The Grand Writer's Contest!

[The Zealot (Sir_Wyvernos) 248]

Absolutely. Also, for clarification the final date and time will be June 25th 11:59 EST.

[Praetor 1550]

Here is my entry to the contest, a city created by Necromancers, it is not related to LOTC though. Enjoy~

Ps: The picture is too modern, and taken from internet, but it fits the theme perfectly, if you focus on the person and the skeletons. All pics taken from the net, and pictures are in the spoilers.

Sekrilash-Mokvort

Sekrilash-Mokvort, a name hidden in the shadows of time, a name surrounded by an aura of fear for those who know it. Skerilash-Mokvort mythical city of the Necromancers, a city created on a basis of dark magic, where every street, every ally reeked fear and death. Where even the strongest man would fall on his knees, cowering at the aura of horror surrounding the city like a cloak. Of those who entered, none came out alive...But many walked out dead. T’was a city of great dark spires, and dark, freezing streets, where snow never stopped falling.

Many legends were told of it, but most were wrong, for the city was not like most, it had been imbued with the power of the dead, and natures grip had broken on it.

The power of the necromancers had lifted it up into the airs, tearing a gaping hole into the ground, that led into a great abyss, choked by darkness, and the stink of fear. Nobody knows how it had stayed up for all these centuries, but it has, held down by great chains, forged in the deepest pits of the city, and surrounded by deadly spells of strength and resilience.

Yet, with all it’s dark power, the city was razed with the arrival of the great war, the war that tore the mages and necromancers apart. Many of the great spires, and dark towers were brought down, in an apocalyptic shatter of breaking power, but the curse that surrounded the chains could not be broken, and it stayed, a sign of evil, an omen of death, slowly fading from memory, and legend, till it was once again forgotten…

It was forgotten, but only until, on one fated day, when 3 mortals appeared in the horrific caves near the city, and achieved greatness, binding the souls of the surviving Necromancers with their will, and gaining their terrible powers, and with it, the capacity to revive the ruins of Sekrilash-Mokvort.

Using there newly gained powers, the three concentrated their efforts, and in a great clap of thunder, a cold wind wailed through the icy valleys of the tundra’s, like the call of death itself, as the ground cracked open, and monstrosities came forth, like ants from the dirt, they crawled out of the earth, and slowly started their climb towards the city, many fell, in the hurried rush up the chains, but once arrived, their enslaved souls were immidiatly set to work by the dark powers that now coursed through the three, and in only a matter of months, the city had regained most of it’s dark power from the old ages.

Once again it towered above the surrounding landscape, a dark menacing shape, the incarnation of fear and death itself. And the three settled in the city, ready to bring chaos and death to Itharand, like their forefathers had done before them.

[Rissing 199]

(( As I now have gotten allowence to post once again on the forums would poems like these be accepted http://www.lordofthecraft.net/forum/index.php?/topic/50614-my-poemes/

And I kinda am writting a book, but for this is extremely graphic. In other words I describe how heads are being cut off I don't know or it is appropriate to post this here. http://www.lordofthecraft.net/forum/index.php?/topic/53310-asters-book-p5-written/ ))

[boingy 15]

Is there a limit on story length?

Mines about five pages already so, i don't want to swamp people

[Benedick Irontounge 51]

-snip-

[The Zealot (Sir_Wyvernos) 248]

Is there a limit on story length?

Mines about five pages already so, i don't want to swamp people

There is no limit.

[aokavery 21]

Aurellia:Excerpt from Chapter 1

As I pulled myself atop the gray cement surface I was glad Rhett had made me train as much as he had. I felt no bit of

exhaustion, andthis was after I ran around the city for an hour. I scanned the city locating my drop down spot and planning my route immediately. There was only one guard easy enough to handle, a roundhouse to the back should distract and slow him down enough for me to make it to the entrance. Only a small gap separating us, I stepped back and raced towards the edge gaining more and more speed. At that moment he turned and it was too late for me to stop, I had no choice but to leap over the gap and straight in front of him. I hit the hard cement and urged my worn sneakers to turn as I skid towards him. I had to run but before I knew it I was grabbed by my black cotton hoodie. I tried to learn forward and slip out of my hoodie but he was there all too fast.

Suddenly I was wheeled around and held firmly in place looking a boy around my age maybe a year older. He was the

textbook picture of a Braic. Golden hair cut close to his head, with amber hawk-like eyes that gave you the impression of you being his next meal. He was what every Braic soldier was expected to be, perfect, he had no scars or blemishes only perfectly tanned skin. His light civilian armor allowed me to see a simple black long sleeve shirt beneath the torso section of his armor. The armor only stretched as long as a t-shirt and no armor below his torso. “You’re not authorized to be up here,” he barked in a gruff voice making him sound much older than he was. “Identification Number?” “Look, I’m late and I lost my ID tattoo, whoops!” I retorted with a snarky tone I had worked so hard to perfect “Now let go!” I then kneed him in the groin and as he fell forward I struck him with an accurate ridgehand to the back of the neck, an open spot of his light armor, and watched him fall to the floor. I spat at him and heard him groan in pain, I resisted the urge to laugh and turned on my heels towards the next roof. I was glad the marketplace had low gray concrete roofs, perfect for alternate travels.

I raced across the roof and soared deftly over the gap to the next gray roof. I rolled to take the impact and sprinted

away for the next jump. I was glad my acrobatics training with the Rifts had paid off. Unfortunately I heard loud clumsy footsteps clambering behind me. I glanced back and saw the buffoon doing his best to keep up with my agile jumps. His standard red and gold plated Braic armor was not helping him and it was drawing attention to me, the absolute last thing I wanted. I had to lose him and fast, my tan cargo shorts clanked as I remembered the “tools” I had brought with me to the market. I smiled knowing he didn’t stand a chance now. I attached my Dei ganci to my wrists and found the drop spot I needed. I got as much speed as possible and flung myself off the lower building building and headed straight for the next wall.

As I flew towards the wall I twisted myself to be able to catch the wall and put my plan into action. The shock of the

hard contact shook me but I was able to lodge my Dei ganci in the hot concrete wall. I heard a screech behind me and took a peek to see the idiot standing at the edge of the building with his jaw gaping. I smirked and allowed myself to slide down and took off sprinting to the sewer grate. I ran into the alley housing the entrance and pried the grate open while slipping myself in. I sprinted as fast as I could through the dank dripping tunnels until I reached Flictar. Even after two years I still couldn’t get over how alive the city looked. There hasn’t been one time where I haven’t seen tons of people living their happy lives in a safe world away from the Braics. I checked my watch and prepared for the worst, it was 3:40 and I was late. I crossed the lines we used to connect the city and burst into the council chamber right as they had begun. I sheepishly ducked my head and passed out the food to the appropriate clan leaders, then took my place behind Rhett. “Well now that someone has decided to arrive” he mocked and then glared at me “We may begin.” I knew it would be useless to argue knowing there would be hell to pay later.

Thought it would be fun to enter with an exceprt from my book, hope you like it! :)

[boingy 15]

Heres my Entry, i am sad that i couldn't entirely finish it for the contest but i hope you enjoy it XP

The Dire Flame

By: Darren Bucey / Boingy

It was a crisp autumn morning, the wind blew gently across the valley and the winter’s cold approached with each day. The monk Talbot had just finished his daily chores around the sanctuary and had just begun his usual habit of fishing by the edge of the lake at the bed of the valley. The water was gently covered by a blanket of fog, and the sun had yet to peak the large mountains surrounding the valley. Talbot knew he wouldn’t catch anything, as he never had caught any of the fish in the pond before, but as always, he enjoyed the peace and quiet of the cool mornings, and fishing, no matter how low the chances, always seemed to pass the time. The hours passed by, Talbot singing a few hymns from the monk scriptures, when finally the sun saw fit to once again bless the valley with its dazzling beauty. But this time, as the sun peaked, the fog did not simply fade as often, it would. This time, it only parted for a small basket which floated on the water. Talbot noticed the strange thing, and cast his line. The basket was the first catch Talbot had ever made when fishing, and if you asked him today, he would say it was his greatest. As Talbot reeled in the basket, he could hear a small sound emanating from it. With the inside of the basket now in view, Talbot saw the small human child inside, and it was laughing. The monk pulled the basket out of the water and looked around, trying to see if anyone was looking or crying out for their child. But no one came. Talbot looked inside the basket as many a child had been left with the monks before, given their kind and helpful nature. So he had expected to find a note pleading for their help, or explaining who the child was. All he could find was a small, golden pendant of an open flame around the child’s neck with the name Siran carved across the center. Talbot took the basket in his arms, and carried the child up the hillside to the sanctuary.

Over the next few years Talbot raised the child in the ways of the monks, teaching Siran in the ways of discipline, scholarship, selflessness, how to defend himself and others, and many of the lesser rituals the monks performed on a daily basis. Though Siran listened to all that the monks had to teach him, he never was able to fully grasp the religious side of the order, such as ritualistic healing of others, or praying for hours to gods that gave no answers. What Siran always found pleasure in doing was sparring and adventure. Siran would constantly read books in the library about the adventures of others, and whenever a passing warrior, or traveler would stop at the sanctuary, he would always be filled with questions of the outside world and all its mysteries. It wasn’t that the monks made him stay, it was not their way to keep others from what they wished to do, but Siran had grown attached to the monks, and felt that each was a part of his family, especially Talbot, with his fantastical stories of adventures and small surprises he had always given the young man. Talbot was nearly a grandfather to Siran, an ever caring man to a boy without any blood relatives.

At the age of sixteen, Siran had still never left the sanctuary though he still yearned for more than this life offered. Tobalt had passed on to the Creator’s side by this time and though that time had been troubling for this young man, he knew that life was a temporary thing and all must eventually make their journey to the seven heavens. He was now the sanctuary’s best fighter, though many of the monks looked down on him for practicing so fiercely in the martial arts rather than the spiritual or scholarly arts. He practiced daily, honing his body with the help of the rivers and trees at the valley floor, and the travelers who enjoyed sparring as they passed by. The only problem in his life was that he was coming of age, and knew that soon he would either have to take his vows as a monk, or leave the sanctuary and make his own way in life. But once again, the unexpected would help Siran along.

On a cold winter day, while a storm raged through the valley Siran was inside, tending to the candles in the main hall, each one to be lit to keep out all that was evil. Siran didn’t believe any of it, and just thought that the monks kept the candles constantly lit for heat and light, but as always they insisted it was for more than it seemed. As the rain pelted the outside and the wind howled through the valley, a large crack of lighting struck and great cracks of thunder burst through the valley. And at that moment the doors opened wide and a great gust of wind killed every last flame inside and left the hall silent as death. When Siran looked to the door, all he could see was a shadow, lean and obviously cloaked from head to toe.

“Who goes there and what do you seek from the Sanctuary?”

“Nothing more than a place of shelter, some food, and a few hours rest if you please.”

With a wave of the stranger’s hand, each of the candles relit and light bloomed throughout the room. Where once a man covered in shadow was, now stood a man wearing a damp grey cloak and hood that covered most of his body. His age was obvious from the stark white color of his beard and the slight wrinkles that covered his tanned face. However if you looked closely enough there seemed to be a small glint of youth in his eyes.

“All are welcome here at the sanctuary, but may I ask who you are stranger” said Siran, as he was still very suspicious of this magic user and did not know what to do.

“My name is Gradas, Gradas the Seeker my dear boy, and I have traveled a long way to get here” said the old man as he walked closer to Siran, almost gliding across the floor.

Siran, for all his strength and fighting experience, instinctively backed away out of fear, and though he grimaced at his own cowardice and stopped. Gradas had noticed the move, and smiled.

“There is no need to be frightened young one. I am but a simple old man who wants nothing more than a place to rest for the night and have some possible company on this long journey of mine.”

“No simple man I know can conjure fire from thin air, you are a mage, though dark or kind I know not as of yet.”

“Do you really think a user of the dark arts, who wished harm upon others would have lit the candles of a room, instead of burning you to a smoldering pile of ash. No, if I had wished this place harm, we would not be standing here talking.”

And with those words, Siran grew calm, finally able to think clearly and see the logic behind the man’s words.

“Very well, follow me” said Siran as he turned and led Gadras to the guest wing, where he might rest.

The guest rooms were nothing fancy, as the monks did not like the thought of vanity for oneself or their possessions. So the room had a small cot, a large chest and a slit of a window. Siran left the hall to bring back some food. A few seconds after Gradas had reached his cot to rest; Siran glided through the door with a large vas of water and two warm loaves of bread.

“Here you are, it’s not much, but it was a bit of last minute roundup. There will be a bit more at breakfast.”

“It is fine my dear boy, no need to fuss. I take it you are a monk here at the sanctuary” said Gradas, just before chomping down on his loaf and chewing hungrily.

Siran could not help but look at the ground “No sir, I am just a tenant here at the Sanctuary, the monks have raised me since I was a babe and I try to repay their kindness with hard work and proper study.”

“So you intend to become a monk yourself one day than” he said with an almost knowing expression on his face.

“I know not. I have lived here all my life and have known little else other than what I find in old tomes, or from what I hear as travelers stop to rest in the valley. I feel as if the monks and the sanctuary are my family and my home, but my heart yearns for more though I know not why.”

Gradas could do nothing but chuckle and say” That is only natural for a young man your age, every man wishes to know more, see more, achieve what others had once thought impossible.

Siran smiled but said nothing, thinking that he was also to cowardly to actually leave this place. He was too much of a coward to tell the monks that he would leave them forever and venture on his own.

“Hmmm, perhaps you would like to travel with me young one?”

“With you? No I couldn’t, I wouldn’t want to impose on your journey, and besides, I think I would just slow down a man as powerful as you.”

“Ha-ha, you are such a worrisome lad. I want you to come, that’s why I’ve asked.”

“Why would you want me to come with you?”

“Well for one, I have been looking for an apprentice these past years. One as sharp and strong as you are lad. Also it never hurts to have an extra hand around the campfire, especially one that knows how to cook and fight” said Gradas with a smile.

“Thank you, but what would I do as an apprentice, I do not even know your trade though I can take a good guess.”

“As you probably already figured out, I stock and trade in the magical arts, ranging from alchemy to cure the common cold, all the way to flinging a fireball at some pack of soldiers. But what you would be doing is learning to perform spells as well as learning to mix a brew or two in the alchemical arts. But most importantly you would carry on my teachings and travel the world with me. Does that suffice your question?”

Siran could only stop and think looking at the ground in wonder as all his dreams had been offered to him in a single second. All his life he had wanted to travel the world and now here was someone offering him just that on a silver platter. Of course there was the small downside of having to learn magic, an area Siran had never looked into before let alone used, but he figured he would get used to the idea, and could even use the skills to save people around the world.bThere was almost no downside. Almost. The fear nagged at Siran, he didn’t know if he wanted to leave the monks and he feared he was not ready.

Gradas saw the concern on Siran’s face and said “Do not worry Siran, you need not make the decision now. Get a good night’s rest and think it over. Many say dreams will lead us to what our heart wishes.”

And with that last statement, Siran thanked Gradas and went to bed, hoping the wizard was right, and that a good night’s sleep would help him. Gradas already knew the boys answer, even if Siran did not understand it himself, it was fate that guided these two along this journey, and Gradas knew they would continue it together.

The next morning as Gradas did not see the boy at breakfast, nor did he see him as he walked the courtyard. As Gradas packed for his journey after his days rest at the Sanctuary Siran burst through the door with a rather large pack on his book and an exhausted grin on his face

“I’ve made my decision” said Siran through his heaving breathes and dripping sweat.

“I see that. Did you run all the way here carrying that enormous thing?” as he pointed to the pack with modest amusement.

Siran couldn’t help but blush with embarrassment “Well, yes. I thought you were leaving and I wanted to tell you that I wanted to come along”

“Well, first of all, are you trying to take everything you own with you or are you just carrying a dead body because your pack is enormous.”

“It’s just stuff I thought we’d need. Like training equipment, bottles, food, bandages, books on the legends and lores of the land to make sure we know where to go and what we’re doing, maps to show the way, blankets, two tents, some firewood, some flint and steel for the firewood……”

“Stop stop stop. You don’t need all that. I would have thought someone as smart as you would know to only pack the essentials.”

“Well sir, I’ve….never really left the Sanctuary before, so I wasn’t sure exactly how much to pack.”

“Just keep some food a blanket, a map or two, maybe a book, and any medicine you feel we will need. Everything else you don’t feel you would absolutely die without, just leave it behind.”

Siran rushed off into the deeper parts of the Sanctuary to repack while Gradas chuckled to himself, gathering the rest of his gear.

They met in the courtyard out front. Gradas wearing his usual wizard’s robe and Siran wearing a strange leather headband around his shaven head, a large leather cloak that was nearly twice the boy’s size, and the golden medallion showing proudly on his chest.

Gradas just snickered “What’s with your outfit?”

Siran blushed with embarrassment “What? The band is to show I was of the monks. The cloak is from Mano. He’s a bit husky so the cloak is a little wide, but he says I’ll grow into it. “

“And what’s with the medallion?” said Gradas with a knowing twinkle in his eye.

“It was a gift from my parents. And it’s the only thing I have that can connect to my past….”

Gradas walked over and tucked the medallion away into Siran;s shirt “Best keep it out in the open than, lest a passing bird finds it more attractive in its nest than around your neck.”

“So when do I begin my training than…uh master?”

“Oh, anytime now I suppose. Your first lesson though should be this,”as he gave the boy a pat on the shoulder” Learn to be patient my boy. It is a fundamental part of wizardry.”

Siran could only think on the advice as the two of them walked down the path to the courtyard. And another thought couldn’t help but pop into Siran’s head.

“I wonder where we are going.”

-Sorry this is all I could get down in time for the entry. Realistically this would be the first two chapters in a book about this but I just couldn’t stop adding the detail in. Anyways I hope you enjoyed it. And I’m thinking of continuing the story in a blog on the forumns XD

[dalia44 (Bacon Goddess) 10]

Forgetting Light

By Dedicant Dalia

Down through the endless roads,

Trying to remember the memories,

That should be in her mind.

Nothing in the brain,

An empty head

That should be full.

So many people,

None a bit familiar,

And nobody to recognize.

No parents or siblings,

No one related,

And an endless world of mystery.

Where are they,

The ones she seeks,

In this strange land.

Who knows what happened,

Before that day,

Awakened in a mysterious home.

Sent on her way,

Into the world,

Where the truth may lie.

But the real truth lies,

Next to her heart,

Upon the strange amulet.

Written in no language,

No man can translate,

The secrets it holds.

Now it blocks,

An unknown past,

From it's maker.

What will happen,

To this strange,

Forgetful girl.

Will she see,

The truth it holds,

Or die without a clue....To her own destiny.

[Twilight Druid 188]

Any news on this?

[Viper3X 1056]

Any news on this?

The Media Team is currently in the process of choosing the winners of the contest.

[The Zealot (Sir_Wyvernos) 248]

The winners will be announced soon!

[Dash_Rogers 130]

No wieners? 

[xenenxnennxnx 99]

That necro. But seriously, no winners?

[Evilbanana5757 154]

And so the necromancer strikes!