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Chinaren



Joined: 05 Sep 2005
Posts: 8878
Location: https://www.NeilHartleyBooks.com

Posted: Mon Feb 13, 2006 1:27 am    Post subject: Story of a Picture 3!! Closed!  

Well, it is time to bring to a close the third SoaP, and I am pleased to announce the winner of the 'best' story is none other than our very own...

ME! Bet you* didn't see that one coming eh?

And for the third time in a row, Smee takes (or holds on to I should say) the Cup for Most correct guesses. Well done Smee, your prize will be posted as soon as the bank opens, the accounting department authorizes payment, the cheque is drafted, the accountants have stamped it, it has been passed to the relevant management departments for authorization, sent to the dispatch office, checked, filed, re-filed, packaged, passed to the post department, stamped, franked, re-wrapped, restamped, refranked and posted by express delivery. :D

That's all folks! This one is done. You can check out the real authors below, and I am thinking of re-naming this "Stoat Story game of a Picture". ;)

See you next time!

*Well, okay, Smee, Fauna and Stoat did.
- - - - - - - - -


Stories - Real Authors

1. Skeleton Bones of Power. - Chinaren.
2. The end of the world - Idea Master.
3. Dragon Island - Stoat.
4. Amazon - Warmaster Diaz.
5. The White's of their eyes. - Solomon Birch.
6. Pinnacle of achievement. - Stoat again.
7. Reunion! - Stoat a third time.
8. Out of Time. - Guess who? Yep, Stoat.
9. The Queen and the Carrion. - Aerex.



Good luck!

Top 3 scores so far:
1st: 17 points. - Smee
2nd: 15 points. - Flauna
3rd: 13 points. - Stoat

--->




- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Chinaren's STORY OF A PICTURE 3 competition!

Roll up roll up! Take part in the competition they have all been talking about! Write! Read! Vote! Pay Chinaren money! Win! Win! Win!!!!

Winners of Previous SoaPs were:
SoaP1
Shady Stoat - Best story
E_Fauna & Smee (tied) - Most correct guesses.
SoaP2 - Jan 2006
Smee - Best story
Smee - Most correct guesses.

Rules and all that jazz. Please read carefully:

There are several parts to this competition:

1. Look, write, submit.

Below this entry I will post a picture.

Look at the picture and write a short story (max 2003 words) which, at some point, the picture is a part of.

For example. If the picture is of a man jumping through a window, then you can write a story where a man, at some point in the tale, jumps through a window.

In the story you must describe the picture and it must match the picture pretty much exactly.

When you have written the story DO NOT POST IT HERE!!!

PM it, or e-mail it, to me!! Do not tell anyone you have written the story!! I will donate the Fables I get for posting entrants' stories back to the author*

The story will be posted exactly as it is PMd to me, with no corrections or additions.

The first entry will get their story entered for free, otherwise the entry fee is a very reasonable 20Fables per story.

2. Judgement.

There are two parts to 'The Judgement'.

a. Best story:

The first is a straight vote on which story you like the best.
The prize to the winning author will be 100Fables and the opportunity to submit the picture for the next SoaP!

b. Guess who wrote them!

The second competition has previously required 10Fables to enter. However, to stimulate more entries (so Smee has a bit more competition!) I am thinking of lowering or waiving the fee this time. I will mull this over and announce my decision when the time comes. (Any ideas gratefully received)
For this section you must guess who wrote each story.

You will Score:

One point (1) for guessing an author, but not putting the right name to the right story. EG:If Smee writes story number 10, and you guess Smee wrote story 5, then you get 1 point.

4 points for guessing correctly eg: Smee number 10.

1 point for 'guessing' your own entry, as it isn't fair to give three, but it isn't fair to not reward you either.

Of course, this part requires the authors to play along here and not give away what they wrote. Any breach of this rule and the author will forfeit the prize, (should they win) and be barred from entering the next competition.

The person who guesses correctly first, or if no one guesses by the close date, the person who guesses most, wins a Fables prize, which will be dependant upon how many people paid to guess**.


*Minus a very small handling fee**.
**Hey, I'm not a charity you know!

-----------------------------------

The picture will be posted below, chosen by Smee as winner of SoaP 2.

Entrance is open until I get enough stories or until a date that I decide it is closed, depends on the response really.

Remember: If you write a story PM it to me! Don't post it here!!

Happy SoaPing!
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ethereal_fauna



Joined: 16 Feb 2005
Posts: 2567
Location: USA

Posted: Mon Feb 13, 2006 1:34 am    Post subject:  

The Picture for SoaP3 is....







Happy SoaPing :D



erm....Smee DID post that...I swear :D
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Smee



Joined: 16 Oct 2004
Posts: 5215
Location: UK

Posted: Mon Feb 13, 2006 2:48 am    Post subject:  

I can confirm that :D
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Chinaren



Joined: 05 Sep 2005
Posts: 8878
Location: https://www.NeilHartleyBooks.com

Posted: Mon Feb 13, 2006 3:53 am    Post subject: Entry 1 - Skeleton Bones of Power.  

Skeleton Bones of Power.

Mirites watched the gulls wheel about the sky as the waves crashed against the rocks like a mirror hitting elephants.

Nugarok wants me dead, Mirites thought to herself. Nugarok will follow me wherever I go. Mirites was mad and bad. Mirites swirled about, hand going to her swords strapped to Mirites’s waist.

“I vow I will defeat Nugarok” Mirites shouted at the air, which swirled around like a goat falling to the floor.

“How shall you do that Mirites?” asked Ysandon standing behind her, grasping his sword with hate spitting from his tongue. “Nugarok is too powerful for you and you will never find him!”

Mirites swirled about. “Where is he? You shall tell me now!” Mirites grabbed the front of Ysandon’s shirt, pulling him up off the ground with her anger leaking out of her eyes.

“No! I will never tell you for your own good! Elephantal Foot Spirit Cabbage Power is no match for Sun Power Spirit of Elements that are Green With Some Blue! You will die and there will be no one to swing the Sword of Never Brighten and the sword of Slightly Less Darkness with Power of the Vull.”

Mirities cried out in pain almost that could be felt. She swung her fist around and connected Yasandon’s arm, swirling Yadandon around many times until Yadandon contacted a tree with brute force, shaking leaves from it to cover his head.

“You will tell me or I will cut down your Tree of Three Legged Spirit Elk power and you shall be defenseless until it regroups again in 2000 years or more!”

“No! I tell you no one knows where Nugarok is hiding! He is too powerful you will never defeat him, he is in the Graveyard of the Skeleton Bones!”

“Indeed.” Mirites felt her swords again, rubbing her hands through her short hair. Mirites swung about and faced the sea again, which swayed up and down in the wind and pull of the moon.” Mirites gossamer dress blew in the breeze, like ghosts awakening.

“I shall confront Nugarok! I am the best fighter in the 234 Realms of Gurglethoth! No one can defeat me and my swords of Great power!” So saying, Mirites swayed up the hill and entered the Graveyard of Skeleton Bones. Mirites drew her Sword of Slightly Less Darkness with Power of the Vull and waved it infront of her. “Spirit Elephant Power of the Light!” Mirites cried.

Mirites Swords of Slightly Less Darkness with Power of the Vull lit up with light from the sun shining through the metal.

“So you have found me at last it shall be your doom Mirites!” shouted Nugarok. “I have the powers of Sun Power Spirit of Elements that are Green With Some Blue and I am not afraid to use it on you!”

“It is you who will die boastful Nugarok the world has suffered under your yolk far too long!” Mirites leapt up with a double twist somersault with second degree split and landed on one foot on the top of a tree, in the “Drunken Caterpillar” stance.

“Ha! Your strange fighting style will not help you now puny Mirites! No one in 5 years has even come close to defeating me and you shall not be the first now die!”

Nugarok leapt up with his mighty Sword of Rabbit Blood Elemental Ghost power held infront of him like a dagger cutting through the air on a dark and stormy night.

“Your end is now!” Mirites jumped down the tree and met Nugarok in the air. “Elephantal Foot Spirit Cabbage Power Blasto!” Mirites cried.

“Sun Power Spirit of Elements that are Green With Some Blue blocko!” shouted Nugarok over the smashing of the swords together.

Mirites was thrown like a wind in a storm. Her sword fell from her hand and blood splattered her dress. Mirites drew her other sword, the great sword of Never Brighten and leapt at Nugarok over a tomb of a long dead soldier.

Nugarok laughed mockingly and jumped at Mirites head first. Mirites sword crashed with Nugarok’s weapon, and the Great Sword of Never Brighten shattered into a million pieces, as if the sun had broken.

More blood spattered on Mirites, on her arms.

“Arg! I will defeat you yet I vow” she said in anger.

Nugarok laughed mightily his eyes twinkling with stars. “Hahahaha! Go home little girl, I must leave now for I have other plans. I shall leave you to reflect on your folly!”

So Nugarok jumped high into the sky and disappeared. Mirites clenched her fists and then walked away, sitting on a muddy bank, staring ahead into space, blood spattered clothes fluttering in the breeze. She had lost her swords and the world was now in grave peril from the power Nugarok wielded. She would have her vengeance! But now was not the time.

This chapter went to Evil…
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LordoftheNight



Joined: 11 Aug 2005
Posts: 5276
Location: Hell

Posted: Mon Feb 13, 2006 6:07 am    Post subject:  

well it's either someone copying someone else, or i know whom it is
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Araex
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Posted: Mon Feb 13, 2006 2:01 pm    Post subject:  

Just a thought - are you going to prod Key and get him to put SoaP as an Honour?

EDIT: And I see what lordy meant, someone is definitely parodying/satirising someone's writing style... though if it's themselves, who knows?
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Chinaren
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Joined: 05 Sep 2005
Posts: 8878
Location: https://www.NeilHartleyBooks.com

Posted: Mon Feb 13, 2006 4:43 pm    Post subject: Entry 2 - The end of the world  

The end of the world

She stood, quietly, at the cliff edge. Once, she had been told, it was a shining city, the jewel of the world. Her mother had woven tales about the world before.

She believed them. After all, where did people get their building material from nowadays? Where did the twisted steel, the melted iron, and the small, fragile jewels come from? And what had they once been?

She was only two when it happened. She can't remember the life before that, only that her mother keeps saying she was lucky to be alive. Her mother keeps saying that she knew it was going to happen. She could trace her heritage back all the way to when this land was uncultivated wilderness and her ancestors came over in wooden ships. It seemed only natural that the bloodline that had seen the start of this world also see it's end.

The girl had been interested in boys once, a passing dalliance. She once snared one as well. He kept on saying he would follow her to the end of the earth. It was that that was his undoing.

She had made a trek to this once shining city. He had followed, egar to please and be pleased by her. But they never got there.

He was taken in the night by strangers. She was alert and managed to make enough trouble for them with her dagger that they let her be. There was no sign of the boy, save his clothes.

I would follow you to the end of the earth...

She tossed the pants and shirt into the crater and watched them flap in the wind.

Now he had.
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Chinaren
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Posted: Mon Feb 13, 2006 4:45 pm    Post subject: Entry 3 - Dragon Island  

Dragon Island

It had all happened before. It would all happen again. An endless spiral of time, taking no account of the weariness of its players or the way the game was played out.

The girl sat on a rock, by the edge of the ocean. Her name had once been Treena. Treena, kin of pirates, born to the black ship, ‘Slayer’, at home on the rolling oceans of Maliskar. She had neither known nor wanted to know any other life. She had known who her friends were. Her kin, her keg and her cutlass. Naught else mattered.

Now the Slayer was wreckage at the bottom of the far ocean, debris turned to firewood on the shores. Her kin were bones in the sand, long gone, full-dead and more than half forgotten. The bitter taste of rum had been replaced by the bitter taste of immortality.

She heard the first roar of the beast. It was waking. Soon it would fly forth and she would live out the farce that had become her life.

Her mind wandered back to the beginning.

Skull had been the one to suggest it. Dragon Island, he had said, one evening when they had been nipping too deep from the whisky barrel. The others had laughed and plotted and dreamed their dreams. Nobody had thought he meant it.

The next night he had taunted them with it. Cowards, he had called them. Palsied old women with the hearts of vermin. What was the use of having a fine ship like the Slayer if its denizens could not stir their trembling hearts to a real challenge?

At length, his words had stung sharply enough to raise a challenge. Scar had drawn scimitar on him, only to earn yet more of his namesakes in mismatched combat. Skull had sneered and swaggered and slowly… oh, so slowly and reluctantly… he had won support.

Weeks of journey into the mist. Hard biscuits and stale water, damp penetrating their very bones, they had finally found the shores that they sought. They had weighed anchor and come to shore in their little row-boats.

Even then, the smirk and the swagger had gone. Each and every member of the crew knew what they sought and what they had to do to get it.

Vast, uncountable hordes of treasure. Gold and silver and jewels of all size and hue, all there for the taking. All crushed under the serpentine body of the great black drake. The cursed isle, from which none returned to tell their tales.

“Cursed!” Skull had scoffed, his breath vile with the burning stench of whisky. “Who’s to say cursed, eh? All that treasure – why, if I’d made it to the Isle of Dragons and tekken me fair share of the loot, I’d not be telling neither! And who’s to say there’s a dragon there at all? It’s a woman’s tale, set to frighten children, not bold souls such as we!”

Dead. They were all dead. Skull… Scar… Monkey… Runner… the others, whatever their names were. She forgot now. Their faces blended together in the mists of her memory.

Another roar. Louder, this time. It was coming out of its cave. She stood and withdrew her cutlass from the scabbard, examining it wearily. Not a notch upon it, not a mark of any kind. It gleamed, even in the poor sunlight that the island offered. It should be wasted away to scraps of rusty metal by now.

The dragon. It all came back to the cursed beast, whichever way you looked at it. She thought back to the day the cutlass had first done its work…

---------

“Draaaagon!!!” The scream came from Runner. He charged towards the beach, wide-eyed and frantic. “To the boaaaats!!!”

There was a second of frozen horror, and then the people spun into a headlong dash, catching onto Runner’s panic. Skull, for all his bravado, was among the first to the boats. Only Treena and Monkey kept their heads as the winged horror glided through the skies with arrogant ease.

Diving into the knee-high mist of the island, they were enveloped in the perfect camouflage. The black wyrm hung directly overhead for a moment, vast as an earth-bound god, and then it soared towards the fleeing pirates.

Monkey grasped her shoulder, hard. “The lair is unprotected,” he hissed. “Let’s grab summat to make this worth their lives.”

He nodded in the direction of their crewmates. Treena hesitated a moment, then nodded. Together, they slipped inland, towards the vast mouth of the dragon’s lair.

The island was small. It was a short run. Nevertheless, they were panting with fear by the time they got there. They gazed in marvel at the glittering vastness of wealth that lay before them.

Not for long, though. Greed overcame temerity. They leapt in, running fingers through necklaces, stowing gold into already bulging pockets, handling shields and strange, archaic weapons, grasping and grabbing anything within their reach.

She swore, later, that they had only been among the horde for seconds. Just seconds. The powerful beat of the dragon’s wings brought them out of their reverie. With huge eyes, Monkey and Treena stared at each other for a single instant. Then, as one, they drew their cutlasses.

They were dead already. Both of them knew it. What else was there to do but fight their fate, though? What else had there ever been?

A blast of fiery breath came from the cave mouth, searing the inside of the lair with crackling flames. Treena dived sharply into a recess, watching as her friend writhed and screamed, his skin melting in the heat. It was over in a brief eternity and she remembered nothing very clearly after that.

Charging out, scimitar waving… the ferocious amber gleam of eyes that filled a world… pain and rage and useless screams… teeth, rending her flesh, breaking her bones… a final sweep of the cutlass, mingling her own blood with that from the dragon’s ripped cheek…

…then darkness…

…then light…

She had opened her eyes. Mist swirled around the entrance to the cave. Her cutlass lay before her, shining and unmarred. Her dress was ragged, stained with dark and crusted blood. There was the slow and rhythmic grumble of a sleeping dragon from within the cave.

Disbelieving, half-crazed, she had stumbled through the mud and the dirt, staggering onto the beaches where they had left their crew-mates and their boats.

The ship was burning, its flames streaking through the mist like watery paint on a canvas. The rowboats were wreckage. Treena stumbled through the mists, numbly avoiding the smoking corpses that littered her path. She fell to her knees at the edge of the sea. A single gold piece fell from the rags of her dress. She picked it up, twirled it in her fingers, laughed until the laugh turned to sobs. With a force that almost tore her shoulder from the socket, she hurled the gold into the waves.

The sounds of her howls awoke the dragon. As the thunder of its flight filled the air, only one thought remained to her. Revenge.

She drew the cutlass and waited for the dragon to come.

------------

It had all happened before. It would all happen again. An endless spiral of time, taking no account of the weariness of its players or the way the game was played out…
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Chinaren
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Joined: 05 Sep 2005
Posts: 8878
Location: https://www.NeilHartleyBooks.com

Posted: Mon Feb 13, 2006 8:04 pm    Post subject: Entry 4 - Amazon  

Amazon:

Jasmine sat and took a deep breath; and another. She had never expected to be here, is this life or her last one. This is to say she died and was reborn, although that is one possible interpretation. In her first life, she was Princess Jasmine Monalla Sorvel Galeia Lancer, equestrian of most skill, archer of the best shot, and woman of the loveliest face in the kingdom of Candora; a kingdom now baren and decrepit at the hand of the usurper Herbert Lord Therion.

She remembered running through the open, green fields of Capitol City. She vaguely remembered her attendant, Serian Boyle. He had always been so kind to her, treating her almost as his own child. Her mother told her that was because he understood the importance of protecting her, so that Jasmine might one day be a good queen. But Lord Therion had taken that away, obliterated the thought by his treachery.

Jasmine never fully recalled the events of the rebellion; she remembered only faint visions of her life as princess, and then awakening to the grotesque odor of burning flesh in a town burning to the ground. She herself would have smouldered in the blaze if Serian had not followed her captors and set her free. He was there to her life; he was there to help her start her second life.

He educated her a second time in the ways of the warrior, and in her studies Jasmine had chosen a new name to symbolize the new ideal she achieved through his aid: Amazon, the name of the ferocious warrior women of antiquity, and their spirit was born again in her; all because of Serian.

Serian had hidden her previous life and their relationship, and Amazon never was told until she met her brother, once Prince Victor Therind Barion Ectalain Lancer, now a similarly dissillusioned warrior who called himself Raven. Together, both as siblings and as successors to the throne they planned their revenge against the murderer of their parents and the traitor to the kingdom.

Just yesterday Amazon and Raven together had raided the Capitol City, stormed the palace, and confronted the Lord Therion. Except all his best warriors were there, and the two crusaders lasted not ten minutes against their onslaught. Raven had been god-like in his final moments, easily killing hundreds before falling to seven wounds in the abdomen. Amazon fled on instinct. She was lost, confused. Never had she felt such a complete sense of failure.

She remembered her lessons with Serian, how a warrior in a more civilized time, who had failed so completely as she, would throw himself upon his sword. In the darkness of Felwood, she carfully considered following their honorable example....
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D-Lotus
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Joined: 21 Oct 2004
Posts: 4123
Location: Hollywood, USA

Posted: Tue Feb 14, 2006 7:32 pm    Post subject:  

I was thinking about competing...but not anymore after reading the stories. Good job, guys.
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Chinaren
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Location: https://www.NeilHartleyBooks.com

Posted: Tue Feb 14, 2006 11:02 pm    Post subject:  

D-Lotus wrote: I was thinking about competing...but not anymore after reading the stories. Good job, guys.

Or is he bluffing? :?
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Chinaren
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Location: https://www.NeilHartleyBooks.com

Posted: Sun Feb 19, 2006 1:18 am    Post subject: Entry 5 - The White's of their eyes.  

The White’s of their eyes……

With a sigh, Masou observed the carnage of the battle that had just so tragically played itself out before her. No, this is not right. Something has broken. Something has been lost, never to return.

The pain and destruction of the Great War had swept across the continent for years, but finally, today, the deciding battle had finished. She had seen family, friends, kings; even gods, fall. On the distant plain below her nothing stirred but the dark shadow of death that lingered over the blood-soaked desert sands. Letting the spirit’s that surrounded this place of death carry her down, she slowly descended to the plain.

Walking among the dead; their broken bodies staring mournfully toward the sky, Masou grew afraid. All her training as a Spirit Shaman had never prepared her for such sorrow, such pain, such incompleteness. The angry spirits screamed abuse, their rage almost palpable with the cordite smoke that wafted slowly around the field of butchery. Doing her best top shield herself from the waves of hatred and pain that surged from the multitude of raging souls, she searched for some clue to what had happened when the huge psychic scream had exploded from the centre of the conflict, ending all life and almost killing her.

Bending down, she pressed her palm to the bloody head of a young soldier lying face down in the sand. Closing her eyes, she willed the man’s spirit to transmit the last few images that it had seen…

”HOLD! You shall HOLD! Do not abandon your post! The first man who moves will be shot!”

She detected a flurry of emotion; exhilaration, fear, anger as the soldier looked cautiously over the top of the trench, presumably toward the enemy…

”DOWN! Get down you fools! Balthazar! Give me command……No, NOW!” Watching events unfold like the grainy newsreels back in Phalanx, she saw the soldier look at the gruff commander barking orders. Suddenly, from overhead, there grew a terrible whine, which caused the soldier to sharply turn his head toward the dark sky….

ARTILLERY! Everyone do..” The commander’s words cut abruptly short when a shell landed behind him, turning the world upside down. A red mist slowly descending over the soldier’s vision, as the shredded remains of the commander settled over the trench. Screams and shouts can be heard among the irregular BOOMS of the falling artillery shells. The soldier’s head is pressed into the dirt, but he still lives. Masou can here whimpering behind the soldier. Another explosion, close again, shakes the trench, sending yet more bloody sand into the air.

Then, nothing. The shelling has ceased. Moans, barely audible, slowly reach the ears of the terrified soldier. As the dust and debris settles over the shattered trench, a voice can be heard echoing over the screams and sobs of the dead, dying and shell-shocked;

They’re coming! To the left! Hundreds! Ready arms! Fix bayonets! Now, HOLD! Wait til’ you can see the white’s of their eyes….”

Masou can hear the screams and roars of the fanatical enemy as the thundered over the pock-marked sand toward the trench. Frantically trying to fix his bayonet to his rifle, the young soldier stumbles up from the bottom of the trench and climbs to the top of the scaffold to face his foe. Bullets whistle overhead, an even younger soldier next to ours, barely into his teens, catches a bullet to the side of the head, his jaw shattering; bone fragments whipping off in every direction like tiny pieces of shrapnel. The gibbering body collapsing back into the trench, the eye’s of Masou’s soldier following with macabre fascination and horror.

Then, without warning, a hooded and robed acolyte of the enemy can be seen at the lip of the trench, it’s cruel barbed rifle aiming directly at the soldier. Eye’s growing wide with fear, a toothless snarl appearing across the hideous face of the creature. Then, with a sharp crack a bullet slams into its robed chest, flinging it back over the top of the trench and out of sight.

With the help of a smart looking soldier, our now petrified soldier clambers off his backside and back onto the parapet again. Taking a brief look around, the carnage in the trench seems to be abating. The enemy attack seems to have faltered in its first few moments for some unknown reason. Wiping the dirt from his bleary eyes, the soldier turns to the smart one, but before he could say anything a huge flash bloomed on the horizon which eerily moved ever so slowly across the plain toward them.

“What on earth….?” exclaimed the smart soldier, indicating at the slow moving light. But even as the words left his mouth, the flash began to increase in speed, quickly approaching the trench until……

With the blinding white light filling her vision, Masou severed contact before what she knew was going to happen did. Wiping her hand on her skirt, she stepped away from the body, murmuring a small prayer for forgiveness and for the spirit’s restfulness.

Walking solemnly toward the centre of the sundered plain, Masou began to feel the taint of a huge, damaging spirit disturbance. Someone had manipulated the spirit world, much like she herself just had, but in such a way that it had torn through the fabric of reality and violently ripped the soul’s of every living thing within its radius. The thought of such horrendous power caused Masou to visibly shake with fear. Nothing has ever wielded that sort of influence over the spirit realm. Not even the powerful spirit guardians that were considered the ‘deities’ of the spirit realm could manipulate the void in such a way. It was unthinkable….

As she continued to walk, she noticed that she was going down. Looking back, she realized she had entered a huge crater that stretched for miles. This had not been here before.... This was the wound the land had suffered as a result of the huge unnatural forces that had swept through the area. So much more destructive than the crude killing machine’s employed by man’s war-machine. Her gaze following the edge of the crater, she sought out the centre, for whatever cause this conflagration of destruction surely lay at its heart.

Walking cautiously toward the foci point, Masou brought up her protective barrier’s to shield her mind and spirit, though she doubted they would accomplish much. Expanding her vision from within her own body, she looked toward the centre….

Seated on a column of stone that emerged from the centre of the crater sat a robed figure, barely larger than a child. The energy that she felt emanating from this figure was too immense to comprehend, so she returned to her body and prepared to approach this mysterious figure….

Suddenly, from all around boomed an indistinct voice that tore at the very fabric of logic and reality with its mere presence

– Ahhhh! Welcome my sister! Welcome to hell, heaven, conscious, un-conscious, peace and war. I see you admire my handiwork. Rather impressive if I do say so myself. –

“What… What are you?”

– What am I? Why, I am everything and nothing. You want me to define myself? HA! How naïve you are sister. I had expected more. You may despair at these endless oxymorons, but I assure you, they are the only appropriate way to describe myself. I know, rather tedious. I wholeheartedly agree, but nothing can be done. Shame really…. –

“But…. How…. You are demon spawn, yes? I am no sister of yours. You are a taint, a curse, nothing more. Just another black scar upon the earth. Begone!” Masou was shocked at her own voice, its conviction and energy unexplainable. She put it down to her training….

– Why, sister! What a tone to take with one of your own! I am shocked. But I will let it slide; you are my sister after all. Now, come here and embrace your most beloved brother. It has been so long, has it not? –

Bringing up her strongest protective walls and readying her most destructive curse, Masou warily approached the column. The robed figure just sat, rocking, back and forth, back and forth. It’s motion was somehow unnatural and made Masou feel sick to her stomach to watch. Surely this thing was not of this world. It’s very presence a strain on reality, its every movement a wound in the spirit realm that would take millennia to heal.

Suddenly, the rocking stopped. Masou froze in her tracks. The robed figure stood, and slowly turned to face her.

Slowly letting its robe fall to the floor, the light erupted from its blank, unblinking, disturbingly white eyes and spread in every direction. Falling to her knees, Masou could feel its energy rushing over her, probing her mind and soul but not harming her even as the very sand she lay upon glowed white-hot then melted and formed glass.

– I AM THE GOD-CHILD! ALL LOOK UPON ME AND TREMBLE! BUT NOT YOU DEAR MUSOU. NO, YOU HAD THE COURAGE TO APPROACH AND FOR THAT I REWARD YOU. I EMBRACE YOU SISTER, AND AM GLAD THAT YOU HAPPENED UPON MY PRESENCE. IT IS SO RARE THESE DAYS THAT I AM GRATED CONVERSATION WITH OTHERS –

“Please! Stop! Please… the heat…”

– THE PAIN IS A BLESSING SISTER, EMBRACE IT; REVEL IN IT. IT WILL MAKE YOU STONGER. NOW, WE HAVE A BUSY SCHEDULE AHEAD OF US, SO WE MUST BE OFF –

With those words the light dissipated, and the battlefield once again became a visible field of death. The column, the screaming ‘God-Child’ and the broken form of Masou the Spirit-Caller had gone, the only traces being the glass surface that spread across the surface of the crater for miles around….
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Solomon Birch
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Posted: Thu Feb 23, 2006 5:09 am    Post subject:  

Some nice looking entries this time. I like the pic too. I've got a sneaking suspicion who the first one is by, but I'm stumped on the others... :?
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Chinaren
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Posted: Fri Feb 24, 2006 12:52 am    Post subject: Entry 6 - Pinnacle of Achievement  

Pinnacle of Achievement

Her back ached.

The rock was slippery with the moistness of the mist. It was also dreadfully, dreadfully hard and cold. There would be hell to pay later, when she finally tried to stand up and get her circulation moving again. Not to mention the possibility of getting piles this early in life!

Her ear itched.

She didn’t move. It felt like she had been sitting here forever. Perhaps she was a part of the rock now and they would have to peel her off it, when this was all over. Or perhaps they would leave her here, to petrify and become a statue, looking out over the blank seas beyond. She would look good as a statue – as long as some good-for-nothing bird didn’t make a nest in her hair and drop herring into her cleavage.

Now her eyes were watering.

She was going to… she was going to…

No. The urge passed. So did time. At least, she presumed it did. There was no way of telling. Not without glancing at the sun’s position in the sky – or calling out to ask someone. If she did that, it would all be over. No more chill, no more cushionless seat, no more counting the pores on her opponent’s bulbous nose. She toyed with the temptation, but it only made her lose count again.

Oh, and her foot had gone to sleep.

Sandals had been a bad idea in this weather. Still, it was keeping her alert, that was the main thing. Focus was all important. Without it, the prize would slip away and she would be left with nothing. No moment of immortality. No adoring gazes from the masses. No stories or songs written of her exploits. No semi-naked guys with oiled muscles lining up to be her lovers. She found herself dwelling on the latter option more than the others, only hoping that her poor frozen hips would be up to the action when she had finally earned it.

Wait a minute – was that the beginnings of a yawn?

She was so excited that she almost wavered into a blink. Her face twitched with the effort of not showing her weakness as she looked upon her opponent.

He was in trouble. His mouth was puckered, he was sweating and his nose was twitching like the world’s most rum-soaked rabbit. She leaned forward, a fraction of an inch, holding her breath in anticipation of…

He blinked. The crowd erupted in a cacophony of applause.

“She’s won!” roared the commentator, above the tumultuous noise. “I don’t believe it! This year’s trophy goes to Ludvala the All-Seeing!”

A barrage of question began to be fired from all directions. At what age had she begun training? Had she used magic to win the challenge? What was her phone number, and did she have a friend?

Ludvala smiled and finally allowed herself to blink through dry eyes for the first time in nine hours. ‘The Eleven Islands Out-Staring Competition’ was not for the faint-hearted. Now she could have everything her greedy little heart desired.

As soon as she could get up off this damned rock, that was…
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Chinaren
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Posted: Fri Feb 24, 2006 12:57 am    Post subject: Entry 7 - Reunion!  

Reunion!

It peered out of the mist, slavering and dripping. Its eyes were dark, expressionless.

The girl just sat there. It seemed she had long ago given up calling. She looked from side to side occasionally, but it was plain that her eyes were not as good as his. She could not see how he slunk around the edges of the fog, biding his time, deciding on his next move.

He could simply make straight for her and get it over with now, he supposed. Then, though, he would lose the joy of the hunt. There would be little satisfaction in such an early end to his entertainment.

No. She could wait. At present, he had other things to do…

-----------

It was two hours later. The hunger had been sated, for now. There was blood on its mouth and a wild look in its eyes.

And the girl was still there.

Now it could afford to feel a spark of regret. it had kept her waiting for far too long. She had a destiny and it was irrevocably intertwined with his. Tonight, in the dark stillness of this barren land, they would meet it together.

From the edges of the fog, he crept forward, low to the ground. His eyes glinted in the moonlight and his breath was foul with the taste of raw blood. As he approached, she glanced up and saw him.

Her eyes widened and he abandoned all pretence, covering the remaining distance in great loping strides. She put her hands up, to ward him off, but that was of no consequence. He tore through her defences, leaping up… and landing two mud-soaked paws on her lacy dress.

“Get down!” she scolded. “You bad dog! Where have you been all night?”

His tail wagged and he licked her with a blood-soaked muzzle.

“Oh, I see,” she said, disapprovingly. “Hunting rabbits again. Well, come on boy, let’s go home.”

The girl and her dog wandered homewards together, thinking thoughts of rabbits and cocoa. Although, not necessarily in that order…
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Chinaren
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Posted: Fri Feb 24, 2006 8:26 pm    Post subject: Entry 8 - Out of Time  

Out of Time

Nieta was beyond tears, beyond caring. She sat, staring bleakly out through the mist, knowing herself to be alone.

None would come. Except, perhaps… her. If she did not, there was no place else to go. She would sit here until the land claimed her. Then, maybe, one day they would ride out and see her skeleton and wonder…

Twice before she had come. She had been a child, the first time. A daring tomboy, charging blind into the valley of the mists. She wondered what had happened to the boy who had dared her. Did he remember her, all these years later? Did he still feel sorry for what he had done? Or was he dead, like so many others?

The riders had taken her, and she had let them. They had been so beautiful, their horses so white, their skin so fair. When they had laughed, she had laughed too. When the Lady had looked mournful, Nieta had thought her young heart would break with the sadness of it all. She had agreed to take a ride on the Lady’s milk-white stallion and they had flown with the wind streaking their hair.

Contrary to what people said, time did not pass more quickly in their realm. Days were full and long and beautiful and there was simply no urge to count how they turned into months, and eventually years. The air was sweet, the food divine and the laughter never ceased. All of life was hunting and playing and the telling of tales.

Yet it was all fragile, too. The Fey were of breathtaking exquisiteness and they adored her, with her dark locks and freckled face, so unlike their own. Yet there were few others like her in the realm, and none that she could talk to. And whilst the Queen and her people adored Nieta, none of them loved her as she used to be loved. None of them could give her what she had lost.

She had thought of her family often, as she had ripened to maturity. Yet there had always been something new to do, some pleasure to indulge herself in, to take away the sting. Trout to tickle, clouds to watch, boar to hunt, sparkflies to torment.

Then had come the day when Caliban had knelt before her and asked her to be his bride.

She had been stricken. A day in the faerie realm. Another day, and then another – it seemed so harmless. Yet the prospect of staying here forever? Marriage to one of the Fey folk? Suddenly the Queen’s realm seemed a prison and a trap.

Days had passed. Nieta had been listless and withdrawn. Pleasure had not tempted her, Caliban had plagued her with demands for her answer, the joy seemed gone. In the end, she could bear it no longer. She went to the Queen.

“My Lady,” she had wept. “Please – I beg of you – I want to go home now.”

“You are home, child.” She was so beautiful that Nieta thought her heart would break.

“I miss my family,” the words tore out of her. “I want to see the forge again. Please – let me go!”

The Queen stroked Nieta’s hair with long, delicate fingers. “You chose to come to my Kingdom. You choose to leave. We hold none here beyond their time. Yet I say this to you – you shall know no joy from this journey.”

At the time, she had thought the Queen’s words to be a curse. Now, she knew them to be a simple proclamation of the truth.

Caliban had taken her to the mist-laden valley and left her without a word. She set off with a feeling of trepidation. Ten years had passed in that other world. Would they recognise her – or even remember her? Would they hate her for leaving them as she had? Would there be tears or embraces, or both?

The fog had thinned as she had run up the hillside. She had pushed herself until her muscles burned, running to find the familiar village of her childhood.

Then she had found it, gods help her. The scent of disease was in the air, thick and rancid. Corpses strewed the paths, untended and too numerous to count. Their skins were bloated and riddled with dark boils and lesions. Flies swarmed over them, softening their poisoned, rotting flesh. Others staggered blindly, already past the point of hope, simply waiting for the time when they would join the ranks of the dead.

Nieta staggered through the village, numb legs barely supporting her. Where had all this death come from? What had happened? Where was the life she had known?

The light of the forge had gone out, when she finally arrived. For the first time, no fire burned, no huge man hammered at metal and spoke in gruff voice. No children played, no women cooked. There was nothing and nobody.

They were gone. Dead, perhaps, or fled from the plague. There would be no embraces and no tears. Life had moved on and left her behind.

She wandered the plague village for days, tending the sick and the dying, tearing her clothes for bandages, holding them as they weakened and died, leaving nothing but streaks from their bloody wounds on her dress. For a time, she hoped that she would get the fever too, yet no trace of the illness touched her.

There came a day when she could bear it no longer. No more sores, no more death-gasps, no more clinging onto a life that had been irrevocably torn from her grasp. It was time to put aside her hopes and leave this place.

Hours later, she sat, alone in the mists. Day turned to night, and then to day again. Still she sat, with the patience of the hopeless cause.

As the sun rose, a single rider galloped out of the bleakness towards her. She looked up, making no other movement, waiting for the Queen’s approach.

The faerie Queen’s voice was like the breath of the wind.

“You are here.”

Nieta bowed her head. “I am here. I have changed my mind.”

“I told you that you would receive no joy from your journey.”

The girl stayed silent, though there was a painful lump in her throat.

“What is it that you wish of me?”

“I want to come back with you,” Nieta choked.

The Queen’s hair blew, mane-like in the bleak wind. She tilted her head, her eyes unreadable, but spoke not a word.

Seconds passed, turning to minutes. All was stillness, though tears streaked Nieta’s face. Finally, the Queen began to turn her horse around, back towards the way she had come. As it began to trot, Nieta called out.

“Wait!”

Once again, the Queen wheeled, her slanted smile waiting for the words that had yet to come.

“I want… to go home,” sighed the girl. “I want to go home.”

The Faerie Queen’s smile was radiant as the first rays of the sun. She held out a slender hand and helped the girl onto her steed.

“And so you shall,” she said, with infinite gentleness. “You had only to ask.”
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LordoftheNight
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Posted: Sat Feb 25, 2006 6:46 am    Post subject:  

damn, now there's even more to guess
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sparta12
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Posted: Sat Feb 25, 2006 4:32 pm    Post subject:  

Is it too late to enter?
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LordoftheNight
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Posted: Sat Feb 25, 2006 4:37 pm    Post subject:  

don't think so
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Chinaren
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Posted: Sat Feb 25, 2006 5:53 pm    Post subject:  

Entries can be submitted for a while more yet. I will probably close this in another week, so you have time yet!
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Chinaren
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Posted: Sun Feb 26, 2006 4:36 pm    Post subject: Entry 9 - The Queen and the Carrion.  

'The Queen and the Carrion'

She sat there on the rock, an immovable, indominitable reminder of what had been and what once was. Far off in the distance, ancient tribal drums beat rhythmically in patterns aeons-old, the stamping of feet clashing with the screeches of carrion birds as they methodically sought out their dying prey. She raised her head slightly; the better to catch the drifts of sound from afar, and a dead wind rustled her dark hair, matted from sweat and caked with blood and dirt. Her dress too was torn and ragged, stained a dark, arterial red by the deluge of blood it had faced, and on her near-naked upper body, raw, primeval tattoos danced a solemn lament across her bronzed skin.

Her eyes, which once exploded with life, shook with laughter, and bounded with joy; were now dull, motionless, reduced to nothing more than the pale vitreous humour encased in the retina and sclera, able to only transmit pulsing electrical signals along the optic nerve, relating to the weary brain what it already knew: a dry, dusty field of ochre, strewn with the innumerable bodies of the queen’s once glorious tribe.

She had sat there for an age; and continued to do so, until one adventurous scavenger, a dirty, scrawny vulture, swooped up to her. Its cunning, beady eyes inspected hers, finding them vacuous and inert. It made its move, the viciously hooked beak lashing out in a bolt of movement with the speed of lightning, opening slightly to receive the delicious morsel of a fresh eyeball.

The vulture’s mind stopped, astonished. It blinked twice, rapidly, and saw the impossible: its beak was trapped in the vicelike grip of the queen’s hand. The desolate woman raised her head slowly, staring back at the helpless creature’s astonished face, and what might once have passed for a faint smirk crossed her lips. Then her arm twisted savagely, and the bird knew no more.

Tossing aside the dead carcass, the powerful queen rose almost languidly to her feet, not watching as the bundle of feathers and bones crashed its way down the rocky slope. At her full towering height, the queen rolled her head on her shoulders, the jaded bones cracking after their long inactivity. Staring straight ahead, she then raised one hand to her arm, and, in one violent sweep, sent the primordial bands that encased her forearms hurtling away, clattering and smashing down the jagged rocks. She repeated the motion on her other arm, before raising both hands to her bosom, where she fiercely seized hold of the necklace that hung there, and, with a cry of passion, wrenched it from her neck, the gut strings snapping and the beads flying out, scattered forever.

She would not wear the symbols of power any longer; not as the last of her tribe lay dead beneath her feet, defeated by their mortal enemies. She was not worthy to carry the emblems of majesty that had been handed down through generations. She had failed her people, and she was hardly worthy to breathe the air that they had once breathed. She blinked rapidly, keeping away the tears that threatened to unleash themselves on her dusty, dirty cheeks. It would not do for the queen to cry, in spite of what she knew she had to do.

She had not helped them, had not saved them, had not died for them. Yet.

As she took the fateful step forwards, her mind seemed to detach itself, watching from afar as the stranger before it fell slowly, gracefully forwards. Perhaps it was from the mind of a vulture nearby, though perhaps it is more fitting to her memory to imagine it was that of an eagle, soaring high as the bronzed body tumbled down through the air, colliding and smashing against the rocks, the jagged sentinels lambasting her broken body, until the heap that finally crashed into the ground was hardly recognisable as a human. The queen was dead. Long live the carrion.
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Chinaren
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Posted: Thu Mar 02, 2006 2:26 am    Post subject:  

I will be closing this SoaP after the weekend, so any entries, get em in quick!
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Chinaren
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Posted: Sun Mar 05, 2006 7:01 am    Post subject:  

okay everyone, I will close this tomorrow* (if I remember) so if you have any last minute entries, get em in fasto!


*China time. +8GMT (or is it +7? I forget).
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LordoftheNight
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Posted: Sun Mar 05, 2006 9:21 am    Post subject:  

+8GMT
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Shady Stoat
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Posted: Mon Mar 06, 2006 11:27 am    Post subject:  

Judging's on for SoaP, by the way. China's forgotten to warn everyone :)
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Solomon Birch
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Location: England..... but Japan beckons.....

Posted: Mon Mar 06, 2006 1:13 pm    Post subject:  

AH DAMNIT!!! :-x

I didn't know that pressing show results wasted your vote!

ARGH!

I'm gonna vote for The White's of their eyes. Cos' it had explosions n' stuff... :? :P

Edit: *sheepish grin* :) Er... it appears that it doesn't stop me voting. So I have. Hee hee! ;)
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LordoftheNight
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Posted: Mon Mar 06, 2006 3:03 pm    Post subject:  

voted
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Chinaren
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Posted: Mon Mar 06, 2006 5:38 pm    Post subject:  

Shady Stoat wrote: Judging's on for SoaP, by the way. China's forgotten to warn everyone :)

Cripes! I could have sworn I did a comment! Thanks Stoat, and don't forget to PM me your guesses people! first one is FREE this time!
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LordoftheNight
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Posted: Mon Mar 06, 2006 5:56 pm    Post subject:  

Oooo, free huh? I might just have to enter then.
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Chinaren
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Posted: Thu Mar 09, 2006 4:46 am    Post subject:  

Only 2 'who wrote them' guesses so far. Come on people! Make the most of my fit of generosity! Doesn't happen often. :?
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Smee
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Posted: Thu Mar 09, 2006 5:05 am    Post subject:  

Oops - forgot about this.

I'll get some guesses together this evening.

I will hold on to both titles. MWahahahahahaha :D
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ethereal_fauna
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Posted: Thu Mar 09, 2006 5:52 am    Post subject:  

Smee wrote: I will hold on to both titles. MWahahahahahaha :D
Hmmm, so does this mean that you actually found the time to submit a SoaP story?
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Smee
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Posted: Thu Mar 09, 2006 6:02 am    Post subject:  

oops... ;)
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ethereal_fauna
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Posted: Thu Mar 09, 2006 6:03 am    Post subject:  

*giggles*
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Solomon Birch
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Posted: Thu Mar 09, 2006 8:47 am    Post subject:  

Smee wrote: oops... ;)

ROFL!! :lol: :biggrin: :lol:

Nice one Smee...

Or is he bluffing...? :shock:
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Solomon Birch
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Posted: Thu Mar 09, 2006 8:49 am    Post subject:  

Are you allowed to enter Chinaren? ;)
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Chinaren
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Posted: Thu Mar 09, 2006 12:59 pm    Post subject:  

I could enter a story, and I can vote on the poll, but it may be a little unfair to do the guesses thing! :D
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LordoftheNight
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Posted: Thu Mar 09, 2006 4:10 pm    Post subject:  

And of course, you would never tell anyone the correct answers, not even if they happened to be in your own Guild.

I'll be sending in my answers in a moment Chinaren - and thanks.
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Chinaren
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Posted: Fri Mar 10, 2006 2:08 am    Post subject:  

The judging will be open another week yet, but next week* I will be away and likely with no internet access, so if you PM me a guess please be patient, your entry is important to us, and one of our trained staff will deal with your PM as soon as possible.

There are 5million 4 thousand and 20 people ahead of you..


*Mar13th to 16th or 17th. China time.
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ethereal_fauna
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Posted: Fri Mar 10, 2006 4:02 am    Post subject:  

Gah, someone beat my guesses score...
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