Dragons Cove Competitions and media, {poetry} {short stories} {series} {articles} {images} PRIZES

Last edited by Zay on Fri Sep 17, 2010 3:04 pm; edited 6 times in total

WELCOME

Yeah, welcome to the Dragons Cove Competitions area, where creativity runs free, gold showers from the clouds, and dragons become superstars in the media of your choice.

Okay there are no set dates really except when all submissions should be in by ;)There will probably be 2 competitions on the go at one time...
There are also non-competitions which pose purely as reading material to past the time by while you wait for your lazy roleplay partner to reply ^^
Contests mean you'll gain extra gold if you win in them, standard means provided your piece is good enough you'll get some gold it will be displayed but you don't get a bonus because you haven't "won" anything ^^
Contests are all or nothing, well mostly....And standard is much more steady, but quality is always appreciated (accept a max of 5 standard submissions every week)

Standard Submission Rewards:
Poetry(no set limit but not too long or short please =)-------500 gold
Short Story (about 1-2 A4 pages, using microsoft word)-----1000 gold
Series (each part can be 1-2 A4 microsoft word pages, can have up to 10 parts! Minimum of 3, when submitting these submit all parts divided up appropriately)------700 gold per part (quality is a must here!)
Articles Same as short story limit, perhaps easier to write?-----800 gold
Images keep size at about 800X800 or less-----500 gold
Tutorials (Provided you have authorization to make tutorials and have a topic not covered it can be any length, trusting you know the difference between quality and quantity, but the amount must be substantial)-----1000 gold

All of these things may feature your dragons and other dragons (only use other dragons if they've granted you permission!) Or they can have your non-dragon characters in them or be themed around anything to do with roleplay in Dragons Cove...From monologue emotions to dramatic fight scenes to adventurous series, it really is up to you ^^

Current Competition(s):

Dragons' Cove's 6th Birthday All entries in by: May 4th

6 years already! Can you believe it?!
This calls for a little something special - and this something special is a birthday feast like there has never been before!

Dragons' Cove's very own version of a cooking class and the theme is: dessert! (obviously - can't have a birthday without cake, can we?)

Write us a little story about how one or more characters (struggle to) master the art of baking a wonderful cake in honour of Dragons' Cove's birthday. We want details of the cake!

A little gift of 500 gold will be rewarded for every (real) entry.

does this work for a pic?

https://2img.net/h/i72.photobucket.com/albums/i184/skater1894/board2.png
or
https://s72.photobucket.com/albums/i184/skater1894/?action=view&current=board2.png

Area: V6 Caspan

Teaser: The peaceful city of Caspan has ever been a happy place sitting on the edge of the plains and the giant mountains. However, when news of Quinsilla’s downfall and the spread of the enemy finally reaches their ears, the people can’t help but be worried. The strong town of Bolarf stands between them and this new imposing threat, but how long will these hardy people last to stand as the buffer for Caspan? And what will happen when these people protecting the sand temple fall?

Plot Description: Some of the villagers have been talking of building a resistance or militia. They don’t want to be caught unawares like Quinsilla did, and therefore be subject to the cruel whims of Zartear. Since they are only a village and have limited sources of man power, they have decided to accept volunteers from elsewhere to boost their preparations for battle incase the Surarhn Clan does come knocking at their door step. For those of the adventurous leader mentality, this could also become a small strike force to travel through Bolarf and help them reinforce their defenses as well.

Objective of the Plot: This would be the beginnings of an organized force for the Defenders of Dragon’s Cove against Zartear.

Who can join?: Anyone, really. Those from “The Good Clan” and Neutral Clan who are willing to join up in this little rag-tag village defense would be welcome with open arms. Spies or those looking to sabotage the effort of this little force would have their own little niche too. Number of people would range between 4 and 8, most likely.

We can use more than one idea, right? I'll probably come up with a better one later, after some stewing or something...))

Plot: Every year, the annual desert run takes place in the height of summer. This year the turnout is greater than ever, with many dragons, riderless or otherwise, competing. The race is from the camp at Jilurarn to the deep desert gorge that runs through the middle of the desert and back. However, the race has been plagued for many years by cheats, and this year may be no different. Alongside this, sandstorms are imminent in the hot summer weather. Who will win the race?

Setting: The deep desert near Jiluran. The weather is hot and dry, with some risk of sandstorms. The sun is just rising, and the temperature of the land is too during the course of the day. There is a large, crowded camp made up of light coloured tents and an extravagant start line with coloured banners for the start of the race to the north of the camp.

I wish I had known
about the trap in the clearing
about the humans trade
about the dogs
but I didn't
Now I lay here
beaten and torn
awaiting for death to come.
Oh, how softly it can come
like the wind stroking the grass
as easy as falling asleep
But how roughly itcan come as well
like the teeth that tear into my face and legs
like the sun searing my flesh.
Here I lay watching the grass, the sun
for what felt like the first time
the last.
Finally, I feel it coming
the darkness
the cold
the retreat
oh how final this feels
like the reaper has finally come.
and he has.

FINALLY DONE!!! YAY!!!

http://fc00.deviantart.net/fs50/f/2009/315/2/f/Girl_on_a_Cliff_by_Seroph.jpg

This one was so much faster to make... but harder to do... Curious...

http://fc03.deviantart.net/fs50/f/2009/315/4/f/Epic_Map_by_Seroph.jpg

Dragons Cove Competitions and media, {poetry} {short stories} {series} {articles} {images} PRIZES 3346vl0

I hope it's good enough... and that I'm posting in the right place...

The Picture

Just sit there and look at it for a little bit...

...let it soak into your consciousness...

... only then will you recognize my genius.

Just admit it. I'm freaking amazing at holiday cheer =D

Entry #1 of two: http://fc02.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2010/044/0/e/V_day_DOOM_by_Seroph.jpg
(I'm keeping it in link form, because it would stretch the banner width.)

“Momma, there’s something out there!”

The little boy exclaimed, seeing a strange shape outside the tiny mountain village he called home. His mother came up to him and pulled him away from the window, then began tucking him in to his bed. He squirmed a bit, but stopped when his mother shushed him.

“Don’t be silly Donny. There’s nothing out there.”

She planted a kiss on the boy’s forehead, blew out the candle on his bed stand, and left his room. ‘Something out there, really.’ She thought, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘The imagination in that boy’s head.’

Little did the woman know, her son did see something outside his window. A Winter Dragon was sitting silently outside the town, staring intently at a large chunk of ice that had fallen there. It tilted it’s head slightly, then puffed out a cloud of mist that floated lazily down. It stood up slowly, scratched at the ice, then wandered off, headed for it’s cave higher up the mountain.

The next day, Donny had stayed up, checking to see if the creature would come back. He nearly exploded with excitement when he saw the shape lumber back and sit in front of the ice block that had showed up a few days ago. His mother, however, came in to his room after a while and put him to bed, excited about seeing it again the next day.

This process went on for thirteen days, the dragon would lumber up to the ice, scratch and cut pieces off of the block, sit and stare at it for a while, then lumber off again. While young Donny would sit up on his bed and look out his window, watching with awe as he watched the dark shape. Various thoughts would go through his mind as he watched, like; Where did it come from? Or What is it doing?

On the fourteenth night, the small boy finally had enough of sitting and watching, and he snuck out of his house to meet whatever the thing was. He snuck up behind the dragon, who was intent on working on the ice, and sat behind it, watching it work. Mostly it scratched at the block, whittling it down to some shape. It finally sat down after a few hours and turned it’s head to stare at the boy through it’s long hair. It shook it’s head lightly and nodded to the boy.

“You can see if you want.”

The boy, startled it knew how to speak, nevertheless wandered around the dragon to stare at the statue. He stared at the roughly hewn shape and gasped.

“It’s a heart!”

The dragon nodded again, it’s lips curling into a smile at the child’s delight.

“Yes. Today feels like a good day for hearts, doesn’t it?”

Donny smiled and nodded quickly, his curly brown hair bobbing up and down. The two exchanged smiles for a while then, without warning, the dragon stood. It smiled one last time at the child, unfurled it’s wings, and took off, it’s body quickly disappearing into the night sky. The child turned to stare at the ice block for a few moments, then ran home, sneaking in to bed and smiling all through his dreams.

For the next few days, the village was abuzz with talk about the strange heart built outside the village. And little Dobby would walk up to groups of men and women and exclaim:

“It was a friendly dragon!”

((Hope you like it more than I do.))

http://eris-moon.deviantart.com/art/Contest-quot-Submission-quot-155045384

Sorry. ^^;

::WRITTEN SUBMISSION::

Vann wiped the blood from his sword on the shirt of the man he had just killed, his breath heaving from the exertion of the fight. Though the man lying dead on the ground had succumbed to the possessed man's superior sword fighting skills, he had left a fair amount of wounds on the aggressor before he had been defeated.

He had been skilled, Vann admitted grudgingly, his body scream with pain as he tried to stand from his kneeling position. He sported a large wound on his left forearm where his defenses had been penetrated, laying open the flesh with ease, seeing as he sported no armor to speak of. He had ripped up some cloth to bind the wound, but it was still seeping around the material. If there was no healer he could turn to to stitch the wound up, he very well could die from blood loss, or have the gaping wound become infected, and loose his arm to gangrene. Neither option seemed very nice to the murderer, so he began walking toward where he thought the nearest town would be.

As the adrenaline from the battle began to wear off, Vann noticed that all the pain that had been inflicted on him was slowly surfacing. A wound on his thigh he didn't even know he had incurred began to burn with every step he took, forcing him into an awkward straight-legged limp. The energy high he had experienced was leaving him, and it took a supreme effort and all of his concentration to simply place one foot in front of the other as he walked, not even sure if he was going the right way anymore. His vision began to swim, the corners going dark, and all sense was lost to him. He tripped on something, but couldn't summon the strength to stop himself from falling, or even worry that it was going to hurt. In fact, it didn't. He was unconscious before he even hit the ground.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The first thing that he became aware of was a warm glow on the right side of his body, and the light that was causing it was falling right on his face. Secondly, he noted with dull interest that a throbbing pain just weak enough to play on the tip of his consciousness emanated from his arm, leg, and a few other parts of his body from the battle. Turning his face from the light, Vann opened his eyes slowly, wondering where he was. The sheets and bed were certainly not a feature that he remembered on that dusty road in the middle of nowhere.

Sitting up, he inspected the bandages binding his wounds, and saw that not only was he shirtless, but was wearing someone's pants. Underneath the clean white bandages on his arm, he could see that someone had gone through the trouble of stitching the wound up. It was fresh, the skin still a bright irritated red around where the thick thread was holding the edges of his flesh together. No signs of gangrene, which was good.

The room he had been set up in was very plain, with a simple wooden nightstand next to the bed and a dresser in the corner of the room. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, Vann stood, groaning with the effort it took. His muscles were still sore, and his body felt weak and lethargic. How long had he been bedridden?

Walking to the other side of the room, he opened the door, hoping that someone would be able to explain his shirtlessness, how he'd gotten there, and where his sword was. The door allowed him a view of the main parlor of the house. This was no fancy upper-class home, just a simple village peasant's residence with a single table and a relatively new carpet underneath it. There was a wood stove in the corner, and sitting next to it was a rocking chair, currently inhabited by what he supposed was the owner of this house.

The woman looked up when she noticed him, stopping in the middle of her knitting at the sight of the stranger up and about. She was relatively pretty by normal standards, small of stature with large brown eyes and equally brown hair, caught back in a knot to keep the long locks from falling into her face. Like her house, she was dressed very plainly, in a simple cream colored dress that was perhaps a little big on her small frame, but not noticeably so. "I see that you've finally woken up." She said, setting aside her knitting and standing, walking forward a few paces.

"Finally?" He asked, arching one brow in question.

"Oh yes, after they brought you here and I stitched you up, you were out for five days." The woman replied with a smile. "You were terribly wounded, and had lost a lot of blood. We weren't sure if you were going to make it."

"We?" Vann felt as if he was about to play a game with twenty questions with the woman. She seemed like she was just one of those people with the annoying habit of leaving out all of the important details.

"My husband, and the traveling traders who found you on the roadside." She said evenly. "You were very lucky that they found you." Vann nodded mutely, seemingly unwilling to comment on the subject. Her smile saddened a little bit, her suspicions all but confirmed. Bandits in the area had become quite the problem, and this poor man seemed like just another victim. "Well, let me check your stitches, and then I'll get you a shirt. Can't have a half-naked man running around my house!" She said jokingly, nodding back toward the bedroom that he'd just come out of.

Unwilling to offend the woman who had probably saved his life, Vann did as was ordered and sat back down on the bed, letting her peel back in bandages and check the wounds that were scattered around his body. "Where exactly am I, and who are you?"

The woman looked up, a bit surprised and re-wrapped a bandage on his right hand that she'd been expecting. "Why, we're in Plurith. And I'm Aimee Thatcher, pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Vann, of Didienne." He replied shortly, watching with a dull sort of interest as Aimee went over all of the bandaged bits with extreme care. For a woman married to a thatcher, she certainly seemed to know her way around wounded patients. He had to wonder how many people like himself showed up on her doorstep on a regular basis, and came to the conclusion that it must have been a lot. She seemed too pretty to be a nurse. ((A thing about the last names: I know in some countries, it was common for your last name to be your job. Hence the rise of Smith, Miller, Thatcher, etc... So that's the reason that Vann thinks that she's married to someone who actually thatches roofs for a living. Also, I know that in America around the civil war times, you could only be a nurse if you were ugly, otherwise they were afraid that you would seduce the patients.))

Again, she paused in her work to look up at Vann. "You're certainly a long way from home, Vann. What brings you all the way out here?"

He shrugged, trying to effect a carefree attitude. "I'm just a wanderer by nature, I'm afraid. There's no rhyme or reason to my traveling." And that was mostly the truth. His traveling only had purpose when he was out to murder somebody. Otherwise, he was just like any other wandering swordsman without a purpose.

"Well, I guess that means you'll be on your way again once you're back to health, right? Well, don't worry about it if you need to go. We've had people in and out before. I'm used to it." She gave him her best smile, then stood, heading for the door. "It's nearly dinner time, so get a little rest and I'll whip up some soup for you." Aimee gave him a small wave and closed the door after herself, leaving him alone again to ponder the situation.

Well, at least he had free room and board for now. It was certainly better than scouting around for an inn.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Vann woke with a sudden jolt, only half conscious as he reached for his sword, only to find that it wasn't where he expected it to be. Waking up a little more, he realized that he'd been startled out of his sleep by someone entering the room, and that someone was standing at his side, apparently watching him. Rubbing his face to clear away the sleep, he found that it was Aimee, her form barely definable in the darkness of the night.

"What in the world are you-" He began, but was cut off as a slim finger was pressed against his lips, shushing him effectively.

"There's no need to get flustered." Aimee whispered, her voice low and sensual. It was only then that Vann could see that she wasn't dress in anything more than a simple think nightgown, the front of which was dipping dangerously low as she leaned over him, her fingers playing gently over his chest. Her face came closer, and she placed a few fleeting kisses on his jaw, her breath hot on his neck.

With what little room he had to maneuver in, he manged to put a little distance between himself and the woman, staring at her confused. "Aimee, you've got a husband."

She frowned, her full lips pulling down into a pout. He could tell that she'd practiced that face many times before, and found it strangely alluring. "Aye, a husband that leaves me for weeks on end and won't be back for days yet." She replied, her voice still in that low sexy tone. "But you're here and now, Vann. Besides... as soon as your wounds heal, you'll be out of here again. No strings attached."

Vann attempted to say something more, but was shushed again as Aimee maneuvered herself onto the bed, her body practically radiating heat and desire. "Just one night."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next morning was nothing if not awkward. Aimee seemed completely at ease, telling Vann that she'd probably been an adulteress for a long time, and had probably seen many one night stand companions float through here. She'd practically even said so herself!

Breakfast was a silent affair, with the woman doing her knitting by the iron pipe stove like before. Just as he'd finished the soupy oat bowl, the front door swung open, a man appearing in the doorway. Aimee looked up alarmed, but upon seeing who it was, quickly set aside her knitting and stood, a bright smile on her face. "Richard! You're back early, my dear!"

The man gave a great hearty laugh, embracing the small woman with a large grin on his face. "I rushed home just for you, Aimee dear. Business was done a tad early this time. The job was easier than expected." Richard said, planting a kiss on her forehead, and then her lips. It was only after he was satisfied with his hello to his wife that he noticed Vann sitting at the table, and turned a friendly smile on him. "Why hello there. Are you another one of those pesky wayfarers that my wife keeps dragging into the house?" He asked with a good-natured tone.

Vann could only stare in response. Not because he couldn't come up with a decent reply, but because the familiar stirring in his mind that marked the presence of a man that had just signed up for death had appeared before him. As always, one particular voice rose above the rest, screaming for his death in the most horrible ways possible. The particular voice seemed abnormally livid up and above the rest, so he had a feeling that the resulting death of this Richard person wasn't going to end pretty. A shame. He seemed like such a nice person.

Realizing that they were both staring, he cleared his head, and managed a weary smile. "Yes, sorry for intruding. Your wife was kind enough to patch up my wounds."

Richard, seeing that the young man seemed to have a hold over himself again, waved off the praise with a grin. "You're lucky! There's no better nurse in all of Plurith."

Vann nodded his assent, then stood. "I'll excuse myself... recovering is a tough job."

"Oh yes, please, do go get your rest. The more the better." Aimee piped up, hardly looking at Vann, her eyes seemingly locked onto Richard with nothing less than absolute adoration in her eyes. What a strange woman...

Back in the little room that he had been allotted, Vann opened the large dresser across from his bed, and rifled around in the drawers until he found his sword. Aimee had shown him where she had kept his clothes and weapon the day before. It seemed that the time to use them was much sooner than he had expected. Calmly, and with a practiced hand, he buckled on his sword belt over the clothes he was wearing now, flipping the clothes in the drawer over his left shoulder. With that same air of calm and collectivity, he walked back out the door into the main room, where Richard and Aimee were talking animatedly to one another.

It was Aimee who gave away the pending attack, her eyes widening as she saw the sword. "Vann, what are you doing?" She asked, her voice rising. Richard, in automatic response, turned, and received a sword slash directly across the chest.

In the background, he could hear Aimee screaming as Richard fell, eyes wide with fear as he looked up at the blond sword-wielding man, his blood quickly staining the front of his shirt and dripping onto the floor. "What-" He didn't get to finish his question, Vann's blade flashing out and plunging into his chest, piercing his heart. All that he could manage was a strangled cry of pain that increased in volume when the sharp steel twisted in his chest, ripping up the failing organ as his lifeblood poured out all over the floor. He tried to grab the blade, as if to yank it out of his chest, but his strength was quickly failing him, and he couldn't do much more than touch it fleetingly with his finger tips.

Vann stepped on the downed man's chest, ripping his blade free and causing Richard to cry out again in agony. "I'll see you in hell, brother." He said in a soft voice, slightly distorted as his eyes flashed red, his sword coming down in an arc the laid wide the soft tissue of the man's neck.

Aimee had retreated to a corner of the house, quivering in fear with wide eyes centered on her dead husband and the man who had killed him, calmly wiping the blood off of his blade with a bit of shirt that he'd sliced off the dead man. When he had sheathed his sword, he looked over at Aimee, a smile gracing his face. "Well, it looks like you'll never have to worry about him leaving you alone for a job ever again." he made a move with his left hand, as if he were tipping his hat to the woman, then simply turned and walked out of the house, leaving the traumatized Aimee with the fresh corpse that had once been her husband. "Ah, love." He said with a sigh, shaking his head with an amused look on his face, and just kept walking. Next stop, Racksom.

Here's my entry for the contest:

The Banishment of Phoebe Altair from the Village of the Whispering Stars

Years ago, the Village of the Whispering Stars was rebuilt to it’s former glory. Centuries ago, it was an elven village destroyed by a searing hot comet. A radical young couple, wanting a safe place for their newborn daughter to live, carved all the new buildings from the comet, using a legendary enchanted diamond sword. The sword is so old that its name and story has been forgotten, and as soon as the village was finished it is said that it turned to dust and soaked into the ground on which the village stood.
Now, this couple’s daughter’s name was Phoebe, and she is a half-elf. Her mother was elven, a talented astronomer, and her father was human, a deadly dragon slayer. That is the reason they had to abandon their homes and create this new town; no one would accept her as a part of any elven or human village. Appropriately, in the middle of the town, there was a star-watching tower, which, before it was destroyed, had the clearest view of the cosmos in the world.
On the day of Phoebe’s sixteenth birthday, the sun poked out shyly behind the mostly grey sky. She didn’t care at all. To her, it was the most beautiful day in the world. Not only would was it her birthday, not only was the annual rain festival today, but her father would be coming home from his expedition today.
“Mother! Mother! Wake up, don’t you want to see the first rain of the day?”
“…Phoebe,” her mother grumbled, “It’s five in the morning…”
“And? Let’s go!”
Her mother sighed and got out of bed. Oh well. At least she wouldn’t sleep in on such an important day.
Mother and daughter looked up at the sky outside their home, but something was strange. Usually the rain came first thing in the morning on this day, but today it wasn’t. That was a bad sign, considering that the rain might get violent later on. A messenger rode by on a horse, stopping at the house.
“What’s all this?” asked Phoebe. Then he spoke.
“A package for a young Miss Altair?”
“Ah, that’s me!”
“Here you are Oh, and I’ve already been paid by the sender, so don’t worry about any fee.” And he rode off.
“Oh wow! It’s from father! It’s… it’s a spear… and a letter!”
“I’ll take the letter,” said her mother, “I’ll read it at the end of my speech after the celebration.”
“Okay!” agreed Phoebe.
At noon that day, the festivities went off beautifully. The food stands, the games, the rain dances… even the ground glowed with excitement. But the rain was pouring heavily, and soon there was thunder and lightning. The festival had to be cut short, so the mayor’s daughter; Phoebe’s mother, would now give her speech. Everyone gathered by the star-watching tower.
“People of the Village of the Whispering Stars! Today is the day of the rain festival, and for the next week, the gentle rain shall fill the usually crystal clear skies, nourishing the ground and the glowing moonflowers we all adore. But today, we also celebrate the birthday of my daughter, who will one day take over this village as mayor. I have a received a letter from my husband, who will return later this evening. He has sent a messenger with a present for Phoebe, a strong silver spear, and a letter. I will now read the letter aloud.”

“Dear Phoebe,
If you’re reading this, then I’m afraid I have sad news. All these years, I have not been going on heroic expeditions. I have lied to you and your mother. I have lied to the whole town. I am a dragon slayer. I kill those amazing, mystic beings that everyone admires; I have an insatiable longing to see their blood spill. As I write this, I am going into a cave to kill a dragon that is much too powerful for me to battle. If this letter is sent to you, that means I have died. Know that it was not a battle; it was a suicide. I simply could not lie to you any longer. I could not come back, on your birthday. I could not.
The spear I sent is my final gift to you. I know that no one will want to live in that tainted village, filled with my lies. Use it to protect yourself, use it to defeat your enemies, use it to travel the world. I know you will never be able to settle in a village now, any village. Do not live like I have.
Farewell,
Your father

The town was in hysterics. Phoebe’s mother was the only seemingly levelheaded person in the crowd. Phoebe had completely lost it. Sobbing, she took the spear, that cursed spear, and threw it at the star-watching tower, shattering the telescope her mother had so dutifully observed the night sky with all these years.
Her mother climbed up the stairs and retrieved the spear. After she had done so, back at the bottom of the tower, she stabbed herself with it, ending her life. Phoebe’s sobbing stopped. She was speechless. Everyone and everything lost in a single day.
The mayor, Phoebe’s grandmother, stepped up. “Phoebe Altair, spawn of the vile slayer who stained our town with lies, and of the weak woman who stained it with her blood, you are hereby banished from the Village of the Whispering Stars. Take your belongings and that cursed spear, and leave. Never come back, you are not welcome here. You are not welcome anywhere.”

((And here's mine.))

“Kimo, careful!”

Komi watched on as his dear sister walked across the to of a high wall, fretting and wringing his hands nervously. Oh, she should know better than to do this! She had wanted to grab some of those vines hanging from a tree that shadowed the far section of the wall, but she couldn’t just ask Ferdinand. No, she had to go and grab it herself, putting herself into more danger for a common vine.

Kimo laughed off Komi’s warning, a loud, overly-done guffaw that sounded completely ridiculous with her high voice. He worried too much, she thought. She was always doing stuff like this, and nothing bad has happened to her yet. So she walked on, arms held out like a tightrope walker. And she was almost there too, so she couldn’t give up now.

~~~~~~~

Komi started winding his hankie around Kimo’s ankle, tutting and fretting like a nervous hen. Kimo, meanwhile, was trying to fend off a tear, clutching at the vines in her hand and nearly crushing them beyond use.

“I told you, told you, told you, but you didn’t listen.”

He said, tying the makeshift bandage tight. Why did she put herself through stuff like this? And what did she do it for? Some weird vine. How were they going to explain it to the healing lady, or Father? He stood, looked over his work, then helped Kimo up, patting her back for comfort. She sniffled once, then wiped her face, acting tougher than she was.

“This is nothing! It doesn’t hurt!”

She says now. He thought, looking at her incredulously. Oh well, she’s stubborn enough, she’ll push through this.

“So what did you do that for?”

~~~~~~~~

Kimo handed Komi the bracelet she made, smiling. He took it, staring at it curiously. It was made out of weaved vines, then dried so it wouldn’t come loose. He looked from it back to her, and smiled a big, toothy smile. She was dangerous and got him in trouble more than he would like, but they loved each other like only twins could.

“Thank you.”

~~~~~~~

Komi put the crumbling, old bracelet in a casket of glass and had the glass-blower seal it shut, so that it would last forever inside it. And every night during their separation, he would look longingly at the little trinket, wondering how her life as a princess was and if she was happy. And it was the only personal item he brought, other than his locket, that he brought when she took him and ran away to become a Tamer.

They were fighting again. It was always with the yelling and the screaming, the plotting in the shadows and the scheming gone wrong. Not even his brother’s death could dull the sharp tongues that lashed out against anybody within earshot. Indeed, the sudden vacancy in the family had only made the screaming louder, the arguments more commonplace, and the hidden agendas more complex and darker in nature.

A boy, perhaps around the age of ten, watched with dull eyes as a coffin of polished and buffered wood was laid into the stone tomb of their ancestors, an elderly man finely dressed in priest robes reciting a monotone speech that originated from a dusty old cracked novel that had been in the church for probably over a hundred years. Every death was marked with the same speech being given. There was nothing special about the boy hidden in that coffin, other than that he had been a nobleman in life. Third oldest child, second oldest son, and would have been promised a wealthy and relatively carefree life had he survived longer than his eldest brother and past the age of seventeen.

But now he was as cold and lifeless as the dark stone that surrounded the coffin, his twisted soul having violently left its body when a plan to assassinate the one man standing between him and a full inheritance had backfired with incredibly disastrous results. It had not been the first time that the eldest had come under attack. The dead boy and the third son, a scant year younger, had many times tried to plot the elder boy’s death. Most attempts came to naught, but once they nearly had him, and twice their sisters had interfered. Not because of any love that they held for their brother, oh no, the sisters were just as bad as their male kin. Only, they would receive no inheritance, and if they wanted to be looked upon favorably, they had to ally themselves with the one male that would reap soul benefit from their parent’s passing.

The eldest boy stood next to Vann, the brothers sharing their father’s blue eyes and mother’s straw blonde hair. But, aside from their physical similarities, Vann could not truly say that they had anything else in common. His eldest brother was always shut away in his room studying or scheming; it mattered not. All he knew was that there was a coldness to the man that the small boy of ten simply couldn’t understand. He knew death now, understood what it meant to die. And he understood that if he didn’t watch his back, the boy of seven, last and youngest brother of their family, might well one day place a dagger there. Or worse yet, one of his sisters would do away with him if he ever one day aspired to claim inheritance. His fate as the fourth son -or third now that the second eldest was dead- was to grow up entirely at the mercy of his eldest brother and older sisters who were all hell-bent on staying within the man’s good graces.

The arguing started as soon as the funeral was over and they were within the privacy of their family mansion. His mother, a woman that had been beautiful once but had aged horribly because of stress was in hysterics. She screamed at her husband, asking him how they had come to raise such murderous turncoat children. Their family’s reputation had done nothing but suffer, everyone talked about them, about her when they thought they couldn’t be overheard. The whispers plagued her in her sleep, she said, and she had long ago had enough of it. It was lucky that the murder had been chalked up to an unfortunate case of food poisoning, for what would they do if they actually had to come under investigation? Imagine the whispers then!

Vann closed his door to the voice of his screaming mother, stepping out of his shoes and crawling into bed fully clothed, staring at the four corner posts of his large bed with blank eyes. Hopefully, the dawn would yield a better day.

The next morning, he woke to find the house dead silent, an unusual concept. He crept downstairs to find everyone at the breakfast table, the place where his brother usually sat painfully empty. It was only after he had begun to partake of his porridge that he learned what was to happen to the family, the reason for the silence.

His sisters save for the eldest were to attend boarding school, the three girls had already had their things packed up by the maids and were awaiting a carriage to carry them off. The eldest sister had a look of grim satisfaction on her face as she ate; apparently glad to see the other girls off and out of her hair. This did not concern Vann so much; it would be nice without three of his sisters around to harass him and incite arguments with his mother. It would be a quieter existence, of that he was sure.

However, the next bit of news made him set down his spoon for fear of choking on any more food he put into his mouth. His eldest brother would be staying as well, and of the three remaining brothers, would be the only one to stay. The newly appointed second eldest brother would be sent to work an apprenticeship with a lawyer company on practically the other side of the continent, making him at least a little useful to the family. His youngest brother was to be kept at home for a few years yet until he was old enough to attend a boarding school as well and taught up to be a useful asset for the eldest brother. Vann however…

The boy had been deemed old enough to know too much, to have learned the violent nature of their family and take it to heart. But he was too young yet to try for an apprenticeship for something in a useful field of business. So, it was decided that he too would be sent far away from the family. They would all but disown him, sending him to the mountains to become a monk in a small creed that nobody had heard much of. It was a quiet fate, but even then he knew that it would not be anything glamorous. There was no wealth to be had when dedicating your life to a deity.

In a week, he was gone, and the SelDakhoven house was peaceful and quiet for the first time in years. Vann, a wide-eyed boy with little expectations for the rest of what was probably going to be a miserable life, watched as the city he had grown up in gave way to dirt country roads, rolling landscapes dotted with farming villages, and finally, mountain peaks broke the flat horizon.
The church sat amongst the thick alpine woods of the mountain, overlooking a cliff with a spectacular view of the small farming village below. An annex dedicated to the monks that lived in the church was the coaches’ stopping place, and reluctantly, Vann took what little he was allowed to bring from the seat next to him and slid from the carriage, speechless with huge eyes that took everything in.

A man in long trailing robes approached, and when he was within arm’s length of the small boy, he stopped and made a slight bow. “You are Vannelson?”

Vann nodded, staring hard at the man. He was old, very old. Lines creased his face all over, and he had the tanned skin of a commoner, leathery and dotted with dark marks that told of many long years working in the sun. A neatly trimmed white beard hung from his chin and jaws, with bushy brows and a thick mustache that contrasted sharply with his completely baldhead that shone with the reflected light of a afternoon sun.

“Well then, we welcome you dear boy to our humble church. We hope that you can find this place to be a refuge for you.” He held out his hand and, timidly, Vann reached out and shook it, unable to take his eyes off the old man.

The handshake seemed to have made the small boy come to terms with his fate, for he began to cry, realizing that he would never see any of his family again. He was stuck in this low dirty common place, and no amount of pleading would get him out of here. From now on, this was home.

Will’s Past: Mortality to Vampirism

I still remember my humanity, even if most vampires I’ve come across find it strange. Every detail of my human life still burns a memory inside of me. There are a lot of things I wished I’d done differently. A lot of things I wished I’d done at all. Too late now. I can’t go back and fix it, even if I wanted to. I’ve ruined my chances at being happy. All in the small simple act of stupidity. I was blind and stupid, and now, I have to pay for it with every long day of eternity. I like to think that if I had the chance, I would have died that die. Would have let them catch me, and kill me. I like to think that’s how it should have happened, but they wouldn’t have killed me, and I know it. It wouldn’t have worked, and it took till much later to realize how to kill a vampire. My name was once Sir William of Felengrag. I was a knight to the King and Queen, and to the liking of a very fair

It happened so long ago, in the medieval ages, after my last match of jousting. Little did I know it was to be my last ever…

“Nice score Will. I don’t think that other guy saw that move coming.”

Will flashed his smile. A dazzling toothy smile that had all the girls swaying in the stands. “Still, he almost caught me under the arm when Solomance moved away. Got to watch this horse, he’s skittish around these poles. Think I should do the last round with him Emerson?”

Will’s best friend, the knight Emerson Galford, shrugged. “Up to you, but better decide soon, looks like your opponent is ready again.”

They both glanced over at Will’s opponent. Sure enough, the other knight, and this case for the enjoyment of the spectators, the Black Knight, was mounting up again. Will sighed as he looked from Emerson to Solomance. He shrugged, getting up and walking towards his horse. The creature eyed him for a moment, then looked back across the field. Solomance had a fire in his eyes. He might still be unsure of the lances, but he loved the thrill of the run.

“I think Solomance picked for me,” Will said with a laugh, climbing up and letting Emerson tie the lance to him. He put his helmet visor down, and steered Solomance to the starting point. They waited for a few minutes, then with the signal given…

Solomance shot forwards, his hoofs clicking hard against the ground, the Black Knight’s horse was a little late on the start, but was soon racing on the other side of the fence down the middle. Will brought the lance level with his opponent’s chest, then CRASH! The two hit each other hard. His opponent’s lance hit Will in the chest, it was a hit, but Will’s hit him harder, closer to the neck. They came away. Will managed to stay on his horse, but his opponent was knocked off backwards. The crowd erupted into cheers. Everyone was please. Trotting Solomance back to the center, Will dismounted, and held out his hand to his opponent who took it without hard feelings.

---

Will walked the short distance to the door after turning his horse over to the servant. His sword hung at his side, and his messy blond hair falling into his face. His best clothes smooth and his smile lit his face as soon as she opened the door. Her wavy brown hair, her cheery cheeks, and her smooth skin gleaming in the moonlight. Will felt like he was on a cloud. Here she was. All he ever wanted.

The night was perfect, and the date was set. A week after tomorrow, him and his wonderful bride Crystalina, would be married, and have their happily ever after. It was all going to be perfect, and with a toast to the newly engaged couple, the party was ended and Will rose to leave.

“KNIGHT!”

Will turned, confused at the yelling. Nellwyn rushed over, spinning him back, tears in her eyes. Will was confused as she begged him to leave, saying the man was drunk, he knew not what he was saying, and that it would be better to ignore him, but Will, hugging her close, spun, not to let his honor be blemished by ignoring a challenge.

And a challenge it was. The man called him to a duel, tomorrow. Will accepted, but would not if it hadn’t it been for Crystalina’s tears at the words the man had spoken to her. Will refused to let that go, even with her pleading. He would not let her reputation be blemished, and he would not let his own either.

---

The day of the duel was reached and Will stood with his sword still sheathed. He’d come alone, like the rules of any normal duel, and had even agreed to not have spectators, as was the other man’s conditions. Little did Will know, it was his plan put into action, and Will was soon going to figure out how much resent others had for him.

The man showed up with his group of friends. Will stood his ground, but he could smell the alcohol on their clothes and breathe. The other man walked towards Will, his sword drawn and a smirk was clear across his face. He stumbled just slightly, then regained his balance getting right into Will’s face, who didn’t move a mussel.

“Time to learn a lesson, Sir,” he said sneering the last word.

Will took a step back, his eyes on the man’s sword. His own hand hovered over the hilt of his sword, but he was reserved to attack. After all. This man had been drinking, his judgment was clouded. But…. It was either kill or be killed, Will drew. The man charged.

The man lay on the ground panting and Will looked down at him. “Finish me!” the man said angrily. His sword was sticking into the ground on the other side of their make shift arena. The man’s friends looking on, but Will paid no mind to them. He sheathed his sword, and turning walked away with a simple, “No.”

From behind him, Will heard yelling, but he turned too late. He felt the sword cut him, and the pain it caused. He dropped listening to the voices of the man and his friends and their running away. He watched the ground, his blood staining the earth around him. Something stepped from the shadows, and the last thing he could remember thinking about was Nellwyn.

---

“Awaken knight.”

The cold voice, and Will’s eyes fluttered open. He shut them in the bright light, then with a sigh, pushed himself up and opened them again. He looked around, the world seemed different. His body ached and he as he looked himself over, he was shocked. The sword wound was gone… He was completely fine. Like nothing has happened. He jumped when he continued to look around and his eyes fell on a stranger standing a few feet off in the shadows.

“Who are you?” Will asked his hand going towards his sword belt, to find it not there, and also to find his reflexes had greatly increased. With no luck of finding his sword, he jumped to his feet, his eyes on the stranger.

“Easy, I’m not going to harm you Knight.” The stranger stepped forwards into the light, and Will recognized a man who he had seen at every one of his matches. “Sir William, if I’m not mistaken. Come, sit and talk. We have much to discuss.”

In a few hours it was all explained, and in disbelief and fear, Will fled. Running to the only place he knew to find comfort. Nellwyn’s house, his future bride.

---

A soft tapping at the window and from within, Will could hear a yawn and soft feet on the floor. There was something else… a noise that sounded tempting and made his throat burn. A soft thumping, like a tiny hammer, and he would realize too late, it was a heartbeat.

The window opened, and Will landed inside, and was embraced in a hug. “Oh Will!” she cried out in pleasure. “You didn’t come home, I thought I lost you! I was so worried! What’s wrong? Are you ok?”

As she hugged him, Will inhaled. A sweet scent like nothing he’d ever smelt before. His senses alert, his eyes on her neck where he could see a vain. His mind lost control of his body, of his actions. “You smell… so good…” he panted out. And then, before he even knew what he was doing, his fangs sunk into the soft skin on her neck, and he felt the warm flow of her blood, her life, draining from her to him. Her heart beat fluttering faster, and then slowly it slowed down. Beating… beating… beat… beat…

Will finally had control again, his mind raging with his instincts. He pulled away, and looked her in the face. A soft smile was on her lips, her eyes only full of love for him, glazing over with the coldness of death. Her lips parted and her soft voice, which would be unheard to anyone but a vampire as he was now, rang into his head forever. Burned into his memory. “I… love you… Will… forever.” And just like that, a small sigh escaped her parted lips, and her heart stopped. She was dead.

Will stood there frozen, his eyes on her soft perfect face. He didn’t understand, he didn’t want to understand. What had he done? “No…” he whispered. Pulling her into an embrace and hugging her tightly. Her skin was already losing its warmth. Her face paled and no color remaining in her checks. She was gone, and he couldn’t comprehend it. He picked her up, kissing her lips, kissing her checks and forehead. “Crystalina…” he said, tears running down his face. “What have I done…”

“You need to leave.”

The cold voice again, and Will spun, a snarl of anger in his throat. “Go away! Leave me alone! What have you done to me!”

The voice was calm and understanding to him. “Leave. Take this and leave. She’s gone, and they’ll be after you as soon as they find out. They’ll think you killed her, as soon as they get a look at you. You need to leave.” He held his hand out and in it, was a simple ring.

Will still didn’t understand, but he laid his one true love in her bed, shutting her eyes gently and kissing her once more, before he walked towards his creator, and took the ring. He leapt out the window and into the tree, pausing to look back once more on Nellwyn, his entire world, and then he vanished into the night.

As he ran from his home, his love, his world, he vowed to come back. He’d kill the vampire that turned him, and he’d hunt down the man who had murdered his mortality, and his friends one by one. Killing them all the same way he’d been killed. A sword through their backs, completely running them through. With revenge in his eyes, Will left the town, and headed out, to begin his new life, as a Vampire.

Akira's arm

Akira turned to face the man before her. He was burly and tall, well muscled, huge actually, like a pro wrestler. Most of the bets she had heard called out were that he would win, but no one seemed to understand that size meant nothing when you needed to be fast a flexible. In an arena size only mattered in hand to hand combat, the way she looked at it. As long as she could keep him moving she had the upper hand.

Alchemy was forbidden on the battle field during a fight, so she had split her favorite sword in two before the match had started; now she stood looking at the monster of a man clumsily holding a war axe. She smirked; ‘he must have been used to hand-to-hand combat’ she would win this one without really trying. She straightened her back and rested one of her swords on her shoulder casually. This brute on the other hand tightened his grip on the handle of the war axe. Akira shot a look towards the ref angrily, why was he waiting so long? Turns out some old man was casting a final bet quietly and the ref was waiting for him to finish. Once the man had taken his seat, she looked back towards her advisory

“Start!”

Akira launched forward swords touching her back, elbows close to her body. The brute looked at her quizzically while hauling his axe above his head. She got close enough to spit in the beasts’ face before she changed directions, narrowly missing the axe’s sharpened edge.

Flicking her wrist her right blade lashed out at the man slicing a wound in his right side as she passed. Skidding to a halt she spun around and started at him again, using her small size against him. This time she jumped on his back with a giggle drawing red lines in his flesh before hopping off again. The cheer of the crowd could be heard ringing throughout Kaionar’s arena. Akira smiled and danced away waving to the crowd, but she didn’t notice the enraged brutes approach, she spun around just to get kicked in the shoulder making her drop one of her diamond blades. Akira squeaked and backed up gripping her one remaining sword.

“Sorry bud, I uh… gottago!” She slid out from under his stare and went for her other weapon only to trip over his boot. ‘Of all the times to screw up!’ she cursed in her head she crawled forward and grabbed her blade, jumping up swords spinning only to his blade come down at her. With swung with her right blade before she could think, making a swift cut across his throat, and he finished his swing a storm of dust rose, obscuring the crowd, as both their boots halted suddenly disturbing the ground beneath them.

For what felt like an eternity the dust floated around the two warriors, halted in their movements, though it only lasted a brief moment. Red blossomed on both their bodies as the scene was revealed before the crowd. Akira’s left arm hung awkwardly by her side, held attached to her body by nothing but a section of skin. While the huge whale of a human fell to the ground in front of her kicking up another storm of dust.

Akira’s eyes widened and she screeched in pain. She dropped to the ground a pool of blood flowing from her mostly severed limb. The arena seemed to fall silent, they were used to dead bodies but they weren’t used to seeing the insides of a person’s limb. You heard one or two screams of horror from the crowd but nothing more. Everyone else was glued to their seats mentally unable to take in the scene before their eyes.

This shouldn’t have come as a shock to anyone, severed limbs had happened in the arena before, but not recently, and not to such a young child. The screams of pain from center ring were horrible, like something out of hell, but no one moved to help the poor being in the middle of the a pool of blood…well almost no one.

One man suddenly appeared next to Akira, no one had noticed his approach because their eyes had been fixated on her the whole time. Akira was breathing quick painful breaths between screams of horrible pain. Her bone had been broken, her muscles had been severed, her skin was pulling horribly, but through that pain she felt some ones touch, burning against her shoulder. She worked through the pain until she could control herself enough to look at the person who was assaulting her.

“I’m a doctor, you can relax.” The man said with a sad smile

“Who……..won?” She gasped through painful breaths.

“You did. Bruno’s dead.” He said, slightly surprised that she was managing to form words. It was a good sign, but probably a bad idea. He didn’t have time to tell her to be quiet though because she was out cold, probably from loss of blood. Now he could focus on her wounds, and saving her life.

A Visitor Arrives in the Village of the Whispering Stars

When Phoebe Altair was ten years old, a prince from a far-away country visited her town. He didn’t know it, as he was around eleven years old himself, but the reason for his “vacation” was a matter of the succession of his kingdom. His elder sister, Danielle, was supposed to have taken over after the death of the king and queen, as ordered by the king and queen. However, the council and the knights held firm on their belief that the ruler should be the prince. Not wanting such a small boy to be in the midst of all the controversy, Daren was escorted “on vacation” to a small, out of the way village in the middle of nowhere.
~
The small schoolhouse in the village was taught by a young elven woman, but the class was diverse with boys and girls of both elven and human descent. There was even one half-elf child.

“Did you hear? Did you hear? There’s a weird boy visiting, and he looks rich!”
“He he, is he cute?”
“Well, he does look kind of cool, I guess…”
“Humph, he’s just a stuck-up kid… he won’t want to join the ball-playing team that’s for sure.”
Rumors flew, one after another, each wilder than the next, in the elementary school. It made one child, Phoebe Altair, so curious that she went and followed him around after school had gotten out. The boy was lurking around the star-watching tower.
“Hey, um, excuse me, what are you doing by the tower?”
The boy jumped, startled. “I-I was just looking!”
“Oh, I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to scare you. My name is Phoebe. If you want, I can show you the inside of the tower.”
“Yeah, right. You’re just a kid, how could you do that?”
“It’s my mom’s- and besides, she always lets visitors in to see it. The door isn’t locked, anyone could walk in. It’s not a top-secret place.”
“Oh.”
The two kids walked in and up the stairs into the telescope room, where her mother was sitting and making preparations for tonight’s observations.
“Oh, hi sweetie, who’s your friend?”
“This boy is a visitor from out of town; he wanted to see the star-tower.”
“I-I’m Daren of Blue-Blaze kingdom. Nice to meet you, madam.”
“Oh, what nice manners! Nice to meet you too, Daren. Is there anything you’d like to know about the star tower?”
“Take a look, but if you can, please come back again this evening, when the stars are out. You can see all the planets and stars very clearly. I won’t be spending a lot of time taking observations tonight, so Phoebe can stay here with you and teach you how to use it. Is that alright with you, Daren?”
“Yes madam, thank you, I’ll come again when it gets dark.” Daren smiled.
Phoebe nodded.
It was almost summer, so it wouldn’t get dark for a while. When Phoebe and Daren left the tower, they weren’t sure what to do with their extra time.
“You go to school here, right? Don’t you have any homework?” asked Daren.
“No, today’s Friday, so my teacher leaves us free for the weekend.”
“Aw, that’s too bad… I could have done it for you.”
“He he, why would you want to do homework?”
“Because I’m really good at it, of course!”
“Oh, cool, school must be easy for you.”
“…”
At that moment, Daren’s stomach growled, loudly.
“Oh, you’re hungry? Let’s go to my grandma’s- she always keeps packed lunches in her house.”
~

“It’s great that we picked up some food… but where should we eat it?”
“I know, let’s have a picnic by the moonflowers!”
“What are those?”
"They’re white flowers that suck up all the light they can during the day, and at night they glow, just like the moon.”
“Cool.”
Phoebe and Daren spent the rest of the afternoon eating, talking, playing hide-and-seek, and trying to catch the glow-frogs.
~
As soon as the sun started to set, they raced all the way to the star-watching tower. It took a while, so by the time they got there, the sky was bright with countless stars and a tiny sliver of a moon. Inside the tower, Phoebe’s mother was already done with her observations, and there was a note on the telescope. It read:
“Dear Phoebe and Daren,
I have a special surprise for you tonight. The end-of-spring meteor shower will be shining in the sky at exactly quarter to ten. Have fun watching, you two!”
Phoebe and Daren looked at each other and yelled. “Yeah!”
The meteor shower was brilliant.
~
Daren said, “Phoebe? I think I’ll come back someday, to this village, so we can watch the meteor shower from this telescope again. Is that okay?”
“Sure! Come back anytime. This town is that kind of place… a place anyone can watch the stars from. Everyone is welcome here. And you’re my friend now, so I’d be really happy if you came back.”
“Okay then, I promise to come back!”
“I’ll hold you to it!”
They smiled.

A poem written from Intolos perspective on Dcs birthday :3 (and yus, I know it's a little short, but I wanted to share it anyways)

Once a year, In the Forest of Me,
We celebrate a day full of joy and of glee
The leaves and the twigs, the sprouts and the seeds,
Even the notorious, nasty little weeds
Gather in the clearing, and sweep up the floor
And set up a banquet, with sweets galore!
So come, sit at my side, and let us partake...
OH GOOD LORDS, WE FORGOT THE CAKE!

Here's my entry for the competition, then...

~*~

A glow was easily visible from the dragon’s crouched vantage point, a few hundred metres away on the flat plains. Warm and vibrantly orange, the fire sent dancing tendrils flickering into the air several feet higher than the burning wood, which flickered there for a fleeting moment before disappearing as if they had never been there. Shouts and laughter emanated from the area as people hurried around, calling to each other and enjoying the celebration. Satisfied that he had come to the right place, the dragon rose and began to run in a lumbering, inelegant gait towards the party.

As he reached the fire, a small cheer went up and a man ambled over to him with a grin.
‘We’ve been missing you, Jitt!’ he exclaimed in a hearty voice. The dragon grinned.
Glad to be here, he responded, eyes already searching for something. The man let out a roar of laughter and vanished inside a large tent for a moment before returning, rolling a wooden barrel in front of him.
‘Here y’are, then!’ Jitt flashed him a grin, pierced the barrel with one scythe-like claw (which his breed were named for) and then tipped it against his face, glugging down the alcohol in huge gulps. The man smiled, watching him, then clapped his hands together.
‘Right then! May as well get down to the proper festivities, now that we’re all here!’ Jitt nodded in agreement and the two made their way to where most of those present had now assembled. The group was a bizarre assortment, largely consisting of humans but with all races mixed in and a generous streak of dragons. The red dragon made his way over to the others of his species and settled in the middle, those smaller than him in front of him and those larger behind. After exchanging a few greetings, the dragons fell quiet and the general thrum of noise which was bounced between all gathered there died away to an expectant silence as they all stared at the fire in the centre.

A path had been left through the crowd, and now the ground shook slightly as a colossal dragon made its way along the narrow opening. Its footsteps were imprinted on the ground where it trod, and all there gazed at it with reverence- some of the dragons slightly less so, perhaps, but nonetheless in some degree of awe at the green behemoth. He was named Sebantais. Some of the other dragons were actually the same size as him, but none could carry the same power and physical prowess as him. Seated upon his back was a woman, dressed in simple black clothing- a fitted and long-sleeved top with a similar garment encasing her legs. Her face was pale, framed by mid-brown hair which waved slightly as it cascaded to her waist, largely hanging loose apart from a section at the front on either side which had been pulled back and woven with other parts of her hair to create an intricate, braided style. None of this, however, was particularly eye-catching- the striking thing about her was the design on her face.

Two dragons were tattooed there, one bright emerald green and the other fiery red. The green dragon took up about three-thirds of her face, wrapped around the left side of her face and her forehead. The rest of the space was taken by the red, who was looking up at the green even as he looked down at her. Despite this positioning and the size difference, the two both managed to convey an equal presence and air of power.

She gave a smile to the crowd, looking around them, and a brief cheer went up in response before silence returned. The dragon halted by the fire, almost perfectly still, and the woman stood on his back, surveying the people there, for a few moments before she took a breath and began to speak in a low, power-infused voice.
‘As I’m sure most of you already know, I am Monty. Three hundred years have passed since I founded the community that we all belong to, along with Sebantais and Arasolra.’ Here, she looked briefly down at the great dragon upon which she stood and then across to the ever-climbing fire, before returning her gaze to the crowd. ‘The story is this.’

‘Three hundred years ago, a mixture of races lived on this land- dragons, humans, and many others. Much as it is now. But the first to live here were dragons, and a group of them became dissatisfied with the situation. They wanted their land back; they viewed it as theirs only. They rampaged, destroying all they could of what non-dragons had made. And the non-dragons themselves.’ A mutter ran through the group, them being reminded of slaughtered ancestors. Monty’s eyes travelled round the ring of people once before she continued her narration.

‘These dragons seemed unstoppable. The movement was begun by two sisters, clubtail dragons, who were named Anækileya and Vythiweia. Yet these were not the main perpetrators of the slaughter. The ancient triad are Fire, Shadow and Blood; the Sunblaze, the Spine Shadow and the Tribal Battle Blood; Arasolra, Rilos and Xaoc. They were more powerful than any normal dragon, and so with their power and the will of the sisters, amongst other dragons, the land descended into chaos. Famine reigned, many of the people had been killed, and all hope was lost save for one group of people. The Drakontas. These people, bound to the spirit of dragons, still held out against the dragons, despite the situation. They bound together, combined their spirits which were imbibed with the power of the dragon, and they created the Guardian. This was, of course, Sebantais. Yet they needed a vessel; somewhere for the power to root from. They knew that they were giving up the dragon within each of them to create a new one, and they had to funnel it somewhere before it could be manifested as a new creature. And so, I was made into what I am today, which is the Drakontas. I was one before; now there is but one. I was eternally bonded to Sebantais, and he to me; and the immortality of the dragon was gifted onto me also, in order that I may live to uphold this bond. It was then that the image of Sebantais appeared upon my face, too, showing that I carry his spirit within my body.’

‘So now, the people had a hope- their Guardian. Sebantais led the dragons who had not joined the sisters against the sisters and the dragons who now followed them, and there were bitter battles, resulting in the loss of many dragons. Fighting had been going for almost a week, with both sides sorely depleted, when Sebantais was approached by the triad.’

‘All the four of them were wounded from the war, and Sebantais was more powerful than any one of the triad, but the three of them together could certainly overpower him. They had previously been split, in different parts of the land, but he now feared that they had come to end his life, and I feared with him. Yet this was not their intention. They had made the decision to leave the sisters, even Xaoc, who was never more alive than when making a kill. But they joined Sebantais, Rilos vowing to pass by the enemy shrouded in shadow and pounce on them unawares, Arasolra to condemn them all to burn, and Xaoc to rip their throats from their bodies and bask in their spilt blood. Sebantais accepted their allegiance, and the triad returned to the sisters.’

‘The next day, fighting became equal. Before, the defenders had been crushed by the triad, the sisters and the number of dragons who wanted the land to themselves. But now, the triad were not fighting and Sebantais had renewed confidence in the fight, which infected the other defending dragons. When the triad joined the fight behind Sebantais, the attacking dragons fell in droves. Then the sisters came forwards from where they had been surveying the battle. They engaged in combat with their formerly loyal triad. And while the triad were more powerful as individuals, they were battle-worn where the sisters were fresh and the sisters also had backup in the form of Kanzenon, a lava dragon. In addition to this, Kanzenon and the sisters were the same size as Xaoc and Sebantais- larger, though, than Arasolra and Rilos. Sebantais was engaging the other dragons who followed the sisters with the remaining ones who followed him and me, with me seated upon his back, and so we could not go to their aid. So the battle went, and Kanzenon was the first to fall, followed by Rilos. Xaoc was grievously wounded, but the thrill of the battle let him continue; and Arasolra used her flames to burn the sisters from afar. So they continued to fight, and Anækileya was killed. Xaoc’s blood was slowly draining, and he grew ever weaker as the two remaining of the triad continued to fight Vythiweia.’

‘Xaoc felt his own battle blood nearly gone, and with the last part of his yearning for blood he lunged at Vythiweia, tearing at her tail. The club was almost entirely severed, and rendered unusable. Xaoc, drained of his energy, then fell. It left Arasolra and Vythiweia.’

‘Now they were both robbed of their main weapons- Arasolra’s fire energy had run down and Vythiweia’s club could not be used. The fight turned to tooth and claw, and neither could gain an advantage. But Sebantais and I were given news of this desperate final fight, and we instantly left to assist them- most of the other dragons had fallen back, and were fighting no more. So we arrived on the scene. Entering the fight physically would have been crowded, and as Arasolra was smaller she could easily have been hurt more than Vythiweia. So Sebantais formed an orb of energy and released it at the clubtail. It worked, felling her instantly, but Arasolra was too wounded to live. Sebantais did not want to let her die, as the rest of the triad had, after she had changed the course of the battle. So he asked of me to take in Arasolra’s spirit as I had his, to contain her within my body. Yet as she was not being made, there was nothing I could do for her body. I held her spirit within me, and so she too became represented on my face- but she had no wish to be bound, unable to act at all, for eternity within me. Her body was gone, but she still had her one of the three elements: Fire. So she can now live in fire, when it is there for her to live in, and in me when it is not.’

Monty took a breath, voice now slightly worn from her long tale, before continuing with a last part of her speech. ‘And now at our annual celebration of the creation of a new and peaceful society, where those who can gather, Arasolra will for a whole night be present in flame. This can only happen rarely, as it takes energy from her, and indeed from me- and, of course, a large fire if she is to be her true size.’ Monty smiled, head now turned up towards the flames which had consumed nearly all of the wood provided. ‘And now, she tells me, she is coming.’ The image of Arasolra on Monty’s face flickered with flames briefly, the small dragon stretching before standing straight and seeming to look at the fire. The picture seemed to make a great leap, and then suddenly the flames reshaped themselves into the form of the dragon, who promptly spread her wings and joyfully made several circles in the sky. Monty smiled again, and turned back to look at the people, who were all either watching Arasolra with awe or Monty with expectation.
‘We mark the anniversary of the founding of Dragon’s Cove,’ she cried. ‘Let the festivities begin!’

~*~

Hope you liked it, though I’m not sure that it’s my best- muse is still just returning after an unscheduled holiday. Please note that the characters (and Monty) aren’t at all meant to be true to their personalities. I just took a few things from DC, mixed them up a bit along with a birthday element, and this is the result- it just uses some stuff, but dragons and stuff work differently.

I do apologise for the delay in announcing the winner, but here finally goes:

Congratulations to ECHO for having written the lovely winning entry! ^-^

Special thanks also go to Artemis for having managed to mash up so many different Dragons Cove specific themes into one single birthday story!

New Competition is up!

Deadline extended due to the numerous entries for the first one Razz

Come on people!

Last edited by Artemis on Fri Aug 12, 2011 8:12 am; edited 1 time in total

((Everything is yuck in this. Especially Zack and Foen. They're like processed cheese- they claim to be Zack and Foen, but really they are a vague imitation. So, uh, sorry.))

‘Hey, Zack!’ A tiny figure, less than a foot tall, was carefully navigating his way down the stairs. ‘Zack! I was looking around upstairs, I found-‘ He slid off the final step, stopping as he looked round the corner to see Foen standing there. The words stopped abruptly, a guilty expression spreading across the homunculus’ face. After their various issues with the contents of Foen’s house, the sorcerer had forbidden the pair from exploring. ‘Hi, Foen,’ Ciqala said sheepishly.
‘The day you two both do what I tell you to will be a novelty. Still, at least you didn’t get maimed this time.’
‘Uh, sorry. I don’t suppose you’ve seen Zack around, have you?’
‘I think he went out after butterflies. I moved mine again, I don’t know what else he expects me to do.’ The man sighed, turning to the cluttered table behind him and rifling through a stack of papers. ‘I doubt he’s gone far without you, you may as well go and look for him,’ he added over his shoulder. Ciqala nodded, already jogging towards the door.
‘Thanks!’ he called, shoving open the flap at the bottom which he and Zack used to get in and out of the house.

Ciqala strolled along the street, sticking close to the walls and keeping a wary eye on the passing humans who could accidentally snap his limbs without even noticing. Occasionally he extended his hands, eyes narrowing as he concentrated and formed a forcefield which he used to walk, seemingly in mid-air, with his head at a height more similar to that of the people who surrounded him. It was this method he used to get over a wall which stood in his way at the end of the road. Stepping carefully down onto the grass which lay on the other side of the barrier, he looked around for the fluttering white shape which was his friend Zack.

The area outside the city of Racksom looked much like it usually did; short blades of slightly yellowed grass, with a dirty moat running alongside the walls and blocking Racksom off from the trees and bushes which lay a little further away.
‘Zack?’ Despite Ciqala’s quiet voice, his shouted words travelled a long way through the deserted area. But there was no reply; no paper dragon emerging from the foliage across the moat with a butterfly leg stuck to his lips.

Frowning now, Ciqala drew closer to the moat. Something seemed wrong with it, now he thought about it... And sure enough, once he approached it he could easily see that there was no murky water in the ditch.
‘What’s going on here?’ he muttered to himself. It hadn’t been particularly dry of late- yesterday it had been raining incessantly, and though the sun was out and shining diligently today the ground was still full of moisture. So why had the moat dried up? Cautiously, holding on firmly to a handful of grass so that he didn’t fall in, Ciqala prodded the inside of the moat, where the water usually lapped at the edges of the ditch.

It was completely dry, as if there had never been water there at all.

‘What the hell?’ Now thoroughly confused by this peculiarity, Ciqala picked out a path down into the lowest part of the trench and looked up and down its length. No obstructions could be seen, nothing to block the water’s passage. But what was that...? Not far away, the water ran underground for a short distance before resurfacing, and now the gap which let it travel that way appeared different somehow. Ciqala made his way over and stood, bemused, by the hole.

It was now framed by a strange substance- hard, but not as firm as metal. It was grey and shiny, and there seemed to be buttons along the bottom of the square. Tiny, glowing green lights were set into the odd shape and the homunculus recognised some letters, picked out in a darker colour. Reading wasn’t his best skill, but he peered at the unrecognisable word.
‘S-is that an A? There’s no line going across... Samsung?’ He straightened, frowning in confusement. Perhaps there was some magic at work here? But he had no inkling as to what the frame could be... Even as he stared at the black in the middle of it, a light suddenly came from inside the shape. Ciqala could see a table with enough clutter on it to rival Foen’s- well, maybe not, but still quite messy- and a girl with dark hair. She walked into the room, picked up a piece of paper from the table and scanned it briefly, before smiling, apparently satisfied, and leaving the image. The homunculus, as perplexed as ever, looked over the frame again. He now noticed shards of broken glass around the inside of the frame. How bizarre- could he perhaps go through? He’d certainly fit, the gap was big enough to fit a human, let alone him. He poked where the image was- and his hand travelled straight through. He licked his lips nervously, then made a forcefield bridge over the sharp glass and stepped into the unknown room.

He found himself standing on the messy table. Several more pieces of the same strange material that the frame was made of were littered around him, including one which had many buttons labelled with letters. The frame was still there, and the moat was visible through it, but now he could see it had a stand and seemed to be linked to the other pieces of plastic with long, flexible tubes. Warily, and wondering if he was in some bizarre dream, Ciqala made his way to the edge of the table and looked down. Another unknown material covered the floor- it was green, and appeared to be somewhat fuzzy. Another piece of the first substance sat on the floor beneath the table, and lots more of the tubes. With no idea what was going on, Ciqala made a slide to the floor and was soon standing on the fuzzy stuff, which proved to be somewhat soft. A piece of paper lay on the floor nearby him, about his own height, and he turned it over with only a little difficulty to read the words written on it.

The handwriting was impossibly uniform, the letters strangely rounded and a couple formed quite differently from any way he had seen before. In fact, it was a little like the words on the frame, now he thought about it.
Zack was fluttering through the air, snapping up the brightly coloured butterflies which flew past him, when he caught sight of a movement in the corner of his eye. Turning instantly, he hovered for a moment as he took in the girl who stood before him. She seemed quite young, and wore odd garments- blue, tight fitting trousers, and a purple shirt which had short sleeves and no visible fastening. Words were written across the front of it in blue. A strange outfit on a strange person- her skin was abnormally pale, her hair long and dark. She grinned, apparently delighted to see him.
‘Zack?’ she said, causing the paper dragon some alarm.
‘How do you know my name?’ he asked, surprised. This triggered a laugh from the girl.
‘Oh, I know a lot about you,’ she replied. ‘My name is Ellen, I-‘
Ciqala’s reading was interrupted by the same girl he had seen before entering the room again. He turned his face upwards, mouth gaping, to see that she matched the description on the paper exactly and that her expression pretty much matched his own.
‘Oh, wow,’ she breathed. ‘You’re exactly like I imagined you. I mean, I’d seen Zack already of course, but... well, it’s different when it’s my character. Oh, this is amazing. Maybe I’ll bring more people through.’ She grinned then, looking quite insane for a moment before her face fell. ‘But I wouldn’t be able to hide them. I mean, I don’t see someone like Army sitting around in the attic without questions or protest.’ She looked glum for a couple of minutes, before her face suddenly brightened and she knelt down on the floor. ‘Anyway,’ she continued more happily. ‘You’re here now. I’m-‘
‘Ellen?’ Ciqala, finally having recovered from the confusion of her earlier words, cut across her. ‘If that piece of paper there is right...’ She smiled.
‘Yeah, Ellen. I guess I’m kind of Artemis to you, though... Seeing as you’re from DC and all...’ She shrugged. ‘Call me whichever you prefer. Now, we need to see about getting you somewhere to stay before we’re caught...’ She shifted, about to stand.
‘Hang on a minute,’ spluttered Ciqala, holding his hands up. ‘Who says I’m staying here? Wherever here is... You said you’d seen Zack. Is he here? It said stuff about him on the paper, too. And what’s DC? Caught by who? Can I get out of here any time soon?’ She chewed her lip, settling back into a sitting position with her legs crossed and propping up her chin on one arm.
‘Well, this is difficult. I see why you don’t really want to stay- and Zack too.’ She continued across his indignant words. ‘No, I get it! But...’ Ellen sighed heavily, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Look, can I explain this somewhere else? My mum will be getting home from work soon, and if she finds you then I will have some really awkward explaining to do.’
‘Why? Don’t they like you having strangers in the house?’ he asked bitterly. He didn’t bother to ask who ‘Mum’ was, not expecting to get an answer. He was, in fact, a little surprised to get an answer to the question he had asked.
‘It’s not that! Well- she wouldn’t like that, but it would be more difficult to explain how I have a miniature person here.’ At this, Ciqala huffed grumpily.
‘I don’t see why people find it so hard to deal with. After all, most magical things are accepted without question. Just because I was made by some nutter and I still think and all doesn’t mean I should be any different.’ Ellen sighed wearily and shook her head.
‘That’s not it. There isn’t magic here. Just science, but science couldn’t explain you. You aren’t biologically possible- just people imagining that you are.’ At this, the homunculus’ mouth dropped open and he began an angry rant, but the girl looked up, ignoring him, as what sounded like a pack of dogs began to bark noisily somewhere close by.
‘That’s probably my mum,’ she said anxiously, picking Ciqala up and carefully hurrying out of the room and up a staircase with him. Ignoring his protests, she flung open the door of a room directly opposite the stairs and dashed inside before he had a chance to look around. He was deposited on a bed with some strangely thick blanket, feeling mildly nauseous from his rough and unexpected ride.
‘You have to stay quiet!’ she hissed, before leaving the room and dragging the door shut behind her.

‘Hey Mum! How was work?’ The words could be faintly heard from downstairs as Ciqala blinked and looked around the room. He didn’t listen to the rest of the conversation though, as he saw Zack sitting on the bed looking astounded. A plate holding a few slices of kiwi fruit sat before him, and the dragon didn’t appear to be harmed.
‘Zack!’ Ciqala scrambled over to the dragon, smiling. ‘Wow, am I glad you’re here. Well, if you hadn’t been brought here in the first place then there wouldn’t be a problem, but still. We have to get out of here. I don’t know what’s going on, but I think we can get back.’ Zack seemed pleased to see his rider, but not entirely in agreement with his words.
‘It’s pretty nice here, actually. Ellen adores me- she says I’m the cutest thing in existence, and she way prefers me to Intolo.’ He looked extremely smug as he says this. ‘She gives me everything I ask for, even if she doesn’t have any butterflies. It’s a strange place, though.’ He eyed the room doubtfully.
‘I’m sorry, I’m not taking no for an answer,’ replied Ciqala firmly. ‘I found another tank of butterflies at Foen’s house, they were hidden There are masses in there, he might not notice you eating them for a while.’ Zack looked tempted by this, tilting his head as he considered the options.
‘Come on,’ pleaded Ciqala. ‘I’ll do whatever you want, just get us out of here.’
‘Okay, okay,’ sighed Zack. ‘How do we get out?’
Ciqala frowned, not having thought his plan through much.
‘Wait till she comes up and opens the door, then just fly out,’ he finally decided.

They didn’t have to wait long, Ciqala sitting on Zack’s back as the dragon perched on a convenient table next to the door. Within a couple of minutes Ellen had returned, rolling her eyes as she pulled open the door.
‘She’s so convinced I’m going to become a social recluse,’ she muttered irritably, grabbing a small black item from the table. ‘I wonder if Rogue’s online... What am I going to tell her about you two?’ She glanced over to where she had seen Zack and Ciqala only seconds before. They were gone.
‘Oh god, no,’ she groaned, spinning and looking out into the hallway to see the pair well on their way down the stairs. Her mother looked up in alarm as she heard Ciqala’s small and unfamiliar voice telling Zack where to go. Ellen leapt down the final four stairs and swore under her breath as she saw her mother’s face, then ran into the room in which the computer sat just in time to see Zack flutter through the screen and vanish amongst the trees. She flopped into the chair, dreading the confrontation which was to come.

Ciqala, however, felt only relief as he re-entered his own world.
‘Zack,’ he said wearily, tired from his expedition even though it had only been a short one. ‘Next time we have an adventure, can we please try to keep it to this world?’

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