Frizan

RPGC #22: Ode to Fury - Discussion

Feel free to direct any feedback or questions here! Please keep discussion relevant to the associated contest. All other Guild posting rules also apply.

RPGC #22: Ode to Fury - Prompt and Entries

Ode to Fury

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Winter's grasp ebbs and the green, though still struggling, returns to us. The sun's radiance spills over the world, dispelling the frost once again. We have seen fit to greet the warmth that bright yellow ball with the warmth of our hearts as people all over come together to share their love for each other.

But for all the warmth in the world, there is always the trace of cold hiding away in the darkest corners of the heart. Rage, hate, prejudice, all things we desperately try to overcome. Unfortunately, it is difficult to shake their grip, and some have a harder time of it than others. Despite their best intentions, they lose control and often ultimately end up hurting and destroying what they hold dear. These are the people that we shall focus on today.

Let their stories serve as cautionary tales against capitulating to the cold recesses of the heart.

---

Contest Rules

1. The focus of the story must be on what happens when one gives in to the negative emotions listed above(rage, hate, prejudice, etc.). The character from whose eyes we see the story unfold from need not be the carrier of those negative aspects; you are more than free to relate the aftereffects from an outsider's perspective.

2. Your story can focus on whole entities rather than singular people overcome with these negative aspects(ex. two warring nations)

3. You must show how letting these negative aspects overcome them affects your character/s personally; even if it is not directed at those around them, actions can and usually do have wide reaching side effects that go beyond their intended target.

4. There are no winners in hate and war. These negative aspects are often catalysts for tragedy, and it will be no different here. The consequences for the actions of your character/s should be devastating and permanent. Really show why one must control themselves in the face of these aspects, lest their stories echo the ones told here.

Grounds for disqualification

1. Plagiarism.

2. Your entry having no clear connection to the prompt.

3. Gratuitous violence or gore.

4. We probably won't be experiencing any of this but I gotta cover all bases. No explicit sex scenes. Fade to black is fine.

---

The deadline for RPGC #22 shall be Saturday, March 9th. Please post all entries in this thread, and direct all questions and feedback to my PM box or the associated Discussion thread, and I will gladly answer them.

Please hold off all votes and critiques until the proper thread has been erected for this prompt.

RPGC: General Discussion

I made the character contest. I must be an absolute mad man.

But yea, let me know how I did. I'm expecting a small turnout, with the next ones coming along better.

@BrokenPromise

I wish you luck! Sorry about not responding to your request earlier, been working ten hour days this week and I don't work a very relaxing job so I've been going to work, getting home and just crashing immediately. But it was on my list of priorities though, Promise! I promise!

If anyone else has ideas for mini-contests I suppose one could call them, PM me or tag me in this thread and I'll get back to you as soon as possible.

RPGC #21: How The Guild Saved Christmas - Discussion

Congratulations are in order for @Calle for winning this contest! I enjoyed the kind of fairytale feeling Midwinter Demons gave off. For the record, though, I enjoyed all the entries!

Keep an eye on the Writing Contests sections, everyone, because I shall have the next one up Soon(TM)

RPGC: Trophy Case

Winner of RPGC #21: How The Guild Saved Christmas

---

The Midwinter Demons by @Calle

On the shortest day, before the longest night,
we prepare the celebration for the return of the light.
With candles and cakes with the sunflower seed,
and evergreen plants, and bottles of mead.

Be careful this day, for demons arise,
they sour the milk and steal all the pies.
And the cakes and the candles and the evergreen plant,
And corrupt all the wishes they ‘graciously’ grant.

A mother had made a sunflower bread,
It was rather small, but it would keep them all fed.
The children were happy, for this was a treat,
it was special and more than they normally eat.

The demons they hate the laugh of a child,
the thought there is joy will make them all wild.
They sneaked in the house and stole the small bread,
when they saw it was gone, the children were sad.

Tradition requires the sunflower seed,
to summon the light that is what you need.
Who wants to sit through midwinter without,
when the demons roam free and show us their snout?

The youngest child, who only was eight,
the bravest of all, she was not afraid,
she went in the cupboard and put salt in a bag,
quickly she left, before her mother would nag.

She went to where the demons would dance,
she knew this was it, she had but one chance.
Watching their faces filled her with dread,
but she kept her eyes on the freshly baked bread.

The girl sneaked through the tallest of grass,
when they saw her, they taunted the lass.
She faced them with courage, her head held high,
they pulled on her hair, but she did not cry.

They came closer and showed her the bread,
ignoring the taunt, she smiled instead.
She opened the bag and the salt she threw,
cringing in pain, they all withdrew.

She picked up the bread and quickly returned,
going back home, that was what she yearned.
Her family was in awe when they saw what she had,
the children rejoiced and were no longer sad.

Together they sat through the longest night,
And the next morning, they greeted the light.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 2 (Completed)

"So, you're Shay Cormac." The administrator took Sagax into a small office near the entrance. "Heh, you think you're an assassin or something with this knife?"

"I joke, of course." The administrator put the dagger in a box behind him, which was labeled temporary storage.

@Gcold

But nah he rite, Sags ain't no sassi-boi.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 2 (Completed)

New Guise, Same Scars

---

Morning, 15th of Last Seed

The Singing Shrew, Evermore

Sagax had turned the corner, about to head up the stairs to the second floor of the inn he and his sister were staying at for the duration of the company's time in Evermore. He was stopped, however, by a dazed young man tumbling down the steps, his body thumping and crashing all the way down. Above, Sagax could see the door closest to the top of the flight slam shut, and he was able to pick up some disgruntled grumbling. The Imperial knew, of course, that that was Piper's room. It took no great effort to deduce why the fellow had been sent headfirst to the bottom of the staircase. Why would it? Piper had already chased this man away twice before; it seemed he had not yet quite learned his lesson.

"I told you not to go up there, friend. I warned you of the consequences, didn't I?"

The bruised man simply groaned in response and let his head hit the floor one last time. Perhaps now he would leave well enough alone. No guarantee, of course, if the other two times this exact scenario played out were any indication.

Piper must have been listening for footsteps, because as Sagax drew near the door, it suddenly flung open. Out came Piper, wrapped in a large bathrobe and brandishing her dirk.

"Listen you motherfucker, if you don't fuck off back to whatever Gods-forsaken hole in the ground you came from, I'm gonna-"

Sagax had jumped back a good distance. He understood perfectly just how well his sister could use a blade, and he wasn't about to get stuck by her because some Prince Charming couldn't take a hint. After clearing a patch of damp hair out of her eyes with a flick of her head, Piper put the knife away and sighed with relief.

"Fuck's sake, it's just you, Sagax..."

"Yep, just checking in...saw your handiwork down there. I uh, don't think he's going to be up a while."

"Shit, fine by me. He could stay on that floor for all I care. After what he just pulled though I've got half a fucking mind to cut something off of him!"

Sagax responded with a puzzled look. " 'After what he just pulled'? What, did he propose to you or something?" Piper just smiled and laughed, the kind of laugh where you could tell someone was only laughing because they were trying to hold back some serious anger.

"Oh, no, you'll love this. So, these doors lock, right? Shitty locks, but they're locks." He could agree to that. He had poked and prodded at the lock to his own door just for fun, and they were honestly nothing too special. Enough to keep out the faintly curious and not much else. "This son of a bitch...picks the fucking lock, opens the door just a little so he can see inside-"

"Please don't tell me he was..."

"That's exactly what the shithead was doing! Thought he was the fucking Gray Fox himself, thinking I wouldn't see him! He got more of a look than I would have liked."

The thought alone disgusted Sagax. He knew of people, both in Evermore and back home, that had tried to gain his sister's affection. Some read poems, some gave her gifts. She rejected them all, of course, and the reactions were varied. But to go so far as to outright invade her privacy like that? At least the fool got what was coming to him.

"Well, I think he's learned his lesson now...Mara's sake I certainly hope so. If not...well, I'll just say I didn't see anything."

"If he hasn't learned by, by Talos I'll make him learn soon! Ruined my damn bath, haven't even really gotten to scrub down yet..." Just then, Piper seemed to pick up a smell that made her face scrunch. "Eurgh..."

"What? What's wrong?"

"Ugh...you! Gods above, when was the last time you actually bathed, Sagax? Your recent high-dive doesn't count!"

"I...well..." Exactly how long had it been, anyway? He certainly hoped it wasn't before leaving for Skyrim...but he just couldn't remember.

"Your room's got water too, right? Should have some soap and rags and stuff...blegh, seriously, go and take a bath you...fucking wildman. I gotta finish my own anyway, so take your time." Before shutting the door, Piper looked back. "No really. Take your time with it. You honestly look like you just came out of a coal mine that went up in flames."

He didn't look that bad, did he? Well, shock of all shocks, yes. Yes he did. The mirror in his room showed a very different man from the one that just left the Imperial City for the Reach of Skyrim. His hair was longer, his eyes had begun to sink in, and he was actually starting to show the signs of a beard! But then there was the dirt. Oh, so much dirt! Sagax knew his current state simply would not do for the banquet, especially not for someone who was supposed to be serving food and drinks. Piper was right to order a bath, he'd be thrown out of any higher establishment at first glance.

The rooms at the Singing Shrew were more expensive than most inns Sagax had been to, but they were certainly worth it. Just like his sister said, there was hot water, an assortment of soaps, and even a nice comb and brush set. It reminded him of home, when he was a child. They had all these same luxuries in their magnificent two story manor. His room overlooked some of the public gardens. Sometimes he could even see his father performing his duties in the streets below, commanding his men and logging reports from wronged citizens that wished for justice. He was so far away now, though. So far away from home, and from family. Right now Piper was all he had, and he was all she had. They would make it work, though. They just had to hold on to hope that they would all be united again...what else would they be fighting for?

As Sagax washed up, he traced along the large burn scar on his chest. It still ached slightly to the touch as he ran the rag over it. It was there he noticed something...different. There were some muscles building around his abdomen and on his arms, ones he was sure were not there last time he was able to get a good look at himself. Well, at least mercenary work had some upsides. One being that, if you survive long enough, you might get a little buff! Maybe he'd be able to match Piper one day...nah, probably not. She was built like a horse. Somehow, though, also as graceful as a dancer.

After drying off and neatly combing his hair back, Sagax took another look at his mirror. In its reflection he found, finally, a decent excuse for a man. But he felt like there was something missing, something small. Looking down at the vanity, he spied some hairties, about five or six of them. He decided on the green one and used it to tie his now fairly long hair back into a slight ponytail. Now he almost looked a little bit noble! Certainly much neater. Upon meeting Piper outside the inn, her own hair now slightly curled from the washing, voiced her approval.

"Oh hello, handsome gentleman, have you seen my mangy brother? I seem to have lost him somewhere!"

---

Afternoon, 16th of Last Seed

Used Sundries, Evermore

It was almost show time. Sagax made his way to the changing area in Gustav's ramshackle toolshop, or whatever it was, and began preparing himself for the banquet. He had visited a nearby tailor and spent the rest of his allowance on some decent clothing that would fit his role. Something fancy but not extravagant; he wasn't a guest but a mere server. He eventually settled on a nice overcoat along with a doublet and pair of trousers that complemented its colors. On the side he bought a new pair of gloves, as the ones he usually wore had odd, dark stains on them that simply would not come off. The navy blue coat was trimmed at the collar and along the buttons with bronze, while the buttons themselves were of a silver make. Under it, Sagax would wear the dark-green doublet and black cotton trousers. The gloves were very sturdy, and would serve him well if the situation required the Imperial to get...dirty.

He could not bring his blade, but Sagax did decide to smuggle in his dagger inside of the coat's many inside pockets as an emergency weapon. He decided to leave his hair tied, as it seemed to be a fashion trend amongst the aristocracy. Sagax even created a new name for himself, though as a servant he most likely would not need to give it. He had decided on Shay Cormac. He wasn't sure exactly why he chose it, but the name seemed to have a nice ring to it.

Piper would be arriving in a shipping container of all things to help some of the others bring in the rest of the company's weapons and tools. She wasn't pleased with her travel conditions, but she also knew it was the best chance they had of smuggling in any serious utilities. They joined the rest in listening to Gustav's briefing and studied the map until they knew the place like the back of their hands. The two looked at eachother uneasily at Gustav's mention of vampires. Normally it would be because...well, it's vampires. But recent news of their father left them very paranoid and anxious. All they could do now, however, was wait and see.

Until then, they had their jobs to do, and they would see that they were tended to.

RPGC #21: How The Guild Saved Christmas - Voting and Critique

How The Guild Saved Christmas

Voting and Critique

---

Welcome to another round of voting!

I encourage everyone that cares about the Contests(and if you don't already, I encourage you to begin now) to read through all of the wonderful entries submitted in the past two weeks, and cast their vote for their favorite! The submission with the most votes will be posted in a stickied "Trophy Case" thread where it will be displayed for all to see, and its author added to the list of Meritorious Writers at the very top!

Of course, this thread is also for critiquing. Note I said critiquing, not shitslinging. Constructive criticism only, please. Feel free to go through any one or all of the entries and give your two cents in helping your fellow writers improve! Those that have entered this contest are absolutely allowed to critique each others' works, contestants can absolutely vote, though not for their own, obviously.

Needless to say, using multiple accounts to vote more than once is NOT ALLOWED, and if an author uses alts to vote for their own work, they will be disqualified on the spot and disbarred from entering any future Contests.

Please vote based on the merits of the work, not for the sake of a clique or just because the author happens to be your friend. And mostly certainly do not attempt to have an author falsely disqualified because you don't happen to like them, because I'll fucking find out and it won't be pretty.

---

The Midwinter Demons

On the shortest day, before the longest night,
we prepare the celebration for the return of the light.
With candles and cakes with the sunflower seed,
and evergreen plants, and bottles of mead.

Be careful this day, for demons arise,
they sour the milk and steal all the pies.
And the cakes and the candles and the evergreen plant,
And corrupt all the wishes they ‘graciously’ grant.

A mother had made a sunflower bread,
It was rather small, but it would keep them all fed.
The children were happy, for this was a treat,
it was special and more than they normally eat.

The demons they hate the laugh of a child,
the thought there is joy will make them all wild.
They sneaked in the house and stole the small bread,
when they saw it was gone, the children were sad.

Tradition requires the sunflower seed,
to summon the light that is what you need.
Who wants to sit through midwinter without,
when the demons roam free and show us their snout?

The youngest child, who only was eight,
the bravest of all, she was not afraid,
she went in the cupboard and put salt in a bag,
quickly she left, before her mother would nag.

She went to where the demons would dance,
she knew this was it, she had but one chance.
Watching their faces filled her with dread,
but she kept her eyes on the freshly baked bread.

The girl sneaked through the tallest of grass,
when they saw her, they taunted the lass.
She faced them with courage, her head held high,
they pulled on her hair, but she did not cry.

They came closer and showed her the bread,
ignoring the taunt, she smiled instead.
She opened the bag and the salt she threw,
cringing in pain, they all withdrew.

She picked up the bread and quickly returned,
going back home, that was what she yearned.
Her family was in awe when they saw what she had,
the children rejoiced and were no longer sad.

Together they sat through the longest night,
And the next morning, they greeted the light.

by @Calle

Christmas Never Dies

It was the day before Christmas and night was the house. No lights were to be seen, not even a tree. Where stockings should hang there was merely the ghost of years past. In the absence of merriment, silence reigned; this grieving kingdom stretched its fingers far and wide, saddening every last corner of this lonely little home.

Drowned not was little Sarah who peeked her cautious head around the corner. She peered into the void of her father’s study, spotting him where he always was. Barely uttering a word to her or anyone else, he worked away at his desk and escaped all things living in a bubble of laborious immersion. He muttered a curse and cast aside a crumpled paper, adding it to the growing field of parchment corpses surrounding his seat.

Sarah steadily moved forward, inching along anxiously with her partially torn teddy bear held tightly in her tiny hands. Once she was close enough, Sarah mustered the courage to speak but it came out as barely a whisper. She tried again, and then once more until she got it right. “Father,” she said.

“Not now,” her father retorted, not even turning his head.

“But it’s—“

Her father wheeled around, and Sarah stepped back like a shrinking dog expecting to be punished. “What is so important that you have to interrupt me while I’m working? I told you I had to work tonight, and I told you never to come in here. Now, out with it!”

Little Sarah wanted to cry, but she bit back her tears as she remembered better days where the house was lit, better days where her father did not speak with such awful pain. “It’s Christmas Eve,” she pointed out, “I just wanted to know if we were going to get a tree, or if we were going to put up some lights.” Her voice was weak, lingering on a thin string of wavering hope. “We always put up lights,” Sarah added as a final thought.

“Not this year,” he said, stamping out the vestiges of her dreams, “now, please, I really must be working.”

She understood, and withdrew, but not before picking up a turned down picture frame that lay on the floor. Sarah glanced at the frame, and then at her father in the chance that something inspired might fall upon her tongue. When nothing came she left him alone on her trail of defeat, but little Sarah would not abandon hope. She stared at the frame and made a forceful vow.

Christmas would not end here, nor could it ever die, for Christmas was the spirit of joy, and such a spirit is eternal. At night, when her father was finally asleep, Sarah set her hands to work, doing her very best to set things right. The hours were long and her paths were treacherous, every step carefully made for on this night her father must not awaken or else all her efforts would be for naught.

Sarah went to bed when she was finished, hugging tight both frame and bear, nurturing and protecting that frail little spirit like it were a candle flame caught in the wind.

Morning dawned and Sarah shot up, woken by the shout of her name. Nervously, she left her room and ventured on out to find her father looking none too happy as he stood by the evidence of the previous night’s efforts. “Explain this.” He said, firmly, with an air of impatience.

She scanned the room, from the fireplace where she hung three regular old socks, to the corner where she placed a dead plant but strung makeshift paper ornaments to its brittle and breaking leaves. Everywhere there was red and green paper, and some lights she managed to find in the hidden box she always opened for this time of year. “It’s Christmas,” Sarah said meekly. She just wanted him to be happy, but his expression shared none of her joy. She tried to say that she did this for him, but he interrupted her.

“I want it all cleaned up. This instant.”

“Wait,” Sarah protested, and moved back to her room.

“No, I will not wait. You made a mess, and you’re going to clean it up! Get back here, Sarah!” He chased after her, only to be greeted by his daughter holding a closed box up to him. It was simple cardboard, no wrappings, but there was a bow on top.

“Here,” she said, “for you.”

He sighed in exasperation, but accepted, relenting for a moment to take the box, and open it. For a while, there was silence. No motion. No comments. It was just him, looking into the box, and Sarah watching. Finally, he reached in, and lifted out the picture frame with a piece of paper attached. He looked over the picture, seeing himself in a hideous Santa sweater, Sarah with a glowing Rudolph nose, and then there was a beautiful woman, his wife, Sarah’s mother, smiling brightly with a pair of deer antlers adorning her head. They were together. Happy. The absence of that smile had never been more keenly felt.

It took another few seconds before he grabbed the paper and read what Sarah scrawled down.

So long as I have you, I will always have Christmas. – Love Sarah

Sarah watched the anger melt away off of her father’s face. She was stunned to see him steadily break out into tears, and couldn’t help but flinch as he came down to her and swept her up into his arms. “Oh Sarah,” he cried, “I’m so sorry!”

He went on like that for a long time, crying, and apologizing, crying, and apologizing again. She found herself giggling when he kissed her cheek repeatedly, sharing in this sudden joy linking them together.

“You darling girl, you magnificent, wondrous girl!” He lifted her high, spun her around, and hugged her all over again like it was the first time he had seen her in ages.

All was right again in little Sarah’s world. For, so long as she had him, and he had her, Christmas would never die.

by @Gwynbleidd

Sober Solstice

Alongside the Lands of Men are the Realms of Fae, their mystic kin. As seasons change, so do the Fae who reside behind the palace walls, the living trees of the Wooded Hall. After the shortest day, the Hosts of Winter come out to play. One final feast on that last, longest night of their faerie year and all those spirits of the cold gather from far and near. With their queer music, the air was filled and on white snow, their Fae-light spilled from high doors of the Wooded Hall and tiny windows on lanterns small. On this most holy night, even the Fae themselves will come alight, all in hues of green, blue, and white.

In and out of doors, the Fae all danced with bare feet eager for a chance to prance. The Hosts of Winter had no cause to fear the cold with their steps so light, they never sink into the snow. Their feet dipped not into the drifts as they waltzed to swap their gifts. Drink flowed freely and there were libations abound as they swirled and they sloshed, splashing onto the ground.

A cheer rose up loud from the crowd in answer to howls ringing out across snow-dusted grounds. Strolling in from that year's last hunt, came the Wolves, quite the rowdy bunch. With them, they drug in all sorts of game to be skinned, prepped, then roasted over open flame. All lifted voices in merry songs and even the Wolf King sang along. With a leg of lamb in his other hand, He raised his cup, a clear demand. But, whilst awaiting another round, a Solstice tragedy had been found. All conversation, then, was stopped as every lute and lyre dropped. Some-fae let out a most awful cry:

“The kegs, the kegs, they've all run dry!”

Well, 'waste not, want not,' as the humans say. For every spilt drop, the Fae would now pay. Snow and Frost, those palest twins, quickly lost their fiendish grins, and only just, Night caught the Moon as, in despair, she rightly swooned. There was not ale nor wine left for these spirits. They wailed so loud, mortals could hear it.

But humans, they were very wary of the tricks often played by faeries, so when unearthly Hosts came pleading, not one mortal heart could be found bleeding. Not from one drop, would they part, not from weakest ale nor wine so tart. The Fae were doomed to a sober Solstice and, in their mourning, all did forget which guests had not appeared yet. Fae's feet trekked back in somber step. With no sign of season's pep, the Hosts returned to the Wooded Hall. Yet, high above, a strange light burned.

Finally, Frost turned her pale eyes and pointed a finger to the sky. All there felt blessed, when two brothers, late, yet smartly dressed in fur trimmed suits of matching red, came landing in their deer-drawn sled. With his cuffs and brim of white, Klaus laughed loud with all his might at his friends' faces, grown so long, now quickly turned to joy and song. His brother, sporting coal-black curls, had heard those beggars search for drink, while down chimneys, Klaus had gone to slink. To see their friends in such despair, it was then that Krampus had declared:

“The humans, they will pay their due!”

For every in tavern, there's at least one flue.

The mortals would soon woke to find, in lieu of gifts, they'd been robbed blind. Every bottle and barrel, from tamest wine to the moonshine most feral, had been pilfered and plucked to make Solstice un-fucked. From the same bottomless bag that once had held toys for all good girls and boys, now Krampus and Klaus filled cups, horns, and mouths. In the back, there sat a small, struggling sack. Krampus reached in and gave it a strong pat, and it ceased all of that. Given a choice between old habits and booze, well, he just couldn't choose. Yes, he'd still nabbed a few kids who'd been bad, to take and abuse.

“I saved the Solstice! Why should I have to lose?”

by @Rosenrot

RPGC #21: How The Guild Saved Christmas - Discussion

To everyone that is participating: Be sure to get your entries in soon! The deadline will arrive in a little under two weeks.

RPGC #21: How The Guild Saved Christmas - Prompt and Entries

To everyone that is participating: Be sure to get your entries in soon! The deadline will arrive in a little under two weeks.