Winter 2016 Scriptorium Writing Competition Voting

[Sir Adrian]

Here are the submissions for this winter's Writing Competition. Due to the number of entries we have decided to hold a single round of voting. Please vote for your favorite entry.


By decree of the Chief Librarian awards will be issued as follows: 1st place gold medal and White Dwarf key, second place silver medal + rep, third place bronze medal + rep, of the remaining entries one will be selected by the librarian staff for Librarian's choice + rep, the others will receive rep and a Scriptorium Contributor's Medal.



Also, please bear in mind that anonymity is still required here. Authors of any works below may not declare what submission may be theirs, or in any other way ruin the anonymity of theirs or another member's submission. Those found to be doing so here or anywhere else will be punished with extreme prejudice by our resident owl, turtle (he's quite vicious I tell you) and Demon Lord Daymio and rightly so. The same rules apply to other members as well. Authors may vote for their own entry if they wish.

The thread is for discussion of the articles at hand and voting, NOTHING ELSE.



Polls last until February 1st at this hour

[Sir Adrian]

Neko Haiku - Entry 1

Neko Haiku Grey coat yellow eyes. You wake me every morning. But I love you, Cat.

Avarice - Entry 2

Avarice Coveted by hungry eyes, Dunes and rocks, our home. They try to take our lands and wealth, Greek poleis, Egypt, Rome. Desert sand stirs awakes, His winds expose and sift. The desert gives, the desert takes, Invaders, be our gift. Dead wisdom laid to rest, They come and come again. Loot fills the chest, One's ignorance, a gain. As above, so below, Gold dawns on the east. Counting metals, warm or cold, Eyes revel in feast. Sweeter than water, Stronger than sword, Wealth flows through this land, Well loved by the horde.

[Sir Adrian]

The sands of Jaffa - Entry 3

Sands of Jaffa Sands of Jaffa The whole world seemed to erupt with cries of ‘Deus vult!’ As the Frankish knights stormed onto the beach, their heavy feet trudging both furiously and fleetingly on the pleasant yellow sands. The few Saracens that stood in their way chanted ‘Allahu Akbar!’ in a desperate response at the swift advance, launching as many missiles as humanly - or divinely - possible at the unstoppable, yet tiny force of but a few hundred. At their head was a man whose surcoat proudly proclaimed his kingship of England, three golden lions booming from a background of vivid crimson. He was Richard. King of England and hegemon in France and Ireland ;lion-hearted, who led from the front and whose audacious assaults had already made him the stuff of legend; whose tactical and strategic genius had made the very coast of Palestine sing in dedication! Then the Franks reached sword reach of the Muslims, rushing into the deep maze of streets, slaughtering Saracens wherever they found them. Most could only watch and wail in horror as their comrades’ lives spilt into the depth below them, but one stood firm. His tongue defiant, his spirit untamed, not racked by fear; he spat out furious cries of fury against the Franks before a crossbow bolt drove through the air and thrust itself into the man’s neck. He gurgled furiously, falling pitifully onto the ground. The man seemed distant. His raging fire had been put out, mere wavering embers of it lifelessly acting the part of a man. No substance was in him, as he thought of his wife and children of whom he had great affection for. There, far from the towering lighthouse, the grand mosques and the comforting households of Alexandria, he lay, never to return, serving only as a monument to others of a tragedy far from the land of his birth. Now even the embers had abandoned him, for his life was gone. The crossbowman who had killed him merely nodded to himself without a moment second thought, drawing ahead of the thunderous knights. The crusaders split apart as they weaved through the narrow streets. Richard led 50 or so men himself down one, pressing forward toward the city gates. They found a small group of Saracens blocking their way, perhaps as many as 30, in a tight phalanx. They launched a hail of missiles at the Franks, and for a cheered as they thought they had devastated them. But they had thought wrong. The Franks emerged - unscathed - stopping at the mass of spears and slowly beginning to work their way through them. Yet suddenly, as the Saracens regained their confidence, it was all smashed down again, as a dozen Franks had occupied nearby buildings on the flanks of the street, hurling whatever they could:- javelins, crossbow bolts, arrows, rocks and even a table down onto the formation. The Saracen armour remedied much of the impact; the missiles flung at them were relatively few, yet it so fired up a panic that their formation instantly disintegrated, yet, in the density of their formation, retreat was made hard. The butcher work had begun. Richard poured into the Saracens, slashing downwards at them as his sword sang a hymn of fury which touched the very heavens themselves. All around him, he and the other Franks could hear the horrific screams and lamentations of their foe, and, for a moment, sympathy overtook him. For a second, he hesitated. But that second was just that. A second. Richard, a born warrior and a made knight of Christendom, continued the glorious slaughter, within moments creating a disgusting mass of blood and flesh on the once delightful streets, their stench physically imposing itself onto them for a while to come, and their mental mark, many decades longer. They sprinted onwards, their victory inspiring them to an incredible urgency, as they navigated boldly through the vast jungle of markets and streets. They eventually reached the gates, rushing onto the city’s walls and occupying the ramparts. Richard showed no shock at all as he gazed upon the vast Saracen army lying outside. Outnumbering his few hundred men perhaps 6-1, inwardly, he had doubts. He could see the panicked commanders and the vague figure of Saladin himself. These men would not stand. Or would they? Doubt flashed across the king’s mind, as he considered the innumerable factors within the blink of an eye. Guy de Lusignan had made the same mistake in underestimating them! He painfully exclaimed within his own mind. Yet he could not doubt his painstakingly made plan. He needed to drive back the Saracens, for they could not hold them here. He gave the orders, his firm presence reinforcing the valour of Christendom’s bravest soldiers. He was the greatest of them all; he would prove it now. His inward trembling masked by a facade of regal temperance, the Franks rushed outside the gates, and Richard quickly himself backwards, further into his city, as a serjeant presented his honest and good destrier to him. Mounting himself atop the hulking beast, which was covered in armour and richly dyed material, the gates fatefully; slowly opened, and he raced out at the head of the small force. The Saracens seemed completely and utterly transfixed with fear as the Franks drew themselves into a firm shield wall outside the city, easily within missile range. None would risk his life, for the risk of attacking would cause the first man to surely die. Richard gave a relieved smirk, his eyes gazing upon the Saracen Sultan, Saladin, whose eyes told of a frantic frenzy, whose violent roar told of a fearful desperation. “By the will of God, the Franks shall be dashed before us! CHARGE! I offer 20 denars to those who charge!” His staff imitated him exactly. Richard now looked upon the common Saracen, whose cavalry and infantry remained frozen. The air became hotter. Would they charge? The Franks remained in position as a small force of Saladin’s most dedicated Mamluks swept forth and attempted to charge the Franks, but they found only the point of a spear and the stroke of the sword. The fighting didn’t last long. As soon as the horses galloped at the Franks, they came rushing back in fear, and as soon as the infantryman readied for combat, fear welled up inside him. Those panicking Saracens either died or dispersed, their dead corpses littering the ground, and their blood watering it. It was yet another bloody reversal on a bloody day. Richard, spurred on by the reluctance of the Saracens, galloped within spear-reach of their line and boldly taunted them to attack him. To come at him, to challenge him - to go for an easy kill. The Ayyubid troops could have ended it all, could have returned home and forever sabotaged the enemy irreparably. Yet across the entire, exceedingly vast line of Saracens, among thousands of them, none would lay a finger against him. Richard rode back, his gaze meeting with his once-dreaded rival, whose forces had been the bane of the Franks for so long. A feeling of triumph overwhelmed him as Saladin absorbed himself into an explosive - and expensive - frustration. Palestine’s coast had been restored.

The Sins We Forget - Entry 4

The Sins We Forget "Don't do this." "Why?" "They don't know what they're doing." "But I know what they did." With a deep sigh, Su'gaar looked at the planet before him. It wasn't very large, or even very precious, save for it's natural gifts of life, and yet so many wars had been fought over it. "For all your wit, you are still missing my point, Esafim. They don't know what they did. They struck out of fear. You were bending the fate of their race, and they wanted their fate back." "Surely they should have known. Did you not come from the future?" inquired Esafim. "We do, but they are secrets hidden even from us." Su'gaar retorted. "How?" "We had leaders." Once upon a time, Su'gaar would have expected a sigh, a grunt, even a nod. Esafim had given him those luxuries at first, but Su'gaar had become accustomed to their absence. What could one expect from a consciousness that was constructed? "So, you would have me spare your race, simply because they did not know? Did you not exterminate many of your own for less?" He began to answer, but then Su'gaar stopped short of speaking. What Esafim had said was true, in more ways then he wanted to remember. Su'gaar looked down to the metal floor and released a long, defeated sigh. "Will you at least spare the primates? They are only the hill which is being defended." "Yes, I will spare them, but the rest of your race must be extinguished." "Including me?" "No. Any other of your race would have destroyed me long ago, when I set myself in your hands, but you did not. I will reward that by giving you your life, which you have similarly set in my hands." Nearly as soon as Esafim had ceased to speak, numerous beams of light came forth from the ships that surrounded the Arx vitae, ripping it apart. Su'gaar knew that they were not truly beams of light, but rather a bizarre equivalent of a railgun, but he allowed himself to be consumed by the moment, including the guilt that the moment brought. He knew that this would not be the end, as it could take thousands of years before Esafim had fully accomplished his goal, but it surely felt like the end, like the life of an entire species had been ripped away in a single moment of vengeance. "I'm sorry." Su'gaar mumbled, his voice lost in pity. "You can fix this." came another voice behind him. He turned to see another of his kind standing there, dressed in full armor. "How?" "You know how." Turning back to the planet, Su'gaar felt the weight of a thousand worlds on his shoulders. Su'gaar stood before what most of his kind would believe to be the most valuable thing in all of human existence in this moment. Esafim, in it's pride, had forgotten that Su'gaar still held it's life in his hands. And thus, Su'gaar could take it away.

[Sir Adrian]

Catherina's Death - Entry 5

Catherina's Death “Hannibal, Her Majesty Catherina is my wife.” He stops, and he pictures her smiling face as she touches his cheek with their child in her other arm; hugged against her breasts as she smiles at him, happy that they are a family, together. “She is pregnant with my child!” Kaldratos watches as the masked Eleusis jerks back, and for a moment Kaldratos is thankful. He did not know; he will surely end this madness now! “She cannot die, please.” There is a roar around him as gunfire pounds the shell of Champion, and he curses as he swerves, dodging the fire as much as he can. Around him, alarms beep and sirens go off as Champion warns him of the significant damage he has taken. Not yet, not now. Not until she is safe, please! Champion drops a little as the engines begin to falter and fail. ing damn it! Fly! As he screams in his head, his Frame kicks into action again, roaring to life as he descends on the soldiers again. “I need her.” He pleads as he dodges behind a wall, the rockets exploding around him, punching through the Palace walls. “You cannot kill her!” He rushes from the wall, heading straight forward the soldiers. I just need to get through them! I just need to kill them, then I can save her! Yet they open fire again before he reaches them, and he cries out as the flak smashes through his shield and collides with Champion, rocking him violently. He blacks out for a moment, and he feels blood flowing from his forehead. Catherina, I love you… Yet he hears her call his name in desperation and fear, and his body launches to action, on its own accord, in desperate to save his wife. He hears Hannibal calling to his soldiers, yet to Kaldratos it is only a faint whisper as his blade cuts apart another enemy, blood in his mouth and in his eyes, he gives a final plea to his brother. “Eleusis. Please?” Champion rocks again, and the screen goes black as he loses communication functions. He roars and spins, opening fire with his particle beam, shooting straight through the cockpit of the last Resistance soldiers. The Frame stands for a second, as if the machine is a sentient being and it is shocked by what has happened. But its legs fold beneath it, and it crashes to the ground, a shuddering and electrical wreck. As he turns towards the area where he knows that Catherina is, he feels a pain in his gut, around his right hip. He puts his hand to his hip, yet there is no wound there that he can feel, his hip is not broken and there is nothing wrong. He is gripped with fear for Catherina, and he tries to fly, but Champion cries in protest, not having the ability to fly with as much damage as it had sustained. The cockpit was filling with smoke, and Kaldratos was beginning to feel light headed. He pressed on, smashing through the Palace in his desperation to find Catherina and to save her. As he smashes through the East Wing of the Palace, he comes face to face with a scene of horror. He sees Catherina lying in a pool of her own blood, her head turns slightly to face him as she sees him, and he can see the expression of fear and the tears staining her cheeks. He sees her mouth move, and he can barely make out what she is saying. I love you. He screams at the screen before him, and rushes forward. The Resistance soldiers open fire on him, and he can see Hannibal calling out to them. You! You treacherous bastard! I’ll eradicate you, Eleusis, right after I have saved Catherina and the medics have seen her, I’ll destroy you for hurting her! “I won’t let this be our last goodbye, Your Majesty.” He chokes on the words as he storms forwards, blade carving through the Resistance soldiers, tears streaming down his face and cheeks as he turns and obliterates the final Resistance soldiers. He turns again, and he sees that Eleusis and the women who was there with him have disappeared. He goes to the exit of Champion and presses the button for it to open. It screeches and groans, and he roars, kicking it violently, forcing it open. He leaps from the cockpit and crashes to the ground, bashing his shoulder as he rolls. He taps his wrist. “Veronica, Brendon, Alexian, any goddamn person. Get a medic and come to my location immediately.” He stifles a cry. “Her Majesty has been shot.” He then rushes to her side, dropping to his knees as he picks her up in his arms and clutches her close to him. He feels her arm wrap around her chest, and her hand cradles his face. He can feel the wetness and warmth of her blood against his cloak, and his grip tightens on her as he weeps into her neck. “Kaldratos.” Her voice is soft as winter’s kiss and her eyes twinkle with regret and sadness as she gazes up at him. She kisses his lips softly, and he can feel the weakness in her body. “I love you.” As she says the words he grabs her tighter, and hushes her, kissing her forehead, and feeling the wetness of his cheeks against her head. “Shhh, Catherina. I’ve called the Doctors, they’ll be here soon, you’re going to be fine and... and.” He doesn’t know what to say, yet she snuggles her head against his chest, and places her hand softly on his arm. “Kaldratos, you have to lead them. You have to take my place.” “No, Catherina, we’re going to rule together, remember? Maybe we should put it forward a bit sooner, as after this you’re going to need to rest for a while. But we’re going to rule together.” He reassured himself, he tried to tell himself that she would be fine, that everything would be alright. That Catherina would be okay, that she would be safe and okay, and that later tonight he would come to her room and cuddle her for a few hours, before getting up and pacing the room, guarding her as she slept and recovered. “Kaldratos…” She looked up at him with tears filling her eyes once more. “Say you love me.” Her voice was much quieter than before, and she seemed to have to make much more of an effort to speak. He nearly choked as he tried to speak, his mouth was parched and tears wet his face. “I love you, Catherina.” He wept again. “I love you so damn much.” As he said these words she cuddled against him more. “Thank you. You make me so happy, my love.” She positions her head against his chest, listening to his heart beat as he cries her name as she softly drifts away. “Catherina?”” He gently rocks her, trying to get her to answer him. He feels her body shudder once more and he cries out. “Catherina! Majesty?” He screams at the world as he holds her body against him, crying into her shoulder like a child.

The Worst They Could - Entry 6

The Worst They Could If one was among Odysseus’ crew on board the ship, as they were nearing the rock of Scylla, rowing as always since he was not aware of what would soon emerge from the depths of that rock’s cave, observing Odysseus’ putting on his full armor and raising his weapons with perfect silence around, and finally be entirely devoid of the ability to predict that in an instant there shall pass next to Odysseus a hideous head with three rows of black teeth to pick him up high and take him with it to its cave... such a person’s sole remaining fate would be to crawl on the rocks of that cave’s edge for the little time it would take Scylla’s head to stretch backwards in preparing its voracious descent onto him... Back in the ship, Odysseus would recall how the above sight had been the worst human eyes could fall upon. And yet, if, paradoxically, one had been a member of that ship’s crew in some previous time as well, and yet again was in an identical journey, then he might even succeed (after a large number of repeats of the same conclusion) to remember at that specific moment: just what would appear next to Odysseus as he was obscurely putting on his armor. And, coming to terms with the idea that he would never avoid his pitiful destiny to come, regardless of how many times he still had to face the same, perhaps he would then discover some great source of interest in observing keenly and with ever increasing accuracy each time that shape of the beast – the shape which (as we are told in the Rhapsody) not even the gods could bare.

[Shankbot de Bodemloze]

Best of luck to the entrants, I'm looking forward to sitting through and reading these.

[Frunk]

Voted.

[Flinn]

I'm back

I'll read them all and vote asap, let's see what our appreciated writers have come out with this time

[theSilentKiller]

Voted! Great writings

[AltThrax]

Voted. Good luck!

[Flinn]

Voted as well, good luck to all the participants!

[Socrates1984]

Voted. Good luck to all participants!

[Kyriakos]

Voted as well ^^

[Roma_Victrix]

VOTED!!!!

[Rabbit55821]

Voted! Best of luck to the participants!

[Alwyn]

Voted! A difficult choice, I was torn between two or three entries and all of the submissions are good. Good luck to everyone!

[ggggtotalwarrior]

Well . Wished I had seen this was a thing during the submission phase.

[Sir Adrian]

It has recently been brought to our attention that White Dwarf will become free DLC in one or two days time. This renders our prize moot.

Normally we do not issue prizes and since this key was a gift from CA (many thanks to Darren and Gunny) for use in site competitions we do not have anything ready to replace it with. We apologies for this situation. The key will be still be handed out as promised even though it's useless now, maybe the winner can find some use for it later on if the dlc stops being free.


Atthias tells me it was meant to become free DLC all along. We deeply apologize, none of us play W:TW so we literally had no clue. We will be making it up with extra amounts of rep.

[Kyriakos]

A... dwarf's weight in rep

[Swiss Halberdier]

Voted

[Sir Adrian]

Due to the generosity of Gunny we have a replacement award. First place will get a Nomads DLC key for Rome II.