View Poll Results: Which story did You like best?

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  • Submission 1

    2 33.33%
  • Submission 2

    0 0%
  • Submission 3

    4 66.67%
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Thread: TotW 264: Wizard School -VOTE THREAD!

  1. #1

    Default TotW 264: Wizard School -VOTE THREAD!

    Creative Workshop Competitions - Check out our sister competitions here on TWC! << Picture of the Week Competitions | Tale of the Week Competition | Monthly Writers' Study Competitions >>


    Wizard School



    You have ONE vote.



    Submission 1
    Once upon a time there was a boy with a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt on his head. This boy went to a wizard school on a train, and there he used his wand to make a potion. It wasn’t a love potion though, it was a potion to change his appearance, so that he could…

    This is just Harry Potter! You’ve just used up all the prompt words as quickly as you could and put absolutely 0 effort into it, come up with something better or I’ll delete your post you imbecile!” Bellowed theSilentKiller, the fearsome Competition Director as he loomed over the cowering pleb known as Caligula.
    What do you expect me to write? I’ve got less than 5 hours left until the deadline because I completely forgot about the competition. You can’t expect the next great American novel from me. This isn’t going to be my magnum opus. I don’t expect this will be studied in schools across the globe, or for 'intellectuals' to spend years discussing the nuances of the text and the evocative language which strips away the façade and strikes right at the heart of society. I merely want to write a simple piece that will hopefully evoke a few chuckles” cried out Caligula plaintively.

    “Oh do shut up, and write something with a hint of quality”. With that, theSilentKiller stalked out of Caligula’s study and slammed the door behind him, crushing the hopes and dreams of yours truly. Caligula wasn’t one to let a temporary setback such as this ruin him however, and being a jolly person, he decided that theSilentKiller was merely playing a good ol’ practical joke. With a hum and a smile, Caligula sat down at his desk to continue his story.

    …gain access to the Illuminati’s secret lair where the world leaders from across the globe had gathered for their annual stockholder’s meeting. There was President Putin with his bare chest, astride a mighty stallion. There was Kim Jong Un, being carried upon a palanquin by his loyal subjects whilst Donald Trump built a wall in the corner to keep the scary people out. The boy with the scar on his head was horrified by what he heard, the discussions that abounded regarding slave labour and mind control and the oppression of the masses. He had heard enough, and decided that now was the time to take action. With a swish, and a flick of his wand he revealed himself to the assembled leaders and denounced their evil plans.
    “I say chaps, this is a jolly rotten purpose you have set yourself to! How dare you try to control everyone? Surely we should be able to write and think and do whatever we want even if you disagree with it? Just because you don’t agree with something doesn’t mean you can censor them...”

    “This is just idiotic Harry Potter fan-fic! Write something better and stop desecrating the English language, you good for nothing hack!” screamed theSilentKiller.


    Submission 2
    Harry swore as one of Tinker Bell Industries’ miniature flying steam-trains whooshed past his ear, to the delight of the children on board and the exasperation of their parents. Harry threw an apologetic look towards the adults, and made a mental image of a middle finger appear in the minds of the young ones. He had never been much for decency.

    He was fairly far away, but still within earshot of the upset screams when one of the kids finally told their mother what he had seen, so Harry started to run, just to get around the corner.

    There he saw the advertisement he came to look at every day. In blood red letters were the words “Your wandneed a polish? Call Susie on 333-333-frog-raven-raven-habanero (all animal-letters must be lowercase).” and a picture of an uncomfortable woman holding some wandpolish in one hand and a tissue in the other.

    This morning, like every other, Harry created a simple spell that made the woman on the poster grow a moustache. Giggling, Harry continued his morning walk.

    The next stop on Harry’s adventure was the liquor store. Harry wasn’t welcome there anymore, not since the time he force fed the neighbourhood cats and dragons love potions he had stolen, but the way he saw it you can’t put a price on love.

    That’s why he used a mind control spell on one of the several homunculi that had recently been climbing up from the sewers with tales of evil wizards and gigantic crocodiles. A harmless creature, Harry thought, easy to control and easier to blame his crimes on.

    The collection of goo and bodily fluids made its way into the liquor store and managed to pick up a bottle of Gwyn, the brightest sun-vodka produced this side of the sun before the shopkeeper sensed magic in the air and threw a lightning bolt at the innocent creature.

    The last stop on Harry’s walk was also his favourite. In a dimly lit corner of the street was an evil looking tavern, with an evil sounding name. Harry went inside, and took his usual place at the bar. The publican, who was a small and wiry man with a scar running across his face and a grin constantly painted across his evil looking face made a grunt towards Harry that could have meant “Hey bro, how you doing?”. Harry replied in style.

    This grunting back and forth went on for some time, concluding in the publican telling Harry what he had done over the weekend. *Grunt* “I threw some rocks at ducks earlier.”

    *Grurunt* “Nice, I made a man destroy his own glasses.”

    *Gruntyrunt* “Anyway, why have people started calling you Horrible Harry?”

    *Gruntaruntaroo* “I don’t know man, it’s basically bullying”




    Submission 3
    Wizard School

    The scar formed by the glistening railroad tracks seemed to stretch for miles across the barren landscape of the sand dunes, the wreckage of a train now split the symmetry of the two steel lines, as its carriages and engine spilled over the sand like the body of a decapitated cobra, the smallest but most deadly snake to be found in the deserts of the Nefud.

    Abdullah rose from his prone position on the ground, wiping fine grains of sand from his clothing he smiled admiringly at the chaos and destruction that the four sticks of dynamite from a looted Turkish supply truck had provided him with. His smile turned to a snarl of satisfaction as he watched the few enemy soldiers that had survived the derailment cut down by placed shots by the expert rifleman of his people or by mounted tribesmen brandished gleaming scimitars that caught the midday Sun as they were raised to the vertical for the killing stroke, shortly followed by an arc of arterial blood springing from the neck of their chosen victim. Elsewhere men looted the dead or checked the smashed carriages of the train for survivors who were quickly dispatched with the cut of a curved knife to the throat.

    He turned to his left and with a smile that never quite reached his eyes looked at the man who had risen from the sand next to him, he remembered how the golden haired man had turned up at his tribe’s encampment seemingly out of nowhere, dressed in the spotless uniform of the British, promising golden sovereigns and freedom from the Ottomans for those who would rise up in resistance to their rule.
    Unlike his compatriots who believed the promises that the Englishman gave, he did not believe a word of them, his fellow Bedouin had fallen under the spell of the man; it was as if the swagger stick he tapped against his hip was a magic wand that had bewitched all around him, apart of course from Abdullah.

    Like all of this ‘type’ of Englishman, he emanated self-belief, confidence and a level of arrogance concerning his own abilities, this seemed to be drummed into them by what the English and this particular Englishman called Wizard Schooling; however in his case this was tempered by a gift to charm, cajole and persuade all around him to do his bidding or to join his cause, even without the gifts of gold, many Bedouin would have still followed him, it was as they had drunk some magic potion that had installed in them nothing but love for the man and his mad attacks on the Turks.
    It wasn’t that Abdullah though that Captain Lawrence was a liar, he just thought him naive; he knew once the Ottomans had been defeated that Britain and France would carve up the lands of his people between them.

    It was ever the way of the powerful.





    Best of luck to all of our entrants!

  2. #2
    Alwyn's Avatar Frothy Goodness
    Content Director Patrician Citizen

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    Default Re: TotW 264: Wizard School -VOTE THREAD!

    Voted! I enjoyed all three stories, good luck to everyone.

  3. #3

    Default Re: TotW 264: Wizard School -VOTE THREAD!

    Voted. So hard to choose. Good luck to all.





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  4. #4
    Commissar Caligula_'s Avatar The Ecstasy of Potatoes
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    Default Re: TotW 264: Wizard School -VOTE THREAD!

    Haha great work guys, a broad variety to choose from.




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