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Story & Lore Mini-Contests: Remote Building

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Nothing ever comes of mindless scribbling.

Just because a person hasn't planned their outcome, doesn't mean that anything they write is mindless. You're stomping on people's creativity. Not everybody has to be a machine, doing things step-by-step, writing based on predetermined plans. You need to stop insulting everybody who free writes, just because they do things differently than you.

Plenty of people have changed their ideas, or come up with new ideas, of what they want their story to be, while they're writing. The final result very often not an exact replication of some plan.

But, fine, how about this, you can continue being a writing nazi, and anybody who does things differently than you is absolutely inferior, and not worth wasting any time speaking to.
 
Level 22
Joined
Jul 25, 2009
Messages
3,091
Just because a person hasn't planned their outcome, doesn't mean that anything they write is mindless. You're stomping on people's creativity. Not everybody has to be a machine, doing things step-by-step, writing based on predetermined plans. You need to stop insulting everybody who free writes, just because they do things differently than you.

Plenty of people have changed their ideas, or come up with new ideas, of what they want their story to be, while they're writing. The final result very often not an exact replication of some plan.

But, fine, how about this, you can continue being a writing nazi, and anybody who does things differently than you is absolutely inferior, and not worth wasting any time speaking to.

How exactly am I insulting, "Free-writers"

Please don't start trolling me; "you can continue being a writing nazi, and anybody who does things differently than you is absolutely inferior, and not worth wasting any time speaking to."

Now I'd really have to argue that no one, absolutely no one, who is a good writer, just starts writing with no idea what he's writing about. The same does not apply to poetry.

But I'd really like to stop this nonsense now and await the results.

The argument Grey was making is conceptually accurate, no one knows their entire plot, but no imbecile should think a writer goes into his story without even knowing the core elements of it.
 
Level 7
Joined
Jan 9, 2010
Messages
339
Talk about late replies. I really should read the Notices section more often. Anyway, incoming WIP. Hope I can drum it into something resembling a decent story within 2-3 days. Finished the intro but still have many things to work out - not even sure where the plot is going, lol


New
It was raining again. The rain was incessant, casting the dense rainforest into an otherworldly gloom, the intermittent lightning illuminating the endless swathes of greenery for the briefest moments. The towering canopies of the trees bent back and forth in the howling winds, seemingly pleading for the merciless winds to subside. Their great, ancient bulks looked as if they would be uprooted any moment.

The bleak landscape mirrored my personal thoughts. Never had I considered that taking a vacation by staying in a chalet deep within the tropical rainforest of Malaysia would be the cause of such misery. I had expected an adventure, an opportunity to relax and chill out by myself far away from the eternally bustling streets of the city. In my attempt to get some R&R, shake off the bloodsuckers of the civilized world, I had inadvertently submitted myself to the mercy of the bloodsuckers of the natural world. Mosquito sprays only seemed to agitate the seemingly endless legions of the miniature vampires into a bloodletting frenzy. They somehow infiltrated my room even when I drew the mosquito net over the windows, making insomnia a frequent occurrence.

I let out a sigh as I turned away from the gloomy visage outside. The room was small but adequately furnished for my needs. I pulled out a chair and tried to focus on the headlines of the local newspaper in the flickering light of the reading lamp: floods in nearly every coastal area thanks to the monsoon season. Absently, I wondered if the dirt roads leading out of the chalet would still be there when the rain stopped. If they were, so much the better, I would have an excuse not to go back to the office for a while yet.

Perhaps that was not the best thing I could have wished for.

The neatly printed words on the newspaper blurred in front of my eyes. Startled, I rubbed my eyes and tried to focus. The entire room was melding into a kaleidoscopic blur of light and color, the filthy window and the rumpled bed alternately expanding and contracting into bizarre splotches of color, like a sfumato painting, only worse, like the last image men on a chaotic, medieval battlefield see, blurred lines and colors their last memory of this world before slipping into an endless, dreamless sleep. And before I, who was never a heavy drinker, in fact had never tasted alcohol before, nor smoked pot, weed, or any of their variants, slipped into the inexplicable darkness, the whistling of the wind suddenly seemed to be magnified out of proportion, like the roar of a freight train headed off to parts unknown.


Waxing
I lifted my head from the table. The newspaper had adhered to the side of my face while I was sleeping, and now it made a crackling sound as it peeled off from my face. Grimacing, I made a beeline for the toilet while flexing my stiff muscles. That in itself was a sign that I had not been unconscious for a short period of time. The rhythmic drumming of the rain on the roof was gone, and from a glance out of the window, I assumed it was night as the evergreen foliage was obscured by the veil of night. Strangely, there was none of the soothing insect chirruping that was a characteristic of this rainforest.

As I relieved myself, I heard the muffled sounds of people conversing in the local slang out in the hallway, which I had picked up a few phrases of. Nonetheless, I was no more a master of this language than a toddler could be said to be fluent in any language when he first uttered Da or Ma. I completed attending to the call of nature and tidied myself up. At least, I could go and ask the staff about the local variety of mosquitos, and which of these little freaks were capable of inducing temporary unconsciousness and any aftereffects it might have.

I opened the door, and could see that something had spooked a few people. They clustered together in a section of the hallway, three of them in total, jabbering in subdued and ominous tones, the sight made ridiculous by a bare-chested gorilla of a man wearing yellow shorts dominating the scene and waving his hands in exaggerated gestures with two hotel workers obviously trying to calm the big man down. I walked towards them, intending to glean some insight into what they were so worked up about. Maybe the freak occurrence of me falling unconscious was not confined to me alone.

It happened with frightening speed.

As I drew closer to the group, which for now I simply labeled as other people, not survivors, not yet, the overhead lamps flickered and went out. At the same moment, I felt the temperature drop, drop until it was like the darkest night in the deepest winter. A silent shadow-shape flickered past me so fast I could barely glimpse the motion, and I could hear someone screaming. Why in hell were the emergency lights not working? I was filled with the certainty that I had been plunged headfirst into a situation where my modern education and skills were worthless, where the primeval instincts of mankind served them best, where things went bump in the dark and science could not explain even a fraction of the occurrences. This was partly due to my childhood fear of the dark, and now it returned with a vengeance, starving out my capacity for reason, filling me with the deep-seated conviction that the boogeyman had come for me at last, after eluding it for so many years. This was what happened in horror movies, when the lights went off, you could be damn sure that someone was going to die in a freaking horrible way. Even worse, I could feel myself slipping into unconsciousness again, like some dumb supporting character who couldn’t even fight back against the monster before being eaten alive, goddamn it.


Crescent

I was all alone in the hallway. Somehow, I had passed out while standing up, and now the deserted hallway was as lifeless as the South Pole. There was no trace of the other people, the lights were functioning again, and it seemed as if everything had been purely a figment of my imagination. Maybe it was, maybe the goddamned mosquitoes had injected something so radical into my bloodstream that even my brain was affected. Either way, even a brain-dead moron (ha-ha) could conclude that this was no ordinary vacation anymore.
 
Level 22
Joined
Jul 25, 2009
Messages
3,091
Talk about late replies. I really should read the Notices section more often. Anyway, incoming WIP. Hope I can drum it into something resembling a decent story within 2-3 days. Finished the intro but still have many things to work out - not even sure where the plot is going, lol


New
It was raining again. The rain was incessant, casting the dense rainforest into an otherworldly gloom, the intermittent lightning illuminating the endless swathes of greenery for the briefest moments. The towering canopies of the trees bent back and forth in the howling winds, seemingly pleading for the merciless winds to subside. Their great, ancient bulks looked as if they would be uprooted any moment.

The bleak landscape mirrored my personal thoughts. Never had I considered that taking a vacation by staying in a chalet deep within the tropical rainforest of Malaysia would be the cause of such misery. I had expected an adventure, an opportunity to relax and chill out by myself far away from the eternally bustling streets of the city. In my attempt to get some R&R, shake off the bloodsuckers of the civilized world, I had inadvertently submitted myself to the mercy of the bloodsuckers of the natural world. Mosquito sprays only seemed to agitate the seemingly endless legions of the miniature vampires into a bloodletting frenzy. They somehow infiltrated my room even when I drew the mosquito net over the windows, making insomnia a frequent occurrence.

I let out a sigh as I turned away from the gloomy visage outside. The room was small but adequately furnished for my needs. I pulled out a chair and tried to focus on the headlines of the local newspaper in the flickering light of the reading lamp: floods in nearly every coastal area thanks to the monsoon season. Absently, I wondered if the dirt roads leading out of the chalet would still be there when the rain stopped. If they were, so much the better, I would have an excuse not to go back to the office for a while yet.

Perhaps that was not the best thing I could have wished for.

The neatly printed words on the newspaper blurred in front of my eyes. Startled, I rubbed my eyes and tried to focus. The entire room was melding into a kaleidoscopic blur of light and color, the filthy window and the rumpled bed alternately expanding and contracting into bizarre splotches of color, like a sfumato painting, only worse, like the last image men on a chaotic, medieval battlefield see, blurred lines and colors their last memory of this world before slipping into an endless, dreamless sleep. And before I, who was never a heavy drinker, in fact had never tasted alcohol before, nor smoked pot, weed, or any of their variants, slipped into the inexplicable darkness, the whistling of the wind suddenly seemed to be magnified out of proportion, like the roar of a freight train headed off to parts unknown.


Waxing
I lifted my head from the table. The newspaper had adhered to the side of my face while I was sleeping, and now it made a crackling sound as it peeled off from my face. Grimacing, I made a beeline for the toilet while flexing my stiff muscles. That in itself was a sign that I had not been unconscious for a short period of time. The rhythmic drumming of the rain on the roof was gone, and from a glance out of the window, I assumed it was night as the evergreen foliage was obscured by the veil of night. Strangely, there was none of the soothing insect chirruping that was a characteristic of this rainforest.

As I relieved myself, I heard the muffled sounds of people conversing in the local slang out in the hallway, which I had picked up a few phrases of. Nonetheless, I was no more a master of this language than a toddler could be said to be fluent in any language when he first uttered Da or Ma. I completed attending to the call of nature and tidied myself up. At least, I could go and ask the staff about the local variety of mosquitos, and which of these little freaks were capable of inducing temporary unconsciousness and any aftereffects it might have.

I opened the door, and could see that something had spooked a few people. They clustered together in a section of the hallway, three of them in total, jabbering in subdued and ominous tones, the sight made ridiculous by a bare-chested gorilla of a man wearing yellow shorts dominating the scene and waving his hands in exaggerated gestures with two hotel workers obviously trying to calm the big man down. I walked towards them, intending to glean some insight into what they were so worked up about. Maybe the freak occurrence of me falling unconscious was not confined to me alone.

It happened with frightening speed.

As I drew closer to the group, which for now I simply labeled as other people, not survivors, not yet, the overhead lamps flickered and went out. At the same moment, I felt the temperature drop, drop until it was like the darkest night in the deepest winter. A silent shadow-shape flickered past me so fast I could barely glimpse the motion, and I could hear someone screaming. Why in hell were the emergency lights not working? I was filled with the certainty that I had been plunged headfirst into a situation where my modern education and skills were worthless, where the primeval instincts of mankind served them best, where things went bump in the dark and science could not explain even a fraction of the occurrences. This was partly due to my childhood fear of the dark, and now it returned with a vengeance, starving out my capacity for reason, filling me with the deep-seated conviction that the boogeyman had come for me at last, after eluding it for so many years. This was what happened in horror movies, when the lights went off, you could be damn sure that someone was going to die in a freaking horrible way. Even worse, I could feel myself slipping into unconsciousness again, like some dumb supporting character who couldn’t even fight back against the monster before being eaten alive, goddamn it.


Crescent

I was all alone in the hallway. Somehow, I had passed out while standing up, and now the deserted hallway was as lifeless as the South Pole. There was no trace of the other people, the lights were functioning again, and it seemed as if everything had been purely a figment of my imagination. Maybe it was, maybe the goddamned mosquitoes had injected something so radical into my bloodstream that even my brain was affected. Either way, even a brain-dead moron (ha-ha) could conclude that this was no ordinary vacation anymore.

Really good.
 
Level 22
Joined
Jul 25, 2009
Messages
3,091
...

This is the second time I end up noticing this contest too late.
Well, there's like four days to go but I won't be able to produce anything,
lest I can write a Prose, in that short amount of time.

Pharao, start notifying me personally whenever I new writing contest is!
:p



Guess I'm terrible, then.

I'm sure you misunderstand me. It's not even my argument.
 
Level 4
Joined
Nov 11, 2012
Messages
132
I won't be able to submit mine :( oh this is so depressing, I just got 1 week to do this but i dont have enough time. I guess I'll join another time.
 
Level 7
Joined
Dec 26, 2010
Messages
401
That's the latest entries/posts made by all contestants who have not dropped out, this includes the WiPs from everyone who has posted one in this thread, if I missed your latest entry, or you wish to drop out please let me know so I can update this list. (Makes it easier for all 0 of our judges :wink:)
 
Last edited:
Level 6
Joined
Mar 31, 2012
Messages
169
Hope I'm not too late. I had this ready to post but couldn't find the time in my busy day to do so. I regret to say that the ending of this piece was a little rushed; I would have loved to include more dialogue and a combat scene, but ultimately was unable to do so thanks to procrastination and a general lack of inspiration to write.

There was always something buzzing in the city of Jasper. Most of its buildings were a bland and repetitive grey, with stiff, chromatic walls and simple doors. The most individuality you'd get out of these structures was a flashing light or a sign mounted over a door - and those were rarely seen at all. The buzzing was not metaphorical; the cityscape was often a nearly-empty, desolate setting that had more in common with a desert than a population centre. Neither was the buzzing particularly noteworthy, for few would ever remark of it. The buzzing of Jasper was quite literal, and had anybody lived there, they would most certainly be unnerved by the constant sound.

Jasper was an idyllic yet remote city husk, constructed by the government, for the government. The average citizen of Rastar knew next to nothing of such "government towns"; they were kept secret for a reason. Often times, the husks were used as testing sites for developmental weapons or other military technology. The operatives would initiate the test, and observe the impact to an urban environment. Thenceforth, modifications would be made to ensure a more desirable reaction. The husks were almost always destroyed, partially or entirely, during these tests. Jasper was indeed a rare case, as not one of its buildings had fallen during the trials of Project Prodigal - a research operation dedicated to finding a way to control and expand Terran psionics better than ever before. It was headed by none other than shadow operative Mathius Tolrim, of the Rastarian military.

Planet Rastar itself is a large world filled with sprawling forests and vast expanses of wastelands, gaslands, and deserts. Its crust is rich with raw resources, but not too many Terran colonies have been seeded upon the world. A population of about four and a half billion Terrans live and breathe on the planet, but given that its size is easily four times the size of their distant homeworld, that is a very small number. Despite their lack of population, though, the ex-Confederate miners and prospectors have grown and prospered into a hardy folk that continue to maintain high military strength despite lacking a hefty amount of trade and commerce. While much of Rastar's government and society mirrored their former Confederate rulers (and what else could truly be expected from a loyalist colony?), free enterprise and mass media had slowly taken over the public channels. That was the thing that most unnerved Jasper's periodic "visitors"; there were no adverts, no billboards, and no commercials.

There was no reminder of the society they knew.

As the dropship flew overhead, followed closely by two others, the passengers couldn't help but notice how much more vacant Jasper looked in the pouring rain. One soldier in particular was rather disgruntled at the urban wasteland he beheld. That soldier was Corporal Rick Wells of the 407th Specialist Infantry, and he agreed wholeheartedly with his superior officer's words during the mission briefing: "If ever there was a more barren, decrepit, hauntingly-empty ghost town, this place is it! They should'a called it Casper, for all the ghosts they must get...."

Rick laughed privately at the thought, mentally replaying Sergeant Vic's rather stereotypical intonation as he glanced about the other passengers. Morale seemed to be as high as it ever was amongst the troops, as they playfully shoved each other this way and that or cracked offensive jokes and took comfort in the taboo. The corporal smirked, knowing he was no different when it came down to it. One thing was certain, though; when the orders were barked, it was all serious business. He might not want to follow every order given to him, but Rick knew when to screw around and when to shape up and shut up. Orders are orders, after all, no matter how far up the chain of command they were. While the sergeant - his superior officer - was still accompanying the 407th in the mission ahead, he wasn't due to arrive for another few hours. Vic always referred to his pre-mission paperwork as "bureaucratic bullshit!" Rick, on the other hand, figured that the sergeant enjoyed it. If something went terribly wrong, and the entire team ended up KIA right after touchdown, he wouldn't be there.

In this case, though, Rick didn't care too much for the thought of a major failure. As corporal, he'd be commanding the squad - not something he felt ready for in the least, but a call to duty he had to answer nonetheless. If his squad failed, it'd be his ass on the chopping block - not Vic's. Rick Wells didn't care for that notion one bit, and as he looked around at the men that surrounded him, he knew he'd never warm up to the idea of losing troops.

Of course, he needn't worry. They were headed out to Jasper as a recon and retrieval detachment. The city husk had been producing some experimental technology based on unlocking psionic potential in Terrans who would otherwise never wield such abilities - pretty heavy science stuff that Rick would probably never fully understand. He understood why such tech was so important, though. It would usher in a new age of Terran warfare, with every member of the military boasting an array of psionic weaponry. The prospects were often gruesome and distasteful to the soldier, who ironically despised warfare against his own race. When he had to count his current kill streak, though...

Rick shook his head, clearing his thoughts and focusing once more on his objectives. Since the city husk went off the grid shortly after the technology started being produced, the response team was quick and well-prepared. Twenty-four Rastarian soldiers, armed to the teeth and loyal to the core, were sent in to retrieve the devices and reestablish a connection with Jasper's installations so production could resume in full. Command had stressed the importance of the technology and had given further instructions that tampering with any of it would be grounds for a court-marshal; Rick didn't need to be told twice. Get in, grab what they can, bring comms back online, and get out. The tasks seemed simple enough.

Corporal Wells couldn't help but feel a sinking feeling as the dropships descended. As simple as the objectives may be, something felt off. There had been no sign of forced entry, resistance, or battle. Did the facilities go rogue? If so, why? Whatever had happened had left negative energy in the air, and Rick was getting hit hard by it. He was one of the last marines out of the ship, and while the squad mobilised and the engines flared, the corporal lifted his suit's visor and tasted dead, stale air.

He looked up at the dropships as they rose to the heavens, and watched them take off, slowly becoming mere dots against the black horizon. The rain continued to batter down against Rick's suit; it was practically deafening. He hadn't observed the sound up until now. The engines of the dropships were always the loudest thing in the military, next to the regular thundering of cannons and guns.

Rick felt suddenly overcome with the urge to swear, to rampage through the barren cityscape and raise a prominent middle finger to the Rastarian flag that hang so high in the cloudy grey sky. He hated the feeling of control that he felt creeping up on him - the resocialisation of the Terran Dominion that the Rastarian neurologists had admittedly done their best to reverse, without success. It had, at one time, erased all that made Rick who he was; now, its fragments often terrorised the soldier during sleep and during combat, making for unhealthy distractions that he just didn't need. Now, they were telling him how to lead his men. Tactical advice from tyrannical leaders is not something the corporal appreciated. With all the pent-up tension, the buzzing of Jasper just bothered him more.

As he collected himself and approached the head of the proverbial pack, mentally preparing his address to the soldiers before him, Rick Wells glared at the chromatic steel-grey walls of the nearest installation. As imposing as they were, what unnerved the soldier was not their verticality; it was the dark secrets they no-doubt held.

It was rare that Rick questioned his government; now, as he felt torn between serving Rastar and getting answers, was one of those rare times.

"Fuck."

________________________________________________________

Rick’s radio crackled loudly and uncomfortably into his ear. “Second squad leader, reporting in. No sign of life, hostile or otherwise.” A mild French accent could be heard in the voice of the corporal’s second-in-command, Jeremy Boudreaux. Boudreaux was always concise with his reports, and Rick appreciated the consistency. Though he was only a private, Boudreaux had been put in command of fireteams several times before by Vic, and it only seemed prudent to continue the sergeant’s precedent.

Not wanting to keep the man waiting, Rick keyed his mike and responded. “Understood, private. Have you found the devices?”

“Negative, sir – just a bunch of cubicles and walls.”

Boudreaux’s report wasn’t exactly surprising. Rick himself had noted the lack of life that seemed to pervade the installation, and the corporal hadn’t thought that his second in command had been having much luck on his end. Orders were orders, though. “Copy that. Continue the search; Wells out.”

The corporal had been fruitlessly looking through the files of the room’s database for the past five minutes, finding nothing that would point him in the right direction. The entire place seemed empty – as if the science teams had just decided to get up and leave in the middle of breakfast. Rick sighed and looked to his left, seeing one of his men appraising a statuette of a dog. His heads-up display painted the soldier as Private Dana Moskatel.

“Hey, private, what’ve you got there?” The corporal smiled a little. “You don’t think the good doctors were chased away by a bunch of dogs, do you?”

The man chuckled, glancing at Rick with a grin that was only a little petulant. “Maybe, sir. Hell if I know; it just reminds me of the dog I had back home, on Tarsonis. Simpler times then, don’t you think?” Moskatel paused for a moment before replacing the statuette, leaving it how he found it. “It’s too bad he didn’t make it to Rastar. We’d have had one hell of a time!”

Rick grinned, letting out a chuckle of his own. “Yeah, simpler times, alright; when a man could sit down and play with his best friend.” The soldier had to remind himself he was on a mission, and glanced around the room, seeing that the rest of his squad had also found nothing of importance. “Ain’t no use dwelling on simpler times, though. Let’s get back to work.”

As Moskatel gave the corporal a nod, Rick resumed his scouring of the structure, ordering his squad to form up and follow him to the next room. “Come on, men, drop whatever you’re doing. Nothing’s here.” Wells sighed, again, knowing that the same amount of nothingness was probably waiting for him behind the next doorway – and the one after that, and the one after that. Keeping his rifle at the ready, the corporal waited for his squad to file in, and reached forward, intent on tapping the release button on the door’s security pad.

In the next few seconds, Rick struggled to retain his fleeting grip on the situation. Something tore a hole in the door, and whatever had done it sped past the confused corporal. He could hear shouts and screams – first of surprise, and then of pain. Rick’s movements were sluggish, as if he were underwater – he felt slowed as he attempted to turn to see what was happening.

Then one of his squadmate’s signatures on his heads-up display went dark, and the pained shriek of a dying man shook Rick back to reality. Not only was a man dead on the floor, but something was eating him.

Something?

“Fire, fire, fire!” Rick screamed out, bringing his rifle to bear and firing it off at the large creature that had just made a meal out of Private Moskatel. The rest of his squad reacted seconds later, and the room was soon filled with the all-consuming sound of warfare; each man roared as he pulled the trigger, bullets exploded out of their rifles, and the unidentified creature let out a piercing screech as its carapace was shredded. Only when the beast’s screams came to an end did the men stop firing, unsure of how to proceed. The creature had nearly butchered the ill-fated soldier, and had managed to withstand the barrages of eleven well-armed Marines before its life came to an end.

One of the soldiers tried to make light of the situation, but his tone was on-edge. “Thing’s got skin as tough as my ex-wife!” A few forced chuckles rang out before the men looked to their corporal for some form of guidance.

Taking a step forward, Rick sighed and crouched down as he looked the creature over. The carapace – or what was left of it – looked to be incredibly durable, and its leg muscles were obviously built for locomotion. Confused, the corporal initiated a visual scan of the creature, which would automatically cross-reference the appearance of the organism with everything in Rastar’s intelligence database. Images and text streamed directly to Rick’s heads-up display, blazing through a slew of information before settling on the most probable match. An image of a ferocious beast closely resembling a skinless dog was plastered over the corporal’s display; the beast had a fearsome maw of endless razors, a set of long, spindly appendages sprouting from its back, and a pair of cold, vacant yellow eyes. The entry read “Zerg: Zergling”.

Rick’s mouth fell open, reading and re-reading what was listed on his screen. While the soldier had never seen the Zerg in person, he’d been educated by the Rastarian military on the beasts. He never believed they’d come to Rastar. Few knew the location of the system, and almost nothing of extraordinary value was present, but facts were facts; the Zerg had arrived. Moskatel’s corpse was a grim, but certain reminder of that reality.

Rising from his crouched position, Rick turned to face his men and raised his visor. He inhaled, and tried not to gag at the stench of the dead Zergling. The air was still stale, seemingly undisturbed by the combat that had taken place moments before. If circumstances were different this would have bothered Rick – but a man was dead on the floor, and the alien that had killed him was almost certainly not alone.

The corporal took another, deeper breath, before delivering the news to his squad. “It’s a Zerg.”

Rick’s words had an immediate impact upon the other men. Chatter immediately started – the faces of the younger men contorted in an expression of fright, suddenly unsure of just how secure their future was. Amongst the squad, the dread they were experiencing became increasingly apparent; trained as they were, it was difficult for them to contain their emotions. The Zerg were a fearsome, relentless alien race that left little alive in their rampage across the galaxy, and every man in this room knew it. The corporal knew he had to silence this now, or their fear and apprehension would kill them before the aliens did.

“Settle down, now! That’s an order!” As the squad fell silent, Rick went over the situation in his head. “The first thing we do is regroup with the second squad. The Zerg’s strength lies in numbers, and we need to be at our strongest if we’re going to take them head-on. Next, we’re going to call for reinforcements. We have to reestablish this compound’s link with the Rastarian HQ and inform them that the mission has escalated.” He paused, uncertain of how to continue. “I need you all with me, one-hundred percent, or we’re not going to last two minutes with these aliens. We’re going to locate Boudreaux and his squad, link up with the sergeant on comms, and tell him to haul ass!” For effect, he barked his final question. “Are you with me, soldiers?”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

Rick locked his visor, hiding a brief smile. They might be in dire straits, but they could survive. “That’s what I thought! Form up and secure that room! Scan for additional Zerg. I’m going to try and reach the second squad and let them know what we found.” Feeling in his element a bit more now that the soldiers had some measure of trust in him, the corporal walked to the centre of the room and pinged Jeremy Boudreaux’s comm. “Second squad, this is Corporal Wells. We have encountered Zerg resistance. I’m ordering our squads to link up and continue the operation. Acknowledge, over.”

As he finished, a marine emerged from the second room and gave Rick the ‘all-clear’ signal, indicating that the area had been secured and a perimeter had been set. With any luck, that chamber would be a defensible position in case the Zerg attached again before the squads had the chance to regroup.

A crackle came from the radio, and the corporal immediately refocused on it, awaiting an answer from the second squad. He’d want as concise a report as he could get out of the squad before ordering them to regroup.

Instead of Boudreaux’s slight French accent, Rick’s ears bore witness to a slow, soft, delicate laugh of a female.

“What?”

Rick strained his ears, unable to do much else. His uncertainty was apparent in the corporal’s voice as he called out again. “Hello? This is Corporal Wells. Second squad, please report in.” He hesitated, hearing nothing. “Boudreaux, are you there?”

The laugh resounded again, but this time, it was as if the corporal was surrounded by the voice. The sound of it seemed so pervasive, as if it filled the room. As Rick attempted to focus in on it, struggling to decipher the cause, it became obvious that the rest of the men were quite unaware of the haunting laughter. It grew more and more penetrating, more and more consuming, and as it did so, the corporal grew more and more unnerved.

The voice was inside Rick’s head.

“Come, Terran. Rick Wells. Come, and find me. I am your only hope of survival in this desolate place.”

With that, the presence within his head was gone – it had vanished, as if it had been but a puff of smoke on a windy day. The corporal could hardly believe what he had just witnessed. The speaker had been well-versed enough in psionics to the point where she was able to bypass the resocialisation in its entirety and speak to Rick and Rick alone. Was it a Terran doctor who had been forced into using the devices in order to accelerate her psionics? Perhaps a shadow operative – a frightful Ghost – who had been experimented on with the very assets that Rick’s team was sent in to recover? The confused corporal hadn’t the faintest idea. One thing was certain, though; the Zerg were bad enough, and now, a cryptic psion was playing mind games with him. The mission was getting more complicated by the second.

Rick breathed in quickly, his radio still crackling, and let out a sharp oath.

“Fuck!”

________________________________________________________

 

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I hope it's not too late but here is my final entry.


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The Tower and the Witch


Prologue

A sound of an arrow flying through the air is the last thing Elenera heard before the sudden searing pain burst in her chest, running from the back of her body and without even looking down; she knows she’ll find a head of blood-covered arrow half-protruding from her upper body. Her entire body bends with the force of impact and a drop of tear runs down her cheek while she’s in the air. The entire world stop and all range of emotions explode within her. The pain, the regrets, the fading ecstasy and the rush of combat…
…then, silence.


Origin of the Witch: The Red Fortress

Chapter I : Pelegas, the Prodigy.

In the ages past, a war erupted between two opposing factions of magic-users. The Circle of Thorns and the Magisterium of Summoners. The Circle consisted of druids and are in favourable position as the old and powerful organizations being supported by the Elven Dynasty while the Magisterium is relatively new.

It was barely a war when the Circle’s sentinels keep pushing deeper into the Golden desert, homeland of the Magisterium. The sand people, like their kin at the Elemental court, decided not to interfere and offered no resistance or support while the army of drenched walking treants and exhausted elves march through their land. Other magical factions such as the Church of Light, The Runemasters and The Followers of Entropy had all stay on the side while some smaller factions like the Witchdoctors or the Shape-shifters might had as much as opinions.

Even being far from the source of their powers, the druids managed to keep winning against all kind of demonic summons the magisters could call forth and in a few months, the druids stood before the Red Fortress, heart of the Magisterium.

Unfortunately, fate played another card and the druids found themselves fighting for their lives when summoners and their creatures weren't the only ones standing high on the wall.
The undead.

Skeletons and half rotten bodies were shuffling among the summoners and human wizards, shooting down volley of arrows after their masters’ magical bolts. Their numbers were not great enough to outnumber the army of elves and druid but the morale of the invaders dropped in a significant fashion.

The elves have always been terrified of the undead. The idea of being forced back from the afterlife is more disturbing to them than the idea of being controlled. They even formed a special regiment of sentinels, The Blackwatchers, to guard over their major graveyards and the Necropolis, a vast catacomb underground where the put the Archlich Igzisgul inside, waiting for him to rise again and put him back under before he start raising their ancestors. Nobody knows why the Archlich keeps coming back every few centuries, nobody knows how to destroy this Lich completely like other Liches either.

The druids came to a conclusion that the human can’t possibly decide to employ necromancy purely because they’re cornered. A more sinister force must have been at play. An investigation was needed and only a half-human female elf, Elenera, is brave or crazy enough to sneak into the Fortress.

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“By the First winter’s moon! Are those...?”

“Yes, Lady Elenera. Those are reanimated bodies.” A heavily armoured figure grunts in reply, holding his tower shield against volley of arrows that fell from the top of the crimson-coloured wall.

A brown-haired female elf in a short, flexible-looking ranger armour leaps from her burnt-treant cover closer to the armoured figure and under his shield.

“Never thought they’d go so far as necromancy.” Elenera replies.

She should not have been surprised. Humans have always been as impulsive as they’re creative, especially in such situation. Although, not a very positive creativity she’s fighting against right now.

“They’re just humans, Lady Elenera. What did you expect from them?” The armoured figure muffles under his mouth guard without even realizing that the famous ranger close to him is a half-human elf.

Elenera ignores the veiled insult and narrows her eyes, employing her eagle eye gift and confirming the source of these arrows raining around. Barely wearing any armour and pieces of skin hanging around exposed area, these archers are definitely undead.

The Red Fortress lies in the most strategically defensive position in the entire eastern part of the continent. Carved out of the Red Mountain range that separate the land and the vast ocean, the fortress face-out to its invaders and belonged to the sand people for centuries before the Elemental War broke out. The water elements slaughtered an entire population of the fortress before leaving it abandoned.

She shakes the uneasiness from her body with the thought of her mission and finds the lowest window on the wall. In a quick calculated decision, Elenera rushes toward the wall, making her way across the battlefield by tackling, sliding under soldiers and jumping on shields, shoulders and heads.

The elven warriors, seeing someone brave enough to head toward the wall, without hesitation, charges forward in a roaring wave alongside the ranger.
Elenera, still rushing her way toward the wall, barely notices arrows making its way through the elf she was talking to this morning beside her. All she could hear is the sound of her beating heart. She merges completely with the battle and only knows that her destination is dead ahead. The world slows down in her perspective and she is aware of everything that is happening even though she chooses to ignore most of it. She tilts her right shoulder backward to avoid a fiery magic bolt that proceeds to hit another elf in his ankle behind her. Her shoulder-plate protected her from the burning trail and in a split second, Elenera unconsciously lungs forward and rolls to avoid a horizontal array of arrows. She leaps up with such acrobatic skill and reflex that even most elves would find amazing and lands on the wall not too high from the ground.

She turns around and the reality of the situation overcomes her battle-rush as the only one who made it to the wall. The rest of the front line elves and treants slowly making their way backward from the wall and none seem to realize that one elf made it through the no man’s land of the battlefield.
Once again, she shakes the uneasiness and feeling of guilt, that so many fell beside her, with the thought of her mission and focus on the window above. Ascending up the red wall with her bare hands, she keeps breathing sighs of relief that no one on the top of the wall is aware of her.

She has never been so determined in her mission like this. Elenera smirks to herself with the thought of how up until yesterday, she was whole-heartedly against this entire march to uproot summoning magic. Maybe, it’s her rebellious human blood in her veins that disagree with the elders and their old ways or maybe, having travelled around for so long, she’s fond of freedom more than most elves would ever be and this laws against somebody’s way of life is just oppression in her opinion.

It’s actually justifiable that the human summoners would be so desperate to call upon even forbidden classes of demons like the Praefectus-class or even the soul-possessing Haerus-class. However, necromancy is a whole new level of evil.

This morning, she was called in by the Circle’s elders from her self-imposed scout duty along with other rangers. The rangers covering the northern part of the fortress caught glimpse of robed human caravan, entering the Red Fortress through a secret passage several days before the siege. They proceeded to collapse the cave after but the observing rangers confirmed that they saw a black decorative coffin being smuggled in along with other objects in the caravan.

The Circle believes that this sudden uses of necromancy mark an unusually malicious change of war effort and something sinister is brewing inside the fortress. One of the elders even remarks that there could be a lich inside that black coffin.

Elenera grabs onto a protruded stone above the window and finds it barred with iron bars.

‘Must be a prison.’ She thought to herself while covering her lower body with her cloak before she conjures up an ice dagger. In two swift slice, a bar of iron parts from both of its base, top and bottom. Quickly grab the falling bar, Elenera swings her body, foot first into the gap she cut open and lands in a dark and muddy room. Judging from the dense smell, the room must be pretty small and definitely a prison.

The half-elf ranger finds herself turning to a corner with instinct the moment she heard a small gasp and before she could even see clearly, the ice dagger in her hand is now travelling toward the source of the voice.

The ice dagger melts mid-air and splash on the face of the mysterious figure in the dark that had enough time to only cover his face with both hands. When he let down his hands to see clearly, a small dagger lands its cold-steel top on the skin of his neck in with a sound of the blade cutting through the air. He let out another gasp and traces his eyes along the blade and the arm that hold it toward a face of the blade’s owner, staring intently at him. A drop of blood slowly drips from the point his neck touches the steel and down the dagger onto the ground.

Elenera could easily kill this person in one twist of her wrist but she isn’t. She stopped herself from slitting his throat once she realized what this person did.

He dissolved the magic that hold her conjured ice dagger without using any magic. It doesn’t matter if he silently casted the spell, she should have felt the magic. She’s half-elf and that should make her affinity to magic greater than average human and she’s a ranger. Her senses are highly trained.

She cautiously casts a small ball of light on her left hand and raises it to shine the entire room while still keeping the dagger pointed at this person’s neck.

The dim light shows a male blond-haired human at the end of her dagger and he looks too young to be a guard. He’s in the magisterium apprentice clothing that are ragged and dirty and the look on his face is more shocked than terrified.

“Who.. Who are you and what are you doing in here?” uttered the human.

Really? There’s a war outside the window and she just broke in here. It’s usually not that hard to guess. Elenera ignores the human and looks around the room for any more surprises.

“Hey! I asked you a question and I demand an answer right now!” The human raises his voice at the half-elf.

She presses her dagger on his neck a little more and turns to him, frowning.
“You demand? You magisters might have forgotten that sharp thing on your neck means you’re in no position to demand anything.” She smirks at him while examining the human.

The human is unusually young with short blonde hair and side fringes, green eyes and a faded bruise on his left cheek. He must be no older than 25 years old and with his clothing, a magister apprentice for sure.

She lowers her dagger but before the young magister could move or shift for a less tensed position, the ranger lungs her right knee forward and directly into his lower abdomen. The pain of the impact sends the young man back to the wall and slowly falls into a sitting position.

“That should keep you quiet for now. I bid you farewell, young human, for I have somewhere important I should be.” Looking down on the human, Elenera says her goodbye before pushing the door open. The door, however, isn’t budging at her push. The half-elf tries pushing again, harder, to no avail.

‘Well, this really is a prison cell.’ Elenera thinks. She’s also wondering why did she think otherwise when she should have known that this room is definitely a prison cell.

“Wha… Why didn’t… Why didn’t you.. kill me?” The mage on the floor asked, breathing heavily with pain.

“You’re too young to kill.” She replies.

“You’re going… to regret this.” The mage raises his face in respond, staring directly at the half-elf for the first time.

“Of course, I will. This is war. I regret being a part of it.” The ranger’s tone deepens with seriousness without herself noticing.

“So… why don’t you..”

“I will regret not killing you less than I will regret killing you. Call me strange but a girl gotta hold on to something to believe in during war or she loses herself in all the killings and violence.” Elenera keeps going on her speech unconsciously while she examines the lock on the prison door. The young mage listens to her words as if being charmed.

“…and I choose to believe….” She stabs her steel dagger in the key hole and twists the blade forcefully clockwise.

“…in people.”

A sound of iron breaking inside the lock startles the mage and snaps him out of his attentive trance on the half-elf’s self motto. She turns the dagger horizontally and slices through the lock to the right before parts of the keyhole drop to the floor.

“I’m going to leave the door open in case you want to sneak out or you could try warning to guard. I really don’t care.”

As Elenera carefully opens the creaky prison door, the mage utters “Wait! I’m going with you.”

She pauses, eyes widens as she turns her head to the young human in disbelief while he rises up with difficutly, leaning against the wall.

In a quick inspection, Elenera makes sure that the dim-lighted hallway is clear. She signals the mage to move out of the cell with her hand.

The human walks out of his cell with a slight limp from his abdominal pain and suddenly he found himself pinned on the wall across his cell by his supposed rescuer, the knife that was on his neck not a moment ago is now back on his neck. Not that he’s fond of being threatened by it.

“You think me stupid, human?” coldly said by the overpowering half elf. Even being only slightly taller and noticeably skinnier, Elenera is using only her left hand to pin the human up the wall, his toes float above the ground.

“Look, I know it sounds suspicious but if you’d please stop poking that blade on my neck, I’ll explain everything and if, by then, you still feel like killing me then…” the human tries to negotiate but soon realize that his sentence is going nowhere useful.

Elenera lowers her dagger slightly from its uncomfortably close proximity of the human’s neck.

“I don’t have all night. Make it quick.”

“Right. So, I assume you’re here about the lich, correct?”

“How do you…”

“Deduction. The war dragged on and I’ve never seen an elf ranger in this part before. A few days ago, a black coffin arrived, then suddenly, all my magic teachers turned out to be necromancers and you’re right in front of me here.”

“Go on.”

“That’s all I’ve got.”

The dagger goes back up close to the neck. “And why are you coming with me then, necromancer acolyte?”

“Something went terribly wrong since that coffin arrived and you may not believe me but those magisters are my people and I… ”

He pauses for a moment to catch his breath.

“…I want to save them from whatever evil magic is controlling them.”

“Corrupting.” Elenera cuts in the sentence.

“There’s no controlling against anyone’s will here. Necromancy seems like it’s giving you ultimate power over life and death. Power corrupts people, makes them delusional. Simple as that.” Elenera explains to her knife-point hostage.

“Back to the matters at hands, I still have no reason to let you follow me around.”

“You said earlier that you believe in people. I’m telling you right now, I’d help you in any way I can if you can stop all these madness.”

Elenera hesitates for a moment. She looks right at the human for the first time ever since she sneaked into his cell. For some reason, she believes him. She can’t explain this feeling, it’s almost at the instinct level. Something in her is telling her, the human’s intention is genuine to what he claims.

She lets the mage down, still inspecting him cautiously. He hit the floor and falls to knees shortly.

“Tha.. thank you.” The human looks up to the half elf and, yet again, the tip of the dagger is pointed right at his face.

“I believe you but that doesn’t mean I trust you.”

The human mage quickly replies “That's good enough, I just want you to stop pointing the knife at me.”

“I swear to my ancestors, if you lie to me, I will personally castrate you.” She lifts the knife away from his face and turns to check the far side of the hallway.

“Now, stop acting like a panther cub and follow me closely.” Elenera paces quickly to the end of the hallway toward a big wooden door.

“Wait, this is a prison wing! There’s a…” The human’s warning is cut short when a huge battle axe breaks through the wooden door and in its downward swing, the axe lands on the brick floor, right in front of the door where Elenera was. Her reflex allows her to make a backward acrobatic jump out of the way in time.

She lands on her feet and launches herself forward in a successful reaction movement with the neck-threatening dagger in her hand. Mid-air, she jerks the dagger forward into the “head” of the huge figure, owner of the door-killing axe.

Elenera’s eyes dart to downward, instinctively, only to see a fist, throwing right at her torso.

The elf ranger is sent flying to the wall on the side, her body cracks the wall and bounces off behind the human mage, who only had time to duck out of the way.

Barely getting up, she sees her attacker. A huge skeleton-undead, pulling its battle axe out of the ground with one hand. Sharp pain surges through her chest area before her back would start aching in order of impact. Chest took a punch and back landed on the wall.

Elenera grunts with pain and looks up away from the floor again. She sees the human mage walking calmly toward the creature. Great! Looks like that mage betrayed her as expected at first. If she survives this, she’ll be busy finding a place to put that human’s personal manhood.

She smirks at the thought while still trying to fight the pain. She barely rises up and falls to lean against the wall when she sees the creature trying to hit the human mage with its axe. He dodges the blow by stepping backward a bit.

As luck would have it, that thing is a bone golem. A creature composed purely of bones and given movement by the same means with other elemental construct. A combination of elemental magic and necromancy.

“What are you doing?! That thing will kill you! Get out of there!” Elenera yelled at the human mage.

The human runs up to the bone golem and touches its chest. Miraculously, the bone golem shakes and brittles before falling down to the ground in pieces.

Again? That human dispels the magic that hold the golem together without casting a spell. Elenera frowns while still leaning agains the wall. The human runs back to her and help her sitting down on the wall.

She coughs twice before seeing that the human put his hands on her chest.

“What are you… ?!” She head butts the human right at his forehead just as he was kneeling down beside her.

“OUCH! What was that for?” The human protests, standing up and away from her a bit.

“What do you mean ’What was that for’ Have your mother never taught you to not touch that part of a female?!” Elenera yells at him before grunting from the pain of raising voice.

“Why would I want to touch …err that?!” The human lost his sentence mid-way.

Elenera stares at the human furiously. What the hell does he mean by ‘that’!?
“For your information, ‘That’…” She motions to her chest.”… was the reason her owner, namely me, received hundreds of gift from suitors last season.”

Elenera brags while the human kneels down beside her, one hand still rubbing his forehead.

“Wait! I didn’t mean that I don’t want to touch it.”

“Hah! That proves that you had intentions to touch my chest! ”

“No, I mean…”

The human rolls his eyes in disbelief. He had never been in such ridiculous situation.

“Ok, listen. I was trying to heal you.”

“Oh, you went from a prisoner necromancer-to-be to a healer now. What are you, a magic kid prodigy?” Elenera throws out another sarcasm.

“Actually, I was before they threw me in the cell.” The human replies while a glowing white aura forms around both of his hands over Elenera’s chest.

“Is that something to do with how you broke that golem by touching it?” She hasn’t forgotten how the human dispelled the bone golem without casting a spell.

“Yes. They said I have an attunement to magical bonds and I learnt how to deconstruct those bonds while I was a magisterium apprentice. I could cast spells from most schools without the magical backlash when I learnt how to fix the conflicting bonds between them in me.”

“So, they kept you in prison like an animal for experiment?”

“No no! I was thrown in the prison for questioning the use of necromancy. I just thought that it’s too much to call souls back from the death just to force them to do things.” The human explains quickly.

Elenera nods slowly while the pain is lessen by the moment with each tingling sensation from the healing aura.

“Well, that should do it. Shall we get going, elf?” The human rises up and extends his hand to Elenera, offering to help her up.

“The name is Elenera, mister prodigy.” She smiles while grabbing his hand, making jokes is what she does best apparently.

“Pelagas”

“What?”

“My name. I’m Adrianne Pelegas.”



3,755 words, rushed in around the end.

edit: Took out the MSWord file considering the final entry is already here in the post.
 
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well contest over. Also Aye remove from list plox since i didn't finish in time :(.

Imma go bug a mod to see if they will let me bug people for judging.

We need more judges :(
 
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It isn't "troublesome" if you're any good at reading and writing a review of what you just read. As a music reviewer for two webzines, I can attest to how easy it is to analytically dissect and review specific portions of a product. Reviewing written material is no different - you just have to know what you're talking about in the field of literature. While I have to know the difference between triggered and untriggered drums, and have to be able to differentiate between a weak bass and a weak production, a judge in this case would have to know the difference between metaphors and similes while being able to understand and identify both.

And obviously a lot more is required for both occupations in order to be a reviewer of a quality echelon, but I was just delivering a basic, bare-bones explanation to clarify my statement.
 
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I should be able to judge then lol.

And obviously a lot more is required for both occupations in order to be a reviewer of a quality echelon, but I was just delivering a basic, bare-bones explanation to clarify my statement.

Be sure to read.

Additionally, I wasn't questioning your ability to judge - just responding to your viewpoint of a judging requirement being 'troublesome'.
 
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I asked about 4 or 5 people no one has replied as of yet :(

Till we get a judge people might as well forget about the competition instead of letting it bug them. Then come back to it a later date once this is all sorted out.
Best way to ensure patience

I expect Wolfe will probably be a judge, since Venge already said Wolfe wanted to judge and i have also sent him a request. Hopefully he will accept. It's just a matter of time i guess.
 
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I am so, SO sorry for running late, I have been bussy with something called life :razz:

Anyways, results will be available for Phar to publish them in maximum of 12 hours, if everything goes right. If not, I'd say 18 hours. To try to make up for my bad timing, expect lenghtier reviews and more tips. Knowing me, even I wonder is that possible, if you know what I mean :grin:

Again, my apologizes :(
Oh, and good luck. You'll need it >:)
 
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I am so, SO sorry for running late, I have been bussy with something called life :razz:

Anyways, results will be available for Phar to publish them in maximum of 12 hours, if everything goes right. If not, I'd say 18 hours. To try to make up for my bad timing, expect lenghtier reviews and more tips. Knowing me, even I wonder is that possible, if you know what I mean :grin:

Again, my apologizes :(
Oh, and good luck. You'll need it >:)

No problem. This'll be faster than the Dragonson/Pharaoh_ mishap at least lol, (I hope D:).
 
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You doubt my skills? I think I have proven them more times than I was supposed to :razz:


Great to see new users in the contest, but some of them need to work a lot more than I thought.

And guys, has ANYBODY red the starting post? I mean, this is the MINI contest, NOT a short one. AROUND 5000 words, not 20k :razz:.
 
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