empty space on the real world. By the time I finished my cartwheel and landed upright on my feet in the real world, the lightning had faded.

El-Hadje was laughing, looking to the blackened spot in the center of the Wendy’s where he thought he had disintegrated me. He did not see me now, but I doubted I could defeat him, and even if I could kill him, I’d have no way to reverse what he had done to the netnet. Indeed, it seemed likely that he was planning to expand the ice beyond merely Atlanta.

The rooster had said I would need powerful old magic to defeat El-Hadje. I wracked my mind, trying to think of something, and then I remembered Jessica’s plan on getting me out: a chain letter. I slipped back into the netnet to compose one.

A moment later, El-Hadje’s maniacal laughter over his victory was interrupted by the beeping that indicated he had gotten a new message. I’d had to trade the Neal Stephenson and William Gibson duet “Glossololia Blues” to get the letter translated in a hurry into Nigerian, but it read something like this:

_Dear sir or madam,

Some people say words have power. Let your words be your wings, to carry you to greatness in your life. The more people you tell, the more power will reach you.

Send this letter to twelve people in the next minute, and you’ll gain great wealth and a promotion, plus love and a free trip to CyberDisneyland. If you don’t, all your personal files and supernatural powers will be transferred to the person who sent you this letter, including any abilities you might have to influence weather in either the real world or the netnet.

This really works!

Beth VanAldersberg sent along this letter to her writing circle, and her next short story was published. She ended up marrying her editor at CyberDisneyland after winning a million dollars in a celebrity boxing match against Mickey Mouse._​
I watched, balanced on my head in the netnet as El-Hadje logged on through his wireless connection to read the letter. As soon as he was online, I crossed my eyes and returned to the real world so he wouldn’t see me. His body was squinting, his expression increasingly confused. I gave him about fifteen seconds to read the letter, and then I kicked him in the groin. He cried out in pain and fell over, twitching as the pain forced him out of the netnet.

“Does that hurt, a**hole?” I asked, grinning.

“Yes,” he whimpered.

“Vhat is going on?” a voice asked across realities. “You shouldn’t svear, Chou.”

My body suddenly began to tingle, and I fell upward into the netnet. I rolled over and realized I was back in the alley on Peachtree Street, and that I was being poked by Von Mallard. I tried to transfer back to the Savannah node, but Von Mallard shook me.

“Hurry Chou. Ze Batvarden is coming.”

I cursed again and logged off, hoping that El-Hadje wasn’t able to recover enough to send out a dozen emails. I was dazed, not sure whether I had ever been in the real world, or if it had all been a trick of the netnet. I hit the emergency button the netnet and it leapt magnetically to the ceiling, flattening out of sight.

The door burst open and in strode the Batwarden, flanked by two supervisors. 

He growled at us, “Senwan, Von Mallard, get your uniforms on. Half the inmates have gone crazy. Crazier than usual. Craziest, perhaps. They’re nuts, and we’re taking them off duty. You two need to get out there and man the registers. Damn. If only it’d rain. We’ve got too many customers to handle.”

It was very difficult to keep my pasted-on smile in place, but finally the Batwarden, Pam, and Jill left, and I was able to grumble, as was my god-given right. Just as I was mumbling in Korean about how much I hated comic books, a jolt ran through me, and I felt as if something had struck me.

“Hausten,” I said, “I got it. We’re saved, in more ways than one.”

“Vell, I guess zat’s good to hear,” he said, adjusting his apron. “Chou? You ever vant to run away?”

I grinned. “Used to. But not anymore. I’ve got a better way out now.”

One quick email later, and I was out the door. There were customers to serve. Got to pay my way, y’know?

*	*	*​
The front service area was pandemonium. A hundred customers, two cashiers, with dozens of inmates wandering the aisles, too many to be reigned in by the orderlies and supervisors. Something had happened – too many chemicals in the food, perhaps – and all the employees except me and Hausten had gone out of control, trapped in dementia. I suspected Hausten had been stealing my organic peaches, but that was the least of my worries.

As each customer came by, I handed them a free c-stick of music, programmed with Los Lobos’ medley “Wicked Rain/Across 110th Street,” lying to them that if they played it on their way home, they’d get a refund. Through the thick walls of the Supermarket, I slowly heard the trembling hint of an approaching storm. The ritual to rewrite the weather of Atlanta was powerful, needing to performed in many places at once, but I now knew how El-Hadje had frozen the city, and I knew how to fix it.

My coworkers were starting to rebel, pulling food down from the shelves, claiming they were infested with bugs. Even Hausten started to panic as the angry lines of customers backed up and we ran out of umbrellas and the fresh toasted sub station’s toaster broke and our supervisors hid in their offices to avoid the complaints of the customers.

Then the storm let loose its fury upon the Supermarket, and customers began to flee, fearful of buying groceries only to have them be soaked in the storm. No new cars of college students or mini-vans of soccer moms arrived, and slowly, over the course of an hour that wore the letters off the cashier station keys and left my throat hoarse from thanking the customers for shopping with us, the store emptied. Soon, all who were left were Hausten, myself, our hiding supervisors, and our lunatic co-workers.

Our co-workers wandered like zombies, mindlessly shopping, harmless as long as you stayed away.

“I zink ve should lock up before anyvone else comes in,” Von Mallard said.

“Yeah, but I need your help. We’ve got to make it back to the loading dock. I’m expecting a shipment.” 

Hausten wavered, uncertain. I glared at him and said, “Now,” causing the storm overhead to crackle with thunder as an assistance.

He nodded and huddled close to me, following as I made a path through the frozen foods section, across to the seafood section, past produce, and then between cheese and pre-packaged lunchmeat to reach the loading dock. Along the way I had to trip and kick a few of my co-workers, but we made it through safely.

I tossed Hausten an organic peach and we both chewed as we worked to unlock the secured loading dock doors.

“Chou, vhy are you in zees asylum?”

“I pirated every song, _ever_. Any requests?”

“Freebird?”

I nodded, and quickly downloaded a copy to the Supermarket speaker system.

“What about you?” I asked.

“I am ze reincarnation of Hitler. Zey say zat like it’s a bad zing.”

We pushed the loading dock door open, revealing the silver sheet of rain that lay between us and freedom. Nothing happened, and Von Mallard glared at me. I was suddenly nervous, wondering if perhaps O’Malley had learned of my plan.

I heard an engine outside in the rain, and then through the curtain of the storm, a supply truck appeared, reversing into the dock. The driver’s side door opened, and out stepped Jessica. She sprinted through the rain and leapt into my arms, kissing me.

“I did just like you said, Chou. All the organic wine in all the storehouses in Atlanta. Oh, Chou, the ice, it’s vanishing. The rain is wiping it away.”

I took a moment to look at her, drenched in a white t-shirt, a dashing smile perfected by a career bent toward being beautiful. I kissed her, then held her tightly for a moment, my first touch of real freedom.

I pointed at the wine. “Quickly. We’ve got to pour this into the water system.”

“What for?” Jessica asked.

“I’m going to turn water to organic wine, then set off the sprinklers. O’Malley has poisoned the minds of all the inmates here, and I intend to free them.”

“But is that safe? Aren’t they insane?”

“From a certain point of view,” I said. “Look, Jess. I’ve been stuck here for two years for trying to share music with everyone. They thought that was insane. But what’s really insane is working for a piece of s**t job like this. I _have_ done some bad things while I’ve been here, and I want to put it right before I leave. I want to share one last thing with the people here before I leave.”

She looked at me, nervous. “What?”

“I vill help,” Von Mallard said stiffly.

I hesitated. I had forgotten he was there, and had thought he would have run off. But I nodded. “Let’s hurry.”

As we worked, I kept glancing at Jessica, and she at me. Finally the last of the wine was poured, the system sealed, and we were ready to turn on the sprinklers. There was an operating office near the loading dock, where everything in the store was controlled, from the intercom to the sprinklers to the lights.

I walked in and was about to turn on the sprinkler when the door swung shut behind me. I spun and looked through the window, seeing Von Mallard holding Jessica by her arm. The fat German man grinned and straightened proudly.

“Please allow me to introduce myself. I’m a man of vealth and taste. Pleased to meet you. Hope you guess my name.”

“Chou!” Jessica cried.

From behind Von Mallard’s back, a giant black bug crawled up, its claws digging into the man’s flesh. The bug whispered into Von Mallard’s ear, and he nodded.

“I vill still have my bride. Ze victory is mine, Chou Senwan.”

He started to back away, pulling Jessica with him, and I screamed at him as Jessica screamed for my help. I punched at the reinforced glass, at the steel door, but I was trapped. Von Mallard laughed and turned away.

I turned and punched the button to turn on the intercom, then thumbed the sprinkler button.

Crimson spray, the organic wine of heaven, poured forth from the sprinklers of the Supermarket, cascading like the cleansing rain of heaven upon the inmates of the Supermarket Asylum. All across the store, their numbing insanity washed away, and the inmates began to dance as music played, the karaoke version of Johnny Cash’s “Thing Called Love.” 

_Six-foot-six, he stood on the ground, 
He weighed two hundred and thirty-five pounds, 
But I saw that giant of a man brought down to his knees by love._​
Jessica struggled and pulled her arm free from Von Mallard, and she lent her voice to the song. 

_ He was the kind of a man who would gamble on luck, 
Look you in the eye and never back up, 
But I saw him cryin' like a little whipped pup because of love._​
Von Mallard, guided by the evil of O’Malley, tried to grab Jessica again, but she spun and kicked him in the crotch, bringing him to his knees. Jessica ran to the door to the office and together we managed to force it open. I embraced her, both of us drenched in wine.

When we looked for Von Mallard O’Malley, he was gone.

*	*	*​
Finally, after the madness had been swept away and we were certain Von Mallard had been driven off, I opened the doors to the asylum, and made one last announcement.

“By the grace of one good rooster, you’re all as sane as anyone else in this crazy world. Believe me, I know.”

The store was fully cleaned out by the time Jessica and I danced our way through the front doors, accompanied by “The Zydeico Nutcracker Suite.” The rain had stopped, and a rainbow spread across the sky, across the very wall of the Supermarket itself. Jessica and I laughed, whirling under the blue sky of freedom, dancing and cartwheeling until we could barely hear the music blasting out from the doors of the place that had been my prison for two long years.

I grabbed Jessica at her waist, spun her in the air, and gently placed her on the ground in a headstand. As the last notes crescendoed, I leapt over her, and we both disappeared, carrying our freedom to another world.

*	*	*​
In the virtual garden of the North Korean embassy, Ambassador Senwan looked out at the thawed lake, scattered with fallen leaves. The heavens were reflected in its surface, and for a moment the old man thought he saw his son’s face, accompanied by some white woman. He frowned for a moment, then relaxed and chuckled.

The lake was beautiful. In its presence he could afford to not be unhappy, just for a while.

*Part Three: Supermarket Messiah
The End*






*	*	*​
*Epilogue*_
Months later . . ._

“Lame Duck” Von Mallard had been running for a long time, but all the running had not helped him shed his weight. He was scared now. Though he had finally made his way back to his homeland of Germany, and though the voice in his head whispered that he would be able to create a fourth Reich, he was afraid. Someone was following him.

“Chou,” he muttered. “Vho else could it be? But how could zis be? ”

His heart pounding from the strain of running, Von Mallard staggered past a billboard, pointing the way to the airport. He could have taken the train, but that would cost money, leaving a trace that Chou could follow. It was so hard to keep ahead of Chou now that El-Hadje’s gates had been destroyed.

The devil was on the run. Someone was following him, and he was afraid to look back.

Chou stepped out from behind the billboard, smiling and watching the sluggish man’s frightened flight.

“Honey,” Jessica said, placing a hand on his chest and pulling herself against his back, “when you said we’d visit Europe, I thought it’d be pleasure, not business.”

He turned in his wife’s arms and kissed her. “This isn’t pleasure for you? I kinda enjoy watching him running scared.”

She nuzzled his face and smiled. “Just kick his a** and get it over with.”

“Nah,” Chou said. “I’m not the violent type. I just need to keep tabs on him to make sure he doesn’t try anything. Come on, let’s get some Berlinners.”

Chou grabbed Jessica at her waist, and they teleported away, leaving music in their wake.

Once they were gone, a rooster stepped out of the shadows and shook its wings. “Thought they’d never leave.”

The rooster set a quick pace, following the devil into the sunset.


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## RangerWickett (Jul 26, 2005)

Berandor, I am amazed by your story. That is some genius work. Sappy as hell, to be sure, but I like sappy stories. It was a good time for me to read it.  I've been angry at my ex-girlfriend for what I perceived as her bitterness toward me, and having been shown that it's good to consider why you're acting the way you are, I see the situation in a slightly clearer light now.

Great job, B.

As for my own story, I realized afterward that I dropped a few characters who deserved resolution -- if nothing else, Batwarden and Poison Ivy deserved to be killed by random lunatics in the asylum during the chaos. It probably doesn't stand as well on its own, just like if you watch Jedi without Empire, you wouldn't know quite what the big deal is between Vader and Luke. And yes, I'm comparing myself to George Lucas.

*checks neck*

No, it's not taking over. Not yet at least.

I hope I hit all the major genres of music. If I missed something you love, let me know, okay?

It was fun writing, and I ended up doing it all in about nine hours. Man this competition is draining. But at the end, I hope my story can be entertaining and a bit uplifting and beautiful. Or at least as beautiful as a supermarket can be.

For those who are curious about the Batman connection:

[sblock]I watched Batman Begins soon before round 1, so I got into a bit of an Arkham kick.

Batwarden - Batman
El-Hadje - Ra's Al'Ghul
Robert - Riddler (probably the weakest connection)
Pam and Jill - The Robins
Unnamed thorn girl - Poison Ivy
Jack - Joker (also Jack Lemmon)
Walter - Mad Hatter (also Walter Matthau)
Mickey - Scarecrow
Hausten Von Mallard - Penguin

I'd never written something quite so postmodern before. I'm quite fond of it, but for a single story, I think Berandor's got me beat.
[/sblock]

Good luck B, and may the judges have uncomplicated lives for the next day or two. *grin*


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## Berandor (Jul 26, 2005)

On my story:
[sblock]Thanks, RangerWickett! I'm glad someone likes it  The sappiness was semi-influenced by Eeralai, who commented on the lack of happy endings in my stories, so I wanted to write one she'd like. And I had the problem that the "polyhedron" pic totally reminded me of "Seven Days" (the TV show), and I couldn't get rid of that reference.

And for the record (and in spoilers, heh), I don't like the kung-fu pics. It means I have to have a fistfight in the story, or someone versed in martial arts, or both. Of course, I usually take the pictures too literally, and that works against me there, as well.[/sblock]

Your amazing story:
[sblock]First off, I have to commend you on your impeccable writing. It's a very clear, and extremely readable style. I'm a little envious 
Second, I wonder how you do it. I mean, you tell me of an asylum's director that needs all his inmates to correspond to Batman villains, and I accept that at face value. It's a really cool and very, very insane world you describe, which might be the reason why it seems so familiar.
A lot of your references seem almost random (what's that armed chick doing there?), but again, I don't mind. Why? Beats me. Probably because it's a good story.
The one thing I have to say is your last entry is very much a sequel. I'm glad I took the time yesterday to read the last one (as well as reveal's and speaker's), because I think I would have been a little confused otherwise at Jessica and the devil, especially.
If you can't help but get drawn into your competition's story, it's a good one - even without Leonard Chohen references [/sblock]

So... any estimation on when judgements arrive?


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## Maldur (Jul 26, 2005)

Judgement send!

I like to thank all writes for a great run this time.

And I like to thank AlSiH2O for thinking up a great competition!


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## Berandor (Jul 26, 2005)

Maldur, I knew I could count on you to increase pressure on the other judges 

Thanks for judging!


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## RangerWickett (Jul 28, 2005)

/me wonders if I could trick Berandor into thinking the judgments have already been posted.

*grin*

Patience.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 28, 2005)

Tomorrow, guys, I promise.  I got tagged with working late on short notice last night and tonight.


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## RangerWickett (Jul 28, 2005)

*sticks out tongue* Don't you dare think I'm angry at the judges. I'm just generally amused with life. The waiting is fun, though hey, if other folks want to comment, I'd like feedback. *grin*


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## BSF (Jul 28, 2005)

Well, I have to confess that I am slacking tonight.  Much of my family just left my modest Birthday celebration.  So I won't be finishing judgements up tonight.  Sorry folks,  but it's not personal.


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## RangerWickett (Jul 28, 2005)

Ooh, happy birthday! Although I'm almost certainly belated now.  But hey, I'd like to dedicate a song to you:

*Ray Charles' "What I'd Say"*
(A minute of music, then. . .)

_Hey mama don't you treat me wrong!
Come and love you baby all night long!

Hey hey alright!

See the girl with the diamond ring?
She knows how to shake that thing!

Hey hey

Tell you mama, tell yo pa
I gonna send you back to Arkansas!

You don' do right!

When you see me in misery
Come on baby see about me now!

Hey alright alright!
Ahhh, play it boy!

When you see me in misery
Come on baby see about me now!

Yeah! Hey hey! Alright!

See the girl with the record song?
She can do the bird all night long!

What I'd say?

Tell me what I'd say!
Tell me I wanna know!

Unnnh

Ohhhhh

Un

Oh

Un -oh!

One more time!

Baby one more time now!

Baby one more time now!

Baby one more time now yeah!

Unnnh

Ohhhhh

Un

Oh

Un -oh!

Baby feel so good!

Baby feel so good yeah!

Unnnh

Ohhhhh

Un

Oh

Un -oh!

It's alright!

Baby it's alright!_


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## Maldur (Jul 28, 2005)

Congratz, BSF


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## Berandor (Jul 28, 2005)

Someone told me judgements have been posted?

Where?

... Damn you, RangerWickett, damn you and your happy ewok dance!

[Carl Douglas]
Ooo-ho-o-hoooo
Ooo-ho-o-hoo

_Everybody was picture-writing
Those tales came fast as lightning
so good it was a little bit frightening
but they wrote with expert timing_

There were funky Mexicans, from Newer Mexico
they were writing like hell, and judging even so
It's a famous potter's art, and everybody knew their part
a metaphor you can't resist, and a surprise ending twist

_Everybody was picture-writing
Those tales came fast as lightning
so good it was a little bit frightening
but they wrote with expert timing_

There was funky BigTom, and little Bibliophile
He said, here comes the Bard now, let's get it on
We took the bow and made a stand
started swaying with the hand
the first pictures made me skip
Now we're into a brand new trip

_Everybody was picture-writing
Those tales came fast as lightning
so good it was a little bit frightening
but they wrote with expert timing_

Oh-hoh-hoh-hoh,ha
Oh-hoh-hoh-hoh,ha
Oh-hoh-hoh-hoh-ha
Keep on, keep on, keep on
Sure enough

_Everybody was picture-writing
Those tales came fast as lightning
so good it was a little bit frightening
make sure you have expert timing
picture writing, had to be fast as lightning_
[/Carl Douglas]


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## Eeralai (Jul 28, 2005)

Wow, singing for your judgements.  I like it!  But can you dance?


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## Macbeth (Jul 28, 2005)

Happy Birthday, BSF!


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## Berandor (Jul 28, 2005)

Eeralai said:
			
		

> Wow, singing for your judgements.  I like it!  But can you dance?



 Only when nobody's looking, or everybody's drunk, or both.

And when I'd doing karaoke, which hopefully involves drunkenness on the part of the audience


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## RangerWickett (Jul 28, 2005)

I once did Strip Dance Dance Revolution as a drinking game. Lose a match, and either have a shot, or take off an article of clothing. Of course, the more you drink, the worse you are at the game.

One of my friends, a very sheltered teetotaler, apparently works best under pressure. He didn't miss a _step_ that night.



I think I ended up wearing my ex-girlfriend's shirt and shorts. Use a little logic to figure out the rest of the equation.


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## reveal (Jul 28, 2005)

RangerWickett said:
			
		

> I once did Strip Dance Dance Revolution as a drinking game. Lose a match, and either have a shot, or take off an article of clothing. Of course, the more you drink, the worse you are at the game.
> 
> One of my friends, a very sheltered teetotaler, apparently works best under pressure. He didn't miss a _step_ that night.
> 
> ...




Is that why you're not allowed in Chuck E. Cheese's anymore?


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## Berandor (Jul 28, 2005)

RangerWickett said:
			
		

> I once did Strip Dance Dance Revolution
> 
> 
> I think I ended up wearing my ex-girlfriend's shirt and shorts. Use a little logic to figure out the rest of the equation.




Since it's _Strip_ Dance Dance Revolution, I assume you wore them all along, only under your clothes.

Is "shorts" a euphemism for panties?


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## RangerWickett (Jul 28, 2005)

No. It's a euphemism for "_mind yer friggin' business!_"

*kidding*


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## Berandor (Jul 28, 2005)

Who's going around posting about drunken striptease parties?

Not me, that's who 

Though I think Ewoks have the short stick when it comes to strip dance dance revolution. All they wear is that cap/coat thingie.


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## BSF (Jul 28, 2005)

Hey man, that's not nice talking about Ewoks' short stick.  

So RW, what that ex-girlfriend before or after the game?


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## Berandor (Jul 28, 2005)

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> Hey man, that's not nice talking about Ewoks' short stick.
> 
> So RW, what that ex-girlfriend before or after the game?



 And did you get to keep the shorts?


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## RangerWickett (Jul 28, 2005)

Y'know, I have a tendency of giving too much information when people ask questions like those.

To spare you suffering, I'll just say that we made sure to swap back clothes eventually. And we had broken up 7 months earlier. Amazing what alcohol does.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 28, 2005)

Berandor said:
			
		

> Who's going around posting about drunken striptease parties?
> 
> Not me, that's who
> 
> Though I think Ewoks have the short stick when it comes to strip dance dance revolution. All they wear is that cap/coat thingie.




I think Ewok's got the short stick when it comes to pretty much everything.  *nudge* *nudge* *wink* *wink*


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 29, 2005)

Judgement sent.


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## BSF (Jul 29, 2005)

Nifty keen


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## Berandor (Jul 29, 2005)

So do you have all the judgements now, or should we sing some more?


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## BSF (Jul 29, 2005)

Well, I am still waiting for one more email ...


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## Berandor (Jul 29, 2005)

I can email you.


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## Macbeth (Jul 29, 2005)

Sorry sorry sorry... email being written now. My boss has been out of town for the better part of a week, and all his work rolled down to me. I'll have it sent today.


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## Berandor (Jul 29, 2005)

Strange. When my boss is out of town, I roll my work off to others. To each his or her own, I guess 

And whoo-hoo! I'm anxious, happy and a nervous wreck. I'll probably stay up late to see judgements, only to have them posted tomorrow night, but I don't care!


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## Macbeth (Jul 29, 2005)

Berandor said:
			
		

> Strange. When my boss is out of town, I roll my work off to others. To each his or her own, I guess
> 
> And whoo-hoo! I'm anxious, happy and a nervous wreck. I'll probably stay up late to see judgements, only to have them posted tomorrow night, but I don't care!



I don't really have anybody to roll my work too, I'm kind of a dead end for work. I'm the low man on the totem pole, so it doesn't roll any further.

But I'm getting it done now.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 29, 2005)

Macbeth said:
			
		

> I don't really have anybody to roll my work too, I'm kind of a dead end for work. I'm the low man on the totem pole, so it doesn't roll any further.
> 
> But I'm getting it done now.




Could be worse.  I'm the high-end of the totem poll for the tech stuff, and I've spent too many hours this week either fixing stuff the lower guys broke, or (in at least one case) doing something I *know* they just blew off cause they knew I'd have to do it.


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## BSF (Jul 29, 2005)

Berandor said:
			
		

> Strange. When my boss is out of town, I roll my work off to others. To each his or her own, I guess
> 
> And whoo-hoo! I'm anxious, happy and a nervous wreck. I'll probably stay up late to see judgements, only to have them posted tomorrow night, but I don't care!




Berandor,
Don't stay up late.  I'm at work and I don't have all of my notes available.  By the time I get home from work, it will be well past midnight for you.  Even then I am pretty much stopping at home to change, grab some stuff and drive out to a friends house.  He is out in Placitas.  Means nothing to you, but for me it means I won't have computer, or even mobile phone, access for at least 5 hours after that.  I won't get home until midnight, or later, for me.  Then if I am not too tired I can think about consolidating everything together and posting judgements.  Otherwise, it will have to wait until I wake up.  

Timing on this one just doesn't work out in your favor.  So don't wait up.  Get rest, then be nervous!


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## Berandor (Jul 29, 2005)

Thanks!

No problem in putting it off for a few more hours, at least for me. So have a good night's sleep before composing judgements, and RangerWickett gets another handful of hours where he can still hope to win this thing


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## Eeralai (Jul 29, 2005)

Berandor said:
			
		

> Thanks!
> 
> and RangerWickett gets another handful of hours where he can still hope to win this thing




I don't know.  He did forget to put a current judge's story in the Ceramic DM pdf.


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## Berandor (Jul 29, 2005)

I didn't know Maldur wrote something.


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## Berandor (Jul 31, 2005)

Bump?


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Jul 31, 2005)

Berandor said:
			
		

> Bump?




Aha!  We finally know what goes 'bump in the night.'


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## Berandor (Jul 31, 2005)

I hope nothing happened to BSF and Eeralai...


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## BSF (Jul 31, 2005)

Nothing terrible happened to us.  A few weeks of living with too little sleep has been trying to catch up with me though.  I finally ran out of steam yesterday.  *Bleah*  

But hey, I just compiled the judgements and will be posting shortly.


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## BSF (Jul 31, 2005)

*Final Round Judgement - Berandor vs Rangerwickett*

*Macbeth*
Last Judgment. Both stories literally  'wowed me. Whew:

Berandor:
All I can say is "Wow." This really blew me away. Touching, powerful, and all around a great story.

The plot here is mediocre, but the characters that travel it make the story. I loved the characters, they seemed vivid and real. The characters developed well, and I was amazed how much I cared for them by the end of the story.

I also have to comment on the general premise of the picture use: none of your stories really involved an 'alternate world' of any kind. No dreamscapes, just a real world and someone that sees it just a little different. I really liked that, as it made the picture use all the better.

As for the pictures themselves, they're well used, for the most part. I'm amazed at how mundane this story seems, despite all the odd pictures. With the exception of the time travel bit, it all seems very real, albeit from a slightly twisted point of view.

Overall, a very good story. I think your moral really carried the story, it reads almost like a folk tale in some places, but that style really works.

RangerWickett:
Wow. Three rounds, three parts of a story. It's not often we see trilogies of Ceramic DM stories, but I think you pulled it off quite well.

Looking at this story all on it's own, it would be easy to be confused. We come in at the middle of a bigger plot, with the major villains relying on knowledge from the first two stories. The story gives just enough background to make sense, but not enough to make the story totally self contained.

The plot was strong, if a little dependent on the other stories. I really felt like the first two stories were the rising action of the last one, which is good in the bigger sense, but it leaves this story a little flat. All of the story is action, we don't really get the rising part of the story.

The picture use was some of the best you've done in this triad of stories. Very few of the pictures were directly in the netnet, which makes for good picture use. The netnet can be a bit too easy to throw a picture into, but you avoid using netnet pictures for the most part. Your weakest picture was the long-legged sign, which seems tacked on. Not only is it in the postscript, but it doesn't really play into anything. The biggest feature of the picture (the oddly long legged man) is barely touched on. Not bad, but not as creative as, say, the polygons sitting in front of the grocery store when viewed from the netnet.

Revealing that the real world is not as real as it seems worked well. It made the netnet seem all the more plausible, and helped explain the magic. Perhaps a bit too Matrix-y for some people (this is what I had been expecting to happen in the last Matrix film), but it worked well. 

*Rodrigo Istalindir*

Ceramic DM - Final Match, Berandor v. RangerWickett

Berandor:

What a charming little story!  The beginning had a deceptively whimsical tone, a little 'Let us go then, you and I' feeling that is unusual but effective.  Right away, it makes the story feel like it's being told rather then written.  The narrator toys with you a little, hinting at bad things to come.  Foreshadowing in a short story is problematic, moreso in Ceramic DM where you don't have a lot of space to put some distance between the foreshadowing and the actual events.  Here, though, it works, because of the completely unexpected turn the story takes at the halfway point.

I must confess that up to Michael dying, I was a little disappointed.  The characterization of Michael and his daughter was solid, but the wife and his boss were completely one-dimensional.  A little more humanity for the wife, and a little more plausibility for Michael's work assignments, and you would have generated some real sympathy for the father and daughter.  As is, though, instead of drawing you into the story, it kind of reminds you that you're just reading words on the page.

At the turnaround, though, the story takes off. A little deus-ex gives Michael a second chance, and he gets a chance to live happily ever after.  The repetition as Michael relieves his last weekend with his daughter works well, almost in counterpoint to the foreshadowing of the first half. A daring approach, all in all.  I wouldn't have thought it would work well in this kind of competition, but you pulled it off. 

Picture use:

Leaves:  Michael's dying vision, merely descriptive.
Broken sculpture:  The means by which his benefactors from the future restore his imagination. Kind of a throwaway, as anything odd could have been used, but acceptable.
Running Man:  A billboard come to life, giving Michael the endurance to reach his daughter before she leaves.  A clever use, given it's initial appearance as just a billboard, seeing it take a more active role was unexpected and welcome.
Helicopter head:  The odd-ball hairstyle of the pain-in-the-ass boss.  Bonus points for actually having the characters recognize it as a helicopter and act accordingly.  This would have been an easy one to try to finesse, but taking it at face value was the better way to go.
Bug Backpack:  Nice juxtaposition, with the daughter's imagination in the first half being transferred to the father in the second.  It made for a nice transition between the two.  And it's reappearance at the end was a nice touch.
Martial artists:  I was concerned when I saw this picture come up.  Similar pictures in past rounds caused no end of trouble, and I wasn't really looking forward to more martial arts stories.  But the way Michael's resurgent imagination intertwined the physical kung-fu with the verbal judo was superb.  Very Walter Mitty, very unexpected, and maybe the single best use of a straightforward picture in this competition.


Ranger Wickett:

Part 3 in the trilogy.  Unlike part 2, this one stands on its own a little better.  A little bit of flashback fills in the gaps, and brings the reader up to speed.  The plotting is a little tighter, too, giving the reader a clearer sense of direction and action.  Still, being so wacky/surreal/something along those lines, is jarring, and really interrupted the flow of the prose.  I had to keep stopping and re-reading sections as I went along.

The scenes in the netnet and the confrontation with El Hadje are much better, partly because while it is still a little wierd, there is some internal logic holding things together.  The shifting between the netnet and the psuedo-real was well done, especially in the fight between El-Hadje and Chou.  This time, the in-joke punchline comes partway through the story rather than at the very end, and was I think the highlight of this particular episode.  The chain-letter booby-trap was brilliant, perfectly in keeping with the setting and consistent with the rooster's cryptic reference to "things primordial from the earliest days of the netnet."

The ending falls back into the pattern established in the beginning, where one gets the sense that things are happening merely to serve the narrative, not because they make sense within the confines to the story.  The epilogue seems tacked on -- it would have been better to resolve that within the arc of the story proper, I think. This seemed too much like the obligatory 'last scare' in a horror movie.

Picture use:

Leaves:  The end of the ice danger, pretty much just descriptive within the context of this story
Broken Sculpture:  Code representations of the world seen through Chou's new insight.  Creative use, and it really works in a Tron sort of way.
Running Man:  The billboard as a billboard.  
Helicopter Head:  A tangle-haired druid, her appearance seems perfunctory and doesn't seem to tie in to the rest of the story very well.
Bug Backpack:  An evil little hitchhiker.  Kind of confusing, but creepy enough to be effective
Martial Artists:  Chou and Jessica alter their perception of reality and escape into the virtual.  Set up well in an earlier scene, although it could have been a little better -- how did Jessica figure out how to do it, when it was Chou's outlook on life that let him perform the feat?


Judgement:
[sblock]
Interestingly enough, both stories deal with someone learning to see the world in a new way.  Berandor's story was a surprise, and got better as it went along.  What seemed weak and obvious became clever when viewed through Michael's resurgent imagination, and there was some genuine depth to two of the main characters.  RangerWickett returns to his cyberpunk world, with an excellent in-joke that works both inside and outside of the story. Both worthy entries in the final, but this is Ceramic DM, and the writing is only half the story.

Whereas RW's picture use is solid but uninspired, Berandor takes some straightforward pictures and really puts a neat spin on them.  Taking the strange and unusual and explaining them within the context of the ordinary is harder than using the same images in a more conventional sci-fi or fantasy story.  

My judgement for Ceramic DM:  Berandor
[/sblock]

*BardStephenFox*
Final Round

*RangerWickett's untitled*

We have the culmination of RangerWickett's trilogy here.  Our protagonist, Chou, is still in the asylum, and is still battling evil.  Writing a trilogy, or any sort of serial, in Ceramic DM is a bit risky.  So does Rangerwickett pull this one off?

The story itself is a pretty decent story.  But by the time we are here at the third installment, it is really becoming too serialized to standalone.  Hmm, does a Ceramic DM story _need_ to standalone?  That is a worthy question and I am not sure there is a hard, definitive answer.  I think if the story is compelling enough, then it does not need to completely standalone.  But the risk involved is keeping the story compelling enough that your readers care about the end.  On the other hand, it is a short story contest.  This story must be compared directly against the competitors story.  So while there can be references back to previous stories, there must be enough background that the story can be judged against another story.  So I think a story doesn't need to be standalone, but it must be self-contained.  

On to the story.  The lead-in on the story comes off as a little inconsistent.  We are told everything from Jessica's perspective with a tone that sounds like this is the first letter she has written to Chou.  Yet near the end of the letter she speaks of the 'letters between us.'  Perhaps I am mis-reading it?  Jessica also seems to go on about information that you would think Chou would certainly have since he is allowed access to his netnet.

Speaking of Chou's netnet, you would think after the previous adventures he has had, somebody would have clamped down on his access.  Even in the most incompetent beauraucracy you can only push things so far.  Apparently Batwarden's incompetency hasn't pushed far enough.  Chou still has his netnet and works at the supermarket, even though he has abused both priveliges in the past.  If I have read the previous stories, I am beginning to wonder why Batwarden hasn't clamped down, or been replaced with somebody competent.  If I am reading this story first, I think I am just kind of confused.  Chou certainly seems to have an awful lot of freedom for somebody that is a prisoner.  

The problem is that I think of some of these plot holes while I am reading the story and it detracts from my willing suspension of disbelief.  

In some ways, the story reads like a bad trip.  It is a fun story, but it reaches a point where I realized I no longer care whether Chou succeeds or fails.  I enjoy reading the story for the small bit of philosophy that are sprinkled throughout.  I like to smile at the music references.  But I don't care what actually happens with Chou.  He no longer has any empathetic appeal to me.  

That's not a good place to be and I certainly don't think that is what Rangerwickett is aiming at with the story.  Perhaps it is because without the previous stories, there doesn't appear to be any reason why Chou would care about El-Hadje and O'Malley.  Chou is just doing what some rooster is telling him he needs to do.  There seems to be some big plot with the 'digital sorcery' and O'Malley.  Keep going kid.  You gotta defeat the bad guys or something bad will happen.  I'm not saying what, just trust me that it will be bad. There is some sort of vague responsibility to do the right thing.  There are reasons why Chou should do the right thing.  But I never _feel_ why Chou chooses to do what he does.  Perhaps I am not quite the target audience?  

Picture usage:  These were not supposed to be easy pictures, but I can't help  but feel that a good portion of the story was decided on and then the pictures were shoehorned in to fit wherever they could be.  None of them were particularly memorable for me.  None of them seemed particularly important to the story.  If I were an editor, I am not sure I would have chosen any of them for illustrations within the story.  

That being said, there are a lot of good things about the story.  As I said, the music references are good.  There is well handled dialog.  There is a certain screwy internal consistency. There are culture references and clever takes on things.  As I said, I think this story needs to be cleared of the fetters of Ceramic DM.  Rangerwickett needs a different space to maneuver this vehicle to deliver his message.  I think there are ways in which this could be a wonderful statement rendered through a cyberfantasy world.  But as a Ceramic DM story, I don't think it is Rangerwickett's finest work.

*Berandor's One Hour later, Three Days Ago*

OK I admit that the tone of this story intially threw me for a loop.  It has a Rod Serling/Twilight Zone vibe that I needed to see  before I understood.  Even then, I got through the first part of the story and thought "What the..."

That is when I began to understand how Berandor was telling the story.  It is a clever, though risky, method.  It is quite possible to lose the audience.  So does Berandor make it work?  

Well to be honest, at the beginning of the story Michael Carpenter seems vaguely interesting.  Then he goes downhill.  The fact that he completely sells out and devotes himself entirely to a career he doesn't enjoy is a real downer.  He really becomes one of the worst embodiments of a corporate wage slave I have seen in fiction.  I kept wanting him to snap out of it and regain his soul.  By the time he settled down to die, I almost felt relief.  

Oooohkaaaay I thought.  What a downer and all the pictures weren't there.  I know Berandor posted early and all.  But to leave out all the pictures?  That's not quite like him.  Is this going into some Rip Van Winkle thing?  Is he going into a dreamland where the weird stuff happens?  I guess there has to be more story.  That's when Berandor kicks in the second part of the story.  

It's hokey!  The Divorced Dreamer-Dad Association?  A time machine to send back inspiration?  *sigh*  This is going to just get silly.  

And it does.  But you know what?  It actually works.  Berandor takes some of the more unusual pictures and makes them work through the power of the protagonist's imagination.  As you read you understand that Michael doesn't _really_ believe these fantastic images.  He is just harnessing his imagination to liven things up.  Then when push comes to shove, he bails on his job to handle what is important in life.  

Berandor got me with the empathy of the character.  His picture use isn't brilliant, but the pictures are significant.  The biggest stretch was the imaginary fight with Candice.  But it added some levity that I was willing to acceot in the story.  I just kept thinking of a multitude of bad martial art fight scenes as I read it.  

I think I could easily seeing some of my friends in this sort of position and dealing with the stress with absurd creative energy.  

This is not to say that Berandor's story doesn't have flaws.  Some of the dialog is a little flat for me.  Especially compared to some of Rangerwickett's dialog.  The narrative tone is a little too dead in places as well.  The story needs some polish to it.  Perhaps it would have had that if Berandor has spent a little more time on it?  

*Judgement:*  [sblock]After reading my assessment on both stories, I doubt that anybody will be surprised that I give the round to Berandor.  I do think Rangerwickett has a good story and a message to convey.  I think in the context of his trilogy the entire thing could be reworked and consolidated so that message is stronger.  But in the context of single stories, side by side, I liked Berandor's better.  It very well could be that I fit Berandor's target audience better.  But I do hope to see more stories from both authors in future contests.[/sblock]

*Maldur*
RangerWickett vs. Berandor
Hard choices.

Berandor
I like the three days "rewind" making up for old wrongs is always a notion
that is appealing. The long legged man, has a certain "baron von
munchhausen"feel to it, well done.


RangerWickett
Even more in the "supermarket epos", this time , the risk of a sequal did
not really pay off. The frirst two stories were more original and "rounded.
This one needs the first two stories to make sense. And I find it
unfortunate you abandonned the "buy organic" schtick. IMHO it would be worth
it to combine the three stories and clean them up into one big story. It has
great potential, it has the same "feel" as Bruce Bethke stories
(www.spedro.com).


[sblock]My vote: Berandor, it was more a story, and not a (lesser) chapter in a
longer story.[/sblock]

Twelve competitors.  Eighteen Stories.  Thirty-two pictures.  Days of writing time.  Even more of waiting.  Four judges for comments, three for votes. It's been a long month and a half.  When all is said and done, who is awarded the current Ceramic DM title?  

[sblock]Berandor wins with three votes in this final round.  Congratulations!  Rangerwickett, thank you for your stories.  I hope to see you in future contests.[/sblock]


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## BSF (Jul 31, 2005)

A variety of comments:

First of all, I want to thank Alsih2o.  Without him, we wouldn't have Ceramic DM.  It is a fun experience.  While I enjoy the stories, that is a secondary thing for me anymore.  I enjoy the participants of Ceramic DM even more.  I have always liked the banter and I like this aspect of the community of EN World.  So every time I encourage people to post smack talk or just to pipe up in general, it is because I like the general conversation.  Alsih2o, that is what you have helped give us.  Not just stories, but a better feeling for who other board members are.

I want to also thank Maldur, Mythago and Sialia for out-of-channel encouragement.  Running Ceramic DM is hard.  When I agreed to do this one, I didn't know how busy I would end up being at work.  But I don't regret it at all.  The encouragement from these folks helped a lot!

I want to thank my fellow judges.  These are great people.  I knew I was going to do OK when I meant to write a comment in one of the early judgements and forgot it with everything else.  I posted it together, realized I missed a comment I thought was crucial and thought 'I bet somebody else mentioned that same thing.'  Somebody had!  That was when I knew they had me covered.  

I want to thank the competitors.  I made you guys wait for some of these judgements.  I hope all of our comments have been useful.  I know what it feels like to get that sting when somebody judges you.  But you have some great stories here and I enjoyed reading them.  

And finally, thanks to the spectators.  But please, feel free to comment on any story you want to!  It's an open thread.

Picture choices:  Since I have never chosen pictures before, I wanted the first round to really fit a couple of potential things.  Person, Place, Thing, Action.  Those pictures had to suggest those elements to me.  The writers could do anything they wanted with them, but I had to set parameters for myself in choosing the pictures.

Later rounds I tried to keep to this same basic criteria.  But I wanted pictures that might suggest more.  Some pictures can suggest a person, place and an action all in one.  Perhaps a martial arts picture.    I was quite sad to redo my pictures for the final round.  In the context of the contest, I think the round two pictures were the most fun.  

I would also like to solicit comments on the twelve contestant format for round one, as well as the four judge format.  Did these changes make the contest better?  Your thoughts are welcome.  Post, PM or email.  

Thanks folks!  It was fun.


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## MarauderX (Aug 1, 2005)

Thanks again for exciting stories from everyone, and let's hear it for the judges' hard work!


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Aug 1, 2005)

Congratulations to Berandor, and thanks to all the contestants for some wonderful stories.


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## reveal (Aug 1, 2005)

Congrats Berandor! 

So when's the next Ceramic DM, since it's already Summer?


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## mythago (Aug 1, 2005)

Congratulations! 

I am really looking forward to reading *all* the stories now.


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## RangerWickett (Aug 1, 2005)

It was a very fun competition. When on a tight schedule, things never work out _quite_ as you hope, but I'm still proud of the stories I wrote. I'll say, though, that I agree with the judges on all counts, including the winner.  Top-notch story, B.

I'm just surprised no one mentioned that my protagonist's name, pronounced phonetically, is Chosen One. *grin*

Thank you to the judges, the other contestants, and to all the readers who came by and hopefully had a good time.


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## Berandor (Aug 1, 2005)

Honestly, I didn't think it'd end this way, so I'm very, very happy 

Thank you to the judges for their hard work, and to BSF for his double hard work, of course. I would also like to thank my agent, Donald L. Basingstoke, esq., and my lawyer, John Witherton-Smith from Downward, Torrance, Witherton-Smith and Turnpike.  But seriously, thanks a lot to judge and jury!

I think the three-way first round is a nice idea, because even when one competitor has to drop out, there's still a competition possible. I had the impression that a lot of those first-rounders dropped off afterwards, as the thread got quieter and quieter, but that could be due to other reasons than the big first round (RangerWickett's injury and my heavy workload, for example, that pushed the contest back a week).

I think the extra judge is a very good idea, and should be used henceforth, if more consequently to ensure a smooth contest, i.e. if you have three judgements after a set timeframe (say, four days), you put them up, and the fourth judge can give his comments seperately.

I think BSF did fine with the pictures, too. Of course, there were one or two I couldn't really work with, but that's par for the course for Ceramic DM and not a feature of this particular showrunner.

Comments, as usual, were extremely helpful and competent. I don't know whether BSF had been a judge before, but we had at least two novices in the judging seat, and it went very well. Often I found myself nodding in agreement with the judges, or cursing under my breath that some weakness of mine had not gone undetected. Curse you! 

The competition was also very strong. Even though this time there was no story that completely, totally floored me from beginning to end, there was also not one that I really thought a klunker. And the latter are more usual than the first, so I'm not complaining. An extremely good showing this time around. Of course, RangerWickett made it to the finals, so here's to you and your meta-commentating Nigerian spam mail Chosen One!


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## Berandor (Aug 1, 2005)

Not that you think I forgot something...


			
				RangerWickett said:
			
		

> Thank you to (snip) all the readers who came by and hopefully had a good time.



Pfshhh. Who cares for the readers? 

(Yeah, I hope you were entertained, as well, and now I've got Robbie Williams's "Let Me Entertain You" stuck in my head. RW got his revenge, it seems.)


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## Berandor (Aug 1, 2005)

Oh, and (three posts in a row), I don't want to forget a very special thank you to all those who commented on my stories outside of jury duty, especially the extremely help- and insightful Hellefire for his lengthy discussion of my first entry. It helped a *lot*.


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## Macbeth (Aug 1, 2005)

Whew. I enjoyed judging a lot, thanks to everybody for giving me the chance to give something back to Ceramic DM.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Aug 1, 2005)

Macbeth said:
			
		

> Whew. I enjoyed judging a lot, thanks to everybody for giving me the chance to give something back to Ceramic DM.




Likewise.  And hopefully I've gained some insights into the judging process that will make me a better competitor


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## BSF (Aug 2, 2005)

Yes, what an interesting experience!  I found that my perspective as judge and as idle commentator was different.  As a commentator I have always been happy to read the stories without thinking overly much which story was _better_.  But as a judge, I had to decide which story I liked better.  It was very interesting to quantify the things I liked/disliked and what criteria I think a good Ceramic DM story should include.  The next time I write as a competitor, my outlook is going to be a little different!


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## Mark CMG (Aug 2, 2005)

Congrats to all of the participants, but particularly Berandor AKA Whistler's Footer!


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## Berandor (Aug 2, 2005)

I might have to use that as my new custom title.


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## BSF (Aug 2, 2005)

reveal said:
			
		

> Congrats Berandor!
> 
> So when's the next Ceramic DM, since it's already Summer?




This is a good question!  I would love to have the opportunity to run another one.  But I think I had better wait until the SAP implementation I am working on is complete.  

Perhaps Mythago will be ready to run one soon?  Does everyone think before or after Gen Con?


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## Macbeth (Aug 2, 2005)

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> This is a good question!  I would love to have the opportunity to run another one.  But I think I had better wait until the SAP implementation I am working on is complete.
> 
> Perhaps Mythago will be ready to run one soon?  Does everyone think before or after Gen Con?



I'd say after. I'm going to be in Glassgow and then London starting tomorrow through Aug 14th, and then I have to move back to school before the 21st. For me, after GenCon is certainly better.


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## Berandor (Aug 2, 2005)

After GenCon is best, I think, and while I don't know mythago's plans, I hope I'll run this show once before your second term in office


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## Berandor (Aug 2, 2005)

oh, and can someone help me understand these three references?



			
				BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> But the way Michael's resurgent imagination intertwined the physical kung-fu with the verbal judo was superb.  Very Walter Mitty,
> 
> It has a Rod Serling vibe that I needed to see  before I understood.
> 
> Is this going into some Rip Van Winkle thing?


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Aug 2, 2005)

Walter Mitty was a fictional character with a vivid imagination.  I can't believe you've not heard of him after reading your story.

Rod Serling was the host of the Twilight Zone, the canonical 'wierd things' TV show.

Rip Van Winkle was a character in a fable who fell asleep and slept for 20 years, only to be reawakened and amazed at how the world had changed.


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## Eeralai (Aug 2, 2005)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:
			
		

> Walter Mitty was a fictional character with a vivid imagination.  I can't believe you've not heard of him after reading your story.





Well, he probably wasn't forced to read it before graduation like most people in the states are   He can be the James Thurber of Germany!


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Aug 2, 2005)

Forced to read? Bah.  A pleasure to read.  The Secret Life of Walter Mitty might be the pinnacle of the short-story art form.  Up there with "The Outcasts of Poker Flat"  and "The Ransom of Red Chief ".


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## Berandor (Aug 2, 2005)

Well, there's a difference in how you perceive fiction that you have to read for school and such that you read on your own. for example, I'm not a great fan of Salinger, whereas I read Goethe on my own and... well, hated it, but the point still stands 

I think the fact that I haven't read "Mitty" (I'm printing the story right now, though) has more to do with other things:
- In Germany, short stories are not held in big regard, seen mostly as a stepping stone on the way to greater things, so you don't treat them very extensively in school
- Furthermore, it takes a while for English lessons to contain literature other than school-book-prose (being a foreign language and all)
- Finally, most of what you have to read for school is by design some "important" piece of literature that may, in fact, be not very good or at least hasn't aged well. I guess that's so those who like to read can continue to feel superior to those who don't, as not many pupils are inclined to read more after "Effi Briest".


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Aug 2, 2005)

Not terribly surprised you hadn't read him.  It's not obscure, but not something I'd expect a non-English major to have stumbled across unless they were a fan of short fiction. I thought you might have run across the movie at some point, which was pretty popular, although it is fifty years old, now.  I'm sure my comment will make perfect sense once you read it, though 

It's one of those works that has been copied so many times it has almost become a cliche, especially on TV shows.


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## reveal (Aug 2, 2005)

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> This is a good question!  I would love to have the opportunity to run another one.  But I think I had better wait until the SAP implementation I am working on is complete.
> 
> Perhaps Mythago will be ready to run one soon?  Does everyone think before or after Gen Con?




After would probably be best because I'm sure a lot of people have things planned during and after GenCon. We could just wait and do a Fall Ceramic DM.


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## BSF (Aug 2, 2005)

Rodrigo Istalindir said:
			
		

> Rod Serling was the host of the Twilight Zone, the canonical 'wierd things' TV show.



One of the similarities with the Twilight Zone & Rod Serling was the narrative tone.  Your story began by directly addressing the reader.  Much the same way that Rod Serling would open the broadcast with each episode.


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## Berandor (Aug 3, 2005)

Ahh, I know what you mean!

I didn't really choose the way I wrote the story, though. Much like my second-round entry, I simply had the idea, the story, and the way to write it was never in question for me - it's just the way it had to be. I think one of the dangers and benefits of Ceramic DM is that you have to follow your instincts on such things. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.

By the way, I found a good short overview on critiquing fiction that might help judges and authors alike: http://www.crayne.com/howcrit.html


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## mythago (Aug 3, 2005)

Definitely post-Gen Con.


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## BSF (Aug 3, 2005)

So who is going to Gen Con this year?  

I wanted to plan for it, but I got sucked into a project at work.  Odds are good that I will be working sometime on that weekend.  

Berandor - Looks like a good link.  I felt like a lot of my critiques were rushed.  I really like to set aside time to focus when I begin a critique.  That's probably one of the reasons why I don't do many critiques as a spectator.  I don't always have the time to really go through the stories.  As a Judge, I had to focus a lot more and stop worrying about being at the 'perfect' point of critiquing.  But the checklist in the link is a good one to follow.


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## Berandor (Aug 3, 2005)

You just have to keep in mind that sometimes, breaking the rules can still result in a good story.

But I think the checklist could also be helpful for editing a first or second draft.


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## BSF (Aug 3, 2005)

Definitely!  I find that when I get focused on a story I start to get myopic.  I lose sense of what the story might look like to everybody else.  Stepping back and trying to re-examine it is a good thing to do.  You might not catch all the problems, but you will probably see a few.  

Of course, in Ceramic DM I don't always have time to do that.


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## Berandor (Aug 3, 2005)

Who has?

I guess the one who posts his final entry a day early and still wins  But truthfully, I probably wouldn't have had much time to revisit anyway.


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## BSF (Aug 3, 2005)

Apparently Sialia had time to edit her huge stories.  She kept talking about the stuff she would cut in edits.  I also get the impression that Mythago is able to edit most of the time.  Heck, she even goes for smack talk in the middle of the writing window.  

Always makes me feel bad when I am sweating it down to the line.  But it shows.  Look at how many spelling/grammar errors I have compared to either of them.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Aug 3, 2005)

I do, sometimes.  I had to cut huge swaths out of 'Life Imitates Art' for space reasons, and it was real hard not to put them back in for the Ceramic DM compilation.  Also, there was a chunk cut out of 'Mind Over Matter' for the same reason.

I've gotten more careful about watching the wordcount as I go, now.  I tend to write in a burst of activity, and it's real easy to get on a roll and just blow past the limit.  I think I'm getting better at the 'write fast' part....now I've got to concentrate more on the 'write well' part.


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## Berandor (Aug 5, 2005)

I read all three of the linked stories, and I am better for it.  Thank you for linking.


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## mythago (Aug 5, 2005)

The smack talk is blowing off steam. Once I start on a story, I have to finish the darn thing. If I have time left over, I edit, but I don't always.


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## BSF (Aug 5, 2005)

Oh, I get it.  You don't even need to edit to keep winning.  

We need a write off between Berandor and Mythago at some point.  But I propose a random starting time and 6d12 hours to write.  Maybe they will have 72 hours, maybe they won't.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Aug 5, 2005)

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> Oh, I get it.  You don't even need to edit to keep winning.
> 
> We need a write off between Berandor and Mythago at some point.  But I propose a random starting time and 6d12 hours to write.  Maybe they will have 72 hours, maybe they won't.




Even better, every hour we roll a D20.  Writing stops when a '20' comes up....


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## Berandor (Aug 5, 2005)

Well, I was slated to write against mythago in the Ceramic Chanpions Contest, but mythago made all the former Ceramic DMs disappear so she wouldn't have to face me


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## Maldur (Aug 6, 2005)

Macbeth said:
			
		

> I'd say after. I'm going to be in Glassgow and then London starting tomorrow through Aug 14th, and then I have to move back to school before the 21st. For me, after GenCon is certainly better.




Damn your at worldcon, I triple damn the pesons that DID NOT tell me it would be now, and did not tell me who would be attending.

(sorry long story)


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## RangerWickett (Aug 7, 2005)

Please don't forget to tell your gaming friends and buddies here on EN World that the ENnies Ceramic DM fundraiser book is on sale now.

You can help support the ENnies by buying a copy of the Ceramic DM 2005 ENnies Fundraiser, available at RPGNow.


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## BSF (Aug 7, 2005)

Apparently a coupel of my gamer friends have  bought it. I was somewhat surprised since I usually point them at my Ceramic DM stories, but I rarely ever get any feedback indicating they followed links and read the stories.


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## mythago (Aug 7, 2005)

Berandor said:
			
		

> Well, I was slated to write against mythago in the Ceramic Chanpions Contest, but mythago made all the former Ceramic DMs disappear so she wouldn't have to face me




> throw gauntlet

You are not holding the gauntlet.

> take gauntlet from briefcase

Okay.

> throw gauntlet

What do you want to throw the gauntlet at?

> throw gauntlet at Berandor

The gauntlet flies through the air and hits Berandor on the noggin.

> beckon berandor


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## BSF (Aug 7, 2005)

If you two want to go at it in a super-special write off round, I still have pictures.   I bet I could drum up some judges willing to handle that round as well.


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## Piratecat (Aug 8, 2005)

I'm pleased to comment that not once, but _twice_ this last week, I got to sit up with sialia and Mythago and talk about writing until 2 am. Err, 4 am.  something like that.

Glee.  Best vacation in five years.


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## BSF (Aug 8, 2005)

Sure, taunt me like that.  

Mythago, Piratecat and Sialia all sitting around talking about writing.  That would be cool.  Aside from the fact that I have never once met any of those folks personally, and I would absolutely love to, but they are all damn fine writers.  *sigh*


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## RangerWickett (Aug 8, 2005)

BSF (we don't make a lot of the products you buy; we make a lot of the products you buy better), are you going to Gen Con?


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## BSF (Aug 8, 2005)

Sadly no I won't.  I really wanted to this year but I just won't make it.  That whole annoying work thing and all.  

I do have a good number of EN Publishing products.  Nearly 2 dozen I believe.    To be honest, Tournaments, Fairs and Taverns, and the Taverner's Trusty Tome are my favorites.  But EOMrev, and Steam & Steel are very good as well.


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## RangerWickett (Aug 8, 2005)

Actually, the 'products' thing was a reference to BASF. For a while they had these commercials about how they make lots of products people use even better. I had a brain hiccup and thought the company's name was BSF.


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## BSF (Aug 8, 2005)

*laugh*  

OK, I get it.    Nevertheless, I thought I would mention some of my favorite products.


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## orchid blossom (Aug 8, 2005)

Piratecat said:
			
		

> I'm pleased to comment that not once, but _twice_ this last week, I got to sit up with sialia and Mythago and talk about writing until 2 am. Err, 4 am.  something like that.




I miss all the fun!  

Sounds like a great vacation, glad you had a good time.


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## Macbeth (Aug 8, 2005)

Maldur said:
			
		

> Damn your at worldcon, I triple damn the pesons that DID NOT tell me it would be now, and did not tell me who would be attending.
> 
> (sorry long story)



Wow, I thought about posting an ENWorld Worldcon thread, but never got around to it. Too bad.

I'm actually at the Last day of the Con now, having a great time (found some awesome dice, among other things), and I lvoe Glasgow, wonderful city. Leaving for LOndon tomorrow. I'll have to check out the Ceramic DM Collection that En Publishing put out when I get back.


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## Berandor (Aug 8, 2005)

Piratecat said:
			
		

> I'm pleased to comment that not once, but _twice_ this last week, I got to sit up with sialia and Mythago and talk about writing until 2 am. Err, 4 am.  something like that.
> 
> Glee.  Best vacation in five years.



 Come back and taunt me a second time, will you?



			
				mythago said:
			
		

> > throw gauntlet
> 
> You are not holding the gauntlet.
> 
> ...



Now you've swapped secrets with Piratecat and sialia you think you're unbeatable, don't you?

Well, you're probably right, but at least I can say I chose my downfall.

_Berandor recoils from the gauntlet's impact.
"Ow! That hurt! Why do you carry a gauntlet in your briefcase, anyway?" He rubs his reddening right cheek. "Is that how you file a lawsuit in your part of town?

"I.. I guess what you're saying is, I was a little unfair up there. Well, how was I supposed to know you'd read that? I thought you were busy." Berandor grumbles something that sounds like "busy discussing writing late at night". He picks up the glove and hands it back to mythago, brushing off dirt as he does.

"Here. No harm done, right? I mean, you got your glove back, and I've got my quill," he pats his breast pocket reassuringly. Suddenly, his face freezes. From the breast pocket, he draws what looks like a bent bird feather.

"You broke it! You broke my quill! Well, that's it." He lovingly caresses the feather before putting it carefully away. "You can't just break a man's quill and expect to get away with it. You may be the better writer, but that doesn't give you the right to... to..." Berandor is unable to finish his sentence as he starts crying vehemently. After a short interlude of sobs, he wipes his nose on his sleeve and looks at mythago with red eyes, sorrow and anger warring with each other.

"It's on!"_


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Aug 8, 2005)

I'll judge a grudge match if BSF will post the pictures.  Say, 4 pictures, 24 hours, 4000 words?


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## BSF (Aug 8, 2005)

Berandor said:
			
		

> Now you've swapped secrets with Piratecat and sialia you think you're unbeatable, don't you?



Umm, Berandor, Mythago has never lost a match that I can see.  From where I sit, she was unbeatable before swapping secrets.  

Good luck though!  


So what are your schedules looking like?  When should I post?  Do you want the speed round as Rodrigo suggests?


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## mythago (Aug 8, 2005)

Berandor said:
			
		

> Now you've swapped secrets with Piratecat and sialia you think you're unbeatable, don't you?




Actually, I'm now pretty sure that Sialia could whup me with one typing hand tied behind her back, a bad case of carpal tunnel in the other hand, and a hangover.



			
				Berandor said:
			
		

> _"You broke it! You broke my quill! Well, that's it." He lovingly caresses the feather before putting it carefully away. "You can't just break a man's quill and expect to get away with it. _




I've broken *many* a man's quill in my time, sonny. 


Speed round would be OK for me but I would have to get the pictures on the weekend--I have an odd schedule this week and there's no freakin' way I could do a 24-hour match until Saturday. Otherwise, 72 hours works fine.


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## Maldur (Aug 8, 2005)

Macbeth said:
			
		

> Wow, I thought about posting an ENWorld Worldcon thread, but never got around to it. Too bad.
> 
> I'm actually at the Last day of the Con now, having a great time (found some awesome dice, among other things), and I lvoe Glasgow, wonderful city. Leaving for LOndon tomorrow. I'll have to check out the Ceramic DM Collection that En Publishing put out when I get back.




I just got back from london, but a friend of mine was at world con ( she text messaged me , with something like, you should be here, but then it was too late, four of my favourite writers did attent though . grumbles)


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## Berandor (Aug 8, 2005)

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> Umm, Berandor, Mythago has never lost a match that I can see.  From where I sit, she was unbeatable before swapping secrets.



So? I'm not gonna lose this one without smack-talk.



> So what are your schedules looking like?  When should I post?  Do you want the speed round as Rodrigo suggests?



I defer to mythago for scheduling, as long as its on the weekend 

Seriously though, one day of weekend would be extremely supergreat. I don't think I can do a god job during the week - but I will try if I must. As for speed match - only if I get a weekend  But I'll defer to mythago on this one, too. If I won, I could say I won on her own terms, and after I've lost, I can at least claim to have been inconvenienced by all the fancy scheduling only a lawyer could do.

Of course, I still hope mythago is too busy for a match-up and didn't really want to go there, so she'll run away a second time 

Edited To Add: So she posted already. Seems like a weekend match, which is wonderfully terrifying - I mean terrific.

Oh, and if it's a speed match (not that I would be fine with 72 hours), can we do 36 hours? That way, nobody would be too badly hurt by an inconvenient posting time.


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## BSF (Aug 8, 2005)

Hmm, good point.  We do have something like a 9 hour differential between Berandor and Mythago.  That is pretty rough in a 24 hour write off.  

What are the preferences?  
24 hour write off and both of you can just use coffee instead of sleep?
36 hour write off to make the preface to the Ceramic DM PDF true at least once?
72 hour slow bake write off?

I need judges that can work with it as well. It sounds like at least part of it will happen over weekend hours though.


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Aug 8, 2005)

I'm leaving on vacation Sunday, but I'll have 'net access if you need a judge.


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## Berandor (Aug 8, 2005)

I think I'm more dependant on editing than mythago, so 72 hours would be swell, 36 fine, and 24 a little scary. (In addition to the scariness of facing the uber-cursor )

Edit: I just want to say that I'll see Sin City on thursday, when it opens in Germany, so I make no promises with regard to the profanity filter


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## BSF (Aug 8, 2005)

I remember when Mythago's title was 'Iconic Blinky Thing'.  

Should we run a seperate thread for the write off?  Or just tack it onto the end of this one?


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## Berandor (Aug 8, 2005)

I don't know how public mythago wants her defeat to be


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## reveal (Aug 8, 2005)

Berandor said:
			
		

> I don't know how public mythago wants her defeat to be




Do we need to separate you two? 

BTW, if you need another judge, I'd be happy to volunteer, although I know there are others more qualified than I am.


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## Eeralai (Aug 8, 2005)

BSF's dream match: smack talk galore


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## Berandor (Aug 8, 2005)

BSF's dream and my nightmare


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## mythago (Aug 9, 2005)

Berandor said:
			
		

> I don't know how public mythago wants her defeat to be




I want my defeat of you to be as public as possible, of course!


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## Berandor (Aug 9, 2005)

*gulp*

So... we stay in this thread then? 

Naah, make a new one. Let the Battle of Broken Quill begin, and remember Custer.


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## BSF (Aug 9, 2005)

OK, so let me summarize:
New thread:  Ceramic DM - Grudge Match (Berandor vs Mythago)
Let's use a 72 hour contest.  With overlap onto the weekend. 
Four pictures with a limit of 4000 words has been proposed.  
Would either contestant like to propose a change?


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## mythago (Aug 9, 2005)

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> OK, so let me summarize:
> New thread:  Ceramic DM - Grudge Match (Berandor vs Mythago)
> Let's use a 72 hour contest.  With overlap onto the weekend.
> Four pictures with a limit of 4000 words has been proposed.
> Would either contestant like to propose a change?




Yeah, could you guys please use that special absorbent stuff on the arena floor to soak up the blood? Kitty litter is cheaper, but it just doesn't work as well.


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## RangerWickett (Aug 9, 2005)

Just putting this here for promotional purposes.  Let the fights continue, I say.







.




.





I'm asking Sialia now if it'll be okay to use these as banner ads.


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## Berandor (Aug 9, 2005)

if it's o.k., tell me. I'll put one in my sig.

As for the contest  rules, I'm fine.


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## Sialia (Aug 9, 2005)

RangerWickett said:
			
		

> I'm asking Sialia now if it'll be okay to use these as banner ads.





oooOOOOoooohh!  Shiny.

I'm sorry I haven't been able to check my email--I've lost most of my access to the internet for the forseeable future.  I just happened to check in on this thread today. I don't know when I'll be online again.

yes, by all means yes--please go ahead and use these. They look great.

I'm looking forward to seeing the pdf.


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## BSF (Aug 9, 2005)

mythago said:
			
		

> Yeah, could you guys please use that special absorbent stuff on the arena floor to soak up the blood? Kitty litter is cheaper, but it just doesn't work as well.




Didn't you get the memo?  I'm sorry about that.  We decided we wanted a darker red color for the arena floor.  It was decided that fire-sealed blood would provide a nice ambiance.  As well, it is economical since we just wait until the end of each contest before re-sealing the surface.  

Mind you, we wouldn't need to do this so often if it weren't for those semi-colons you favor.  I agree that they are great for drawing blood, but they also scratch the floor pretty ferociously.  

So, no kitty litter.  Mind the blood on the floor, it's slippery.


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## BSF (Aug 9, 2005)

Berandor, you ought to use the green one since it was one of your pics for a story.


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## mythago (Aug 10, 2005)

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> Mind you, we wouldn't need to do this so often if it weren't for those semi-colons you favor.




What can I say? Chicks love 'em.

When do we start exactly?


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## Berandor (Aug 10, 2005)

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> Berandor, you ought to use the green one since it was one of your pics for a story.



 But I like the other one.

All this talk of blood, though - does that mean we're going back to The Arena (tm)?


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## BSF (Aug 11, 2005)

Two options for start date
Friday morning (Berandor's time)/Thurday evening (Mythago's time) with a due date of Monday Morning/Sunday Evening.
Or
Friday evening/Saturday morning with a due date of Monday evening/Tuesday morning.

I am partial to the first just to get things moving.


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## Berandor (Aug 11, 2005)

me, too, so I can let the pictures simmer for a day.


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## mythago (Aug 11, 2005)

Sure.


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## BSF (Aug 11, 2005)

OK, let's go for picture here in around 12 hours or so.


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## Maldur (Aug 11, 2005)

*starts looking for an XL judging stick*


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## Rodrigo Istalindir (Aug 11, 2005)

*already has an extra-large judging stick*


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## BSF (Aug 11, 2005)

Umm, would the two of you quite playing with your sticks please?


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## Berandor (Aug 11, 2005)

I'm just glad they're still sticking around.


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## BSF (Aug 12, 2005)

And so it begins:
Ceramic DM - Grudge Match!  Berandor vs Mythago


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