# Winter Ceramic DM™: THE WINNER!



## mythago

*Winter Ceramic DM™: THE WINNER!*

We'll be needing eight people (six contestants, two alternates) interested in trying their hand. If Iron DM is like sumo wrestling, Ceramic DM is like sumo wrestling involving ballet dancers with floating rose petals and slow Cantonese pop in the background. Or something like that.





     To quote alsih2o, Our Venerable Leader, on The Rules:treat the illustrations as if they were the illustrations for your story



 length- not an issue, but i have the attention span of a mayfly, so a novella will get chucked 
	

	
	
		
		

		
			





     once it is posted, no editing

     the illu's will be numbered , please indicate by number where they belong in your story.

 72 hours form the post of the illu's for you to post your story. times will be using the timestamp on your posts, no credit for turning anything in early, disqualified for 1 minute or more late (c'mon, you have 72 hours!!)

 an adventure is acceptable, as is a story, but applicability to the d20 3e genre is the rule 
	

	
	
		
		

		
		
	


	




​Entries will open, oh, Tuesday or Wednesday next week. Judges are myself, arwink and Maldur.


----------



## BSF

OK, I wanna give it a try.  I will try to juggle my work schedule so it doesn't interfere.  Damn, sleep would probably be good to get ahead of time too.  

Were Sialia and alsih2o jumping in this too?  

I'm looking forward to it.


----------



## Piratecat

I'm so in.


----------



## Bibliophile

I'll give it a try!  Count me in


----------



## Berandor

Why do you need 6?

Anyway, I'd like to do it, but I'd probably suck 
I'd better just sit around and make comments from the peanut gallery


----------



## alsih2o

i.....am....in....


 o.k., i had to get that bit of shatner out of me.

 i am not much of a writer, but i will gladly serve as first round fodder


----------



## guedo79

I'll give it a try. I'm not the best writer in the world but you have to start somewhere.


----------



## Cedric

I'd like to give it a shot...and with the way things are running at work right now, I should have the time, no problem. 

Cedric


----------



## alsih2o

guedo79 said:
			
		

> I'll give it a try. I'm not the best writer in the world but you have to start somewhere.




 come guedo, drown with me in great glory!

 for the greater good! well, you know, mostly for self improvement. but that is harder to say and sound glorious.


----------



## Kesh

Okay then, I'll jump in just to try it.


----------



## guedo79

We shall kill our enemies and floss with their innards?

I was just hoping to write an adventure from some silly pictures.  But, when in Rome....


----------



## mythago

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> Were Sialia and alsih2o jumping in this too?



 Yes, hence the need for 6 entrants. 

 I'll start taking names Tuesday.


----------



## BSF

So I should lurk on the boards, refreshing as quickly as I can click a mouse so I can be sure to jump in, on Tuesday?


----------



## mythago

That works...

 ...though it just dawned on me that we've had 8 people post "I'm in" on the thread so far. Should I just go ahead and consider y'all entered?


----------



## Cedric

Well...I'd like to be in, but you hold off entries until Tuesday, I'll just keep a close eye on the boards and hope to get lucky, heh.


----------



## Piratecat

Sure, start now. Why not?


----------



## Gregor

Id love to enter and have my rematch against Piratecat, but unfortunately I have a paper due next week.  I'm looking forward to reading the stories though!

Cheers,


----------



## BSF

Do you have the necessary alternates available?

Not actually starting until Tuesday works better for me in regards to work responsibilities.  I have a full plate tomorrow and then we half my department on the road early next week, I will be covering a bit for them.  

However, that just reflects my preferences.  If everyone else is ready to go, I can accomodate that.


----------



## Bibliophile

Starting now works for me


----------



## alsih2o

Bibliophile said:
			
		

> Starting now works for me





 but, but, we need to se the match-ups and smacktalk!


----------



## guedo79

I'm ready. Creative batteries all charged. 

smacktalk huh?  I bet clay won't even be able to glaze a donut when I'm done with him.


----------



## BSF

I'll second the request for smack-talk.  

(Admittedly, I'm not sure I have any smack-talk, but it is a fun component...)


----------



## alsih2o

smack-talk commences-

 i was trying to take a piece of candy from this little girl once and she smacked em really hard. 

 i mean, there was a red spot there for like 5 or 6 minutes, and i think it welled up a little bit.

 it hurt.


----------



## Berandor

Smack Talk? What are the match-ups, anyway?


----------



## mythago

alsih2o said:
			
		

> smack-talk commences-
> 
> i was trying to take a piece of candy from this little girl once and she smacked em really hard.
> 
> i mean, there was a red spot there for like 5 or 6 minutes, and i think it welled up a little bit.
> 
> it hurt.



  We're here for you, man.

  I am still shuffling my pics, so it will be at least a coupla days before we start.

 UPDATE: near as I can tell, the list of competitors looks like this:

 Sialia
 alsih20
 BardStephenFox
 Piratecat
 Bibliophile
 guedo79
 Cedric
 Kesh

 ...and no alternates yet, so if more people want to be on the backup list that would be just grand.

 I am waiting on permission from some photogs and we are off.


----------



## Taladas

Oh, Oh, I'll be an alternate. Pick me, Pick Me!!! (jumps up and down frantically).

Or you know whatever.


----------



## mythago

Okay, one alternate


----------



## Berandor

All right, alternate me


----------



## Maldur

As I said in my mail, Ill assist in judging 

Good luck everyone!!


----------



## mythago

*Short recap*

While we're waiting on a few photographers to give the OK, short recap of the rules &c:

 72 hours from the time the pics are posted.

 No editing once you post. This is an automatic disqualification.

 Reference the pictures in your entry, with a number, the name of the pic, or a direct link. I will say from experience that the footnote method is way easier than trying to insert links.

 Any genre is OK. I f you write an adventure, it should be d20 3.x e, obviously, but does not have to be DnD. I have tried really hard to use pics that are flexible. 

 Length is up to you, but think of the judges as fidgety small children who had a few too many bowls of Frosted Sugar Boms, if you get it into your head to write a novella. 

 Judge notes: maldur and arwink can speak for themselves, but I am kind of a snot about spelling and grammar. It would be wise to run your entry through a spell/grammar checker before posting it.


----------



## Kesh

Are there any links to previous Ceramic DM matches? Just so I can get the right feel for what's going on.


----------



## alsih2o

Kesh said:
			
		

> Are there any links to previous Ceramic DM matches? Just so I can get the right feel for what's going on.





http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=65913&highlight=ceramic


----------



## Sialia

mythago said:
			
		

> We're here for you, man.
> 
> I am still shuffling my pics, so it will be at least a coupla days before we start.
> 
> UPDATE: near as I can tell, the list of competitors looks like this:
> 
> Sialia
> alsih20
> BardStephenFox
> Piratecat
> Bibliophile
> guedo79
> Cedric
> Kesh
> 
> ...



Oh. Migod.

Um.

This is terribly awkward. I soooo want to do this. But I haven't even had time to check the boards to find out about it until today.
We were supposed to do this back in December after I finished school and before I started the new job . . . And I was so hungry and desperate to get started writing again, I started like three new writing projects . . . 

AAAAAAaagh.

Ok. What the hell. I'm in. If I can't hack it, somebody is going to advance without having to try real hard.

But don't count on that, eh?


----------



## mythago

*Round One Match-Ups*

Using the time-honored d8 method:

  alsih2o vs. guedo79
  Sialia vs. BardStephenFox
  Cedric vs. Kesh
  Piratecat vs. Bibliophile

 Alternates: Taladas and Berandor

  Who is available to start Monday?


----------



## Cedric

I can start Monday

Cedric


----------



## alsih2o

i can start monday.

 i am already nervous.


----------



## Bibliophile

Monday's fine by me...

Well... this bodes _interestingly_ to say the least... up against PC in the first round, eep!

Well, may the best man, or aquatic feline, as the case may be, win


----------



## Piratecat

With 72 hours, Monday is dandy. It is a good week for hot storytelling mano-a-mano action!


----------



## guedo79

I'm good for monday.


----------



## alsih2o

youwill notice that the heathen coward guedo hasn't shown up since he found he was paired against my might!

 ha! ha! ha!

oh, um, wait, no, no!


----------



## Kesh

Monday's good.


----------



## Berandor

I hereby dare Piratecat to do all of his entries with his probability-magician character.
Shouldn't be too hard, with just one entry to write 

Smack-Talking Berandor
hopes that Bibliophile doesn't quit now


----------



## Piratecat

Harsh! But I can hardly accept trash-talk from an _alternate._ From you, it's more like "litter-talk."  

Anyways, I need to expand my range. Nothing better for that kind of practice than these competitions, where you can afford to take risks and try new writing techniques. I still have a whole lot of things to learn. Being forced to thrash them out in print here is a good way of learning them.


----------



## mythago

OK, since Pkitty and Bibliophile were the first pair to check in, they go Monday.

 Pay no attention to the hideous, cackling laughter in the background. Really. Move along.

 I'm thinking staggering entrants by two days will keep things moving along without overwhelming the judges, i.e. we start new rounds on Wednesday, Friday, then Sunday. Is there a day the rest of y'all can't work with?


----------



## alsih2o

mythago said:
			
		

> Is there a day the rest of y'all can't work with?




 i have an absolute emberassment of free time. i will be free whenever all 3 of my opponents are free.

 that's right, i said all 3.


----------



## guedo79

So your  competing in Ceramic DM and what two other games?


----------



## BSF

Aah!  I'm paired off against Sialia.  How am I going to smack talk to Sialia?  Oh, cruel hands of fate...

Every second day works for me after Monday.  At Sialia's convenience for the first round.


----------



## Mirth

Good luck, everybody!


----------



## guedo79

Oh man. I just read through the old ceramic DM threads. Wow I'm nervous. 

Any who, you know that it’s all in good fun, right Clay? No need to pull out the big guns. Its just little ol'me.


----------



## Bibliophile

Hrm... wow... Monday, eh?  And against PirateCat too, oh well, shouldn't take too long against him, I might only miss breakfast :-D


----------



## BSF

alsih2o said:
			
		

> i have an absolute emberassment of free time. i will be free whenever all 3 of my opponents are free.
> 
> that's right, i said all 3.




Huh, so round two is randomized as well right?  Otherwise, I see no way that you will be making it past round two if you face off against either Sialia or myself.  Come to think of it, the way this is randomized seems to have simply streamlined the whole contest.  You might as well just wait to see who wins between Sialia and myself and declare the contest over.  The rest of the rounds will be just going through the motions.


----------



## Piratecat

Bibliophile said:
			
		

> I might only miss breakfast :-D




I'm really sorry that stress, nervousness and terror makes your stomach upset. Have you tried any over-the-counter medications?


----------



## alsih2o

guedo79 said:
			
		

> Oh man. I just read through the old ceramic DM threads. Wow I'm nervous.
> 
> Any who, you know that it’s all in good fun, right Clay? No need to pull out the big guns. Its just little ol'me.




 that's right! i started this game, i managed this game, i judged this game and that mean i am qualified to be eliminated from society for having too much free time!

 so there.

 no, wait...


----------



## Cedric

Umm Clay, I think you are supposed to smack-talk the other players, not yourself.

You know...fyi

Cedric


----------



## alsih2o

Cedric said:
			
		

> Umm Clay, I think you are supposed to smack-talk the other players, not yourself.
> 
> You know...fyi
> 
> Cedric





 i try, i swear, it is all just so confusing..


----------



## Kesh

Weekends are bad for me, as I have to work then.  Otherwise, I'm free.


----------



## Sialia

Kesh said:
			
		

> Weekends are bad for me, as I have to work then.  Otherwise, I'm free.



While I, on the other hand, count that any 72 hour period that does not include at least one weekend night (Friday or Saturday) contain only 2 hours of available writing time per night.  I am not kidding you. If we start on Tuesday, I will have to do this in six hours, in small pieces.

If the dice say I must crush BardStephenFox exquisitely, I would relish the opportunity to do so with loving care, rather than as a rush job. He'll be soooo disappointed in me if I just roll over, won't he?

But as you will. I'm ready either way.


----------



## mythago

Awright, so in theory the pairings are thus.

 Monday:    Piratecat vs. Bibliophile
 Wednesday:    alsih2o vs. guedo79
 Friday:    Sialia vs. BardStephenFox
 Sunday: Cedric vs. Kesh


----------



## Bibliophile

Hrm... and the clock counts down...

*goes off to sharpen pencil*


----------



## mythago

Judgements will come in after the entries...as soon as possible.


----------



## Sialia

Thank you!

Now to relish the exquisite agony of waiting and wondering what's in store . . .


----------



## arwink

_Bounces into the thread_

Three more days?  Awe man, I was sure if I left it until the third page the first of the stories would have started 

_Goes and lurks in the corner of the thread, waiting for something to judge_


----------



## Maldur

mythago said:
			
		

> Judgements will come in after the entries...as soon as possible.



 Allright, allright I ll pay attention this time 
Jeez why do Judges have to be smack talked , what is this world comming to.

Good luck again


----------



## mythago

*Round One: Bibliophile vs. Piratecat*

We'll start you all off easy like, four pics in the first round.


----------



## Bibliophile

Well PirateCat, good luck, and may your word processor work well ;-)


----------



## Maldur

Not efor the future, what about renaming the pics to numbers next time, the names do already give an idea, and we do want the imagination of the players flow unrestricted


----------



## mythago

Bah, maldur wants me to do work! (But that's not a bad idea.)


----------



## Cedric

Just so I understand...

EDIT: Found it posted up above...that's what I get for not reading!


----------



## alsih2o

*drums fingers nervously on keyboard holding thingy*


----------



## Cedric

heh...I know your pictures are being posted on Wednesday Clay...but I don't think you should count on them hitting the board right at midnight. 

Heh, might want to get a good night's sleep.


----------



## Piratecat

Clay, I've given you a new avatar to act as inspiration!  

No, no, no need to thank me; that's what friends are for.  Hee hee.  Win the competition, and I promise not to mess with your avatar for at least a month.


----------



## Maldur

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Clay, I've given you a new avatar to act as inspiration!
> 
> No, no, no need to thank me; that's what friends are for.  Hee hee.  Win the competition, and I promise not to mess with your avatar for at least a month.



 Now that is a price


----------



## mythago

*Round 2, guedo79 vs. alsih2o*

72 hours, gentlepersons...


----------



## Chasmodai

Oi. How come I don't notice these things happening till late? Woulda loved to sign up. 

But anyway, good luck to all you Ceramicompetitors. Can't hardly wait for the first story.


----------



## Bibliophile

*Round 1: Bibliophile vs PirateCat*

Well, my entry will follow in the next post.

For reference, I inserted a note into the text wherever a picture was used:

example: The great house was a strange color of off-blue, blending perfectly with the sky <house.jpg>.

Mmkay, I don't think I need to say anything else about it, but, in any case, here's my story!

Do enjoy


----------



## Bibliophile

*Round 1: Bibliophile vs Piratecat*

*Mysteries*

Catharsis…

A spiritual release…

Playground for your inner transcendentalist…

At least that’s what your psychologist back in New York said.

After a particularly nerve-wracking week of all-nighters, you stumbled into your psychologist’s office for the bi-monthly meeting.  He brought it up while you were ranting to him about your new case.  You told him about the strange trials you had been through, and how this one, prosecuting a man for murder, prosecuting a _blind_ man for murder, was the most bizarre one yet.  Then, he gave you an idea: take a break, just get away from it all, go on a sudden vacation.  It sounded good at the time, so you even stayed later to work out the details.

It took a while, but you finally decided on Northern Europe: a small, little known town named Eldskog, only a handful of miles from the city of Lakselv, Norway.  It didn’t really get any more remote than that… or harder to pronounce for that matter.

In any case, the journey there was actually quite pleasant, and so was the stay.  No crazy New York traffic to worry about.  The constant buzz of the big city was behind you, and well forgotten.  You even managed to forget exactly what the smog congesting the city smelled like.  Things were going great… until now.

You didn’t expect any trouble when you came down from your room in the two-story, wooden, family-run inn you were staying at, but sure enough, it still managed to find you.  In fact, you had almost made it to the relative safety of the bar, in the next room over, before he caught you.  You certainly weren’t expecting it, after all, who would?  Who in the world would have thought that a half-blind, ancient Norwegian with a cane would have been able to tell from the sound of your footsteps that you were from the US?  Heck, who would have thought that half-blind, ancient Norwegian with a cane would have spoken English at all?  If that wasn’t enough, certainly no one would have thought that he wanted to divulge his entire life story, all before you ate breakfast.  Still, it didn’t have to be so bad.  It actually could have turned out kind of well, almost enlightening maybe.

But God was he boring…

“…and so there I was,” he continued in a mangled accent, the words straining to breech his thick beard and get through the chilly air, “finally standing in front of Kristianne’s father.  He gave me the once-over, and almost started to stare at me from behind his monocle, as if he wanted to ask ‘_You_ want to marry _my_ daughter?  You’ve got to be kidding!’  Instead he just paused for a moment and then asked me in a quiet voice, full of arrogance, ‘So, Erik, exactly what do you do for a living?’

“I tried to smile as I told him, rather sheepishly, mind you, ‘Well, sir, I climb rocks.’  Her old man just starred at me for a moment until I helpfully added, ‘Big rocks, sir, very big rocks.’

“Perhaps it just wasn’t the best thing to say but…” and the relic kept droning on for a bit.  He almost talked himself to sleep, but lady luck would have none of it, you and your inconvenient yawns.

The apparently ex-mountain climber shook his head, as if trying to clear it of cobwebs, and paused for a moment before continuing, “Hmpf, I can see you’re just like all the rest, no manners, and no attention span.  All of you young ones these days, never giving an old man some respect.  I suppose you’re more interested in getting some food than hearing the wisdom of my words.”

You really did mean to explain it all to him, how you meant to be polite, but you just didn’t have the time to sit there all day, listening, but before you could get a word out, he was talking again.

“Well, fine, have it your way then, I’ll tell you something exciting.  This one happened nearly fifty years ago.

“I was nearing the end of my prime, and I knew it.  I still hadn’t made a big impact in the world of rock climbing: no records, no famous climbs, no nothing.  If I didn’t want to end up slowly freezing to death in my old age, just some nobody up in the arctic, I had to do something drastic, and I knew it.  I started looking around for the most daring climbs.  The impossible ones, something that would get me a bit of fame, at least enough to be remembered by.  

“But, there was a bit of a problem with that: all the big climbs had been done before, there wasn’t anything new on the horizon, just jobs leading groups of businessmen up glaciated valleys and the like, for no better reason than they wanted to, and had the money to back it up.

“I suppose you could say I fell into a sort of depression then, it had been years since I said my final good-byes to Kristianne, and I hadn’t had much contact with my old friends from my school years at all.  But, that changed, one day, an… an acquaintance, I think that’s the word, wrote me a letter.  There weren’t many details in it, but just the mention of Kelan’s Peak was enough to get my attention though.  I headed down to the University where he worked as a member of the archeology department as soon as I could.

“Once I finally made it down there, he, the acquaintance’s name was Jorgen, practically dragged me over to a large table, stumbling in excitement.  On it was a large map, with Kelan’s Peak marked by a ridiculously large ‘X,’ and a postcard, one of those cheap ones they have at tourist stands.  Somewhat confused, I asked him why in the world he asked me to come all the way to his university just to see a map that I could have bought anywhere, although, I admit, I wasn’t quite that polite at the time.

“Much to my surprise though, he told me that the map wasn’t what I needed to see, but the postcard.  Now quite curious to see what had excited Jorgen so, I picked up the postcard carefully, and looked it over.

“The first thing that hit me about it was that it was _cold_.  Not just the kind of cold that things become when they’re left in an unheated room during the winter, but cold enough to start condensing moisture on it, an especially odd thing in an eighty-degree Fahrenheit room.  The second thing I noticed were the women on the front of the card.  Wearing elaborate blue and white dresses, and _very_ old fashioned headdresses, they didn’t look too bad.  Hell, the one on the right was seriously good looking, if I do say so <dancers.jpg>.

“Well, I let my eyes enjoy themselves for a moment before I turned the card over, to check the back of it.  Not that that told me much: it was full of what looked like absolutely meaningless scribbles.  I figured that it had to be some bizarre code or language, but I wasn’t quite sure, so then I calmly turned around and asked Jorgen about it.

“At least, that’s what I probably should have done.  As it was, I yelled obscenities at him for nearly five full minutes about getting my hopes up with mention of an expedition to Kelan’s Peak, only to trick me into visiting him so he could show me some new hi-tech postcard that kept itself cool.

“Well, after the things I said, he was remarkably cool tempered.  In fact, he only hit me in the face once: not that a second swing would have been necessary.

“I came to about an hour later with a splitting headache.  Before I could start yelling at him again, Jorgen picked up the postcard, walked over, and started talking, ‘Erik, before you say anything, just shut up and listen.  I’m going to put this as simply and quickly as I can, because we may not have much time.  First of all, there’s nothing hi-tech about this postcard.  Nothing at all.  I checked the serial code, it was printed somewhere between the years 1920 and 1927, and no, I don’t have the slightest clue why it’s freezing cold.  

“ ‘Second, the stuff on the back: those aren’t just random scribbles, it’s a form of ancient Greek, only used in the past by the caretakers of the oracle of Apollo at Delphi sometime before the third century BC, it was almost lost to history had it not been for a few quick actions during a massive fire there in the medieval ages.  I wasn’t able to translate the entire thing, but I translated enough of it to gather a rough idea of what it says.  Back in 1925, there was a French explorer, one Faustus Leroy, who supposedly scaled Kelan’s Peak.  He was found years after he had set off wandering into a town hundreds of miles away, apparently insane.  The postcard was with him.

“ ‘Have you heard of the Greek myth of Prometheus?  You have?  Ah, good, then I don’t have to explain that bit.  Well, to make a long story short, the writing on the back, presumably Leroy’s, mentions the location of the “fire of Prometheus,” as being hidden somewhere on Kelan’s Peak.

“ ‘Thirdly, and here’s the really interesting part, I had some analysis done on the ink on the back of the postcard.  Get this: it’s more than three thousand years old.

“ ‘Now, if you still think that this was just a waste of time to come down here, then leave.  But, if you’re anywhere near as interested as I am in finding out just what happened to Leroy on Kelan’s Peak, then we’ve got some planning to do, and you’ve got a mountain to help me climb.’

“I suppose I was still a bit groggy after his punch, but, combining that with everything I had just heard was too much.

“This time it was nearly dark outside when I came to again.  However, I was excited now.  After going over a few of the details with Jorgen, and taking another very long look at the postcard, I decided that here was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up.  Besides, only a handful of people had ever managed to scale the treacherous heights of Kelan’s Peak, and here fate had given me the perfect excuse to try.  No matter what we found on the summit, it would certainly be an interesting trip.”

The old man blinked his eyes twice in slow succession before continuing his tale.  During the short pause, it occurred to you that maybe, just this once, even though it was a vacation, breakfast could wait a while.

“So, over the next week, Jorgen made all of the travel arrangements, and I gathered what equipment we would need.  Before I had time to think twice about it, we found ourselves in Antarctica, at the base of one of the most hostile mountains in existance.  The whole of its tremendous, frozen form stretching out above us like some cyclopean monolith, its top hidden by clouds.

“Well, we set at it.  It didn’t take long for us to realize exactly why this mountain, among others, had such a ominous reputation: the rock was as hard as steel and as sharp as a tiger’s claw, ensuring that hooks would be hard to place, and safe handholds would be scarce.

“But, we still made steady progress.  Steady, but very slow progress.  Some days we only made it up a handful of meters, and we hadn’t even gotten to the hard part yet.

“No, the hard part came when we were a little more than halfway up.  See, as it turned out, the clouds we saw from the base were there for a reason, an all too good reason: they were storm clouds.

“Now, climbing a mountain is hard enough as is, it doesn’t help any when the mountain’s bent on killing you, and it _certainly_ doesn’t help any when mother nature herself, in all of her full-blown armed-with-a-rolling-pin fury is doing her best to help the mountain.

“Maybe that gives you an idea what it was like up there, but, if not, just try imagining playing blindfolded Russian roulette with four starving grizzly bears, using a semiautomatic pistol.  Oh, and by the way, you have the first turn.

“In any case, we accepted our fate, and kept going, now only making a meter or two at best, unless we were lucky enough to catch a break in the winds.

“After what felt like a more convincing eternity than anything I had previously experienced, we, at long last, made it through the storm.  The last fourth of the climb was a piece of cake compared to what we had gone through in the past three months, and we hurried to reach the summit and rest.

“What we didn’t know was that waiting for us, at the top, was a surprise beyond our wildest dreams.  Actually, nightmares would be a better word.

“Jorgen was first to reach the summit.  As I made the last few feet, I could hear his amazed cries, which were soon drowned out by my own.

“You see… the summit was a rather large area, roughly in the shape of a circle, some one hundred fifty in diameter.  But, the strangest thing wasn’t the flat mountaintop, it also wasn’t the human skeleton near the ruined remains of a tent, nor was it the apparently newly-hewn stone staircase descending into the mountain in the center of the plateau.  No, the strangest thing was the grass.  Despite temperatures well below freezing, an elevation of more than 7,500 meters, and being located, well, in Antarctica, there was grass growing.  Normal, green grass, just like you can find in a million fields across Europe, with even a few flowers here and there.  It was impossible, but, by God, it was real.

“We decided to leave the main tent secured over the side of the summit, and to bring the spare up, on top, to use that night.  Before we headed to sleep, however, we investigated the skeleton, and the remains of its camp.

“Everything was ruined, everything, that is, except a small, rusted lock, with a key rusted stuck inside of it <lock.jpg>.  I decided to hold onto that, while we buried the skeleton as best we could.

“The next morning, we awoke to be reassured that, indeed, it wasn’t a dream, that the incredible scene atop the mountain was still there.

“While our brains still hadn’t finished trying to process what we had found, we decided to proceed on, and investigate the stone staircase.

“It was fairly odd, as far as staircases go, being firstly atop a mountain, and secondly showing no signs of wearing or erosion of any sort.  It was as if someone had, just that morning, before we woke up, decided to carve a flight of stairs down, into the mountain itself, and had never even used it.

“Being cautious, but still extremely curious, we decided to descend, but not before gathering what supplies we believed we would need: some flashlights, extra food, and a few ropes, just in case.

“I counted the steps as we went down, the staircase ended on the three hundredth and a half step.  Don’t ask me how I got half a step, I’m still not sure to this day, but three hundred and a half steps it was.  Jorgen and I went up and down a few times, keeping our own counts to be sure, and each time, three hundred point five steps.  At that point, we both had seen enough strange things, between the post card and the summit itself, not to mention the fact that there was a staircase at all, that we decided to accept the numerical oddity, and proceed on.

“Unfortunately for us, our luck had worn out.  The staircase emptied out into a small landing, barely five feet wide.  On either side, the stone walls of the staircase continued around to our front, forming what seemed to be a very, very dead end.  A little searching revealed an inscription in the same dialect as that on the postcard; which Jorgen quickly translated to read ‘The key is within.’

“Whatever that meant.

“Over the next few days, the inscription consumed us.  What was its meaning?  Why was it there?  What did it have to do with Leroy’s madness, and the skeleton we discovered?  Did it have anything to do with the grass atop the summit?  In general, what in the world was going on?

“We had thought that by reaching the summit, we had defeated the mountain.  As the days went by, and we made no progress understanding either the inscription, or the strange conditions at the top, we slowly began to feel that the mountain had the last laugh.

“Then, one restless night, I decided to go back and descend the staircase again, hoping that maybe this time I could figure something out.

“I quickly, and rather quietly, for I didn’t wish to disturb Jorgen, gathered my equipment and headed off into the mountain.  I reached the dead end and the inscription quickly, and sat down, staring at the wall of stone.  I passed most of the night that way, just sitting there, staring at it.  Finally, I decided to give up.  It was hopeless, and I needed sleep.

“I began to ascend the stairs when my hand slipped, absent-mindedly into my pocket, where I had put the lock.  I took it out, glanced over it for a second thinking, ‘Why not?  It’s certainly a key, and it sure as anything is within, within a lock, at least.’

“So, without bothering to think any further, I put down my flashlight, and with my now-free second hand, grabbed hold of the key and twisted it inside of the lock.”

You realize that by now it must be sometime after noon, as the Norwegian stands up for a moment, leaning heavily on his cane, an old, like everything else about him, wooden affair that looked as though it was carved by a rather dull knife.  After stretching his legs a bit, he sits down again to continue his tale.

“As I was saying, I turned the key, or, at least I tried to. The rusted think wouldn’t budge a bit.

“I threw the lock, with the key still in it, at the dead end in frustration, and started back up the stairs before it hit the floor.

“I was making so much noise as I walked back up, that I almost didn’t hear the faint click issue from the lock as it landed.  But, even if I hadn’t, I certainly would have felt the blast of warm air hit me in the back.  I quickly turned around to see what in the world had happened, and was greeted by a gap in the wall.  It was barely half a meter wide, just wide enough to fit through, and it appeared as if the wall had simply slid apart, only there was no noise <rift.jpg>.

“I picked up my flashlight, and headed through it.

“The warm air kept flowing from deeper inside the mountain as I followed the split in the rock downward.  Eventually, it lead to the base of an immense, open cavern, extending for hundreds of meters in every direction.  

“There, in the center of it, was an enormous, Greek temple of purest white marble, with ornate columns holding up a ceiling so highly polished that I could see my reflection in it, as if it was a giant mirror.  And in the center of the temple, throwing a magnificent golden light throughout the entire cavern, was a perfectly round ball of roiling fire, some three meters across.  

“I stood entranced, at the base of the steps, my mind desperately racing, trying to put together all of the pieces.  For, surely I had found the fire of Prometheus, the theft of which condemned him to an eternity of binds, holding him in place while eagles ate at his liver.

“I delicately placed one foot on a step, being careful not to tread loudly, lest I disturb the sacredness of the place.  Soon, I had made my way across the smooth, but barren, temple floor, to a distance of perhaps ten meters from the flame.

“It was a while that I stood there, gazing into the flame: the very fire which I no longer doubted was stolen from the gods atop Mount Olympus, and given to mankind, that we might prosper in an unforgiving land.  There is a saying that if you stare too long into the void, the void will stare back at you.  So it was true also of the empyrean fire, for as I watched it, the surface of the ball changed, rippling outward before settling into a very familiar shape: that of the Earth.  As it twisted round in place, I recognized the familiar outlines of the continents and oceans.

“Its rotation began to speed up, very slowly at first, so as to be unnoticeable, but before long, it grew faster and faster, till I could no longer make out even where sea met land.  As it spun and spun, a new feature became apparent.  Deep under the surface of the flame were a pair of dark voids, blacker than the purest obsidian.  These, almost eyes, beckoned to me, calling my soul forward.

“I found my body obeying, taking, slowly, first one step, and then another, towards the flame.  I stopped right next to it, and reached out my left hand, plunging it slowly into the flame.  

“I felt nothing.  Nothing, that is, until the bullet ripped into my upper arm, sending a blinding stab of light into my mind, and jerking me back to my senses.  In enormous pain, I drew my hand back and wheeled around to see the form of Jorgen, not seven meters away, with a pistol leveled straight at my head.  Even through my pain, I did not doubt that the next shot would strike true.

“I closed my eyes, resigned to my fate, and the next shot that never came.

“Instead, still in shock from both the bullet wound and my experience moments earlier, I dimly heard Jorgen’s voice shouting something.  I tried to make sense of it, and found him crying apologies at me as he shook me roughly by the shoulders, trying to wrest me back into reality.

“He quickly explained that we had to leave that place, and did not have much time left.  We began running back up the path as he explained how he had awoken to find me missing, and a storm brewing above the summit.  He had descended the staircase to find the gap, and surmised that I must have gone through.  Upon reaching the cavern, he found me apparently trying to immolate myself in the flames, and, finding that I wouldn’t respond to any of his cries or physical actions, he took several steps back, and fired.  Luckily breaking the control of whatever held me in that state.

“We reached the grassy summit again in time to see the blizzard begin.  We panicked, and as quickly as we could, gathered everything that we could into the main tent, still hanging against the side of the great mountain, just below the edge, and climbed in ourselves.  On my way in, I risked one last glance towards the staircase, in time to see a jet of blood red fire leap out of it, sending tiny pieces of molten rock, almost appearing as embers from this distance, into the sky <flambe.jpg> sealing, quite possibly, the stairway forever.  Jorgen and I then bided our time, hoping desperately beyond hope that the lines holding us to the rock would remain secure.

“It was three harrowing days before the blizzard ceased.  When it had, nothing was left atop Kelan’s Peak that looked any different from any of hundreds of similar mountains.  The grass, the stairway, and even the flat quality to the place were all gone.  We then decided that there was nothing more that we could do, and began our descent after tending, as well as could be managed, to my wound.

“After we reached the base, we radioed in for our transport, and headed home, exhausted and confused.

“In case you’re wondering, Jorgen died quite a few years ago, in a car accident in Berlin.  As for myself, well, I’m on my last legs, and the flame left me a bit of a reminder.”

With that, the old man stands up to look you in the eye.  Still leaning heavily on his cane, he takes his left hand out from the folds of his cloak, and raises it up, about to clasp your shoulder.  As he does so, you notice that his hand has the faintest of a blue tinge to it, and almost looks as though it is covered by a very thin layer of frost.  The next thing you know, he gently grabs your shoulder, sending an icy chill into your skin…

Catharsis…

A spiritual release…

Playground for your inner transcendentalist…

At least that’s what your psychologist said back in New York.

It’s only too bad he didn’t mention the trouble you would have getting used to the locale.  You’ve been having such strange dreams lately.  But, as usual, you put it off as nothing much, just another figment of your finally-relaxing imagination.

Feeling your stomach complain in hunger, you get out of the warm bed in your room at the inn and head over to the window to look out at the morning sights in this winter wonderland.

In the distance, you can see people milling about their daily lives, marching to the beat of a different drum than what you listened to back in New York.  These people live in a different world, surrounded by the icy beauty of winter, they follow traditions much older than any adhered to in the US.  From the blacksmith, who’s hammer blows you can hear only very dimly, to the chants of a funeral procession now passing beneath your window.  The procession consists of a rather small group of people, and a rather plain coffin, merely stark, unpainted wood, its only ornament a roughly hewn wooden cane lying across its lid.


----------



## alsih2o

mythago said:
			
		

> 72 hours, gentlepersons...





 ack! make the names bigger,i almost missed!


----------



## alsih2o

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Clay, I've given you a new avatar to act as inspiration!
> 
> No, no, no need to thank me; that's what friends are for.  Hee hee.  Win the competition, and I promise not to mess with your avatar for at least a month.




 how about "win the competition and you can control my avatar for a month"? now THAT is what i wanna hear!


----------



## guedo79

Silly Clay.  You knew they were coming up. 

Got the pics. Now comes the hard part.


----------



## Bibliophile

Hrm... I just noticed a bit of a problem with my entry... apparently the notes i put into the story for when I used the pictures did not appear.  I'm not sure what would be best to do, so I'll just re-post the paragraphs where the pictures occurred (though I tried to make them fairly easy to tell from the description itself):

"The first thing that hit me about it was that it was _cold_.  Not just the kind of cold that things become when they're let in an unheated room during the winter, but cold enough to start condensing moisture on it, an especially odd thing in an eighty-degree Fahrenheit room.  The second thing I noticed were the women on the front of the card.  Wearing elaborate blue and white dresses, and _very_ old fashioned headdresses, they didn't look too bad.  Hell, the one of the right was seriously good looking, if I do say so *dancers.jpg*."

...

"Everything was ruined, everything, that is, except a small, rusted lock, with a key rusted stuck inside of it *lock.jpg*.  I decded to hold onto that, while we buried the skeleton as best we could."

...

"I was making so much noise as I walked back up, that I almost didn't hear the faint click issue from the lock as it landed.  But, even if I hadn't, I certainly would have felt the blast of warm air hit me in the back.  I quickly turned around to see what in the world had happened, and was greeted by a gap in the wall.  It was barely half a meter wide, just wide enough to fit through, and it appeared as if the wall had simply slid apart, only there was no noise *rift.jpg*."

...

"We reached the grassy summit again in time to see the blizzard begin.  We panicked, and as quickly as we could, gathered everything that we could into the main tent, still hanging against the side of the great mountain, just below the edge, and climbed in ourselves.  On my way in, I risked one last glance towards the staircase, in time to see a jet of blood red fire leap out of it, sending tiny pieces of molten rock, almost appearing as embers from this distance, into the sky *flambe.jpg* sealing, quite possibly, the stairway forever.  Jorgen and I then bided our time, hoping desperately beyond hope that the lines holding us to the rock would remain secure."

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

Ok, those are the paragraphs with the links in them.  I think what happened is that originally I had the links enclosed in the pointy-brackets " < "  " > "  and it may have tried to interperet them as html tags...

Sorry about any problems this may cause

EDIT: just noticed that the image links actually show up in the text if you go to "view source" so it most likely thought they were html tags


----------



## alsih2o

i believe our esteemed (twisted, sadistic, baffling) picture picker had a small hitch with her first entry.

 of course, she has a short memory and a wicked temper, so we will see...


----------



## mythago

alsih2o said:
			
		

> i believe our esteemed (twisted, sadistic, baffling) picture picker had a small hitch with her first entry.
> 
> of course, she has a short memory and a wicked temper, so we will see...



My memory works fine. Just ask Mr. Mythago. (You can ask him about the temper, too...)

No worries,  it's pretty clear from the entry where the pics go. FWIW, I find it's easier to just put fake footnotes in, e.g.:

This is the best Ceramic DM entry ever written (1). Only an utter foolio would fail to see the uberness of my entry and award me the Golden Raccoon Stick. Pay no attention to my wormlike opponent!

(1) bigjudgebribe.jpg​


----------



## Bibliophile

Ahh, gotcha mythago

I'm glad it wasn't a big problem, and I'll keep the footnote thing in mind for future entries if I make it to them


----------



## The Forsaken One

alsih2o, what about if you win you can controll his avatar for a month  Ownow you just make it, hey you might not lose if I get to control your avatar for a month


----------



## Piratecat

*A Fable of Ash*

Ceramic DM Round 1: Piratecat vs. Bibliophile


Once upon a time, three sisters danced along the shores of the sea. All were beautiful, but only one of the three was wise.

The dance was a tradition passed from mother to daughter, repeated in every town up and down the long and craggy coast. Everyone knew that the most beautiful women must dance to keep the ancient Sea Crone locked within her prison of stone. Their dance was successful, for did their men not return safely each day from their fishing trips upon the ocean?  Did not the sea offer up its bounty to the men who sailed upon it? So things were and so things would always be, and the storms of the past were merely tall tales passed on by the elders to the disbelieving young.

Until.

*  *  *

One gray morning the eldest of the sisters rose before the dawn, as was her custom, and looked down to see her love waiting in the street below her window. “I go with the fleet,” he called up in a loud whisper, “but I will return tonight. When I do I shall ask your father for your hand in marriage. You shall be my wife forevermore, because I love you. My heart is in your keeping.” 

Hearing this, she too pledged her love to the departing fisherman in the misty dawn. She watched from the window long after her love had walked down the long hill and out to the pier, long after his boat had sailed over the horizon. Then she went downstairs and told her family the news that her heart was singing.

“Blessings to you, daughter. Your mother would have been proud. He’s a good man.” Swallowing a bite of his breakfast, her father eyed his other two daughters with disgust, for they were lazy and selfish in many ways. “You two ought to find husbands like that. When you aren’t dancing, all you two do is eat, sleep, and gossip.” At his rebuke the two younger sisters laughed with empty mirth and smiled with false duty as they both spoke congratulatory words of spun sugar to their elder sister. Their father’s words had stung, but they kept their bitterness deep inside them where their father could not see.

Later, as the sun climbed in the perfect sky, the two younger daughters complained to one another while they walked upon the beach.  “She does not deserve marriage.”

“She does not. I do, or you do, but not her. Are we not more beautiful than she? Are our clothes not prettier and richer than hers?  Do we not dance the dance better than she? And yet _she_ is the one who has found love. It is not fair.”

“We’ll show her.” The youngest sister’s face turned wolfish as she considered their revenge. “Today, we shall not dance.”

“What?” The middle sister spun to face her, heedless of the waves that suddenly splashed upon her thighs from the rising surf. “We must! It is our duty!”

“Must we? We dance every day. We have done _our_ part.  There are traders in town, handsome men from far away. Let us go and find two of them to be our husbands, and show our sister that she is not better than we.”

The middle sister considered, swayed by the poisonous words. “If she is so perfect that a man will marry her, she can dance the dance by herself.” And such was their guile and spite that when the noon hour came, the eldest sister found herself alone upon the shores of the sea.

“Where are my sisters?” she asked to the air, but there was no answer from the wheeling gulls. “Where are the other dancers?” she asked to the sea, but it gave no reply.  So she wore her dress and danced the dance by herself as best she could, knowing in her heart that it would not be enough. The sea was lonely. Already the breath of the Crone brushed against her cheek, and the clouds overhead darkened to the color of the Sea Crone’s black eyes. The droplets of rain first fell on her as she walked up the long hill, and they hid any tears she may have shed. 

Her sisters braved the vicious winds and splashed home long after the dinner hour, full of false bravery and flushed with the exertions of their stolen afternoon. Their pride was hollow as they shook the rain from their sodden garments and prepared for the confrontation that was sure to come.  Their eldest sister met them at the door. 

“You did not dance.”

The youngest laughed.  “And what harm has it done? A little rain and wind, only. Surely the sea welcomes his mother, who he has not seen in so long. Our time was well spent. We have found men to be _our_ husbands as well.” They gestured at the two dark and dripping men standing behind them in the entry to the house. “You are no longer so special, sister. And where is your future husband, so that he can meet our own?”

In a voice as cold as the rain hammering into the stones in the road outside, the eldest sister answered.  “With your jealousy and whim, you have killed him as surely as if you had held him beneath the waves. For he is missing in the storm, sisters. His boat has not returned with the fleet.”

The two sisters stopped and stared at one another, realizing what her words meant. Behind them, their two men exchanged a glance and slipped silently back out into the storm. The two girls wailed and gnashed their teeth, but their shame could not reverse what has passed; the storm ended at daybreak, but their sister’s love did not return.

The village slowly returned to normal. The three sisters danced the next day, and the day after that, again and again as the weeks rolled by; but there was no joy in the dance. 

It was after the ritual on one perfect day that the eldest daughter stood before the ocean and screamed her long-buried wrath into the waves. “You have taken him,” she wailed at the empty horizon, “and should take me, too!”

_“I have not.”_ The lapping of the waves across the sound suddenly formed words, as if there had always been speech that only now could be understood. _ “What is your name, dancer?”_

“My heart has turned to ash, and so I take the name as my own.”

_“So be it, Ash.  Your man still lives, for you would find peace in his death and my mother the Sea Crone wishes you to suffer. She has taken him to punish you, for your dance keeps her from the ocean she loves.” _

Ash stood in stunned silence, hope suddenly kindled in the cinders of her heart. “He lives?  I love him still and would rescue him!  What can I do?”

The azure sea danced around her feet. _“Nothing, for you do not need him. You have me.”_

Ash blinked. “What?”

_“Did you not know it deep within your heart?  I love you and your sisters because you dance, and I keep my mother the storm locked away deep beneath the earth because you ask it of me. I have loved those who danced before you, but my love for them is gone now.  When you stop your dance some day, my love for you too will sink like a pebble in the deeps. Until then, you are everything to me.”_

“That is not love.”

_“Is it not?”_

Ash glared at the sea, anger clenching her long fingers into fists at her side.  “Love is abiding. It is loyal. It continues long after the one who inspired has passed away. On the day we did not dance to your demands, you loosed the Sea Crone – and she took my man from me as a punishment.”  She drew herself up and stared into the sun-speckled waves, trying not to plead. “Return him or take me, but do not leave me like this.” 

The water lapped against her ankles as the ocean pondered. It soaked the embroidered fabric of her beautiful dress, but she took no notice.

_“I will do neither, for you can not understand unless you must make the choice yourself. Ask the fire of the stone, and prepare to answer what they may ask you. Those who failed me before must accompany you now. Be fast and strong, and perhaps you will not die.”_  The sea fell silent, and Ash turned to run pell-mell up the hill to the family house.

“You must come with me,” she said breathlessly to her sisters. “We have a duty.”

“Why?” complained the youngest and laziest. “No one in town will speak to us for what they think we did. I owe them nothing.”

“Why?” asked the middle sister, holding one hand to her heavy belly. “You have ruined our lives by planning to marry that man, for look at us now! We still dance, but we enjoy none of the honor we once had from grateful townsfolk. I owe them nothing.”

Ash’s voice was very quiet. “You owe yourselves, and you owe me. You had a duty to our family and those we love. Will you not come?”  Her gray eyes held them close.

They went.

The three dancers came upon a place of ancient worship in the darkness of the forests above the town, and Ash built a bonfire larger than any she had built before. The flames leapt upwards into the darkness and greedily consumed the fuel. Soon the crackle of the fire became actual words.

*“Dancer. You have given me life, and I am hungry.”*  A log cracked, and sparks flew up to join the tapestry of stars above. *“Who has called me, and for what purpose?”*

Her sisters hid behind her, but Ash approached the waves of heat that hammered against her face. “I have spoken to the sea, for the storm has taken my love. You must tell me where she can be found. I am to ask you of the stone.”

*“And what are you, woman?”*

Ash considered, and decided what the fire would like best. “I am that which remains when you have passed. Do this for me.” 

The youngest sister uncharacteristically stepped forward and stood before the flames. “We do not beg, fire. We demand. You consume everything you touch. I have felt that way before, but now I know that the sea. . .” She swallowed. “Enough water can extinguish you, as it did me. Help us, or die. It is your choice.”

The fire laughed at this, its voice both cruel and jocular as it addressed only Ash. *“Threats from your sister?  I dance, and you dance.  Your sisters were once as I am now, greedy for that which would give me life.  You were once as I am now, burning and alive and warming all that stood near you. Now they have consumed their fuel, and your own heart is cooling embers. I like that about you. In reward I will tell you of the stone, but it is no boon I offer. Follow my sparks. They will lead you to the prison of the Sea Crone.”*  And a burst of sparks rose on the night breeze and sailed into the night. Gathering their skirts, the women ran breathlessly after them. Behind them, the fire chortled and chuckled to itself as it danced beneath the sky.

It was dawn when they stood before the stone rift into the mountain. Half the width and three times the height of a person, it stretched far into darkness. Ash looked through, and fancied that she could see a distant shadow staring back at her.

The stone groaned around them. All three women heard the words, quiet and slow.  *“I know why you have come. If one could fit, all could pass, but all are too large for the fitting. You must turn away, for you may not proceed.”*

Ash studied the opening, and the words of the stone were true. She was surprised when her middle sister stepped forward.

“The three of us are too large to fit, it is true.” The stone softly murmured assent. “But there is a child in my belly, and it is small enough to fit. By your own oath, you must let us pass.” She flashed Ash a quick and fleeting glance of hope, and with a shudder the stone widened enough to allow passage. Ash let out a sigh and turned to her sisters.

“We have gotten this far, and now I must confront the Sea Crone and ask for my love back. It could be my death; you needn’t come with me. You have been brave to come this far.”

The two younger sisters exchanged a look, and both shook their heads. “Your problem, my dear sister, is that you borrow that which is not yours alone. We have helped so far. Perhaps we can help again. There are things that are larger than just us, I think, and there are things left to learn.”

The middle sister nodded. “We knew it, but could not say it. You lost your love because of us. It is only right that we are there when you regain him.” At this the three embraced before descending into the depths of the stone cleft. Soon, all three stood before an immense stone door.

“Hello, dearies,” cackled a breathy voice from behind the door. “Come to visit?” 

Ash gulped. “You are the mother of the Sea?”

The old voice answered with unmistakable power. “I am, my dearie. I am the storm incarnate. I am the wind that sweeps the oceans, the rain that washes away taint! I am also _extremely_ annoyed at you, my dears. Your dance confuses my son the Sea, and he keeps me locked in this squalid little cell. Only when you forget to dance does he long for my company, and then he lets me out for a visit.” Her voice was suddenly honey-sweet. “Wouldn’t you like to stop dancing and find peace? To sleep at the noon-hour instead of donning the ritual garments? Wouldn’t that be blissful?”

Ash was surprised when all three sisters answered together, with one voice.  “No.”

“Well, fine!” The crone’s tone turned sly. “Then I’ll stay in here and rot. But at least I’m not lonely. I have a sailor here with me, I do.” And from far behind the closed stone door, Ash fancied that she could hear the sound of her beloved’s voice, calling to her for help.

The crone continued. “You want him, don’t you? All you have to do is open this door and let him free. See? Here is the lock.” And with those words, a padlock appeared upon the floor by their feet.  “The key is even in it. Nothing could be simpler. All you need to do is turn the key and open the lock. Then your handsome friend is free to go.” The old voice wheedled persuasively from behind the door, “You won’t have to be alone.”

“But. . .”  Ash stared fixedly at the lock. “If I open the lock, then I open the door, and you will be free to leave as well.”

“That’s right, dearie! And that means no more forced dancing for you. You can spend your afternoons deep in the arms of the man you love, nice and safe and dry, while the wind whistles outside and the rain comes down upon the ocean. What could be nicer?”

Ash looked back up at the door, horrified. “Nicer? You sink ships. You kill sailors.”

The old voice was dismissive from behind the heavy door. “Sailors you don’t know. Ships you’ll never set foot on. All you have to do to get your man back is open that lock. It’s a simple decision, girl. Make it, and do what’s best for yourself.”

Ash turned to look at her sisters, both of whom had tears pouring down their faces. They heard Ash’s love begging from behind the door. They heard the entreaties of the Sea Crone. And they stared, each of them, at the simple little lock.

*  *  *

Once upon a time, three sisters danced along the shores of the sea. All were beautiful once, years ago, and each of the three were wise.

The End


----------



## Piratecat

All righty! I'll offer commentary after the judging is finished. All I have to say is I tried to write something that would sound good when read aloud. We'll see if I succeeded.  

Bibliophile, your entry is _excellent._ Wow, nicely done!


----------



## shilsen

Piratecat said:
			
		

> All righty! I'll offer commentary after the judging is finished. All I have to say is I tried to write something that would sound good when read aloud. We'll see if I succeeded.




Personally I think the Grimm boys would have liked your stuff, though they'd probably have liked a lot more gore in there  And just as good stuff from Bibliophile! Nice start to the competition.

Question: I haven't followed these competitions before, so I'm not sure if it's cool for readers to express our preferences and make commentary. Is it? Just checking, since I wouldn't want my keen literary criticism and trenchant analyses to bias the judging   

(Settles back in his chair to wait for the rest)


----------



## mythago

I'd save the point-by-point critical review until after the judging, but otherwise, I'm not going to be influenced by what nonjudges are posting.


----------



## Piratecat

mythago said:
			
		

> Only an utter foolio would fail to see the uberness of my entry and award me the Golden Raccoon Stick.










Golden Raccoon Stick!  Lordy, I love google.


----------



## Bibliophile

Hey PC, very nice story, I especially like the sea crone's self-description 
Classic man.


----------



## arwink

In a surprising burst of energy, my first round comments are typed and e-mailed to Mythago. 

Should the posting of the results be lagging, it wont be my fault (this time )


----------



## mythago

*First round judgment - Bibliophile vs. Piratecat*

Maldur
 Bibliophile
 A modern mystery story, greek gods in norway, strange tales and death.

 Piratecat
 A fairy tale, A real fairy tale, there is even damning choices and a lesson in there and such.
*Judgment : Piratecat
*
arwink
 Bibliophile - Mysteries

 Initially, allow me to swoon for a moment.  The first piece I read for
 Ceramic DM, and it gets to the task in 2nd person narration.  While this
 is considered a confronting choice in the literary world, I have a
 personal fondness for being placed in a story like this, so I started
 warming to Bibliophile's story right away.  That it sets up a subtle tone
 of mystery and hints at something greater to come only adds to my
 excitement.  Bibliophile's control of the stories tone and language, at
 least initially, is a great attention grabber and shows a great mastery of
 the slow build.  

 Although the mastery of language remains solid throughout the story, the
 mood of the story does become a little haphazard as events continue. 
 There's a lovely build up of tension initially, with the meeting between
 the storyteller and the audience role we’re being forced into, but as the
 blind storytellers tale continues the tension seems to evaporate.  The
 mysteries of the postcard seem to quickly passed over after setting up the
 blind storytellers hunger for greatness, and the story takes liberties
 with the audiences knowledge - assuming we're familiar with the myth of
 Prometheus and understand the potential importance of the find.  While
 this may be a fairly safe assumption on a board full of gamers, it isn't
 necessarily true of the outside world.  The same happens on the climb
 itself - with the danger and grandeur of the scenery washed over in favor
 of getting to the summit as soon as possible.  While I appreciate the
 polar-bear metaphor, I can help but wish that this had been played out a
 little longer in order to keep the tension and hunger for the stories
 pay-off taut.  It’s a risky balance that needs to be struck, especially
 for a story this long that is destined for an electronic reading, but I do
 think the length and detail may be necessary.

 Piratecat - A Fable of Ash

 Piratecat's story opens with a paragraph that contains only two short
 sentences, but the amount of information he manages to pack into them is
 admirable.  We have an instant set-up of the locations, the characters,
 and most importantly the conflict that goes on to drive the story, and
 it’s all done with an elegant simplicity that hooks the reader in an
 instant.  It manages to trade on our knowledge of myth in order to build
 meaning, but does so without automatically invalidating the story due to
 the reader picking the mythic references and predicting the ending. 
 Bravo.

 The story builds wonderfully from there, taking us through a fair-tale
 journey that is filled with both a child-like wonder and an adult sense of
 mystery. Like it’s introduction the body of the story plays with the
 elements of myth and fairytale, but does with an awareness and light touch
 that leaves you feeling like you’ve uncovered a path you've walked long
 ago in your childhood. Piratecat’s language is perfect for the genre he’s
 chosen to work within, and he has several turns of phrase that are a joy
 to read.  

 Best of all, Piratecat returns us to the tradition of the melancholic
 ending to the tale - giving as a story whose conclusion is satisfying
 despite its undertone of sorrow.  

 Arwink's Judgment

 It's never fun to pick between two stories when they're both of such a
 high caliber, particularly when you'd love to see both contestants work in
 future rounds of the competition.  In the end, however, I give the round
 to Piratecat for two reasons.  The first is that there is no sense of
 words being wasted in his piece - it's lean without feeling empty and it
 has a control over its pace and mood that gives it a slight edge over the
 lagging moments in Bibliophile's story.  The second is in the use of the
 pictures - while my focus as a judge has traditionally been on the quality
 of the stories, I can't help but be impressed by the way Piratecat has
 integrated such a diverse range of pictures into a cohesive fairytale
 without giving us the feeling that he’s struggling to include them. 
 Bibliophile's use of pictures is inherently creative, but in many ways you
 can see the necessity of including them driving the story forward.  If
 Piratecat hadn't tagged the pictures in his piece, the sole inclusion I
 would have noticed was the padlock at the end - everything else blended
 seamlessly into the tale.
*Judgment : Piratecat

*mythago
 Why couldn't one of you have written a crummy story? WHY, OH WHY?! 

 Both genre pieces and both escaping the trap of being hoary and imitative. I believe that Piratecat did a slightly better job of this; it's a fairy tale, but you couldn't predict the end.

 Bibliophile almost got dinged for the "picture as a picture" thing, by using the photograph of the women as a postcard. Turning this into a strange artifact with mysterious writing offset it a little. I liked the overall balanced use of the pictures, and using the second-person narration as a bracket, with the main tale being a story within a story, worked nicely. Excellent use of mood.

 Piratecat's entry was a very interesting approach; I think it suffered a bit from the 'read aloud' meter, but of course fairy tales were oral long before they were written. The story also escapes from what could be predictability--the sisters reconcile, they are sadder but wiser. I thought the use of the pictures could have been a bit more balanced; the lock is almost an afterthought. And I was disappointed that a lot of elements got dropped. ("One of them is pregnant? Okay, what happened with that? Both the sisters had husbands, so shouldn't the other one...") Part of that is the length issue, but still.
*Judgement: Bibliophile

*Piratecat claws his way to a 2-1 win! Congratulations, both of you!


----------



## arwink

arwink said:
			
		

> Should the posting of the results be lagging, it wont be my fault (this time )




Then again, perhaps it will.  Lousy time difference...

Congratulations Piratecat.  I have to echo Mythago's comment here - things would have been much easier if someone had written a bad story.  As it was, I was down to splitting hairs to pick a winner


----------



## alsih2o

i WAS just sitting here feeling bad about my writing skills. 

 now i am sitting here feeling bad about my judgement skills too.


----------



## Maldur

Write!
Potter, write!


----------



## Piratecat

Thank you, judges, for the fast decision! Wow, that's appreciated. 

Notes on my entry:

I was dog-walking the other day when a phrase came to me. "Her dance was joyless, for her heart had turned to ash." It was evocative enough that I couldn't get it out of my mind, so it became this story. I quickly decided that I would try for a fairy tale, and that in order for it to work it would have to have either clever accomplishments or a sad ending. I wasn't sure I was up for it. Take a chance of something with a read-aloud cadence? What the hell, risk is fun.

The fire and the rock cleft ("Georgia O'Keefe, your lawyer is on line one") suggested two of the four classic elements. I had my sea motif for the water, so that left the wind. Wait, fairy tales don't involve the elements; I almost scrap this before deciding that fairy tales need a bad guy. If I make the wind into a storm, and make the storm into a bitchy mother-in-law who also acts as the uncaring and impersonal villain, it should fit beautifully. Okay, done. Just call her something else because the relationship shouldn't be immediately obvious.

How to make it bittersweet? Tie the saving of the girl's love into the release of the sea crone. I got justifiably dinged for my use of the padlock image, which is funny because until now I hadn't noticed its relative weakness; I love the image of the three women standing there in the dark and staring at the lock, knowing that a turn of the key could make everything both better and much, much worse. How selfish are they, really? Temptation, temptation, and a bitter cost.

My last ceramic DM entry a few months ago was unnecessarily wordy so I tried to make this one lean. The character of the sisters suffered a bit as a result, but I leaned on the shared knowledge of fairy tales a bit. The girls had found lovers but not husbands on that rainy afternoon, and I thought it would be apropriate to make one of them pregnant. Both? No, that would tie pregnancy too closely to the "wages of sin" idea, and I thought I'd give a nod to realism here. Anyways, when giving the sisters something to do I tried to tie their personalities or conditions into the solutions, and I'm pleased with how that went.

I thought about making the ending sadder, to make it clear that the sisters were lonely as well as wiser, but by reusing the opening line I couldn't get the cadence to work correctly. I decided that truncating it worked just as well, and that subtlety might be more powerful; with luck, some of the themes of this story continue to resonate after it is read. I dreamed about it last night!  And win or lose, I both had fun and learned a lot while writing this - and that was my goal.  

Bibliophile, thanks for a good round! The second person narration was really bold; I'd be interested in hearing the backstory for writing the tale. Is their untold internal logic for things like the postcard, or was that more of an attention hook that didn't need to be explained?


----------



## Quartermoon

Congrats, Pcat.  

This is the first time I've run across this competition.  And interesting idea, I like it.  Reminds me of writing exercises in grad school.


----------



## KidCthulhu

Ah, the little known benefit of dog walking.  You get excercise _and_ inspiration.  Actually, I'm glad he's getting Ceramic DM ideas while walking, because he usually uses that time for Evil Rat Bastard DM ideas.


----------



## Cedric

As someone whose turn is coming up later in the week...let me just say that I am happy I don't have to immediately follow or compete against those two entries. 

Wow...very nice work both of you, grats to PC on the narrow victory in round one. 

Cedric


----------



## guedo79

Cedric said:
			
		

> As someone whose turn is coming up later in the week...let me just say that I am happy I don't have to immediately follow or compete against those two entries.




DOH!

You would not believe how much stuff I've gotten done.  Thank you notes sent out, bills paid, cleaning, organizing, and I even sent out those "please close my book club account" notices that I've been sitting on for months.  I can be so productive when I'm procrastinating.


----------



## mythago

guedo79 said:
			
		

> You would not believe how much stuff I've gotten done. Thank you notes sent out, bills paid, cleaning, organizing, and I even sent out those "please close my book club account" notices that I've been sitting on for months. I can be so productive when I'm procrastinating.



Rotating procrastination is THE key to productivity.


----------



## alsih2o

is it just me or did this whole game get harder when new management took over?

 i had a much easier time in all the previous games...


----------



## mythago

Geez, I was thinking it got a lot easier.


----------



## alsih2o

mythago said:
			
		

> Geez, I was thinking it got a lot easier.





 indeed...


----------



## BSF

alsih2o said:
			
		

> is it just me or did this whole game get harder when new management took over?
> 
> i had a much easier time in all the previous games...





It's mostly just you!  

Though, I am finding the anticipation of a new story to read to have been much easier to endure than the anticipation of my "ingredient list" when my turn begins.  I keep having this irrational fear that I will fall asleep for two days only to wake up with enough time to see the ingredients but not enough time to put together a story.  Of course, I am also having an irrational fear that my brain will completely lock up when I see the pictures.   Back irrationality back!  

I can check in tonight after gaming to see what our esteemed judge has cooked up for Sialia and I to meld into a story.  It should be fun, hopefully I can come up with something less than trite.  I was so sad when Piratecat posted his fairy tale because I was driving home from work on Monday and thinking "I wonder if you could get away with a story beginning 'Once upon a time...'".  It was weird to see Piratecat post.  I guess the good news is that you can get away with it if it is done well.  The bad news is that I can't do that this time because I don't think I can capture the cadence and presentation correctly, and it would look imitative.  Ah well!


----------



## mythago

You can do anything, if you do it well. 

I can't guarantee I will put the ingredients up at the stroke of midnight tonight, but if they aren't up then they will be early in the morning (PST).

By the way, y'all should greatly appreciate all the work alsih2o did in finding pics for all previous Ceramic DM™s. Hunting around for nonboring images, leaving out ones that are cool but don't leave room for imagination, combining them in groups that seem to "make sense," etc....not easy.


----------



## Painfully

I thought Piratecat's story sounded like something out of Grimm's Fairy Tales.  

Good stuff.


----------



## Bibliophile

Hey, finally got another chance to check the boards.  Mad props PC, it was very well done, now, just two rounds left to win the whole thing ;-)

Hrm... backstory on my story?  I'll try...

Well, I remember seeing the pairings, and noticing I was up against you.  My first thought then was "uh oh..." Because I've read some of your story hour (much fun  ) and I knew it wouldn't be easy.

Then, a while later, I saw the pictures.  It took me a long time of thinking about them to decide exacly how to use what.  However, a few things just kinda came out right away.  The dancers.jpg just screamed NORWAY to me, and the flambe.jpg likewise for the fire of Prometheus.  The lock and the rift were really iffy, along with how exactly to use the dancers.  Nothing really immediate struck me to use a mountain climber as the storyteller, it was just one thing among others that struck me as an idea during the first 24 hours when I was doing most of the thinking about it.

As for the second person narrative?  Well, I knew it would be a risk, but I also figured it would be worth it if I could pull it off.  Mainly because, with so few stories actually written in second person, it would be a sure attention-grabber.  I just needed to be able to keep up the mood.

Well, once i decided where it was going to take place, and a few of the big details (i.e.- old mountain climber, 2nd person perspective, flame of prometheus, etc...)  I just sat down and wrote it.  Took about 4-5 hours, but I just typed it up in one sitting.  It just flowed as I wrote it, the stuff about the dancers being on the postcard and other things just came out as I typed.

Admittedly, I was woried about it being long, and had to rush the plot in a few places (I know what you're talking about Arwink).  I had looked at a few of the past Ceramic DM entries, and figured if I didn't rush it, I would set a new record for entry length.  That, combined with the second person bit wasn't a risk I was willing to take.

All in all though, I think it turned out well in the end.  Although, I'm kinda curious, for everyone that read it, what links did you see?  I made an effort to leave enough questions unanswered at the end to try to keep you guys trying to think them out for a while.  I'm pretty sure most everyone picked up on the cane on the coffin signifying the old man's death (in the end as you wake up from the "dream") but what about the similarity between the effect of the flame of prometheus on the old man's hand, and the postcard's powers?

Beyond that, for all the other readers, if it's not too badly hijacking the thread (you can email it to carpdiem@gte.net ), what did you guys especially like vs dislike?  Any comments would be greatly appreciated, I'm all for improving my writing


----------



## guedo79

Can I add pictures?  I'd like to have a few more pictures to go along with the story if possible.


----------



## mythago

guedo79 said:
			
		

> Can I add pictures? I'd like to have a few more pictures to go along with the story if possible.



Nope, just the original pics. The idea is that the pictures are those that an editor might have chosen to go along with your story/adventure.

Don't worry, in later rounds it gets more complicated.


----------



## Piratecat

mythago said:
			
		

> By the way, y'all should greatly appreciate all the work alsih2o did in finding pics for all previous Ceramic DM™s. Hunting around for nonboring images, leaving out ones that are cool but don't leave room for imagination, combining them in groups that seem to "make sense," etc....not easy.




I've been secretly stockpiling photographs (and gnome pictures, of course, but we don't talk about that) on the off chance I'm ever lucky enough to help judge. Fear me! And if you need any for rounds that aren't mine, Mythago, give me a holler.


----------



## mythago

Oh, goodness, why didn't you tell me there was, hypothetically, a need for gnome pictures?


----------



## Taladas

You know, the good thing about Ceramic DM is win or lose you still end up with a lot of good stories. 

Good stories, Bibliophile and Piratecat. 
and congratulations Piratecat for advancing to the next round.


----------



## mythago

Round 3 pics, Bardstephenfox vs. Sialia:


----------



## alsih2o

mythago said:
			
		

> Round 3 pics, Bardstephenfox vs. Sialia:





 oh! the art, the beauty, the jealousy!

 oh! oh! oh! what great pics....my little tiny corneas hurt and swell with jealousy...


----------



## mythago

As a P.S., if AFTER the round is judged anyone wants to know "What the heck was that really a pic of, anyway?!" I'll answer, if I can remember.


----------



## Sialia

alsih2o said:
			
		

> oh! the art, the beauty, the jealousy!
> 
> oh! oh! oh! what great pics....my little tiny corneas hurt and swell with jealousy...



I am in a bit of a state myself. Beads of sweat on the upper lip and all.

There is no doubt that this is a fine, fine set.

I only hope that I am worthy of it.

Any objections to my delivering my submission as an attached PDF?

I think I want to put the photos in place, not as links, but as images--so I can see how the illustrations really would work with the story.


----------



## Sialia

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> It's mostly just you!
> 
> 
> I was so sad when Piratecat posted his fairy tale because I was driving home from work on Monday and thinking "I wonder if you could get away with a story beginning 'Once upon a time...'". It was weird to see Piratecat post. I guess the good news is that you can get away with it if it is done well. The bad news is that I can't do that this time because I don't think I can capture the cadence and presentation correctly, and it would look imitative. Ah well!



Funny, I thought a similar thought.

Tell you what--let's make a deal--we ignore his post altgoether. As of this moment, it has not yet happened. It's still round one, is it not? We are simultaneous (gestures of hand waving at temporal insignificances.)


Somebody make my life simple and tell me when the actual deadline for this is. Comes out to approximately something like Monday morning, 7ish?


----------



## BSF

Sialia said:
			
		

> Funny, I thought a similar thought.
> 
> Tell you what--let's make a deal--we ignore his post altgoether. As of this moment, it has not yet happened. It's still round one, is it not? We are simultaneous (gestures of hand waving at temporal insignificances.)
> 
> 
> Somebody make my life simple and tell me when the actual deadline for this is. Comes out to approximately something like Monday morning, 7ish?




So, we are just saying that Piratecate/Bibliophile/Alsih2o/guedo72 won initiative?  I can work with that.  And hey, see my fears were irrational, despite my being at work until nearly 1:00 AM, I didn't sleep for two days.  

By my calculations, we have until 8:21 Mountain/7:21 Pacific.  

OK, time for me to take a look at the pics.  

Sialia, write your heart out, as I am hoping to put something together to make it hard for our esteemed judges to make a decision on.  Let's see if I have any real creative writing talent.


----------



## BSF

Sialia said:
			
		

> I am in a bit of a state myself. Beads of sweat on the upper lip and all.
> 
> There is no doubt that this is a fine, fine set.
> 
> I only hope that I am worthy of it.
> 
> Any objections to my delivering my submission as an attached PDF?
> 
> I think I want to put the photos in place, not as links, but as images--so I can see how the illustrations really would work with the story.




Oh my, that is an interesting set of pics.  Kudos to you Mythago.  

As a contestant, I have no objections to Sialia using a PDF.  Actually, it seems like a good idea from the perspective of presentation.  I'm not sure of the implications of reusing the work of somebody else in that manner, but I trust that somebody else understands that better than I.


----------



## Sialia

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> Let's see if I have any real creative writing talent.



I have no doubts on that account.  

Thank your for the dance.


----------



## mythago

Sialia said:
			
		

> Any objections to my delivering my submission as an attached PDF?



I'd rather stick with the standard formatting, given that's How It's Been Done, plus it puts the emphasis on the writing itself rather than layout.


----------



## Piratecat

Since that's the case, here's a quick primer on how to link a photo as an active text link in VBB:

1. Copy your story from Word into the "post reply" field. Don't submit it yet.

2. Open a second window.  Go click on Mythago's photo link. Edit-copy the url from the address bar.

3. Go to the right point in your text, just BEFORE the words you want to use as your link. Type the following, only using square brackets instead of curly:

{url=

Then edit-paste in the link. Follow that with a closed bracket, a ].

4. Now, go to right AFTER the words that you want to act as your link. Here, type this line:

{/url}

As before, make the curly brackets square.

5. Do this for the other photos as well.

EXAMPLE:  For instance, let's say I want to link Mythago's first round 3 photo into the sentence "Boy, she sure is handy around the house."  Using square brackets instead of curly brackets, I would type:

"Boy, she sure is {url=http://www.enworld.org/forums/attachment.php?attachmentid=12291}handy{/url} around the house.

Thus, when using the proper square brackets, it would look like:

"Boy, she sure is handy around the house.

Hope that's helpful to folks.


----------



## alsih2o

_Fishin' Hole_

 I bend down low, scooping up the black, rich soil in my cupped hands. The nearly intoxicating smell of the fertile earth fills my head, and then the computer cuts in.

 “Sir, I believe we have found the Hominid you are looking for.” it says in the soothing female voice my mother chose.

 My mother.

  I blame my mother.

  “I blame my mother” It feels better to say it out loud.

    The fog in my head starts to ease off.  I will never get used to the feeling of coming out of cryo. Every time I wake up I think I am back on a terrestrial planet. Every time I am still out here listening to the constant monotone hum of the ship. It doesn’t take more than a few days of that omnipresent noise before you realize why they call us drones.

   170,000 cubic meters of soil and stone may not sound like a lot until you have seen a ships hold full of it, you get a strong sense of awe. Or uselessness. I think I will go with the latter. This is one hell of a way for Marine to spend his days.

   Not that I was a Marine. But I wanted to be one. Worse than anything I wanted to be a Marine. Tall, proud, thick with body armor and armed with the best equipment Earth credits can buy. Marching shoulder to shoulder into a massive Battleship.

   “But the Merchant Marine is the Marines too” mother would say. “Earn some money, see the galaxy”

  This damned ship was her idea too. It cost me every penny I got for graduation form the Academy, all my savings from hull-cleaning after classes everyday (do you know how embarrassing it is to have to go to school still smelling of Berulean space mites?) and a “small loan” from Mom.

  So here I sit on a cold, old freighter that delivers me and my cargo wherever it is told and returns home automatically. See the galaxy my ass.

  Adding insult to injury she had to come in and decorate.

  In case you missed that one I said “Decorate.” A freighter. Decorations.

  “Pay attention to history.” she said “All kinds of great men have sailed off for economic reasons rather than military causes.” 

   ‘All kinds of great men’ was also her excuse for the wheel. A real one mind you. I now own (most of) the only ship in this sector with a real, honest-to-god ship’s wheel. Right there, at the helm I stand at a giant chunk of wood and glue and brass while a computer makes 1.2 million calculations per minute to keep me from slamming into a star, or for that matter a wee bit too much dust, especially at this speed.

  But I don’t mind. I don’t mind the big, clunky ships wheel, I don’t mind that she hung signal lanterns at the doors to the fore deck. I don’t even mind

  It was the bells. Three bells she bought from some hack off-planet merchant who swore they were antiques. She programmed the computer to play them just like a ship’s bells. 

 00:30 1 bell
01:00 2 bells
01:30 2 bells, pause, 1 bell
02:00 2 bells, pause, 2 bells
02:30 2 bells, pause, 2 bells, pause, 1 bell
03:00 2 bells, pause, 2 bells, pause, 2 bells
03:30 2 bells, pause, 2 bells, pause, 2 bells, pause, 1 bell
04:00 2 bells, pause, 2 bells, pause, 2 bells, pause, 2 bells

  This might have been great when you were on the deck of a sailing vessel in the midst of some god-forsaken ocean trying to get through a four hour shift, but I assure you it is a special kind of hell when your mother chooses this little pattern out of some misplaced sense of nostalgia without consulting the cryo manuals.

   You see cryo isn’t perfect yet, and the manual recommends turning off all the alarms on a ship that do not end the cryocycle. These sounds penetrate the module and stir whoever might be inside. Like me. 

  Three years I have been huddled up in that damned tube, bells ringing the half hour and hour. They penetrated the chamber just enough to bring me to the edge of wakefulness. Just enough to remind me of where I was. Just enough to spoil my rest, but not enough to end the cryocycle. Every time I was pushed back down in to sleep by the cryo-unit. It was like the groggy, congested sleep of the flu.

   For three years.

  The computer chimes in again “Preparing reinforced orbit now, sir”

  “I blame my mother” I have to say it one more time, just because it felt so good.

   “I apologize sir” the computer interrupted “but should I be making observation on your maternal relationship?”

    I briefly contemplate jettisoning the voice relays from the computer and reading displays myself but think better of it. “No, no, just finish putting us into orbit and prep me a meal. Preferably something that will get this terrible taste out of my mouth.”

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

  Four hours later and I am beginning to feel human again. I ported out the bells. I had hoped the two bronze ones would at least make a slight flare on re-entry but no such luck, at least nothing I could see form this orbit.

  I have checked the computer twice and it appears that the invoice is correct. All this soil and rock is for the one loony bastard who lives on this crappy planet. What kind of nut job lives alone on an oceanic world? 

   This moron doesn’t even have a com system, I am going to have to let the computer port me down there so I can find out where he wants it. I hate porting with a passion. I am always worried that the computer will fail while I am someplace I don’t want to be, or what if I lose my homing control?  The stupid computer doesn’t have the common sense to quit playing the damned bells for no one after a year or so but I am supposed to believe it will remember to find me and port me back without my homing controller? Damn my mother for brokering these shady deals.

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

  Three hours later and I have ported to the location the computer said our buyer is at. If you can call this a location.

  It is nothing. Absolute nothing. One speck of earth half the size of my ship in the middle of a Terra Size 3 planet. Nothing but rock, a little soil and the sorriest looking man I have ever seen. He is just sitting there, at the edge of the rock, fishing.

   “Did you order a parcel of soil and rock?” I ask.

   He nearly shoots out of his pants when he hears me, I should have considered the effect of porting down right behind one of these weird hermit types.

  He lands splay legged in the shallow and stares at me for a brief moment, then sputters to life like some ancient internal combustion machine. “YOU! You…You are HERE! Here. You ARE here.”

  Now, I try to be respectful of other people and their differences but I just woke up from a bad 3 year nap with a nagging reminder form my mother every 30 minutes and I am not gonna stand around playing word games with a hermit.

  “Yeah, me, here, all that. The question stands old man. Are you the guy I am here to see or am I lost in space?”

  The reference goes right over his head (they always do, no one remembers the classics) and he responds “Oh! Oh! I am definitely the ‘guy you are here to see‘. Are you the one who took my order? I sent it out with visitors 7 years ago, I thought it was lost for sure!”

  “I didn’t take any order old man.” I explain. “I am here courtesy of my wack-job mother and whoever it is she is making deals with this week.”

   I survey the islet that we stand on and ask “Is there somewhere you want all this, I mean, I seem to be bringing you more than you’ve got”

  “More than I’ve got indeed.” he says “You see my whole kingdom here.”

  I have to ask, like an idiot. “Are you some kind of scientist? Or you a hermit or what?”

  “Some kind or what indeed. I came here to study the tide, catch some fish, maybe write a paper, or if I was lucky, a book.” He points to the stick jutting up form the far shore “My first day I started tide measurements, but I got attached to this place”

  I turn, and make notice of the pole with its seat halfway up. Small knots and twigs from the sole scrawny bush o the island mark tidal variations. 

  “What do you do when the tide is up?” I ask. “It must swallow this whole island.”

  “Ride the seat deary” he says. “The waves are low here, if you hold tight you won’t fall.”

   That’s when I realize his voice has moved closer. I turn and he is on me. All calloused hands and the smell of fetid fish. I try to push against his tattered clothes but my arms are still so weak from the cryo. 

  He pins my right arm by my head and forces my mouth open with his thumb. The salt stuck in his beard and hair breaks loose in small crusts and stings my eyes.

   He looms above my face and says “Very attached you see, by my first catch from this sea.”

   He snatches my homing controller form my neck and  moves his head towards mine, mouth agape like some akward lover. As I look I see the light coming from the back of his throat, and the orange bile containing the worm begins to ooze forth from his mouth and fill mine. It spills into my sinuses and chokes me, it overfills me and runs down my face, seeping into my ears and hair. It burns as I feel it oozing its way down my throat and into my lungs.

   “Very attched” he says, standing over me, growing dim as he presses the large blue button on the homing controller and ports away.

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

  So, mostly I just fish now. At least my seat is comfortable. 

  The old coot could have left me the soil and rock at least. It would have beat what he did leave me. Just this worm, sitting inside me. I can hear it you know, just like the bells it keeps me from ever resting well. I know it won’t let me leave the planet as long as it is inside me, but I am not sure I have the patience for someone to find me on this awful puddle.

   I suppose I shouldn’t fel to bad. He is locked on a course for home. 

  And now he is going to have deal with mother.


----------



## alsih2o

and it is done.

 if none of you like me anymore now that you know i am not a writer i understand completely.    

 and thanks to p-kitty for the linky instruction bit! mark from cmg and hound have both taught me this, and i alsways forget how


----------



## alsih2o

for the love of four saints dancing someone post something! i am dying here!

 if guedo can't get out of the trunk, er, i mean, if he doesn't show, do i win automatically?!?!?! *hopeful look*


----------



## mythago

_shushes the people who are giggling and might let alsih2o know we are here_


----------



## alsih2o

mythago said:
			
		

> _shushes the people who are giggling and might let alsih2o know we are here_




 lol, literal falling down type laughing.


----------



## Maldur

I aint saying nothing!



So how long until the potter gets judged?


----------



## mythago

I believe his esteemed opponent has until roughly midnight.


----------



## Cedric

> if none of you like me anymore now that you know i am not a writer i understand completely.




not a writer? uh huh...RIIGGGHHHTT...

Good story!


----------



## Maldur

so only an hour and a half to go   cool


----------



## Cedric

Heh..Maldur brings up a good question. What time zone are we going by for entries? Heh


----------



## alsih2o

Cedric said:
			
		

> Heh..Maldur brings up a good question. What time zone are we going by for entries? Heh




 usually it is 72 hours form the posting of the pics, so time zone means crap.



 ( and thanks for the commentary)


----------



## Piratecat

It's 72 hours from the original time posted, I believe.

I'll withhold peanut gallery comments on the story until both are posted.


----------



## mythago

Maldur said:
			
		

> so only an hour and a half to go  cool



Pacific Standard Time, you Continental heathen!


----------



## alsih2o

[psuedohenry] Come on guedo![/pseudohenry]


----------



## guedo79

Maldur said:
			
		

> so only an hour and a half to go   cool




GAH!!!!!
*runs around pulls out hair*

Don't do that. I'm scribbling as fast as I can. I've really got a flow going.  It should be done in a few hours. And I have plenty of time, about 6 hours I beleave.   Since the pictures were posted Wensday morning at 03:26 AM my time.


----------



## alsih2o

guedo79 said:
			
		

> GAH!!!!!
> *runs around pulls out hair*
> 
> Don't do that. I'm scribbling as fast as I can. I've really got a flow going.  It should be done in a few hours. And I have plenty of time, about 6 hours I beleave.   Since the pictures were posted Wensday morning at 03:26 AM my time.




 "joo can doo eet!"


----------



## guedo79

Gloomy the Bear

Freddy found Gloomy one day in the dell,
	Gloomy was all alone as Fred could tell.
Mommy bear and Daddy bear were nowhere around,
	The bear was hurt in his hide of reddish brown.
The boy took him home thinking “Mum will know what to do!”
	When his Mum saw Gloomy she thought her days were through.
But she saw the gleam in the little cub’s eye -
	Her son would come to no harm and that was no lie.
She patched up her new friend with love and a kind touch.
	A present she gave him which he liked very much.
A bell from the barn the cows would not miss. (1)
	Cuddled together the two young ones slept that night in bliss.


“Ding Ding!  Ding Ding!”  the bell did go.
“Ding Ding!  Ding Ding!”  their friendship did grow.

Soon Freddy’s father caught wind of their new pet of the wild.
	“My son should not be so odd!” his Father did say with his temper all riled.
“He should work with his hands like I do all day.”(2)
	He did not like that little bear, in this house he could not stay.
“Father I love him and he’s gentle as can be.”
	But the farmer’s mind was made up, as much as it could be.
Little Gloomy must leave as soon as he was well.
	Deep within the forest is where he ought to dwell.
When that day had come they left after the morning meal.
	But leaving his friend alone was something for which he could not deal.
So they ran away together to the forest in search of a better life.
	Where they wanted to live far away, from that silly thing called strife.
They laughed and they played and rolled in the grass.
	Gloomy loved Freddy and it was returned to him en masse.
Little Fred found rock to collect as his treasure that night.
	From amber (3) to quartz they felt to him just right.

“Ding Ding!  Ding Ding!”  Gloomy’s bell did ring.
“Ding Ding!  Ding Ding!”  Freddy felt like the forest king

But soon Gloomy felt dreary and so did Fred.
	They found a small cave which they made into a bed.
The night was cold and ground was hard.
	Soon Freddy had wished he had not left his yard.
In the morning the child looked at his bear.
	“I must leave you now. Please stop using that stare.
“My Mum must be worried. My father upset. 
	And we have no food for which my hunger to offset.”
Never to return, he walked out of that cave.
After all, he had his own sanity to save.
Little Freddy never heard the horrible noise that bear did make.
	For Gloomy’s little heart that day did shatter and break.

“Ding Ding!  Ding Ding!”  The both did dream.
“Ding Ding!  Ding Ding!”  they never met again. Fate was against them it seemed.

Years went by and Fred grew into a man.
	Fishing he took up in order to feed his clan. (4)
He fished high on a pole, climbed it just like a bear.
	“It’s so I can see the fish and they don’t even know that I’m there.”
He still lived with his Mum and his Dad.
	For the three were so happy like a lumberjack in plaid.
Till one day his father did not make it to dinner.
	Mum’s strength not to worry grew thinner and thinner.
So off she went into the darkening night.
	She had a horrible feeling of something not right.

“Ding Ding!  Ding Ding!”  She heard and let out a yelp that she did not feign.
“Ding Ding!  Ding Ding!”  A bear with a bell was eating her husband’s brain.

She was soon Big Gloomy’s next meal, even though she did kick and fight.
	He took off her leg with just one bite.

“Ding Ding!  Ding Ding!”  Fred had heard while sitting on the deck
“Ding Ding!  Ding Ding!”  Fred recognized the bell ringing round Big Gloomy’s neck

When he went looking for his friend of years gone by,
	He found Big Gloomy chomping mum’s eye.
Fred saw that his friend was not quite the same…
	His next thought was a scream as the blood left his veins
For you see Big Gloomy had jumped him and ripped out his spleen
	These days Big Gloomy was homicidally mean
The moral of the story it is time to tell
	It’s best that those who befriend bears know it quite well:
Cubs are like puppies – they’ll love you like kin,
	But big bears will love you for the taste of your skin

____________
(1) bells.jpg
(2) grasp.jpg 
(3) amber.jpg
(4) fisherman.jpg


----------



## guedo79

hmm. well looks like it took out formating when I pasted it form word. It was suppose to indent the second line that rhymed with the first.  Oh well. 

Also, sorry about the lazy foot notes. Its late and I just happy to be done.


----------



## mythago

Lazy footnotes are perfectly okay.

 Judgments posted as soon as I get 'em!


----------



## Maldur

Judgement send!


----------



## alsih2o

guedo79 said:
			
		

> Also, sorry about the lazy foot notes. Its late and I just happy to be done.




 can i tell you i was just as nervous trying to url that stuff as i was writing? 

 good luck guedo, may the best keyboard banger win.


----------



## guedo79

I can understand that. I just got to the point where I dind't want to mess things up.

Good Luck to you too, Clay. I think I'll be happy either way. I'm happy with that story if it wins or not. So if I win I'll be happy to do it again and if I lose I'll be happy to not have to go through all that work again.


----------



## alsih2o

guedo79 said:
			
		

> I can understand that. I just got to the point where I dind't want to mess things up.




 precisely. i was sure my text would look like this- "the john looked deeply into her eyes as she swooned and said "php?attachmentid=12251"m "


----------



## guedo79

At least now I can read some of the other stories.  I've been avoiding them. I didn't want to take the chance of borrowing any ideas or concepts.


----------



## mythago

alsih2o said:
			
		

> precisely. i was sure my text would look like this- "the john looked deeply into her eyes as she swooned and said "php?attachmentid=12251"m "



 You'd be surprised how many guys like that kind of sweet talk.


----------



## arwink

Writing the comments up now Folks.  Time-Zone, the weekly DnD session and a friends housewarming have kept you hanging this time, but I'm doing my best to rectify it asap.  The message should be away once I do a quick spellcheck and try to work out whether I can trim down my comments a little (at present, they're topping 2000 words)


----------



## alsih2o

arwink said:
			
		

> Writing the comments up now Folks.  Time-Zone, the weekly DnD session and a friends housewarming have kept you hanging this time, but I'm doing my best to rectify it asap.  The message should be away once I do a quick spellcheck and try to work out whether I can trim down my comments a little (at present, they're topping 2000 words)




 2000 words???? don't trim, i wanna see that.


----------



## guedo79

I don't know. 2000 words scares me but I would also like to see it. I'm not a writer and I know I have many things to improve upon.


----------



## arwink

Judgement sent, at a shade under 1800 words and with instructions given to Mythago to cut whatever she wants should I have rambled far beyond the realms of competition interest.

I'm putting the length down to two reasons:

1) With such wildly different styles up against one another, I really wanted to try and explain what I thought he merits and flaws for each piece were as a reader.

2)  Sometimes it's hard to leave the day job at work, and I wanted to try and give you some thoughts should either of you want to look at your pieces after the competition.

Edit:  I'll also appologise for any times I spell your names wrong in the judgement.  For some reason, I couldn't type either of them right - names alone counted for at least a quarter of the typos I could in my comments


----------



## mythago

*Round 2 judgment (arwink)*

arwink

 Alsih20 vs Guedo79

  Alsih2o – Gone Fishin’

  I’m going to be blunt from the introduction here – Clay’s story shows some
  strong characterization and a wealth of great ideas, but in some ways it seems
  to suffer a great deal from the time constraints of the competition.  When
  reading it, I get a strong sense of early drafting and a story that is still
  finding its direction, and while I can see the direction it’s going I don’t
  necessarily think it’s reached it yet.  The elements are there, but the stories
  pacing and tension is uneven and the setting doesn’t quite come alive for me as
  a reader.

  Clay’s introduction is all about playing on the contrasts, delving into the
  dream of earth before being drawn into a world that is extra-terrestrial and
  mechanical.  This is a classic juxtaposition in Sci-Fi stories, but the contrast
  isn’t really working to its full effects here.  The dream world that Clay’s
  character inhabits as he emerges from cryo is to sparsely set up, to
  under-developed to really give the contrast enough weight.  In part, this comes
  down to being told to much about the experiences – we know the character runs
  his hand through the soil, that he remains in awe of the ship he awakens in, but
  as readers there aren’t enough details there to let us share in the experience. 
  For those of us who have never been awed by the inside of a star freighter (or
  experienced running our fingers through rich dirt and breathing in the earthy
  smells – some of us haven’t 
	

	
	
		
		

		
			





), more description and ambiance is needed to
  really set the tone of the piece to come and get full effect from the idea being
  developed here. In a lot of ways, this opening contrast would work more
  effectively if it truly did disorient the reader, giving us some empathy for the
  character and a real sense of why he blames his mother for his current state.

  The idea of clashing contrasts comes up again as Clay’s story progresses, with
  the description of the freighter re-decorated to resemble an ancient sailing
  vessel.  Clay is playing with his strengths here, creating a more concrete
  visual than we’re given in the introduction and letting his narrator really gain
  some strength as an irate son trying to cope with his mothers interference. 
  There is a great moment where some world-building is done by expressing this
  irritation, with the imperfections of the cryo process giving us a glimpse of a
  sci-fi setting that isn’t necessarily perfect in its development.  In some ways,
  this is one of the stronger parts of the story for me as a reader, but it also
  serves to draw attention away from the openings sparseness and disrupt the
  rhythm of the peace – we slow down for the detail, but it doesn’t advance the
  plot/conflict set up in the opening paragraphs.  I would like to see more
  interplay between the narrator and his computer, as in some ways I think the
  contrast between the human irritation and the machines confusion serves to
  heighten our sympathy for the lone traveler in his oddball freighter.

  The scene in the ship is followed by a short aside, one that disrupts the flow
  of the narrative and forces the reader the change gears – suddenly the conflict
  ceases to be about the infuriating peculiarities of the narrators mother and
  becomes his problems with locating the customer.  In some respects, I think this
  information could be introduced earlier in the piece – making an early
  connection between the difficulties of the job and the conflict between narrator
  and mother.  I’m left caught off-guard by this change in direction, and in some
  ways the idea of “Damn my mother for brokering these shady deals” is the driving
  force of the story – it’s the thought that’s going to tie everything together
  (Anger at his mother, bad job in progress, the weirdness of the ship.  All the
  things pushing this forward in one handy phrase).  Bring it in earlier instead
  of leaving it until the middle of the piece.

  Like the scene with the redecorated ship, the confrontation between the narrator
  and his client livens up the piece a great deal.  It has detail, we get a chance
  to see the two characters develop by comparing their impressions of one another,
  and the narrator’s irritation starts to really shine through.  Unfortunately,
  especially given the zinger at the end of the story, the irritation is directed
  more towards the client’s situation and the job rather than the narrator’s
  mother – the epilogue seems to be heading for a moment of ironic resignation but
  isn’t quite getting there.

  The point of all this (Apart from the fact that I’m a wordy bastard) is that
  Clays story shows a lot of promise – the elements to bring this together as a
  cohesive and well paces story are in place if Clay wants to later take the time
  to play with them, rearranging them and fleshing out some of the less detailed
  areas. Like many early drafts, it shows its strengths in concept, setting and
  character, but needs to develop the pacing and mood.  Clay has set up of motif
  of contrasts in many of his scenes, which is another aspect that can easily be
  played with to add more strength to the piece.


  Guedo79 – Gloomy the Bear

  Since the introduction to Clay’s piece was blunt about the direction the
  judgment was going, I may as offer Guedo79 the same opportunity – this is the
  first poem that I’ve seen in a Ceramic DM (at least in the few competitions I’ve
  judged), so I’m impressed at the idea and the way he’s put thing together
  conceptually.  The bad news is that rhyming poetry without meter tends to grate
  me the wrong way, and when I read this aloud to myself there were several
  moments that had my cringing as the meter disappeared.  

  In terms of its narrative, I quite like the way Guedo79 has approached the
  images and put together the story – it’s a playful approach, one that has fun
  with the subject, and uses the childish theme of a boy and his pet to grisly
  effect at the close of the poem.  It brings back childhood memories of Dahl
  books, which is always a good thing, as well as satisfying that little part of
  my adult self that takes a childish glee in the horrible misfortune of a truly
  amusing unhappy ending.  I’m a sucker for anything that ends with most of the
  major characters dying 
	

	
	
		
		

		
		
	


	




  Similarly, I think the rhyming structure and the choice of poetic images you’ve
  used to illustrate the characters works particularly well for the genre of
  poetry you seem to striving for.  While the rhyming structure is simplistic, it
  works well for the parody of children’s narrative poetry and you make great use
  of several of the descriptive elements and images common to that form without
  necessarily dragging them to far into the ground.  The evocative use of language
  in Gloomy’s feasting scenes towards the close are particularly gruesome, but
  evoke a sense of delicious playfulness in their approach.

  And yet, for all the things I find to like in this, I still can’t get past the
  meter.  For me, and most other people I know who enjoy poetry, the true joy of
  the form really comes down to the musicality of the language – the attempt to
  create rhythm through the inflection, ebb and flow of words rather than music. 
  There are some elements of that here – the use of rhyming line-ends certainly
  creates a sense of rhythm, as does the choice of a repeating refrain.  However,
  neither is quite strong enough to carry the music of the poem on its own,
  particularly as the poem progresses and the refrain is used more often as the
  Stanza’s shorten.  What I find myself craving for here is a greater sense of
  rhythm within each line of the poem, slowly building together

  The opening line here is a perfect example of what I’m talking about – when its
  read aloud the rhythmical emphasis on the D and M in Freddy and Gloomy, as well
  as the D’s in both Day and Dell, creates a elegant 4-beat line that sings to the
  ear.  Something about it simply catches your attention when read aloud,
  reminding us of kindergarten chants and nursery rhymes, but also the regular
  drum-beat of the 4-beat music bar.  Had the entire poem made use of this rhythm
  – a common one in children’s narrative poetry – there would have been a nice
  sense of music to the entire piece.  Contrast this with the second line – Again
  we have an emphasis on the M in Gloomy, but there’s also a moment where there
  are two inflected words close together when we hit the A’s in all alone, then
  another two beats to be found in Fred and tell.  In short, we drop from four
  regular beats to a line that has five irregular beats.  (For non-poetry types,
  try reading these two lines aloud and see if you feel slightly awkward when you
  say All Alone).  

  As we continue through the poem, this irregular sense of line rhythm continues
  and there are numerous stumbling blocks, but there’s also an underlying sense
  that it is heading towards having a unified (or, at least, a more controlled)
  sense of rhythm.  There is a feeling that the four-beat line is struggling to
  stay on top of things, and the poem could easily be shaped into a strong regular
  rhythm should Guedo feel the need to play with it at a later date.  

  The Judgment

  I find it hard to pick a winner in this round, partially because both entries
  show a lot of promise, but also because I can see a lot of directions I’d like
  to see both pieces take as a reader.  I have to give Guedo79 bonus points for
  attempting something I hadn’t yet seen in the competition (Poetry), as well as
  slipping him the benefit of the doubt given he didn’t know he was likely to have
  an rhythm obsessed poetry nut like me on the judging panel.  In the end,
  however, I have to sneak Alsih2o by the barest of margins – the edge given
  partially because I enjoyed his use of the bell imagery slightly more than
  Guedo79’s bear collar, and partially because in the long run I think there’s a
  touch more complexity to the narrative world Clay’s creating.  Apologies to
  those following who aren’t a fan of wordy explanations of judges comments, but I
  felt strongly enough about both these entries that I wanted to explain my
  comments rather than just say a few brief words and name a winner.

*Judgment: alsih20*


----------



## mythago

*Judgment Round 2 (Maldur, mythago)*

Maldur

 guedo79
 poem *shudder*
 I can not read those buggers. I tried several times, but it just doesn't work for me. Something with bears?

 alsih2o
 Spaceships, betrail, and weird unexplained tech.

*My vote : alsih2o*

mythago

 alsih2o: nice balancing of the creepy and the outright funny-as-heck. I admit that my eyebrows went up a bit when you zipped right through the hands pic, but then you came back to the soil as a story element. Very nice integration of all the pics, especially since they don't scream "science fiction."

 guedo79: lots of points for trying a poem, and a long one at that. But...it doesn't scan. The meter is off. This bugged the almighty snot out of me, I'm afraid. (Free verse is OK. Doggerel is OK. Elaborate sonnets are OK. But they have to scan for the type of poem they are.) The cute, warped boy-and-his-pet story was well-done in a kind of sick way. That's a compliment, by the way   I really was disapointed by the use of the pictures. The bells got a lot of use; the rest seemed almost shoehorned in. I know that length is an issue, especially when you're trying to keep up a poem instead of short fiction; however, there didn't seem to be much reason that, as an illustration, one would pick (say) the hands instead of a drawing of the boy, but it's very clear why the bells were appropriate. 
*Judgment: alsih2o
*
 alsih2o takes round 1 3-0! Congrats to both of you!


----------



## arwink

Congrats, Clay.


----------



## guedo79

Congrats Clay. 

Yeah I knew the meter was off but with the time I had and lack of experience I just couldn't pull it off.  It was worth a shot.


----------



## mythago

Indeed it was


----------



## alsih2o

guedo79 said:
			
		

> Congrats Clay.
> 
> Yeah I knew the meter was off but with the time I had and lack of experience I just couldn't pull it off.  It was worth a shot.




 Thanks for the match guedo. i hope i do you proud down the campaign trail 

 i think we managed to pry the competition open a little with poetry and          b-grade space opera. 

 well played.

 Edit: arwink, you have my lazy, white trash self nailed. "D


----------



## Mathew_Freeman

Congrats to Clay from England!


----------



## Maldur

I knew something grated my when I tried to read the poem. Thanks to Arwinks judging I even learn what 

I do like intuitive judging though


----------



## mythago

*Round 4 pics, Cedric vs. Kesh*

72 hours...scribble away...


----------



## Cedric

Hmm...I had been thinking about doing EN World's first Ceramic DM Limerick...

But since i couldn't come up with a limerick that could fit in all of the photo's...I'll just write a story!

Cedric - scribbling away


----------



## BSF

OK, just about ready to post mine up.  

Whew!  The process of looking at the pics, coming up with a story and then trying to figure out how to tell that story so it is interesting is difficult.   

I hope mine is an interesting read.  I am going to run it through the spellcheck again and then see if I can post up the story with the links to the pics.


----------



## BSF

Duty

The  Hands of the Queen: The symbol of Hope and Prosperity for my nation.  The hands of the Sorceress Queen that threw down Vittorio the Tyrant nearly 80 winters past.  Her hands, held in the form of her Arcane symbol, ward us from the ambitions of those that would subjugate our fair realm.  It is only fitting that we use it as our symbol on Standards and coin.  So I have been told all of my life, and thus have I believed.  

As all the children in our realm know, Anatola the Sorceress came from the East in the time when my grandfather was a child, entered the palace of Vittorio and defeated the Tyrant in his own bedchamber, having braved the guards and bypassing incantations that protected the Tyrant from harm.  Freeing the women seized for Vittorio's pleasure and releasing the men laboring in Vittorio's mines, our realm quickly embraced her as our savior.  Before night had again fallen, we had declared Anatola our Queen, though none had yet seen her face.  Instead of her countenance, we were allowed to see her hands and the symbol of her magic.  As part of her vows to the spirits that do her bidding, she can only show her face to the one that is worthy of being King and ruling at her side.  

In the time since Queen Anatola saved my people, we have again risen to prominence as a wealthy nation.  Her magic and the Royal Army protect us from the aggressions of our neighbors who are jealous of our wealth and abundance of food.  Since Vittorio was overthrown, people no longer worry for the welfare of their sons and daughters.  We till the land, we create beautiful music and poetry and our sculpting is second to none.  Merchants from around the world journey to our capital, Larina, to purchase the work of the Royal Sculptors.  Statues grace the city, and the rest of the realm.  The workmanship is extraordinary and it is said that Queen Anatola sometimes takes up the hammer and chisel.  Such is the true nobility of our Queen that she has skills as a sculptor as well as a Sorceress.  Yet, she is also skilled in diplomacy as well as war.  Every invader has been driven back and then forced to concede tribute to our people.  

My brother and I grew up under Queen Anatola's rule.  The queen has never found a suitable mate and, as children, my brother and I would pretend that each of us had proven ourselves to be worthy of Queen Anatola's Love.  We would engage in contests trying to better the other.  I was always superior in the footrace, or wrestling, or any number of other physical challenges.  However, my brother was the better at music, poetry and the rest of the gentler arts.  We encouraged each other to excel in our strengths and good-naturedly teased each other about our desire to win Queen Anatola's heart.  We had a rivalry of sorts, but we loved each other and if anyone besides I  were to win Queen Anatola's interest, I would want it to be my brother.  I was devastated to learn that he had disappeared.

When I reached adulthood, I entered the Royal Army.  I have spent most of my adult life protecting our frontiers.  As I have proven myself, I have even been sent on special missions to other lands.  At times, as a guard for one emissary or another, at other times, I have retrieved certain items from forgotten towers and tombs.  As it is, I spend far more of my time exploring musty ruins seeking powerful items of ensorcellment for our Queen.  These missions have won me a certain amount of renown and there are few in our land that outrank me.  In contrast, my brother strove to become a minstrel.  He knew the songs and the lore of the land.  He understood our people and our art.  While I excelled in my service, he became a near legend for his ability to capture mood and to convey a message through his music.  While I fought to defend our land, he embodied all that I was defending.  On the few occasions when I would return home, he and I would debate for hours.  Always, he had a better command of what made our people unique.  I learned much from him.  In his words, I found the meaning of my Duty.  The Duty, to the people, to protect them so that they may flourish.  The Duty of the Queen to serve the people.  True Nobility doesn't simply take from the people in the manner of Vittorio the Tyrant.  My brother taught me how I serve the land.  He made me a better soldier because of my understanding of what I fight for.  In every way, I felt that my brother was much more suitable to be Queen Anatola's mate than I could ever be.  The few rumors that I heard, made me think that the Queen had noticed my brother as well.  I was devastated when I learned he had disappeared.

He disappeared on the evening that he was to have had dinner at the Palace.  Of course, I heard none of the details until a half year later, when I returned home.  The reasons for his disappearance were never discovered.  The Queen commissioned a statue to be made of him and placed in the city market.  My parents tearfully broke the news to me.  It was three days before I could bear to travel to the market and see the statue myself.  Fresh flowers had been placed at the base of the statue and I marveled at it's quality.  Even for our city, it was well done.  It was certainly among the dozen or so exquisite statues that are in the city.  The sculptor had even created a violin out of Iella wood, with it's distinctive pink hue, to grace the  statue.  Looking at the statue, I couldn't help but think that it was too perfect, too detailed.  The skill was too good to be a mere statue.  Of course, if I spent more time in the city, I might have heard the whispers in the taverns and alleys.  The best statues are always of those most loved by the people.  

My thoughts carried back through the years.  My brother's violin had been a gift from our Aunt.   Our Aunt was an adventurer of sorts.  Her few visits were always a treat for the two of us, for she seemed to understand us better than our parents did.    One day, a wooden box arrived at our modest manor.  The note on the box simply said, "Make good use of these gifts, if you can figure out how to open the box."  The note also held the sigil of our Aunt.  We excitedly dragged the box through the woods to a small clearing where we liked to go after our chores.  It was large and I did most of the work, but I think that is what our Aunt intended.  The top of the box was a puzzle lock of some sort and I could not understand it's complexities.  It took several days for my brother to understand the mechanism, but even then he could not move the lock without my help.  Our Aunt was clever and I am sure she intended the lock to be opened through both of our efforts.  Once the lid slid back, we peered inside.  Two wrapped bundles were all that we could find.  Mine was a rune engraved sword that felt light to my 14 year old frame.  To this day, I use the sword.  My brother's bundle covered his Iella wood violin.  I laughed at the color, but when he stroked the bow across the strings, my taunts were immediately quieted.  The music was like magic flowing from my brother's heart.  

The violin on the statue was too well done to be a replica.  The carving was too detailed with the flow of the clothing and the expression on my brother's face.  My suspicions were aroused by such detail.  But, I am a patient man and it does not do well to rush into things.  The people in the market were surreptitiously watching me.  I bowed my head and left for home.  

My mother would not look me in the eye as I asked her about my brother.  My father would not answer my questions.  Looking about the manor, it seemed that this was the first time I had opened my eyes.  My parents’ clothes were patched.  The fields had too many weeds.  Thinking back, we had never been able to afford as many servants as we should have been able to support.  I searched my brother's room but found nothing useful to explain why somebody might wish him harmed.  Why had he disappeared?  Why was that statue so detailed?  It was winter and snow had fallen, but I did not care.  I left for the clearing in the woods.  That is where my brother and I had always spoken.  As I entered the clearing, I could see the  box.  It was still sitting there after all these years.  Indeed, my brother often used it as a seat as he played his violin when he and I were deep in discussion.  Rushing forward, I could see that the top had been left opened.  This puzzled me as my brother and I had only ever opened the box when we had something we wished to hide for a time.  Realization came to my mind and I knelt in the snow and felt inside the box.  After a moment, I grasped a bundle of books and notes.  Pulling them forth, I recognized my brother's penmanship.  In the snow, I sat down to see what my brother had tried to hide.

It was near dark before I stuffed the bundle into my tunic and stumbled home.  It was impossible!  The things my brother had written were ludicrous.  My mind was swimming in the implications, the lies.  I found my father drunk in my brother's bedroom.  It seems my questions were not welcome.  I pulled my father to his feet and demanded answers.  Slowly at first, my father told me of the taxes; the taxes that were always rising.  Then he told me of the demands for gifts to the Royal Treasury.  The implied threats from the tax collectors.  The people that had disappeared as my brother had, and the exquisitely detailed statues that always appeared soon thereafter.  After all these years, I realized how much our parents had tried to shield us.  The worries were different, but Queen Anatola was just as much a Tyrant as Vittorio had been.  

My brother's notes told of people that had disappeared but had never had a statue erected of them.  My brother's notes told his inability to ever locate a single person that worked as a Royal Sculptor.  My brother's notes told of the oppressive conditions in the city and how the people lived in fear that the Royal Army could just as easily be used in the city as it was on the frontier.  I thought back to all the conversations we had over the years.  Debates on the Duty and how True Nobility doesn't simply take from the people.  All those years, my brother was trying to tell me something and I was too self-sure to understand.  Reading through my brother's notes, I realized that he kept pondering why nobody had ever seen the Queen's countenance.  He had a theory.  He had once heard a legend of a creature that lived on an island far to the East.  In his notes, I found a map, of sorts, as to where the island might be.  

That night, I put on a cloak that made me blend into the shadows.  I had recovered it just last winter on a mission for our Queen to recover a rune-covered staff.  I passed through the alleys of the city as a wraith and none noticed as I passed.  Reaching the market, I waited for the watch to pass.  Creeping up to the statue, I brought forth a candle.  I had to know for myself.  On the back of my brother's neck was a scar.  I knew exactly what the scar looked like for it was my fault that he had it.  Climbing up the pedestal, I searched just above the collar.  In the flickering light of the candle, I could barely see the raised V.  Why would any craftsman go to that much detail?  How could a craftsman do that from memory?  My hands were shaking as I checked for my second piece of evidence.  When he was young, he thought that if he scratched Anatola’s name into his violin, she would eventually take notice of him.  A tear rolled down my cheek as I saw the scratches of her name.  My brother never disappeared, he was right here in front of the entire city.

I was always the patient one between my brother and I.  It took me two years to arrange for a passage on a ship to the East on another special mission for the Queen.  My brother had researched his tale and created a map of the island where an abomination might come from.  I managed to convince the captain that the map I provided was our true destination.  It was a small island and it took me hours to find the entrance to the cave.  I had brought along many ensorcelled stones and I was able to light the  largest chamber so that I might search it.  It was difficult with all the statues of animals and men.  Each statue was exquisitely detailed and this similarity was not lost upon me.  I also found signs that somebody had lived here for a very long time.  The island was far from land.  It would be rare that anybody would visit this place, so it would serve as a good spot to banish somebody, or something.  Near the back of the cave, I found the entrance to a smaller chamber.  The walls were covered in writing.  I am a poor translator, but I was finally able to discern that the writing told the tale of a beautiful young woman who defied the gods themselves.  In punishment, they turned her golden locks of hair to serpents and her once beautiful countenance was changed so that any that met her gaze would be petrified.  After hours of my halting translation, I came to the end of the tale and found the Arcane symbol of this once beautiful woman.  A cry escaped my lips.  I recognized the symbol; it was the same as the one on the tabard I wore.  Next to the symbol was a name, but that name was not Anatola.

Returning to the ship, I reported the mission as a failure.  It wasn't the first time that information had been wrong.  Upon returning to Larina, I also requested a change in assignment.  I am no longer as young as I once was.  I would prefer to work in the city and help however I may in that capacity.  Such was the clumsy request I made, but it was successful enough.  I have spent the past year uncovering corrupt government officials and other small things.  The people of the city adore me.  Whenever I am in public, they request speeches.  They say I am almost as gifted as my brother is.  That is, of course, blind flattery.  Without my brother, my eyes would have never been opened.  I simply take my brother's words to heart.  My Duty is to protect the people.  I do my duty well and my plans approach fruition.  Tonight, I have received a summons to the Palace.  I am to dine with our Queen.  She has sent a new set of clothing for me.  It is beautiful and would be the perfect accouterments for a statue in my honor.  

The Queen's Duty is to serve the people, not to hold them in terror.
My Duty is to protect the people so they may flourish.  
She does not fulfill her duty, but I shall fulfill mine.

Years ago, I was trained in the art of fighting in complete darkness.  It was a useful skill in darkened tombs when the dead rise up to contest your presence.  My eyes have been opened, but they must be closed before I see the Queen.  Two pins in my sash will assure that my eyes cannot see.  I know her True name so her sorcery cannot harm me and I will call out Medusa as my sword, the gift from my Aunt, brings about the end of the reign of Anatola the Tyrant.


----------



## BSF

Doh!  Copy-paste between revisions killed me in one little spot.  *sigh*  Proofreading your own work is always trying. Oh well.  Maybe the story will still carry through despite the error?  

OK Sialia, we have 6 hours left.  I am hoping your story is coming in shortly.


----------



## Sialia

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> Doh! Copy-paste between revisions killed me in one little spot. *sigh* Proofreading your own work is always trying. Oh well. Maybe the story will still carry through despite the error?
> 
> OK Sialia, we have 6 hours left. I am hoping your story is coming in shortly.



Well, it's ready now, but I'm afraid "shortly" is not a term anybody is going to be able to apply to this monstrosity.

I can only humbly apologize for letting it get this badly out of control, and for disregarding the instructions about not submitting it as an attachment. 

It's too monstrously long for a post, and I don't like not knowing what the obscenity filter is going to do to my opening paragraph when I'm not allowed to edit. Per Bandeeto's insistance, I have self obscenity filtered it somewhat to avoid being thrown off the boards altogether. It guts an otherwise effective opening, but I yield to censorship in this case for the benefit of the delicate sensibilities of the viewing audience. Feel free to type back in any words you feel are missing.

I've done no formatting, and used Mythago style footnotes.
I am including the exact same text as both a .doc and a .pdf, just to be on the safe side.

Aas soon as I have uploaded this, I will go back and read your story, which I have been eagerly awaiting BSF. Can't tell you how much fun it has been writing with you in mind.

Looking forward to seeing yours,

Sialia


----------



## Sialia

Fine, fine work, BardStephenFox. You inspire me.


----------



## BSF

Oh my, that looks long.  I'm checking it out now.  I will reserve comment on my story as I tend to be hypercritical of myself.  Hopefully, I am my worst critic on this one.  

Heh, I am about halfway through your story.  It's fun so far.  Professor Volpe is funny.  It took me a little bit longer than I would have liked to catch the reference.  You honor me and I am thus humbled. 

It has certainly been fun, frantic but fun.  It has been worth it just to have a chance to read your story!


----------



## arwink

My comments have been sent.  Good luck, folks


----------



## alsih2o

wow!

 10k words! from here on out i shall be refering to you as "siala the brief"


----------



## Berandor

I think a better custom title would be "curiously long" 

Finally having vaught up after a few days' lag, all I can say that so far, I liked all stories, am glad I didn't have to alternate, and my favorites have won the rounds.
While I am a sucker for fairy tales done right, and was put off a little by the poem's missing meter, now the decision is way harder.
I just hope arwink doesn't feel motivated to write a Siala-length judgement


----------



## mythago

I think "made the boards throw up" is a good reason to allow it as an attachment, if BardStephenFox has no objections.


----------



## BSF

mythago said:
			
		

> I think "made the boards throw up" is a good reason to allow it as an attachment, if BardStephenFox has no objections.




Absolutely no objections from me.  It would have been a monstrosity to post otherwise.  Please judge us on respective merit.


----------



## guedo79

That darn meter has bothered me from the start of writing the poem. I wasn't even going in that direction at first it just sort of happened.

I'm going to sit down and try and fix that this week. I know its far too late but I can't help but want to fix it now that I have time.


----------



## Maldur

Stuck at work, I will read and judge tonight, but ....... damn that story is LOOOOONG!


patience my pretties!


----------



## Sialia

Maldur said:
			
		

> Stuck at work, I will read and judge tonight, but ....... damn that story is LOOOOONG!
> 
> 
> patience my pretties!



Again, apologies.

I think it would be fair to describe it as the kind of thing that consumes its components in the casting, and requires the use of the spellcaster as the material component.

If I tried to write up anything about where that story came from, it would take longer than the story to tell.


----------



## alsih2o

guedo79 said:
			
		

> That darn meter has bothered me from the start of writing the poem. I wasn't even going in that direction at first it just sort of happened.
> 
> I'm going to sit down and try and fix that this week. I know its far too late but I can't help but want to fix it now that I have time.




 please do! reworking stories should have it's own thread and everything, i am thinking of redoing mine when the competition is over


----------



## BSF

I would like to think there are abstract reflections of Clay and I in Sialia's story.  It might be a bit egocentric, but I am a Leo.  

As for reworking my story, I think I might like to revisit it at some point in the future.

EDIT:  I'm not sure what I said the first time, but I rewrote it entirely.


----------



## Sialia

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> I would like to think there are abstract reflections of Clay and I in Sialia's story. . .



Yes, quite so. 

Possibly a few other familiar voices or thoughts from around here as well.

It was a _very_ hungry story.


----------



## Berandor

I don't think you're claws are clumsy, Sialia! (Or was alsi2ho the dragon, former judge now trying her hand at art herself? Wouldn't mesh with the gender, but...) 

Or the dragon was PirateCat, transforming into a woman to do real ar... wait! PirateCat's wife writes all his stories! It's a hidden message in the story, about a nefarious ghost-writing plot! Or is it? 

Berandor
amateur art critic


----------



## BSF

Yes, the evolution of Sialia's story would be interesting to hear.  Only because I see stuff working on many levels and I have to wonder if I am right to any degree.


----------



## alsih2o

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> I would like to think there are abstract reflections of Clay and I in Sialia's story.




 hmmm. i'm one of the oxen, right?


----------



## Kesh

Cripes, I nearly forgot about this thing. At least I've still got time to work on it. And those pics have already given me an idea...


----------



## Maldur

Judgement send, very hard!!

While reading Sialia's story didn't see that long strangely


----------



## Sialia

Knowing you, BardStephenFox, if you have a go at my story there won't be much left for our esteemed judges to wonder about.

You've never been wrong about anything I've posted yet.

But I didn't mean to say that I included or represented anybody _literally,_ apart from the deliberate nod to my esteemed opponent. I borrowed bits of this and that, and those of you who find something familiar in this will probably be right about where it came from.

I've wanted to do something like this pretty much since AlSi2O first posted the d20 postmodern thread. Which is why I nearly wept for joy when Mythago handed me the violinist. If AlSi2O's in here anywhere besides getting himself salt roasted, it's there.

I _still_ wish I had managed to pull it off in a more Gertrude Stein-like voice, so that form would follow function in a more avant-garde fashion, but nobody would have had the patience to read it if I'd tried that, eh?

Sometimes its important not to lose the soup in pursuit of the perfect bowl.


----------



## alsih2o

Maldur said:
			
		

> Judgement send, very hard!!
> 
> While reading Sialia's story didn't see that long strangely




 a-greed!

 i wonder if i should start a new competition- Ceramic Novella!

 3 plot points a la iron dm, 3 illustrations a la this trainwreck and 3 weeks to write.


----------



## guedo79

So when do we start Platinum Publishing.  Your given 3 plot points, 5 pictures and 1 year to get your novel published and reviewed.


----------



## mythago

alsih2o said:
			
		

> a-greed!
> 
> i wonder if i should start a new competition- Ceramic Novella!
> 
> 3 plot points a la iron dm, 3 illustrations a la this trainwreck and 3 weeks to write.



You SO do not want me to be in that one.


----------



## Sialia

mythago said:
			
		

> You SO do not want me to be in that one.



You don't know how many times I thought about your "write a novel in one month" excercise while I was doing this. 


Three weeks of this would kill me.

I think.


----------



## mythago

*Round 3 Judgment - BardStephenFox vs. Siala*

Maldur
Sialia vs BardStephenFox

Hard, Hard, Hard

BardStephenFox with a tale of wisdom, patience and medusa.
I just love the full circle in the story, very nice.

Sialia with a tale of discovery, halflings, dragons and amateur art critic's.
I wonder if creation instead of collecting with spell trancendence for the
golden beast.

*Judgement: BardStephenFox*, but this was a real close one!
Main reason is the sudden change in Sialia's story, from the brave explorers
to the budding artist. Only slightly too sudden for me.

arwink
BardStephenFox – Duty

BardStephenFox gives us the story of a man on a mission, a country held in the grip of an unknown and unspoken evil, and a brother who spurs everything along. 
All the elements of a great story here, but it looses something due to the lack of tension. There is one great surprise in this story, the discovery that the statue is really the narrator’s brother, but it’s telegraphed early on in the piece so the surprise is ruined. While I don’t normally regard this as a problem, being a great believer that where a story is going is nowhere near as interesting as how it gets there, there’s also precious few surprises or twists
in the narrators journey. The plot drives the story here, without enough detail on the character, the setting or the atmosphere to distract us from the plot’s inevitable conclusion.

In some ways, I think BardStephenFox’s choice to introduce his story with a wealth of back-story has had a negative impact. While much of this information is in place to help the reader make sense of the events, it doesn’t do anything to set up the conflict that introduces the story. The reader is left hanging until half-way through the tale until they reach the event that is going to push the narrator forward – up until then we’re getting dry info-dumps that only serve to explain the whole story from the moment the conflict is introduced. An interesting idea would be to use the background information as a method of foreshadowing, looking at the way the narrator would re-tell it after he knows what he knows by the tales end. There is a hint of this there, in the first paragraph, but it looses the dark edge and becomes drier from there.

The other problem I had with BardStephenFox’s story was that I couldn’t ever get a firm idea of the setting where it was taking place. In a lot of ways, this is a story that is told to the reader rather than unveiled or shown, and this can make it difficult to engage with the setting. Descriptions are glossed over, particularly in instances where the pictures are being used, and it gives the feeling of reading the script rather than watching the movie. Looking once more at the introductory paragraph, we get a real sense of what the Hands of the Queen represent to the character, but there is no mention of what that symbol looks like. Are the hands clenched fists, a single hand, both held in prayer? Take away the pictures that inspire the story, and there’s nothing there to create an image. The same applies to the box, the large chamber (which, for such an imposing picture, is rendered rather bland by the tale) and statue of the brother. 

As with many Ceramic DM entries, BardStephenFox’s story shows a lot of promise, and could well be fleshed out to something great if given more time than the competition allows. The bare basis of his tale is there, it simply needs to be embellished and crafted to give it a sense of pacing and a living, breathing environment for the story to take place within.

Sialia - Untitled

With a story clocking in at 11,000 words after only three days, Sialia has instantly become the kind of writer I’ve always hated – those who are capable of being enormously prolific on command . That the story holds together well, contains several well-rounded and believable characters, and makes great use of humor and tension only makes things that much worse. About midway through Sialia’s story, I realized that I was envious as well as enthralled.

Sialia makes great use of throw-away detail in the building of her story, one-off lines that suggest a greater tale without expanding on it come back to haunt the reader with their relevance a few pages later. Casual lines like “this was before the efreeti…” give us a sense of a living, breathing world that exists outside the confines of the story, the suggestion that there are further stories left untold that still somehow have a small impact on our current tale. 
When the tale within a tale begins, and we’re handed more pieces of the puzzle, only to have it left brief and tantalizingly short. When the implications then suggest that the tale may be a little more post-apocalypse than straight
post-tragedy family, things get more intriguing still. Similarly, the professor’s use of magic and his apology before doing so only serves to give us more clues about both the characters and the world.

The thing that impressed me the most about Sialia’s story (after its length) was her skilled shifting of focus midway through the piece. She carefully removes our focus from the halflings, resolving their initial conflict (Stay alive and find the well), while replacing it with a new force to drive the narrative in
the Dragon’s concerns over her horde. 

Judgment 

While BardStephenFox’s work shows a lot of promise, I’m inclined to give this
round to Sialia. The cohesion and length of her story is impressive, especially
considering the time limit and random nature of the competition. 
*Judgment: Sialia*

mythago

Sometimes I think we critics are the building inspectors in the great edifice of art. "Nice tall shining monument for the ages here, but you know you were supposed to use 5/16" gauge wire instead of 6/16", right? And I'm afraid that there's been a change in ANSI standards for this acoustic tile you were using, you'll have to rip it out and replace it with a layer of inflatable hedgehogs."

BardStephenFox
Lovely, lovely use of the pics. The hands as symbols of the supposedly beautiful and benevolent Queen. I particularly liked the use of the box; a recurring element in the story, and we don't even see it as it appears in its "picture form" until later in the story, after it's undergone some changes. Very nice.

However--there were two big flaws that really lessened the story's impact for me. First was the true nature of the Queen, which was telegraphed early on by the heavily exaggerated nature of how benevolent everyone thinks she is, but is later figured out by _everyone but the narrator_. Suddenly he realizes that his parents, the townsfolk, even his fellow guards have known but said nothing, and are now waiting to see if he's figured it out. Presumably he's been ignoring those nagging suspicions for years, and the statute was the final cluestick, but that isn't clear: it's presented as a total flipflop.

The second was the habit of backfilling in elements of the story rather than presenting them more naturally, e.g. when he sees the statue, we then learn about the whole history of the violin (and the sword). It's always hard to present background information from a narrator's POV, but I think this could have been handled more smoothly. (How, exactly? Hey, I'm a judge, not a writer. )

Sialia
Oh, the irony. I actually think the cursing up front could have been handled with the same deft touch as other little cultural bits in the story (making the sign of the kettle to ward off Bad Things, the references to the time of the efreeti) and made less...generic?

The initial section (which IMO was also the weakest) suffered a bit from "jumping spider" perspective--we go from the thoughts of the oxen to the Professor to Tarnby in a short span. Longer section-shifts work much better for changes in perspective, funny as the oxen's bit part may be. 

I also was put off by the explanations of exactly what it is the Professor is seeking. Yes, we the readers need to know, but it rings strange that the somewhat immediate-gratification-oriented halflings would follow the Professor all the way out into these dangerous salt flats without knowing exactly what it is he is looking for. There's the impression that Mirabelle has known the Professor for a long time, and perhaps dragged Tarnby and Lillabo along with her, but that's not clear. Otherwise it sounds like they traipsed off first and asked questions later.

After this bit, though, the story really hits its stride. Post-apocalyptic fantasy that may or may not have been our world...or someone else's...or a cautionary tale...or never at all. (Dragons have been known to lie from time to time.) The box as chimney, the dragon wondering at her new hands, the incredibly funny use of the violin statue--perfect. And yes, I love the dragon as snotty art critic, because it's not just for comic relief; there's an excellent and necessary reason she's a snotty art critic.

Otherwise, um, wow. 

*Judgment: Sialia*

The good news is, Sialia wins Round Three 2-1!

The bad news is, she has to write another piece for the next round, and her fingers are hoarse!


----------



## BSF

Sialia said:
			
		

> Knowing you, BardStephenFox, if you have a go at my story there won't be much left for our esteemed judges to wonder about.
> 
> You've never been wrong about anything I've posted yet.



That's very nice of you to say.



			
				Sialia said:
			
		

> But I didn't mean to say that I included or represented anybody _literally,_ apart from the deliberate nod to my esteemed opponent. I borrowed bits of this and that, and those of you who find something familiar in this will probably be right about where it came from.




I hadn't really thought that there were too many literals in the story.  But, I observe certain elements that make me think of specific people.  When framed against the nature of EN World, and the nature of this contest, it makes perfect sense.  It is also deliciously appropriate.  I love the cleverness in which you incorporate elements and I find myself looking for that inclusion whenever you post.  



			
				Sialia said:
			
		

> I've wanted to do something like this pretty much since AlSi2O first posted the d20 postmodern thread. Which is why I nearly wept for joy when Mythago handed me the violinist. If AlSi2O's in here anywhere besides getting himself salt roasted, it's there.
> 
> I _still_ wish I had managed to pull it off in a more Gertrude Stein-like voice, so that form would follow function in a more avant-garde fashion, but nobody would have had the patience to read it if I'd tried that, eh?
> 
> Sometimes its important not to lose the soup in pursuit of the perfect bowl.




I would have had the patience.    Curiously, I have been afraid my competitive nature would come to the fore in this little endeavor.  By the time I posted last night, I had come to the realization that it was not important to me whether I won or not.  It was important that I tried and it has been genuinely fun to participate.  I was looking forward to whatever you would put together because I felt that by trying to put together a story, I had finally given back in a way that was, perhaps, significant.  I certainly hope that everyone has had as much fun reading my little yarn as I have had in reading yours.  It has been a growing experience and I am thankful for that.


----------



## BSF

Oh!  Judgement was posted as I wrote my last post.  

Congratulations Sialia!  

Ah, now I have the opportunity to rende my post mortem on the story.  this is going to take a little time because I wasn't terribly pleased with how it came out after I read my draft. I just couldn't find a way to tell it differently.  However, I really appreciate the feedback and perhaps somebody can offer a bit more response after I highlight the things I had trouble with?


----------



## alsih2o

this whole shmear just gets better and better...


----------



## Berandor

O.K., now I have to say it. When I opened the PDF, I thought, "WTF? 17 pages? I'm not gonna read that!" 
Then I started to read just to get a feel for what story would lose against BSF. And then I read the whole thing through, amazingly easy, and found myself hooked.
I can't believe you did this in three days. It's great!
I also liked BardStephenFox's story, and it had a better sense of closure, whereas Sialia's was really... long  
But transcending from art collector to artist, from judging other's works to creating one's own - beautiful. As a writer (and who isn't these days), I was touched by the notion.
So, even though I think BSF's story was a little tighter, Sialia's somehow effected me deeper. I actually think her story could have been shorter without harming the overall theme, but it seems Sialia is the opposite of usual Ceramic DM contestants: she doesn't lack the time to flesh out, but to streamline. At least, to me 
And I don't think the "F-" at the beginning would have been necessary, but it probably was something Sialia really, really wanted to include. I know how it is


----------



## mythago

Sialia said:
			
		

> You don't know how many times I thought about your "write a novel in one month" excercise while I was doing this.



  And look how well THAT turned out.


----------



## Cedric

*looks up from his writing*

Umm...*I* don't have to come up with 17 pages, right? I mean...like, six would be fine, right?

Cedric


----------



## mythago

Cedric said:
			
		

> Umm...*I* don't have to come up with 17 pages, right? I mean...like, six would be fine, right?



 It's not the size, it's the literary technique.


----------



## Berandor

mythago said:
			
		

> It's not the size, it's the literary technique.



 Yeah, that's what they try to tell us, anyway...


----------



## Sialia

Thank you BSF.



			
				Berandor said:
			
		

> I actually think her story could have been shorter without harming the overall theme, but it seems Sialia is the opposite of usual Ceramic DM contestants: she doesn't lack the time to flesh out, but to streamline.



yup.



> And I don't think the "F-" at the beginning would have been necessary, but it probably was something Sialia really, really wanted to include. I know how it is



Bandeeto begged me to take it out altogether. 

I cut her swearing during Volpe's storytelling, and during the dragon's blow off about the motivations of elves. And when she was needling Lillabo--that scene got fdropped altogether. And I cut her oath when she first saw the boat and it was the most beautiful and awesome thing she had ever seen in her whole life. Every time that character opened her mouth, something raw and honest came out of it that would have resulted in a whole row of inappropriate smileys.

But that first one. I tried _so_ hard to do somethign else with it, but it kept dying on me. Sticking a euphemism or newly coined local swearword in there was either cloyingly cute or incomprehensible. I could not thing of a single word that expressed Mirabelle's complete and utter frustration so clearly, and so succintly. 

I tried writing _around_ it, but a quote from Mark Twain on the subject of how to write kept stopping me. He said something like, "Never say 'the grandmother screamed.' Bring her on, and let her scream." 

So I did.

But I'm open to suggestions.


----------



## Sialia

Best bit of Mirabelle's I had to leave out, because it was one of the spots where the frame broke and you could see the character's all sitting around eating chips and foolling around with the dog under the table while the GM takes a phone call:


Volpe: "Lillabo lends new meaning to the phrase 'Tis a gift to be simple.'"
Mirabelle: "With her, it's not so much a gift as a special ability."


----------



## alsih2o

holy crapsticks batman! does this mean i am up against siala?

 is there some way around this?


----------



## Sialia

GM: A large cavern opens before you. There is the sound of lapping water, but it is too dark to see where the water is.

Lillabo: Water? I’m soo there. I go in.

GM: You go in to the cavern?

Lillabo: I go in the _water_. Cannonball!

GM: It’s pretty dark in there. What are you using for light?

Lillabo: I can’t see in the dark?

GM: No. Halflings do not have darkvision. The professor’s candle light only goes in about 10’.

(general bickering about physics of light sources)

Lillabo: (losing patience) Whatever. I just go in.

GM: Ho-kaaay. (rolls dice.) You run in to the cavern. It’s pretty big in there, so you’ll spend this round running. Who’s next? Tarnby?

Tarnby: I follow her.

GM: Ok. What are you using for light? Do you stop to get a candle of your own? She’s disappearing in the darkness already.

Tarnby: I just follow her, ok? 

GM: Ok. (rolls dice) Hmm. Make me a check, ok?

Tarnby: What kind of a check?

GM: Just roll, it. I’ll let you know what happens.


----------



## mythago

Professor: I cast my _Light_ spell, see if I can get a look at what's going on.

 GM: Okay...Mirabelle, are you looking?

 Mirabelle: F--- no! I'm curling into a small ball and plugging my ears.

 GM: Fine. Prof, you make a Will save against the horror that rises out of the pool. Tarnby, what'd you get on that check?

 Lillabo: Hey, what about me?

 GM: I'll talk to you in the other room.


 ....well, that's how MY games go...


----------



## mythago

alsih2o said:
			
		

> is there some way around this?



 Yes. Go up against somebody else in Round Two, and lose. 

 Speaking of which, schedule-wise we start a Round Two tomorrow morning. I know Sialia has to wait for weekends, and I'm not going to make either Cedric or Kesh write two stories at once...

 That, to me, is sounding like alsih2o vs. Piratecat for the first go of Round Two tomorrow. You guys ready for it?


----------



## alsih2o

mythago said:
			
		

> That, to me, is sounding like alsih2o vs. Piratecat for the first go of Round Two tomorrow. You guys ready for it?




 define ready.

 i am here. and available.

 ready remains to be seen. i mean, after all piratecat has nly lost to people who have judged a ceramic dm.

 oh, wait....   

 READY!


----------



## arwink

alsih2o said:
			
		

> please do! reworking stories should have it's own thread and everything, i am thinking of redoing mine when the competition is over




That'd be pretty cool, actually.  I'm always dissappointed that we don't get to see some of the ceramic DM entries reworked a little after they've been posted.



			
				alsih20 said:
			
		

> i wonder if i should start a new competition- Ceramic Novella!
> 
> 3 plot points a la iron dm, 3 illustrations a la this trainwreck and 3 weeks to write.




I'm not judging it.  I've already got thirty-odd novellas to read over the next six months


----------



## Piratecat

mythago said:
			
		

> That, to me, is sounding like alsih2o vs. Piratecat for the first go of Round Two tomorrow. You guys ready for it?




Oh, good. I'm only up against the most creative man I know. I'm not nervous or anything.  I can't think of anyone I'd be prouder to lose to.  

Ready!


----------



## alsih2o

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Oh, good. I'm only up against the most creative man I know. I'm not nervous or anything.  I can't think of anyone I'd be prouder to lose to.
> 
> Ready!




 oh, yes. let's compare my ability to see faces in clouds with the most read storyhour since some guy named jason took off with his pals for a long holiday.

 sheesh.


----------



## mythago

I believe this is supposed to be "smack talk," not "flatter the other guy" talk


----------



## Piratecat

Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I'm easily distracted by shiny objects, and sometimes make these sorts of mistakes.

Hey, may we please have the photos tonight instead of tomorrow morning? Posting them in the morning means that I effectively lose six or so hours of noodling time, because I need to post my entry the night before anyways.

Thanks for considering it!


----------



## alsih2o

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Yeah, yeah. Whatever.
> 
> Hey, may we please have the photos tonight instead of tomorrow morning? Posting them in the morning means that I effectively lose six or so hours of noodling time, because I need to post my entry the night before anyways.
> 
> Thanks for considering it!




 i can fit whith whatever it is cabeza de caca here needs.


----------



## mythago

*Semifinal round #1 pics*

As...you....wish....

 72 hours.


----------



## Piratecat

Thank you!


----------



## Berandor

Sialia said:
			
		

> I cut her swearing during Volpe's storytelling, and during the dragon's blow off about the motivations of elves. And when she was needling Lillabo--that scene got fdropped altogether. And I cut her oath when she first saw the boat and it was the most beautiful and awesome thing she had ever seen in her whole life. Every time that character opened her mouth, something raw and honest came out of it that would have resulted in a whole row of inappropriate smileys.



: that's exactly the reason I thought it wasn't necessary, because it didn't really reflect throughout the story. If she had cursed more often, I would have thought none of it - it was "in character", so to speak. Ah, well. You can't please everyone


----------



## Cedric

I'll get my story posted up tonight...

Craenor


----------



## Kesh

And _hopefully_ mine will be up as well... I've got the story, I just need to put it down in electrons.


----------



## Cedric

*The Garden of the Moon*​
The morning was still in the way that only a cold winter morning can be. The only sound was the sharp yet quiet crack of ice on the tree branches as the weight made them settle. But like all moments of serenity, the silence was broken. 

The crunch, crunch of snow and ice being packed beneath his heavy winter boots announced his approach long before the burgundy cloak swept into view. Framed beneath the snow-covered rafters of the gazebo, she sat and watched him come.

He stopped a few feet from her and again the serenity of that morning fell about them like a cloak against the cold, only to once again depart as her soft soprano voice nudged away the silence.

*”Good morning Milord Edmund, do you bring news?”* she greeted him.

*”I bring news indeed, Milady,”* he answered. *”The mystics have broken their three day seclusion and have come from their home. They announce the time is now, and I shall leave on the hour.”* 

With a concerned look she continued, *”What of this strangeness I hear, Edmund, that you are taking his beloved Pitr with you?”*

Regarding her anew, Edmund paused, then formed an answer reluctantly, *”You are uncommon well informed, Milady Emily. I do indeed bring Pitr with me on this journey. The mystics spoke to him from afar, he is to lead me. Unnatural though it may seem, I am happy to have him with me. I fear without him to guide me, I may never find our Stannis.”*

*”Bring him back to me Edmund, move Heaven and Earth, but return my love to me,”* her eyes and her voice pleaded. *”Give him…give him this.”* With deft fingers she removed the silver rose from the clasp of her cloak and passed it to his outstretched palm. 

The determination steeled in Edmund’s eyes and with obvious reluctance he spoke, *”I ... I have always loved you as a sister, Milady. If the powers exist to return him, it shall be done. I should have been with him all along, but he insisted that this journey be made alone.”*

With a quick turn and flourish of his burgundy cloak serving to hide the emotion welling up in his eyes, Edmund left the snow covered park, his every footfall taking him closer to the mystics, closer to Pitr and closer to finding Stannis or finding death, perhaps both.
_____________________

With a wary glance Edmund regarded the building. The walls of the cottage were draped in pelts and furs and the spicy scent of wood smoke swirled through out the glade. As if knowing he was present, the youngest of the four mystics stepped onto the porch. A comely lass only a few years into her womanhood appraised him behind sky blue eyes. She smiled, but the smile did not touch those eyes. 

*”Pitr has been prepared for thy Journey, Edmund,”* the young mystic informed him. *”Travel yeh wit’ haste. Avoid the towns and villages lest he be seen. He needs not food or water, such concerns are beyond him, yet he will lead you to his master.”* 

With a sound like a clatter of hard heels on wood, a frightening form shuffled out onto the porch. Once a proud wolfhound, Pitr stood alert, moving into the doorway. Or at least, the bones of him stood. Empty sockets turned to gaze deep into Edmund and he felt his blood turn cold and his mouth fill with ash. 

*”Yeh must ask him yourself Edmund, he will listen only to you. Make speed though, his bones belong in this world, but his spirit longs to return home.”*

His brow knitted in thought, Edmund just nodded. *”Come Pitr, come and lead me to Stannis, take me to our master.”* With a nod and shake of his head, the skeleton dog trotted off of the porch and started out, heading immediately south. Edmund turned to follow, leaving the glade, the cottage and the mystic behind.

At the edge of the clearing she called out to him, *”Let the moon guide you Edmund, but step not into its lair lest you first be hidden from its gaze.”*
___________________

For months he traveled, by night when possible, by day when he must. The cold of winter broke to give way to spring. Meadows of snow melted to the sludge and mud of early spring, then filled with grass and with the flowers of early summer. Still Pitr lead, still Edmund followed. 

In his lonely weeks of travel he reflected on Stannis and took comfort in his childhood. In a time when the will of many would fail, the words of a father to his only son gave him strength to place one foot before the other. 

*”You are my only son, Edmund. I loved your mother with all that I am, I shall not love another. Her passing,”* he paused. *”Her passing has made me less of who I once was. I shall live to see you reach manhood, but doubt to live much longer.”* 

*”Remember your duty my son. Since time long forgotten we have served; our eldest son, in service to the eldest son of the Storm Throne. Yours is the closest voice to his ear. Yours is the sword at his side. Yours is the heart that beats as his does. Make me proud, my son. Our fathers are watching you…”*

Edmund spoke his words to the wind and the trees, *”I was not there for your hour of greatest need, Stannis, but I will be there for you evermore.”* 

With a silent bow, Pitr lead on to the south. 
____________________

As they passed from mountains into foothills and down into the valley below, Edmund could see the river snaking through the grasslands and stretching between him and the forest beyond. The river was his greatest obstacle, a mile wide at this stage, creatures living within it made swimming across sheer folly. 

With a suddenness that startled Edmund, Pitr came to a halt at a drop off. The steep banks lead down to the river some feet below them. The river stretched more then a mile across, its swirling black depths blocking the trail. Beyond it the forest loomed. 

Pitr turned and those empty sockets regarded Edmund, then turned and stared at the forest, then back at Edmund. Suddenly, somehow, he understood, Stannis was to be found in the forest. With a shudder Pitr collapsed to the ground, his bones falling apart into a pile at the edge of the river, and that is just where Edmund buried him, forever gazing across that peaceful river to the beautiful forest beyond. 

Despair weighed more heavily than ever across Edmund’s shoulders. Months spent in constant travel, cold camps and scant rations had led him to this point. He dug around inside himself for the will to travel further. 

After hours spent in contemplation and depression, Edmund once again steeled his will and looked around, evaluating his situation. Turning upstream he walked for a few miles and saw the light haze of smoke which announced a village just ahead. 

As he neared the first people he had come close to in months, Edmund noted the bustle of activity. This was clearly beyond the norm, a festival perhaps? He walked quietly among the villagers. Though he did not know these people it was easy to see that many strangers were in town. 

_*“Welcome All. The Annual River Gala!”*_ a large sign pronounced at the wooden bridge crossing into town proper. 

Similar signs lead to the docks where villagers were busily preparing a host of small, colored boats for the gala. Women and children moving among them, painting them in vivid colors, the boats tied end to end for hundreds of feet. Along with larger barges and floats, the village was preparing for a river parade.

The site of people and of foods overwhelming after such a long time in the wood with only Pitr for cold comfort, Edmund stopped and took a room at an inn. Hours later, clean and well fed for the first time in months he tossed and turned on the soft bed, the last one the inn had left and he dreamed.  

An ice covered gazebo drifted in his sleeping thoughts and within it sat a beautiful woman…waiting for him. 
_______________________

With a start Edmund awoke, a glance outside assured him it was the middle of the night still. Packing his belongings and making his way to the docks, he stepped from one boat to the other as they stretched far out in the river and untied the last one. Taking up the oars, he rowed quickly to the other side and the forest beyond. 

The moonlight parted the trees and revealed a trail to him, eerily lit with that silver light. Seemingly drawn along this trail, he followed for hours. Sleeping by day the moon would lead him each night. 

Some days passed and Edmund followed intently along the moonlit path, each step becoming more determined, he knew that he was reaching the end of his journey, drawing closer to Stannis. 

Storm clouds were building and, as the moon ducked behind them, the path he was following began to disappear into the gloom of night. Resigned that he would have to take the trail up again in the morning Edmund looked around for a place to make camp, and then quickly went still. 

His last few steps had brought him into a clearing and within the clearing stood many figures. Edmund stumbled backwards and out of the clearing as the silent eyes watched him without moving. 

But…wait…they weren’t moving at all. With surprise Edmund realized he was staring at statues. Intricately carved of wood they were lifelike in a way that no artist could reproduce. 

Burying his fear deep inside his heart, Edmund stepped into that quiet, shadowed clearing and walked among the statues. Many stared back at him, some at the ground and some beyond. But one statue caught his gaze from afar. 

Curls framed the handsome face of a tall, lean man as he stared up, gazing at the clouds as they hooded the light of the moon. His stunned mine cried, *”Stannis!”*

Kneeling at his still lord’s feet, Edmund cried. The emotional release of so many months spent traveling to find Stannis came to a head and Edmund collapsed crying for the statue who had once been his friend and Lord. Minutes went by and the storm was building. 

Rain drifted down in drops of ones and twos then more quickly as Edmund continued to cry. Hours went by and the rain fell heavily on the clearing then slowly began to stop. Taking from his coat the rose smithed of silver, Edmund placed it in Stannis’ wooden palm and turned to journey home, to bring news of his Lord’s fate.

With a glance back once more upon the face of his Lord, Edmund froze. A trick of the shadows perhaps, but a single tear, which should have been lost among the rain stained that cheek. Then the eyes of the statue blinked against the few drops of rain as the storm’s fury vented its last upon the clearing. 

Hurrying back Edmund was just in time to catch his Lord as he collapsed. At first wary of his own eyes and senses, he touched the teardrop on his Lord’s cheek, a cheek now soft as flesh and warm with blood. 

The clouds drifted down to wisps as time went by and Stannis regained his strength. Helping him to his feet Edmund turned a glance towards the sky and could see a sliver of the moon’s edge about to part the mists. 

The word’s of the mystic came crashing down upon him, *”Let the moon guide you Edmund, but step not into its lair lest you first be hidden from its gaze.”*

A squirrel stirred among the statues at the far edge of the clearing. Prying an acorn from the ground the squirrel held it in both hands and froze forever in that position as the moon finally parted the clouds and turned the squirrel into wood, where it would forever live in the Garden of the Moon.

Lifting his still weak Lord up across his shoulders Edmund bolted for the edge of the clearing. Moonlight spilled out onto the ground behind him hounding his every step and filled the clearing fully as he stepped from it once more into the shelter of the tree line.

Minutes passed before either of them spoke. *”I’ve what I came for Edmund, take me to my love. And…thank you Edmund, I shall never travel without you again.”* Lord Stannis Markham, 12th Baron of the Storm Throne clutched the small bundle that many had paid their lives and tears for and followed his friend north. 

They traveled north towards home. North where a gazebo draped in flowers stood in a grassy clearing and a woman sat within it, waiting.

Cedric


----------



## Cedric

*sighs* 

You edit, re-edit and reread over something until you are sure that it is ready to post. With reluctance and some small amount of pain you hit the submit button, then let out of sigh of relief...

Then almost instantly your relief vanishes as you spot a typo.

*sighs*

Cedric


----------



## Zaruthustran

Nice work everybody, and thank you for the very entertaining reading. I particularly enjoyed clay's story--the in-character discussion about Marines vs. Merchant Marines reminded me of character creation in Traveller. And Piratecat's fairy tale was wonderfully crafted.

Mythago, where'd you get that bonneterre image? The one of the huge cavern. It's unlike any cavern I've ever seen. Is it a mine of some sort?

-z, caver


----------



## mythago

Zaruthustran said:
			
		

> Mythago, where'd you get that bonneterre image? The one of the huge cavern. It's unlike any cavern I've ever seen. Is it a mine of some sort?



 It's the Bonne Terre Mine, in (go figure) Bonne Terre, Missouri. I believe it is a man-made mine. They used to mine it for lead, but now it's a tourist attraction, and a darn fine one at that.


----------



## Kesh

*Cedric vs. Kesh*

_Chilled to the Bone_

Winter had come to the manor house in all her glory, seeking out her constant companion. But, Death had been and gone, his indelible mark left for all to see.

A lone figure drifted out of the mists enshrouding the lake. His simple wooden boat cut through the icy water, each pull of the oars drawing him closer to the small island's shore. It took only moments before the boat changed course, after its navigator spied the state of the docks. Dozens of boats, all identical to his own save in small swathes of colored paint, were lashed to the dock and each other. They formed a barrier impossible to pass, forcing him to drive his own craft ashore.

Accompanied by the grinding of sand and wood, the figure stepped from the boat into the freezing waters, his fur-lined boots offering just enough protection from the chill. Once securely ashore, he turned from the boat.

If any of the villagers had been present, they likely would have fled. This stranger cut an imposing figure, dressed in his barbarian leathers and furs. The broadsword strapped to his hip would have only served to intimidate them further, and the scar across his brow told of the battles he had endured. But, it was perhaps the haunted look in his pale blue eyes that  told the tale of his life.

Now, those eyes gazed across the island. Winter had courted this land for too long, leaving snow which nearly passed the top of his heavy boots. With a determined step, the stranger began pushing onward through the drifts, leaving the first mark of life to have been seen for months now.

There ahead was the small gazebo, where the lord of this village would have given proclamations to his people, or begun the yearly celebrations. The weight of the snow now threatened to crush its supports, having been neglected. No pitch had sealed the wood this fall, and the dampness weakened the once-pristine timbers to near-rot. Come the spring, it would be nothing but shambles.

Yet, in crossing the snow-filled ground, he was grateful for the white shroud. Every step caused him to strike hard objects with his toes, while grinding others underfoot. Here, a shattered skull would peer from the drifts, its empty sockets partly filled with recent snow. There, a splinter of an arm or leg would push free as his leg dragged through the powder.

It was all too clear. The villagers had fled here to the island from their homes on the shore of the lake, seeking refuge from some invading horde. But, there was no one to protect them. The horde had come, and slaughtered the trapped people like lambs. Every body had been hacked to bits with an axe, or crushed with a hammer. In these dark times, even a corpse could be a threat to the living.

As the stranger rounded past the gazebo, a sudden crunching of ice caught his ear. With a muffled curse, he dropped his gloved hand to the hilt of his sword... yet hesitated. From the bushes came a small figure, one which barely stood upon the frozen crust of the snow. It had been the one thing the invaders had forgotten: a small dog, which had lived on the island its entire life.

Now, having starved to death months ago, its skeleton pranced forward as best it could. Frozen, dried tendons creaked under the strain as the bony tail wagged back and forth. What was left of the creature plowed through the drifts to scratch at the stranger's pant-leg, its jaw hanging open in what would have been panting, provided a tongue had been left in its head.

He reached out, trying to tell himself that the hand shook from the cold. Stroking the smooth skull, the man murmured a word of praise, then a word of magic. With nothing more than a soft thump, the skeletal dog dropped lifeless into the snow.

There was little to do but continue on. And so, he did, a tear frozen to his cheek. Further down the path he went, though the cobblestones were buried deep under the snow. Still stirring up remnants of the dead under his boot, he came to the sundered wrought-iron gates of the manor house.

Just inside the courtyard stood a marble statue. It was the figure of a lithe young man, dressed simply in robes due to a person of station. One hand stretched forth, as if to beckon the visitor closer, while the head was upturned and gazing at the sky. At some time, this noble youth must have stood contemplating the heavens and the glories therein, eyes fixed on some unknowable future.

Those same eyes now fixed on the cold, lifeless image of their own likeness, glistening wet. The face had changed, worn timeless by only a year of hardship and death. Robes of nobility had been replaced by tattered clothing to guard against Lady Winter's harsh caress, and dreams of glory were long replaced by shame.

The lord of this land turned from the statue, unable to bear his own image any more. In a moment of vanity, he had taken up the king's banner and rode to defend his majesty's land from the invading foe. He had filled his mind with honor and promises of his own triumph, while leading the strongest warriors of the village away. None had been left at their posts in the village when the horde swept over the countryside, leaving their families trapped before the merciless onslaught. They had fled to the island manor, its false sanctuary offering nothing more than a final place to gather before the end.

Lord Denethal walked as if dead himself, dragging his feet through the snow until he came to the door of his mansion. Drawing a thick silver key from a pocket, he paused. There was no lock to use it in, the door having been forced open during the battle. He pushed the door open with his gloved hand and stepped inside, to see what remained of his past since there was nothing left of his future.


----------



## Kesh

Good lord, I'm rusty.  There it is, for what it's worth.


----------



## Maldur

Ill do my best, to get judgement in ASAP, but I cant make promises for today 

Sorry


----------



## Cedric

*waits anxiously*


----------



## Sialia

Cedric said:
			
		

> *waits anxiously*



me, too.

tap tap tap. 

I've got a story like a wild thing struggling inside of me, and the poor beasty is about to rip itself out of my body if I don't let it out soon. 

I wanna know my dance partner for the next round!


(While we're waiting, here's a photo of salt at Guerro Negro, taken by P. Norton.
(Yes, that's in Mexico, on the Baja Penninsula. Where it's way too hot for snow)
Just in case anyone who has never had the chance to see salt like this thought I was being hokey about the box. The concept of what it would be like to try to drive an ox cart over a salt flat was borrowed from Donner Party accounts of going west from Salt Lake City in Utah, however, and I was mostly thinking about Bonneville when I thought about where the box was, if indeed, there were any relation between that world and ours. Which of course, there is none whatsoever. Which frees me from complaints about the fact that the Lady Banks rose is in Tombstone, and there is no famous well there. No well, no well . . .)


----------



## BSF

Well, I didn't think you were being hokey.  Of course, I live in a desert, I have been to Salt Lake City and I have been to some places in Mexico.    I thought the concept of the salt encrusted chimney was a nice take on the box.  

Cedric, I liked your story.  Kesh, sorry, I haven't read yours yet.  I'm out of the dance so I don't need to rush it now.


----------



## Sialia

Was I entirely ungracious enough to neglect to mention how much I liked both Cedric's and Kesh's posts?

My apologies. Nerves, I'm sure.

Both were excellent, and I cannot call from here who I expect to face next.

In either case, I am eagerly looking forward to it.


----------



## Cedric

Heh...feeling the nerves myself. I keep hoping to come back here and find a winner listed.


----------



## arwink

My fault.  Blame the evils of time-zones - I didn't see the entries til one am, and that's way past my bedtime of late.  I tagged it as one of the first things to do this morning, but time slowly got away from me 

Judgement is sent now though.


----------



## alsih2o

judges on 3 continents..the olympic committee would wet themselves dealing with this gracefully. i think our judges do a bang up job.







 when i'm not the one waiting.


----------



## mythago

Sialia said:
			
		

> me, too.
> 
> tap tap tap.
> 
> I've got a story like a wild thing struggling inside of me, and the poor beasty is about to rip itself out of my body if I don't let it out soon.



If it's not a story based on a currently undecided round, why not post it here?


----------



## mythago

*Round Four judgment: Cedric vs. Kesh*

Maldur
Cedric  with a story on loyalty, undead guidedigs and a variantion of the medusa ( lets call it a moondusa ) 

Kesh with a very short story on regret and undead. 

I have to go with Cedric on this one, even though the statues idea was done before, it s a nice story. But going completely the opposite of salia's technique and writing a VERY short story made Kesh's story to short for my taste( But the idea is fine, it just needs more … everything)
*Judgment: Cedric*


arwink


Cedric – The Garden of the Moon
 Like many stories in Ceramic DM, I can’t help but escape the feeling that
Cedric’s story has been disadvantaged by the time limit on its construction. 
There are a lot of great ideas in there – the garden of the moon itself and Pitr
the dead dog, but they way they are connected doesn’t quite present them as well
as it could be.  

My two biggest problems with Cedric’s story largely come down to the lack of
tension, and the dialogue.  The lack of tension is the hardest for me to
overcome, but after reading this story two or three times I realized that I
still had no real idea of what was at stake for the characters.  The king is
missing and Edmund must find him, but I don’t ever really understand *why* it
must be Edmund and what he stands to loose if the King stays lost.  The conflict
that’s driving the story is hazy, which leaves me wondering why I should
empathize with Edmund’s journey.  On the surface, the story is about the search
for the king, but it needs something deeper than that to carry it.  Edmund, as a
hero, seems largely to be following instructions – nothing that is resolved in
the story is really done by him.  Pitr does the tracking, the Queens rose breaks
the kings enchantment, etc.  Pitr comes off seeming more like a messenger than a
hero – he needs something to do that makes us realize why he, and no one else,
should be on this mission.  The one place where he does seem to be necessary –
the months long trail he follows with Pitr – is glossed over so quickly that it
seems insignificant to the story.

The dialogue I may not have noticed if the tension of the story was stronger,
but combined with the lack of strong plot elements it comes off sounding flat
and lifeless.  Characters here don’t talk to each other, they annunciate and
state.  There is no sense of personal connection between them, no sense of
familiarity.  While this appears to be done to create a sense of grandeur and
style that’s appropriate to Cedric’s setting, but it saps the life out of the
characters to hear them speaking so formally.

My favorite part of Cedric’s story is easily Pitr, the undead dog being raised
to track his former master.  When I first saw this clue being put up, my gut
clenched with the thought of undead guardians, so it was nice to see the
necromantic option being used to aid the hero, albeit with a slight sense of
discomfort.  I would have preferred to see this unease played up a little more,
coming through more effectively in the skeleton creatures interaction with
Edmund and the mystics that create it.  

Similarly, the Garden of the Moon is handled with a nice sense of style once we
arrive there – its more fleshed out than the earlier parts of the story, and
carries a greater sense of weight than the introductory paragraphs.

Kesh – Chilled to the Bone

Kesh’s story opens with a nice sense of style, the first paragraph filled with a
sense of ambiguous menace that carries through the rest of the story nicely.  He
builds the sense of dread nicely as his barbarian protagonist arrives at the
village, carefully crafting a place where something obviously bad has happened
without giving away what exactly has happened.  The crossing of the snow-covered
lawn, with it’s field of bones and skulls, works particularly well for all it’s
a somewhat cliché approach to setting up danger and foreboding.

If this story has a weakness, it’s in the way it shifts gears to quickly once
the protagonist finds his statue.  The idea behind it is a good one – the
ominous set-up leading into an introspective moment of guilt rather than a fight
against lingering evil – but the pay-off isn’t handled as smoothly as it could
be.  The reader is told, rather than shown, how the King feels about his failure
and why he left.  I’d suggest giving a greater sense of familiarity to his
knowledge of the ruined village in the earlier parts of the story (his knowledge
of the gazebo and its use is a good place where the future revelation could be
set-up, but is currently to easily dismissed as common knowledge for someone who
is even remotely familiar with the setting’s social structure).  This is a minor
complaint about the story, however, and certainly only a minor detraction from
my enjoyment of it.

Kesh has crafted a brief but effective tale, one full of mood and unspoken
internal conflicts that are only just beginning to be resolved.  This story
could easily be played out a little longer should Kesh choose to, giving us some
more detail on exactly why the King has returned and what he seeks to find from
his ancestral home, but can also work quite well as a suggestive first-act only
kind of story.

Judgment

Neither story has used the pictures in any way that gives them a truly
significant edge over the other to my mind, so I’m inclined to look at this
purely on the quality of the work.  As a result, I have to give this round to
Kesh whose story is more focused and atmospheric than his opponents.  There are
a lot of great elements to Cedric’s story, but it doesn’t hold my interest quite
as well as Kesh’s tale.  
*Judgment: Kesh*


mythago
Interesting that both authors chose similar themes--failure of duty, loss, the fall of a lord. Unfortunately both show the effects of time pressure and didn't, in my opinion, use the pictures as well as they might have.

 In _The Garden of the Moon_, there's a lot of intriguing tension between the missing lord, his lady, and the servant. The bone dog is used well, and the cursed moonlight was a nice twist. However...there was a lot that fell into the category of "awfully convenient". The river is full of beasties, yet the villagers boat on it? The hero is a sworn guard to his lord, yet he failed his duty because his charge insisted on running off alone? (Surely the foolhardiness of young nobles is the whole point of having the oath-bond.) Why does the mystic utter a cryptic warning instead of just saying "Oh, almost forgot--if the moonlight touches you it will turn you to stone"? 

_Chilled to the Bone_ was well-written in that not much actually happens--the lord comes home and surveys his dead village--yet it still tells a story, and a believable one. Unfortunately the story didn't use the boats as much more than window-dressing. The dog was creepily used to good effect, but why was it wandering around? And, unfortunately, there were clichéd phrasings that really took away from my enjoyment of the story: the barbarian in leathers with a scar on his brow, uttering a muffled curse, having a broadsword strapped to his hip, and so on. 

 I did quite like the ambiguous ending.

 It was really reaaally close, but my judgment here goes to *Cedric*

 Good job, guys! You bore up well considering the bizarreness of your pic set   Cedric, we'll see you up against Sialla in the semifinals.​


----------



## Maldur

sorry bout the late arrival of my judgement, buit yesterday was MAD.

Good luck in the next round everyone!


----------



## arwink

Congrats Cedric, and commiserations to Kesh.


----------



## alsih2o

mythago said:
			
		

> If it's not a story based on a currently undecided round, why not post it here?





 ah, the wonders of an organized, motivated head to ceramic dm. wo for those tasks i have put off to long, hail to mythago.

 congrats to cedric, please whip siala so i don't have to deal with her after stomping piratecat.


----------



## Sialia

mythago said:
			
		

> If it's not a story based on a currently undecided round, why not post it here?



The only thing undecided is whether I unleash this ravening thing on poor Cedric, or save it up for AlSi20/Piratecat.

I don't know who is in this story yet, or what is going to happen to them, or where it will be, but I sure as heck know what it will be _about_.

It makes me all trembly inside.

I was pretty sure I was all wiped out after the last one--I spent two days walking around thinking there would never be a story inside me again. So totally empty.

And then Bandeeto said four little words to me that made me go all gooey inside. 

The kind of goo that has effervescent little bubbles inside that go pop! pop! pop! when they hit the surface, maybe giving off a bit of bioluminescence as they do, revealing little chunky floating bits suspended in the puddle.

That kind of goo.

Come on Friday!


----------



## Cedric

> The only thing undecided is whether I unleash this ravening thing on poor Cedric, or save it up for AlSi20/Piratecat.




Bah, that's an EASY problem to solve. Obviously you save it for Clay or PC, afterall, I mean...really, who am I? Save the big guns for big game!

As to my story, I agreed spot on with people's eval of my story. I spotted those same weaknesses and but felt I had done what I could with it in the time constraints. 

I liked the voice and descriptors in Kesh's story more then I liked my own as well. 

Looking forward to the next round ... but wondering how I'm going to manage to compete if Sialia produces another novella...*grins*

Cedric


----------



## Piratecat

Sialia said:
			
		

> The kind of goo that has effervescent little bubbles inside that go pop! pop! pop! when they hit the surface, maybe giving off a bit of bioluminescence as they do, revealing little chunky floating bits suspended in the puddle.




Ewww. That kind smells.

Congrats, Cedric!


----------



## Kesh

Congrats Cedric!

Yeah, my story was far too rushed. I had the idea as soon as I saw the pics, but I couldn't get myself to really write until the last evening. And by then, I was too tired to revise or expand. Ah well.

Glad the visuals worked for some of you. Oh, and the dog was wandering around for two reasons: 1) I had just bought the _Midnight_ CS, so the story is very vaguely set there, with its curse, and 2) it's an island... didn't have anywhere else to go.


----------



## Sialia

Cedric said:
			
		

> Bah, that's an EASY problem to solve. Obviously you save it for Clay or PC, afterall, I mean...really, who am I? Save the big guns for big game!
> . . . Looking forward to the next round ... but wondering how I'm going to manage to compete if Sialia produces another novella...*grins*
> 
> Cedric



Ah, but you stand between me and them, you see.


----------



## alsih2o

i almost have it all together.


 mine is looking a little....gross.


----------



## Cedric

So...Sialia and I have to wait until tomorrow for our pics? Cause if Sialia is ready...I am ready. 

Course the judges and stuff may not be...but I'm just saying, if we are all ready, let's do it! If not then that's fine, I'm sure I'll make it until tomorrow, heh.

I think waiting to hear back from two different promotions I applied through at work is short circuiting my waiting ability. *pulls hair out*

Cedric


----------



## Sialia

Cedric said:
			
		

> So...Sialia and I have to wait until tomorrow for our pics? Cause if Sialia is ready...I am ready.
> 
> Cedric



You recover quickly. It took me a few days after the last round before I was ready to go again. 

The story is ready, but Sialia will not have time to be its meat fingers until about 9 pm Friday night. I will be offline from now until 8 am tomorrow morning. And from 8am until 8:30 pm Friday, I have responsibilities that will look poorly upon my amateur exhibitionist fantasies.

If Mythago will deal the cards tomorrow morning, the story will have something to feed on for a few hours before it chains me to the keyboard for the rest of the weekend, and you will have a good 12 hours head start on me. 

Won't that be nice?


----------



## Cedric

Heh, in that case, I would encourage mythago to post it maybe tomorrow afternoon. 

Starting to look like I am going to have tomorrow off anyway.


----------



## alsih2o

me vs. piratecat, round 2

 Cast the First Stone


   When the first attacks came I was unable to fight. I had reached the appropriate age but found my self lying in the boat, head in my mothers lap, screaming with the voice of a child. 

   I had no idea at that time that the world in my head would come into play but I think my mother did.

   “Why do you hold your side?” she would ask,  “Why do you toss in your sleep and rock the boat?”

   I told her about the pains. How they grew in my belly and side. But I didn’t dare mention the dreams. How do you break to your mother that you dream of dry land as far as the eye can see? Not just dry land but vast swaths of stone and sand, glass and steel. And the monster.

    “The monster.” it feels odd to call Farro that now. Odd not just because of the echo in this room, but odd because he has served me so well for so long.

    But back to the attacks- both from within and without. 

   My father was the Centerman. Every night it was his duty to light the Gathering Lamp and call the boats together. I used to love to sit on the bow and watch him lay flame to the wick within the Lamp(lamplighter). He treated the small flame with the reverence all Boatmen approach flames with. Always whispering low to keep it distracted, lest it get hungry. 

   With The Lamp lit he would begin his low, plaintive cry. Calling all the families to moor their boats one to another for the night. In this way he always has a count and knows if any family has wandered astray.

   On the night the pains grew their worst one family did not return. This is not the most unusual of circumstances, any times we lose a family and find them when the morning fog lifts. They will be tied to one of the small islands jutting form the water or possibly adrift on the horizon but we always find them after a good night of worry. Many people saw my first cries as an omen, and these same people were none too happy  when we were missing a boat come dark.

   As the murmurs grew of noises heard far out in the dark my screams grew. I passed out eventually. I am not embarrassed by that, the pain was great. While I was out I saw the rock again. It was layered in earthen tones as before, and as before the red receded even more, leaving only the slightest pink traces. (layers) the stone flushed quickly form before my eyes. Then I awakened. I was lying under the cover at the rear of our boat covered in sweat and resting in my own urine. The pain had passed, I knew it would. I knew from the dream.

   What I did not know from the dream was that the stone was not part of the masses of land I dreamed of, but part of me! It passed form me when I lost control if myself in sleep and came to sit in my pants. This stone I passed fascinated me. I quickly forgot the pain it has caused as I turned it in the low light of my father lamp, awed by the smooth layers of color and none to disturbed by the small, red bits of myself that still clung to its surface.

   Weeks passed, maybe months. The dreams stayed,- the monster, the great expanses of glass and steel, the dry, dry earth. The missing boat was never found, nor the family who rode it. Each night we came together, one massive flotilla of rafts, junks, skiffs and longboats. Eventually talk of the missing family ceased, but the grumble over the loss of a boat remained.

   I carried my stone, never telling anyone of it, sure that it meant something. It is bad luck to bring a stone aboard a boat, that is what they used to say.

   We finally found the missing boat. It was the oddest thing at the time, my father and the others seemed most distracted that everything was intact. Just the family was gone.

  We didn’t know at the time, but the attacks had started. 

   That first boat was re-assigned by drawing lots and life continued until the pains grew great again and another family went missing.

  As it neared dark that night we saw Jurbens boat floating towards ours with no-one at the helm. My father lit his lamp, called his song and the boats came together slowly. I can still remember what they sounded like, the water pushing up between their hulls, how quiet they were.

  Odd. The sound I miss most is the quiet.

   The boat was searched and found empty again. I wouldn’t know of it though, I was below, crying and gnashing my teeth. The world went black, and when I awoke I had a new stone. I wiped the blood and urine form it and looked at it closely.

  That was the first time I ever felt powerful. 

   When the pains came to me again there was talk about Casting my entire family. Casting, what a terrible curse. A whole family set adrift without rights to return to the Gathering. Most families just linger on the edges of the fleet, feeling safe within sight, but they all disappear eventually. Some say they are eaten, drowned or blown off lost till they starve. Some say they go off eventually to a better place beyond the sea. I never believed that of course. Beyond the sea- I didn’t think there was such a place.

  The entire mood of the fleet changed with the attacks though. First it was just one man who claimed to have seen the attackers. He claimed aloud that their boat stood out of the water 6 times the height of the highest sail in the fleet, and that it was made of white steel.

  We all laughed.

  We laughed until the families he claimed were attacked did not return. Laughed until we found the splinters riding the great stream running through the sea.

  That is when I began to suspect the monster. That is when I started to realize I was important.

  One boat this night, two boats that night, the tales of the great white boat and the terrible men who drive it kept coming. And then the came.

  One night, in a soft rain that drove the fog to other waters we first saw the great boat together. The  Boatmen all ran deck to deck, gripping harpoons tight and calling for the separation.  The men jumped to the fastest boats, unlashing them and crying for battle. When heads were counted as the rowing started it was noticed that I was missing. My father turned and called my name as I lay on our deck, weeping and holding my side.

    The slaughter was terrible. 

   My fathers harpoon was sharp. I had seen it slice through whale flesh to the deep, red lungs hidden beneath. My father was brave, I have seen him take to the water to gather a fallen child and throw grown men to the hard decks of our boat if they paid no caution to the flame.

  He hurled his harpoon bravely. I was close enough to hear the terrible noise it made on impact with that boat.

  This boat.

   He fought bravely, but them men on the great craft felled every boatman who rowed near with ease. They were true evil.

   And this was only the beginning.

   We scattered to the winds. 500 boats in 500 directions. How could we fight? How can a person fight an enemy that asks no questions and wants no goods?

   It is one thing to kill a man to take what is his. It is another to kill a man who wishes to take what is yours. But to kill for no other reason than to kill? That is true evil.

   We saw other boats in the months that came. They always came with stragglers tales of small flotillas decimated by the great, white boat. Tales of many men dying while fighting to protect nothing but their right to be.

 By this time I had passed some 30 stones, and my anger was growing.

  We were eventually set upon by the white boat. We may have been the last on the sea for them to strike. I may never know.  Our boat and seven other sailed on a strong wind into seas we had never seen, for three days and nights we sailed always pursued by the great hulking mass of the white boat.

   By this time I knew what we were up against-in a way. The tales had come of the impenetrable steel of the hull and the great panes of glass on its sides.  What I didn’t know was anything of the men who sailed this vessel.

  And I know longer cared. I wanted to destroy them, I wanted to face them myself and smite them from the surface of the water. And in the back of my mind I was beginning to think I could.

   We sailed with all we had, but the boat that pursued us was as much machine as boat, and it had no arms to tire of pulling ropes. It had no wind to fail its sails. As we began to lose hope my mother turned away, gasped aloud and collapsed.

   I turned to care for her but found myself completely unable to move- mesmerized. Strung out before the bow of our boat, strung out for leagues in each direction was land. Not the tiny scraps of land we have always known and used for birthing and slaughtering but a massive pile of earth breaking the ocean in a way that islands can not.

    We made for the land with great haste, and thought ourselves safe. We swam for shore, struggling to gain our land legs and began to feel a sense of safety form the trees before us. 

   “Cover!” I called “Take to the cover!” 

   We ran for the tress and as I looked back I saw all my hopes shatter. Small boats, hundreds of them. Small, fast boats emerging from the fore of the great white boat.  They moved with a terrible speed, launching themselves right up onto the beach where the terrible men would jump ashore, slaughtering any who came in easy reach. Slaughtering those who ran with great sticks of fire and thunder.

   And then the pain hit. My thigh exploded in a flash and I twisted down to the ground, sand filling my eyes. I thought it was the end. 

   That was when I saw Farro, my monster. (trucking)  He was skittering up the beach, dodging between the bursts of sand caused by the fire form the terrible men.

   Mad with pain and desperate I called out  “Help me! In the name of all the winds someone help me!”

  And Farro did. He moved in close and pressed the hard plates of his body near me. The terrible fire sticks were unable to penetrate his shell and in a strange moment of clarity I stopped worrying completely about my death and wondered at his scales. 

   The were hard, and shone like polished wood. And they were layered. Layered in the colors of earth, like the stones form my manhood.

  I reached to my neck and grabbed the small pouch hanging there, withdrawing a stone.

  As I laid there, studying that stone, one of the men approached and spoke, spoke in a language with a tone of age to it. Familiar, yet formal. “No offense bumpkin, only so much to go around.”

  “What?” I asked “What? What do you mean? So much of what?”

  “Resources bumpkin, resources” he pointed his terrible stick at me and grinned a malicious grin “only so much to go around. Somebody’s got to go.”

   “YOU!” I screamed “YOU SHOLD DIE!”

    And he did.

    Now this may come as a shock, it did to me. The stone evaporated in my hand and the mans head practically exploded.

    I looked into Farros eye, his previously cold, dark eye. Everything seemed right.

    Spilling my stones into my hand I rose to my feet- burning, searing pain shooting through my thigh as it took my weight.

    And I did terrible things.

    Evil things.

    I found myself able to toss these men and their machines through the air. Able to squash them with a thought. Able to rend them, at only the cost of a stone. 

    More importantly, I found myself able to kill a man who had nothing I wanted. Soon I would move to killing those who had not attacked me.

    My mother was last seen bounding for the tree line, my little sister in her arms. I suppose I may go and find them again when I am done.

   For now, I sit here, stringing the stones I cast out into series (craft), storing them for what is coming. What is coming now. 

   Farro is at my side, long removed from the once peaceful beach he lived on. I could have no more left him than he could have left me. We sit, looking out at the city of glass and steel from the starboard glass of the great, white ship. (gateway) 

   These people, the ones who sent put their terrible machine and its terrible men will taste the power of my stones. I will kill them, and not take any thing from them. I will kill them all, whether they attack or defend. I have 7 great bowls of my stones, for the sail has been long.

 On my fathers boat I cried out in pain with the voice of a child. Now my voice grows strong again, here in this cavernous room. Strong with the rage to be shared.

   And I have many to share it with.


----------



## alsih2o

well, that sapped me. i am wasted.

 i tried to add in the little blue tags, but could not, i kept erasing text and getting confused.

 it is so hard to eb a bear of very little brain.

 good luck to my chump, er, competition.


----------



## Piratecat

Good luck, indeed! I can't wait to read yours - but first, I must post mine. I'm trying a comedy this time, and you may need to peruse the art in your Player's Handbook to fully appreciate it.  Some of the characters may look a little familiar.


----------



## Piratecat

*Iconography*

_Semi-finals: Alsih2o vs. Piratecat_


We were sitting around in the tavern when the old man came in out of the storm, water dripping from his cloak and a seagull familiar perched on one shoulder. He smelled of the sea and of cheap tobacco.  His new robes swirled around him as he walked, his jewelry glinted with arcane fire and his staff looked fully charged. I knew he was trying to make a good impression on us, but I wasn’t sure why just yet. He still needed a little work; I could spot the dirty hands and smell the odious stink of his breath, and I knew that underneath he was the same old bastard I’d known all along.  Perhaps he thought that snazzy new threads would impress the women? More likely he was trying to con someone.

But it wasn’t my problem. Today was just another working day, and he’d shown up in his typical role of mysterious employer.  My friends and I used this tavern as a meeting hall; we’d wander in and out as the urge took us, and whichever ones of us were around on any given day would get assembled into an adventuring team. It wasn’t a bad life for an popular halfling, and the pay was good. I’d been happy for years.

So like always, I hopped down off of the high stool and padded my way on over to the old wizard as he stood surveying the crowd. He never heard me approaching, so he yelped as I goosed him on his bony hindquarters. “Sneak attack!” I yelled.

He turned in a towering fury, but I just stood there and grinned up at him. The rage passed from his eyes, and within seconds he grinned back at me, too. “Glad you’re here, m’dear,” he rasped. “Who else do we have?” We looked around at the armor-clad fighter passed out in the corner, the drunken cleric drawing suns in of a puddle of cheap beer, the dwarf cheating at darts with a couple of commoners, and the druid _wildshaped_ into another dumbass animal. . . a giant sloth this time, I thought.  Even in animal form she had silly wooden antlers stuck into her fur.  The old wizard looked back down at me.  “Where’s Mialee?”

I made a face. “Shacked up with Hennet. She’s had a kinky buckle fetish lately, and she was pretty drunk last night. She was awfully worked up. She kept talking about how she was smarter than anyone else in the room, and how she’d be dancing on our graves long after we’d died of old age, and how nobody around here knew a damn thing about elf fashion; her standard rant, really.  Pretty soon Hennet waltzed in on her for a change of pace, and the two of them disappeared upstairs. That was right after she threw up on Krusk.”  I sighed. “He never even noticed.”

“He never does. Ember? Devis? Alhandra?”

I nimbly ticked them off on my fingers. “Ember is off in the mysterious east seeing a transmuter about some sort of life change. Devis is on vacation somewhere with umbrella drinks and loose women. And Alhandra is spending quality time with her war horse. And although you didn’t ask, good old Nebin is off trying to get ‘illusionist’ back as his favored class.”

“Ah, well. Get Mialee, and I’ll gather these others.” He drew himself up ominously and made his voice go all spooky. “I have a rather… dark… mission for you today.”

I frowned. “Not more of that Book of Vile Darkness crap? Boss, I told you before, _nipple clamps of exquisite pain_ is where I draw the line. No thank you. Ever since that portrait of me with the misfired wand, I’ve had to watch myself or mouths start yapping with ugly rumors.” I shook my head.  “Sometimes a wand is just a wand, and I don’t need to go through that again.”

His voice went back to normal. “No, no. Nothing like that.” He walked over and used Regdar’s armor spikes to pop open a beer before he kicked the fighter in the side of the helmet. “Up and at ‘em, boy.”  Regdar grunted sleepily.

An ugly suspicion dawned in my head. “This isn’t third party work, is it? I got about fifteen offers from Valar to pose for the Book of Erotic Fantasy, and I turned every one of them down.” I smirked. “Too bad Mialee can’t say the same. She thought an art spread was a two page illustration, silly bitch.  Anyways, if you’ve subcontracted me out to those guys, I swear I’m gonna – ”

“Shush, my dear halfling.” He beckoned over Vadania and grabbed Jozan by the ear, dragging him away from his artistic puddle of ale. “Get Mialee. We need to talk.”

I moved silently upstairs and picked the lock on their door after disarming the traps. Hennet was still passed out and snoring, so I snuck some itching powder into his leather pants and quietly woke up Mialee. The elven wizard was in a terrifying state of disarray; it turns out that the illusion of eternal beauty and youth is the end result of a whole lot of makeup, an elven hairdresser and a very good corset. By the time she pulled herself together and made it downstairs, our employer had gathered all the others in front of the fireplace. Vadania was back in humanoid form, and Jozan had expended a few _quick sober_ orisons to help focus peoples’ attention. No one seemed especially grateful.

“Regdar, Tordek, Lidda, Mialee, Vadania, and Jozan. *BEHOLD!* I present… your plot hook!”  He flung his floor-length robes wide with an ostentatious flourish. 

“By Regdar’s scabbard!” exclaimed one of our two fighters. “Regdar sees a tiny gnome under your robes!”  I managed to avoid making the obvious comment.

“What was he doing under there?” asked Vadania innocently. Mialee leaned over to whisper in her ear, and the druid turned scarlet.

“Stop that!” roared the wizard. “This is Gimble.” Our benefactor patted the fledgling adventurer upon his small, elegantly coiffed blond head. “He’s a new employee, he’s a bard, and he’ll be part of your team. The boy’s a star. He’s like a delayed blast fireball in gnome form. The fans are gonna _love_ him.”

“But a bard?” I worried. “Devis is going to be pissed.”

“Devis loves me,” stated Mialee with condescending certainty. “He’s a horrible musician, but he has wonderful taste. There’s no reason to supplant him.”

“Hah!” rumbled Tordek. “By Moradin’s tailbone, Devis is a has-been. He’d have to emerge from a bar long enough to even notice that he’s been replaced.”

“Like you,” laughed Regdar.

“What’s that?” Tordek’s bushy eyebrows shot up his face. “You got a problem, sirrah? Who’s the iconic fighter here? Me, that’s who! So you shut your pie hole, or I’ll have an orc shut it for you!” Tordek’s blunt finger thunked into Regdar’s breastplate with a hollow clang. 

Regdar pulled himself to his full 6’4”, towering head and shoulders over the dwarf. He spoke slowly, although that’s the only way he ever spoke.  “Tordek is iconic only if someone is reading outdated books like 3.0,” he rumbled. “_Tordek_ did such a bad job that he got demoted, and in version 3.5 _Regdar_ is _also_ the iconic fighter. _Regdar_ is the famous one now! And _Regdar_,” he said meaningfully, “has a greatsword bigger than Tordek’s entire body. So perhaps _Tordek_ should consider himself lucky to even be seen in _Regdar’s_ presence, hah?”  At this the dwarf’s axe snaked out of his sheath, but our employer quickly put a stop to the bickering.

“How would both of you like to be relegated to the damn appendix of our next edition?” he asked in an icy whisper. “How would you like to join Kerwyn in exile? Or Rath?”  Both fighters froze in their tracks. “Then shut up and pay attention.  Someone tried to kill Gimble last night. I want you to find out who before you invade their home, kill their guardians, and take their stuff.

“Not dungeons again?” complained Jozan, as he stopped shining the holy symbol on his codpiece long enough to look up. His voice was cultured and cocksure. “My goodness, I hate dungeons. No sunlight. Makes it hard to keep my tan.” He sniffed in irritation before looking back down at his crotch to reassure himself that his reflection was visible in the codpiece’s gleam.

“Not necessarily. Someone tried to kill Gimble last night. I want you to find out who that was. Once you do, it’s standard procedure: invade their home, kill their guardians, and take their stuff. The usual.”

I stifled a yawn. “Any clues, boss?”

“Only one.” He threw a parcel at me, and I tried to catch it with one hand before realizing that it was a lot heavier than it looked. I unwrapped the brown paper and looked at the object in confusion.

“A rock?” I was unimpressed.

“Not just a rock. My boy Gimble here,” the gnome beamed proudly beside him, “got attacked by an unusual earth elemental. That was left over after it was killed. What do you make of it?”

Once again ignoring the obvious jokes, I examined the stone. It was a form of layered crystal that had clearly been worked by some humanoid. Red waxy writing was visible on one side. I looked over at Tordek and tossed him the stone.

The dwarf leaned forward and actually licked the crystal, his stubby tongue skittering across the rock like a nervous pink lizard.  He clearly savored the taste of each separate layer within the rock; really, there’s nothing like a connoisseur. 

Next to me, Mialee rolled her slanted eyes. “Tordek, do you suppose it’s possible to be _any _more disgusting? I can’t believe I’m letting myself be seen with you.”

“That’s good crystal, elf!” he declared. “By Moradin’s toenail, taste is one of the five senses, and the one you’re clearly lacking in the most. You can’t get this sort of stone down here in the lowlands. Did you happen taste it yourself?”

“No,” she replied icily. “I can’t say it occurred to me.”

“Well, this is good Hellspur quartzite.” He gestured with the now-gleaming stone, inadvertently spraying Mialee with droplets of leftover dwarven saliva. “And it’s meant to be used in some sort of construction. See these red markings? They’re dwarven runes. This elemental-thingy was summoned wherever this sort of stone is being used.”

My mind flashed through possibilities. I fastened on one only seconds before Mialee, who was smarter but not as worldly as I am. I could feel my eyes lighting up with excitement. “And that means the new temple to Pelor being built downtown!” I declared. “Dwarven architects, imported stone, all sorts of special touches.” I could feel my eyes glazing over with barely-suppressed greed. “And temple treasures,” I crooned. “A secret maze. A deadly labyrinth. And lots and lots of shiny, shiny gold.” I grinned like an idiot until Jozan smacked me lightly across the back of the head.

“What’s the little saying we agreed on, Lidda?” he asked me patiently. 

We recited it together in a sing-song voice. “I will not steal from Lawful Good.”

“Right!” he finished cheerfully. “Remember it, please, even if we do have an assassin who has secretly taken refuge there. It’s my job to try and save your soul.”

Vadania looked worried, one of her fake antlers hanging astray. “Am I going to have to go into town?” she asked worriedly. “I hate towns.”

“I’m afraid so, dear,” answered Mialee. “After all, that’s where the adventure is.” Vadania gulped, panicked, and turned into an opossum. She keeled over and played dead, and the rest of us got up to get our gear.

“As long as we’re going into town, Regdar needs to buy new lucky necklace,” our fighter declared.

“What happened to the last lucky necklace?” I asked. 

“Broke when a troll tried to strangle Regdar with it. Very lucky.” He nodded knowingly. “Lucky necklace before that burnt up when Regdar walked into a fireball. Necklace before that dissolved in purple worm’s stomach acid. Necklace before that. . .”

I blinked and cut him off. “And it’s a _lucky_ necklace?”

Regdar nodded. “Regdar still around to buy new one, no?”

I considered this as I pocketed my kit of thieves’ tools. “Good point. I’ll buy one too.”

“Can I have one too? Huh, can I?” asked Gimble, bouncing around like a goateed _haste_ spell. “I haven’t yet been properly equipped for my level!” I glared at him, and sighed deeply.  Newbies.

We stopped at the market on our way downtown, Tordek carrying Vadania’s opossum form slung over his shoulder and Mialee carrying the weight of the enormous chip on her shoulder. I swear, sometimes that girl needed to loosen up. She looked down her aquiline nose at all the human merchants and made snotty comments galore, but at least she helped Gimble shop for equipment.  Meanwhile, Regdar and I watched his lucky necklace being made.

“Can you make one for me, too?” I asked the old woman doing the delicate work. She nodded, and I gladly paid the steep fee right out of her own pilfered cash box. We walked away from the stall happy, and I flipped Gimble his necklace when we caught back up with him. By now he was fully kitted out with lute, crossbow, daggers, silly-looking boots, and a jerkin that said ‘fireball me first.’ He smiled broadly as he fastened his necklace around his neck and pirouetted slowly to show off his new outfit.

Mialee smiled coldly. “It looks very special on you, dear. Terribly unique. I’m sure you’ll be the talk of the town.” Tordek cut in to defend the gnome, and they started in on one another. Over the sound of their bickering, I got Gimble’s attention. “How’d you get this gig, anyways?”

He had the decency to look somewhat ashamed. “My uncle works for our employers. When he heard that the old iconic bard had gone into a slump, he put my name forward as a possible replacement. I may not be experienced, but Gods only know that I can play something other than bad ‘70’s songs. I once heard Devis trying to serenade Mialee to a disco tune. It left me horrified.”

“So you can do better?” He puffed out his skinny little chest at the implied insult.

“Hey! I’ve been featured speaker of the Junior Adventurer Guild three times now, and I provide background music over at the inn when it’s late and the innkeeper wants to drive everyone out. I think I can hack the adventuring life.” He screamed as Vadania leaped from Tordek’s shoulder onto Gimble’s head, and damn near put his own eye out with his new crossbow before he realized what was happening. I chuckled, patted him on the back, patted Vadania on her furry flank, and we continued on our way. Our only delay was stopping by the glassblowers stall to drag Jozan away from the mirror display.

By nightfall we reached the pier at one end of the town’s C-shaped harbor. We were trying to decide whether to walk or take a boat over to the temple when a shirtless old human boatman made up our mind for us.  “Pretty lady, need a ride?” His toothless mouth leered at Mialee’s ice queen appearance. Maybe it’s the pole up her butt or the funny ears, and maybe it’s those diaphanous elf-dresses, but she brings in the weird ones like moths to a flame. 

The boatman’s voice sounded a lot like moldy silk.  “Special for elves today, pretty lady,” he sang tunelessly.  “Bring you across the harbor cheap, only a few copper pennies! You and your friends too.” The old man slowly lit a lantern, golden light streaming over us.  

Mialee frowned doubtfully at the man until she made a decision.  Her face jerked into a smile that never quite reached her cold eyes. Her voice sounded musical. “I’d normally say ‘no,’ but the color of your boat just happens to complement my outfit today!  In addition, it won’t hurt your reputation to parade my beauty for the other boatmen to appreciate. I’ll tell you what; I’ll let _you_ pay _me_ five copper pieces for the privilege of ferrying us.” She bent over him, deliberately displaying the new elven chainmail bikini top that our bosses were insisting she wear.

And of course, such was her trashy little outfit that the boatman actually agreed to her terms. I swear, if I was built like that damn elf I could probably take over the world. I could become one of those overly tough bad guys in third party modules that have inappropriate CRs, the one that they send all the inexperienced young paladins off to go and slay. That’d be fun. I think a girl should always have career ambitions. But Mialee never lived up to her potential, so she was stuck in two-bit adventuring like the rest of us.

So we clambered aboard the boat, Regdar nearly swamping us and Tordek aquiver with fright in case he accidentally got used as an anchor. Vadania had the bright idea of turning into a sea bird, but she chose emu instead and came darn close to drowning.  Jozan preached, Mialee flirted, Gimble gamboled and pranced and I quietly rifled through the boatman’s possessions.  

The trip across was easy enough. The old man clearly knew his way around a boat; he was one of those commoners who actually have enough levels to know their job, which is a lovely change from earlier editions. We docked on the other side of the harbor just beneath the skeleton of the massive new temple to Pelor. Casting a handful of buffing spells, we started up the hillside to the temple.

“I miss the old days,” complained Tordek. “In those days, Jozan could hit me with a strength spell and I’d _stay_ strong for hours, by Moradin’s fetlock. Nowadays, he hits me with a spell and I’m weak again a few minutes later. I don’t approve of this new magic, no sirree.”

Regdar snorted. “Regdar wouldn’t know what that felt like to be weak. When someone hits Regdar with a spell, Regdar hits them back.” Jozan nodded in painful memory, but Mialee laughed as she recalled the burly fighter sitting on top of the cleric yelling “Stop healing yourself! Stop healing yourself!” Her delicate laughter tinkled into the night.

Jozan looked hurt.  “I thought we agreed never to talk about that again?”

And then we were suddenly at the doors to the temple.  “You see?” Tordek pointed to a large pile of cut stone nearby. “Some of this stone is missing. It’s the right taste, too. We’re in the same place that the elemental was summoned from.”

“I better scout ahead,” I decided.

“How about a dirty limerick to inspire you?” announced Gimble in a stage whisper. “Or a jolly jig? I’m really good at those. There once was a halfling from Bree, who’d only come up to your knee. . .”  

I shushed him and slipped into the shadows. I kept one hand on my new lucky necklace, and my sneaking was flawless. I didn’t make any noise at all when I tripped headlong over the unconscious dwarven guards. Then light flared around me. “C’mon, be a reflex save,” I prayed to whatever God might be listening. “Reflex!”

It was a will save, and that’s all I remembered for a little while.

When I came back to my senses, I was chained to the wall against some statue in a glorious entrance hall. The floor tile was polished to a reflective sheen, and the huge circular gateway showed the pre-light of an upcoming dawn. All my gear was missing.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” hissed a sinister and quite insane voice in my ear.  It was the voice of the old boatman.  “It won’t be for very long. You’re chained to a lovely little death trap, my dear. I am still hoping to get that blasted gnome, but you’ll make a fine example. . . or I’ll trade you for him if you’re still alive.  When the sun rises,” he pointed an oddly well-manicured and graceful hand over my shoulder from where he stood behind me, “it will be reflected by the floor and amplified by the magic of the gateway. All that light will be focused upon the statue of Pelor upon which you are chained. It’s suppose to be a radiant miracle. . . but for you, it will be a radiant miracle if you survive!” His laughter didn’t quite make chilling. It clocked in more around annoying. I rolled my eyes.

“Devis? Is that you, you dork?” I tried to twist my head, and then the half-elf was in front of me. His eyes were wild and his lip twisted in insane hatred. An ugly helmet sat upon his head. He lapsed into his normal tenor voice.

“Hey, baby,” he said. “You’re looking pretty hot in those chains.” He traced a teasing finger down my leather armor. “How about a first edition feel?”

“Oh please. I’m not Mialee.” I studied him. “Nice disguise on the boat.”

“Thanks!” He beamed with pride. “I’ve been pumping in skill points. I picked up a transmutation or two while off at the Sunless Citadel, but you always need to worry about voices and mannerisms.” I nodded in agreement.

“Say, Is that a helmet of opposite alignment on your head? Gee, that would explain a lot.”

He tipped me a quick wink. “It’s not real,” he whispered. “I got it from an old tomb we looted during a playtest.  But isn’t it just styling?” He checked out his reflection in the reflective tiles for a moment before turning back to me.  “I’m doing this because I just hate that Gimple guy. The fake helm’s going to give me a wonderful excuse for offing him and still getting my old job back. Even as we speak, my minions are kicking seven kinds of hell out of them elsewhere in the complex. By the time they get here, they ought to be nicely worn down.” He looked at me. “Sorry to use you as bait, sweetie, but it’s written in to the boxed text. You know how things are.”

“You have minions?”

He beamed again. “Leadership feat, Lidda. And my cohort’s a hottie.”

“Then what’s she doing with you?”  I squinted at him, already beginning to feel warm as dawn approached. “No offense, Devis, but you’re a crappy bard. You always have been. All you do is stand in the back and hum rude ditties. Plus, you’re a half-elf! No one wants to be a half-elf.”

He looked offended. “Hey, it could be worse. I could be Soveliss and carry around a quiver full of Q-Tips. I could be a gnome. So less insults, huh? You’re hurting my feelings. I’m a sensitive guy.” He sniffed in melancholy, but just then there was a loud crash at the other end of the chamber.  Jozan was first through the door, holy symbol held outwards so that everyone could admire the new chrome plating. The others were behind him, dragging the unconscious Regdar.

“Avaunt, foul dark one! Your time on this mortal world has ended, for my holy might will… will… oh, hi, Devis. I thought you were on vacation.”

Devis shrugged, and peered into the half-light. “What happened to Regdar?” At the question, Tordek flushed a little and tried to hide his axe behind his back. 

“Slipped,” he mumbled.

“Good for you.”  Devis blinked. “And what the hell is that behind you?” Jozan looked back to see what he was referring to.

“Oh, it’s Vadania. You can’t tell because the wooden antlers fell out. She’s a pangolin.”

“A what? She looks like a walking artichoke.”

“A pangolin,” explained Mialee as she appeared from the shadows. Devis’ eyes lit up at the sight of her. “Also called a scaly anteater, she’s an unusual mammal that is covered with protective scales made of horn. There are seven species of pangolins that live in grasslands and forests. She has short legs with huge claws and a sticky tongue up to 27 inches long.”

“Oh, baby!” said Gimble from the shadows.

“That’s MY line, twerp,” hissed Devis.

Mialee continued. “When in danger, the pangolin curls itself into an impenetrable ball, protecting its soft belly and face. It may also hit an enemy with its tail or spray it with urine.”

 “Oh, baby!” said Gimble again, but Mialee hadn’t stopped talking.

“The pangolin is a burrowing nocturnal mammal. The male pangolin has the scrotum sheathed inside abdominal skin so as to avoid heat loss. In both sexes, eyelids are devoid of lubricating glands. Females possess two mammae with their auxiliary teats. Generally the perineal gland exudes a musky acrid secretion which helps…”

“By Moradin’s nosehair, woman! We know you’re smart, now shut up!” Mialee lapsed into silence. Devis nodded.

“I love you, Mialee, but you do know how to ruin a mood.”

Gimble held a hand over his head. “Can we talk about the teats some more?”

“Time to end this,” growled Devis. “I’ll trade Gribble for Lidda.”

“Never!” exclaimed Jozan.

Devis tried reason. “Everyone loves Lidda. She’s got her own fan club. But Grimgull over there is a flash-in-the-pan. He may be stylin’ if you put a big red hat on him and stuck him in your garden, but he’s no _me._” Devis smiled charmingly.  “So what do you say?”

Tordek lowered his axe, and Mialee let her spell components slip out of her hands. Jozan stopped rubbing his holy symbol. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Gimble squeaked with outrage. “OKAY? You can’t let him do that!”

“Sorry, kid.” Tordek shook his shaggy head. “By Moradin’s -”

He never finished his sentence, because by now I had worked loose my new lucky necklace and used the cheap catch to pick the locks on my chains. Catching Devis flatfooted, I whirled it around his neck and squeezed. He dropped like a gaffed umber hulk.  I grinned over at Regdar’s still form on the tile floor. “Lucky necklace.”

Later, as we hauled Devis’ unconscious body out of the temple, Gimble asked what we were going to do with him. “Well,” I answered, “he’ll join the other second rate characters in their own crappy dungeon somewhere. Kerwyn, Eberk, that annoying drow with the deathsong staff, even the psionic iconics. He’ll be okay. Maybe he’ll even join the iconics from 2nd edition. I hear that Rath is a playable character.” 

“Poor bastard.” Gimble stared down at Devis’ ravaged face, the nose swollen by drink and the lines from too many nights of women and song.  “Am I going to end up like this?” he asked, wonderingly. “I don’t want to be an unknown. I want to be famous! I want exposure!”

“You want exposure? I’ll get you exposure.” I asked, a nasty smile playing across my face. “I can introduce you to some friends over at the Valar Project. Trust me, little buddy. You’ll go far.”

*The End*

Thanks to panasia.org.sg for pangolin statistics!


----------



## alsih2o

Piratecat said:
			
		

> as she recalled the burly fighter sitting on top of the cleric yelling “Stop healing yourself! Stop healing yourself!”




 lol!!!

 omg, but this one is gonna make a few laps around the internet....


----------



## alsih2o

and pangolins have a tongue that anchors to their pelvis. who overlooks this when trying to be funny?


----------



## Thomas Hobbes

Wow.  I've been lurking on this thread since Piratecat linked to it in his story hour, and there's been some fantastic stuff...

But that took the cake.  My sides hurt.


----------



## Piratecat

A tongue that anchors to their pelvis? Dang. Now THAT's comedy. Imagine what Gimble would say.

Clay, I loved yours. The imagery of the tiny boats and the lamps was very, very vivid. 

Now we await judgment - and wait for Sialia vs Cedric pictures!


----------



## alsih2o

does anyone else feel that p-kitty has produced the next "erics dread gazebo" or "vecna's head"?

 i mean, it shouldn't win the competition, of course (  ) but i think it is damned neat.


----------



## arwink

D'oh.  One of my friends turned thirty today, so naturally I don't see this until after the party when it's late and I'm on the tipsy side of the celebrations.

Comments and Judgement will be coming in the morning, once I've had sleep and coffee.  Sorry for the delay folks.


----------



## Ashy

WOW - Pkitty - just when I think I've seen the depth and breadth of your genius.....  

WOW!

Morrus needs to post this somewhere MAJOR!  

EDIT: Eye spel gud.


----------



## Sialia

[capering] I don't have to judge this . . I don't have to judge this . . .[/capering]

Best Ceramic GM round ever, I think. (Except for possibly the final Mythago/Piratecat showdown last time around).

Definitely the standard to beat.

Both are gorgious, gorgious. Such a splendidly close match!


I'm ready to go whenever. Feel free to post the photos this morning--even if I'm not actually typing the story, I can be tumbling it about in my mind, and it's usually better for a brief bit of marinating before the skewering.

Hit me.


----------



## Cedric

I am likewise ready...when you get a chance, BRING THE PAIN!!

Or, Err...post the photo's..yeah, that's it. 

Cedric


----------



## mythago

Photos will be up late tonight, when I get home from work.


----------



## Mirth

Sialia said:
			
		

> Best Ceramic GM round ever... Definitely the standard to beat...




You.. wound... me...


----------



## alsih2o

Mirth said:
			
		

> You.. wound... me...





 don't worry mirth, you are still a TWO time champ. you rocketh the casbah!


----------



## Sialia

alsih2o said:
			
		

> don't worry mirth, you are still a TWO time champ. you rocketh the casbah!





hmm. seems to me I must have an old thread to catch up on while I'm waiting--must have missed a thing or two.

I'll go check it so I can come back and dis both clay and p'cat. You know "it would have been the best round ever, if Mirth hadn't already claimed that title forever."


----------



## alsih2o

Sialia said:
			
		

> hmm. seems to me I must have an old thread to catch up on while I'm waiting--must have missed a thing or two.




 no offense to anyone who has ever competed. but one of the stories that sticks in my mind most, and i see that as a good thing, is here http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=37157&page=11&pp=25 mirthcard vs shadoes lady. i am not the greatest at stating why i like certain stories (that's what arwink was for   ) but that one stuck to ym ribs


----------



## mythago

*Semifinals Round 2, Cedric vs. Sialia*

Whew, just got home...


----------



## Cedric

*starts thinking*


----------



## Piratecat

Arrgh! Any guesses as to when the judgment will be up? Not that I'm obsessively checking, or anything. Nope. Not me.


----------



## alsih2o

ach! a reused pic! we can't do that! it is like going to the past and kicking you dad in the groin, who knows what could happen!


----------



## alsih2o

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Arrgh! Any guesses as to when the judgment will be up? Not that I'm obsessively checking, or anything. Nope. Not me.




 he is being impatient! you should take off points for that! i was just here, um, sweeping. yes! sweeping, and seeing if i could help.


 really. not obsessively checking whatsoever.


----------



## Piratecat

alsih2o said:
			
		

> it is like going to the past and kicking you dad in the groin, who knows what could happen!




I can do that for you, if you like. No charge. But I'll have to start with his son and work backwards.


----------



## alsih2o

Piratecat said:
			
		

> I can do that for you, if you like. No charge. But I'll have to start with his son and work backwards.




 D'oh! 

 threats! and from sucj a pristine young girl as yourself, how unbecoming...


----------



## arwink

This afternoon, intent on getting things done, I log on and start writing my comments.  I get most of Clay's done, then a friend shows up on my doorstep with scotch and anime and I promptly waste the next six hours.

So, I appear to have avoided posting comments because it was late and I'd been drinking for a night when it's late and I'm drinking   Then I log onto my computer to find that my net access has been disabled, so I'm forced onto the Dreaded Mac that won't give me access to my mail aco (double  ).

In the interests of getting things moving, how about I just PM Mythago my judgement and post the comments a little later (assuming the destinguished authors are interested)?


----------



## arwink

PM with Judgement sent (here's hoping it works.  I forgot how much the Mac dislikes the boards).


----------



## mythago

Uh...re-used pic?


----------



## mythago

*Judgment, alsih20 vs. Piratecat*

Geez Louise people, I just got up. Here I work my fingers to the bone all week to feed my family and all you can say is, "Where's the judgment for Ceramic DM?" Buncha ingrates....

arwink
 Alsih20 

  The real strength of Clay’s first entry was his vision of the setting in which the story took place. That same strength is present here, but his approach is clearer and stronger - the story more vivid and real as a result. The introduction works well, drawing the reader in and feeding them just enough information to keep them wanting more, and the slow build of mood and tension is great. It slips slightly towards the end of the piece - for me the ending happens far to quickly and some of the mood is lost, but the story holds together well and displays a fine sense of location (and, it has to be said, I’m a fan of water-based worlds).

  Piratecat

  Piratecat is a funny man. His piece picks an audience and plays to it, but manages to supplement the expected humour with a story that holds together and some sharp characterisation. There’s a sharp wit at work here, and the narrative style he’s adopted for Lidda is stylishly crafted. On a purely personal level, I would have preferred to see a slightly shorter version of this - the joke wore a little thin towards the end, especially if you’re not a fan of gamer gags.

  Judgement

  This is extraordinarily close, as both stories have a lot of merit and totally different styles. I give the round to Alsih2o by the barest of margins, mostly because I loved the mood he created in his story and I prefer to more serious approach to the humour in Piratecat’s entry.
*Judgment: alsh20*

Maldur
 Oh man!

 AlSiH2O created this fantastic story , gruesome, weird magic, a
 monster.really great.

 But them Piratecat shows up with an instant classic!

 No choice: Piratecat wins this one. (I laughed so loud , my sides hurt,
 still)
*Judgment: Piratecat*

mythago

 alsih2o: see, you can too write, you big dork-o.

 I loved the setting, the people in their little boats, the horror of so much dry land. And you managed to work in the pangolin.

 I was confused by the connection between the stone and the visions, but the real "huh?" was the confrontation with the men in the white ships. Resources?....it seems like a lot of trouble to hunt people down so they don't breathe your air, but I seem to be missing something...

 Piratecat: I admit it. When I first realized it was a D&D parody, I made a very Mirabelle-like comment. (Hey, you don't suppose that Sialia...never mind.) But I kept going, and despite my initial extreme suspicion, it got funny. And stayed funny. And was full of little in-jokes and asides that worked. And no puns, thank the Squamous Ones.

*Judgment: Piratecat*

 Congratulations Pkitty!


----------



## alsih2o

and i so looked forward to changing my community suporter tag to "whipped p-kitty"   

 excellent story to lose to though!

 i really think he wrote a classic that will be around for a long, long time.

 the competition is great, i cannot tell you what a confidence builder this has been for my writing skills! 

 all the judgements find me nodding in agreement and wanting more. 

 thanks so much, now i sit and wait, ready to cheer p-kitty on!


----------



## alsih2o

mythago said:
			
		

> Uh...re-used pic?




 the bird breathing smoke...i used it in a previous round, your re-use just reaffirms my thought that it is a great pic.


----------



## arwink

Congrats P'Kitty.

Looking forward to seeing your work in the final round.


----------



## mythago

Oh, whew. I thought you meant that I had used a pic from THIS competition.


----------



## alsih2o

as a response to the judgements- arwink is right on my account again and again. makes me wanna move ot the land down under and spend a few years in a saffron robe near him. i found everything he said rang true and was usually quite helpful.

 mythago, if i had a camera or two i could have made the connections stronger  i kept seeing him flashing to the stones as they formed in him, the blood supply slowly receding as they formed whole of themselves. your lack of understanding of the men in the white bopats is sorta on too, i wanted them to eb cruel without reason, and didn't handle it as well as i should have.

 i really wanted to set up this alternate belief system where-in it wasn't evil to kill a man if you were to take his stuff, but was evil; if oyu killed just to kill, but got caught up in the descriptions, as i am wont to do when writing. or talking. or rambling or posting 

 maldur was right on, what was i to do against an instant classic?

 speaking of, where are you staying next year for gencon maldur? boston?


----------



## mythago

alsih2o said:
			
		

> i really wanted to set up this alternate belief system where-in it wasn't evil to kill a man if you were to take his stuff, but was evil; if oyu killed just to kill, but got caught up in the descriptions, as i am wont to do when writing. or talking. or rambling or posting



 No, no, I thought you did a very good job of showing that belief system. That's why it was jarring when the guy on the beach said "Resources." If he'd just laughed, or said nothing, or "Because it's fun," that would have fit completely.

 Sometime I will post my anedote about critics who, as my friend Glamsith says, "tell you to take your baby, cut it into pieces, and reassemble it so it looks like a giraffe."


----------



## Alhandra

Piratecat said:
			
		

> I chuckled, patted him on the back, patted Vadania on her furry flank, and we continued on our way.



I saw that.



> She has short legs with huge claws and a sticky tongue up to 27 inches long.”



By Heironeous' thrusting sword!!!  

Vad, you never showed me that - I mean... told me about that.   

Too bad Lidda didn't show some of those nifty moves to Ariadne in that little Adventure Movie they had.
I'm sure Jo- (Berathion) -zan would have appreciated being free of the little hussy.


----------



## Sialia

mythago said:
			
		

> There’s a sharp wit at work here, and the narrative style he’s adopted for Lidda is stylishly crafted.



 "Adopted" is one word for it *cough*Yamara *cough*, but we'll call it a brilliant execution of form expressing function in the creation of his "iconic" voice. 



> Piratecat: I admit it. When I first realized it was a D&D parody, I made a very Mirabelle-like comment. (Hey, you don't suppose that Sialia...never mind.)



Would I_  do_ such a thing? Me?

I'm sure I don't even know what you're talking about.


So, is the bird still on, or do we swap it out?

I didn't see the eariler round it was in, so I do not know how it was used before.

I'm cool with leaving it in. Or, what the hey, we probably didn't need the twelve pages I spent setting it up anyway. I can let them go. 

There's plenty left.


----------



## Piratecat

Wheee! Clay, thank you for making me sweat and worry and for inspiring me to do my best in order to win this one. It's a measure of my respect for you that I tried something new to me, because I knew nothing more traditional was going to be able to top your writing.

I've never written comedy before. The closest is probably some Paranoia modules done for the RPGA ten years ago. Doing this was a risk in that regard, because I wasn't sure I could carry it off.

The "rock slices" photo is what ultimately convinced me to use a fantasy motif. I had this image of a dwarf sitting around and licking the rock like each layer was a different flavor. That's funny - so make the whole thing funny?  Sure. I'm nervous that anything fantasy-based that I write will come out sounding like a story hour, so I might as well disguise that with a little humor. 

So I asked myself how to provide fantasy characters that anyone would care about. I had rejected the characters from the D&D movie when something clicked in my head. The iconics? Hmmm.  Everyone knew them, they were funny and chock full of in-fighting, and they'd give me the chance to do in-jokes and a tiny bit of editorializing. I knew that I needed to make normal adventuring situations slightly absurd, and I wanted to avoid puns; I'm no Piers Anthony. I never even thought of Yamara when writing Lidda's voice, but I'm sure it influenced me subconsciously. Some times form really does define function.

So I tried to cobble together a valid plot with well-fitting pictures. The main plot came quickly: Devis wanting revenge on Gimble. I then worked to layer the thematic elements of the photos, trying to make them come into play more than once and trying to give them as much relevance as possible. Doing this gave me some wonderful jokes. That's where Vadania's dopey animal stchick came from; there was no other way to introduce an exotic animal like a pangolin if I hadn't paved the way with other inappropriate animal choices.

Making it funny and satirical wasn't quite as tough as I had feared, as I just tried to pick what I personally think is funny - with a quick prayer that other peoples' senses of humor would be close enough to agree. A lot of the humor comes from subtleties and throw-away lines, which I think works okay. My personal favorite? Working in Necromancer Games' slogan into Devis' pick-up routine. Most of the humor was added or altered during my editing.

I agree with Arwink that it could be a bit shorter; in specific, I'd trim Mialee's pangolin lecture and remove an accidental repeated-line typo uttered by the wizard from the coast. Thanks for having the wisdom to not reject it out-of-hand when you first saw the theme.  

Incidentally:

There once was a halfling from Bree
Who’d only come up to your knee
He'd usually pout
When we rented him out
For a truly exceptional fee.


----------



## Sialia

> Incidentally:
> 
> There once was a halfling from Bree
> Who’d only come up to your knee
> He'd usually pout
> When we rented him out
> For a truly exceptional fee.



Magnificent!

Really, the whole effort was superb. You musn't mind me snarking. I'm deeply in character at the moment, and some of the voices in my head are wiser and kinder than others.

You and Clay really did yourselves proud that round. I look forward to seeing your next entry.

But I will miss his.


----------



## Jozan of Pelor

I am pleased to see that my mere presence in an otherwise ho-hum story brought victory to the author.  It simply goes to show how the Burning Light that is Pelor brings truth to the simple minded.

Of course, a little more of ME would have vastly improved the whole thing.

By the way, I must repeat: it is a _belt buckle,_ not a cod piece.

Carry on!


----------



## Quartermoon

Two excellent stories. Congrats to both authors for their skill!  And to Pcat, for his win.


----------



## Devis

Ah, yes.  Always wanted to play a villain, myself, but one does get _so_ typecast when one is a hero.  I was really pleased when Piratecat called and offered the part.  Gave me a chance to really stretch my wings, dramatically.  It's _so_ good to work with an artist of his caliber.  And of course it was great to work with Lidda, Krusk, Mialee, all the gang again.  

All in good fun, eh, Gumble?  [Smiles broadly and then stands so that his cape flaps in Gimble's face for all the cast pictures.]


----------



## mythago

Sialia said:
			
		

> I'm sure I don't even know what you're talking about.



Everyone except Eric's grandma should now look at Friday's Penny-Arcade.com strip.

The bird stays in the pictures.


----------



## Maldur

and the odd thing is : its not even a grand finale!

The best is yet to come!!



(Clay: No gencon this year for me  I have another con appointment at the time(I think) )


----------



## Sialia

Well, the beast currently weighs in at 16 pages.

I have some hours left, I think. (When _is_ this thing due--Monday evening?)

So the question is, do I use the time to flesh out the missing transitional bits, or trim down to some arbitrary word limit that the judges can bear?

I will, of course, trim fat whereever I find it, though it seems likely to me that the first stuff to get cut will be any of that extraneous visual description like height and build and costume and irrelevant set dressing. I trust you've all read the books and know what basic creatures are shaped like.

If anyone has specific comments about what kinds of things could have been cut from the first one without damaging it--apart from the profanity, which wouldn't have saved me more than a word or two-- feel free to either post it here or send me private email at mscurio@yahoocom

Thanks!


----------



## alsih2o

Maldur said:
			
		

> (Clay: No gencon this year for me  I have another con appointment at the time(I think) )




 ach! i can't drive that far myself, what if i get lost?


----------



## Maldur

You'll live matey


----------



## mythago

Slight update for future entries: a large submission as a PDF is fine as long as the formatting within the PDF is plaintext. (In other words, Sialia's previous entry is OK because there is really no difference in format between it and a board post. Getting funky with fonts, placement of pictures, etc. is a no-no.)


----------



## Piratecat

seems fair.

I'm looking forward to seeing these entries!


----------



## Cedric

Life is conspiring to make me post this entry late (starting a new job at work today)...but I'm writing madly away. 

Cedric


----------



## Piratecat

Heh - I looked this morning and said "Where are they?" Then I realized that I had miscounted by a day.

I'm in love with that "birdbreath" photo.


----------



## alsih2o

i am all atingle! bring it on kiddies!


----------



## Vadania

PC thank you for revisiting us Iconics, so much fun.     




			
				Alhandra said:
			
		

> Vad, you never showed me that - I mean... told me about that.





Tonight baby, tonight


----------



## Sialia

Some say love, it is a river 
that drowns the tender reed. 

Some say love, it is a razor 
that leaves your soul to bleed. 
 
Some say love, it is a hunger, 
an endless aching need . . .

I was going to call this one "Ghost Riders in the Purple Sage," but it seemed a bit much.

Enjoy "The Rose."


----------



## mythago

You out there, Cedric? I think we can allow a little leeway due to the boards being down, but it's gotta be tonight.


----------



## Zaruthustran

Piratecat said:
			
		

> My personal favorite? Working in Necromancer Games' slogan into Devis' pick-up routine.




Mine was Ember going out east to see a trasmuter about some sort of life change. Oh man, that's funny.

-z


----------



## BSF

Sialia said:
			
		

> Some say love, it is a river
> that drowns the tender reed.
> 
> Some say love, it is a razor
> that leaves your soul to bleed.
> 
> Some say love, it is a hunger,
> an endless aching need . . .
> 
> I was going to call this one "Ghost Riders in the Purple Sage," but it seemed a bit much.
> 
> Enjoy "The Rose."




Sialia!  I have waited and agonized for a week to see what you would come up with.  I have beraded myself for not providing enough of a challenge to your entry.  I finally arrive home from work to a modest email from EN World, telling me that you have completed your story and have posted it to be compared against Cedric's.  I try to logon and EN World is down for repairs so I sit back and wait.  I contemplate some of my game logs and stories I am writing.  Finally, I am able to get into EN World, open the thread, seek out your post, and this, this is what I get!

_If you have not yet read Sialia's post, ignore this message.  Read the story!  If you have this as a subscription notification, click the link for the thread, scroll up and read the story.  Don't mind this litte note thrown into the midst of this excellent competition.  Shoo!  This is nothing but stray electrons.  Go read THE STORY, that is what is important._



Spoiler



I am ... distraught ... at the pathos.  I am not sure what to think.  I was engrossed in the story.  My mind was racing ahead to contemplate where it was going.  (Oddly enough, I was pretty close to guessing the outcome.  I think that scares me because I am not sure it was that heavily telegraphed.)  I am repulsed at the imagery and horrified by the very thought of it all.  I want more, I need more.  I am creeping away from the status of Sialia Fanboy to addict...



More importantly, I am feeling the need to be restrained in my words so that others may savor this little distraction you have idly tossed into the ring.  I even feel the need to place spoiler tags around the previous paragraph.  Not because I really give away the story, but because the story should be savored as I was able to savor it, without undue comment from the peanut gallery.


----------



## BSF

OK, I finally had the energy to devote to reading alsih20's story.  Wow Clay, intense.  Nicely done.  You ended up with a difficult draw to go against Piratecat like that.  

Piratecat, great little story there!  I had fun reading it.  I may even print it out to drop in my character binder for amusement on those nights when we are waiting for the last player to arrive before we game.


----------



## Cedric

The sounds of a warm spring day were drifting in over the rhubarb pie cooling on the window sill. Like the butterfly dancing by on the breeze, memories were fluttering through her mind of days long passed.

This day like any other had its fair share of ups and downs. Age had been creeping up on her for years and had long since started winning this particular fight. The polished metal mirror on the wall near her washbasin told the story best of all. 

Lines were carved deeply into her face, a face seemingly old enough to have worn out two or three bodies. Stained dark and leathery from time spent in the sun, the space between the wrinkles revealed the milky complexion once hidden underneath. 

The eyes though…the eyes told the best stories of all. Catching herself staring into those eyes from the rocking chair across the room she let her thoughts drift into the past and she remembered…

“Maxwell!” She called at the top of her voice, “Maxwell get in here!”

“I’m coming Raeline, I’m coming, you can stop yelling now,” he called back. The sandy haired man stumbled into the room, wringing his hands now dirty and smudged with ink. Grey was just starting to tinge the hair at his temples and he looked to be a young thirty. “Now, what is so important as to call me from my research?” 

Her right hand still clothed in a white gardening glove she held it out palm open to him, a dusky maroon rose sat upon it, resting on her fingers. Maxwell admired it from a distance, then when she rolled her eyes and thrust it at him, moved forward to look at it more closely. 

With a dismissing gesture he glanced again at the rose (1), then at her and said, “Yes Rae, it’s a rose.”

Rolling her eyes again, she flustered a bit, gritted her teeth and spoke, “Just why, Maxwell Crussius Thoms, do you think I would be showing you a rose right now?”

He seemed to consider this a moment, then with a smile said, “First one of the season, eh? It’s a beaut too!” and turned to leave. 

She stomped her foot, “Maxwell Thoms! Let me know if you would please, just what season is it?”

“Well Rae,” he replied exasperated, “It’s dead of winter of course.” 

“Oh?” She replied with an arched eyebrow. 

“Yeah Oh…umm, Oh!” understanding seemed to dawn on his face. “Well, where did you get the rose from then.” He seemed to think about his own question for a moment, and then the look of surprise on his face changed into one of shock. “You got that from the tree! You don’t think that means it’s time do you, Rae?”

She seemed to consider the question for a minute then answered, “Well, I think we should definitely consider it, we have known it was coming sometime in our lives. Why not now?”

Nodding, now deep in thought, he finished out what she was thinking, “We’ll have to look for the other signs of course. The gods certainly know we’ve been in need of this for a long time.”

She remembered the prophecy of course, but years of watching the crops and the cities burn, the soldiers, wives and children die, had hardened her heart to the word of the prophecy. 

When she was a child, being eldest daughter of the seer she was led to the mountain to hear the voice of the Oracles. The exotic almond eyes and strong noses of those unchanged golden masks wore were faces unlike any she had seen. (2) She was taught they were the daughters of the gods of old. She was taught their word was infallible and led always to the truth and the salvation. This became the foundation of her world. 

Years of war and death had chipped and whittled away at that foundation. Even if the leader of their times was born now, how could he save them? Would they last the twenty years it would take for him to grow into the warrior he would become?

Doubts and fears weighed on her as she considered. An expedition would be needed, the two of them at least, likely a few more. The prophecy was clear on this point. The river serpent would need to be consulted. Even with father winter having shown his blessing, nothing would change without the river serpent declaring the change. 

Frenzied hours of preparation gave way into days as they each gathered their belongings and made their plans. Three guides would accompany them south to the delta, to visit the River Serpent. 

Dawn ushered in the day with cool pink light as they set out upon the road. The three guides made quick work of breaking trail and continued on in silence as the two of them spoke. 

“I really think this could be it Rae,” Maxwell admitted with his eagerness betraying him. “With a hero, a real hero of old. You know we can pull this around. Our armies have not faired that well, sure. But you know with the hope of a hero among us we can hold out. Yes, Rae, I feel the change in the air.”

Quietly she listened to him gush on and on while brooding thoughts of her own carried her through each mile. Days turned into weeks as the weather grew warmer. Maxwell’s mood, she noted, continued to be upbeat, but her doubts remained. 

“I judge we’ve come most of the distance Rae,” that giant copse of trees in the distance must be it she thought as he continued. “We’ll camp the night and with a fresh start of morning we’ll be there by noon.” His voice softened and with a bit of hesitation he spoke, “Perhaps I’ve not said this enough with everything that has been happening, but I love you Rae. I know we’ve never had a chance for children of our own, but when this prophecy is complete and the future of our home and loved ones is secure, I promise that we’ll get to it. We can get to all of those things we have missed.”

“I know Maxwell,” she answered. “We both were raised with this one mission in life. It has brought us together and also has kept us apart. Mine is to find the signs, yours is to follow them. Together we are to bring them to the world. None of the prophecies have been explained to my complete satisfaction, especially the part about the hero reborn. I do know that we are in this together though.” 

Passion took them that night as they camped in the clearing beneath the moonlight overlooking the river delta and for the first time in years they made love. 

The next day, cloaked beneath the broad leaves of the rain forest, they walked in dappled sunlight that spotted the damn ground in places. Noon had come and gone and even with the last weeks of winter upon them the day was turning hot in this southern climate. 

“I can’t understand Rae,” Maxwell said with an unhidden confusion. “Everything we have seen tells us that the River Serpent should be nearby. Yet, we’ve covered every inch of this ground without having seen any sign of him.”

With a smile she answered, “Patience Maxwell, if it was easy, anyone could do it. Come; let us follow this small rivulet down closer to the river.”

A trek through the heavy underbrush brought them nearer the river, then with an exclamation Raeline pointed. “See it Max! Do you see the markings in the mud?” 

Wide, tell-tale marks in the mud spoke of the enormous serpent which had pushed through the soft ground of the rivulet and up the other side. Cutting their way through they followed for several minutes to a wide bed of vines pressed into a hollow. 

With a start Max stopped and back peddled away from the edge of a small drop off, where before them the vines were pressed into a hollow. An enormous serpent, sufficient of size to have swallowed a horse, stared back at them from the bed of vines and tasted the air with a flick of its long tongue. 

Staring for a moment their amazement turned to shock as they watched the serpent coil and stretch. A sound that would have barely been a whisper from a normal snake was the tearing sound of ripping linen as the skin of the serpent began to part and the fresh scales pushed off the old. (3)

“The serpent has declared the change,” Rae intoned in a formal voice. “The time of the hero has come.”

Turning to face her Maxwell appeared overcome with emotion and started to speak. The words were lost to him as the breath exploded from his body with shock. Staring down in horror he watched the front of his shirt stain with blood as the long serpents tooth withdrew from his shoulder and the serpent turned and sped into the brush.

“No!” screamed Rae, as she rushed to his side. The normally absent guides signed themselves against evil and moved closer to help her. “Maxwell, oh my Maxwell,” she held him close and rocked him a look of shock still on his face as the color drained from it with the blood draining from his body. 

“Come Milady,” the guard spoke. “There is naught we can do for him but offer a burial. The venom of the serpent is a quick death and we must leave before the snake returns.” 

With a distant thought she noticed the watchful crow, so out of place in this forest, as it sat upon a low branch. She noted the red marked wing and heard the lonely call but gave it no more thought as she turned from this place. 

Traveling north again, her footsteps plodded one after the other and she left her love behind her. Pure will carried her onward, long after her hope had faded. She had one clear duty left to this world and would see it done. 

Spring came into its own and the trees and flowers were in full bloom as the passed beyond the foothills into the mountains proper. Climbing up and up they passed beyond the tree line and into the thin air of the high mountains. The highest peak loomed yet on the horizon and another three days travel brought them upon it. Undoubtedly from the thin air, she had felt her limbs weakening and would often be sick as they began their days. 

Reaching the highest mountain at last and with a bitter cry she spoke to the winds, “Lord of the Four Winds, I have come for your blessing. Cast your breath into the womb of wichever mother will bring a hero. Let this world know the hope that has long since been denied me.”

She sat and cried to the clear air for what seemed hours. The clouds that formed the body and the face of the Winds (4) gathered so slowly they were upon her before she recognized them. The rush of a breeze swept over the peak and in that passing air she heard the voice of a thousand leaves rustling as it spoke, “It is done.”

Still sick of heart and of body she turned from the Lord of the Four Winds and forever left the mountain behind. Merely days away from home she arrived once more to the small cottage where she had shared her life with Maxwell. 

Unpruned by her attentive hands, roses had grown to cover the porch and she could see the place in need of some repairs. 

With an emptiness, she sat about her chores, determined the fix the cottage and then leave this world behind. When her illness did not fade and her strength continued to drain from her, she grew concerned. As a wise woman and a midwife in her village she had seen the signs all to many times. 

Release from this world was lost to her, she was with child. 

Months went by and word of the Prophecies being fulfilled reached the ears of the people. Armies rallied and Highlanders from the mountains poured down into the lowlands to carry the fight to the barbarians of the far North. A hero was coming…

“Push now child,” urged the midwife who had been called from a few villages over. “You are near the end here and it’s a fine boy I can see.”

Later, with the small bundle resting in her arms just minutes from her womb she saw the same red marked crow (5) sitting upon her window sill framed against the clear blue sky and heard again its lonely call. Then she saw the tenuous misty form drift from the mouth of the crow as the breath of the Winds drifted through the open window and into her child. A hero was born…

Waking from her reverie and drifting thoughts of the past she reflected on all that had changed. She had missed her Maxwell all of these years but together they had indeed brought the world hope. 

Closing her eyes once more she dreamed briefly of her husband. Then she joined him forever in the afterlife. 

A red marked crow sat upon her window sill and admired the rhubarb pie, now cool from the afternoon breeze then carried another soul to heaven. 

1.	glove.jpg
2.	facetoface.gif
3.	shed.jpg
4.	lowcloud.jpg
5.	birdbreat.jpg

Cedric


----------



## Cedric

Sorry for being late guys, sorry Mythago. I started a new job this week and moved to day shift, meaning I have to get up at 6am central time. 

When I had finished my story last night it was close to 10pm and I waited for a half hour for the boards to let me in, but by 10:30 I had to go to bed and the boards were still down.  

I logged into chat and emailed my story to someone there, in hopes that they would be able to post it for me. But there was just no way I could wait up any later last night to post it. 

Cedric


----------



## Piratecat

The board crash couldn't have come at a worse time last night. The database fell down and went boom; Thomas Heretic (bless his heart) repaired them and got things going again. It wasn't a fast process.

But now I get to go read both stories - yay!



			
				Zaruthustran said:
			
		

> Mine was Ember going out east to see a trasmuter about some sort of life change. Oh man, that's funny.




Thanks! I wasn't sure if anyone was going to catch that. I originally was a little less oblique, but opted for subtlety.


----------



## mythago

The hard-nosed answer is that you're supposed to be prepared to e-mail the judges in case something like this comes up.

 However, we're not all hard-nosed like those big meanies over at Iron DM, so, since Sialia has no problem with stretching the deadline for very good reasons, we'll let it go 
	

	
	
		
		

		
			





    My judgment won't be in till late tonight at best.


----------



## Piratecat

mythago said:
			
		

> However, we're not all hard-nosed like those big meanies *over at Ceramic DM*, so. . .




Accursed freudian slips.


----------



## mythago

Cedric's not the only one who had a crummy night....

 Fixed now.


----------



## alsih2o

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Accursed freudian slips.




 oh, now that is soooo funny.


----------



## Regdar

Piratecat said:
			
		

> So I asked myself how to provide fantasy characters that anyone would care about. I had rejected the characters from the D&D movie when something clicked in my head. The iconics? Hmmm.  Everyone knew them, they were funny and chock full of in-fighting, and they'd give me the chance to do in-jokes and a tiny bit of editorializing. I knew that I needed to make normal adventuring situations slightly absurd, and I wanted to avoid puns; I'm no Piers Anthony. I never even thought of Yamara when writing Lidda's voice, but I'm sure it influenced me subconsciously. Some times form really does define function.



Regdar is pleased.


----------



## Sialia

Cedric said:
			
		

> Sorry for being late guys, sorry Mythago. I started a new job this week and moved to day shift, meaning I have to get up at 6am central time.
> 
> When I had finished my story last night it was close to 10pm and I waited for a half hour for the boards to let me in, but by 10:30 I had to go to bed and the boards were still down.
> 
> I logged into chat and emailed my story to someone there, in hopes that they would be able to post it for me. But there was just no way I could wait up any later last night to post it.
> 
> Cedric



Having recently started a new job that gets me to bed early these days, I sympathize.  I wrote to Mythago to ask her to extend the deadline for you as soon as I saw that the boards had crashed just after I posted. It was probably my bloated epic that brought them down.

Congratulations on the new job, and also on a fine story.
I'm amused by some of the similarities between our stories--the ones not directly driven by the photos, that is.


----------



## Sialia

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> Finally, I am able to get into EN World, open the thread, seek out your post, and this, this is what I get!





Spoiler



Would it make you feel any better to note that when I was trying to come up with a name for my bard that meant "Fox" I found out that the Spanish word for fox is "Zorro" ?


----------



## BSF

Sialia said:
			
		

> Spoiler
> 
> 
> 
> Would it make you feel any better to note that when I was trying to come up with a name for my bard that meant "Fox" I found out that the Spanish word for fox is "Zorro" ?




 


Spoiler



Just don't let my gaming group know that.  After all, Stephen uses a rapier and is minor nobility.  From what little I can guess, the world map seems similar to earth, geographically speaking, and Stephen spent 3 years training at the Adventurer's Guild in an area that would be the equivelant to Spain.  He then travelled across the ocean to where the America's would be.  Oh yeah, he hates bullies and will stand up for the little people.  I kid you not, all of this is a little too close.  Good grief!  I can't have everyone in the group thinking 'Zorro', sooner or later, somebody will remember that George Hamilton version of 'Zorro'.  That will be even worse since we just switched to 3.5 and I am seriously thinking about picking up a whip.  No, no!  Say it isn't true!


----------



## Maldur

Judgement send, but it was really hard again!!


----------



## mythago

Oh, so the four-word phrase from Bandeeto was 



Spoiler



"mind flayer Iron Chef"


. I thought maybe it was going to turn out to be "stuff bean up nostril."


----------



## Zaruthustran

Please consider this a belated request for contestents to include links to relevant contest images. 

-z, having trouble searching past pages for the appropriate image post.

PS: Nice work Sialia! More, more!


----------



## alsih2o

i am now out of the competition, yet i remain tense.

 i may be even more tense than when i was in the game.

 i am all atwitter.


----------



## mythago

Waiting on arwink...


----------



## arwink

Just saw this this morning.  Trying to find a gap in work where I can read and write comments 

It should be soonish, with any luck.


----------



## arwink

Gap found, stories read, and judgement sent.


----------



## Sialia

mythago said:
			
		

> Oh, so the four-word phrase from Bandeeto was "mind flayer Iron Chef". I thought maybe it was going to turn out to be "stuff bean up nostril."



Ok, at this point, i'm gonna assume anybody that's read this far has read the story.
After round 1, I was bemoaning being all out of concept now that I had beaten the subject of fine art to death. (It wasn't suposed to be about art to begin with--it was supposed to be about the perception of time. But things happened.)

I jokingly suggested that I might take on the performing arts, thinking, perhaps--I dunno--maybe something Laurie Anderson like, in a DG mode. I wasn't planning on recycling the same characters, yet.

Bandeeto's reply was simply "taste-linked performance eating."

One thing led to another.

Oddly enough, as I was re-reading the Illithiad to get my details straight, I noticed that Illithids have a startlingly different perception of time, which is to say, they don't have one. No long term memory. Which tied in nicely with the subtheme that had gotten squashed in the first one. (Squashed when I realized that dragons don't live 40,000 years, but only a mere 4000 or so, tops)

I didn't really manage to work through the time perception deal in this one as thoroughly as I'd have liked either, but the thought is definitely in there.

Originally I had the chunks of flashback all interspersed with the forward action, trying to get at a really different perception of causality and sequence, but , as before, I chickened out and decided too much bowl and not enough soup.

It's _hard_ to do this sort of thing this fast in a way that anyone will be able to follow.

But then, I suppose that that's part of the point.

This sure has been educational.


----------



## mythago

*Judgment for Semifinal #2 - Cedric vs. Sialia*

Maldur

 Cerdic with a moody tale of proficy, death and a fresh hero

 Sialia with a new adventure of the professor and his rowdy halfling companions.

 For the better mood I award the laurel to Cedric.

* Judgment: Cedric*

arwink

 Sialia – The Rose

 This story works well on a number of levels, crafting layer upon layer in order to create mood and tension without ever tipping the storytellers hand.  The re-use of the characters from the original story is a great call – they have a familiarity to both the audience and Sialia as a storyteller, and this tale gives them a greater sense of depth and history than their initial appearance had.  

 The best part of Sialia’s style here is summed up in the early stages of her story – it’s all freakishly normal. Despite being captured by mind flayers, the conflicts being faced by the characters tend towards something more real, more normal, and more accessible for the audience to understand.  There is no need to wrap our minds around the fantasy aspects of Sialia’s story, it’s mostly there as window dressing for dealing with the halfling’s more human foibles.

 My only real criticism of this story would be its introduction, where the story hasn’t quite found it’s feet and things are slightly muddled.  The rapid-fire bursts of imagery in the first paragraph have an impact, but would be more effective with shorter, sharper sentences that jab at the reader.  In many ways, the second paragraph seems a more natural beginning to the tale, setting up the world and situation much more clearly than the current opening.

 Cedric – Untitled

 I’m going to feel like a broken record saying this, but my two biggest problems with Cedric’s story were the dialogue and the lack of tension   There are some great elements here, and I’m a sucker for a good tragedy, but once again I think the tyranny of the time limit has thwarted the development of a very good story.

 The dialogue here is less archaic than in Cedric’s first story, but it still lack’s the feel of people talking to one another. The primary problem lies in the fact that the two characters make declarative statements throughout the piece – they explain plot points and give background that is necessary for the reader, but unnecessary for two characters who are at home with the world.  The effect is similar to watching a one-sided telephone call in a movie, where the person on the phone repeats everything the other person says in order to clue the audience into what’s going on (“What’s that, you want to meet at the old abandoned warehouse?” rather than “I’ll see you there.”).  While it effectively pushes the plot forward, it does so with a lack of sophistication that tends to jar modern audiences.

 The lack of tension here largely comes from not knowing what the characters have to loose.  The ending here is something of a bittersweet payoff – a great closer for this kind of story – but we don’t get a great sense of foreboding from the earlier parts of the story and the exact nature of the characters relationship doesn’t become apparent until just before the loss is inflicted upon them.  

 The Judgment
 I give this round to Sialia.  Her layered story is well crafted and very effective, and it doesn’t feel as though the plot is being driven by the necessity of putting in the pictures. Cedric’s story contains a number of good elements that could be developed into a fine story, but the tyranny of Ceramic DM’s has struck it’s development and left it feeling rushed and in need of polishing.

*Judgment: Sialia*

mythago

 Small quibble with both the stories: I know it's hard to avoid in fantasy, but it's easy to overdo Significant Capitals that denote Things of Interest, Portentious Doings and so forth. This isn't German. 

_Cedric - Untitled_

 OUT OF COMMAS STOP SITUATION DIRE STOP REPUNCTUATE IMMEDIATELY AS PER ORDERS FULL STOP

 Just kidding. But I told you I was a snot about that stuff...there's a lot of punctuation missing, to the point where it makes the reading of the story difficult going.

 There is a lot to like here. The difference in the characters' ages is unusual, but not remarked upon; it's merely interesting background, as it should be. I love their interaction, affectionate and familiar. I'm puzzled as to the later discussion about childbearing, though; the description (fine as it is) of her face in the mirror makes her sound nearly elderly, far past a time when having children would make sense. This of course makes the end of the story remarkable, but her conversation with Maxwell about finally having children doesn't therefore fit. 

The dialogue also flubs at times; at one point Rose rolls her eyes, flusters and grits her teeth in the same sentence before getting a word out. And there is at times an unfortunate combination of the stilted and courtly and rough speech--either of which is fine, but together they jar. The use of the pictures was okay, though the serpent felt rather wedged in (and why did it kill Maxwell and then slither off, rather unsnake-like?).

 The closing line about the rhubarb pie is exceptional.

_Sialia - The Rose_

 The story reads like an unfinished chapter from a longer work, which, of course, it is, but as a Ceramic DM entry it needs to stand alone.

 The opening is unfortunately weak. We don't know that Silvado is an illithid, so we have a mental (sorry) picture of him and his herd that changes once we learn what he is. The "iron over a handkerchief" line was awful--I had a mental picture of the boat hissing and sending up steam as it neatly pressed out all the creases. And the halflings being miraculously unhurt...well...

 Things get better after this. There are some true gems in this story: the frontier colony, the fop Nourisher, the illithid Iron Chef competition. The entire sequence with Mirabelle is a truly inspired use of a photograph, though none of the others go to waste.

 Other good things: Tarnby really shines. It would have been easy to get reader sympathy by killing off tough Mirabelle or sweet Lillabo, but Tarnby, who doesn't otherwise stand out, surprisingly fits perfectly into that role. Not so good: the mind flayers were able to anticipate/mindread most of the halflings' moves, but didn't foresee Lillabo's plan for the mushroom? It's a good end scene, but there's a continuity error.

*Judgment: Sialia*


----------



## mythago

And so for the final round, it's Piratecat vs. Sialia! East Coast vs. West Coast! Boy vs. girl! Age vs. beauty!

 Uh...well...at least I think so, on that last one. Siala gets points for not having a metal question mark joined to her wrist


----------



## BSF

Don't forget DM vs Player!  

Well, former DM vs Former Player at least.  Whew!  This next round is going to be good.


----------



## Thomas Hobbes

I must say, with this last judgment, I wanted to skip all the talking and see who _won._  Held firm.  Congrats to Sialia (I felt that special sort of sad you feel for favored literary characters when Tarnby died...), and well done on Cedric's part as well.


----------



## Cedric

> I'm puzzled as to the later discussion about childbearing, though; the description (fine as it is) of her face in the mirror makes her sound nearly elderly, far past a time when having children would make sense.




I felt that I could have done a much, much better job of explaining this...but in the opening and the ending she was an elderly woman reflecting back on the past. Then in the bulk of the story itself we are seeing the past through her memories. 

I saw so many things I wanted to do to polish this. But events transpired to keep me from being able to write this until the last night...and then the boards crashed, etc. I sorely wanted to go back and really polish it...but even though I wasn't able to post it, I still stopped all work on it before the cutoff time.

For what it's worth, I want to say that I think the best person absolutely won this round. I waited to hear what the judges had to say, but I was going to be disappointed if you didn't hand the victory to Sialia. 

The finals are definitely setup for a great round though. I'm just hoping that some time in the future I may get a chance to participate again in a Ceramic DM. I've had a great time and this has forced me to write..and I think I learned a lot from it. 

Cedric


----------



## Piratecat

Oh, my. I'm trying not to anticipate, but I really am looking forward to this. Cedric, well fought!  And Sialia... "yodels of psychic imperative" had me in awe by the second paragraph. Git along, little halfling!

Do we know yet when the photos will be posted? I'm assuming it's late this week. Saturday is a complete disaster for me, but if the photos go up (say) Friday night it would work out well for me.


----------



## Sialia

_Sialia - The Rose_



> The story reads like an unfinished chapter from a longer work, which, of course, it is, but as a Ceramic DM entry it needs to stand alone.



it does? 

pity. must have missed that regulation. was that up there with the "no pdfs" rule? I get dim about these things.



> The opening is unfortunately weak. We don't know that Silvado is an illithid, so we have a mental (sorry) picture of him and his herd that changes once we learn what he is.



actually, that amused the heck out of me.

Originally, you didn't get to find out that he was an illithid until the party had a chance to "chat" with Syyalea and find out what the heck illithids are.
But I to condense _somewhere._ 



> The "iron over a handkerchief" line was awful--I had a mental picture of the boat hissing and sending up steam as it neatly pressed out all the creases.



Actually, that was pretty much exactly what I had pictured.
fssssst!
one flat illithid.
it still amuses me. 



> And the halflings being miraculously unhurt...well...



There was a good paragraph going over this, but it got axed during the final edits when I trimmed about four pages of "extraneous stuff" out. (Probably including thier first close look at the faces of thier captors, which might have been more of a giveaway--but I decided to let a lot of set and costume description go to keep things brief. Briefer.)



> Things get better after this. There are some true gems in this story: the frontier colony, the fop Nourisher, the illithid Iron Chef competition. The entire sequence with Mirabelle is a truly inspired use of a photograph, though none of the others go to waste.



Thank you.

After the fun I had writing various folks in to the first one, I thought it would be fun to write the rest of us into it, you sick voyeurs, you.



> Other good things: Tarnby really shines. It would have been easy to get reader sympathy by killing off tough Mirabelle or sweet Lillabo, but Tarnby, who doesn't otherwise stand out . . .



was expendable. Also, his player moved to Seattle this week. Kidding. 


> Not so good: the mind flayers were able to anticipate/mindread most of the halflings' moves, but didn't foresee Lillabo's plan for the mushroom?



They were preoccupied. They probably knew that she was giving him something poisonous--Tarnby certainly believed that it was--and they were kind of looking forward to what effect that would have. Lillabo didn't know exactly what the nature of the poison was, only that it was "bad stuff." 

Mirabelle and the Prof probably knew, but nobody asked them.

So hey, maybe not well enough explained, but not really a problem, per se. Distributed ignorance is probably the best way to deal with mind readers, in my experience.

Many thanks to all of you for a fine round.

And especiallly for letting me finally get away with the "yodelling cowboy mindcontrollers"  and the "moonshining Appalachian halflings" and the "travelling medicine show and minstrels" stuff I've had tucked away for a couple of years. I never could find a GM willing to run those modules for me --Bandeeto, P'cat and KidCthulhu all held their noses when I first came up with those. Sigh. They waited soooo long to see the light of day.


----------



## mythago

Sialia said:
			
		

> pity. must have missed that regulation. was that up there with the "no pdfs" rule? I get dim about these things.



  Perhaps I was unclear. You didn't lose points for a continuing storyline. You also didn't gain any.

 Piratecat, I'm thinking Friday morning.


----------



## Piratecat

That's it. For my next entry, I'm tempted to write a bodice-ripper romance novel. Breast-heaving and impassioned glances all around!  

"Mom, what's a throbbing member?"

"Umm.. stop reading my romance novel, dear. And it's the member of the native tribe who plays all the drums."


----------



## mythago

Oh, going for the OBVIOUS judge-pandering 
	

	
	
		
		

		
		
	


	






			
				Sialia said:
			
		

> I never could find a GM willing to run those modules for me --Bandeeto, P'cat and KidCthulhu all held their noses when I first came up with those.



 You don't pay them Philistines no nevermind.


----------



## Sialia

mythago said:
			
		

> Oh, going for the OBVIOUS judge-pandering
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> .



oooh ooh!  can I pander, too?


----------



## mythago

Sialia said:
			
		

> oooh ooh!  can I pander, too?



  Goodness, yes.

 But in all seriousness--the nice thing about Ceramic DM is that with three judges, it's nigh unto impossible to try to slant a story to victory.


----------



## Sagiro

> The opening is unfortunately weak. We don't know that Silvado is an illithid, so we have a mental (sorry) picture of him and his herd that changes once we learn what he is.



Interesting that you mention this as a negative; I thought the revelation of Silvado's nature (and his herd's) was one of the neatest parts of the story.   "The drover Silvado stood ankle-deep in the river, surrounded by his herd."   So, yeah, I'm thinking, some human farmer and his 50 head of cows.  Wait... tentacle extensions?  Ahhhhhhh!  Illithids!  And those aren't cows, are they?    That'll teach me to make assumptions!

One of my favorite science-fiction authors, Iain M. Banks, does this sort of thing often and effectively, at least in his Culture novels.

Congratulations to both authors for fine stories.  Unfortunately, I cannot now continue my practice of blatantly partisan rooting interest for the finals!  

-Sagiro


----------



## arwink

As a random side-note: I've just realised that I leave for a Australian Long Weekend Con tomorrow night, so I wont be back until Tuesday evening.  Assuming the pictures go up for the weekend, it'll be at least twenty-four hours after deadline before I get a chance to look at them.


----------



## Piratecat

I think of that as heightening the anticipation.


----------



## alsih2o

Piratecat said:
			
		

> I think of that as heightening the anticipation.




 masochist.


----------



## Zhaneel

**gigglesnarf**



			
				Piratecat said:
			
		

> That's it. For my next entry, I'm tempted to write a bodice-ripper romance novel. Breast-heaving and impassioned glances all around!




Oh! Oh! I wanna see that!

Btw: Congrats to Siala for the story.  Beautifully done.  I really enjoyed it.

And a *wave*.  I'm new here, but mythago is really good about dragging people to see new things and I love reading other people's writing.  Maybe one day I'll get up the guts to join in something like this.  

Zhaneel (who some of you know, and the rest will know).


----------



## Berandor

Sialia: Wow. Just - wow. Your story really blew me away. I liked Cedric's offering, really, but when I read the story today on my way to work (no, I'm not driving), it really affected me.
It helps that I'm a sucker for pathos, of course.
"Fight!"


----------



## KidCthulhu

Anyone else notice that the Mindflayer Iron Chef's name can be pronounced as "si-a-li-a"?  Very, very troubling.


----------



## Sialia

KidCthulhu said:
			
		

> Anyone else notice that the Mindflayer Iron Chef's name can be pronounced as "si-a-li-a"? Very, very troubling.



At the time, it amused me no end to think that I was vivisecting my characters for your sadistic amusement.

But I dunno.

Today I feel all kind of . . . soiled by the experience.

Perhaps a rape, an abortion, a vivisection, and a deliberate poisoning of a party member for the good of the party were just a bit too, too much. 

There's a reason my persona back in my broadcast jello wrestling days was "Overkill."

I will endeavor to be more restrained in round three's 1930's pulp homage "Sex Slaves of the Elf Lords of Mars"

Might even try sticking to the rules of the contest, for once.

I mean, if Piratecat is going to clean my clock, at least I shouldn't get myself disqualified before the judging.


----------



## Piratecat

Sialia said:
			
		

> at least I shouldn't get myself disqualified before the judging.




Please? Would you mind? Because I'm not quite sure how I'm going to win otherwise.  Maybe if I build a story out of monkey tails, dental floss and a lost city of gold....


----------



## Sialia

So, it's like this.

During last round, I was definitely thinking that I might go for a three round story. I left myself loopholes for going on, if I felt like it.

I didn't, for example, kill the whole party, although that was definitely an option I considered. I hate it when the GM favors precious characters so much that nobody can die no matter what. Imagine your top twenty favorite movies/plays/operas without any death scenes.

I mean, did anybody else find it a bit odd that what with all the death and destruction in Lord of the Rings, practically nobody we actually care about gets killed? Sometimes I wonder if the ending wouldn't have been better with Frodo going in after Gollum.
The thing that saves that for me is his inability to really return home after all the goings on. I think my favorite scene of RotK was the bit where his walking thorugh Bag End looking lost at the end of the film. Ok, so he survives, but at what cost?

But in any case, what with Mythago's bias against continuing stories, and me feeling personally a little too worn out on these characters to go on with them, and having so many details to slog through before I can get them moving again, I promised myself I'd ditch 'em and start something fresh for the Final.

Bandeeto spent the better part of last evening trying to convince me that I wasn't done with these characters.

He had a lot of novel ideas--novel meaning "new" as opposed to an indication of how long it would take to tell them--none of which matched with any sense I had of where this story was going , if indeed I were to go on with it.

But after I shot him down about six times, he said "looks to me like you've got a pretty strong idea about what happens next." And I said, "what's that supposed to mean?" and he said "You're not done with them yet."

So.

I still might start something fresh next round, if the photos take me there.

But I if I do, somebody nag me to go back and tell you about what happens to our halflings after this is all over.


----------



## Sialia

One other kind of sad funny thing:

When Bandeeto asked me to tell him what I thought ought to happen next I kept starting and then stalling out and saying--no wait--that won't work--we've lost Tarnby.

He sat there and smirked at me as I realized what a hole I'd painted myself into.

I mean, Tarnby. 

Ok, the theory was that Syyalea picked him because the girls are so chaotic inside that he wasn't certain he could work them predictably. Tarnby is a very simple, straightforward kind of guy, so it was a lot easier to guarantee that he'd do what Syyalea expected him to do on stage. Syyalea's the kind of artist that likes his own work to be novel and interesting, but doesn't like his media to provide the surprises.

But underneath that literary justification was an instinctive sense I had that Tarnby was the least developed of the four, and therefore A. In need of some exploration, and B. Expendable.

And now I come to realize that while he was less exciting that the others to write, he was also the only really mentally stable member of the group. One of those glue characters that keeps the party together. 

I find that now that I come to think about whether to go on with them or not, I miss him a lot more than I thought I would.


----------



## Zhaneel

Sialia said:
			
		

> I find that now that I come to think about whether to go on with them or not, I miss him a lot more than I thought I would.




Interesting.

Not trying to drain you of your creative talent before the match, but I'm interested in hearing where the characters came from.  Are these characters you've had running around in your brain?  Did you actually play with players playing these characters?  Just curious.

I like the Ceramic DM challenges because it seems that you can write stories, that probably have something to do with a D&D 3.5 world, but not necessarily.  The Iron DM or NPC contests scare me because I am so far out of touch with the current rules its not funny (I'm an AD&D 2E girl).

Zhaneel


----------



## Nebin

Piratecat said:
			
		

> That's it. For my next entry, I'm tempted to write a bodice-ripper romance novel. Breast-heaving and impassioned glances all around!
> 
> "Mom, what's a throbbing member?"
> 
> "Umm.. stop reading my romance novel, dear. And it's the member of the native tribe who plays all the drums."




Now Mr. Cat remember that deal we made ? No stories about Lidda and I ,and I won't tell Mrs. C the password to the 'Shoorm safe.


----------



## Berandor

Maybe Tarnby had a lost twin with the exact same statistics, named Darnby?

Or does that only happen in my group?


----------



## Sialia

Zhaneel said:
			
		

> Interesting.
> 
> Not trying to drain you of your creative talent before the match, but I'm interested in hearing where the characters came from. Are these characters you've had running around in your brain? Did you actually play with players playing these characters? Just curious.



Um. Welll . . . the dragon came first. She was a lot different in the early drafts. And she probably came out of reading too much Kage Baker.  I didn't plan her "transcendance"--that wasn't supposed to happen. The piece was all about time and ephemera, but I got frustated with it and started to hate the whole story. When I was about to hit the delete key and start the whole piece over, I wrote her temper tantrum instead, and that seemed a better place to take the story.

I knew I needed a bard who's name meant "Fox," as a salute to my first round opponent. So Volpe came first. I don't actually know BardStephenFox all that well, so when I needed to imagine him doing something, I imagined my husband Bandeeto playing him.  I didn't realize who Volpe really was in Round One, but by the time Round Two rolled around, I figured out that he was an opportunity to use a character dressing I had always wanted to develop and never had the chance to use before: The Travelling Patent Medicine Salesman.

Lillabo just happened, and I think she's probably mostly a rework of a character I ran in college. Although at a distance of  over ten years, I understand some things about that character now that I didn't understand then.

Which is where Mirabelle really started to develop. Mirabelle was the last character to develop any voice. She fought me like anything, and I could not get any life in to her at first. I kept forgetting to write her in to the scenes at all. Finally, as Lillabo started to grate on me as being just a bit too adorable and precious, I decided to give the one of the other characters a chance to voice my frustrations with her. So, she's me, but she's  . . um . . heavily influenced, shall we say, by  . . other . . uh, players of RPGS that I sometimes might have played with. None of whom happen to be judging this contest, right? Because I wouldn't presume pander to a judge with a cheap shtick like that. Anyway, by Round Two, she was a fully developed personality of her own, and I just let her be without trying to picture who was playing her.

Tarnby was supposed to be a complete jerk. I wanted him to be a greedy, selfish user. But it just didn't work. He slid from jerk to safe date in a few paragraphs, and wound up being a little bit of a Dylrath rework, I'm afraid. I did picture one of my friends playing him in Round 1, but I switched him to a different player for Round 2.

Syyalea just happened. I have no idea where he came from.

Honest.


----------



## Thomas Hobbes

Sialia said:
			
		

> I still might start something fresh next round, if the photos take me there.
> 
> But I if I do, somebody nag me to go back and tell you about what happens to our halflings after this is all over.




Yes'm.  Gladly.


----------



## BSF

Sialia said:
			
		

> I knew I needed a bard who's name meant "Fox," as a salute to my first round opponent. So Volpe came first. I don't actually know BardStephenFox all that well, so when I needed to imagine him doing something, I imagined my husband Bandeeto playing him.




Meh - You know that I like your artwork and your stories.   

I thought Volpe was hilarious.  Thanks for the laugh.



			
				Sialia said:
			
		

> Syyalea just happened. I have no idea where he came from.
> 
> Honest.




Syyalea happens.  Hmm, a new addition to my .sig I think.

Thanks for providing a little more insight into your characters and your story!  It is interesting to hear how it develops.  I am really looking forward to the matchup between you and Piratecat.  Will the two of you match up and see who has stronger characterization through individual voices?  Will the two of you reach out for something just a little different than what you normally write?  Who will have the stronger picture usage?  All of these little things I am pondering and the anticipation is delicious.


----------



## Piratecat

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> Will the two of you match up and see who has stronger characterization through individual voices?




Screw that. I'm writing mine as a D-grade comedy. Sort of like the screenplay to "Ernest goes to Camp," only with photos.


----------



## Zhaneel

Sialia said:
			
		

> So, she's [Mirabelle] me, but she's  . . um . . heavily influenced, shall we say, by  . . other . . uh, players of RPGS that I sometimes might have played with. None of whom happen to be judging this contest, right? Because I wouldn't presume pander to a judge with a cheap shtick like that.




*giggle* Yeah, that wouldn't work *at all*.  And besides, it is such a subdued version of your friend that I hardly recognized the influence at all.  ;-)  And I can say that, since I'm not writing this round.  *ducks*

Thank you for writing up more of what your thoughts were and sharing them.  I appreciate seeing how other writers' brains work (hrmmm... maybe I should hire Syyalea to help me out with that).



			
				PirateCat said:
			
		

> Screw that. I'm writing mine as a D-grade comedy. Sort of like the screenplay to "Ernest goes to Camp," only with photos




Hey!!!! What happened to my heaving bosoms and throbbing members!  *pout*

Zhaneel


----------



## Sialia

Well, I've tried twice to do something really different and unique with my narrative style, and both times I hated the results so much that I went back to my usual storytelling mode. 

I don't think I'm likely to take any risks this round. Expect more of the same old same old from me.


----------



## BSF

Sialia said:
			
		

> Well, I've tried twice to do something really different and unique with my narrative style, and both times I hated the results so much that I went back to my usual storytelling mode.
> 
> I don't think I'm likely to take any risks this round. Expect more of the same old same old from me.





Works for me!  I'm _still_ waiting for the Defenders of Daybreak storyhour to catch up so you can post the story in the DOD - Early years thread.  I like your "same old, same old".


----------



## Piratecat

Zhaneel said:
			
		

> Hey!!!! What happened to my heaving bosoms and throbbing members!  *pout*




It's quite possible that they aren't mutually exclusive.

Hey Mythago, when do photos go up, do you know? I need to plan my weekend. (Sorry if you already said and I missed it.)


----------



## mythago

First thing in the morning.


----------



## mythago

Sialia said:
			
		

> So, she's me, but she's . . um . . heavily influenced, shall we say, by . . other . . uh, players of RPGS that I sometimes might have played with. None of whom happen to be judging this contest, right?



 Right. Because, after all, you and I have never actually _played_ in the same game.


----------



## Piratecat

Thank you!


----------



## alsih2o

pick-chers!

 pick-chers!

 pick-chers!


----------



## mythago

*Final round pictures*

Piratecat vs. Sialia for the champeenship...


----------



## alsih2o

as inventor, patent-holder and general roust-a-bout of Ceramic D.M. i would like to take a moment to point out the devious genius of the current picture picker, ms. mythago.

 it was a ball for me to play along, and ball to see all the writing.

 a big thanks goes out to maldur, arwink and especially our new west coast mistress of the images, mythago.

 well handled, i have enjoyed it greatly


----------



## Piratecat

Got 'em!  Very evocative. I'm already nursing the seeds of story and genre. I'm going to go drink coffee, pat dogs and ponder.

I swear I've actually seen "veryround" before in person here in Boston, or something very much like it. Cool.


----------



## Sialia

OK, you've made my head spin this time around.

This one, this one is going to take some very special thinking.


----------



## Sialia

Sialia said:
			
		

> OK, you've made my head spin this time around.
> 
> This one, this one is going to take some very special thinking.



Or, um, maybe not. Maybe I'll just take the weekend off and let the voices in my head do this one.


----------



## MerakSpielman

Love the "grip" picture. It'll be interesting to see how these two make it seem, in any way, _sensible_. Of course, I have the utmost faith in both of our potential champians.


----------



## Zhaneel

Sialia said:
			
		

> Or, um, maybe not. Maybe I'll just take the weekend off and let the voices in my head do this one.




Always a good plan!

Good luck to both of you.  Really looking forward to seeing how this turns out.

Zhaneel


----------



## Cedric

Wow...for the sake of my poor brain cells, I'm kind of glad Sialia beat me...those are tough photo's...

Good luck guys (but I know you'll do great)

Cedric


----------



## Bloodsparrow

*edit post*

Oh, wait... Never mind.  I thought you were asking for Alts just then...

Don't mind me.


----------



## Blood Jester

MerakSpielman said:
			
		

> Love the "grip" picture. It'll be interesting to see how these two make it seem, in any way, _sensible_. Of course, I have the utmost faith in both of our potential champians.



Hmmm. I'm actually thinking this will be one of the easier ones, especially for PC. Now the *blank* on the other hand...


----------



## mythago

Sialia said:
			
		

> OK, you've made my head spin this time around.



 Like a record, baby.



			
				Bloodsparrow said:
			
		

> Oh, wait... Never mind.  I thought you were asking for Alts just then...



 No, but you (and anyone else!) can post over at the Kiln-Fired Ceramic DM story hour thread. If you want to use your own photos or a combination of ones here, feel free. Invite comments or issue challenges if you like.

 The only rule is please don't use pictures from a round that has not yet been judged.


----------



## mythago

alsih2o said:
			
		

> a big thanks goes out to maldur, arwink and especially our new west coast mistress of the images, mythago.



 Well, I had a good teacher 

 And a double thanks to Maldur and arwink!


----------



## Piratecat

Oh, my. A hot shower followed by walking dogs in snowy woods can be quite... inspirational. 

For me, when ideas snap into place, they do so with an almost-audible "click."


----------



## Zhaneel

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Oh, my. A hot shower followed by walking dogs in snowy woods can be quite... inspirational.




Tease... we know you're not going to post the story until Sunday so in the meantime we're patiently waiting and you're baiting us.  

Can I have some more, sir?

Zhaneel


----------



## Dakkareth

Hehe ... unlike the other pictures I saw, these ones flashed an instant skeleton-story into my brain. It will be interesting to see, how it works out.

And as I've given up lurking to say that, I might as well dispense praise into all directions. ALL of the stories posted so far are worthy of great admiration, so forgive me, if I'm going to be as hypocritical as to write one-sentence critics. 

Bilbiophile's story a a nice ring of Lovecraftian tradition to it and only suffered from the somewhat sudden ending.

Piratecat's fairy tale makes full use of this genre's possibilities and leaves the reader with a nice feeling of resolvedness; the decision of the two sisters to act upon their spite seemed a little strange to me, but I guess in the context of a fairy tale extreme reactions are justified.

alsih2o combines several motives of science-fiction into a pleasant short story made funny (the good sense) by the narrator's comments.

I'm not commenting on guedo79's poem as frankly I didn't read it. I'm sorry, but I just can't read a poem just like other things - either I'm forced or it's so short I can read over it. 

I especially liked BardStephenFox' story for its of pathos and destiny.

Siala's first story starts off with a somewhat strange feeling to me, but as the story continues and one grows used to it, one realizes the value in it. The same is true for the change of perspective - only on the second time through I could appreciate it, but it's a change for the better, a nice feeling to see, that a Dragon is more than a Deus ex machina providing some means of transport.

Cedric tells a nice story of a man's search for his lord, although the circumstances are not quite clear to me.

Kesh's story of a lord returning to his dead lands is somewhat confusing as if taken out of context, but still interesting.

In his second story alsih2o brings us uncommon philosophy, guilty remniscence and the setting of a people living on a tribelike association of boats on the open ocean. Had the end been a little less swift it would have been even better.

Piratecat presents us with the questionable honor of meeting the iconic DnD characters and an unquestionable sense of good humour (even though I admit to not understanding or finding a great deal of the jokes) - it's one of those things you'll quote from when asserting your geekdom.

The second chapter of Siala's tale begins in a hazaphard language that makes it hard to understand, but once the first half page is passed it makes more than up for it. Great ideas, imagery and execution make it a fantastic read.

I'm probably jaded by countless books of emerging heroes (happens all the time it seems) and thus can't get as well into the spirit of Cedrics second story as it would deserve, well done save for some nitpicks as it is.


I'll quit leaning out of the window much too far now


----------



## alsih2o

mythago said:
			
		

> Well, I had a good teacher




 Dude! there is someone who teaches this?!?!?


----------



## Cedric

*waits anxiously*


----------



## Zhaneel

*checks the forums*

No update yet!

*bounces impatiently*

Zhaneel


----------



## Piratecat

They're due tomorrow morning. Typing away feverishly!


----------



## alsih2o

type faster!

 FASTER!


----------



## Sialia

And so, to bed.


----------



## Piratecat

Okay, I'm posting now. There are some interesting stories about writing this one; I'll share them after judging is complete.


----------



## Piratecat

*Lazarus*

_Piratecat vs. Sialia, final Round_

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

Admittedly, Jim was caught a little off guard when I shot the old lady.

My needler hit her three times behind the left ear, in one of those vulnerable spots that’s hard to pad. She went down with a wheezing sigh and awkwardly toppled off the bench onto her face.  Her chin may have hit the synthstone, but at least her knitting pillowed it a bit. They way in which she fell confirmed my suspicions. I alerted the other security teams.

By the time we dragged her off the street and into a private interrogation room, my Starcal partner was beginning to gobble like a turkey. I gave him a look. “Jim, I’ve been assigned to Starcal security because we know someone is planning a raid on your latest technology, and because I know what I’m doing. I’m still not sure why _you_ were assigned to baby-sit me. I’m guessing it’s because you’re the nephew of somebody important, and they want to make it look like you’re earning your outlandish salary. So earn it, won’t you? Go lock the door.” I reached down and flipped the old woman over onto her back. 

Spittle began to fly from Jim’s mouth as he turned back to me. “She’s got no pulse! You killed her! Right in the corporate lobby! You killed her!” He looked like he was about to cry.  I rolled my eyes. 

“Of course she’s got no pulse. She’s wearing a spidersuit. Watch.”  I pushed her bulbous nose and a particularly hairy mole on her chin, followed by a quick twist of her adam’s apple. With a sound like an airlock opening, the spidersuit blew open its connectors and opened itself up. Inside of the bioengineered skin was a skinny middle-aged man snoring peacefully with a funny little smile on his face. He was naked, and his skin was slimy with the electro-transmitter gel he needed to get the suit to work. I plucked out the tranq needles and threw the knitting over his crotch to give him a modicum of decency. Sometimes it’s tough being a woman in my line of work.

“See? I’ve worn one of these myself.” I pulled his hand from the suit and waved the limp skin of the prefabricated wrist. “It’s designed as the perfect disguise. Fiber nerve receptors, sweat modules, custom fitted, the works. Not cheap. Very hard to get.” I shook my head. “You’d think that with the amount of money someone spent on this suit, he would have given the agent knitting lessons. It was a dead giveaway.” An ugly suspicion began to occur to me.

Jim wiped his own forehead. “I never would have guessed it. Okay, I apologize.” He studied the suit for a moment with an amateurish eye before something obvious occurred to him. He looked up with a panicked expression. “Could he have a partner here in another suit?”

I nodded in approval. “No subdermal transmitters, so he was probably working alone or maintaining mandatory radio silence. Of course, we would have picked up the transmittal frequencies on our scan. I’ve already informed the rest of security. I did that immediately.”

“But he doesn’t have any weapons, any bombs. How did he expect to blow the vault once he got in? He must have had some plan for stealing our technology!”

“There are weapons built into the suit itself.”  I smiled charmingly and indicated the knitting. “And it looks like yarn, but look again.” He picked one up and examined it critically. Our eyes met. His were confused.

“Not yarn?”

“Fibrous high explosive. (1) Every strand is effectively a bomb, with colors and lengths designating blast radius. The electronic detonators are in the knitting needles, and the crochet hook contains a timer.  This one skein of yarn could blow out the vault and still shatter every single window in this entire corporate complex. ” He gulped, and my earmike chittered at me.  I listened.  “Jim, we’ve got security breaches on levels six and nine. They want you in Ops.”

He went, and I settled in to work; those security breaches were hopefully being handled by other agents already in place. The room was isolated, private, austere. I listened; soundproof, too. I locked the door and cuffed the prisoner. I turned down the lights and the temperature. Then I took a long strand of “yarn” and began to twine it around him. His nether regions were sufficiently swathed by the time I gave him the stimtab. The thief’s eyes flipped open to see me standing there in my Starcal security uniform, tossing his detonators idly in one hand.

He moaned. “Just my luck. Careful with those!”

I grinned. I can look charming when I put my mind to it, and the disguise I was wearing that day was fairly fetching. “Who put you up to this?”

He shook his gel-slicked head, emphatic. “Nope. Uh-uh. Not going to tell you. He’d kill me.”

I studied him, then bent down to whisper in his ear. My hair brushed his face. “I prefer something a little more demonstrative.”  I sat back up and raised my voice back up to conversational levels. “You, my friend, happen to be trying to steal the secret to Starcal’s latest medical development, the Lazarus Device. Untested or not, the device is high profile. Anything would be that can supposedly restore youth. I can assure you that no one is going to think twice if you’re injured during arrest.” He followed my gaze southwards to his yarn-covered crotch, and I watched him turn pale as he realized how I’d arranged his high explosives. A muscle near his eye began to twitch.  Then, and only then, did I start the timer counting down from five minutes. 

“Modern medicine might be able to save your life, though. You’ll learn how to get along, how to make do. Simply ask yourself if you’re being paid enough to spend the rest of your life deformed.”  I just kept sitting there and smiling at my prisoner. He was cold, naked, and disoriented. He had high explosives wrapped around his manhood. His head was throbbing from the needler sedative. I didn’t expect he would take long.

He broke with forty seconds to go.

I heard the shudder of high explosives from elsewhere in the building three minutes after he had finished spilling his guts. I needled him and turned to run out of the room. Dashing pell-mell up to the vault like any other security wouldn’t do me any good; they wouldn’t be there by the time I arrived. So, I needed to think. The Lazarus Machine was apparently fairly heavy; one person couldn’t carry it unless they were wearing a spidersuit. How would they get it out?

The roof.

I stepped over the bodies of dead security personnel on the way. I took the express elevator but they had jammed roof access.  I picked a few locks and sprinted up three flights of stairs. I got there just as the chameleon-class aircar was firing its engines. My little handheld needler wouldn’t do anything against a vehicle like that, so I had just enough time to pull out a grenade when the sound of *Whoomp!  Whoomp!  Whoomp!* began to ratchet in a chain around me.

I spun and immediately realized my mistake. What I had taken for decorative stone spheres (2) ringing the edge of the building turned out to be a clever security device placed by the thieves. Each one exploded into a massive column of impenetrable pillars of gray smoke. I was completely blinded, but I threw the grenade anyways.  By then they were already gone.

*  *  *

My file was already on Rasmussen’s desk when I broke into to his private office. I picked it up and leafed through it. Isabelle “Ghost” Grantham, wanted for two hundred and forty three different crimes in fifty two countries. Burglary, forgery, identity impersonation, breaking and entering, major fraud, conspiracy, armed robbery, theft of a hundred different varieties. The list went on and on, as I believed in staying busy. No murder, of course; I still had some standards. The file listed the details of my capture in Morocco, my forced recruitment into L5, and my subsequent record as a law officer. 

L5 is the only effective international police force I know of. It’s made up almost entirely of former thieves themselves, first founded by a wily old reprobate named Desmond Kane almost fifty years ago. “Get a thief to catch a thief,” they say, and that’s our task. Together we monitor and manipulate, tracking serious crimes and solving problems before anyone else ever knows of them. No one except for a few conspiracy nuts really believe we exist. It’s a fun job. We even have bureaus on the moon and Mars colonies.

Rasmussen is the equivalent of a bureau chief in L5, and he is my direct handler. He’s the one who put me undercover at Starcal.  By the time he unlocked the door and entered his office, I had my feet up on his desk and was drinking his forty year old Scotch.

“Good stuff,” I noted as I swirled the heavy glass around in my hand. “A girl could get to like it.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Isabelle,” he said patiently. “We’ve had this talk. My private office is – ”

I cut him off. “We have a problem.” 

“Of course we do. You allowed someone to steal the only medical technology existing that has the possibility of significantly extending the human life span. An organization with unlimited access to this has long-term and short-term threat matrices in the red.”  

“We have a _different_ problem.”

“You mean besides you?”  He raised one eyebrow.  “You can speak freely.”

“I can now. I’ve set up a bug scrambler.” I stretched in his chair. “I think I know who financed the Lazarus Device theft from Starcal.”  I paused dramatically; he waited me out, so I leaned forward. “It looks to be Desmond Kane.”

This got Rasmussen’s attention. He shuffled forward, stocky body in the three piece suit looking more like an accountant than the man who hacked NASA back in the Ought’s to take a Mars rover for a joy ride.  “Kane. Our founder?” He stated it, letting the idea roll around in his head for a bit. “The man is one hundred and three. He’s supposedly in horrible shape, so he certainly has motive. He hasn’t left his mansion in five years. What makes you think he was behind the theft of the Lazarus Device?”

I laid out my chain of logic. The topnotch equipment and operatives used by the thieves, probably stolen from L5.  Hints from my prisoner’s confession.  I had data showing certain specialists in gerontology disappearing over the last few weeks, and fresh satellite data showing unusual activity at Kane’s estate.  All in all, pretty convincing stuff. We went over it in detail.

“The problem is that Kane has to know we’d figure this out. He isn’t senile as far as we know, so he knows our capabilities. This is what he trained us to do. So either he stole it and it’s a test, he stole it and didn’t think we’d trace it back to him, someone is clever enough to steal it and actually pin the blame on Kane, or he stole it and just doesn’t give a damn any more.”  We looked at one another for a long time. Conspiracies annoyed me.

Rasmussen made a decision. “You’re going in undercover at Kane’s mansion to find out which. We’ll insert you as. . .” He pulled up Kane’s file on his pad.  “As Dr. Janet Dale, a gerontology specialist who has been called to the mansion.  You can report to Support for ID, fingerrubs, retinal lenses, the works. I’ll dial the info on Kane’s mansion into your pad.”  He looked up with a frown. “Don’t screw this up, Grantham. That device is completely untested. My guess is that he’s old, dying and desperate enough to try to use it before it’s been tested on humans. We’ll need to save him from himself.”

“I don’t have a lot of sympathy. They killed five men stealing the equipment. They embarrassed me. I’ll do my job.”  I toasted him with his own whiskey and smiled sourly. “Long life.”

*  *  *

I had the mansion security specs memorized long before my aircar whirred in from the south and gave me a good look at the grounds. Two large wings on the house, a private airstrip by the stocked trout lake, and a tennis court or four. It was a shame that Kane was no longer young enough to take advantage of any of it. I could also tell that he had his own guard force, and I was impressed by the security that was designed to keep people out.

Luckily, I was bypassing all of that by coming in as an actual person. The real Janet Dale, M.D. Ph. D., was currently an unwilling guest of L5. I had become her in voice, mannerisms, and knowledge. Dye had changed the color of my hair, and padding in my cheeks helped alter the shape of my face. Colored retinal lenses, different posture, small glasses, and suddenly I was a different person. Janet was a dullard as far as I could tell, but I’d rather have that than try to infiltrate the mansion from the outside.

The security upon landing was intense. They scanned for hidden weapons, but I had been careful there and not taken any that could be detected. Ugly men in bad suits verified my identity and passed me through. I was brought up the mansion road in a little hovertrike. An Asian woman with her hair in a bun greeted me at the mansion’s main entrance.

“Doctor?”

“In the flesh.”

“I’m Miss Pring. We’re glad you’re here. Mr. Kane requested you in particular. He’s quite impressed by your work. We’re trying a radical procedure son, and your expertise will be helpful.”  We walked through long and silent halls filled with beautiful art objects. I let out a low whistle. Kane may have founded L5, but many of the things displayed here were stolen by him long before he turned legit. Museums all over the world would give their annual budgets to be able to see his collection and take back the pieces that used to be theirs.  

“Mr. Kane has quite a collection.”  I blinked. “What in the world is that?” I asked. Ahead of me in a display case was a collection of disembodied doll heads. They stared at me  blankly, each of them, looking out at the world with hollow and empty eyes. (3) Miss Pring coughed discretely.

“In addition to traditional art, Mister Kane has some unusual collections. He claims that there is a doll head in that display case for every employee since his retirement who thought to double-cross him and failed.”

I shuddered despite myself. There were easily fifty doll heads arrayed around the glass case.  “What happened to the rest of the dolls?” She raised one thin eyebrow. “What happened to the disloyal employees?” She raised both eyebrows. “Ah, I see. But I knew that when I was hired.”  She nodded. I didn’t tell her that the detectors on my earmike were pulsing. Kane was using those dolls heads to mask some fairly advanced video and electromagnetic observation equipment. We moved on down the hall, and the pulse faded. I had no doubt that even now my photographed face was being compared to computer records to ascertain that I was who I said I was. I hoped to God that we had done a good enough job on my back story.

We moved through several security doors and into a new wing. “Here is the hospital wing,” explained Miss Pring. “We have state of the art gerontology equipment here. Our job is to ensure that our employer lives as long and as effectively as possible.” The needle jabbed into my neck as I heard her words fade into the background. “Unlike you.”

I swam up from cold sleep, berating myself. They’d outmaneuvered me twice! I had been sure that even if they suspected I was a fake, they’d take the time to learn what I was up to. Apparently not. But I was still alive. . .?

Yes. With consciousness came blinding pain. I was certainly still alive. With sensation also came the awareness of cold.

“Miss Grantham.” The voice was a tinny and hideous wheeze, transmitted through some sort of a speaker. “I can tell by the machines that you’re now conscious. The next time you impersonate someone, you should expect that a cautious employer will use surreptitious DNA scanners. We had you typed from the moment you entered my aircar.” He broke down into a horrible, weak cough. “I’ve followed your career with great interest. I’m flattered you’ve decided to try and infiltrate my operation here.”

I made my mouth work. It took more effort than I expected. “Thanks.”

“Sadly, however, you will be unsuccessful. I do have the Lazarus Device. I need it.” His voice was feeble. “I’m dying, you see. I’d be gone by the time I could get it legally. I must admit that I hadn’t expected you to identify me as the thief so easily. That badly complicates things.”

“You should have died decades ago anyways. Don’t you think you’re being a little…” I swallowed pain. “Selfish?”

He cackled. “That’s what life is, Grantham. Selfishness! I do what I want, and I always have. You may not know it, but L5 was originally a scam designed to let me pilfer multi-billion credit government budgets. It turned out to work so well that we made it legit, but it was originally designed to do nothing more than make me rich. Never forget that.” 

The speaker snapped off for a moment. I forced open my eyes and found that I was trapped in an upright, fairly narrow metal tube. It felt almost like an iron lung, only upright.  A steel door with a small glass window filled one wall and a yellow light shone from both the floor and ceiling. Through the window I could see Kane’s beady yellow eye, like the eye of a buzzard, staring in at me in eagerness. He looked thoroughly insane.

“What is this thing?” I asked him. Experimentally, I tapped on the door; it was bolted shut from the far side. 

Kane grinned toothlessly, gray gums stretching wide across his cadaverous face. “You’re in my backup plan, Grantham. It uses liquid nitrogen to freeze you solid. That way we can revive you and cure your ailments once medical technology has caught up with you.” He laughed until he had to draw on the oxygen tank attached to his wheelchair. “Not in your case, though. In your case, we’re going to drop you from the top floor onto flagstones and find out how many pieces you shatter into.” He pressed a button and wheeled back a bit. “Goodbye, Grantham. I’ll add a doll head to the display for you.” 

The yellow lights brightened as I heard a hissing. Liquid nitrogen began to seep into the bottom of the chamber. It was designed with spray nozzles, but apparently Kane thought it would be more fun to watch me frozen piece by piece from the ankles up. Crystals of frost began to form on the metal as the temperature dropped precipitously. Backlit by the lights, they were beautiful (4) – but so was I, and this would be a lousy way to die.

So think. Where were the vulnerabilities? Kane – not much hope there – and the small Plexiglas window. Yes. I yanked my feet up out of the rising coolant and pulled off a shoe. I braced myself and reached down, brushing away forests of ice as I bent double towards the yellow light. My waterproof shoe dipped into the liquid nitrogen, now 8” high and rising. The leather of the shoe froze solid instantly, but it held the liquid long enough for me to raise it up and splash it against the Plexiglas window. Twice more before the shoe was too cold to hold, and the window was now thoroughly rimed with frost. I braced myself again, knowing that a slip here was instant death, and slammed my elbow into the window as hard as I possibly could.

It shattered.

The window was small, but I had enough room to snake my arm out and flip open the door release lever. That set off fail-safes which drained out the liquid nitrogen before the door would open. Kane wheeled closer and flipped the lever closed again; with a strength driven by desperation, I flipped it back open. By the time the door opened five minutes later, I was badly frostbitten and Kane had fled to the next room. I had heard distant shouts – ‘Do it now! Now!’  ‘But sir…’  ‘Now!’ – so I knew what to expect when I staggered across the floor, limping, and threw open the door. 

A gaggle of doctors and bizarre looking machinery surrounded the old man. He was still in his wheelchair, tubes sticking throughout his body and a metal cage of electrodes on his head. The technicians backed away as I approached.  The activation switch on the Lazarus Device was obvious, and it clearly was powering itself back down after having been activated.

At first I thought he was dead. He sat in the wheelchair, machines breathing for him, face completely slack. His mouth hung open in a toothless gape. He would have been pallid if his skin wasn’t naturally dark.  I didn’t know whether to feel pity or repulsion.  Considering what he had just tried to do to me, I was leaning more towards revulsion.

I reached down to take one of his hands and check his pulse. As I did, he exploded into motion. His arthritic fingers grabbed my frostbitten hand, twisted it, grabbed the other, and suddenly I found myself on the floor beside his wheelchair. I was gasping in pain. His strength was not to be believed. 

“Amazing!” His eyes snapped open, and his voice was much stronger. “I feel like a youth again! Why, I can do this!” He twisted his hands again, and I felt a wrist bone give. (5) “Amazing!” His eyes were bulging. I pulled myself away as he struggled to his feet for the first time in decades.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said in a cracked and manic tone, “I think we can say it works. For my first demonstration, I’d like you to watch me beat this young lady to death.” He smiled, and I was horrified to see jagged new teeth beginning to poke through the shriveled gums. “C’mere, sweetie.”

I smiled at him instead. “It worked so well the first time,” I said. “Let’s see how it does again.” He reached but over-balanced, and I danced around his outstretched arm to flip on the process a second time.

“No!” screamed one of the doctors. “It will…”

“Kill him?” I asked. I turned back to Kane, but he was screaming silently as he convulsed on the floor. Muscles rippled and popped as his entire body contorted. It looked painful. I approved.

“I’ll let Starcal know where to pick up their equipment. Save his life if you can,” I said as I strolled out. The medical personnel rushed forward. I glanced back.  “I’m not so sure that there’s much there worth saving.”

On my way out I smashed the display of dolls heads and looted some of his finest paintings for myself. It was good to be alive.

-o-

(1) Yarn
(2) veryround
(3) smilingfaces
(4) ode to the sun
(5) grip


----------



## alsih2o

about time!

 good luck to both of our finalists


----------



## Morfedel

Uhm, what is this thread about? I read the first several, and it wasnt clear.....


----------



## Spatzimaus

Short summary:

It's a tournament.  Start with 8 players.  Pair them off.

For each pair, the judge provides links to 4-5 pictures, each of which is interesting and/or distinctive in its own way.  The two contestants each have 48 hours to come up with a story incorporating the contents of the pictures.

At the end of the 48 hours, three judges determine who wrote the better story.  "Better" can be pretty subjective, since there have been poems, tragedies, comedies, and so on.

Winner advances to the next round, lather, rinse, repeat.


----------



## Morfedel

Ah, I see. Thanks.


----------



## babomb

I can't say I envy the judges. Excellent entries, both.


----------



## Sialia

Aggghh!  I'm having hideous morning after effect.


There was the remains of the efreeti drive in the boat. I spent forever setting that up!  If the characters had remembered to look inthe damn wreckage, they'd have found everything they needed without having to be rescued by Miguel.

I could kick myself.

But I was so tired.

Sometimes, good players do dumb things.


----------



## Zhaneel

Wow... very good, both of you.

Want to comment more.  Don't want to influence judges.

Was worth the wait... though I didn't see any heaving bosoms in PirateCat's story... seems like the romance novel migrated to Siala's.

Zhaneel


----------



## Sialia

Zhaneel said:
			
		

> Wow... very good, both of you.
> 
> Want to comment more. Don't want to influence judges.
> 
> Was worth the wait... though I didn't see any heaving bosoms in PirateCat's story... seems like the romance novel migrated to Siala's.
> 
> Zhaneel



I even managed to work in a throbbing member, just for you!
(eeyyuw)

Seriously, as soon as the judging is posted, I would love to have comments from anyone at all who wants to offer critiques or advice.

I know these things were all sort of fast and sloppy, and there are some dreadful continuity problems, at least back in the first one. Feel free to point them out if you find tem--I may polish up a last draft, just for my own personal files.

I learned more about writing doing these three stories than any writing excercise I've ever done before!

Thank you Mythago and Clay for the experience. It was far more rewarding than I ever imagined.


----------



## Berandor

My comments in spoiler tags, so as not to influence judges.



Spoiler



So Piratecat straikes again with a great story about the quintessential quest for youth. In but a few hundred words, he brings to life a whole world, complete with technological level and a law-enforcement agency that knows all the tricks (having used them themselves at one time or the other).
A very good tale, in my opinion superior to a lot of possible competition. It almost seems as if the reigning CDM does it again.

So I open Sialia's file - 27 pages! Am I really gonna read that? And isn't it too long for the contest? Honestly, who can write 27 pages in three days and make in worthwile throughout?
Remembering the comment that contestants have tried before (and failed) to string a continuous yarn throughout the contest rounds, I read on.

From a purely rational point of view, I feel the "End of the World" is too long. The village is fine, and it rounds out the story, but I somehow feel entries in the contest should be written tighter.
But emotionally, it gripped me again, and in no small part because it takes its time, allowing for a deeper experience. Volpe singing to Lillabo's sacrifice - magnificient.

Is the immensely satisfying ending of Sialia's story enough to beat Piratecat? I don't know, but in my opinion, it's a closer 2-1 win.


----------



## Piratecat

Berandor, thank you for analysis! The more constructive criticism the better, I think; feel free to "spoiler" it until judging is done, but I know I can't improve unless people tell me what they don't like about things I write.

Interesting confession: what you just read wasn't my original story.

My original story - the one I worked on for two and a half days before making the hard call - was a horror tale called "Keepsakes and Souvenirs" that was hoping to be halfway in tone between Lovecraft and Steven King. It was about a little kid who has to go live with his grandmother, and finds out the hard way that she's a serial killer who worships dark powers and grows insanities like secret fruit. It was meant to be tragic.  It had some interesting picture use: one doll head for every person she'd devoured, the "grip" photo as they fought rigor mortus while laying the dead mother's hands against her chest, the frost photo as the boy lay on the cold ground and listened to his shallow grave being dug nearby. 

I couldn't get it to work, though. I was having trouble keeping to an 11 year old voice, and it would have taken me too long to write before I could get the effect I was aiming for. Last night at dinnertime I finally bit the bullet and started over with my actual entry, writing it in about five hours. The heaving breasts got discarded in the change, although I tried to allude to a throbbing member just on general principle.  

Doing this taught me a tremendous amount - mainly that I need more practice writing! But it also showed me that I'm a faster writer when I'm having fun with the story itself. When I'm having fun, the words begin to leap out of me like a greased salmon from a clumsy bear. In comparison, I was trying to drag "Keepsakes" out of me with a tractor pull, and it was painful and not very satisfying.  Switching gears was just what I needed.

I'll wait to discuss the qualitative aspects of Sialia's and my stories until after the judging. Lets just say that I'm stealing the mindflayer amalgam for a D&D game.


----------



## Piratecat

Not that I'm anxious or anything, but I thought I'd bump this for the convenience of judges.


----------



## Zhaneel

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Not that I'm anxious or anything, but I thought I'd bump this for the convenience of judges.




Nice of you.  So thoughtful.  

Zhaneel

*bump*


----------



## Berandor

Well, I'm consciously avoiding detailed analysis because this is a message board game, and no real literary circle. As I'm not one of the judges, I don't think I need to be harsh on anyone, so I stay mostly general as not to offend. I know from personal experience that sometimes criticism just hits you the wrong way.

So don't read on if you're not serious 



Spoiler



So... honestly I wasn't too impressed by PCats story. It's still good, but it seemed kind of "phoned in". I got the feeling that I'd read the story before. The indirect defeat of the villain (using his machine against him) was also not very surprising. 
As I said, the world your story is set is immediately imaginable. The reader feels at home in the world, and the story - but that's partlly because it doesn't really cover new ground.
I also got the impression the story moves too fast. Where does the name of the female doctor come from? How do they know she's been invited? Do they regularly keep files on their employer's actions?
So the agent takes weapons with her that can't be detected. If they can't be detected, and the weapons are sponsored by the very person she's working against now, how come the guards don't know about these weapons and look for them? I would have expected her to go unarmed, confident to find weaponry in the estate or with using her "Unarmed Strike" feat.
Kane also does the classic Bond-mistake: Capturing the spy, telling all his plans, then leaving her alone in a fool-proof death trap. (not really alone, but a 100+ year old man? Come on) And a window in a freezing chamber... when I read about the freezing chamber and how Isabelle was going to freeze, I already knew she was going to break a window to escape. As I said, no surprises, and that kind of hurt the tension.
I half expected the Lazarus device to work differently, for example tranferring Kanes mind into a younger body, or into machinery, but alas, it didn't. The backwards transformation (teeth forming anew, etc.) was a cool touch, though. In the end, I waited for Kane's reappearance as a child 
I also didn't really get why all the doctors worked for him. Simply money? Coercion? Did they know they were working with stolen technology? That's like the "poor workers on the unfinished Death Star" discussion from Clerks, but I wondered. To be exact, I wondered during Kane's "amazing" monologue, as he proclaims he's now gonna beat Isabelle to death, expecting one of the doctors to come to her rescue (pulling the switch, maybe?).
In the end, I felt it was a competent, but not a very ground-breaking story, nor an especially brilliant one. But still much better than the second one, which almost fully fell flat for me (the humour just didn't click) 
Your story is a safe choice, but still a good one. I just wished you'd posted the other story, even if it would have been flawed. But playing to win has its advantages, as well. Good luck!


----------



## Sialia

Berandor said:
			
		

> Well, I'm consciously avoiding detailed analysis because this is a message board game, and no real literary circle. As I'm not one of the judges, I don't think I need to be harsh on anyone, so I stay mostly general as not to offend. I know from personal experience that sometimes criticism just hits you the wrong way.



On the other hand, I think both Piratecat and I put ourselves through this ordeal because we both want to grow as writers.
So, what they hey, if you've got comments about mine, lay it on me.

I've already put the stark naked thing out there, and everybody is already feeling whatever they feel about it. Letting me know what effect it had is just making me aware of reality, not changing it.

Thanks in advance!


----------



## Zhaneel

Okay, so I'm afraid I'm going to forget.  And I figured out how to use the spoiler tags, so I'm going to go ahead and post.

PirateCat's Story


Spoiler



I really liked this story.  I thought it was well written and involving.  While Berandor is right that it is somewhat predictable, I find that anything written in less than week tends to be on the predictable side.  It isn't until 2nd or 3rd drafts that the surprises and the unique stuff comes in.  I thought the main character was very interesting, and I started to suspect she wasn't who she was being presented as early on.  Though I thought she was working for the "bad" side [the comment about the confession not being good enough].  The villian is a stock villan, and needs to flushed out.  I'm with Berandor that if you want to work on this story more you'll need to establish why the doctors are working for him and to try to avoid the Bond Villian syndrome.  But overall, I really liked the story.



Sialia's Story


Spoiler



I've enjoyed all three of Sialia's stories.  However, I don't think this one was a strong as the second, though I think it was more interesting than the first.  My main beef with this story is Mirabelle's character.  The transition from her trying to beat up Miguel for touching her to hitting on Professor Volpe was too sudden and quick for me.  Especially in context of this story alone, though it is a little bit more reasonable in the context of all three stories together.  But mythago stated that each story must stand alone, so I'm inclined to give this more weight than I would if all three stories were told as one.  I think there needs to be something more than drink to give us the impression that Mirabelle would go after Volpe.  I know part of that probably springs from Tarby's (sp) death, as death makes people want to procreate, but it still wasn't enough for me.  Much of the story was focussing on being in Lillabro's head for the dreams, but the story was about Volpe & Mirabelle, so I think POV needs to be tightened.  The emotional loss of Lillabro was blunted because of Tarby's death so close already.  I just couldn't work up the emotional reserves to care that she was sacrificing herself.  *shrug* It just didn't work for me, personally.



Zhaneel


----------



## Maldur

I mailed my judgement.

Again hard.


----------



## Sialia

Zhaneel said:
			
		

> Sialia's Story
> 
> Zhaneel



All very fair comments. I had a whole lot less time to work on this one, and was worried about some of the same things.

After the judging is in, I will hold forth with my lengthy justification for some of these decisions. Which won't alter the fact that certian things, even if justifiable outside of the story, weren't well contained _within_ the story. that's the author's work, not the reader's.

If and when I do a revision, I'll be sure to bring in any data that I think might be mitigating.

Thanks for your comments.

P.S. 



Spoiler



Can't say I wept a whole lot for Lillabo either. Bandeeto and I both came rapidly to the conclusion that karmically, she was for the chop. Really, if there was anything awful about her death, it would have been how the other characters felt about it. You'll note that I didn't switch over to Mirabelle's point of view during the death scene. Every time I asked myself what Mirabelle was doing as Lillabo went down, I got answers like "The Macarena" and "Celebratory shots of Tequila." So we stuck with Volpe, who did, in fact, feel pretty bad about it.


----------



## Berandor

I'm stuck with a review at the moment, but will take on Sialia tomorrow. Promise.

Oh, err, her story, that is.


----------



## Cedric

I enjoyed both stories...now just anxiously awaiting judgement!


----------



## Zhaneel

Sialia,

I just had some thoughts running through my head last night.  Tarnby's death was an impact because we had seen he was a true friend and caring soul.


Spoiler



However, Lillabro's death meant nothing becuase she was (mostly) just comic relief and a convient character.  Perhaps getting to know her and understanding why Volpe mourns her would help the readers be more emotionally affected in the third installment. Just a thought.  You mentioned about the 2nd one that Tarnby was death fodder 'cause you didn't know him well.  And then so was Lillabro.  This speaks to me of a not so good habit as a writer to kill off characters who aren't interesting to you.  Deaths are more interesting when the character has been interesting. GRR Martin does a superb job at making you care about the characters before killing them.



Zhaneel


----------



## Berandor

It's the "End of the world", and in the spoiler text - my thoughts.



Spoiler



So we start off with a curse - that's standard. Or better, the lack of a curse, a nice play on the previous stories and yet a possible weakness if you're planning to disregard those.
So let me now say that  I won't do that. If I would, then I would expect more introduction to setting and characters in stories 2 and 3, and I would be bored. But I can't expect Sialia to keep the stories apart and yet not repeat herself in presentation, so I'm happy with continuity.
And yet, the beginning of the story is in my mind too dependant on the previous story (yes, I know, I contradict myself). We start off with the mourning for someone who died somewhere and somehow - all of this happening before the story. While I don't really need a total independence of the stories, they should be capable to at least barely stand alone. The second story, while keeping characters and setting, was a good example of that. The End of the World, however, reads like another chapter of a book, not like an autonomous short story or, in Sialia's case, novella. 
So then we retread "Shogun", albeit without Richard Chamberlain, but complete with Dutch language and a bathing scene reminiscent of Clavell. The End of the World seems to be in Japan.  I was put off by that culture change somehow, as well as the sudden change in climate.
I loved the maypole scene, however, and would have really liked to know who won 
Volpe repeats more than once his admonishment about the last village, the very last village. I understood it as "please let us remain in good graces of at least one settlement." So it's not only the last village on the planet, meaning the village on the Edge of the World, but also the last village Volpe hasn't had to flee yet. However, I don't think that really became clear. 
Speaking of clarity, there are some things that could have been cleared up. Especially when the story is as long as this one (compared to other entries), leaving motivations or circumstances vague should be avoided. Why else do you need the space, if not to explain why Mirabelle suddenly throws herself at Volpe with abandon, so much that she gets frustrated when he doesn't reciprocrate. Of course, Tarnby's death, the liquor, the illithids all play a part in this, but by refusing to show us Mirabelle's point of view, it doesn't seem natural for her to act  thusly - especially so close after attacking the friendly Miguel at the mere suggestion of indiscretion.
On the other hand, the story is full with hints and suggestions of greater ideas: the crumbling village with people still living there, Miguel and his numerous wives, some might even be his (grand-)daughters, the fleetingness of time. Lillabo's dreams are symbolic and poetic, and really enhance the mood.
The final confrontation is suprising because the reader wouldn't expect the fungus having such an effect and absorbing the illithids. Lillabo's death wasn't that surprising anymore, and also not very harrowing, but the professor's singing proved a strong companion to her sacrifice, and I liked that very much. If Volpe would have died, as well, and Mirabelle had remained - she who shut herself off from others, finally alone - that would have been tragic, and I would have preferred such an end. 
As it is, the story ends on a high note, with the promise of future. The conflict, once again, was glossed over (like the conflict with the mind flayers, or the theft of the boat), as it was not important for the hero's voyage.
All in all, if you would want to write more short stories, I'd try and cut even more than you probably did. The maypole, Miguel, and some minor things wouldn't have been necessary for the story, especially out of the contest context (with no need to incorporate the pictures). My suggestion, however, would be to concentrate on novels, as you'd have more space to flesh out your themes and ideas - and I'd really enjoy that. 


if you have any question, ask away.

ETA: And Zhaneel: Word! That's why 



Spoiler



I would have preferred to see Volpe die, as well - I knew an liked him.


----------



## Zhaneel

Oh yeah, quick note:



Spoiler



I never understood what it was that Lillabro did to kill the illithid conglmorate, so that really confused me and me appreciate her sacrifice even less.  Would be good if the readers knew/understodd what the sacrifice accomplished.  Maybe I missed it, though.



Zhaneel


----------



## Sialia

Thanks Berandor!

Some replies to specific points:



Spoiler



The bathhouse wasn't ripped from Shogun. It was ripped from my victory dance from celebrating my graduation in December. I left out the massage because some things are too fine to share.

The cultural mix is a direct depiction of the racial and ethnic mix of the neighborhood I live in. Yes, the kids on the playground here do speak a jumble of Japanese, Chinese, Dutch, Spanish, Hindi and even occasionally English. The market was based on a combination of a real Italian market, a Chinese market in San Francisco, and the mostly Hispanic flea market in San Jose. I have read Shogun, but it never crossed my mind during this writing spree.

As far as the continuity/stand alone thing-- by Friday evening I made the decision that completing the story was more important to me than winning. It took a couple of glasses of Southern Comfort to learn to live with the decision, but it was the right one. Losing the contest I'll get over in a few days. Not getting the characters to a place of closure has no end for me. I never manage to let go of unfinished tales. As a mitigating courtesy, I did what I could to recap anything important from the earlier tales for those tuning in late.




> So it's not only the last village on the planet, meaning the village on the Edge of the World, but also the last village Volpe hasn't had to flee yet. However, I don't think that really became clear.



 
Yup--that’s what I meant. Sorry it wasn’t clear. They started out in roughly the equivalent of West Virginia, and worked their way across the continent, and may not have a clear sense of whether there are any other continents besides the one they are on. They’ve come to the far west of it, and can not go any farther in the direction they’ve been going, and they’ve left a mess behind them every single place they’ve been, because they're the kind of characters who flee their troubles instead of facing them.

Obviously, they could go north or south--there’s plenty of world they’ve missed, but they are out of supplies and exhausted, and Volpe is trying to impress on the kleptomaniac and the hostile non-diplomat that they need to be on their best behavior just this once.




> Why else do you need the space,



 
because I’m a long winded and arrogant bastard. ;-)




> if not to explain why Mirabelle suddenly throws herself at Volpe with abandon,



 
because she decided to get over herself when she realized that they all nearly died back there. Tarnby may have been the only one who got the axe, but it was a very near thing for all of them. Again, my job to explain that, and I didn’t. Or rather, I moved her discussing that to a different place, where it looked like she was talking about something else, and it was less effective there.
In any case, she realized that she wanted him, and decided to do something about it, because she's not into subtle flirting, and Volpe needed to be hit over the ehad with a brick to realize that she wasn't off limits to him, and Mirabelle is always obliging about providing clue bricks.




> especially so close after attacking the friendly Miguel at the mere suggestion of indiscretion.



 
Ok, true confession: Miguel was supposed to be the love interest.
Ah, but it was disgusting. I couldn’t bear it.
While I was sweating over that, she informed me that the reason the scene didn’t work was that Miguel hadn’t earned her trust the way Volpe had. Miguel had no right to touch her. Volpe did. But of course, he was too . . .Volpe . .. to permit himself any thoughts on the subject. And by the time I got my head around all of that, I forgot that the rest of you weren’t in on her admission about him to me. 

You have to imagine how fast I have to write to build these things--27 pages in less than 2 days takes a lot of doing. Yeah, I had three, but I also have a life. Saturday night I spent drinking champagne in Chinatown. Sunday my child spiked a fever and passed out in a restaurant in the middle of a plate of pancakes. So 2 days is all this one got.




> Miguel and his numerous wives, some might even be his (grand-)daughters,



 
ah no--he specifically said only round ears are allowed to compete. He’s careful about that sort of thing.

We’ll go in to the fungus later. Lots of research in that one--too long to tell now.

Lillabo’s death wasn’t meant to be tragic. She did an awful thing to Tarnby, and I thought of it as karmic payback time. Her one effort she’s ever made in her whole life to clean up a mess she’s made, to set something right that she left behind.

Lillabo started as my first and favorite character. But from the vantage point I am at now, I saw her immaturity and her need to grow up. I gave her a chance to do that. And she did it and I was proud of her for it. Again, I’m sorry that didn’t come through clearly. I felt kind of grossed out at the lack of subtley in the emotional tearjerking in the second one, and decided to try something different--a death that was well earned. 

Mirabelle and Volpe both also needed to work on certain character flaws to achieve growth and closure. Neither of them needed to die to get there. They both got there, but it was 4 am on Monday at that point, and so it was perhaps not as well done as it could have been done. C’est la guerre.

The maypole and Miguel are both absolutely essential to what this story is about. Go back and look at it again, and think about what the yarn, the town, the fungus mind and Volpe all have in common.

It's there, I promise. 
It was the reason for writing the tale.


----------



## Berandor

Before I do that: Don't use the time constraint as an excuse - you didn't have to write 27 pages in 2 days, you could have just written five.  (this may look like it, but I'm not really reprimanding you here)
As for Shogun, that's what came to my mind when I read it. Can't help it 
I didn't get the karmic quality of Lillabo's death, I must admit. Also I just feel it very harsh because while she killed Tarnby (in fact, cursed him to a worse fate), I don't regard that as an act punishable by death - in fantasy terms (not Real Life).
Yarn, Maypole, Volpe, Minds - they all depend on women?  (I will re-read it momentarily)
I actually like that you chose to complete the story, as I always like risk-taking, and you obviously took one.
Hmm. 



Spoiler



They're unfinished. Yes, they need to be finished by a woman. But I feel like I miss something. Argh!



Anyway, I hope you're child is well again.


----------



## BSF

I really want to jump into the conversation here, and I promise I will.  No, really!  But, I have been doing a lot of gaming writing at the moment and getting by on way too little sleep because of it.  It's funny because I read Sialia's story and there are so many similarities between characters.  All that from what little Sialia knows of me and my character.  It's odd ... and weird.  I need to finish up the writing I am doing for game stuff and then I can revisit the stories and tell everyone what I liked/disliked and why.  

In any event, I enjoyed both stories!  

PS - Sialia, I hope your little one is better.  I know that when my little boy gets sick, it makes it harder to concentrate on other things.


----------



## Maldur

btw Sialia you should work on your dutch!


----------



## Piratecat

Thanks again for the advice and criticism, Berandor and Zhaneel.  You've made me rethink and reexamine certain decisions I made, and that alone is very valuable to me. Berandor, you'd probably make a good editor.


----------



## Zhaneel

You're very welcome PirateCat.

I'm trying to do this at work or right before bed, so I haven't had a lot of time.  I think maybe I will volenteer to help judge the next round, if people will have me.

Zhaneel


----------



## Piratecat

Based on last contest, if there _is_ a judge rotation  it might go to the upcoming winner. Wakka wakka!

By the way, I deleted Berandor's eight "double" posts. Somehow, I'm guessing the boards were slow this afternoon.


----------



## Sialia

Maldur said:
			
		

> btw Sialia you should work on your dutch!



I blame Google. 

I don't speak but perhaps six words of Dutch, and have no understanding of the grammar. Best I could do was try the same prhase at a couple of different translation sites and pass it forwards and back a few times. 

But I figured,the kid may be a polyglot, but he's not necessarily fluent in everything either. Dutch is definitely less common around here than Spanish or Chinese.

Anyway, if you want to send me the correction, I'll add it to the list of things I will fix when I can bear to look at this story again.


----------



## Sialia

OK the following is for those of you who like things pureed and spoon fed.

If you prefer to do your own reading, please ignore.

The Fully Detailed Naked Explanation of what the Heck I was Talking About in Round 3



Spoiler



OK, all three stories are about the perception of the passage of time.



Each also has a sub-theme:

            The first is about the definition of art.

            The second was meant to be about performance, but came out being more about dramatic composition.

            I don’t have a good single word for the third, but I think “politics” is as close as I can get. Perhaps "integration."



The village is made up of many different peoples, which they celebrate with their many-hued maypole. As I tried to have Miguel explain, the point of the village is not to blend all the cultures into one bland homogenized thing, but rather to celebrate the uniqueness of the individuals.



The fungal mind is made up of many, many minds, but they are illithid minds (and a few dwarfs and a halfling). The illithids were setting up a new colony, which means they were far from their original Elder Brain, and ready to form a new one. But since the psi-fungus overloaded from the feedback of being involved in the taste-linked performance eating and ate them, it merged them without properly being able to integrate them into the single personality of a true Elder Brain. (Remember, Illithids don't become petitioners when they die--they merge with their elder brain. There is no other afterlife for an Illithid.)

As discussed in the Illithiad, illithids despise partial personalities--their survival and reproduction depends upon it. So they are fundamentally required to try to excise any part of the brain that is trying to exert independent thought. Which, in this case, was all of them. It is likely that the creature would have destroyed much of itself until only one dominant personality was left. At that point it would have become much more like a true Elder Brain (with the accompanying 5 mile radius of psi influence that would surely have eaten much of Berryessa.)



Volpe is a true blend of many things: elf, human and halfling. He does not see himself as being made of parts--he is himself, with one unique identity. Problem is, without having peers like himself to associate with, he is anxious about who and what he is, what his purpose in life is, etc. and this anxiety keeps him endlessly on the move, and detached from other people. So his integration is successful, but his self understanding and his ability to connect with other people is not. His other problem is that he is hundreds of years old, and he finds it difficult to connect with shorter lived purebred halflings who come and go so quickly. He wonders what is the point of trying to create anything when he has seen so many things end. As a historian, his is obsessed with uncovering evidence of the ends of things older than himself.



Miguel is like him--a mix-breed. Also unfathomably old. If Volpe is hundreds of years old, Miguel is thousands of years old. He has learned to cope with being what he is. He is in the story to give Volpe a chance to see that it is not all futile, just because it is also all endlessly falling in to the sea. Also because, like a certain moderator that I chose to honor, he has the gift of being able to set limits on what is acceptable behavior without doing harm. If Mirabelle learns nothing more from him than how to accept help gracefully when she needs it, she has learned one of the things she needs to know to be able to grow.


----------



## Zhaneel

Sialia said:
			
		

> OK the following is for those of you who like things pureed and spoon fed.




I like spoonfed.  I like spoonfed from the author AFTER I've read my own meaning into it.

So this was interesting to me.  I think some of what you were trying to do came across, but much of it (due to a 3 day writing time) got scrunched and mushed so that those of us not in your brain didn't get it (or at least I didn't).

I also find it interesting that you knew what you were writing about.  As in a theme.

I (rarely) write with a theme in mind.  I write a story and then on the re-reading and editing find the theme and build the editing around trying to polish that theme.

Frex: One of my (very) early stories concerned the killing of a dragon.  When I wrote it, I wrote just to get it out of my head and for a creative writing assignment.  When others read it, they told me it was about euthansia.  Looking at it later, I realized they were right and was able to strengthen the story with that in mind.  However, the story ended up being a conglamoration of 5+ years of my writing style growing and changing so it is basically crap at this point.

More recently I wrote a story that I knew had a theme going in (environmentalism in vague terms), but I tried to just let it write.  Afterwards, I'm working on editing it to make the message more clear without being a clue-by-four and also to polish the sub-theme (it is wrong to trap a wild being).

My most recent story was a struggle, because I had no concept of a theme.  And without it, I was floundering for an ending.  I still haven't hit upon a good theme, so while the story is "ended" it is not "finished" because I hate the ending.  

Zhaneel


----------



## arwink

Sorry for the delay Folks.  

Came back from the Con to find a bunch of work-things had gone boom and needed my attention.  Got a copy of both the stories printed out, though, and will get through them either this evening or tomorrow.


----------



## Piratecat

*twitch* No rush, Arwink. Take your *twitch* time!

Hope the con was fun.


----------



## Berandor

Thanks for deleting my posts, PirateCat!
Perhaps I might make a good editor, except for editing my own stuff 
Sialia: I think all of this is in the story, but some of the themes didn't occur to me before as belonging to a common idea.  That is definitely a result from the time limit.
So now, after you read my points, let's wait for arwink showing me how it's done right


----------



## Cedric

I'm so glad I'm not PC or Sialia...cause I'd be pulling my hair out right now. (oh my, was that insensitive? heh)

Cedric


----------



## Sialia

Cedric said:
			
		

> I'm so glad I'm not PC or Sialia...cause I'd be pulling my hair out right now. (oh my, was that insensitive? heh)
> Cedric



Well, unless the judges are a lot sweeter than Zhaneel and Berandor, at this point the bragging rights mostly consist of "I didn't suck as badly as my opponent." And somehow, I'm just not counting on the judges being sweeter. 

Nor am I actually especially interested in sweetness for it's own sake.

It's interesting to hear about what worked and what didn't work. 

Writing these stories was the reward for doing this contest for me. I learned some things that I can use again forever, that I really needed to know. At least two. 

1. I used to try to build my stories by creating characters and then take one long thread of thought and try to knit a plot for them. This almost always failed. The characters would be interesting but they would sit around and talk forever and do nothing and go nowhere. I didn't know where I was trying to take them, and just kept hoping something interesting would occur. It rarely did, or at least it would only result in amusing episodes, and not a rise toward climatic action.

For these, I created good characters and then took a series of "beads" (key moments I wanted to develop), crafted them first, and then ran the characters and the plot string through them. This works fabulously, and because I was able to repeat the trick three times, I know it was not a unique fluke.

It's similar to how Piratecat has told me he crafts a module. There are a series of things he wants the players to get to, but they have freedom to be themselves and get from point A to Point G in whatever way seems to make the most sense. 

Being able to concentrate on a theme at the same time as the characters and a plot comes from knowing that each "bead" can have both a literal meaning and also metaphorical meaning. It doesn't matter which comes first, as long as you eventually find both. So I can introduce the rocks first just as rocks, and then have characters discuss them later. Or I can have Noachsvernvorel work the second level of her hands at the moment they arrive in the story.

Generally, I prefer not to use any focal thing in a story which I have not previously established is present in the world. So my stories run long because I want to introduce the basket of heads before I use them for the nightmare sequence.

2. When I was at a party Saturday night, I got to chatting with a scriptwriter from LA. I didn’t discuss my story with him specifically, but I asked him how to create a thought that was neither so predictable that the audience could see it coming miles off, nor so erratic that they couldn’t follow it as it unfolded. His advice was to go deeper into the characters. Each person has his/her own motivations. If you know what the character wants as short term goals, as long term goals and also as underlying needs, then you will be able to find the way that the character will try to solve his/her problems in a way that is unique to that individual.

This made perfect sense. It’s why GMs are continually surprised by their players, and players are frequently surprised by GMs. The more you are inside somebody’s point of view, the more it seems like there is an obvious thing to do that is only obvious to that person. It's what saves a plot from being to linear, where it seems that the characters have no choices at all and are being railroaded through the sequence of beads.

Now, with a little more time, once you’ve gotten there, you can show the story to some other readers and then try to get a sense of how far you had your head up that character’s, um, ‘persona’ (hi, grandma!), and then you can try to help the audience get there, too. What did you need to know about this character to be able to follow her train of thought that I forgot to tell you about because I was so far in her that it seemed obvious to me?

The other way to “go deeper” for me was to go back and re-research my characters classes, levels, inventories, and the ecology of my monsters. If you know what’s in their toolkits, how they work, and you know what they want to achieve, it is easier to make them do something interesting and plausible with what they have to work with.


----------



## Zhaneel

Wow, Sialia that was very informative and interesting.  Thank you for sharing.

OTOH, I will re-state: I liked both your and PC's stories.  So it is not a matter of "who sucked the least."  You both wrote good stories and you both wrote well.

The critism is just that: Constructive critism.  How to make your good better.

Zhaneel


----------



## Cedric

Actually Sialia from my reading of Zhaneel and Berandor's criticism...I believe they were offering the criticism they would have offered had you turned these in as polished stories with plenty of time to write them. 

The judges for Ceramic DM do an excellent job of keeping in mind that this is a restricted, timed competition. 

Had you been able to spend whatever amount of time you needed and not had to conform to the subject matter in the photo's, I feel that Zhaneel and Berandor's criticism would be spot on. 

As is, since you didn't have the luxury of plentiful time and you had to include certain subject matter to satisfy the restraints of the competition...I think you both wrote excellent stories. 

And though I can't speak for them, I would wager that Zhaneel and Berandor both agree...

Cedric


----------



## Sialia

Thanks Cedric.

While it is true that Piratecat and I both have a pretty thick skin where criticism is concerned, and are seriously interested in learning from our mistakes, praise is nice too.

For example, when I was reading Piratecat's, there were several times where I kicked myself and said "Now why can't I write snappy patter like that?" 
His overall pacing was brisk, his storyline easy to follow, and his world full of nice crunchy scene setting detail that didn't bog down the flow of events with vast irrelevant panoramas or unnecessarily minute detail. 

It said everything it needed to say within a few pages and didn't take all night to read. It moved smoothly from necessary moment to necessary moment, with clear transitions.

And to think, he did it in about one day.

If I could write that fast and that well and had had a full three days . . .  I wouldn't be sitting here trying to convince myself that I don't care how this comes out.

I'd be gloating over his impending humiliation with hand rubbing chuckles.

Not that I'm the competitve, overachieving sort, or anything.


----------



## Zhaneel

*kicks self* One of the first things I learned as a critiquer was to offer good with bad.  *twack*  I didn't do that here.  I'm sorry.  I did like parts and if you like I will go back and point out what I thought worked well too.

*slinks off*

Zhaneel


----------



## Berandor

Sialia: I don't think you have a problem writing fast 

Cedric is right: I judged these stories independent of the Ceramic DM circumstances (time constraints, images, etc.). Furthermore, I tried to include things I liked in both your stories (as I liked both your stories!). However, it's easier to tell why something didn't work then to say why something does work. I don't really know why I got goosebumps at Tarnby's death and the call to rebellion, other that I like these scenes.
You're right, though - I should have taken more care for positive encouragement (though that's what spouses are for ).
And don't let anybody tell you the stories suck! They don't.


----------



## Sialia

Thanks guys!


----------



## Zhaneel

*The good!*

Okay, here we go:

Sialia first



Spoiler



"Largest pickle crock in the world" Funny wonderful image.  OTOH, I've been reading Prachett, and this just sounded like a Prachett thing to say.  Wondefully done.

I loved the descriptions.  Yes, there were 27 pages, but you knew where you were and what was going on around you.  Rarely did reader have to strain to imagine the surroundings.  Could it be cut? Maybe.  I'm inclined to agree with Bernador and say that your mind is set for novels where you have the time to explore all this wonderful descriptive work.

The quick recap of story 2 was quick and well done.  [Thoughts about the boat & dying together] Could even be left in when/if all 3 stories are joined.

Really liked the fastidious old lady who bathed the group.  Would have loved to have seen more of her.

Good contrast of the thoughts w/Tarnby and hte need for food by Lillabro.  Shows how important he was to the group as a whole and how much they took him for granted.

Miguel's patience with Mirabelle is a great example of showing his age and wisdom.

Darkness, tangled metal, mmmm... shivers.  Wonderful for building the suspense while chasing Lillabro.

Something I missed on the first read "The little mushroom told me it was a good idea."  Umm... did I miss that also in the second story?  Since when are mushrooms able to do that?  From being around the Illithids?

Volpe's song was a great counterpoint and message about Lillabro's scarifice.  And I understood what Lillabro and Tarnby were doing the second time around, though I still wonder if Tarnby thought they would win or just buy time.

"Mirabelle was glad to be indoors, unblessed."  *giggle* wonderful use of the langauge.



PC



Spoiler



This story had a wonderful opening.  It drew you in and made you wonder WTF was going on.  I thought the usage of the yarn and round objects as weapons (and the doll's heads as scanners) were wonderful.  Great way to take ordainary objects and make them special.  You've got a wonderful world here that I'd love to play in.  Interesting reference to the Mars rover, very timely.  Made me smile.

I loved that Miss Pring was an agent of Kane's; made me want to see more of her during the fight/death.

Also, in re-reading, I think I like the Bond Villian problem.  Kane has NEVER lost.  The doll's heads show his personality and that he brags about murdering people.  I think this just expands that he gets off on being right and pulling one over on people.

Wonderful Finale.  Once a Theif, always a Theif.



Sorry I didn't include stuff like the first time 'round.

I do think both of you did a great job.  And I think you did better than I could have given the same pictures and time.

Congrats to both of you, regardless of who wins, you've both shown excellent writing and poise.

Zhaneel


----------



## Berandor

Great! Now I gotta do this also! 



Spoiler



Sialia:
“Each of them felt selfish and ashamed for having thought it.“ I loved that, how they all found something positive in their imprisonment and felt ashamed because it cost Tarnby's life. That seemed real, somehow.
I also must congratulate you on your choice of language. You frequently use literary tricks like metaphoras, similies etc. to bring your world to life. Like Zhaneel said, you always know where the characters are at any moment, without having to plow through paragraphs after paragraph of description.
I also liked how you made tarnby a character here by including images of what would have happened with him. That's also a real part of mourning, reminiscing about the lost person and how s/he would affect the situation.
"She was a Solstice Queen to remember." Here you speak the reader's mind. I loved that woman, how she playfully encouraged the girls!
I really like the scene leading up to Mirabelle's attempt at seduction. How Volpe watches over Lillabo's sleep, and then Mirabelle simply rests her head on his shoulder. If not for the scene with Miguel, I would have nothing to say against it 
The spellcasting was done great, I thought. I _knew_ it was Protection from Evil, and yet no such claims were made. That's something a lot of fiction set in a game environment neglects.
"He sang of her faith in a world remade." That touched me, as such a faith must be strong, indeed, and is worthy of song. And even though it's not made for the situation, it fits nonetheless (because naturally, it IS made for the situation, but still ).
"they would be tricky to catch as waterbugs on a still pond. " This is what I was talking about. Cool image!
"Volpe smiled, thinking of the tune Tarnby would have whistled at that, and the smirk that would have flashed through Lillabo’s innocent wide eyes." A Great Ending! Remembering the lost ones while celebrating life. Wonderful!

PirateCat:
"Admittedly, Jim was caught a little off guard when I shot the old lady." Off we go! A great beginning as we are immediately in the mind and place of our heroine. There is nobody who wouldn't read on after that.
Oh, sorry, I just found something I didn't like. I hope that's alright: "blabla confirmed my suspicions." End. There is another instance later on, as well. We read the main character's mind, but now that she got a clue, we as readers don't get to know it, because the revelation will be more interesting later on. I realize this isn't so much a flaw as a personal preference, but I always dislike it when it's done in mystery novels, so I just had to call it out. 
"... and the disguise I was wearing that day was fairly fetching." I like that. Why is she wearing a disguise when she's on official duty? Because she always wears a disguise! Cool tidbit about her personality/character.
O.K., I just have to compliment you on your names. "Ghost" Grantham, Desmond Kane, Rasmussen (o.K., not Jim ). These names fit their characters, a very difficult and yet important detail.
I don't have to praise your evocative style, I believe, because you know you've got it 
"Don’t you think you’re being a little (...) selfish?" I LOVE that, simply because Isabelle herself is a majorly selfish person (as shown by the fact that she steals stuff at the end of the story, or how she breaks into Rasmussen's office, etc. Quipping in the face of danger, yeah!
I already told you that I liked the backwards change. 
"It looked painful. I approved." Precise, and witty. Clearly, our heroine is in control again. Nice.



In the end, I can only agree with Zhaneel again (don't tell anyone that Zhaneel's my second alt after Baere... Whisperfoot )


----------



## Sialia

And many thanks again!  

I feel much better now. Maybe there is something here worth going back to revise and polish, once I'm over the constraints of the competition.


----------



## Zhaneel

Berandor said:
			
		

> In the end, I can only agree with Zhaneel again (don't tell anyone that Zhaneel's my second alt after Baere... Whisperfoot )




Ark!

Hey now... I've gone through a lot of trouble to break out of you.  No fair trying to squish me back into your personality.  ;-)

Zhaneel

*who is really herself, ask mythago*


----------



## Piratecat

To save me the prospect of repeated checking, do the esteemed judges have an approximate time that the judgment will be posted? I think Sialia and I are responsible for a whole lot of thread views.


----------



## Swack-Iron

Piratecat said:
			
		

> To save me the prospect of repeated checking, do the esteemed judges have an approximate time that the judgment will be posted? I think Sialia and I are responsible for a whole lot of thread views.




So PC, maybe now you know how we all feel when you haven't updated your storyhour as soon as you thought you would have. *ahem*    

Mythago's been putting in long hours at her new job, and we're in California, so I suspect you've got to wait a bit more.


----------



## target

Sialia: I had some random thoughts on your set of stories in general.  Feel free to totally ignore them.

First, I enjoyed the stories individually, and as a whole.  It was entertaining to see the characters progress, and I found I was looking forward to your third entry, since I wanted to see how they ended up.

But I also noticed that I liked the first story the best, followed by the second, and liked the third the least of the three.  It's hard to put my finger on why, exactly.

I felt like the first story had the most depth to it.  This is possibly because I overlooked the integration themes in the third one, but I didn't find them to be all that apparent, even on rereading after knowing what to look for.

In the first story, I liked the exploratory nature of it -- we didn't know what the rules of the world are, and it was fun to learn them.  I really especially liked the social commentary via dragon pov -- it made the story feel more connected to us, and not a fantasy story in a vacuum.  I felt it was quite the impressive achievement in the limited time you had.

I didn't feel that same anticipation in the latter two stories.  Partly this is because the world was established, and there needed to be less revealing of it -- indeed, my favorite moment in the second story is when we discovered what the herd was made of.  There wasn't anything like that in the third story.

But partly it is also because the story was only concerned with the characters, and not with us.  This is not a problem with stories in general -- most stories are like that, of course.  But without that extra level of meaning, I found I cared a little less for the characters.  Iron chef references notwithstanding.  The second story also suffered a little from obviousness.  She picks up the mushroom rose, and we know immediately that it's the tool they will use to escape.  I like that you killed off one of them, though.  The obviousness issue is likely triggered by the difficult format -- the rose is a picture, so it must be important, and the characters really have no hope or options other than what we've been told.

Finally, the third....  It was the one of the three that suffered from length, I think.  It tries to be two very different stories.  The first is a quiet story about the last village, and fitting in, and recovering from their horrors.  It's about Mirabelle finally relearning how to love and trust, and Lillabo's agony over part 2, and the professor's having to revaluate his personal relationships and ideas as well.  Miguel fits well into this story, as does the maypole.

But it's also an adventure, fighting against the fungal amalgam, adventures, magic, etc.  This feels like a different story, and the lesson which Volpe learns from Miguel about his parts and ways of looking at the world feels very disconnected from the illithid adventure bit.  I feel like the story would have hung together better had Lillibo just jumped off a cliff instead of fighting with illithid -- it would have been at least as shocking to Volpe, been less of a distraction, and made the story feel a bit more complete in itself, since it would need fewer references to the last episode.  Think New Yorker instead of DnD adventure.

Anyway, take that for what you will -- this is just the ramblings of a critic who can't do it himself, after all.  Excellent set of three stories under remarkably challenging conditions -- my congratulations on putting together something this impressive this quickly.

Good stories, both of you.  I'd write a similar post about Piratecat's story, but it's a lot less ambitious, and therefore less interesting to critically analyze, even if it did end up being the somewhat better story.

- target


----------



## mythago

I'm even at work now (shhhhh)...

When all the judgments are in, I'll note that on the subject line.


----------



## arwink

Piratecat said:
			
		

> To save me the prospect of repeated checking, do the esteemed judges have an approximate time that the judgment will be posted? I think Sialia and I are responsible for a whole lot of thread views.




My fault entirely - The time at the con meant I'd missed the e-mail informing me that todays meeting was actually seven and a half hours long  

I'm reading the entries and writing comments now.  I should be done and have it sent off in an hour or so.


----------



## arwink

Sent.

Now I'm going to go read everyone elses comments, watch a bad zombie movie that doesn't require me thinking, and fall asleep for the next six or seven hours


----------



## Piratecat

mythago said:
			
		

> I'm even at work now (shhhhh)...






			
				arwink said:
			
		

> Todays meeting was actually seven and a half hours long




You guys have had it worse than we have. Thank you!


----------



## alsih2o

*twiddles thumbs, sweats, fidgets*

 AND i am nervous.


----------



## mythago

E-mail hasn't arrived yet, so go slow on the coffee, everyone


----------



## alsih2o

man1 i have had a constant drumroll going on my little keyboard holder for about an hour now...i am getting tired...


----------



## Sialia

Interlude while we wait:

The idea of a bard who can’t sing all that well is actually borrowed from a character Piratecat played in someone else’s campaign. (still plays?)

That character tells awful jokes as his primary form of bardly performance. I kid you not. He’s also a fairly important cleric and the party leader.

Anyway, I always thought the puns and one liners were cute but kind of goofy until the day I guest played the monster for that campaign.

I had just ruthlessly slaughtered Kidcthulhu’s character (and another player’s character, too--although I didn’t know that that character was wearing a ring of regeneration), and their deaths had been those completely unreasonable kind of deaths where the PC never has a chance to do anything or see it coming before winding up at neg 40 (or something), because I’m pretty efficient when I’m evil. So I decided to be less efficient and gloat over Piratecat’s bard’s death in classic movie villain style, not so much because I was feeling charitable as feeling cocky.

I was using a fly spell at the time, and Piratecat’s character had a known weakness for being unable to cast clerical spells when not in contact with the ground. So I hoisted him up and carried him above his troops. My plan was to gut him in front of all his comrades and rain his entrails down upon them.

And so we fly upwards for a round or so to get into position. We’re about 200 feet in the air when he turns to me and says

And he says to me “Knock, knock.”

And I say “Who’s there?”

And he says “Dispel magic.”

And I say “Dispel magic who?”

And he says “Dis spell you’re using to fly is magic, isn’t it?” 

You should have seen the look on my face as I fell. Worse, you should have seen the look on my face when his ring of feather fall yanked him up out of my arms as I fell.

We had one of those brief tussles wherein the villain (who is plummeting) tries to hold on the hero (who is not). Opposed grapples, I lost.

Last thing I remember him quipping was “Gravity is a harsh mistress.”


----------



## Blood Jester

And that's why we love the big lug!


----------



## BSF

Oh my, that was funny.  I am glad I wasn't drinking anything at the time.  As it was, I had a hard time not drawing too much attention in the cubicle farm with my laughter.


----------



## arwink

mythago said:
			
		

> E-mail hasn't arrived yet, so go slow on the coffee, everyone




What a time for the mail server to lag.  I tried PM'ing it, but it's a tad to large to fit through   If it hasn't arrived by tonight, drop a note here and I'll resend it from a hotmail account.


----------



## Sialia

arwink said:
			
		

> What a time for the mail server to lag. I tried PM'ing it, but it's a tad to large to fit through  If it hasn't arrived by tonight, drop a note here and I'll resend it from a hotmail account.



Aaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrgghhh!


----------



## Piratecat

Auggggghhhhhhhuuurrrrgggglllllllll!


EDIT: Sialia deserves to win. Her scream is longer.


----------



## Sialia

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Auggggghhhhhhhuuurrrrgggglllllllll!
> 
> 
> EDIT: Sialia deserves to win. Her scream is longer.



Yours was more artistic.


----------



## Zhaneel

You both are too friendly!



I think they both deserve to win.  Co-winners.  ;-) (less competition for the rest of next round).

Zhaneel


----------



## Sialia

*Intermission Raffle*

Ok, for those still tapping their fingers out there: who can write a short verse of no more than 15 lines about the following photo before Mythago posts?

Amuse me.


----------



## Sialia

Or this one:

How about a nice haiku? Or a limerick?


----------



## Piratecat

In my dishwasher
I clean off the foul litter
sticking to my cats.


----------



## Zaruthustran

Hate plates? Love Felines?
Come *See* the _Amazing_ Cat
Transmogrifier!

-z


----------



## evileeyore

Sialia said:
			
		

> Ok, for those still tapping their fingers out there: who can write a short verse of no more than 15 lines about the following photo before Mythago posts?
> 
> Amuse me.





Here I came apun a wintery scene,
A moose out hunting for mid-winter green,

Lacking leaves he found a feline instead,
and sniffed the top of the wayward cats head.


Okay got nowhere else to go there so how  'bout a lymerick...


There once was a Moose out in the snow
that was hunting for something agrow
it was a tremendous surprise
when he noosed a cat in the eye
and now my rhyme has nowhere to go



I would try my hand a iambic pentameter, but would fail mightily.

TTFN

EvilE


----------



## mythago

*The Bard, I ain't*

It was in late December that I sought
To bind to me a man already wed
I knew he scorned to shame his marriage bed,
For my amusement, as indeed he ought--

So, using  darkest magic as my tool,
I bound the love-spell's power in a draught
To give him as a friendship gift; I laughed
To know how soon his wife would play the fool

But as I placed it in the snow to chill
A moose came from the woods toward my flank 
I dropped the bowl, and then it stooped and drank
Of potion and love-magic took its fill.

Poor curious Grimalkin caught its eye!
Now moose and cat will love until they die.


----------



## evileeyore

Sialia said:
			
		

> Or this one:
> 
> How about a nice haiku? Or a limerick?





Normally, I would
commit Haiku upon the
drop of hat from head.



There once was a dishwasher for cats,
it beat out the one full of rats,
it got rid of the fleas,
as quick as you please,
and had a quite cycle for bats.


----------



## Zhaneel

I don't do poetry.  

But those are cute pics... 

It was a cold December night.  Or at least it was cold for California.  And I'm not talking Bay Area or LA.  I'm talking northern California.  You know, where it snows?  No, not Tahoe.

Anyway, it was a cold December night, and there was snow covering the ground of my yard.  I live in a well insulated house, so the fire inside was lovely.  I was all ready to cuddle up with a book and a crocheted afghan when I heard Miss Prissy whining at the door.

I sighed.  Miss Prissy is one of my many cats.  Most of the cats, being the intelligent beings they are, had come in from the cold a long time ago.  But Miss Prissy, didn't deign to come in.  She had stayed outside, exploring the snows and shacking her paws because they were wet.  I don't know if she ever connected the snow to the water she hated appearing on her paws.

But it seemed the cold had finally penetrated her white and grey fur, so she was asking to come in.  I stood up and shivered a little at the change in temperature.  I made my way across the living room and rounded the kitchen.

I was momentarily distracted by the small pride of kittens from Lady Marmalade's last litter climbing over the now empty dishwasher.  They were everywhere and exploring everything.  And it seemed the leftover heat from the recently washed dishes had attracted them.  I was thankful that I had managed to already put away all the dishes, but mentally smacked myself for not closing the machine.  My mother always said if my head wasn't attached, I forget it somewhere.  For now, I just shook my head at the kitten's antics and made my way to the back door.

Miss Prissy wasn't there when I opened the door.  Since she has a habit of calling but not waiting, I stuck my head out into the cold air and looked around for her.

I was severly surprised by what I saw.  There was Miss Prissy nose-to-nose with a moose.  She was trying to be brave, to not seem threatened by this huge monster, but it was clear she was on edge.  I, on the other, restrained the urge to laugh and prayed that Miss Prissy didn't try to claw her new acquantance, as she'd lose and I wouldn't be able to protect her.  They stood quietly, each smelling each other and trying to figure out what this other creature was.

Then I coughed, from the cold and the moment was broken.  The moose looked up, and seeing me decided to lumber away.  Miss Prissy stared after the moose for a while, before deciding to notice that I had answered her calls.  She shook her fur and sauntered over to the door and slowly entered, looking back once at the retreating tail of the moose.

Zhaneel

Okay, so not really SF/F at all, but it was the best I could do in 10 minutes.


----------



## alsih2o

Sialia said:
			
		

> Ok, for those still tapping their fingers out there: who can write a short verse of no more than 15 lines about the following photo before Mythago posts?
> 
> Amuse me.




 Cordata, corrupted by a transposed habitat.

 Nine live, four stomachs and a wintery coat. 

 In the cool chamber of cedars the ungulate will follow dreams of prey and light feet.

 twitching in an ancestral rememberance of shared history.



  The cat will dine on tuna.

  Cordata, corrupted by transposed habitat.

  Purse nets and retractable claws sweeping through flesh.



  The cat will dine on tuna.


----------



## evileeyore

While awaiting the judges of three,
Maldur, Arwink, Mythago, 
We had a short moment of glee,
Not that the Judges were slow, 
But our attention spans are short. 

So we joined in poetic melee,
To hurrying along the show
and display what good sports we can be,
You hope my rhyming will go
and be replaced with the final report.



Show time or the poetry gets it!

TTFN

EvilE


Editted:  Ow, this poem kinda goes flows along nicely then ~clank~,  hehe I like it.---  Final Report or more bad poems!!


----------



## Sialia

You guys are the best!

Many thanks, I am amused.

Here's mine:

I have no regrets,
fairy godmother,
no regrets at all
I was tired 
of scrubbing dishes 
and laundry
and chairs
and floors
and walls
an end to my cares
an end to all my household chores

I have no regrets
for wishing for this 
for wishing for that
Ah, but it's hard
so hard
to drink soup from a cat.


----------



## Sialia

You are big
and I am small,
but I am a carnivore.

You may 
be a 
carnivore,
but
you 
are also 
very,
very,
very 
small.


----------



## Piratecat

I'm going to bed.
Arwink please go resend it!
Cherry blossoms fall.


----------



## Bandeeto

Oh, I'm sorry moose,
I just didn't realize,
Was that *your* squirrel?


----------



## Sito

Monkeys unwatched will
type more interesting tales.
Cat meant to catch "mouse".


----------



## blargney the second

Sito said:
			
		

> Monkeys unwatched will
> type more interesting tales.
> Cat meant to catch "mouse".




That's *really* clever! 


Imagine a pride:
Half-moose templated felines!
I'd hate to shepherd.

-blargu


----------



## Piratecat

Shape of an "ice cat"?
Damn it, Zan, you always choose
really stupid forms.


----------



## alsih2o

Piratecat said:
			
		

> Shape of an "ice cat"?
> Damn it, Zan, you always choose
> really stupid forms.




WonderTwit Powers- ACTIVATE!


----------



## Maldur

send those judgements allready


----------



## Piratecat

Maldur said:
			
		

> send those judgements allready




Please? Pretty please? With sugar and the gutted, disemboweled bodies of professional writers on top?


----------



## BSF

I am guessing that there are some severe email delays due to the latest round of worms.  The MyDoom worm is slamming email servers pretty hard.  Perhaps Arwink and Mythago could try a transfer through one of the Instant Message products?  

Eagerly awaiting judgements.


----------



## Sialia

BardStephenFox said:
			
		

> I am guessing that there are some severe email delays due to the latest round of worms. The MyDoom worm is slamming email servers pretty hard. Perhaps Arwink and Mythago could try a transfer through one of the Instant Message products?
> 
> Eagerly awaiting judgements.



Or, hey, here's a crazy idea--can you just each post yours individually?


----------



## Quartermoon

Ok, looks like it's up to us.

I'm thinking of a number between 1 and 666.  Whichever of you guesses it, wins.  Then we can all go home.


----------



## Sialia

Quartermoon said:
			
		

> Ok, looks like it's up to us.
> 
> I'm thinking of a number between 1 and 666. Whichever of you guesses it, wins. Then we can all go home.




Square root of 3?


----------



## Piratecat

He's online right now - post, Arwink, post!  

Edit - Who's Online is cool. It lets me yell "Hi, Sito!" and not feel _entirely_ goofy.  *waves*


----------



## arwink

Yep - Just broke the judgement up into 5 seperate PM's and sent them to Mythago.

If this doesn't work, I figure I'm just going to post my judgements myself and tradition be damned


----------



## alsih2o

i believe i may actually be out of adrenaline.



 so this is what that feels like.


----------



## Sito

Piratecat said:
			
		

> He's online right now - post, Arwink, post!
> 
> Edit - Who's Online is cool. It lets me yell "Hi, Sito!" and not feel _entirely_ goofy.  *waves*




Sure, but for accuracy, it should be called "who's computer is online" *waves*.


----------



## Piratecat

alsih2o said:
			
		

> i believe i may actually be out of adrenaline.




It's the new avatar, isn't it? Tell the truth.


----------



## Maldur

Piratecat said:
			
		

> It's the new avatar, isn't it? Tell the truth.



 I was wondering about that!
Piratecat: you did not run out of gnome pics, right?


----------



## mythago

*Final Round Judgment*

arwink

 (Apologies for the lateness of the judging, and the rather general nature of my comments – it’s been a long week, they were both long entries, and I’m moderately exhausted by spending far to much time talking about writing already today. I contemplated leaving it until tomorrow when I was more awake, but that would just be mean – Arwink )

*  Piratecat – Lazarus*

  Brilliant opening line – it gives us two characters, a sense of immediate tension, and the hook of the plot in a very direct sentence. The abruptness of it is key in drawing us in, as we’ve got no choice but to read on if we want the questions answered: why is the old lady being killed, and why is the narrator more concerned about Jim’s reaction than feeling any guilt over his action. Bravo.

 Unfortunately, the tension dies off a bit in the second paragraph. We’re hit with too much information, too much detail, that is easily captured by the first line. What I’m craving here is information about the aftermath of the shooting – the subject of the third paragraph – despite the necessity of pointing out that the weapon is a needler to make the non-lethal result of the shot plausible. 

  In short, Piratecat’s intro has some great set-up, but the payoff is a tad muddled. This statement can almost be applied to the entirety of the story, where Piratecat throws out a wide variety of great ideas and plot elements, but doesn’t quite manage to string them together with the right narrative pacing to make it perfect. In some respects I actually find this quite refreshing – it’s the first indication I’ve gotten from Piratecat’s work that he’s struggled with the storyline, and it’s nice to know that he’s just as human as the rest of us 

 Piratecat’s story is at its strongest when it’s providing the background for the action – interviewing the thief, discussing a plan of action with Isabelle’s Boss and conversing with Miss Pring are all taut moments that show a great deal of life. It’s the moments of action that seem to be getting short changed here – quality ideas that just don’t seem to match the careful pacing of the story that surrounds them. The last fight and death of Kane seems particularly rushed – we never really get a sense of his newfound strength or even register that the Lazarus chamber has worked before Isabelle kills him.

*  Sialia – The End of the World*

  Sialia has a great grasp of making a description unique – and she’s managed at least one moment of breathtaking description in each of her entries. This time around I found myself smiling over “And then the awful silence had settled its teeth into them,” a great piece of description that captures the moment without descending into cliché.

 In a lot of ways, I found myself wondering exactly where this story was heading at its outset – it dwelt primarily on Lillabo’s sense of guilt, but quietly drew us away from that and shifted our focus onto the relationship developing between Volpe and Mirabelle. As usual, there characterization is great and Sialia continues to scare me with the sheer volume of her entries, especially with how well realized the tales are after their three-day gestation.

  If this story has a weak point, it lies in the return to the mind-flayer caves. While it’s a great idea, its inclusion in this story is very much a “Part Two” moment – it doesn’t necessarily mesh with the story as a stand-alone entry. Even considering this, it flashes by quickly and doesn’t really maintain the sense of drama that the death of a major character should carry. I found myself not particularly caring about Lillabo’s sacrifice in order to save her comrades, as we never really got a sense of her making a choice about it. Similarly, the cutting of the professors leg to save his life didn’t quite ring true – partially it seemed to rush Mirabelle’s feelings a little to much, and partially because I’m wondering why a race of dwarves that only exists in mind-flayer feeding pens has war-axes laying around in easy reach (although its possible I’m miss-remembering something from the last story, another drawback to the part-two-ishness of the tale)

 Another minor quibble is the over-use of sentences starting with “And…” in the introduction – the repetition is a tad weak for my taste, and the simple use of “Then…” would be more effective in drawing the reader’s attention to the sudden shock of the situation. 

  On the whole, this is a great ending to Sialia’s story, although one that is tinged by sadness. Part of me would rather see the last story joined into the last round entry as a single narrative, rather than being broken up, although it’d require some re-working to get the pacing right. 

  The Judgment

  It’s rounds like these that make you wish it was someone else’s job to make the decision. Both Sialia and Piratecat are great writers who have consistently put in great entries throughout the competition, and both of them have turned in truly impressive tales for the final round. In the end, however, I give the round to Sialia. I’m a sucker for halflings, and I’m pleased to see the attraction between Volpe and Mirabelle finally resolved.

*Judgment: Sialia*


----------



## Piratecat

One down, two to go!  And Mthago is up _very_ early on a Sunday. Thank you.


----------



## Maldur

Shall I post Mine myself, or wait for Mythago to do it?

(ps why are you up PC?)


----------



## mythago

Sialia vs Piratecat

  Sialia: another episode in the tale of two halflings (and the professor)

  Some great ideas, and some nice story. But I still feel its a bit , thrown together.

 Piratecat: ooooooh, cyberpunk story. Strange tech, double and triple crosses. Crooked employers, and the quest for the holy grail of the megarich: eternal life

  For me its obvious: Piratecat all the way.

*  Judgment: Piratecat*

mythago

 For both, the pictures were used well and pushed the story along. And though I don't think either of them were the best entries the writers have done, they're still so good it's darn hard to judge.

  Sialia - The End of the World
 I love the little village of Berryesa; it is, indeed, the end of the world, but in a good way. The sense of lazing in a sunny day is perfectly handled. I like some of the little touches with language (the world's largest pickle crock, the square full of festival).

 The critical part is that there are parts that left me scratching my head. The Lillabo-getting-eaten-by-a-brain episode almost seemed as though it belonged in a different story. It felt as though you were saying "hell, I'm not sure what to do with Lillabo now--I know, she needs to get killed like Tarnby." Ditto Mirabelle's declaration of love for Volpe; yes, they've touched death, but she goes from being lonely and needing a warm body to secretly having loved him for some time--huh? (And it seems strange Volpe gets over "poor broken Mirabelle" after the cavern.)

  Piratecat - Lazarus
 It started off great (you can't beat that opening paragraph), but I felt that it never quite made up its mind whether it wanted to be a light-hearted spoof of spy story conventions or a real spy story, and the inconsistency weakened it. There's a little too much of Isabelle explaining things seemingly for only the reader's benefit. It also struck me as a little obvious that Isabelle would get caught; arrogant she may be, but she's not stupid, and surely she would know that she isn't privy to every weapons and ID scan her employers have at their disposal.

  Very deft use of the pictures in all respects.

*Judgment: Sialia*


----------



## alsih2o

ka-wow!

 well fought folks, and congrats to siala!

 and yes, it is the damned monkey.


----------



## Maldur

Congrats Sialia!

Good going everyone!!!!!!!

;D


----------



## Berandor

Congratulations, Sialia!


----------



## Piratecat

Well, _that's_ over. A few thoughts -

Frankly, I think both stories would be greatly improved by substantial editing (in Sialia's case for length, in my case for several plot holes.) I don't think either story is our strongest effort.  But I absolutely think the right person won, and I couldn't be prouder of who I lost to! Nicely done, Sialia, and that was the kind of story I feel really, really good facing off against. You're making me a better writer just by reading your stories, and that's a valuable thing.

In retrospect, I should have tossed the horror story half a day earlier and spent the extra time polishing the plot of my second effort. Sialia's tale may be weaker because it's too long, but mine is too short - and too short in the wrong ways. On an earlier page Berandor did a good deconstruction of some of its weak points that I generally agree with. I may just rewrite this to see what it could have been.


----------



## Mirth

Congrats Sialia! Welcome to the club, here's the key to the exec outhouse (it's a 2-seater but I wouldn't go in there for at least 25-30 mins, sorry 'bout that) and don't forget your raccoon stick.

Mirth


----------



## alsih2o

the racoon stick!

 indeed, two seater with a crescent moon in the door.


----------



## BSF

Woohoo!  Congratulations Sialia!

(Now I can gloat.  I told everyone that whoever won the first round pairing between Sialia and I would win the whole shebang. )

Piratecat, I really enjoyed your stories.  When I started this last one I was thinking - Oh!  Piratecat is going back to his high action style.  You are the reason why I have started thinking a modern-day game could be fun.  I've  neer been able to pull one off properly, but I start thinking that it might be possible.  Thanks!  

Sialia, I really felt empathy through your stories.  Your imagery is wonderful.  While you were disappointed in some of your characterization, and some others didn't quite understand the characters decisions and motives, a lot of it simply rung true to me.  Either you and I have known a lot of the same type of people, or you put in subconsious clues that I somehow picked up.  The third option might be that you picked out parts of my personality that I found in the writing.  By the way, that third possibility kind of scares me.  I knew I was hooked when some of your stories literally took my breath away, or would cause me to simply stop reading while I saw the scene playing out in my mind.  

I will go back and read the stories again to throw in my two cents worth later.  Apparently, I slept poorly last night because I feel like the walking dead right now, and it is 9:30 out here.  Bleah.  

Thank you to everyone for this round of Ceramic DM.  It was fun and some great stories came out.


----------



## Sialia

whoa.


----------



## Thomas Hobbes

Poor, poor Silvado.

Dig that hat, though.  At least he died fashionable.


----------



## Malk

congrats sialia


----------



## mythago

Best Ceramic DM image I just couldn't find an excuse to use:


----------



## Piratecat

Err - yes?


----------



## Allanon

mythago said:
			
		

> Best Ceramic DM image I just couldn't find an excuse to use:



We're still waiting on that image mythago 

Oh and to all the contestants WELL DONE!!!
I've read all you're stories and actually printed (hope you don't mind) some (salia's epic for instance, which is pretty darn heavy even when printed on A4 paper doublesided  ) and distributed them to my player's. They loved them (Oh and Piratecat you've cost me a perfectly good Garfield glass , a player managed to drop it from his hands while reading you're 'iconic' story)

I can't wait for the next ceramic DM...


----------



## Cedric

Congrats to Sialia and to PC both for doing such great jobs. Loved both of your stories...

I'm hoping one of these days you guys will let me try again, cause I had a great time.


----------



## alsih2o

mythago said:
			
		

> Best Ceramic DM image I just couldn't find an excuse to use:




 poor mythago, completely spent and unable to post another pic...


----------



## Sialia

alsih2o said:
			
		

> poor mythago, completely spent and unable to post another pic...



I know how she feels. Me, I ran all out of words. Imagine. Me.

So I drew three or four pictures yesterday. (check out my "Miscellaneous art doodles thread" http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?p=1348024#post1348024)

Anyway, now that I'm on the mend, I just wanted to scrape a few sentences together to thank everyone. This was an incredible experience. I got a lot out of it.

I'm looking forward to next time too, although I still haven't decided whether I will compete or spectate next time around.

Mind still too fried to contemplate.

In a good kind of way.


----------



## alsih2o

Sialia said:
			
		

> I'm looking forward to next time too, although I still haven't decided whether I will compete or spectate next time around.




 but, but, you HAVE to defend your title! it is tradition!

 and next time we may eb able to sway p-cat into running it...so i can take on mythago


----------



## Sialia

alsih2o said:
			
		

> but, but, you HAVE to defend your title! it is tradition!
> 
> and next time we may eb able to sway p-cat into running it...so i can take on mythago



No way!  Much as I adore our three esteemed judges this round, I missed your presence on the podium terribly. 

Not that I wouldn't like to see you square off against Mythago, and I admit I was disappointed I didn't get to go head to head with you myself . . . but  . . but . . actually, I would rather like to have another go at that . . . but I miss having you also judge.


----------



## alsih2o

Sialia said:
			
		

> No way!  Much as I adore our three esteemed judges this round, I missed your presence on the podium terribly.
> 
> Not that I wouldn't like to see you square off against Mythago, and I admit I was disappointed I didn't get to go head to head with you myself . . . but  . . but . . actually, I would rather like to have another go at that . . . but I miss having you also judge.




 i could judge and compete if noone minded


----------



## Zhaneel

Congrats to Sialia and well done to PC, who was such a gracious loser I'm jealous.  ;-)

I'm totally interested in writing next time, so I'll have to keep my eyes peeled.  Though with the current company, I'll be impressed if I make it to round 2.

Zhaneel


----------



## Maldur

I must say its great to read all your stories. 

All concepts will be stored for future use in game 

I am so envious at you writing skills.

thank you all!


----------



## Quartermoon

Yes, it was the square root of 3!

Congrats, Sialia, your writing is amazing.  And well done Pcat.

This was an entertaining and interesting competition to watch.

Oh, and one more thing...


			
				Piratecat said:
			
		

> In retrospect, I should have tossed the horror story half a day earlier...




Perhaps. Likely a good idea assuming winning is your goal.  But truthfully, I find my writing is best when it is a real struggle getting it onto paper.  Birth pain and all that. Without the time constraints of the competition, I speculate that your horror story would be the superior effort.

I'd like to see it, anyway.


----------



## mythago

Oh, my bad--that was the picture than can only be seen by the noble and pure of heart. Let me try another.


----------



## alsih2o

mythago said:
			
		

> Oh, my bad--that was the picture than can only be seen by the noble and pure of heart. Let me try another.





 ooh! let me try-


----------



## alsih2o

one more- this one can only be seen by nincompoops, smithsonian members and peopel who watched too many saturday morning cartoons-


----------



## arwink

alsih2o said:
			
		

> i could judge and compete if noone minded




Or we could run two heats with different judging teams, and use a poll to vote a winner for the finals 

Congratulations Sialia, and well played to Piratecat.  I live in awe of both your work in this competition.


----------



## Sialia

Oh!  Goodness. Those _would_ have made a story.

Now we'll just have to have another . ..


----------



## mythago

That'd be Spring Ceramic DM, I reckon.

 And while it'd be great to have alsih2o at the helm again (I don't think I could fake my way through this twice), I know Pkitty is thirsting for reve^H^H^H a chance to judge. 

 It's alsih2o's baby though.


----------



## alsih2o

mythago said:
			
		

> That'd be Spring Ceramic DM, I reckon.
> 
> And while it'd be great to have alsih2o at the helm again (I don't think I could fake my way through this twice), I know Pkitty is thirsting for reve^H^H^H a chance to judge.
> 
> It's alsih2o's baby though.




 if there are no major objections i am turning the helm to p-cat. 

 i was nervous about letting someone else do it, now mythago has given me faith and i want to see many other people do it


----------



## Piratecat

I feel like Susan Lucci. Always the bridesmaid and never the bride, always the Ceramic DM runnerup....  

If you'll let me judge one, I'd love to. After that I'd like to compete again. Gotta hone my skills!


----------



## mythago

By then we ought to have wiped the ground with alsih2o anyway.

 Whoops--probably a bit early for smacktalk, right?


----------



## alsih2o

mythago said:
			
		

> By then we ought to have wiped the ground with alsih2o anyway.
> 
> Whoops--probably a bit early for smacktalk, right?




 NEVER too early for smacktalk 

 let's call it official ceramic dm number (whichever this is) is p-kitty's baby.


----------



## Maldur

If Pkitty want to compete, I could chose some pics?


----------



## Piratecat

I'm thinking that we can work together on that.


----------



## alsih2o

Piratecat said:
			
		

> I'm thinking that we can work together on that.




 or maldur could do summer CDM? your call p-kitty, maldur has been here since the beginning.. share with p-cat or run your own bazzman?


----------



## Maldur

Both options are fine By me. I am kinda interested in what Pkitty wil come up with


----------



## Mirth

berry berry intuhwesting....


----------



## Maldur

But please dont let Mirth doing it!
I dont trust a person with a speech impediment


----------



## Maldur

esp if it seeps through to writing!


----------



## Sialia

Here's an offer: anyone think it would be fun to use some of my illustrations for a round?  

I doubt I can produce enough stuff for all pictures for all rounds, but between now and then I could probably come up with a few things that might work.

I could send a packet of stuff off to the lead judge and he/she could use them or not, mix freely with photos, whatever. I'd make sure they were fresh new ones no one has seen before.

Just a thought. 

Curious about what I've been working on lately? Check out my new gallery:

http://www.enworld.org/modules.php?set_albumName=albuo99&op=modload&name=gallery&file=index&include=view_album.php


----------



## Zhaneel

Sialia said:
			
		

> Here's an offer: anyone think it would be fun to use some of my illustrations for a round?




Fun, yes.  With one caveat: The illistrator doesn't compete.  Why?  Because I think it would be unfair as you know the piece(s) better.

OTOH, if it is tradional that the previous winner not compete, then I don't see a problem at all.

Zhaneel


----------



## Sialia

Zhaneel said:
			
		

> Fun, yes. With one caveat: The illistrator doesn't compete. Why? Because I think it would be unfair as you know the piece(s) better.



Yes, that's correct. I would rather illustrate than write next time around. I definitely don't want to judge. 

If people prefer to stick to traditional photography instead, that's fine, too. I just thought it might be amusing to try something new.

For me, I'd have the fun of getting to produce something by a certain deadline, but with a much longer production period than the actual competition. I liked discovering that I'm able to crank vast volumes of stuff out in three days, but I don't think it tapped into my best work, which requires some percolation time.

And it would be a hoot to see some stories generated about some of my pictures.


----------



## mythago

That would be up the judge type people. 

 You could post some of 'em over in the Kiln-Fired Ceramic DM thread, for practice...


----------



## Sialia

mythago said:
			
		

> That would be up the judge type people.
> 
> You could post some of 'em over in the Kiln-Fired Ceramic DM thread, for practice...



Well, the majority of what I currently have in inventory is already up in my new gallery (see sig). Folks can take a look and see the kind of things I'm doing and discuss whether it would work for our purposes.

For ceramic, I'd focus on stuff with more action and characters interacting. Also perhaps the chief justice might suggest a theme or two.

It'd be an interesting excercise to see if I could come up with sufficiently intriguing things that they'd be fun to write about.

I've set myself the goal of a sketch per day for the next month. Good stuff, I'll post. Excellent stuff, I'll hoard. We can review the set when the judge is ready to select stuff and see whether they are usuable. I'm going to assume these would be mixed with the usual bizarre photos, as it's unlikely there would be enough to do a full round.

But you never know. If folks give me enough good feedback, I might find myself more usefully prolific than I expected.

I can be really pathetically exhibitionist for praise cookies.


----------



## Sialia

Just fyi, one of the rules of the current excercise is that although I'm allowed to use Photoshop, I'm not allowed to start from any photos. So anything you see in the gallery, I built from a blank page, usally starting with actual paint before moving in to the electornic stuff.

This is a significant departure from the way we've done Ceramics in the past, so it's cool with me if we decide it's just too distracting.

The use of drawings/paintings would give us a flexibilty to include fantasy elements not typically found in photos, but it might also lose the surreal beauty of finding the extraordinary in things that purport to be photos of the true world, and leave us without the extraneous details that sometimes provide loopholes for writers.

So while it's certainly up to the judges to decide, it might be easier for them to make the call if people who have done the writing before weigh in with how they'd feel about getting stuck with stuff like these.


----------



## mythago

I'm pretty sure that alsih2o originally used drawings, or at least intended to. Not sure how we moved on to photos only...maybe because it's more of a challenge to find interesting photos of real stuff.


----------



## alsih2o

i did originally use drawing and such. 

 i am not sure how we got onto just photos either 

 i think the "drawings" bit is a good idea. i would be interested in seeing how it goes. 

 very sorry if i haven't been responding, we have company and life has been busy.


----------

