Winners of the First Nikischurwe

[yopplwasupxxx 5946]

WINNERS OF THE FIRST NIKISCHURWE

 

    Behold one and all, the First Season of the Nikischurwe competition is at an end! After over a year of submissions and entries by many brilliant contestants, the winners have finally been selected and ready to be announced to the world-at-large.

 

First Place

“Lorin + Augustus”

By

Bianca La Fleur of Owynsburg, Kaedrin

 

Second Place

“A Song of Crows”

By

Voron Baruch of Reza, Haense

 

Third Place

“Dear Friend”

By

Darius Basrid of Helena, Renatus

 

    Awards will be granted through personal correspondence, upon the availability of the individual in question. The Wailer Society wishes to thank all contestants who entered their works. Details regarding the Second Nikischurwe will be released at a later date.

 

[Reckless Banzai Screamer 15456]

“The disrespect,” dishonored Captain Paco de Mantequilla says to himself reading off the winner’s list to himself in drunken respite. He plans to pay the Wailer’s Society a visit with the Overly Courageous Crew of Wailers and Fishermen.

[Urahra 5781]

A set of tumblers clicked into place as Yuliya Styrne – perhaps better known under her fanciful pen name Bianca La Fleur -- unlocked the door of her small cottage. Fatigue clung to her limbs. She had grown accustomed to exhaustion. It held her body tenderly in its embrace, pulling her down into its lap. Drawing her to its bedside like an eager lover.

 

At thirteen years old, she had suffered a terrible accident. A pair of burglars broke into her father’s tavern. When her beloved parent caught the pair in the act, they slew him and then set fire to the inn to cover up their crimes. Yuliya had been innocently asleep in the apartment above the bar at the time. One moment, adrift in a land of soft, gentle, girlish dreams. The next moment, awaking in a blaze of screaming hellfire. She had survived thanks to the quick thinking of her uncle, but the fire had left its indelible mark upon her body. Limiting her movement, scarring her visage, stealing any opportunity she had to be a beautiful woman, and most of all – leaving her tired nearly all the damn time.

 

Warm darkness swaddled the cottage. Yuliya contemplated lighting a candle – perhaps getting some writing done – but the little bed in the corner of the house was singing to her. Today’s rehearsal, on top of the long walk between Owynsburg and Helena, had sapped every last bit of strength she had for the day. Besides, the mere act of striking a match and lighting a candle, after what had happened to her so many years ago, was its own sort of trial. Oh, to be a magician like Mr. Basrid. To be able to strike a light from across the room. How useful...

 

In the low light, she almost did not notice when her foot brushed an envelope slid beneath the door. Yuliya startled, thinking perhaps it was a mouse, but quickly caught the moonlight reflected on the crisp, white stationary. With a steadying hand upon the head of her silver cane, she lowered herself slowly and painfully down onto her haunches to pick it up – her face twisting with the effort of the small movement.

 

The envelope found its way from the floor onto her desk. Yuliya eased into her writing chair with a sigh and sliced the stationary with a dart of her letter opener. Her scarred fingers unfolded the missive – the light from the moon providing just enough glow to read the text.

 

A slow smile overspread the authoress’s mutilated face and, suddenly, she found herself invigorated. Her former exhaustion completely forgotten.

 

She never had the opportunity to be a beautiful girl – to be loved in the common way as other girls were. But better to be admired for one’s quickness of mind  and deftness of hand, rather than temporary loveliness sure to fade.

 

“Silver Poet, hm?” she chuckled softly to herself. “A pretty title. Don’t mind if I do.”

 

And with that, she reached for her quills and inkwell.