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Jul 2, 12 at 6:10am ^Writing Challenge: A Picture Says (Finished)
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Alright, exams should be over or near enough for everyone, so it's time to bust out a serious WC challenge, one for you guys and girls (and other thing) to sink your teeth into. The aim of this contest is broad and simple: to paint a picture with words. You can spend time setting up the details and the back-story and leading up to the moment, but ultimately your entry should give the reader one creative evocative brilliant image in their mind, whatever you want that image to be.
Following are rules and guidelines on entries:
Entries will be accepted up until 3 weeks from today (Monday the 23rd of July). After this is a 1 week voting period (until Monday the 30th of July), during which duelists may choose their top 3 entries. After the points have been totalled up, the 3 top duelists are given prizes.
Entries may be made any time from the time that this is posted to the 23rd of July. Submissions will be added in the first post, although a duelist may edit or withdraw their entry before this deadline if they wish to. After the deadline has passed, changes can no longer be made.
During the voting stage each duelist in the NDL - whether or not they entered the challenge - may PM me a vote listing their first, second, and third picks for best entry by duelist name. Any PMs without all 3 picks will not be counted. Duelists who do not vote will, themselves, not be eligible to win, so if you do submit an entry, do your part to help out and vote as well. Each first place pick will grant a duelist 3 points in the contest, second place 2 points and third place just 1 point, and you cannot vote for yourself. The top 3 entries win prizes.
In keeping with tradition, the prizes in this challenge are hidden by code-names, with their true nature revealed once the contest is over.
The In-Colour Image
The Polished Picture
The Simple Sketch
All duelists who send in a vote will be entered into a raffle for a special extra prize.
quote Al The Killer
quote Bale Fire
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|Al The Killer||
Jul 6, 12 at 3:25pm ^re: Writing Challenge: A Picture Says (Finished)
"Alright everyone, gather up!" West shouted.
"Do I absolutely have to do this?" Silence growled, staring down at his fancy new dress clothes. He was dressed to the nines in a white, slightly poofy dress shirt. His belt was black leather, with a chrome belt buckle of a coyote's head. He was wearing black leather shoe. He decided to keep his hat.
"Oh COME ON. It'll be fun Mr.Grumpy!" Ezra squealed at him, her bright yellow sundress ending above her knees. Her heels were tossed aside in favor of going barefoot. Her hair was blond for this occasion, as well as straightened. Her electric blue eyes shone even more in the lighting as she took her place beside Silence.
"That's the spirit, man!" Audio shouted, putting on his jacket. It was black with a fur rimmed hood. He was wearing a nice pair of jeans and sneakers.
West was dressed in a suit, and was standing to the far left of Silence, on the opposite end of Audio. His white hair was freshly trimmed, his crimson eyes a stark contrast to the rest of the people.
The area around them was a meadow. Wildflowers surrounded the group, no two the same. The sky was clear today, save for a few white, puffy clouds.
"Alright everyone, say "Astrological." The man behind the camera said. He was a short, scruffy man. A reporter of war. He had short, cropped black hair and a slight amount of stubble on his face. His name was Theo Livingston, and he was thew newest member of their team. He was sent by a news station to cover the hunters.
"Astrological." The group said in unison. As the camera snapped, Ezra snatched Silence's hat, sending him into a violent spasm. He turned to scream at her. Audio frowned at this, and West started to scald the both of them.
That was what was caught in the "family portrait" West had begged them all to do.
Al The Killer: Hot Mom Aligned Emerging Moderator and Gatherer of Literature
Jul 14, 12 at 3:50pm ^re: Writing Challenge: A Picture Says (Finished)
Luther & Remiel
This was originally part of my HC WC entry, but it fits the concept I had for this WC perfectly, so I cut and paste it. A follow-up to File.18, and a prelude to the Phantasmal Plataeu HC WC.
An uneasy kind of silence stretched out across the briefing room.
At one end of the room, behind a desk and simmering with a barely-contained rage, was Lieutenant Kanasis. At the other, leaning against the door with a scowl on his dark face, was Mikaere. Between the two of them stood Luther and Remiel, the latter of the pair looking considerably uneasy.
“I want to go,” Luther spoke up through the silence eventually. Even his normally self-assured tone wobbled under the tension, and he swallowed down his nerves and forced himself not to look behind him, at the corian in the doorway. “I want to prove myself.” Kanasis shook her head in disbelief.
“You’re mad,” she managed, almost having to force out the words. “You’re completely mad.” She glanced up once at Mikaere, who regarded her with an unchanging gaze. His claws were slowly cutting tiny lines into the floor, moving back and forth slightly with every passing second. The fear only showed on her face for the barest fraction of a second. “You do understand that this is essentially a suicide mission?” she demanded. Luther shrugged.
“You’ve not seen the ISM in action,” he replied, then grimaced. “And, uh, can you pretend you never saw it at all? I get shot if people find out, that’s all.”
“I think we are already far beyond firing squad,” Remiel muttered, drawing his wings even closer around his body with a rustle of membrane and fabric. Faint smears of green and brown were visible on his skin, the remnants of their last mission. That he had yet to clean them off was another indicator of how uneasy their current situation had made him.
“You’re not ready for anything like this, even assuming I’d trust you with it,” Kanasis muttered. “You don’t take anything seriously. Sometimes I have a hard time believing you’re a soldier at all.” Luther made an affronted noise, straightening slightly almost subconsciously. A faint smile crept onto her face at his reaction, but it was quickly dismissed and replaced with her military sternness once more. “I won’t authorise it,” she told him.
“But-” Luther started.
“Let them go,” Mikaere cut in. Kanasis looked up at him again, a pained look on her face.
“It could kill them. I’m fairly sure it will,” she disagreed. “I don’t care what you think, we need that mech on our side. Have you seen it? If we can come up with something like it – hell, if we can come up with a vastly inferior version it’ll still give us an edge we never had before! And with a pilot? I’m not throwing this chance away, Mikaere. So put your prejudices to one side for just one moment. We’re at war.” Mikaere’s eyes narrowed, and Kanasis moved backwards slightly, one hand going to the desk as if steadying herself for something.
“Let them go,” he repeated. Kanasis returned his glare in force, despite her previous movement.
“No,” she replied. “I told you. We need them. Intact. Alive. At least think of the corian.” She jerked her head in Remiel’s direction, and he moved away uncertainly, looking even more uncomfortable under their joint scrutiny than before.
“I do. More than you do,” Mikaere replied calmly. “And I will tell you a third time to let them go.”
“You are not in charge here!” Kanasis exclaimed, exasperation winning through her hesitance. “I will not be the officer who authorises lone wolves to run into the unknown on a whim. Mikaere looked at her for a few long moments, then shrugged.
Kanasis screamed in pain, falling to all fours behind her desk with her hands clutching at her head. Luther yelped in surprise pain and shock as he felt Remiel tear their link apart, and before he could even move the corian had jumped over the desk and landed beside the howling Clyrian. A few more seconds of screaming at the acidic pain of the link forming, and then she trailed off with a few shuddering breaths. Mikaere was scowling now, thunderous anger written into the lines on his face.
“Remiel,” he began, the albino getting to his feet and turning to face the taller corian.
“If you force her into submission with pain, you are no better than those you claim to hate,” he remarked, his voice a lot more level than Luther had expected from how scared he’d been before. Luther himself was still stood exactly where he had been before, the aftermath of the breaking link leaving him a little dizzy, disorientated and uncertain how to react. Mikaere only made a noise of amusement.
“You are not as all-knowing as you would like to believe, ihina,” he replied, his eyes darting from Remiel to Kanasis as she pushed herself back to her feet.
“Well,” she began, brushing the dust from her combats and rotating one shoulder slightly. “It’s nice to see you still don’t give a damn about humiliating me in front of the NCOs.” Mikaere said nothing, but did offer a shrug. “But you have made your point, you damnable creature.” She pulled the sheet of paper they had been debating over to her, and with a swift flourish of the pen marked her signature at the bottom. Luther had no idea what it actually said – all the text was in the strange, runic script the clyrians wrote in, of which he understood nothing.
“I always do,” Mikaere responded. Remiel was watching him closely, a frown on his face. Kanasis only sighed.
“If they don’t come back,” she began, her voice low, “then it is on your head. And I will make you guilty for both lives, not just the corian’s.” Luther looked over a Remiel, nerves building like a knot in his stomach, but his partner’s eyes were still fixed on Mikaere.
“Understood,” Mikaere agreed, now looking at Remiel rather than Kanasis. Luther bit his lip, looking at the signature in trepidation.
Maybe this would be a little tougher than he’d anticipated.
Word count: 1000 words. Aw yiss.
Jul 16, 12 at 3:26am ^re: Writing Challenge: A Picture Says (Finished)
“Welcome to Meevaj manor, Crimson.” Jabahal greeted Crimson, a friend of old times, to his home.
“Nice to meet you Jabahal. You’re ‘lord’ now, right?”
“I’m as much a lord is to his underlings as a professor is to his students. For you, I’m plain old Jabahal.” Jabahal said as he patted on his shoulder. The two smiled and laughed as they walked in the large main hall. The host left his guest as he went to bring him something. Crimson was mostly blind and so he was searching the walls of the hall by touching them. He came across a bump with a glassy texture.
“I’m back!” Jabahal joyously said as he saw his friend by his painting. “Oh I see the artwork has intrigued you.” Jabahal said, slowing himself down with The Fist of Erebus in hand.
“Yes it has. What is it?”
“Ah. My friend, this is a picture of one of my encounters with the god Tyr. Do you want me to show you The Fist of Erebus?”
“Yes, but do that later. One step at a time. First describe this picture for me.”
Jabahal paused and smiled before putting his prized weapon aside. Taking a deep breath and trying to remember the details of the event, Jabahal started telling. “This battle took place in an icy cave. Weeks before this encounter I was searching for Dracodei, a dragon to cut it short. I had no idea where Dracodei was or how I could reach him. Following some clues and Erebus’ advice I headed to a Norwegian temple.”
“Who’s Erebus?” Crimson interrupted.
“Erebus is a… a companion and guide of mine. Very knowledgeable. He found the temple and told me to go there. There, I met Tyr for the first time in this particular ordeal, where I was almost instantly bested. In that temple I found a shrine though with instructions which I salvaged later without any interference. I wanted to summon Dracodei and this shrine showed me the way, strangely it involved a musical ritual. After some time I gathered my own artistic team, which consisted mostly of an orchestra and then set out to reach this icy cave where we had to play.”
“This cave was special. It was more like a large room. The floor was flat marble and the walls were crystalline ice. It was in no way dark either because of the torches around the walls which lit the place. I opened up a portal from which our musicians and artists came out. One of them was the painter of this very picture. With this portal the team easily brought in their instruments which even included a piano and organ, then quickly settled in and readied themselves, warming up a bit.”
“What was the purpose of bringing in this painter?”
“We wanted to capture any special moments. The moment we were anticipating was when Dracodei’s summoning finished. That’s why I stationed him at the back of the room, behind us all.”
“You got something else. Continue.”
“Yes. After the orchestra prepared itself, they started playing. Midway through the song, Tyr showed up. I had ordered the whole team to continue their jobs no matter what happened and fortunately they listened, continuing playing. Tyr demanded me to end this, and you can guess what happened next. It was that moment that was captured in this picture; when I sank the spear end of the mighty Fist of Erebus into Tyr’s torso as he held the pole with his one hand, wings spread out. It was glorious.”
“You killed Tyr!?” Crimson asked in an unbelievable manner.
“Well no. With that one hand he pulled my weapon out and tossed it aside, something I knew he’d probably do. That’s when I opened another portal from which one of my death squads came out. They were all tough fighters and experienced sorcerers. Together we managed to subdue the god, till he fled.”
“What about Dracodei?”
“Oh well I can’t go in detail of what exactly happened there with Dracodei, but I can tell you it was a success.”
“Well the world’s still intact and a kilometer long dragon hasn’t been sighted in the sky.”
“Exactly. This painting’s significance lies in symbolizing our triumph over Tyr. Me, in my bulky armor holding the Fist of Erebus by its main end, which has its secondary spear end coming out of Tyr’s back. To the right of the picture the whole string group playing their violas, cellos and double basses. Behind me and Tyr here, the organ is being played. To the left the musicians are having a blast with their horns and drums. It’s magnificent, how everyone’s playing together while being dismissive of Tyr’s presence in this epic place with its sparkling icy background. The look on Tyr’s face is one of anger and frustration and that’s what it all leads to.”
“Congrats on that!”
“Well thank you Crimson, now do you want to test the Fist of Erebus yourself?”
“No thanks, let’s leave that for a little later.”
Nothing currently available.
Jul 22, 12 at 3:15pm ^re: Writing Challenge: A Picture Says (Finished)
A Moment Frozen in Time
We start with the father. A look of pure joy and warmth upon his face. The kind of happiness that can only come from holding your child for the first time. He’s been thinking about it for a long while, and he now has a name for the child. He’s about to announce it to the people gathered.
From him we go to the doctor, a distasteful frown on his face. What he had done had been a miracle, there was no doubt. But he didn’t believe in miracles. He only had faith in science. Something else was pressing him at the moment however. His nurse was unabashedly groping him with a mischievous look in her eyes.
Now we come upon the father’s business partners. He had insisted that they be a part of this moment, much to their chagrin. The first man was absorbed in his laptop, silently counting every wasted second and planning on filing a complaint with the organization. The second man seemed far too interested in the child and the possibilities it presented. The third man had his fingers interlocked and wore a satisfied grin. He knew that this would happen. A sheathed sword rested next to him, but no one seemed to pay it any mind.
In the doorway of their waiting room we find a teenager wearing what some might describe as a psychotic grin on his face. He had not wanted to come to this place, but now that he was here he was having what fun he could. The nurse’s pet was chasing a toy robot underneath his legs in their ever eternal rivalry.
Let us take another pass at this scene.
Ged Tenshi is wearing his traditional black, his finger running along the baby’s nose. His other arm cradles it as he holds it close to his chest. The baby seems to be playfully trying to bite at his finger.
Dr. Mortis Blackwraith is wearing a white lab coat as is tradition. Unfortunately the operation had turned messy and there are several red stains. He is just seconds from reproaching nurse Amadeth for her unwelcome sexual advances. She’s wearing her own nurse outfit brought from home. Not all of its blood stains are from the operation.
Glados had shown up only because he was promised a favor from the necromancer. He already had the favor in mind, his pc showing the image of a cat-man. Koil had not needed to be bribed, he had a deep curiosity of whether what Ged was planning would work and the possibilities it might hold for his own company. He was glad that Glados seemed uninterested in things as it would make the plans for his own business to utilize this procedure far easier to enact.
Nezia was glad that things had worked out. Even though he knew that they would. Arranging this for Ged placed him firmly in the necromancer’s good graces and more importantly brought his goals that much closer to fruition. Sitting next to him the Carnifex patiently waited for some unsuspecting fool to pull it free. The chances were low, but there were was no harm in trying.
Their tag along child companion with no name held two guns. He was surrounded by several dead bodies, a necessary fact as LIEV had chosen to do the procedure at a hospital, bringing the tools necessary for the job with them. Admittedly only those that had seen them needed to be taken care of, but the child had bypassed this by simply letting himself be seen by everyone
Arimus the tiger cub could never seem to figure out the Executioner. He wanted to play, but it didn’t, and that just didn’t make sense. He had tried several times to bite on it to see if that helped any, but all it did was get the robot to scream about murder and Hitler. Arimus wasn’t about to give up any time soon though. He chased it around the hospital blissfully unaware of the massacre around him.
One last time we come to the father, Ged Tenshi. The mother, if it can be called that, had perished not too long ago. Simply another victim in the violent outbursts from the cruel duelists of the world. Struck down before its prime, it could have gone on to do great things. Ged knew he had to do something, that there had to be a way to have just one more chance. He did not trust LIEV, but what was the point of being a member if they never helped him.
The undead child tried to bite the necromancer’s finger. It was so hungry. Its wide innocent eyes stared up to Ged, and it heard its father whisper its name for the first time.
False hope leads to true despair, watch how quickly white turns to black.
Jul 23, 12 at 8:57pm ^re: Writing Challenge: A Picture Says (Finished)
Duel Before Dawn
Silence fell over the deck of the HMS Morgan as soon as Gabriel stepped into the skirmish. All at once, the sound of the battle that had been taking place previously stopped as though it had never begun, leaving no sound in the air but the symphony of pouring rain, and all eyes trained upon the Father – those of both soldier and devil alike.
“Ah,” Gabriel remarked softly as he approached, eyes going to the soldier nearest him – the captain of the now-tattered Special Ops team that had been sent with him – as rain pattered off the bubble of light he’d drawn around himself as a shield. “It seems you’ve discovered our problem as well. Unfortunate. I’d hoped your skepticism would ring true.” The captain spat irritably, not daring to look out from behind the cannon he was using as protection.
“Yeah, you can say you told me so later,” he muttered. “For now, I’d prefer you help us out of this shithole we’ve dug ourselves. I only have five men left, and we’ve sure as flaming hell not done anything to that.” He gave a sharp leftward incline of his head in indication, but Gabriel had already turned – his eyes having already long found what had made such short work of the team.
By any standard, the devil was massive. Silhouetted against moonlight, it stood taller than the destroyer’s guns and more than doubled Gabriel in girth. It wielded no weapon, presumably for lack of any place to hide one on a ship; in spite of this, the only signs it bore to suggest the strike team had even managed to inconvenience it were the network of holes in the membranes of its wings and a few negligible bullet chips in the black horns protruding from its head.
“So,” the winged beast rumbled, its voice immediately identifying it as a male, its luminescent red slits of eyes training upon Gabriel just as the priest laid his own upon it. “You must be the Knight of Whitecross I was told might be tagging along. Vanhanen, is it?”
“Mm,” Gabriel agreed, nodding grimly. “Indeed. I wish I could say this meeting comes as a pleasure, Commodore.” Catching himself, he amended, “Or, should I say, Tarith.” Spreading his arms as though to indicate the the ship, Gabriel went on. “Tell me something – what was there to gain from the trouble you’ve gone through? Hiding yourself behind the identity of an established Commodore, virtually hijacking a destroyer with thralls and inserts…what was your endgame, hellspawn?” The pit fiend, Tarith, let out a low, almost mocking laugh.
“I’m quite sure you would like to know, Father,” he chortled. “But I’m afraid I am not quite so unintelligent as the cretins you’ve grown used to dealing with.” Gabriel sighed deeply, shaking his head.
“I thought as much. A shame,” he remarked. “I was hoping at least one of your kind would make things easy, just once. Captain,” he swiveled his head back around to face the strike team commander, now cautiously peering out from behind his cover. “Do stay hidden. The deck is about to become rather a mess.”
The captain opened his mouth as if to reply, but never got the chance. All at once, the pit fiend at the end of the deck took wing, tearing toward Gabriel at the other side, while the priest himself broke the cross from the chain around his neck, taking hold of it in the palm of his hand. With only seconds to spare, the silver trinket flashed with white, elongating into a long, silver sword just in time for Gabriel to bring it up and absorb the force of Tarith’s claws. Reacting with masterful form, the Father parried, putting the full strength of his upper body behind striking Tarith away from him. Immediately, Gabriel followed it up, closing the distance between the two of them and lashing out with his claymore. Reflexively, Tarith lunged with a clawed right hand, grabbing the blade and blocking the attack quite effectively, although not without having a deep gash scored through his palm.
“You’re better than your comrades,” the pit fiend rumbled lazily, not seeming too troubled by the attack. “I will give you that much. I very nearly find myself impressed.”
“If it weren’t for your actions tonight,” Gabriel shot back, teeth gritted in as he met the devil in a deadlock of strength. “I would very nearly feel complimented.”
Before Tarith could respond or react, Gabriel took his left hand from the hilt of his claymore. At once, the pit fiend found himself pitched forward as his strength suddenly far overcame his opponent’s – pitched forward, and straight into the spell Gabriel had taken his hand away to prepare. Tarith reeled backwards on reflex, wings propelling him toward relative safety at the other end of the deck, but not quite quickly enough; magic flashed in Gabriel’s palm before he had even made it halfway, an arrow of blazing light rocketing out from his fingertips with a sharp ring. Swearing in a growled, unearthly language, Tarith instinctively reached up toward his head, suddenly uncomfortably aware that something was missing.
As if on cue, just as he reached the stump of what had once been his full right horn, something hard clinked against the ship deck behind him, before falling into the sea with an innocent splish. Red eyes widened in momentary, stunned disbelief, Tarith shot a look at his opponent across the deck, and was met only with the look of grim determination as Gabriel gripped his sword, again, with two hands.
“But alas, Tarith,” the preacher went on, settling into stance as light shot up around his blade. “I’m afraid my duty entails leaving you much more than impressed.”
Roaring with fury, Tarith lunged on the spot, streaking across the deck and toward Gabriel. Simply smiling grimly, the priest brought his sword up in preemptive counterattack, striking out at his quarry with a single brilliant, cutting flash from overhead.
Word count: 1000 on the dot, minus the title and divider. Hell yeah. Planning on posting the rest as a Chronicle because awesome.
"Don't be afraid of the dark and cold..."
Jul 23, 12 at 11:20pm ^re: Writing Challenge: A Picture Says (Finished)
On the horizon...
On a beach far away from anything resembling civilisation, Chase lay stretched out on the sand. Apart from a few birds and fish, he was alone, the place completely devoid of human life. It was late afternoon, the horizon a beautiful mix of red and orange, as if the sun itself had set it ablaze. And then there was the ocean, the waves breaking apart at just the right moment before crashing down upon the shore. Laying there on the beach, Chase did not think he had ever witnessed such a glorious sight as the one before him now, even in his own time.
Slowly his eyes went to the right. The long curve of the beach eventually yielding to rough brown rock, Chase had been up there earlier. Amongst the nearby rock pools he had discovered all manner of life, from creatures with feelers and claws, to seaweed both green and brown. He had even tossed a pebble into the water, just to watch everything scatter from the ripples.
Then Chase turned his gaze to the left. In this direction the beach gave way to tropical jungle, rather than rocks. While he had not yet explored down there yet, the broad-leaved trees went back as far as he could see. Perhaps later he would find shelter there, or maybe even pick some fruit. It was the right time of year for it, and just the thought of biting into a few juicy berries while he sat on the beach was enough to make him smile.
It was then that Chase felt something splash against his foot. Raising his head a little, he saw that while he had been busy thinking about his next meal, the tide had come in. For a while Chase remained where he was, the ocean rising steadily. Closing his eyes, he felt rather than saw the waves roll over his legs and run along his sides. He could taste the salt on his lips and breathe in the rich clean air that could only be found far from the cities. For just a single moment, that was his whole world.
Finally Chase sat up, his eyes once more on the horizon. It was getting late, and tomorrow he would have to leave this place. The frothing waves of the ocean, the hot white sand of the beach, the jagged edges of the rocks and the humidity of the jungle, he would have to leave it all behind. Chase did not know where his deities were or how long it might take to find them, but he would search nonetheless.
As he lay back on the beach, however, he tried not to think of that. Tomorrow would be a day of travel, but today was a day of rest. Sunset feeling so very far away, Chase yawned and closed his eyes. The sky, a beautiful display of light, was the only thought inside his head.
Jul 24, 12 at 10:30am ^re: Writing Challenge: A Picture Says (Finished)
Crysis And Zone
"Are you sure about this Zone?"
"Of course, there's a huge market for this stuff."
"Th, there is?"
"Never mind, let's just focus on the shots. Arch yourself more."
"No, turn a bit more this way... Thaaat's it. Now, lift your tail, so it pulls the dress up."
"Y'know... I think you're messing with me."
"Crysis! Why ever would you think that?"
"Cus, we're doing this instead of a proper writing challenge entry. Why aren't we trying seriously?"
"Well what'd be the point of making a challenge where the prizes are art commissions we pay for, and then working our butts off making a really good entry that places just to win our own money?"
"I guess... But why are we entering at all, then?"
"Cus, one of us has entered every WC since the first. Shake your hips for me"
"And why am I wearing a dress?"
"Because you look gorgeous in it."
"Yeah, ahem... Now, turn back over. Okay, now spread and put a paw around it."
"You're right, sorry. Put two around it, there's enough room."
"Haha! That priceless look!"
"Oh I hope we don't place..."
Jul 24, 12 at 12:00pm ^re: Writing Challenge: A Picture Says (Finished)
We all try to paint pictures with our words. Whose were worthiest of imagery this time? Let's find out.
Voting is open for one week up until Monday the 30th of July. To vote, send a PM to me, Fyrestorm, listing your first, second and third place choices. Use the voting template below, and fill out all 3 spaces.
Jul 31, 12 at 2:00pm ^re: Writing Challenge: A Picture Says (Finished)
There's something a curious few have wanted to see ever since the beginning of writing contests, and today they shall. That's right, today there will be drawing in the top 3!
I will be honest, I hoped this writing contest would draw a few more entries, I mean I really went in big with the prizes here, I had hoped for about a dozen. Still those that did enter did well, and just as much of art will come of it as if more had joined. But you all must be eager, so the winners are:
Spoiler:The Simple Sketch
finalfight: 7 Points
Spoiler:The Polished Picture
Bale Fire: 8 Points
Spoiler:The In-Colour Image
SventheCrusader: 9 Points
The Prizes Revealed
(Names will not be used for this post so as not to spoil the surprise if you scroll down too far by mistake. See spoilers for the results.)
For any who got this far, and are disappointed after what the opening promised, it was actually a pun.
It is in every way a challenge for the imagination to write and to draw - when what you create may be anything, what do you make it? Many offered an answer, and one was found good enough to deserve The Simple Sketch. Their idea shall be realised in plain, but honoured form, for up to the value of $10.
Another has earned a greater depiction, for their work is to be cast not only in shape but also in light and shadow as The Polished Picture, a full $20 going towards expressing the depth of their creativity.
And one last visualisation was held to be the greatest given that day. It would be made The In-Colour Image, entirely $30 dedicated toward bringing to life the essence of its shape and shade and colours.
Finally, in a raffle of voters, SventheCrusader won the right to select an image for the NDL footer.
Usually this is about the end of things, but now there's the exciting "finding artists" bit to come !
Jul 31, 12 at 2:06pm ^re: Writing Challenge: A Picture Says (Finished)
Well done to all those who placed!
D'you want me to go through my list of staple fairly cheap artists, Fyre? I got a few good people I'm fairly sure are open for the winners to look through.
One day I'll break out of 4th/5th and place again. I'm somewhat glad I didn't for this one though, I got plenty of pictures of my guys (and gals) already.
Jul 31, 12 at 4:31pm ^re: Writing Challenge: A Picture Says (Finished)
lol at my (almost) wasted vote. This WC lacked a certain Clief.
Nothing currently available.
Jul 31, 12 at 6:07pm ^re: Writing Challenge: A Picture Says (Finished)
I imagine Bale Fire's will be the easiest one to get done. Chase relaxing on the beach seems a simple venture. For my own part the only bit that matters is Ged holding a zombie baby, which shouldn't be to complex.
SventheCrusader's placement is fortunate as his will be the most difficult to realize, and thus the one most in need of money.
Fyrestorm is awesome for fronting for this. I actually thought the ridiculousness of your entry might get you to place without you even trying
Only people who participated voted
I am convinced that Fyre is somehow manipulating fate to make these results never end in a tie!
False hope leads to true despair, watch how quickly white turns to black.
Jul 31, 12 at 8:05pm ^re: Writing Challenge: A Picture Says (Finished)
Archimonde_STG I had nothing for this one man. Besides, corruption writes better comedy than me
Aug 1, 12 at 5:30am ^re: Writing Challenge: A Picture Says (Finished)
finalfight but sir, what could I do to enact such manipulation of results ?
Clief it would've been nice if you entered, and Corruption too. Personally I like your WC entries a lot (and his generally), but if something happened to put you out of mood for it, well I hope it's over .
Hehehe, great job everyone, and I'm happy and amused to have gotten a point . Especially pro effort by SventheCrusader, his first first place and what a prize to claim it on . For him and Bale Fire and finalfight, if you guys have artists in mind or want to go looking for them then that's entirely fine, I'll just be money-bags guy for payment, and Tseng_Eclipse has kindly offered to share her list of competitive cartoonists as well, basically I can go and look for someone you'll like as an extended service, if you give me some idea of preferences of style or what have you, but that's only the default option, so if you guys wanna shop around or fall back on known contacts or think on it for a bit, go ahead, think of this as your commission and I'm just bankrolling it .
(I actually feel rather accomplished that no one called out my entry, must've been funny enough to get away with it , hehehe.)
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