Ren
05-21-2008, 12:11 PM
Yosh, here's the challenge for 11th Division ^^
Write a short story based on the picture below:
http://img59.imageshack.us/img59/1065/knighthh3.png
(thanks joJo for the pic)
Purpose:
- to get our writing section back up
- to get members with writing talent to be more involved in div activities
- to raise activity level as a division (and by competing in a competition such as this, will hopefully get the other participating division's activity level up too)
- to promote healthy competition between divisions
Rules & regulations:
1. Each participating team will have to submit 2 stories.
2. Genre: anything you wish, as long as it fits with the pic given
3. Length of story: 250-350 words.
4. No plagiarism, excessive or explicit swearing, or R18+ stuff *.*
5. Please do not spam this thread. If you have any questions, kindly PM them to me :)
Contest ends: 5th June 2008 (that's about 2 weeks from now).
Submission:
1. Captain / Vice-captain / person appointed by your division, please post your team's entries here.
2. Name of writers are not required while the challenge is still ongoing. However, once voting is over and the winner has been chosen, please state your writers name here (for +rep purpose).
Judging:
Entries will be opened for voting by public CB members.
A reminder for voters: Please judge for ALL stories to ensure each entry has an equal number of ppl voting on it.
Prize:
Winning entries will get +rep from RenRen & Kensei, and a feature in the CBNL \o/
[edit]Also +rep from the 4th Div. VC, Barbaroi. (Thanks for the support! =D)
Voting begins now, and ends in 3 days, on the 8th June 2008.
Please judge the entries by giving marks out of 5.
Example:
Team A:
Story 1: 3.5/5
Story 2: 4/5
Team B:
Story 1: 4.5/5
Story 2: 4/5
Division with the most points wins :)
Good luck!
__________________________________________________ _____________
Here are the stories:
6th Division
He rode his white horse through the endless mountains, seeking the pass to the north. His white hair flared in the wind, as he rode time and again through those rises and falls, often having to force his weary stallion over chasms and pitfalls. As he led his white steed over a particularly nasty drop, he almost smiled at the irony of his existence, the endless trudging through the mountain, clad in silvery white. He was the very image of a white knight in shiny armour, but he had no princess with him, no dragon to slay.
It was hardly a few weeks ago that he entered those mountains. He was yet another adventurer; believing and dreaming that he would slay the dragon, save the princess, become a legend. Now he was faced with the harsh reality of the realms. Dragons were not so common and princesses did not tend to sit on high towers awaiting their saviour. And he, famished and thirsty, felt it was the end.
He lifted hazy eyes and suddenly saw several ancient columns rising in front of him. He reached a valley below the mountain where the remains of an ancient building still stood, particularly a stony crest covered in moss here and there. Whatever was here, white and proud, was long since gone. Just like the knight.
Or perhaps not… he searched more carefully and noted several tracks on the pure white marble of the floor. Those claw marks could only be made by a giant, clawed leg… the leg of a mighty dragon. He smiled thinly to himself, looking down on his white armour. He will make his own dragon, and his own legend.
He will live forever in the memories of others. He will call down the dragon.
He will be the black knight in tarnished armour.
As the sun crested the distant hilltops, the rays cast upon the ruinous landscape pressed the shadows afar. Small creatures had since returned since the clamor of war no longer touched this land. The rider noticed no other life in this barren place which was once proud Gilead.
Two months had passed since the last of the castle’s citizens had run to distant lands or been slain. Of all those charged with the protection of Gilead, the noble and unfaltering Templar Guardsmen, to his knowledge only one had been such a disgrace to the lineage of his fathers to flee from the sight of the advancing hordes.
Carefully walking his mount through the disarray of broken stone and twisted corpses, the Templar Guardsmen was forced to identify former friends, rivals and teachers by the pendants they wore. Each family had a unique emblem, to identify the lineage.
Yet here was one corpse, dressed in the Templar armor, sans pendant. Since none could bear the shield of the Guardsmen without being borne into nobility, he knew this was the corpse he sought. His father was forced to pass on his shield before death in battle, as his leg had been rendered lame. Yet even still, with a coward for a son, the family’s honor was dismantled singlehandedly after generation upon generation of coveted service and nobility.
In such dire times as the impending horde of the Diseased Ones, nobody would have denied such an able duelist, even advanced in years and lame of the leg. Placing the pendant upon his desiccated chest, the unworthy son prayed for his relief in the afterlife, hour after hour he prayed. Not for forgiveness, he would never achieve that.
As he prayed, unmoving, one of the lemming-like rodents crept onto his leather shoe. Mistaking him for a fresher source of meal, bit.
Four days later, a disease set into his leg which blackened the appendage, the man mused that he would meet such a fitting fate. A coward dies a cowards death, a man dies a man’s death. All is right with the world.
11th Division
Like the battle drums of war, the hooves stampeded upon the stone beneath the horse. The rhythm echoed throughout the ruins, trailing off into the ever-flowing white mist which encased it; the sun was radiant, causing the whiteness to sparkle.
“Steady.” His voice whispered smoothly, bringing the ivory white horse he rode to a halt.
He looked above him, quickly spotting what was left of the grand arches that signaled ones arrival to paradise. Tattered, torn, and crumbled, the once great stone structures maintained their heights - just barely.
The man took more time to take in his surroundings, noting the high mountains and endless plains. There were many blind spots, places for ambushes, spaces vast enough to hold countless men upon it - those living, and those who had fallen.
Off in the distance, he could see what appeared to be an endless swarm of silhouettes, their dark figures nearly blacking out the white ambience.
The battlefield was just up ahead. A sudden chill rose up his spine, causing him to shiver slightly.
Closing his eyes, he could hear it - the sound of conflict. Silver steel clanked loudly beneath the hill he rested upon, their loud collisions sending shockwaves of sound throughout the otherwise dead silent ruins.
“So, it has already begun.”
Black smoke began to rise; somewhere amidst the chaotic war, a fire had been set. Slowly, the darkness devoured the brilliant shine given off by the sun above. Blackness fell, corroding away the glistening white mist to morph the mountains into an abyss which one could barely see.
The warrior unsheathed his blade, slashing it horizontally in front of him in order to part the smoke. An ivory glow emitted from the steel - its great radiance purifying the darkness.
“It is time. Though the battle has already begun, I shall march forth, and lay waste to all those who dare stand before me. Thus is the way of a White Mare - the mercenaries of great valor! This battlefield shall know thy name!”
Slow heavy hoof steps send waves across the valleys stonewall, disturbing the serene silenced even senseless atmosphere. The source revealed, a gray spotted horse emerges from the swampy mist coving this eary valley cobble path. It’s rider lifeless letting loose her limbs to each side of the trusted companion. Usually white cloaks, now blood ridden and torn from intense game of survival. One last dagger the back of her waist and dangling wooden flask tied to her wrist her only possessions.
Moisture and blood converse to pellets pushing a stream from shoulder to finger tip as she lifts and swallows a desperate gulp of the brew.
“Breathe.” She thought. “He said to breath deep!”
Her blood leaking lungs cause a cough, which rushes to her head to set off an explosion!
Reality becomes toyed and crossed into dimensions no longer upon her friends back. Physical she lays lifeless but mental peaking orgasms of colors, shapes, tastes, touches a state of joy to run you insane, manifests as running through veins of every material or spiritual plain mingling and mixing, all organizing in material realization!
As though blindfolded then awakened insight in pure form a fresh born mental state.
“Seeing the air I suck in?” Eyes wide, panic!
“Breathe.” It echoes through her mind.
A big chug fallowed by deep breath, her lungs open and shut with a heavy cough. She cuts it short as her ears rung with fallowing footsteps, 5 on foot heavy steps of murdering nature.
She leans to her companion to encourage, “can we run? Lets breeze!” His response right away as he bolts with all might but trips and collapses, finally bled out.
In this inhuman state of mind ecstasy turns to boils and joy to rampage as she lusts bloods satisfaction.
An arrow spits past ignored to her side. Crying blazing eyes. The last thing he saw and daggers part scull as easy as fog, as the earth thumped thrice in rhythm.
Now unarmed she waits throwing fits of rage. Mash is what she calls it, every knuckle she will break.
A Beasts Instinct.
Write a short story based on the picture below:
http://img59.imageshack.us/img59/1065/knighthh3.png
(thanks joJo for the pic)
Purpose:
- to get our writing section back up
- to get members with writing talent to be more involved in div activities
- to raise activity level as a division (and by competing in a competition such as this, will hopefully get the other participating division's activity level up too)
- to promote healthy competition between divisions
Rules & regulations:
1. Each participating team will have to submit 2 stories.
2. Genre: anything you wish, as long as it fits with the pic given
3. Length of story: 250-350 words.
4. No plagiarism, excessive or explicit swearing, or R18+ stuff *.*
5. Please do not spam this thread. If you have any questions, kindly PM them to me :)
Contest ends: 5th June 2008 (that's about 2 weeks from now).
Submission:
1. Captain / Vice-captain / person appointed by your division, please post your team's entries here.
2. Name of writers are not required while the challenge is still ongoing. However, once voting is over and the winner has been chosen, please state your writers name here (for +rep purpose).
Judging:
Entries will be opened for voting by public CB members.
A reminder for voters: Please judge for ALL stories to ensure each entry has an equal number of ppl voting on it.
Prize:
Winning entries will get +rep from RenRen & Kensei, and a feature in the CBNL \o/
[edit]Also +rep from the 4th Div. VC, Barbaroi. (Thanks for the support! =D)
Voting begins now, and ends in 3 days, on the 8th June 2008.
Please judge the entries by giving marks out of 5.
Example:
Team A:
Story 1: 3.5/5
Story 2: 4/5
Team B:
Story 1: 4.5/5
Story 2: 4/5
Division with the most points wins :)
Good luck!
__________________________________________________ _____________
Here are the stories:
6th Division
He rode his white horse through the endless mountains, seeking the pass to the north. His white hair flared in the wind, as he rode time and again through those rises and falls, often having to force his weary stallion over chasms and pitfalls. As he led his white steed over a particularly nasty drop, he almost smiled at the irony of his existence, the endless trudging through the mountain, clad in silvery white. He was the very image of a white knight in shiny armour, but he had no princess with him, no dragon to slay.
It was hardly a few weeks ago that he entered those mountains. He was yet another adventurer; believing and dreaming that he would slay the dragon, save the princess, become a legend. Now he was faced with the harsh reality of the realms. Dragons were not so common and princesses did not tend to sit on high towers awaiting their saviour. And he, famished and thirsty, felt it was the end.
He lifted hazy eyes and suddenly saw several ancient columns rising in front of him. He reached a valley below the mountain where the remains of an ancient building still stood, particularly a stony crest covered in moss here and there. Whatever was here, white and proud, was long since gone. Just like the knight.
Or perhaps not… he searched more carefully and noted several tracks on the pure white marble of the floor. Those claw marks could only be made by a giant, clawed leg… the leg of a mighty dragon. He smiled thinly to himself, looking down on his white armour. He will make his own dragon, and his own legend.
He will live forever in the memories of others. He will call down the dragon.
He will be the black knight in tarnished armour.
As the sun crested the distant hilltops, the rays cast upon the ruinous landscape pressed the shadows afar. Small creatures had since returned since the clamor of war no longer touched this land. The rider noticed no other life in this barren place which was once proud Gilead.
Two months had passed since the last of the castle’s citizens had run to distant lands or been slain. Of all those charged with the protection of Gilead, the noble and unfaltering Templar Guardsmen, to his knowledge only one had been such a disgrace to the lineage of his fathers to flee from the sight of the advancing hordes.
Carefully walking his mount through the disarray of broken stone and twisted corpses, the Templar Guardsmen was forced to identify former friends, rivals and teachers by the pendants they wore. Each family had a unique emblem, to identify the lineage.
Yet here was one corpse, dressed in the Templar armor, sans pendant. Since none could bear the shield of the Guardsmen without being borne into nobility, he knew this was the corpse he sought. His father was forced to pass on his shield before death in battle, as his leg had been rendered lame. Yet even still, with a coward for a son, the family’s honor was dismantled singlehandedly after generation upon generation of coveted service and nobility.
In such dire times as the impending horde of the Diseased Ones, nobody would have denied such an able duelist, even advanced in years and lame of the leg. Placing the pendant upon his desiccated chest, the unworthy son prayed for his relief in the afterlife, hour after hour he prayed. Not for forgiveness, he would never achieve that.
As he prayed, unmoving, one of the lemming-like rodents crept onto his leather shoe. Mistaking him for a fresher source of meal, bit.
Four days later, a disease set into his leg which blackened the appendage, the man mused that he would meet such a fitting fate. A coward dies a cowards death, a man dies a man’s death. All is right with the world.
11th Division
Like the battle drums of war, the hooves stampeded upon the stone beneath the horse. The rhythm echoed throughout the ruins, trailing off into the ever-flowing white mist which encased it; the sun was radiant, causing the whiteness to sparkle.
“Steady.” His voice whispered smoothly, bringing the ivory white horse he rode to a halt.
He looked above him, quickly spotting what was left of the grand arches that signaled ones arrival to paradise. Tattered, torn, and crumbled, the once great stone structures maintained their heights - just barely.
The man took more time to take in his surroundings, noting the high mountains and endless plains. There were many blind spots, places for ambushes, spaces vast enough to hold countless men upon it - those living, and those who had fallen.
Off in the distance, he could see what appeared to be an endless swarm of silhouettes, their dark figures nearly blacking out the white ambience.
The battlefield was just up ahead. A sudden chill rose up his spine, causing him to shiver slightly.
Closing his eyes, he could hear it - the sound of conflict. Silver steel clanked loudly beneath the hill he rested upon, their loud collisions sending shockwaves of sound throughout the otherwise dead silent ruins.
“So, it has already begun.”
Black smoke began to rise; somewhere amidst the chaotic war, a fire had been set. Slowly, the darkness devoured the brilliant shine given off by the sun above. Blackness fell, corroding away the glistening white mist to morph the mountains into an abyss which one could barely see.
The warrior unsheathed his blade, slashing it horizontally in front of him in order to part the smoke. An ivory glow emitted from the steel - its great radiance purifying the darkness.
“It is time. Though the battle has already begun, I shall march forth, and lay waste to all those who dare stand before me. Thus is the way of a White Mare - the mercenaries of great valor! This battlefield shall know thy name!”
Slow heavy hoof steps send waves across the valleys stonewall, disturbing the serene silenced even senseless atmosphere. The source revealed, a gray spotted horse emerges from the swampy mist coving this eary valley cobble path. It’s rider lifeless letting loose her limbs to each side of the trusted companion. Usually white cloaks, now blood ridden and torn from intense game of survival. One last dagger the back of her waist and dangling wooden flask tied to her wrist her only possessions.
Moisture and blood converse to pellets pushing a stream from shoulder to finger tip as she lifts and swallows a desperate gulp of the brew.
“Breathe.” She thought. “He said to breath deep!”
Her blood leaking lungs cause a cough, which rushes to her head to set off an explosion!
Reality becomes toyed and crossed into dimensions no longer upon her friends back. Physical she lays lifeless but mental peaking orgasms of colors, shapes, tastes, touches a state of joy to run you insane, manifests as running through veins of every material or spiritual plain mingling and mixing, all organizing in material realization!
As though blindfolded then awakened insight in pure form a fresh born mental state.
“Seeing the air I suck in?” Eyes wide, panic!
“Breathe.” It echoes through her mind.
A big chug fallowed by deep breath, her lungs open and shut with a heavy cough. She cuts it short as her ears rung with fallowing footsteps, 5 on foot heavy steps of murdering nature.
She leans to her companion to encourage, “can we run? Lets breeze!” His response right away as he bolts with all might but trips and collapses, finally bled out.
In this inhuman state of mind ecstasy turns to boils and joy to rampage as she lusts bloods satisfaction.
An arrow spits past ignored to her side. Crying blazing eyes. The last thing he saw and daggers part scull as easy as fog, as the earth thumped thrice in rhythm.
Now unarmed she waits throwing fits of rage. Mash is what she calls it, every knuckle she will break.
A Beasts Instinct.