Haunting Kitten (Vailor Wide Posters)

[MamaBearJade 2090]

Hello those of Vailor

 

I remember fifty two years ago we had a few years where people put on costumes and pretended to be all sorts of fun creatures! I myself was a tiger. This elven month, I wish to hold a contest. I want to see your best costumes and hear your creepiest stories to go with them. I am holding a contest for best costume and best fright filling horror story. It must be something that will give nightmares even to the Uruks. Winners of my contest will be drowned in gold! I will be posting a mass poll for costumes, so send me a bird with a sketch (screenshot) of your costume and I will add it to the poll. Make sure to sign your name with the bird (IC and MC).

 

Thank You,

 

Kitten Druid Lilliana

 

 

 

Written Contest

1st Place - Skill Tome and 1000 minas

2nd Place - 1000 minas

3rd Place - 500 minas

 

Costume Contest

1st Place - Skill Tome and 1000 minas

2nd Place - 1000 minas

3rd Place - 500 minas

 

 

 

OOC

Contest is from now till October 25th, Voting begins the 26th to the 30th!

Edited September 30, 2015 by Time Lady of Kittens
Prizes added

[ThumperJack 927]

Demagol decides to go cover himself in the blood of his enemies, then feast on their entrails, then come tell the story.

 

Or put on his dragon costume...

 

((So.... we wear the costume skin? Or post it here?

[MamaBearJade 2090]

((Post it here, or send me the in game screenie ^^

[Cjmate 1270]

An entry is sent in. It seems written quickly, scrawled. 

 

Smiles

By Roy Sarkozic 

 

I am a man who, reveling in the fancies of my own evocations, has developed strong passion that the best life is that which is spent with little effort on my part; that is to say, I live for pleasure and I only employ myself as a wage-earner so that I may continue to live with that which I am accustomed to. All who know me consider me a safe man. As such, I find myself employed as a guardsman for the city, working a simple shift which also pays my necessities; I am fed, clothed, and given shelter. I have no needs, and so I have the time needed for my own projects.

 

If I have a problem, it is that I am given to sleep walking, a strange occurrence that my officer had caught onto and informed me of. I found it odd, and I knew nothing of it, so I could not tell what it is I was doing but would frequently wake up at night outside of my bed. Still, my officer applauded me for my cheerful disposition and strong morals which he said found home in me moreover than most. Over the years, he gave me wide freedoms in my abilities and I was happy.

 

One morning I was instructed to my duties; I would work night shift in the Dark Quarters. These were the slums which dotted the interior of the walls and were given to falling apart. Tiles would be found in unpaved streets of dirt and muck. The un-workers huddled around fire barrels in alleyways, and the walls of the the tomb-houses were falling apart. The unsanitary conditions coupled with the overwhelming poverty had made it a dangerous section to live in. The children took to pick pocketing, the men drank and assaulted blindly when in a stupor. It was agreed that all that could come out of them was lies and trickery; however, I understood their plight and tried to be lenient when it did not go against my favor. 

 

I kept to the walls, giving the houses and alleys a wide berth as I made my rounds. Without incident, I was nearing my shift when I chanced upon a comely woman with long ears. She ran in strides, bounding across the road as a group of burly, ragged men gave chase.

 

Drawing my sword, I allowed her to pass and gave no quarter, "Hold." I raised my hand and held my blade at length.

 

The biggest of the lot, whom I named Piggy, called out, "Ye dun know wha' her is, lo'. If ye did ye'd give her quick-fast, aye." 

 

"Hold." I maintained, "Give no chase, return to your occupations." And with that I raised the sword.

 

"Aye lo', if so she's yer problem. Don' let her come back, lest she corrupt us with her witchery." He grasped his companions shoulders and retreated deep into the district. 

 

I returned to my duties, sheathing my sword and looking upon the woman. She appeared to be an Elf of sorts, and it was a ***** site for ones so humble to be in such a place. Her clothes, not rags, were plain and pure white with a brown rope strapped to her waist. She wore a turban which completely covered her head, and her hair, whatever shape or color, could not be discerned by my offices; yet her ears poked out, long things over a foot that went far behind her head like that of a scared rabbit. Her fiery eyes burned into my eyes, making it difficult to watch her without looking away. Perfume stench invaded my nostrils, intoxicating and foreign and frightening. It churned my stomach, wrenching my guts. 

 

"I am friend. I am noble." She stated plainly. 

 

I was unsure what to do with her, so I implored her take leave and go; that the docks would give her passage home. 

 

"I am friend. I am noble." She repeated.

 

My nose twisted at the call of the heathen Elf, but my sense of honor demanded that I remove her from the district. Taking her hand, I made way toward the residential district, ending my shift; I went inside my home, a two story building with a kitchen and cellar.

 

"You will sleep in the kitchens until morn, then leave by wagon." I implored, pleading, my feet retreating from her visage up to my chamber door.

 

Again, she repeated her statement, "I am friend. I am noble." She gave her best smile, flashing bright translucent teeth my way.

 

The purity of it struck me, and I immediately made to my bed. I pulled off my war gear and placed my body on the quilt. I soon sunk into deep slumber.

 

It was in the depths of night, several hours before morning, that I woke up to a creaking. Weary, I forgot of my retainer and sat up in confusion. There was a tapping, a tapping at my door. Tap, tap...tap...tap. Growing slower. The door creaked, slowly opening, and I saw it. I saw the teeth, the pale luminescence of her teeth. Straight, cresting like a half moon. She smiled, she smiled at me and shuddered my soul. 

 

She seemed to wind toward me, slowly crawling up t he bed. I braced myself against the backboard, then reached to my side for my sword. Her hands crawled over me, like worms, and she peered up at me. Bright, white hair like that of a rabbit's fell down from her turban, which unraveled and fell aside. Then suddenly she frowned, sensing me. Her teeth receded, and it grew dark with anger and fear. This struck me suddenly and, grasping my pommel, I cried out and made with it a war song. 

 

Panting, sweating, I leaped up from my bed: No one was there. Clasping my forehead, wiping sweat I hunched over and cradled my hands over my knees. I breathed through my nostrils, closed my eyes, then fell back asleep.

 

In the morning I found my visitor missing. Thinking she took my advice, I buckled my Byrnie and made for my morning rounds. 

 

Around noon, I found myself back in the Dark Quarter. Yawning, I waved cheerfully toward men who seemed to avoid my pathing. I frowned, finding it uneasy before something caught my eye. Something bright, masked with dust. I bent over, picking it up. There, I found a...tooth. A bright, white tooth without blemish. 

 

I threw it down and screamed, clutching my head. I ran home, frantic and impatient. I cried out, a madman. People's gazes followed me as I made for home. Overwhelmed with joy, I smiled and panted, clasping my knees. 

 

Horror overcame me. There, in the second floor window, was the heathen in white with her treacherous smile! 

Edited October 3, 2015 by Cjmate8

[Cave_Creature 467]

A letter arrives for the Kitten Drood. "For the Contest, Return to Ard Ghorrock," reads the ink on the side of the rolled-up paper. The parchment has a sloppy, unbroken wax seal, with no identifying mark but some fingerprints.

 

Short Story

by: A Pseudonym

The man had been away for a fortnight now. He was settled in the boughs of a tree, a bow on his back, naught but a squirrel tied at his hip. It was the dead of winter and food was scarce in the village. He had taken his bow, from his soldiering days, and set out with arrow and knife on a mission to secure meat for his family.

    The cold sunk past his scant furs and into his bones, his nerves and fingers raw. The sky was obscured by barren trees, their silhouetted branches reaching up to the bright moon like dead, desperate fingers. He wanted to sleep, to save his sapping strength, but something was keeping him awake. His heart was beating too quickly, eyes energetic even when he shut them. In the stillness of the winter night, the crisp stagnation of the air, the crystalline stars and moon above him, his  alert ears favored him, picking up a crunching in the snow below.

    “The beast; the beast has to be near here.”

    He gulped. Call out, he told himself. You can help him. What beast? But the words didn’t come. Maybe it was the pulse pounding in his ears, the tension in his wrists, the pressure just behind his eyes and in his ribs - a fist clenched around his heart; but he didn’t call out. He sunk himself closer to the sturdy trunk of the pine, 15 feet above the man below. He heard the cracking and crushing of the iced-over snow under the hunters’ boots. He was muttering to himself, tasting the air, and the man could see the flash of moonlight glinting off an aurum blade in his hand.

    He hadn’t seen a beast in these woods. He’d seen the once-living squirrel now on his belt, and he’d noticed a bird with feathers as bright red as the bloodshot eyes of a frightened rabbit that had run from him earlier that morning, but certainly no monster. He decided not to interfere and let the man hunt his quarry, and he would hunt his. Anything larger than a doe is beyond his skill.

    The man took a soft breath of the still, bitter air, let out an exhale as the other passed beneath his tree. That’s all. Let him pass. And though he was comforted, his body was still high-strung. His gaze darted to every motion and shadow. He decided that he was too high up- the snow below, the dizzying blackness, it reminded him of being atop the ramparts. He couldn’t sleep like that. He clambered down, and made his careful way through the moonlit forest, seeking a burrow or den to find shelter and warmth. His boots pushed through the snow, crumbling and crackling noisily underfoot.

--

 

    It wasn’t long before he heard a fateful ‘thwap’. Before he knew what he was doing he was running, and the pain blossoming in his left shoulder drove him on. He glanced down as he coursed through snow and branch, saw the wooden shaft and glittering metal tip, golden where the dark scarlet didn’t run. Branches scraped his face and roots and rocks and debris tried to trip him.

    Eventually the man collapsed in a heap. His cheek met biting cold, a lump in the otherwise undisturbed white, spatters of red accompanying the churned snow. He struggled to place his palms flat, the snow giving beneath the weight of his hands. His dark form wriggled through the snow, grasping at anything to pull him along, sweat and heat trapped beneath his clothes, sharp cold on his face and fingertips, the world filled with the sound of his gasps.

    His clambering kept on, at a slowing pace even as the sound of footfalls boomed behind him. He ceased his crawl as a hard, cold shape pressed down between his shoulder blades. He quivered.

    “Got the bastard.”

The frigid metal pushed down on the back of his neck. It penetrated his skin, and the scrape of metal on bone was the last thing he heard.

 

[Elad™ 560]

Zandros "Allah's Will" Mubdee sends in a sketch of his own costume, a luchador wrestler. (_Elad_)

Edited October 14, 2015 by Elad™

[Elad™ 560]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.