Writing Contest; Prizes!

[KukriKhan]

Hello esteemed Org members. To keep us all entertained/busy until the release of Rome: TotalWar, we thought we would run a couple of contests. First up: a writing contest.

THE CONCEPT:

Org member Dimeolas has created and shared with us some outstanding art. See some samples here:
https://jimcee.homestead.com/Dimeolas1.html
Many of his pieces are untitled, and he has recently produced some new, never-before-seen images.

Your job, as contestant, is to write (in 1,000 words or less) something about one of the two images below. It could be a short-short story, a lengthy caption - whatever your imagination dictates. In the post below this one, I've made a sample of what one of Dimeolas' images 'said' to me.

Here are the images (pick one) for this contest:





THE RULES

1) Your piece must be original work, by you.

2) It must be 1,000 words or less (hint: if you compose using a word-processing program, like MS Word, "word count" is one the their features).

3) It must remain unedited after submission (it wouldn't be fair to see someone else's submission, then change your's to match their idea).

4) Your language must abide by the Org's forum rules.

5) The contest is open to all, from Junior Patron to Admin.

6) One entry per user name.

THE PRIZES

Two prizes will be awarded.

1st prize: Original artwork custom-made for you by Dimeolas the artist.

Runner-up: Japanese calligraphy travel set, pictured here (mailed by me to the address of your choice):



THE JUDGING

1) This contest runs from today, 15 August, until midnight GMT, 22 August. Late submissions will be considered for the next contest (yes; we have more prizes, so: more contests).

2) The judging panel for THIS contest will consist of:
a) Dimeolas (the artwork provider)
b) KukriKhan ( the calligraphy set provider), and
c) a poll of Org voters. That poll will be set up after submissions end on 22 August, and run 3 days to garner the opinion of the Org, at large.
Each judge has a one-third vote, and Dimeolas and KukriKhan will negotiate/re-vote as necessary until a clear winner and runner-up is selected.

3) Your submission will be judged on:
a) originality
b) presentation
c) entertainment value

Questions or problems should be directed to KukriKhan via PM or email jim@jimcee.com .

[KukriKhan]

SAMPLE



"WHERE AM I?", he screamed into the purple haze.

But his ears heard no scream. Merely the gentle lap of water
against the oddly capsized vase in the pond.

The sweet cedar smell of his own scabbarded blade, laying before him, filled his nostrils - and teasingly suggested memories.

His father presenting him the sword.

The dojo, where he honed his skills.

The awful, glorious battlefields, filled with carnage and sweat and mud-turned-crimson - and legacies of honor.

The gratitude of his General. The demure beauty of the General's wife.

The stolen moment. Yes.

The "whoosh" of another's sword, behind him.

The blinding flash of light.

The sickening thud.

"Oh", he thought, "What a fascinating blend of color is my death sky."

Final Thoughts of a Severed Head
by KukriKhan

[Monk]

“They are gone” the warrior whispered as he removed his helm, his voice melted into the gentle wind brushing across his face carrying the silver tears from his eyes and off into the night as he stared emptily into the horizon before him. Long locks of hair flowed down onto his shoulders resting upon the grey armor shining red as the haze around him drifted effortlessly, clinging to the world refusing to leave with the wind. He couldn’t forget the memories of his lost comrades, nor the sight of their broken bodies as they laid on the field of battle.

The warrior looked high into the dark sky, clouded as it was he could still see the moon, yet the she gave no light to him and seemed to be fading away. Holding his sword by its hilt the warrior’s sorrow burst from his armor, and he let out a cry that filled the silence around him sending back the fog that had been moving toward him. The helm he held dropped to the ground and he, the warrior, fell to his knees. He leaned upon his standing sword for strength and cried “Give me strength!” this time his voice was greater and no longer a whisper, yet he seemed to speak as if it pained him to do so. His cry was full of grief, and had there been a soul around his sadness would have pierces their being. Tears rolled from his eyes again, and they tumbled down his cheek running freely until they separated themselves from his face and flew off into the air. The wind crept up and carried the silver liquid away and the manifestation of his sorrow disappeared into nothingness.

Far away the sun was beginning to rise, it had not yet appeared from the hills but it sent light into the land nonetheless, it’s the red light clashed with the darkness above providing the coloring in the fog of the land. The warrior grabbed his helm from the ground and stood up to his feet, he could not erase the sadness within, it seemed to grip him by the heart not letting him feel anything else. He took his sword and brought it up to his face and looked deeply into the cold steel surface, passed the runes on the blade he looked upon himself, and there he saw his slain friend’s eyes looking back, yet this time the eyes held not pain, nor did they hold fear, they held warmth and friendship. The warrior smiled as his sadness slowly dissipated and seemed to fall away. As the eyes in the sword looked deep into his soul, they suddenly changed, and he saw no longer his dead friends, only his own reflection. And there in the eyes looking back at him his own eyes, was the same warmth that he had seen before, something he had thought he lost. He now knew no matter what he did they would be with him.

The warrior put his helm back on and looked up at the moon once more, he smiled and said “Good-bye my friends...” Once more his voice was the only sound in the land around, yet this time it was much different than before. No longer ravaged by guilt and sorrow, it now carried his buried sense of pride. “ But from now on,” he continued, “I’ll stand on my own strength.” He then laid his sword onto his shoulder and stepped forward.

Sorrow
by Monk

[nightcrawlerblue]

EDIT: Oops sorry I forgot to say that this was for picture #2 (the bottom one).

Here's something I wrote fairly quickly.

All has passed. All who opposed me have fallen. Their blood splashed across every building. I can almost feel the death that resides within this place. It has become a fog, blanketing everything for miles in a coat of red, streaking the night with crimson. The moon creeps out and sees the destruction I have wrought. My master always told me one phrase, “Death eats at the living, those who cause it are devoured alive.”
I finally understand what it means. I am the last of everything. The destroyer of all. Even now I can feel the lives I destroyed eating at my soul and I finally realize that in my quest for eternal life I have been granted eternal hell. I am alone and will forever be alone. Nothing lives and all is lost because of one man’s greed. I held the power of eternal life and none could defeat me but in my greed I fell. Fell from a great king to what I am now. An immortal king with no one to rule and no one to command, for they have all perished. I walk around the fields of blood that I have caused and even with all my pain, I lust for more. The death I have caused is not enough, I need more. I look across the battlefield and spot a soldier who somehow survived, though just barely. I walk over to his bleeding body, and strike my sword down with a fatal blow. As soon as he dies it hits me and I finally realize that I am completely alone, all chance of redemption gone. I am alone.

Weird but as soon as I saw the picture I got the inspiration for it.

BTW, mind if I write and post more than one (I'm not really interested in the prizes or titles or anything I just want some experience and hopefully some feedback on wether or not they're good)?

[Dimeola]

What I had in mind to do for you guys was a custom work related to a TW game and your character and/or clan. I will get in touch with the winners and get some ideas, then go to work. Thank you for your response and I hope you like the results.
Dimeolas

[Kaiser of Arabia]

For Number 2:


They were all dead. The king, the royal court, the guards, all of them, were slain by Harad, the Viking warrior. Triumphantly, he leans on his broadsword and plans his future, as a criminal throuout Scandinavia.

[DemonArchangel]

"Ugggh...."

I groaned as I slowly came back to the world of conciousness. I took a deep breath and my nostrils were greeted with the lovely perfume of rancid sake and dried vomit.

"Great", I groaned to myself as I tried to marshal enough energy into my muscles to pick myself up off the ground. I think I may have lifted myself a full inch above the ground before collapsing back down into my vomit. Frustrated in my attempts to stand up, I just stared at the scene before me. I didn't know what time of day it was, or why the barflies at the tavern didn't steal my sword or any of my clothes. As I could see, I was horrifically drunk around 12 hours earlier, then I must have passed out around 6 hours earlier after drinking. Well that explains why I'm here. Now to think up an excuse for the wife....

[Chimpyang]

This is for the picture on top


DeVillion was weary, he had witnessed many terrible event during his long life, but none shook him more than what he had seen today. Trembling, he tried to calm himself by meditating, a skill he had learnt on his many travels into the eastern lands. Throwing his sword aside he sat down and tried to clear his mind.

Looking into the dusk, he sat there trying to make himself as stone. But no matter how hard he tried the same picture came back to haunt him, he tried to shut it out, but to no avail. Gasping, he broke out of the semi-trance that he was in and breathed long deep breaths, calming himself to try again. Sweat beads rolling off his battle scarred face as he tried to compose himself.

This time he was more successful, he let his mind wander free into the early evening sky, rolling around in it's smooth colours. More and more he was drawn to the sun, he went t closer and closer until he disappeared amongst the clouds.

It was his squire who found him.
"Sir, Sir, the villagers are here to thank you for saving them."
Trying again, the squire shook his master. However, no answer was to be gotten from his lord, who was flying high amongst the clouds in search of peace.

By now the villager had gathered around their champion. Concerned looks stamped on each and every one of their faces. From the oldest farmer to the youngest child, they were worried for their hero, who had delivered them from the clutches of death many times over.

A loud scream rose up from one of the old nursemaids, DeVillion's skin was changing colour. Slowly but surely his skin turned blue and finally grey. His squire tried to shake him but DeVillion remained still.

“Papa?” One little child asked “Why has he turned into stone? ”

No answer came from his father , who was gaping at what had happened. Almost as one the villagers stepped away from the statue.

“Who will protect us now.”
“What shall we do?”
“How did this happen?”
All these questions remained unanswered as the villagers tore themselves away from the unworldly occurrence. The little boy saw DeVillion’s sword lying on the ground.
“Look papa! Look at what I found!” the little boy exclaimed as he picked up the sword, clutching it tightly to his chest.
But his father was too busy to look and instead lead him away with the crowd. Leaving DeVillion to sit for ever more, forever watching over his beloved village and those he had sworn to protect.


(437 words)

(I'm not sure if this is any good, please give feedback elsewhere or PM me)

[The_Emperor]

The warrior stood there on the open plain, beside the great aqueduct that had been built by his ancestors.

Resting on his sword, he gazed through the purple haze of the moonlight searching for the reason he came to this place... Marvelling at the impressive structure.

The warrior watched carefully from beneath his helm, His eyes constantly scanning the horizon for the threat. The wait went on. Waiting… Waiting…

Before long a shape stirred in the haze and shadows before him as another armoured warrior stepped forward brandishing his sword.

Standing not far from each other the two men faced off against each other, the breath before the duel.

Their grievances ran deep from a vicious blood feud that had long existed between their great houses. Nobody knew the cause of the feud it had been lost in time, like so much that once was. All that was left was hatred.

So it was the last sons of each great and noble house stared at each other across the darkness, ready to bring to a final end the vicious cycle of hate.

Picking up their swords, the two armoured men charged against each other, as the clang of steel echoed out into the moonlit darkness of the night...

[The_Emperor]

Ahh damn, I didn't see the editing rule... I did it to correct spelling mistakes and typos...

[Kraellin]

it's been a long while since i did the bard thing. i do NOT consider myself eligible for this contest, but i just wanted to participate for the sake of it. so, here it is. this is based on the picture of the warrior, the 2nd picture.

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

The Warrior Stands Alone

the twilight comes and clouds arise
the moon to misty fields
the eve before and all fear dawn
the warrior stands alone

his blade a gift of earlier
the fallen care not so
his prayers go out to all he's loved
the warrior stands alone

the twilight red a hint of blood
no tears shall fall tonight
but on the morrow death shall come
the warrior stands alone

his face is grim and somber kept
his stance is proud and calm
his weathered brow is creased with woe
the warrior stands alone

a man is measured by his deeds
but deeds do all belie
the pain of heart the fighter knows
the warrior stands alone

the grave, or victor none can say
what dawn shall bring next day
but hope eternal paves the way
the warrior stands alone

to god or gods he makes his peace
but one is left behind
to make a life or be bereft
his wife shall stand alone.

Kraellin Celebnoli

copyright 2004

[Ludens]

1) This contest runs from today, 15 August, until midnight GMT, 22 August. Late submissions will be considered for the next contest (yes; we have more prizes, so: more contests).

Sorry for asking, but is the twenty-second of august still within the deadline or does it have to be in before the twenty second?

[Papewaio]

Aqueducts everywhere, but not a drop will flow.

Narit, young templar of the Sun, stood on the marshy banks. Nearby was the main hall of of his orders barracks. Aqueducts stood above his head, questing from the swelting, stinking human city to the chilly high lakes. He could feel that he was being watched and it definitely was making him uncomfortable.

His armour creaked in the cool air as he shifted from one foot to the other. The loosened straps slapping against his armour. His sunsword embossed with the words of his faith, his forefathers names who had held the blade, and had a new leather grip that creaked as he held on to it for support. Although the templars where modeled on a monastic order it was only until one had proven himself in battle that one had to live like a monk. Once the sunswords blade had quenched its first then so could his own.

The cold should have helped him stay alert, the wind as it whispered through the leaves of the willows certainly added to his annoyance of being examined. The willows and himself swayed in the brisk wind carrying with it the first beginnings of winter chill. He adjusted his stance and bent backward slightly. Then he heard the footsteps lurching towards him through the haze of the dawn.

He brought his sword up one handed as he adjusted his blade for maximum protection. This was not turning out how he liked at all.

“Who treads this sacred ground?” he barked into the darkness of the willows.

“Narit!, its just I. Calm down would you. Its not like you are the farking only one who wishes to take a leak on the riverbank.” Rosteau swore back at his squadling.

“Sorry Sir, I just find it difficult to go for a piss with someone else watching. Even with my bladder full I’m hopping from foot to foot and I still can’t piss with the feeling that someone is watching.”

[Dimeola]

Just thought I`d try my hand, even tho I cant enter.....second picture

How I hated the quiet moments. It gave me pause to think. And how hard I have tried to stay numb. Recollection....the friends who have come and been wisked away in horror. The many battles, the chances to be a hero....and chances lost, ending in failure. Old age and mediocrity overcome me. I have trained myself to kill the emotion. Now a wasted life breaks the mold.

What is good in life but to stand back to back with my Brothers in arms and slay the enemy. To sit in our lord`s hall and feast on victory. To drink in life. My lord is dead and no one knows me here.......
tho moon crosses a clear sky...we wander lost. What a beautifull moon.

Dimeolas

[KukriKhan]

OK folks. WorldClock.com tells me that it is midnight, GMT, the 22nd. So submissions time has expired.

Many thanks to all contestants. Next up: a poll, where Org members vote for their favorite short-short story.

If you missed this contest deadline, fear not; we'll start another contest once the winner of this contest has been selected, and prizes awarded.

Moderator: at your convenience, kindly close this thread. Thanks.