[Contest] Le Trio

[Devie 398]

Can you incorporate your characters into the writing? 

 

Can you enter more than one piece into the writing category, forsay a wanted to write an essay for on and a dozen haiku's for another? 

[♛Lucas♛ 567]

*Scrolls down searching for a pvp contest*

 

*Leaves with a sad face*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

L

[idiot 502]

49 minutes ago, Devdog said:

Can you incorporate your characters into the writing? 

 

Can you enter more than one piece into the writing category, forsay a wanted to write an essay for on and a dozen haiku's for another? 

 

I mean, one piece for each section of the contest.

[idiot 502]

@Devdog you can put your characters in it, yes.

[BadArtifice 14]

Oooh, Levvy boy I quite like this

[claireanne 191]

do i commit myself to doing art that's going to be put off until the last second and maybe not finished

 

**** it i'm in

[DahStalker 3692]

 

[LittleCakes 68]

I haven't written something in ages but lez go I'll write

[Solaristic 0]

ooo i guess ill try. . .

time to write i guess 

yay ???

[Solaristic 0]

On 4/3/2017 at 3:27 PM, Solaristic said:

ooo i guess ill try. . .

time to write i guess 

yay ???

lol nvm im lazy asf

[Chorale__ 2147]

nearly done with my entry !

[frankdh 2418]

@Anadunae

 

For the art contest, Julia and the Kindred Spirit ;)

 

[Chorale__ 2147]

Writing Entry!

Show some love <3

[idiot 502]

8 hours ago, DreamInSpace said:

@Anadunae

 

For the art contest, Julia and the Kindred Spirit ;)

 

Cute! 

 

6 hours ago, Chorale_ said:

Writing Entry!

Show some love <3

 

Nice read!

 

[Elindor 666]

My written entry is title "Out of the Woods"

 

Quote

 

Arthur’s foot trod in the same puddle, he stepped over the same fallen branch, and swore at the same shrub skirted by orange mushrooms. Every shred of hope had flittered away beyond the impending limbs of dense decaying foliage. He was most definitely lost. But this wasn’t the ordinary type of lost in which one has no one to blame but themselves. There was an admissible degree of self loathing in that he had chosen to enter the forest in the first place, but all compunction for his predicament lay in the talon-like arms of the tightly enclosing trees that blocked any delineation from a singular path. Another minute of walking and he’d be back at the crossroads for the sixth time. The direction chosen meant literally nothing as the outcome was always the same. These god forsaken woods refused to be bound by geographical rationale. No amount of intel was worth this hell. The stupid old hermit be damned, there must be plenty of other ways to kill a lich. Arthur just needed to get out.

 

That relentless barn owl was still perched overhead hooted ad nauseam. It's the only living thing he’d seen since getting here, however many hours ago that was, and it hadn’t moved an inch in that time, stunned with the identical asinine expression on its face as though it enjoyed his suffering. Frustration bubbled over. Arthur picked up a stick and hurled it at the bird with a gruff outburst. Amidst a squawk and fluttering feathers proceeded a thud as something large collided with the ground. The owl was no more; where it should have been lay sprawled a geriatric woman in an unflattering tangle of robes. As quick as creaking bones would allow she was up on her feet pulling a hood back over her face with the exception of a ludicrously protruding nose.

 

The odd woman croaked, “is that how you usually treat god’s creatures? With malintent?” The nose directed this question up at Arthur. Quizzical, he examined the lady whose height stretched up to his own waist and was further stunted by a steep hunch. A realisation flittered into existence; “ya’rr the one tha trapped me ‘ere. I ought to do more an knock ya off ya perch.” The comical nose turned away, signaling the woman’s intended departure. “Well then you won't find what you came for.” And with that the oldie waddled away down the path. Arthur stood treading uncertainty and retreated to questioning. “How’d ya know why I came?” The hobbling didn't cease. “You wouldn't have gotten in if you didn't want to,” she called over her shoulder. Arthur’s hope rekindled, “then ow do oi ge’ out?” The old woman stopped twixt the crossroads and shuffled round to throw a gouging glare down the path. “What's this now?” Arthur repeated in agitation “ow do oi ge’ out?”. “You," she scoffed. ”You don't.” And with that she tottered down a path which Arthur had taken twice already, and soon disappeared from view. Better to be free and humiliated than proud and eternally trapped; Arthur took off in haste after the woman, slowing from his sprint to take the corner. The deceleration saved his face from an immediate collision with a heavy oakwood door that should not have been there. Understandably he grumbled profanities before rapping his knuckles upon its surface.

 

“No thankyou. We’ve already got enough lord’s and saviour’s and we aren’t interested in any more,” the old lady’s voice called from within. Arthur’s hand floated in space frozen in stupefaction. The sound of sliding wood revealed a small hole aligned with his navel. Arthur stooped down to look through the hole and met a large eye squinting back at him. The eyes stared at one another. “What do you want?” blurted the more bloodshot of the two. “To ge’ out” gesticulated the other. The first eye squinted with agitation and retorted “You shant have gotten into these woods for no reason. So be straight boy. What do you want?” Arthur scoured the recesses of his mind for what foolish intent had caused him to stumble into this reality. “To kill a lich.” The lady’s eye surveyed his own scrupulously and then disappeared, momentarily replaced by a mouth that blew hot air into his unsuspecting eyeball. Arthur reeled back nursing his eye’s ego with the palm of his hand. The dragging of bolts across the door signalled that change stirred. A few too many bolts for any reasonable person to have affixed to one door, and the jingling of a couple padlocks for good measure, and with a heavy creak and billowing cloud of dust the door drifted open.

 

The old woman craned over a table staring through a magnifying glass at crystals of varying size, colour, and magical energy. She continued her busy work unperturbed as Arthur stepped inside. The single room house was a rabble of books, trinkets, and small animals, some stuffed and others still leaving muddied footprints. The door swung closed taking with it the only source of light besides a single candle, and all supply of air that didn’t stifle the lungs with centuries of dust. Despite his best efforts at conspicuousness, Arthur remained completely ignored. He breathed in to speak and received a lung full of grime. Amidst a small fit of coughing he spluttered, “do ya know ‘ow oi can kill a lich, then?” The magnifying glass swung in his direction enlarging a familiar inflamed eyeball. “Irritating little buggers they are,” she replied in a voice much louder than necessary. “I will have just the thing if they’re giving you trouble.” The old woman hopped down from her step and scurried off into a corner of the room, quickly vanishing as she passed beyond the candle’s reach. Hollow metallic crashing reverberated around the room, along with a variety of bellowing marsupial, before the woman returned into view brandishing a glass vial containing hundreds of tiny white crystals. She held it up to him triumphantly.

 

“Wha’ do oi do wiff i’?” Arthur asked turning the vial over in his palm. The woman now returned to her previous stooped position staring into the nucleus of a chunk of garnet. Her reply showed the least possible interest, “They hate the stuff. Just shake some out and they’ll shrink into a crumpled ball.” With a sudden crash the garnet was struck by an oversize wooden mallet. The giant eyeball scrutinised the crystal again as Arthur marvelled at the tiny rocks in his hand for long enough to realize he was being ignored. Taking care not to trample scampering molerats he returned to the door and fondled for the handle in the dark. The door’s weight wrestled against his efforts before begrudgingly swinging ajar. His eyes were blinded by sudden streams of amber light flooding through the opening. A chilly wafting breeze filled his nostrils and he drunk in the clear air with the vibrant twilight horizon. In a direct path from the door lay the exit to the woods some ten paces distance. He would be well within reason to curse the day and assault unsuspecting bushes with his boot, but the relief of liberty pushed all trace of malice aside, and he immediately set off towards home with a veritable spring in his weary step.

 

The lamplighter was retiring for the evening when Arthur made it back under the familiar slate rooves of his village. Scents of roasted pheasant and broiled potatoes tempted his nostrils to turn in for the evening. Upon entering his cloth cap retired to a hook and comfy boots ricocheted off a wall, flicking dirt across the bed,before coming to rest between a spare blanket and a bedpan. He arranged various devices wrought or iron on the dining table and cast the burlap sack that had contained them upon a crooked chair. He examined the wares that equated a year’s wage, seeming unimpressed: a slightly malformed steel blade that had yet to be fitted to a scabbard; a very beaten pre-loved armour chestplate that was tight around the chest and loose everywhere else; and a mismatch of other pieces of armour which amounted to the image of a passable soldier. Arthur fished from his pocket the small vial and held it up to his eye, examining the little crystals rolling about as he turned it. The glass bottle was placed at the end of the table as Arthurs attention shifted towards the window. His gaze was not fixed upon the dark clouds rolling in upon darkening night but rested on an austere clay urn that sat alone upon the sill. Insensibly he drifted towards it. Instinctively his hands caressed the glazed surface. For a few minutes the man remained frozen at the window staring vacantly out, leaving a sour taste in the mouth of a friendly neighbour whose “good evening” wave endured unanswered. Returning the urn to its place Arthur harrumphed a conclusive assertion and began strapping on armour.

 

By day the ominous stone tower was little more than a grey pillar breaking the skyline, but now the night sky was darkened by a foreboding umbra that blocked out far more of the moon than seems reasonable. Ancient foundations had sunken into the dried marsh leaving the column at an unsettling angle that was exaggerated by the dancing shadows. Arthur neared the dim lamp that feebly attempted to illuminate the doorway against insistent shadows playfully consuming it. A torturous wind picked up whipping dust into his eyes and jagged breaths of ice between the joints in his plate mail. Ignoring the discomfort he shuffled up the cobble steps, his foot landing upon the last as a puff of wind extinguished the lamp’s flame. Arthur was not the type to yield to omens, and so his hand pushed the iron door so that it swung with a blood draining shriek. He fumbled to steel himself, switching between standard and reverse grasp on the sword’s hilt. The murky darkness within threatened to consume him whole. Arthur chose to remain on this side of the threshold and direct fabricated bravery inwards in the form of a furrowed brow. Something was moving nearer the door. And it was big. Arthur’s stance shifted to defensive, and for good measure he switched grips a couple more times, unable to confirm which felt more lethal. The thing moved laboriously with the sound of bones grinding. His memory screamed out to his hand to scramble within the pouch at his side for a glass vial. The seven foot tall figure drew near enough that some semblance of the moon’s light revealed a white cage of ribs between the lapels of a tailored greatcoat. The lich voicelessly dipped its head in what could pass for a greeting. Arthur’s arm shot forward with a triumphant “aha” and a few granules of salt flew at the unnatural being. Nothing happened. He shook the vial a bit more to dispense a larger serving. The two stared at each other in incredulous silence, and then, of all the peculiar things Arthur’s short life experience had to offer, something happened that was flabbergasting. The lich began to laugh. Beginning as a singular huff that grew into a bellowing guffaw that rattled joints together. The lich grinned wide. “My boy, you are the unfortunate victim of rather droll wordplay.” A grim cloud brushed against the moon and the cobble steps leading to the crooked tower plummeted into darkness.

 

A brisk wind carried faint echoes, which bore haunting resemblance to a man’s scream, over the hills, beyond a village, and into some overgrown woods where an owl was perched in its familiar place. And that was that.