Second Annual .Org Writing Contest

[The Stranger]

Divine Blessings

“It’s my duty as the strong to oppose any who threaten the weak
It’s my honor to keep safe Mirrodins secrets, not to use them
My destiny is to save others, so theirs can be fulfilled
My shield of light will admit no shadow
I hereby dedicate my body to my country
And my life to my king.”

5 years later

The door of the main hall smashed open with a loud BANG! In the entrance a fierce man appeared. Whispers went around the main hall. Who was this man that so ruthlessly disturbed the meeting? Shocked, the audience looked to the man, as he walked towards the king.

“Who are you, and how dare you to disturb the king like this,” a man who sat right to the king asked: “Identify yourself!”
“It’s enough Darell, stop before you make a fool out of yourself,” the king spoke.
“But, my lord”
“Enough is enough, Darell”
“Now, if you wouldn’t mind, tell us your name stranger?” the king gently asked.
“My name is Gerrard, my lord,” the stranger replied as he kneeled: “Captain on the eastern borders, my lord.
“I suppose you have a good reason to disturb my meeting, on a kind…let’s say unpleasant way.”
“I do, my lord. General Ullrich had send me here with a urgent message my lord.”
“Well, why keep us waiting?”
“2 days ago a scout reported people fleeing towards our lands. He asked one of the refugees about the cause of their sudden flight. The answer was quit disturbing. A Phyrexian army is marching our way, murdering and looting anything in their path.”
“Quite unnerving news, lad. Sit down, while we will discuss this matter.”

The stranger now known as Gerrard, bowed before the king before he went to the place assigned to him. He only casted one look on the man that shouted at him when he entered.
His name was Darell. He was known to be silent as a serpent, twisted as a lone bog and evil as the devil’s heart.

“My brothers in arms,” the king started: “ as you might have heard, we now must discuss a dangerous matter. A Phyrexian army has been send our way, to demolish everything that we call our homes. Our armies can never rival the Phyrexians. No matter what choice we will make today, it will seal the faith of thousands. Any suggestions?”
It was like a cold wind had blown to the main hall. At the time the king was finished, there was no man who hadn’t felt a shiver go down his spine. When you would look around, all you would see is grim faces and nervously moving limbs. But no man opened his mouth. Until Darell stood up and said: “The paladins would be wise not to forget about the Balduvians. As these barbarians have turned the tide of more than one Phyrexian war…and I have no doubt they’ll do it again.”
Now it was Gerrard, the stranger that arose.
“My lord, I don’t think it is a good idea. Nothing is sacred to these rats. Everything is simply another loot. Besides, we’ve been victim of their treachery and ambitions on more then one occasion. Why won’t the betray us again?”
“But my king, if we don’t hire them, Mirrodin will be lost,” Darell panted.
As the king stood up to speak, both men sat down. “All in favor to hire Balduvian mercenaries, raise their hands.
A wave of hands descended into the air. It was a undeniable fact, that Gerrald had lost this cause. The Balduvians would be hired.

[Aenarion]

I'm in aswell in this one! Here is my story:

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Silent Night

The night was silent. As the first few shimmering lights glittered over the city. The only light to be seen, strangely enough was a small dot rising from the centre of the city until it reached a substantial height. The dot began to expand and expand, until it formed a ball of light. Its diameter reached the length of the whole city, covering it on all sides. The few people walking in the streets stared at this object. Suddenly the ball of light began to shrink again with a certain speed, until it became a dot again. A split of a second later the dot expanded and expanded, this time not stopping and in an instant it hit the city with terrible force…then there was darkness.

In a small village nearby, some of its inhabitants saw a great light coming from behind the hills. A deafening sound came dashing all over the area. Two minutes later, houses were being swept away and turned to dust; trees thrown in the air, … and chaos. Nobody had the chance to know what was happening, because as soon as they discovered the truth, they disappeared instantly.

Seen from above, the immense ball seemed to be gaining speed each time it expanded and destroyed cities, towns, villages, hamlets. A large crater was being created. As this explosion continued on its destructive path, people wandered: what was happening? Was this the end of the world? And suddenly darkness…
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Thanks,
Aenarion

[Hayduke]

The Squirrelslayer

Well practiced strokes propelled the canoe and its occupant swiftly down the Chenango. On his way to trade his furs downriver, his body piloted the canoe without conscious thought; his mind occupied itself by contemplating his past. An amused snort punctuated the remembrance of the fateful shot that inspired the name his adopted tribe gave him. It was an exceptionally lucky shot that pinioned two squirrels with one arrow at the height of their passions. Squirrelslayer would not have been the name he chose for himself, but most people seemed to react favorably to it; some even laughed till they cried when they learned the tale of how he earned it.
The sun was quite high, and Squirrelslayer decided it was a good time to seek some shade and break his fast, so he dexterously stroked to the east bank. When he reached it, he threw the paddle ashore. One hand carried his musket while the other dragged the canoe a few feet up the bank. The brush behind him exploded as a brave, hatchet raised, closed the gap between them. Without enough time to put finger to trigger, Squirrelslayer swung his musket in a wide arc, striking the brave a blow which knocked him on his back. With musket raised and while pondering what action to take next, Squirrelslayer’s curiosity prompted him to ask, “Why did you attack me young brave?”
Still out of breath from running along the bank as fast as the river flows while following his target, the brave managed to say, “I must take a warrior’s own scalp to my chief, so I can take my Man’s name.”
The Slayer replied with a snort of disgust, “You made a poor choice of targets, brave. Even if you took this scalp off this head, you could not take it from me. It is not mine.”
Rising to his feet and a non-aggressive stance the brave replied incredulously, “I’m at your mercy. Must I listen to your poor jokes as well?”
“No joke. My grandparents were taken from the Coast of Ivory across the ocean and were sold to a merchant in New York. My mother, she gave me to an Iroquois squaw, so my owner would not have me, and I could live like a free-man. So you see, this scalp, it’s not mine, and if you had taken it, you would have taken it from the man who owns me,” Squirrelslayer said with a smirk and a tone that expressed his cynical opinion.
If possible the young Indian looked even more confused and said, “I will never understand the ways of the white-man. My people capture prisoners. They obey, or they die, but if they escape, they are no longer a prisoner. How can one man own another?”
To which Squirrelslayer replied, “It is a thing the white people call the Law. You were born outside of it, and so I understand why it will not deter you from wanting my scalp. May I offer an alternative?” Without waiting he continued, “Come with me to the trading post. I’ll sell my skins and take the money to the fort. The captain there buys Indian scalps for two pounds. I’m sure for a few more he’d be willing to make himself or the King a quick profit and sell us one. Take it to your people and we can both be happy. I have no desire to kill you.”
Only a quick nod signified the young brave’s assent and Squirrelslayer, in a gesture of trust, turned his back to retrieve his supplies and begin his breakfast. An almost inaudible sound of grinding gravel reached his ear, and he knew the brave had leapt and a collision was imminent. He twisted, fell, and shot from the hip. The brave, pierced through the heart, landed beside him. Squirrelslayer chided himself. It was foolish to expect the brave to honor their agreement. Thinking he would keep a promise to an enemy was even more foolish than thinking he would understand slavery. Squirrelslayer promised himself to always remember that the Indian and the white man were from different worlds and that he would try and take the good from each and leave the rest.
Gazing sorrowfully at the young warrior who only had moments yet to live he said, “Tell me your name, brave, so I can pray for you and honor you in the way of my people.”
With the brave’s last breath he whispered, “Laughing Squirrel.”
The slayer raised his arms to the sky and shouted, “Ah, to be the Squirrelslayer. Ah, humanity!”

[Copperhaired Berserker!]

Here's mine. Hope I do a good story for once.

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The alien's great fault

Yeah, I'm in trouble. Have to go to the gallows, you see. Could've been worse. Could've been chucked into a lion case. You get resurrected in there 20 times, so the pain is so bad, you'd rather drown yourself 40 times. I was escorted through the streets.

Why was I in trouble? Too old, that's why. 300 years old me is. The gits think I'm the devil's warrior. Think I must be the warrior, as the only person who could be that old is a warrior of the devil. Goodness, they made me 300 years old!

Some machine enhanced my life span, of course they made me 300 years old to make a excuse to kill me. Damn aliens. The planet Earth is suffering because of them. I saw my planet being destroyed because of these aliens.

People were running through these streets, that were basicilly machinery, no nature at all in there. Big machines, like the ones out of War of the Worlds, chased those people and caught them with ease using large, mettalic claws to pick them up. They bashed those people off bulidings and chucked them onto a basket attached at the bottom of the thing.

I was pushed out into a arena where men and women were slaughtered by the thousands. I was sweating buckets and was pouring tears all over my wrinkled face. I saw those gallows. For extra pain they strucked victims with spears.

I screamed,"Why do we live!?!?!?!? What point is there to live if you slimy gits try and kill us!" The aliens charged at me with weapons, because I insulted them. I closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable.

Then they stopped. They all screamed in pain as something seemed to eat away their body. I could not see it. Then it dawned on me. Bacteria. Invisible, minute, bacteria.

I thought now I was the only human on earth, alone as I knew those aliens would die right now. I saw that I was getting younger.

Alien DNA changed me. Why I was older. Those aliens believed in Heaven and Hell. But was differeint from our religion. Alien DNA was dying and I was turning back to normal. Explains why I got into this mess. I found this out as something seemed to tell me why.

Then I saw another human. A woman. My wife. It was two remaining people on Earth. I was now with my wife. And now.... we would start all over again.

Berserker!

[shifty157]

Eh. Might as well. Heres a quick little anecdote i wrote a few months back. See if its any decent.
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Down The Barrel

I looked down the underside of the six inch steel barrel, nicked and scratched from countless forgotten suns of use. Despite the revolver's obvious age it was clearly well made. The parts carefully hand machined from an era long past made it more of an antique than a killing tool. With a few touch ups it was reasonable to assume it could fetch a decent price displayed on red velvet in some auction house where naive rich men cared to keep alive the deaths of the past. The gun was heavey. You could see it in the strain in his arm. He'd been holding it against my forehead for the past thirty minutes. I don't think he had planned on it taking this long but it has and now the strain which he was trying so hard to conceal was showing itself. I almost felt bad for him. You could hear the strain in his voice as he tried to keep himself collected. He was rushing. He was tired. He was amateur. I let the barrel lead my eyes down its worn steel to its base. Five .38s smirked back at me nestled snuggly within their open chambers. I stopped at each one and fancied feeling them caress my skull in the way that only a high-velocity hollow-tip round could when its launched through the rifling. Designed and perfected over the years by those paid well and those unknowing not only to shatter bone but also to collapse in on themselves upon impact and splinter. I wouldn't have to worry about that though. This shot was going clean through. He twitched on the trigger. White with nervousness and impatience, sweaty and shaking ever so slightly with exertion his hand barely held a grip on the oversized bludgeon. Small men like him were never meant to use such a big gun. Its no wonder they took such pride in it. His plump eyes drew me away though. Angry, tired, and aggitated. He was ready. And so was I. He asked the question. I blinked and ran my tongue over my blood soaked teeth. The newly resettled silence was only disturbed by the metallic ticking of an unlocated clock and the seductively calming voice of the revolver.

[Dimeola]

Hi all, been a long time for me. I just wanted to post an example of my work. What I will do is to give the winner my email and we will figure out what you want.
Good luck gentlemen,
Dimeolas

[master of the puppets]

Out of the morning mist a shadow slithered unseen into the camp.
it made no sound as it moved but it was solid, its jet black pupils slithered from side to side taking in the entire camp in a matter of moments.
the air was cloying with the smell of withering burning death. smoke rose in a solid gray stream, covering the sky.
thunder rumbled in the distance, a growl that shook the air and somehow emanated the horrors which will soon arrive.
all was quiet as the thing wrapped its hand around the electrified fence, it made no show of the pain it undoubtedly felt as its muscular ulcerous fingers bent and broke the metal links that made up the fence.
its twisted fingers snapped and rent each chunk of metal until there was a gaping hole, it pushed its body through the hole and into the quiet camp.
The towers high above swooped lights about the floor of the camp, over the shacks where the skeletal creatures slept in starvation and fear.
and suddenly the light touched the creature and it paused. the creature did not make a move to avoid the all convicting glare but started up at the tower.
two men sat up there, one guided the light with one hand while rest the other upon the mg34 that was attached to the side.
he sat stock still his eyes locked with those of the thing, its horrid black eyes staring into his light blue ones.
his comrade walked over and gazed out to see what had so perplexed his friend. seeing the thing he raised his mp43 and took aim.
but he was to slow, for his own comrade drew his luger and pumped three shells into the SMGer.
a look of shock passed over the mans face as he looked at his friend slumped and bleeding, and he tried to scream but he could not.
because there was someone else in his head, like fire in his skull it blanketed his conscious and stifled the scream he wanted to let free.
and so that overpowering force pushed him to take a step forward, and another, pushing his legs until he was pressed right up against the wooden barrier that separated him from a 30 foot drop.
and suddenly that barrier was pointless as the being within his mind ordered him to put his leg up on the barrier and leap into open space, and so he did.
and in the last second of the fall the fire left his mind and he had control once more, so he executed the only act he had power to do, scream.
with a crunch the body landed at the creatures feet, a little chuckle escaped the creatures throat.
he took a few steps towards the next tower where the guards sat blissfully unaware until there minds were consumed by a violent force, one watched in horror as his brother in arms pulled a grenade from his belt.
the blast blew apart the tower and threw the camp into wakefulness. an Unteroffizer rushed out of the nearest barracks and was quickly taken by the creature, his mind free unlike the others but some invisible physical force pushed his arms to his sides and began to drag him.
to the horror of the 50 or so soldiers that had arrived on the scene the officer screamed as the unholy force dragged him closer and closer to the electric fence.
he kicked his legs and struggled with all his might but showing a lack of patience the officer was suddenly hurled backwards where he landed on the electric fence spread eagle, his eyes were wide with horror staring at the shocked soldiers.
the force pinned him to the fence he screamed and went into violent convulsions his limbs flailing as the electricity carved paths through his body.
a violent maniacal laugh poured out of the creature as all eyes shifted from the still convulsing officer to him.
he, it was tall at least 2 meters tall. his body scared but under the skin rippled muscles, his black hair and eyes him seem merciless, and so he was.
and then he spoke, his voice was completely inhuman, it was deep and cold, it sounded mettalic like metal scraping upon metal, almost synthasized.
"its the day of judgment and you god is calling" it crooned as it stalked twards the petrified SS troops.
"now i want you to think of all the horrid, barbaric things you've ever done" it said "that way you will go straight to hell when i kill you" and then it lauged.
one brave foolish soldier shoulder his rifle. the creature pointed at the fools head and some unknown force struck him snapping his head back and shattering his spine.
as the body slumped to the ground the creature said "and when you meet the gods tell them that the master of puppets sends his regards" and he charged.
nmost turned and fled but smome stayed devoted to there poisonous madness and tried to shoot him. as there fingers laid upon there triggers he was upon then. lashing out with invisible chains he struck into them breaking each of them one by one. none dared to get close to him but it was no matter as he entered the group his chain lashed out wrapping around the waist of one soldier he hurled him skyward where he would then plummet to his death.
chains whipped out and smashed into ones torso collapsing lungs and hearts. a liquid silver chain lashed out striking the skull of one which exploded his head like a watermelon.
it went like that for a moment, in a ring of death the master of puppets broke each of them like rag dolls.
Those who ran did not get far, and that night the master of puppets alternately laughed and cried as he walked away from the smoldering remains of the death camp.

srry, its so long (still under a tousand )but i got kinda caught up lol

[Nevyn]

Here's the opening in my present story in the .com forum.

OPENING MOVES

The city of Rome, the eternal city forged in blood, destined to greatness and favoured by the Gods. The city of Romulus. After hundreds of years of war the Italian peninsula was mostly under Roman rule. Rome’s sheer military power had made the rest of the cities submit to Rome, either by choice or by force. Either way it was the 600 men of the Roman Senate that ruled the Latin lands. And with power follows responsibility. To uphold the republics safety and ensure it’s survival the Senate and the city of Rome held the power to field several legions that were to respond to the Senate’s whims, legions that fed the lands of Latinium with endless streams of blood with their warfare. Today, the powerful family of Julii upheld Rome’s urge to fight. They battled the Gaul hill tribes to the north of the Roman republic. A war that brought them increased power and influence with every victory they collected. To the west the family of the Scipii, the wealthiest and by many reckoned to be the most powerful family of Rome (if by nothing else than their sheer economic might), had made land fall on Sicily. With a diplomatic Coupe the Gras, they had taken control over the city of Messana, right under the nose of the powerful Carthaginians. In the centre and to the east the Brutii held their influence. The ancient family of devious politicians ruthlessly holds control over the Senate. With their network of spies and diplomats they were among the decision makers in the Roman hierarchy. And it is these three families that will shape tomorrows Rome and only the Gods know who will come out on top.

In Rome, as almost everywhere, the decisions were not made in the main arena but on the sidelines. Two men slowly walked through the great garden, one of many in the eternal city, in soft conversation. As opposed to the many philosophers, senators and even a couple of lovers or two, these two did not take in the great beauty the garden had to offer. Even though they were given great berth by the rest of the gardens occupants. But then again the men in question was not just you’re average Roman Patrician. The eldest, a tall and prominent figure dressed in the finest of cloths, gave off a feeling that he was used to get what he wanted. If seers set their eyes on him they would see his commanding aura shrouding his entire being as in a veil. He was none other than proconsul Flavius Julius, patriarch of house Julii, one of the most powerful men in Rome and a war hero. By his side, a younger version of himself walked confidently. Flavius son Vibius Julius was a Senate favorite after his many victorious battles against the Gaul’s. These two had cleansed Etruria and Umbria of foreign threats a few years ago and were spoken highly of throughout Rome. For this remarkable achievement Flavius were given command as proconsul of the northern provinces of Etruria and Umbria, increasing their power stance even more. The house of Julii had suddenly become a powerhouse and was now mentioned in the same sentence as the Brutii and Scipii. And with new power comes new threats. The Brutii family recognized the growing threat and had put the family under a close watch. The family’s spymaster had dedicated several spies to this newly developed danger.

“How did the meeting with Publia Sempronius go? They accepted?” Vibius showed obvious apprehension as he awaited his father’s answer. The further growth of their house demanded expansion and the plebian leader Sempronius held a vital position in furthering house Julii’s quest for power. With the plebeians on their side they would be certain that further resources like men and money would befall them. Resources they needed to grow and uphold the war effort. “We need worry no more. They have accepted to vote with us. Two more cohorts have been assigned our two Legions. Although it was costly, I promised them a great number of slaves and a trade agreement. Much of the trade and slaving from the new provinces will be given to the plebeians, thereby robbing us of much needed currency. Damn those Plebeians, all they ever think about is money.” Flavius took a deep breath to calm him self, now was not the time or the place. They would just have to deal with the greed of the Plebeians later. “I have started the process of convincing the Senate that Leguria is vital to further secure Roman rule in the north. I’ve even ordered a few farms on the border to be burnt to further our cause.” Flavius flinched as he saw the horrified expression of his son as he processed the last sentence. “It has to be done and worse, the village has to be sacked and sold in to slavery. To Sempronius off course, part of the deal and it will help train the new men before we get cart blanc from the Senate on the war on the Gaul’s.” Behind them a man slowly slipped away after following them for the better part of their stroll. His job was done; Luca would be most interested in what he had heard. As he walked away he pondered the ease of his spying, wondering if it was intentionally by Flavius to let him hear or not. This wouldn’t have worked with the Scipii, and the Brutii would have all out killed him for the effort. Political spying was after all their livelihood, and bad performance was rewarded with death. Again he praised his luck on being on the right side as he started to lie out his messages throughout the city of Rome for Luca Brutus Antonius to find.

[The Shadow One]

APOLLO LUKEIOS

A Short Story by

The Shadow One


1

I love my new research assistant.

Nine years of teaching the hidden mysteries of the human mind to an endless ocean of students with thick glasses and bad complexions, and finally the Gods see fit to bless me with this radiant display of vitality and beauty. Cascades of long hair, dark as shadows with streaks of rich mahogany. Mysterious, volatile gray eyes set within a perfect sea of mocha. If there's a flaw –

"You should smile more, Atremia." I say as we walk down the aseptic-smelling corridor.

"You might not like my smile," she replies. Then she asks about the next patient.

I sigh. "Name is Cameron. Came in last night. Claims to have seen the Greek God Apollo. Works as an accountant for the firm that manages our accounts, I believe. Works long hours, lives alone. Probably suffering from acute exhaustion and delusions brought on by too little sleep, an overactive imagination, and a desperate, solitary existence. Never good for a man to be alone, I say. What do you think?"

Atremia doesn't offer an opinion.

I unlock the door. The room is dark shadows, the shades drawn. I call out: "I'm turning on the light."

"Go ahead," a soft voice replies.

I flip the switch. Lying on the narrow bed is a thin young man in his mid-twenties. His features, like his voice, are soft and feminine, his eyes blue, his hair a Scandinavian blonde that would look almost white in the sunlight. "How are you today, Cameron?"

"I'm fine." He swings his legs off the bed, sitting up. "Are you my doctor?"

"I'm the psychiatrist assigned to your case. This is my assistant, Atremia." I wave a hand in her direction, my fingers brushing her jacket. A spark, like warm ecstasy flows up my arm.

"Hello." He nods at me, smiles at Atremia.

I assume my down-to-business voice. "Let's shed some light on the subject. Atremia, will you open the blinds?"

"No," he says quickly. "Please don't."

Aha, I think. Already the psychosis reveals itself. "Why not? Is something wrong?"

"Well, it's just that – he might find me."

"Who?"

Cameron hesitates, staring at the floor. "You don't believe me, do you?"

I motion Atremia to one of the patient-proof chairs, while I take another. "I haven't heard anything to disbelieve yet. Why don't you try me?"

He smiles slightly. For the first time, I noticed his mouth is sensual, heart-shaped. With a face like that, his childhood must have been a nightmare.

"Well," he begins, "I went to the park for lunch. I go there often, to get away from the chaos of the office. I can walk in the woods and fields. And there's a creek there, people wade in it. A bridge crosses the creek, there's woods on both sides. Cross the bridge and follow the path and you come to a series of open fields where people play soccer. And that's where I saw him."

"Who?" I asked, opening my notebook.

He didn't answer for a moment. Then, he whispered, "Apollo."

"The God Apollo?"

"Yes, the God Apollo."

I assumed my quiet-patient voice. "What did he look like?"

"Golden."

"You mean, like, solid gold?"

"No, of course not. Golden – like dazzling perfection. A perfect body, perfect smile, perfect hair, perfect everything. The kind of person you can't help but fall in love with."

I coughed. "Did you . . . fall in love?"

He snorted. "Didn't you hear me? I couldn't help myself."

Glancing down, I wrote "homoerotic fantasies" in my notebook. "What did he do to you?"

"Nothing. He just talked to me."

"What did he say?"

"I don't really remember. Not all of it, anyway. It was like a feeling, more than anything. A feeling of warm joy. He said I was – "

"Yes?"

"Well, beautiful."

I wrote the word "egotistic."

"And then he said this: ‘I'll come and get you. Not now, but soon. You can come and live with me.' But that's when I got scared."

"Why?" I ask.

"Because he's a powerful God and who knows what he'll do to me. Besides, I'm not gay."

"Of course not. Can you describe his hair color?"

Cameron frowns. "Well – no, I don't remember."

"Eyes?"

Another pause. "No, just that they were beautiful."

"I see." I close my notebook and rise quickly. "That's enough for today. Try to rest and take it easy. If you get bored, there's television." I motion to Atremia and we step from the room.

"Well, there you have it," I say, as soon as the door is closed and locked. "Illusions of fantasy. So fresh and new, he hasn't even worked out the details yet."

"Do you really think so, doctor?" Atremia's voice is pure music.

"Absolutely. I'd bet my career."

2

I'm walking the same aseptic hallway later that afternoon when I freeze, my eyes staring ahead in horror. The door to Cameron's room stands wide open.

"Atremia!" I cry, running for the room.

"Yes, doctor?" She is already there, standing in the middle of the narrow room, the shades drawn back, the wind whistling through the open window, blowing out her long hair. Familiar as I am with her beauty, I've never seen her like this before, radiant and transcendent. My mind aches to look at her.

"Where is Cameron?" I demand.

She doesn't answer. Instead, she dispenses a laugh so full of demented delight and frightening potential that I'm convinced my mind will shatter like glass. Then I see something that convinces me my mind is already blown.

Outside the window, a tree, a slender laurel tree, trembles and shudders in the act of growing upward, sunlight coloring the leaves to pure gold, branches lifting towards the overhead sun in an act of ecstatic worship. And in the bark, the forming, twisting bark of the tree, I see all that remains of Cameron's feminine face.

Impossible.

But Atremia laughs again and I can't keep the scream from lunging from my mouth.

[Word Count: 999 per MS Word (not counting titles)]

*********

Just a note of thanks to Monk and everyone else who took the time and effort, and donated the prizes, to make this contest possible.

The Shadow One



Been gone awhile -- yes, a long while.