Rp Writing Contest (In-Character Competition!)

[WuHanXianShi14 0]

This idea is bad

Poetry is pretentious

I see no purpose

 

A haiku by Artimec Camoryn

[Zhulik 3559]

If I lose the Art competition I refuse to lose the literature one, it is my destiny to spread my dogma.

Let's call this a Short Story because I don't know what this classifies, though I wish it were a Poem:

 

For the glory of a great nation is to kinder the white flame of our ancestors, the divine right of our leaders, and the holy grace of our one true God.

 

 

 

            In the wake of war and the feckless shedding of national pride through the unrelenting plot of Ebliontologists in coalition with elfen doctrine, only the few, so The Maker wills it, only the most true and pure will survive the coming fire of the primal apocalypses. So when we, as a people, as a hope, must ask why it is that the onslaught of the black worms in our governments and in the highest and most divine of positions in the high counsel have become so, we must ask ourselves instead why it is that the inferior mindsets have rejected the pious might of the one true Lord and Savior. This is why we must act, for the sake of all that is holy and for the prosperity of culture and civilization, and only through the social re-construction of our deprived filth of elfen lies and slime can we regain the trust of The Creator and pray for his holy forgiveness.

 

 

 

The Grace of the Maker

 

 

 

            All hail thee who flows water into our rivers, plants seeds into our soil, delivers bread to our bellies and children to our kindred. Blessed thee, our one true Lord, who in the grace of his love and pious does he who impregnates the seed of life to our loins and the fires of national pride into our hearts. The Maker, in all of his glory, is the one and true God, for he and only he is divine and pure.

 

            But our Maker is displeased with our existence. For ages, the Serenists, the enemy of all that is good and beautiful, has festered at the hearts of our brothers. They have plagued the grace and purity of the ethereal and pure men and they have spilled their seeds amongst the black and sodomite flesh of the nefarious Ebliontologist race. Our Savior is furious. He holds our fate in that of which is a thread over the boiling pits of the nether. Only his will remains as our salvation, and we have allowed it to be spilled out of the crucible of the one, the pure society of men. We have enabled the impure to breed and plot for far too long.

 

 

 

The Love of the Creator

 

 

 

            It is the will of the divine right of our God and his unfathomable purity to protect the sovereignty and pride of our nations, and so it be, the glory of our nation is now buckling under the weight of the glutenous Serenist conspiracy. Only through the actions of his children can the love and passion of God be felt deep within our cavities. Praise be to he, for through his divine might shall we drink the blood of all who oppose the might and prowess of the Creator and his blessings upon the grace of our nation, and the love of our fathers.

 

 

 

The Blessings of our Fathers

 

 

 

            Loveith thee who drained the swamps, chiseled the stone, impregnated the women, and filled Gods realm with the seed of the pure men and his Birth right to Atheria. Only through the love of our fathers may our seeds be spread into the wombs of God's purity, and therefor, the mothers of our society shall be pure. May we suckled from his teat, and love his divine will until tis time of departure to the realm of God. All hail God, and the fathers of our seed.

 

 

 

            If not for the will of The Maker, in all of his blessed glory, shall we dictate his grace amongst the scum races of our plagued realm. Let us Educate the feeble and lost in the glory of national pride and save them from the repugnant sludge of Serenism. Let us feed the bellies of the poor with the love fluids of god's seed. Let us forge from the ashes of the quarreling micro-nations, an Ubermenshe, a golden utopia of the pure and strong, and let us sow the seeds of a prosperous society.

 

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

In the hearth of all God's men lies a singular hope, a dream, that is for the conception of prosperity through the devotion of The Creator and so be his will. Our souls are ready, let us rise my brothers, let us conceive together the child of nationalism and progress.

[Mephistophelian 977]

Lorien hears of the contest, and pulls out one of his many studies. Trundling towards the woman, he rolls it up and hands it to her, before rubbing his darkened eyes and ambling away.

 

The scrolled paper would be easy to open, and reads:
 

"Is it not amusing that those who sleep the least are the ones who understand the most about sleep? To deprive one’s self of sleep is like taking a step back from a painting, and allowing yourself to admire it. The music of life drifts and flows through your ears, and the eerie yet peaceful silence; the deathly grip, allows thoughts to roam free. Time in sleep is entirely relative. Sleep can seem like but a second or it can seem like an eternity. Free of time, the mind is capable of constructing its own formations, and thus allows us to see many a thing that we would never normally believe. So accustomed to seeing these things in dreams that we do not question them; they are normal. If one were to live in a world where stones provided portals to the world of giants, no-one would question this fact.

 

As children, we are introduced to the foreign world of dreaming and sleep, and it scares us. We are unaccustomed, and cannot comprehend this realm not dictated by what we don’t know, but instead instructed solely by what we believe. We slowly grow accustomed to this...feeling. As an alcoholic requires more booze, as a drug addict needs more drugs and as a nymphomaniac cannot get enough pleasure, so the dreamer cannot get enough. The brain, an ever evolving organ, can provide this ‘dosage’. It gives us this ‘hit’ that we so desperately require, and this theory explains entirely why, when we do not sleep, we die. How else would you explain the reaction of someone being withdrawn from a drug they have been growing accustomed to since birth? If withdrawing from temporary and non-essential drugs can lead to health problems, shouldn’t withdrawal from sleep lead to death? It does. Is it not safe to say, then, that sleep is the drug of life? Or would that be dreaming? Or is dreaming simply a side-serving of the drug, which alters how you take your dosage of sleep? Is he who is plagued by nightmares more likely to have fewer withdrawals from sleep? No, therefore dreams are not a pre-requisite for dreaming, and whether or not you suffer from nightmares or good dreams does not directly affect your sleeplessness-induced-death...or does it? If nightmares are so bad that one cannot sleep, does this not mean that dreams are directly influencing sleep, and thus affecting our withdrawal? Are nightmares so horrid that we cannot doze off an in-built system to prevent us from getting too hooked on the drug that is sleep? If so, how long can one last without having to sleep yet again?

 

The world has many questions, and the sleepless are able to ask these questions in the dead of night, as there is no one to bother them, or break their line of thought. I myself, although I currently suffer from not having slept for a great deal, am able to write continuously and without pause, as my mind is in synchronisation with my writing. Rare is it that I have had to stop and think about what I have written, although my writing might be nonsensical when I awaken. No gaps, no midway points; this is a giant reflection on sleep and what it is. Bad dreams are a way for our body and mind to prepare itself for the events that happen in our dreams...it helps us think of ways to kill that wolf stalking us, or instructs us on how to escape the most dreadfully awkward situations conceivable to the mind...so that begs the question; why is it that we dream good dreams? If they do not prove to be beneficial, in the long run, why have them? We do not learn from them out of fear, and instead go to sleep hoping to have said ‘good dreams’. Does this mean that good dreams are a form of attracting people to sleep more often, so that, when the bad dreams arrive, the sleeper will be more willing to go to sleep, as they are hopeful that a good dream shall follow, and thus can keep learning from the nightmares? Are good dreams a ‘bad’ thing, then; drawing us in only to poison our minds with bad dreams? Are they, thus, the true drug of sleep, or are they the buzz that is so widely talked about?

 

We do not know, except that dreams provide many with new insights, and that new insights are often achieved via good dreams. Perhaps these are the uses of good dreams; insights. I certainly understand that a person can view the world in an entirely different way, once emerging from an insightful dream...but what of people who never have good dreams? What of people who have only nightmares to face when their heads hit the pillows and their eyes close, like curtains pulling over the death scene of an actor? Is there any form of solitude for them? I do not know, but for now I shall sleep. I shall sleep.

And so I...Sleep."

((I actually wrote this when tired, to get the full effect of having not slept, and just writing down all that came to my head. Hope you enjoyed the read, regardless of if it was understandable or not. Note that it was originally a solid block of writing, so I just randomly added spaces in-between sentences  so as to make it visually appealing. That's it for now. G'Night!))

[Elindor 666]

Did a book but because the lines are too short it doesn't really have the full effect of the poetry. So here's a more nicely formatted copy.

 

 Twas the night before Krugmas, and all through Petrus

Not a creature was stirring, not even a lousy necromancer

The halflings were hung upon stakes by the fire

In hopes that Krug’s Spirit soon would devour

The devilish children were finally asleep

And my head on a pillow, imagining sheep

Mamma rested beside me, laid on her back

When I raised my eyebrows, and we faded to black.

When out on the road we could hear such a screaming

I sprang out of bed, awoken from dreaming

Running to the window unsheathe my sword Deirdre

And lighted a lantern to see the street clearly.

A trail of blood from one house to the next

and dishevelled glances from townsfolk on decks

Pray not undead, returned to attack

Though it would be just like them to barge in for a hack.

But bounding from rooftops and racing through streets

Was a giant white Lur wolf with a rider in seat

He shouted again with a thunderous yell

Then called to the beast in a tuneless noel.

"Ged up there you skahing bag of skah

We've blargs to get to and some of them far.

Ged up to the top of that blarg over there

And if you dunt do it quick, me pull out lats hair".

And then a "kerthunk" I could hear on the roof

That must mean that Krug would be coming in soon

Away from the window to the stairs did I soar

To see the foot of an orc break down my back door.

His garb soaked in blood from centuries of battle

I slunk to the floor and clung to the mantel

By his side a hemp sack that looked old and worn

And his boots were all muddied, leaving prints on my floor.

 

He sniffed as he entered, and then stomped about

I hoped for our safety that he soon would get out.

One tooth protruded the side of his grin

And his face was all covered in wrinkly green skin.

A twist of his head and his amber eyes spied me

I knew in an instant it was dumb to be hiding

I rose to a standing with both arms straight out

And, fixed eyes on me, he reached into his pouch.

A bead of sweat dripping from my temple to chin

As he clutches at something and maintains his grin

A large leg of ham he grasped in his claws

Placed it on the table and reached in for more.

Then leaving small gifts besides the roast pork

I stared, mouth agape, at this virtuous orc

And laying a finger aside of his nose

And snorting a booger on the floor as he blows.

He leaped out the door, and mounting his steed

Threw the sack o’er his shoulder and away they did speed

But I heard him exclaim, bounding out of the yard

“Happy Krugmas to all, and to all go get skah’d”.

 

 

I made headway on an epic that is progressing well, but because I start the holidays after the submission date there's just no way it'll be ready in time. Much sad.

[VampsWillDie 76]

Do raps count as poems?

[Sister Sequoia 438]

((would rap exist on LotC's timeline?... lol.  seeing as it's my contest though, I'll allow it as long as it is tasteful, meaning no typical rap swearing.))

[Detective 101]

Do raps count as poems?

 

Yas, maybe... possibly... probably not...Gm beat me. So yes.

 

(Edited)

[Everman111 16]

For those characters with a sinisters outlook on life.

A Feast of Flesh

By: Thea Mallow

 

Muffled screams in the darkness

Hunger hunts tonight

No guard around to witness

No knight to save a life

Fight with all your might

You will not leave this site

Is this wrong or is this life?

 

At last you're upon the table

To be eaten by candle light

Carefully baked and battered

A feast to last all night

A life has been stolen

No words of sorrow spoken

Is this wrong or is this life?

[Reckless Banzai Screamer 15456]

((This is an entry for Epic Tales. The texts are in the spoilers and colored white. Once I find the turn in area I'll be dropping off solely the story text.))

 

The Fisher King cradles a few journals in his arms as he walks to the turn in box. He had written down what he read from the scrolls on to the journals to both preserve the text and to meet the requirements for entry. Before dropping them off, he makes the sign of the Lorraine Cross and whispers a silent prayer to himself..

 

The Fisher King II

(Shady_Tales)

An Epic Tale

"Four Scrolls:The Fisher King"

 

https://www.lordofthecraft.net/topic/119753-four-scrolls-the-fisher-king/

[Sister Sequoia 438]

JUST A NOTE!!

I will begin reading entries after christmas, maybe a little in the evening on christmas after all the family stuff is over.  If you get an entry in before Christmas is over, I'll still judge it.  After midnight EST however, it will be disregarded!

 

Merry Christmas everyone!

[Sister Sequoia 438]

*A poster is tacked up where the signs for the dropoff used to be. Similar posters are sent off to each town and capital*

 

The contest has ended and I have read every entry.  In total, there were 19 entries

sent to me for this writing contest, and they will be on the shelves of my library now.

 

Thank you to everyone who entered, here are the winners!

 

Poems:

1st- "Howl for Love" by Damien Menrow (Kitsunenokage66), this was a beautiful entry, thank you.~

2nd- "Scars" by Elorna Lle'hileia (birdwhisperer)

3rd- "Blessed Ones" by Arlanthir Elervathar (alranthir)

4th- "Oh Glorious Swine" by Talia (SureLockHomes)

 

Short Stories:

1st- Not Bothered, by Elindor (Jerry_Man). An excellent read, I would love to see the rest of the books.~

2nd- The writings on Sleep, by Lorien (hugothechamp)

3rd- Clockwork, by Waverly (Dark_Necroman)

4th- The writings on The Creator, by Voron (CCCP_Zhulik)

 

Epic Tales:

1st- The Fisher King! (Shady_Tales) You were the only Epic Tale entered,

and it was an exceptional story, I enjoyed reading it beside my waterfall.~

 

Notable Mention:

"Twas the Night before Krugmas" by Elindor(Jerry_Man)  Though crude in content it was

extremely amusing and I found myself unable to stop laughing.  Seeing as there was no

second entry for the Epic Tales, I have decided that you will recieve the 2nd place prize

for this entry.~

 

 

All winners will soon find keys delivered to them by some of my sparrows.  You can come to

Nature's Bounty beside the Druid Grove to claim your prizes from chests that will be labelled

by the Entry Type and which place it is for, only your key will work for it, so do not worry about

your prize going missing! I have also included a bonus prize for each winner, an unopened

Casket!  Good luck and fortune be with you, I do not know what is contained in them!~

 

Thank you for all of the entries, they have a special place on the shelves of my library now, and

they are perfect examples of what diversity makes up the Descendants.~

 

 

~~Archdruid Lillith Winterleaf, the Sequoia Druid~~

 

((Items are in chests, they will be LWC'd to your mcname only, no exceptions!

Congrats to all the winners, and keep an eye out for my next contest!~~))

[Mephistophelian 977]

I got a recipe for something I ain't good at, so I decided to auction it out. Don't do that, folks. It vanished :I

[Detective 101]

((Mom! Look I did something!))

[ItsMyWorld66 169]

I cannot get inside, says I dont have permissions for the Area. XD

[Elindor 666]

Whoever is working on the prizes, please contact me on Skype as I have no idea what I am to do with them and will try and figure it out IC. But I'm Australian.