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[SG Faire, Artists Crafters and Writers Guild] Tourney


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Okay, well, this is a spinoff of an event we held in the Artist, Crafter, and Writer's Guild over the past few months. Basically, the initial concept was a war between the three sub-organizations in which we used artwork, crafts, and stories to launch attacks against one another.


The winner of the tourney will be determined at the end of the Faire. Each item in a post is worth the same amount of points and do not, necessarily, have to be original contributions. Just make sure you cite it properly if it is not. You can have multiple items in each post (like multiple poems, or things that you crafted/found, etc).


In this version we are going to have a grand mêlée. You may use any method of art, crafts, or writing to do this. The War threads in the ACW forums actually ended up becoming a longer narrative in and of themselves, let's see what happens here. I'll begin.


One by one they came, from all corners of Dragonmount. Grand champions from the land of argument. Great hulking masses from the wastes of Fiddlesticks, with post counts exceeding those of any three other warriors. Mages and other reality-spinners from the land of Guild, beyond the edge of the world. Social Groups from far and wide had come to compete in the battle, to earn renown and spread their name to the four corners of civilization.


Elend looked upon it all, a feverish gleam in his eyes. He had things to take care of. A war to fight, lands to be won. Crafters and Artists to crush beneath his heel. He had learned, just days before, of an attack being planned upon the capital. The tourney was a mistake, he knew. A distraction. But glory was to be won, and honor. Something his men had come to believe he lacked, since the loss of the initiative after the early battles of the conflict.


Taking forth his Blood-Trident his thrust it into the ground and waited. They would come, he knew. And when they did, they would fall.


Please don't double post. If no one replies to a post you made, wait a day or so and then post again if you want.

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Red smiled as she surveyed the other warriors of skill enter the battle field. Grinning inwardly, she made a mental invetory of the tricks she had up her sleeve. "Afterall," she thought to herself, "A person of many crafts shoudl have the advantage in a battle such as this." her blues eyes reflected a mischevious sparkle, and the wind picked up fanning out her hair. This was going to be an epic battle for the ages to come.

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The dark bard sat on a stump at the edge of the battlefield.

His companions were all dead. He was the last of the singers of the Song of the dying of the Light. If he was destined to die, let it be today. Let it be here.


From under his cloak he pulled out a harp and sang his song. A haunting song he composed for all that welcomed death. As the first chords were strummed he chanted in a low voice.

Let it begin.

Let it begin.


The Rejection Of Morrow


The smell of the oncoming thunderstorm

hangs ominous in the air.

The rumble in the distance,

the sigh before the curse,

a tangible silence.

I will be soaking wet today,

so just get it over with.

Tell me, my wound upon my soul,

where should I be tomorrow?

Tell me, where should I be?


I am a vagabond waiting

for a free cold bath.

The rumble in the distance,

I have let myself be cursed.

Man lives his life

in dirty joy and dark pleasantness.

I will be soaking in my filth,

I will drown but won't regret.

Tell me, my blood dripping knife,

where should we be tomorrow?

Tell me, where should we be?


Somewhere in the distance

a cloud shoots down its bolts

and I receive its wrath

not for the first time.

Somewhere in that cloud

my judgment awaits.

I will be soaking wet today

so just get it over with.


All the drops that will fall

have fallen on me before.

It will be over tomorrow,

I will take shelter no more.


Tell me, my beautiful killer,

where should I be tomorrow?

Why don't you take my life today?

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Khyle wheeled his horse around and entered the grounds from the rear. As a mercenary, he was hired to the highest bidder, but regardless of how wealthy his patrons were, he didn't want to attract attention to himself. The grounds were bustling with activity, and as his mount trotted past the tents he could hear the scrape of swords being sharpened, and the smell of armour being polished. This was the first time he had ventured so far into the mainland, and while this was far from his first contract, he still felt slightly nervous being in an unfamiliar place.


UHM, I HOPE THIS IS OKAY? I'm representing for the Artists, so is it okay to add writing as well?

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In the middle of the tounrament grounds, a thin slice of silver appeared. The slice suddenly began revolving and turning, until it had opened up into a perfect, rectangular doorway in the very air itself. Out of this arcane gateway, a black boot emerged, followed by the cloaked and ominously hooded figure of Pherno.


Allowing the gateway to dissipate behind him, Pherno surveyed his competition. Fools. Pherno thought smugly to himself, They think that they can defeat the might of me? When i have the power of Shayol Ghul and the entire Shadow behind me? It was time to show these children how it was done. Decades of traversing the continent, bringing the Word of the Shadow to every corner of the globe had honed his musical and vocal skills to a very fine point. After all, the word of the Shadow was sometimes very difficult to teach. And that Word... was 'death'.


With a dramatic flourish, pherno stroked his goatee and brought out a lyre concealed within his robes. He tuned it with exaggerated slowness as a small crowd gathered. Clearing his throat, he began to sing.


You do not think that you can win,

With that paunch and double chin?

Your efforts are feeble, almost funny,

Now give up and run to your mummy.


I can channel, did you know that?

I could kill you now, not an eyelid would bat.

I grasp the source, i seize the power,

It signifies your final hour.


The power is mine, the strength of the sun,

I should kill you now, that would be fun.

But no, perhaps you can live some more,

rolling and burning, upon the floor.


You do not think that you can win?

With that paunch and double chin?

Time to die, your time is done,

You shall burn, that will be fun.


With a gesture, the stunned audience burst in to flames, and Pherno ended his song laughing. "Perhaps this WILL be fun after all."

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first i have to post this, as a repersentitive of the Writers




*snorts and trys to maintain composure* anyways, back to the scheduled fight :baalzamon:



Red surveyed the battle grounds from her perch up above and spotted Kivam's army advancing. Grinning in a self assured manner, Red drew out her mighty quill and never ending scroll to begin her counter attack on his advanced assault.


With a furry of writing she had never before felt, she wrote of the impending doom that would befall those poor soldiers below; a wild glint of malicious intent sparked in her eye.



And as the Soldiers advance, the wind began to pick up, the swirling clouds coming together as if Mother Earth herself was in a furry. Darker and darker the skies grew until it seemed as if it was midnight, lightening flickering over head made the battle seem as if it were taking place under a strobe light. A deafening thunder crashed over head as the swirling clouds collided, the temperature dropping as the wind picked up and rain fell suddenly from the sky in sheets as if a bucket had burst open.


Quickly the ground beneath the soldiers feet turned to mud, slowing their advance and making their steps unsure. Hordes of hail the size of soft balls began pelting from the clouds, battering against the soldiers and rendering a small handful unconscious. The wind gusted against them, trying to push them back and gaining strength; the rain poured harder, making visibility little more than a hands breath in front of them. Up above in the sky the clouds began to turn a sickly green in shade, as they crashed and swirled together and the temperature continued to drop.


As fat as this storm had started, it gave birth to a new monstrosity; the clouds swirled together and formed a funnel cloud, the belly of this cloud began an inch by inch dissent to the ground. The wind howled it’s revenge as this cloud dropped, the rain coming to a sudden stop and the Hail ceasing to pummel the troops below. As the cloud hung, mere feet from the ground, an eerie silence befell the land; the electricity of anticipation, the feeling of breath being held hung with that cloud for the seconds it took to meet the ground.


And so the storm gave birth to its most menacing foe, the Tornado. As if to make up for lost time, the rain and hail came back with renewed vigor; the wind howled its rage at the troops that dared to attack it’s creator and the Tornado began to move. It spun with such force and grew to such size than none could live through it’s furry. It roared so loud that people covered their ears for fear their ear drums would burst and tore the ground asunder; leaving a divot in the ground a half a mile wide from where it chewed through the earth. Speeding towards the troops with the force of 5 freight trains, nothing was left in its wake but pure devastation.




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Von Raahn eyed the frackas below, mouth nearly watering at the prospect of joining such delicious chaos. He stood, arms clasped behind his back, bald head bowed as if in supplication to the Gods of war. The pitch of midnight surrounded him, the viewing platform on the bridge of the starship towering over his slight frame, large spiked shoulderguards rising and falling with his slow breath. He knew the plans of the Dark Sovereign. He knew, and he approved. It was a fantastic distraction, one that nearly had him diving in headfirst into the near-divine melee... But no. Not this time. He lifted his head. He would not supplicate to the Gods of war.


He was the very God of War. His master's whims made it so.


The Artists homeworld was ruins, the crafters equally devestated, but holding. His deal with the Mother Muse had cost him much of his army, but had freed him from the conflict, enabling him to concentrate on the true battle at hand.


The Dark Sovereign. The Writers Guild. The enemies.


They would fall. One by one, he would rip them open and drain the very ink from thier veins. He would scrawl dark blasphemies in the name of his master, and he would relish every second of carnage.


He was Von Raahn.


He was carnage.


Carnage Incarnate, he thought, grinning. Brilliantly white, viciously sharp teeth mocked the very concept of a smile as the starship swept into orbit, descending to the surface of the Writers home world. It was time.

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Khyle felt his hair stand on end. Something prickled under his skin, and before he even had time to turn around, the ground behind him exploded, tossing him and his steed into the air. He crashed heavily into the dirt, the smell of smoke thick in the air. Men all around him were screaming, and there was the distinct scent of burning flesh. Khyle seldom felt that strange tingle under his skin, but he knew that when he did, things were about to go south very soon.



Quickly he scrambled over to his dead horse, salvaging his short sword and his bow with its full quiver of arrows. He looked around in a daze, ears still ringing, and briefly considered just getting out of there, but quickly dismissed the thought. I'm paid to be here, damnit. I'll bloody fight this lord's fight for him. He rolled his shoulders to ease out an ache in his left collarbone, but to no avail. One of these days my bloody honour is going to get me killed.


In the distance he heard the pounding of hoofbeats. A battalion of soldiers on horseback broke through the smoke, its bannerman carrying the colours of the lord who paid him off. He hefted his bow and stood up.



Colonel Fanwar drew his sword from its scabbard on his mount's pommel. Lifting it high into the air, he yelled, "Charge, men!" and galloped his horse straight toward the enemy.


lol I spent way too long on this. XD

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Tor's latest post is worth six points. That's like six posts in one, so yeah, he got a lot.


Basically, a decent (not a lot, just more than a sentence or something) length written thing is a point. A pic of something drawn/painted/crafted, w/e equals a point.

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Pherno laughed as the competitors in the tourney plied their feeble trades. They were far too... focused in their endeaveurs to defeat him. Their may be masters of writing, poetry, or art here, but were any masters of all three?


Pherno was.


Withdrawing a tattered book from his cloak, Pherno perched himself dramatically on a rock, surveying the devastation around him. With a maniacal cackle, Pherno began reading from the ancient and yellowed pages of his favourite book; 'Encyclopaedia of Monsters, Myths and Magic'. With this book, he could summon an unholy managerie of monsters both benevolent and foul. All he had to do was read their entry in the Encyclopaedia, and they would spring to life, straight out of the pages.


Grinning in anticipation, Pherno began reciting one of his favourite entries. After a few words, the book began shivering, after a few lines, the letters began glowing. After a paragraph, the book looked like it was on the brink of exploding, light streamed from its every pore and the pages flapped around as if they were in a gale. Letting the Encyclopaedia go, it hovered in mid-air, shaking and turning like mad. Suddenly the ground under it began to smoulder and crack, as if from an intense heat, and flames began to emerge out of the cracks.


With a rumble and the sound of an open furnace, the ground exploded, and out crawled a flaming lizard that must have been five metres long. The creature's scales were black and charred, and flames emerged from the gaps between them, as if the beast was made of fire but encased in ash. The Salamander crawled low to the ground, with it's legs outstretched and tense, like it was about to pounce. A frill extended backwards from the Salamander's neck, and it's eyes were empty sockets of flame.


Like lightning, the Salamander's long, thin head swept from side to side, taking in the entire scene in an instant, and a molten tongue flickered in and out of it's ember-filled mouth, tasting the smokey air. Pherno reached out and took the book as it fell, the light fading and the shivers arresting as the spell completed. The Salamander suddenly turned, looking straight at the Dreadlord.


Pherno met the Salamander's firey gaze and ordered it to go and burn anything that stood in it's way.

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Fanwar's mount shied away as the ground cracked, and a huge salamander burst from the ground, spewing flames everywhere. Its maw opened in a silent roar, and the frills on its neck spread out as its body glowed a bright orange. It opened its jaws and let loose a jet of fire, setting the ground aflame. The colonel's battalion were well trained enough to know not to turn tail at the first sight of danger, and although his troop of men had weathered more than a few campaigns together, he was starting to have doubts that they would live through this day.


Out of nowhere, a jet of bright blue fire slammed the creature in the side of the head, sending it reeling. It looked around angrily and sniffed the air, clearly agitated, and flames licked from its jaws as though it was preparing its next attack.



A man clothed in a black coat emerged from the smoke, his hand outstretched and still smoking from the after effects of the attack. He walked calmly toward the creature, his other hand making rapid movements, and Fanwar could see azure energy gathering in his palm.
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Von Raahn had the pilot bring the ship in low, maybe recklessly so, and the ground shook beneath them as the cruiser pushed through the thick air, sonic booms trailing behind. He saw a large four legged reptile doing battle, energy blasts bouncing from it as it surged toward what looked to be an male channeler, arm outstretched and gathering forces. The melee raged around them, thousands of figures dancing and dying, the ground was positively sodden with blood. This is most impressive. The Dark Sovereign had done well.


The starship continued past the battle and extended landing struts, coming to rest eventually on the lush grass. Von Raahn made his way from the bridge to the egress ramp, boots clicking. His smooth head and small features were set in a mask of blankess, betraying no emotion, not giving away to beserker lust as much as the Demon inside him railed at his control. There would be a time to let it out, but not yet. He would let loose on the Dark Sovereign, and no other. As his boots hit the soft earth, the Flame Guard, clad in red and yellow plasteel armor from head to toe, surrounded him in a loose circle, not contstricting but present all the same. Thier God King, he was. They would die for him in an instant, without hesitation. He barely noticed them.


A group of what appeared to be guardsmen crested the low rise that stood between him and the carnage-filled valley plain beyond. He quickly counted, ten or so, no threat. The guards around him raised thier rifles, but with a short sound he stopped them, letting the fools close the distance. At around twenty yards, Von Raahn closed his eyes, letting the power of his master fill him, entering his body through his dark soul. He could feel the atomic structures of the men, the guards, his own body even. Time seemed to slow as he reached across the distance, toward the charging soldiers.


With a sickening grin, all sharp teeth and leering, he opened his eyes to view his impending handiwork. Promptly, all ten men exploded, spraying blood and gore in every direction with force as thier very heart was turned into a weapon against them. It was a favourite technique of Von Raahn's, taking the material that gave them life, and using it to cause death. The cells that had been part of thier hearts had been manipulated to be violently repelled by one another, resulting in a mass exodus from the chest cavity that caused utter ruination in the process. Almost poetry, he thought. It was the closest that Von Raahn came to it.


It was a distraction, though. Even as the blood misted from the air and fell, he walked on. There was only one true target today.


The Dark Sovereign would fall by his hand, and his hand alone.

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OOC: OMG! I feel so... special! Someone drew one of MY minions! :D You are really good Toraneko. I happen to be of an artistic persuasion myself, but i am not as skilled as you are, although it pains my ego to admit it. If im able i shall post some of my work as a story element as well later on.


IC: The Salamander screeched in agony as sapphire blasts tore into it's ebony form, ash and embers spraying outwards and drifting to the ground like snowflakes. Furious now, the creature raised it's head, seeming to inhale deeply as scarlet flames gathered in it's maw. Then, with a mighty fwoosh, the Salamander released the pent-up heat of a sun straight at the mysterious male channeler.

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The Salamander hissed in rage as it's most powerful attack was blocked by the asha'man's shield. The Salamander was a mythical creature, but it was not stupid; it knew when to run, and that time was now. With a mighty roar and the sound of a forest fire, the fire-lizard turned tail and crawled back into it's hellish tunnel, which closed up again behind it in a flash of flame.


Pherno watched in amusement as his mighty Salamander fled before some upstart challenger. Did he really think that he could defeat the nightmares and fantasies bred over three thousand years of fear and paranoia? Did he really think that he could defeat creatures that did not exist until Pherno's voice called them into this realm? "Let us see how this pathetic lightfool handles this enemy..."


Pherno flicked through the Encyclopaedia of Myths, Monsters and Magic for a few seconds until he found the entry he was looking for. He began reading, and the book shivered and glowed as it had before. After a few seconds, he was finished and the book spun out of Pherno's hands, shadows leaking out of every pore of the Encyclopaedia. Soon a roiling vortex of shadow spun in front of the evil Dreadlord, and with a hideous cacophony of shrieks and screeches a massive cloud of bats screamed out of the dark portal, hundreds and hundreds of bats. But these were no ordinary bats- no, they were Screecher Bats. Twice the size of ordinary bats, Screechers had blazing red eyes, massive fangs, talons like an eagle and hooked wings like razors. And every one of them flew straight towards the asha'man and the soldiers the Salamander had attacked.

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He had lost the Dark Sovereign in the midst of the tempest, and cursed himself for his folly. Von Raahn was slowly being overcome, the bloodlust rising within him till it felt like a hurricane beat at his ribs. He stalked the battlefield, the grass running red with blood beneath his heavy steel boots, his likewise moulded armour spattered with gore. The large spikes curving upward from his shoulder plates held three heads between them, foes worthy enough to be a trophy today. All of them had been "channelers" of note, thier limited power however was no match for the sheer force of strength granted by Von Raahn's master.


His stopped fighting it, letting the euphoria of carnage taking over. He looked almost delicate, eyes glazed and turned upward, thin lips parted beneath a small nose, almost feminine of feature. The sharp carnivore teeth put a quick end to softness, though, turning his visage into that of a true demon. It was then you noticed the crimson eyes, as red as hellfire itself. If you were close enough to notice that, you were already dead.


He scanned for his next target, absent-mindedly catching a drop of blood from one the skulls on his finger and bringing it to his mouth. He saw before him the same lizard-beast from earlier, this time escaping the battle through some sort of contrivance. It's master was consulting a book, before what seemed like a sea of dark flyers came issuing forth, hell bent on the archer he battled.


Yes. They seem worthy additions.


Von Raahn felt the power course through him, closing his eyes. He could feel each of the creatures, each flap of thier terrible wings, the air as it stirred beneath them. He focused, and called into being a veritable hailstorm of fire arrows, darts of pure neon flame that shot from his outstretched palm and into the air. Many of the bats fell. Both the combatants turned to see what had caused the attack.


Von Raahn grinned.


Both men paled.

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OOC: yay! you drew Pherno! hehehehehhe i feel so giddy :D


IC: Pherno paled as he saw a terrible figure approach him. It was a massive warrior, clad in gore-caked, dark steel and crowned with the fresh heads of his victims. The contemptuous ease in which most of the Screechers had been despatched was alarming. The remaining bats howled and charged at him, but they were cut down mid-flight by arcane magic as easily as their fellows had been.


For the first time in a long while, Pherno felt fear.


Frantically Pherno flipped through the Encyclopaedia, raking his brain for something that would- could defeat this new contestant. He found something that he hoped would work, and began reading. The book shone and shook and with the sound of a gale, a swirling column of air began forming. Soon a massive wall of almost visible wind had gathered around Pherno, and with an evil hiss a pair of blazing yellow eyes formed in the centre of the mass.


The Wind Elemental had been summoned.


A jagged maw of yellow formed just below the eyes, and it opened wide in a shriek that sent gale force winds roaring through the tournament grounds. "Go!" Pherno roared over the sound of the living hurricane in front of him, "Destroy that warrior, I will deal with the Asha'man!" The Elemental being, a beast formed out of the very essence of nature, a fundamental thing of the air itself, gathered its energies and began moving- no, floating- towards it's new-found prey.


Pherno seized the source and, hoping that the warrior would be dealt with by the infinitely powerful Elemental, strode towards the male channeler that had dared to defy him.

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