Adventure Game Studio

Spectacle!

(http://www.vanwijst.com/games/Published/spectacle.jpg)

How do you write in words about a spectacle, a quintessentially visual thing?  A spectacle can be something good or bad.  It can be impressive or cringe-worthy.  It can be a thing or an action or a person.  It can be a performance or something impromptu.  It can be used for community building or propaganda, adoration or shaming.  Basically something or someone has to be on display, or at least feel as if they are on display.  Where you take it from there is up to you.

Deadline:  All submissions should be posted by the end of Thursday August 31, 2017, with voting to start the following day.

Possible Voting Categories:  Best Character, Best Spectacle, Best Writing, Most Thought Provoking.

Best of luck to all entrants! ;-D ;-D ;-D

I have an idea for an entry, even though I might have the only entry in the competition.

Quote from: funnyboy044 on Sun 20/08/2017 00:57:20
I have an idea for an entry, even though I might have the only entry in the competition.

As long as your entry is spectacular! :cheesy:

Q: Anyone ever hear about the man who fell into the machinery at the glass-works?

Spoiler

A: He made a spectacle of himself He died.

[close]

Don't let these naysayers put a lead brick in your inventory, funnyboy044.  Don't underestimate the power of showing up.  Why, some of my most spectacular victories were in competitions where I was the only entrant.  If you wanna to get the win, you gotta BE the win. (nod)

I'll throw something in here so funnyboy044 doesn't feel alone on the stage. ;)

I have an idea, though I haven't got far yet.

Oh, that picture in the montage of the beheadings in France is that same one that was used in the opening montage of Bustin' The Bastille!

Quote from: Mandle on Mon 21/08/2017 06:08:25
Nustin' The Bastille!

Is that the secret porn parody of a certain MAGS entry? :-D

Spoiler

Good thing I'm neither a writer nor a comedian

[close]

Whoops....typo fixed :-[

Wow.  Porn Remake Theme.  Where were you when I was brainstorming theme ideas last week. (laugh)

(https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/3/3b/Pillory_Charing_Cross_edited.jpg/300px-Pillory_Charing_Cross_edited.jpg)

History Nerd Alert!!!!!  I'm pretty sure those folks you can see on the platform are being pilloried.  And, based on statuary evidence, it seems like they're in Charing Cross, London (Trafalgar Square since the 1800s):

(http://www.projectadorno.net/charlie1.jpg)

But I wouldn't put it past the French to let geography or English common law get in the way of a good beheading. ;)  I will, however, be the first to admit that my montage was pretty slap-dash, as evidenced by the bar of empty space left at the bottom.  Next time I will be sure to scroll past the top pictures in my Google image search in order to find something more unique. (nod)

Quote from: Baron on Tue 22/08/2017 02:28:20
Wow.  Porn Remake Theme.  Where were you when I was brainstorming theme ideas last week. (laugh)

I can't produce ideas when asked anyway. It just happens. But feel free to be inspired by something I utter.

90 Mile Straight

Cameron took his hands slowly off of the steering wheel and sat back into the smooth contours of the seat of his latest stolen ride, his foot flat to the floor.

The Lamborghini Huracán Spyder he was driving zipped along the "90 Mile Straight", as it is well-known as, of the Eyre Highway in Western Australia: The longest straight road in the world.

Orange sand and stunted brush crawled by seemingly at a snail's pace as the speedometer hit two-twenty and continued to climb.

Cameron folded his hands behind his head and grinned widely as the pitch-perfect handling of the car deviated neither a millimeter left nor right.

The road unwound out from in front of him lazily and raced back behind him at an insane pace.

He threw back his head and laughed into the wind whipping his long early-twenties locks of hair about every which way as the speedo left its twenties and sped into the next decade.

Around about two-thirty-five his eyes fell upon the genuine-leather coated lid of the car's glovebox. He leaned forwards and opened it as a family-laden station wagon briefly zipped by in the opposite lane blasting its horn, the noise of which was dopplered and then lost to him forever.

Hoping for a stash of coke, or at least ice, Cameron was disappointed to come up poor with only a pair of old-folksy spectacles.

Big-rimmed and thick through the lenses, comically so, the spectacles annoyed Cameron on a base level.

So, this car, his best ever steal, had been owned by just some rich old fart who most likely couldn't even get it up anymore without medicinal help?!

Cameron, as the car entered its forties, put on the glasses, partly out of spite for, and partly to make fun of the owner who couldn't even drive this dope ride withou...

Cameron's eyes, magnified behind the thick lenses of the spectacles, went glassy and dull.

As the speedo climbed into the late forties, Cameron sat in his reclining sofa chair watching late night reality TV and smoking another joint during the commerci...

The speedo hit mid-fifties and he lay in a hospital bed unable to even push the nurse call button because of his recent stro...

In the real world outside of Cameron's daze the desert continued to whip by on each side as the needle on the speedometer cracked sixty and the superb handling of the car continued to vary neither a millimeter left nor right as it sleeked along the longest straight road in the world.

Cameron sat in a wheelchair, drooling into his lap in a care home.

The needle on the dial broke seventy, and Cameron was in darkness. He felt the jolt at the end of being lowered down and heard a voice say "...dust to dust..." as a single thud of dirt from only the priest's hand fell on the lid of his coffin.

Cameron reached up to claw at the coffin lid in his final rage against the end.

As the speedo hit eighty, plus the extra two hundred, and the first bend in the "90 Mile Straight" approached, Cameron clawed the spectacles from his face.

Only the car's computer-assisted braking system saved Cameron's life as he slammed both feet down on the brake pedal, slewing to and fro and blowing out a tire both front and back, before sliding to a stop right in front of a patrol car stationed there on radar duty.

The cop ran over, looked into the driver's side window and said:

"Mate, pick up your glasses. I see a lot of legal fine print you are going to need to read in your near future."

Cameron looked up at the man out from under the newly greyed lock of hair that had fallen over one eye and replied:

"They aren't mine."

Well, at least one person doesn't want to spend his last week of August hacking away in front of a keyboard. ;-D  For everyone else, you've got one week left! 

Quote from: Baron on Fri 25/08/2017 03:12:21
Well, at least one person doesn't want to spend his last week of August hacking away in front of a keyboard.

Oh, I'll be doing that, but for MAGS amongst other AGS-related stuff... (laugh)

Hey sorry guys, I know I said I was going to do something but I think I'll have to bow out of this round due to workload growing at geometric rate. Good luck to all entrants, though!

Mathematically speaking, you need to KEEP adding more work to sustain exponential growth!  I'll put you down as a "maybe". ;)

I'm going to try entering this :)

Nice to hear.  Three more days folks!

In case you're wondering, Baron, I'm almost done. But it's pretty long for an AGS Writing Contest entry(2-3 pages).

   It'll be fine
Warning: Pretty long.

    The full moon shined on the factory and its surroundings just perfectly, it looked like an art piece you'd see in a museum. I was waiting by the front entrance for my friend, Robert to show up so we could get inside Snuckers Juice Manufacturing Compound and get some money we felt we needed. You see, me, Robert, and several other staff were laid-off today.  And after being hit with that distressing blow, everybody revolted to this…by going to the bar across town and drinking our sorrows away. At the same time, all of us were wondering “How could we get laid-off in a famous juice company?”

   The juice had a famous slogan, it tasted good(I think), a lot of people bought it, and it even had some publicity from all the chemicals that were in it. Bottom line, whether it was the beer talking or not, most people figured that there had to be spare cash lying around. The question was how to get it. Suing or doing anything union-related wouldn't work because the company hired some of the best lawyers in the state and they banned any unions in the workplace. Someone also mentioned breaking in and robbing the factory, but everyone was against that idea. Everyone, that is, except me and Robert.

   We decided to meet back the factory at midnight. I had just arrived and was waiting for Robert to drive up with tools, flashlights and whatever else was necessary. Then, he pulled up in his barely functional car he got on eBay for fifty bucks. He got out, opened the trunk, got the tools from said trunk, closed it, and wandered over to where I was waiting. “You think you should leave your car out in the open?” I asked, with his car directly in view to anyone who could've walked by. “It'll be fine”, Robert replied, “Besides, we need it to get out of here for the escape.”    

   This was sort of Robert's attitude toward most issues that bothered him, leave it alone and it'll work out in the end. If he spilled a cup of water on the ground, he probably would've left it there and let it evaporate into the atmosphere. I couldn't tell if he was like this out of laziness or overconfidence. Anyway, after getting organized, we were ready. “OK...” I started, “First, we have to get inside and get into the manager's office.” “Cool, how do we do that?” Robert asked. Then...there was a long unyielding silence from the both of us.

   When we came up with the idea to break in, we only planned to get in, get money, and get out, without any idea as to how to do those things. We had absolutely no plan at all other than those three things. There weren't any doors that lead into the building on the walls, not even an emergency exit. Then, Robert snapped his fingers, grabbed a ladder...and threw it straight into a nearby window. The noise from the window breaking was really loud and the ladder sounded like it knocked into a couple of things.  “What the hell?” I hissed at Robert. “You're gonna give us away!” Robert pressured me to calm down, “Don't worry, it's fine, there's no one around here and there's no security in the building.”
   
   This was surprisingly a little true. The company was known for putting a lack of money into its security. They put more money into making a good working environment than security.  They could at least afford a few officers for the entire building, but that few isn't the best for a pretty large factory building. And thankfully for us, the manager's office only had one nearby guard, who in the day, would usually sat listening to some tunes on his MP3 player, probably because he was overconfident that no one would do anything crazy in the factory.

   When Robert put it like he did, it seemed to make sense and I guess I agreed with him. So we lifted ourselves into the smashed window and entered the factory. The factory's interior was really dark, even with the moonlight shining in through the windows. However, we got flashlights so we could see a little better. So we turned them on and gave ourselves a little look around the room that we broke into. We noticed a big tub that contained Grape Juice, along with the controls beside it that kept it at room temperature. When we were working, we would keep nearly finished grape juice stored in an open tub, and keep it at a reasonable temperature until the next day, where we would prepare for the store.
   
   There were also two metal staircases on the two sides of the room that led to the second floor, which was just a metal walkway along the horizontal axis of the room, which connected two different offices. We also saw the barrel that Robert's ladder had knocked into on it's journey through the window. We noticed the barrel read “WARNING: FLAMMABLE” and the liquid in it was leaking on the floor. “We're going to have to clean this up.” I told Robert. But Robert shook his head and said “No no no, it'll be fine for now, we'll clean it up later.” “What if somebody walks in here?” I yelled (as quietly as physically possible). “The guard's on his iPhone right now, he's not gonna come in here.” Robert calmly replied. I agreed with him again since he seemed so sure that everything would go the way we wanted it to go.

   Deciding to move on, we climbed up the staircase on the left side of the room and made it to the walkway once above us. The office across from us didn't have a name, but from the open window, we noticed that it was lit up by candles and that there were stray fireworks lying on the table. Fire & Fireworks, not a good-looking combination, I thought to myself. As for the office right next to us, it had a big metallic door that read the name of the Head of Engineering. This was the room we needed for this break-in, since according to rumors, he made mad cash for his job, about $250 a day. Looking in the window proved it was pitch black, meaning that anything could be in there.  The door was locked, so I had to get the piece of pipe Robert had brought and smash the doorknob off.

SMASH!

Man, that was satisfying. A little loud, but satisfying. We kicked open the door with a lot of force and looked around the room with the flashlights. There were your basic office amenities, like a file cabinet, a self-absorbing painting of themselves, and a rather formal desk. On the desk sat one of those giant electronic cigarette maker, lighter & storage unit. But more interestingly, there was a large metallic suitcase. Opening it revealed that it had thousand's of $100 bills. Hell. Yeah. Robert and I silently rejoiced and swiped the suitcase. We quickly got out of the office and went down the stairs, ready to flee from the factory.

   We made to the bottom floor when we heard a voice yell in our direction, “Hey! Who's there!?” in the distance, followed by a flashlight being turned on.  Almost instantly, we ducked and hid behind the gasoline barrels we knocked down earlier, all right before the security guard moved the light by the stairs. Then, we heard him walking around. It was official, the situation had just intensified, we had attracted the ONLY guard in the facility and he was after our asses. Behind a weak cover, I looked at Robert with a confused look in my eyes, pretty asking him “What are we going to do?” without telling him.

   Receiving no real indication of an answer, I peaked over the barrels and saw the security guard standing over and looking at the gasoline puddle right in front of us. Then, Robert poked his head up, saw the guard and all of the sudden, he got a glistening look in his eyes that meant he had some type of idea. Next thing I knew, he quickly stood up, ran toward the guard, and put his fist up in preparation to punch the guard straight in the face. Unfortunately, before he even reached him, Robert slipped on the gasoline and hit the floor harder than a rock. The guard, who just noticed Robert lying on the ground, was getting ready to load his gun and shoot him right then and there.

   Now I wasn't going to let this guy shoot my friend, so I charged straight at him, money-filled suitcase in hand. Now believe it or not, money is pretty heavy, especially in a metal suitcase, so it was no surprise when I sent the suitcase hurdling into his jaw and knocked the guard onto the floor. What was surprising was when he fired the gun into the office across from the office with the cash. And through crazy, almost impossible luck, the bullet manages to strike the candle, knocking it over, managing to light up one of those fireworks lying around.
   
   The firework then zooms out of the office, through the glass window, like Superman, and with pin-point accuracy, flies straight into the other office across from it, smashes through THAT window, and becomes lodged inside that electronic cigarette machine! Annnnnnnnddddddd due to some violent reaction between the chemicals in the cigarettes and the firework, the entire machine explodes! This sends sparks from the explosion flying into the air.

   The sparks then managed to soar out of the office and touch down on the gasoline, setting it aflame. The fire then spreads across the gas puddle and eventually makes it to the barrel from where the puddle came from. And then, the barrel exploded like a Fourth of July Firecracker. Me and Robert managed to run away and dodge that explosion, but the security guard wasn't so lucky. He gets sent flying in the air and impacts directly into the control board. Then, the tub of grape juice begins to boil and get really hot and steamy. Then Robert pointed his flashlight at the tub's control board and we both found out that the guard had just shot the temperature of the tub's heater straight up. It boiled the biggest bubbles and eventually start to boil over. In fear and shock, Robert managed to squeal “That can't be good...”

BOOM!

(http://i.imgur.com/U5uC3wq.png)

Guess it got too hot...

Spectacular! 8-)

Also, I'd rank it "medium" in terms of length.  It's when you gotta split it into multiple posts that you officially hit the "lengthy" category. ;)

I'm working on something. The story's fully formed in my head but I had no time to write it yet. Maybe a little extansion?

There will be no little extensions; only spectacular extensions! ;-D

Deadline Extended to Sunday September 3, 2017

Nice to hear of the extension! I've written most of my entry down already, but I think it's going to need a lot of polish if it's going to be any good.

One more day, folks!  Be a Dudley Dowrite, not a Debbie Downer. :P

I never realised how heavy chains are. They certainly aren't light when picking up, but this is not the same as wearing them. They dragged my hands down, cut into my skin and chafed. I grabbed them with my hands and pushed them up my wrists but other than that I stood perfectly still.

I like to think that I stood proud and defiant and not frozen in fear. Or that my conscience and honour made my still. Maybe it is even true. Maybe. Maybe not. The thought was always there, the knowledge that there was way out. I didn't want to die and I could do something to save myself, but could I betray my people? My beliefs?

We learn to keep our emotions to ourselves. Nothing showed on my face. Nobody noticed my thoughts, I hoped. Nobody noticed, hopefully, that I fantasised how easy it would be to sling the heavy chains around the soldier's neck and slip his dagger from his belt. How I could kill two or three of them as soon as they opened the prison's door and lead us to our execution. How easy it is to create chaos and use it.

How easy it was to call out who I am.

I thought I was observant. Now I knew that I only saw what I cared about. For the first time ever, I think, I looked into the faces of the convicted and saw their thoughts and fears playing out in their eyes. None of them knew me, none had ever seen my face before, but some were here because of my actions, brought to justice by my machinations.

Now I noticed the fear, the anger, the resignation, the remorse and sorrow. Did I feel for them? Because I was about to share their destiny? No, I didn't. They deserved their fate. And so did I, however different the reasons were.

Still, for the first time I heard the calls of the masses not as a simple sign of amusement and a well-deserved punishment for the convicted but as something animalistic, brutal and undeserved. At least for me.

I wasn't a murderer or a thief. I wasn't a criminal who betrayed this country with his disregard for the order of things. I fought for this order, I was this order. And only that stopped my twitching hands from strangling the soldier or from telling anyone who I was.

Besides, there was still a wall between us and the Square of Flowers and if I wanted to act, it wasn't time yet. If I wanted to? I wanted. Honour stopped me. Knowledge stopped me. And the strangest part was, that I could save myself without hurting anyone and that would be the worse choice.

The doors opened silently, first the wooden ones on the outside, then the grates on the inside. We were pushed forward, eight convicted men and women, chained together and herded to our last walk from soldiers that had knelt down in front of me not too long ago. A cordon of soldiers led from the prison to the gallows, keeping the mob out and keeping us in.

There were no flowers visible on the Square of Flowers, not because the people obscured them but because there never were any. The place was filled to the brim, even though executions happened regularly here. But it was too small. It had always been too small and executions were a good amusement for the masses â€" and a good opportunity for merchants and thieves. I never understood this. They should be afraid, watching others of their trade die. And still they always came.

Through the cordon I saw little of the people around us. Only the soldiers and the hangman on the platform were clearly visible to me. His face was hidden behind a chiselled silver mask and his hair under a black hood. People loved executions, even the criminals, but they hated executioners. Slightly behind the man, so that I didn't see him at first, stood a boy, maybe eight or nine years old. When they dragged me onto the platform I saw the fear in his shadowed eyes. I guess it was his first time. He, too, wore a mask, but not to protect him from the mob, not because he would one day be the city's executioner, but because he would one day protect it from the shadows like I had done for many years. He was an apprentice of the Shadow Walkers, agents of the king, who always wore a mask and who had more names than anyone should be comfortable with.

Born with one name,
live with another.
Taken a third to be a brother,
saying a forth to avoid the shame.

I was on my fourth name, caught while following the king's orders and breaking the law â€" the law I protected. It was so easy to save myself. I just had to say my third name, I just had to demand to speak to a member of the order. They would recognise me, they alone knew my face as one of their own. But secrecy was more important than my life. And no-one would come of their own accord. This was not our way. You get caught, you die. It was as easy as that.

Dark walls surrounded the Square of Flowers. Mud coloured them on the ground and soot on the upper floors from the few times fire was used instead of the rope. The shutters were closed on the windows overlooking the square, looking down on us with colourful patches that might have seemed cheerful on any other day. Still, no flowers. It was unseemly to watch people die from the protection of a house. And still I saw them in the cracks between shutters, the movement and the lights. And I even imagined the laughter of children who were considered too young to come down for this spectacle.

Dark red shingles, red as blood, covered the roofs. Looking up, I noticed something unusual for the first time that day. While I had expected the hawkers, selling everything from food to the fingers of the people executed here before, and the hawks, looking at their pray from the crowd, they were decidedly all down in the streets. Children stood in the front or sat on the shoulders of their fathers, lovers talked in whispers, thugs leaned against the walls, some victims cried in little groups or screamed their hatred into the faces of the convicted, thieves sidled through the crowd, soldiers circled it as well, looking for them or for some stupid friend of a criminal who was about to do something even more stupid, and here and there I recognised one of my friends, without their masks and wearing even more lies instead. It was all as it always is.

With one exception. I had never seen someone sit on one of the roofs overlooking the square. He was perched on the edge like a bird. His position was precarious but he didn't even try to hold onto … anything, really. He watched. He watched us and the soldiers, his eyes followed people in the crowd. At least, I think they did. He was too far away to see properly. But the tiniest twitch of his head let my attention drift to the people on the ground again. I saw what he saw, pickpockets and cut-purses, not noticed yet by the soldiers,busy stealing, but finding their way through the people at the same time like they were directed by an invisible force.

It couldn't have been clearer that the man on the roof planned something.

I was just about to call out a warning â€" to whom? - when my chains were yanked forward and I stumbled, changing my warning into a cry of pain, confusion and anger. My knee banged heavily against the wooden planks and shavings scraped the pant leg open and cut my skin.

They dragged me on my feet again as the first man was freed from our collective chain, only to be bound again moments later in front of the dangling rope. It was tradition that one died after the other so that those who had brought more guilt on themselves had to watch the others first.

I had lost the thieves in the crowd when I fell and couldn't tell if they had reached their positions yet. Now was the time to warn someone, now was the time to speak. But I couldn't. I just couldn't.

I looked up again and it felt like I locked eyes with the man. I can't be sure. He wasn't any closer then before. If anything, the eyes were even more difficult to make out now. Dark clouds had cumulated over the square in the last few minutes and threatened rain and maybe even storm. The man had dragged a dark cowl over his hair and shadows fell on his face.

Next to me, the hangman slung the loop around a murderer's neck. No words were spoken, not from the executioner at least. A criminal was not worth the honour of a last acknowledgement of his actions or his person. I heard him beg. I never listened to their pleas and protests of innocence. I never cared. I didn't care now either and I hardly even noticed that he spoke.

I was still looking up to the roof, idly wondering if anyone noticed that my face was turned upwards. Did they think I prayed to some god? I never cared about gods either. I didn't even know all that much about them.

The man on the other hand was now focused on the rope, even though his eyes still seemed to twitch from time to time to the thieves on the ground. His right hand now clung to the edge of the roof while the left one fiddled with something on his belt. He was nervous. His people weren't ready.

I can't say what happened first. Did he jump or did the trapdoor open and the neck break?

The audience gasped as the man fell from the roof on a spot where actually very few people stood, rolled over the ground and came up again in a crouched position. At first I really thought they reacted to this utter stupidity â€" the roof was way to high to jump off safely, though he obviously managed it â€" but then my thoughts ordered themselves again and I remembered that this really was not the case. Of course not. They had only reacted to the execution as was tradition, by stopping everything, including their breathing, as the body fell.

I had looked away from the stranger for a moment and he disappeared in the crowd.

Meanwhile, the executioner winched the noose and the dangling body back up. Sometimes the neck didn't break, even though the fall was more than a body's length. On a sign from the executioner, his assistant stepped forward, hesitatingly, and set the knife to the man's throat. He knelt next to the body with shaking hands. I remember well how it was like to kill for the first time, even though for him and for me, there was no actual killing involved. The man was already dead. I had learned a long time ago to recognise death.

The next man in line was brought forward and the stranger from the roof was still obscured by the people. I next spotted him near the pedestal, right in front of me with his hand on a young woman's shoulder, whispering something into her year. There was an urgency to the way he spoke, though I, of course, could not hear his words.

His head jerked up as the trapdoor opened for a second time that day and for a moment he stood completely immobile. In the short silence that followed the death, I think I heard him utter a curse but I'm not sure.

He seemed to think for a moment and looked around for his people. I would guess they weren't ready, judging from the way he furrowed his brow. I could have stopped him in this moment. Istra, one of my order stood not too far away. She would have reacted to a warning from me. Still, I did nothing and he reached into a pouch at his belt and threw something in the direction of the executioner.

I can't tell what happened then. Not exactly. There was light and smoke. I should have expected it. I knew of smoke bombs. I had used them myself before, but his must have been slightly different. I part of my memory is missing.

The next thing I remember him standing in front of me, the second to last who still had chains around his wrists. He got to work on them quickly and they slid to the ground before I even saw him inserting a tool in them, or a key. Maybe he had stolen a key from the soldiers. I couldn't tell.

Shaking off my confusion, I grabbed his wrist in my large hands and held tight. We locked eyes in that moment and I really saw him for the first time. The cowl still obscured is face and bathed it in shadows, but his eyes looked up to me. Crows feet around them â€" either from laughter or worry, I couldn't tell â€" made him look older than he probably was, while his lean figure and pert smile made him seem more careless and carefree than I thought he was.

He pressed my wrist in return. Maybe he thought I wanted to thank him, and maybe that was even true. Maybe I wanted to arrest him, if I was able to in that moment or not.

Luckily, I didn't have to decide. Or not so lucky, considering the reason we let go of each other: Flames seemed to engulf everything around me. Somehow, the gallows had caught fire in the last few seconds. Was it part of his plan? No matter what, we both winced as a small explosion shook the podium and we jumped down.

My bruised leg couldn't absorb the fall as I expected it to and I stumbled rather gracelessly into a crowd of panicked people. The young man on the other hand reached the disturbed earth with an elegant somersault. He grinned at me, looked at the burning gallows a last time, then sat off with a cry that was obviously a sign to his people.

It took me less than a second to assess the chaos around me. Most of the people were running, or rather pushing towards the streets leading out of the Square of Flowers while the soldiers had congregated in front of the prison, maybe afraid that this attack would not be limited to the execution. The two bodies of the executed, one lying on the pedestal with a cut throat, the other still dangling on the rope, had caught fire. Smoke hung deep above the square, though it probably came mostly from the bombs and not from the fire. Kneeling on the ground, I smelled the sweet and slightly rotten odour of Zirtsa flowers, finally telling me why I felt a bit confused and sluggish. I've never heard of smoke bombs mixed with Zirtsa blossoms. I thought you needed to eat them to get this effect but apparently I was mistaken.

Not everyone was fleeing. Some people had started to extinguish the fire, some â€" soldiers and members of the Shadow Walkers â€" held onto people I assumed were involved in this incident somehow and some huddled together more in confusion than anything else.

I followed the leader. He wasn't moving particularly fast, stopped by the bottleneck of the narrow streets like everybody else. Then again, I don't think he tried to move faster. I think he didn't want to draw any attention to himself. I doubt anyone except me really noticed him.

Only when we reached the northern exit of the square did I notice the few people that had fallen during the panic. There weren't many and luckily they all seemed to have found their way back on their feet again already.

The streets were narrow around the Square of Flowers and the overhanging buildings and the debris on the ground made them seem even smaller. At least there were many, often with only one or two houses between two streets and very few ended in a dead-end. Which made it fairly surprising when the stranger choose one of them to duck out of the crowd.

There were about twenty people between us and I slunk closer not too carefully. Of course, moving in the same direction as all the other people, following him wasn't a challenge to begin with and that he had left the street didn't make it any more difficult. Only as I reached the entrance of the alley did I actually try to be inconspicuous.

And only then did I realise that the stranger probably didn't duck into the alley. An older and larger man had him by the ear.

“...it do, boy?” the older man hissed. “How many got caught because of your stupidity?”

The younger man pushed him away, though he didn't let go of the ear. “I did what I had to do!”

“And now? What are you going to do now? They helped convicts escape, they attacked the soldiers, what do you think will happen to them?”

“All thieves are protected by the god. If he can't help them, we have to.” The young man was a priest. That explained a lot and made it absolutely necessary that I stopped him. Then why did I still stand near the entrance of the alley, leaning against the wall and holding my knee that had started to throb uncomfortably and distract me?

“It is that easy, is it? You know what is also easy? They will die.” He pulled harder on the ear and nearly toppled the boy over. “It's the law.”

He turned around fast and hit the other man against his chest, so that he let go of his ear. “Then the law is wrong!”

“So what?” He put his hands on his hips and stared the younger man down. “Doesn't change anything!”

“Then I have to change it!”

“Change what?”

“The law!” He turned his back to the other to leave, I would say, and our eyes locked for the second time that day. I don't think he cared very much that I had heard them. At least, he ignored me.

But then, he couldn't really do much, as the older man turned him back around. “You want to change the law? Have you completely lost your mind, boy?”

At that moment, I felt a hand on my shoulder myself. I winced and wheeled around, my hand going to my â€" obviously empty â€" belt immediately.

“What are you doing standing here, Tjoi?” Istra, who must have found me by pure accident, whispered, “You have to leave. If someone finds you here...”

She was right, of course. There were too many people close by who knew me as Wisrim, the burglar, and not Tjoisal, the Shadow Walker.

“We need to...,” I started to say, lying to myself, but the two priests had disappeared into nothing in the second I was distracted.


----------------------------------------------

Set in the same world as a couple of my other stories (Truth! (http://www.adventuregamestudio.co.uk/forums/index.php?topic=48394.msg636457719#msg636457719), The social, friendly, honest man (http://www.adventuregamestudio.co.uk/forums/index.php?topic=48710.msg636463398#msg636463398), Little Dove (http://www.adventuregamestudio.co.uk/forums/index.php?topic=50288.msg636485904#msg636485904), The Naming of Names (http://www.adventuregamestudio.co.uk/forums/index.php?topic=53102.msg636528887#msg636528887), A Future that would never be (http://www.adventuregamestudio.co.uk/forums/index.php?topic=54486.msg636554958#msg636554958)), though there's absolutely nothing you might need to know from them. I'm only telling you because I would feel bad if I didn't. After all, I do have more knowledge of this world that I used. :)

Here is my entry, I'm not really satisfied with how it turned out, but here it is:

The triumphal procession

To walk along the petal-strewn streets of Rome to the sounding horns of triumph, surrounded by cheering and chanting crowds had been the chieftains dream for a long time, yet it had always been an abstract idea, as simple and stylized as the figures adorning the drinking cups and jewelry back in his homeland. Now he was there, the roaring crowds as real as they would ever be, yet the he did not share their joy and the swelling pride he had longed to feel over walking onto these streets made a bitterly notable absence. The irony of the situation had come to be as painful as the deafening screams and hollering among the people who had gathered to catch a glimpse of the golden chariot making its way down the middle of the street.

He thought back to what had led him on this path to begin with, the promises and prophesies. The day he had taken up his fathers mantle the head soothsayer, a silver haired man with a face marked of great wisdom and age alike, had said that the new cheiftain would be the one who would live where his predecessor had died, and the gods had decreed that should he lead an army against the empire, he would be marching in the streets of Rome within a year.

Some of the other chiefs had dismissed this, arguing that others had said exactly the same things about his late father, who had gotten himself killed after a series of crushing defeats in his campaign against the romans. Yet even more chiefs had eagerly goaded him on in the hopes of taking on the hated enemy, and then, as the ultimate triumph one of their own would parade around in the very heart of the roman empire. The thought that they themselves would be standing right beside him sharing the riches and glory might also have helped them reach their decision to pledge their support. That was the beginning of the short, yet brutal campaign that was sure to be remembered for years to come.

Within a year he would be walking in Rome surrounded by triumph and celebrations, those were the words of the soothsayer. The chieftain cursed that scraggly-haired, senile old fool of a soothsayer as the Caesar in the chariot in front of him yanked the chain to his shackles, causing the crowd to cheer at Caesar and holler at the prisoner who was paraded in front of them like an exotic animal. The chieftain muttered and growled at his own stupidity. That soothsayer coot never said who's triumph the people would be celebrating!

Thank you all for your submissions.  The competition is now closed.  On to voting!  These are our competitors:

90 Mile Straight by Mandle.
It'll be Fine by FunnyBoy044
The Square of Flowers by Sinitrena
The Triumphal Procession by Blondbraid

You may cast one vote for each of the following categories:

Best Character: the most believable/captivating/magnetic/unique character.
Best Spectacle: the best spectacle!
Best Writing: the technical art of combining words in a memorable way.
Most Thought Provoking: Which story best reveals a lesson about the relationship between humanity and spectacle?

Voting will extend until Thursday September 7, and awards will be handed out the following day.

What is this - no-one wants to vote or no-one wants to vote first? :P

Anyway,

Mandle: Interessting take on the topic and therefore probably the most surprising entry this time. I enjoye it, but I think you left the nature of the spectacles slightly too myserious (intentional, I assume): Was he imagining it? Were they magic? I think it doesn't matter to the story at all, it would be the same no matter what, but at least a hint to the reason why things are happening would be nice - though that's probably  just my personal preference.

FunnyBoy: You managed to strain my suspension of disbelief quiet a bit. Why are there fireworks just lying around in a juice factory? Why is a random office illuminated by candles? In the middle of the night when nobody is around? It doesn't make sense. On the other hand, it would be easy to explain away: The fireworks are left over from the last 1 million years anniversary of the factory and your protagonists know this, the office is used by the vice-president of the company and his secretary as a love nest - explaining candles and why they might be burning; and it's something workers might know. Other than that, I really liked the suspense in your story.

Blondbraid: I can see why you're not entirely satisfied with your story. I think you were going for more mystery then you actually ended up with. The reader is supposed to be surprised by the reveal that it's not the chief's triumph we're witnessing. Generally, I liked your descriptions and your soothsayer, who reminded me of the Oracle of Delphi, who, among other cryptic prophesies, told Croesus that a mighty empire would fall, if he attacked the Perisans. (The empire that fell was, of course, his own. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Croesus#Campaign_against_Persia_and_testing_of_oracle))



Best Character: FunnyBoy
Best Spectacle: Mandle
Best Writing: Mandle
Most Thought Provoking: Blondbraid

Quote from: Sinitrena on Wed 06/09/2017 16:27:43
I think you left the nature of the spectacles slightly too myserious (intentional, I assume): Was he imagining it? Were they magic?

To be honest I have no idea what they were. I wrote the story fueled on 100% instinct and it was great fun for me at the time. I have no deeper insight into the origin of the spectacles except that perhaps the original owner was a Hogwarts graduate who liked playing with Muggle vehicles?

Voting soon!

Best Character: Sinitrena's protagonist
Best Spectacle: Funnyboy
Best Writing: Sinitrena
Most Thought Provoking: Mandle

I do hope I'm not too late to vote!

Best Character: Mandle
Best Spectacle: Funnyboy
Best Writing: Sinitrena
Most Thought Provoking: Mandle

Sinitrena: The writing and world building was top-notch, and it was fun to see more of the world from your previous stories.

Mandle: It was such an unusual take on the theme, and the ending cracked me up.

Funnyboy: The story was pretty fun, but the slapstick would have worked better if the candles and firecrackers had been foreshadowed, as it was now the ending felt a little too random and abrupt for my taste.

Quote from: Sinitrena on Wed 06/09/2017 16:27:43
Blondbraid: I can see why you're not entirely satisfied with your story. I think you were going for more mystery then you actually ended up with. The reader is supposed to be surprised by the reveal that it's not the chief's triumph we're witnessing. Generally, I liked your descriptions and your soothsayer, who reminded me of the Oracle of Delphi, who, among other cryptic prophesies, told Croesus that a mighty empire would fall, if he attacked the Perisans. (The empire that fell was, of course, his own. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Croesus#Campaign_against_Persia_and_testing_of_oracle))

You are right, I was inspired by the story about Croesus and the prophesy.

Baron demands more votes.  Moar!  Mowr!  MOOOOOOORE!

Quote from: Baron on Fri 08/09/2017 02:50:40
Baron demands more votes.  Moar!  Mowr!  MOOOOOOORE!

I am ashamed to report that I did not find time to read all entries yet. Is a voting extension over the weekend possible?

Might get a few MOAR as well...

Best Character: Sinitrena
Best Spectacle: Funnyboy
Best Writing: Sinitrena
Most Thought Provoking: Mandle

I guess we're extending voting until Mandle can squeeze us in.... (roll)

Maybe Funnyboy might check in on us too. ;)

Best Character: Funnyboy for Robert (He was hilarious and I could totally see him played by Nick Frost in a film)
Best Spectacle: Blondbraid (In the tradition of Ben Hur and such, a procession through the streets of ancient Rome is always a winner for me)
Best Writing: Blondbraid (I found everything pretty much perfect. The writing always led me forward and I was invested in finding out what was going on. The story was short but I feel story length should always be just about right to match the amount of story content you have to tell, and this one was well matched for me. Maybe lose the last sentence if I had to nitpick... It's not needed...the reader already knows... and it robs a little from the impact of the twist in the tale...)
Most Thought Provoking: Blondbraid (Hmmmm... Tales of self-fulfilling prophecies can warn the reader off from falling into similar traps... I guess... Yeah, not really sure what purpose this vote category fills. It seems more an unneeded slot to fill rather than something that actually applies to writing/reading stories in general. Unless maybe we have an "Aesop's Fables" theme perhaps...)

Sorry if it seemed like I snubbed anyone with my voting, and sorry also for taking so long...

I will explain in a hidden section below about my choices:

Spoiler

The Square Of Flowers: This story could be brilliant if I read it as part of a larger work that spoke of a world I was already familiar with. The author is obviously very familiar with his world and walks within it with confidence. But I could not. A stand-alone story of this length must grip me with its characters, their motivations, and how and why they are in their current situations, if I am to feel that I have gotten my entertainment vs. time invested value. There were a few moments when I got interested: The mysterious figure perched on the rooftop. The fingers for sale as souvenirs at the stalls. But at the end of the day the time taken to tell the story seemed to me to be taken up a lot with an attempt at world building for those unfamiliar with the author's universe at the expense of me caring about the main character's plight and motivations. So, yeah, if I read this as a part of a larger story with characters I already understood and a world and story I was already invested in, then it could have been awesome. But for me I felt kinda like I had walked into the wrong movie after a bathroom break and watched a scene or two of it before realizing my mistake. Keep writing your world though, mate... It seems like a very interesting place when read within its full context!

It'll Be Fine: I loved the character of Robert, as I said above, and this really felt to me like a Simon Pegg/Nick Frost escapade. But... while reading the story I couldn't help noticing a spot here and there of slightly clumsy foreshadowing that should have been set up way earlier and explained better. As mentioned in a comment above: You could have hinted early on in the story a possible reasons for fireworks and lit candles in an office, and also maybe a reason why grape juice can explode (there was a mention of the company being accused of using unhealthy chemicals but why? And how is that linked to our main characters getting fired? Maybe they discovered a scandal about this? Tell us! We want to know these things!) So, yeah, for me the story had some of the fun of a Simon Pegg/Nick Frost movie, but lacking a bit of the polish that leads to me really believing in the story. It was a lot of fun in parts and all it really needed to be 100% better, in my opinion, was for you to go back over it from the perspective of a first reader and plant the foreshadowing a bit earlier, and maybe to tie the characters' motivations a bit tighter to the final outcome. I couldn't even tell if they died or not at the end, and if so, then why the first-person narrative? Oh, and I beg of you, whatever you do, don't use pictures please...

The Triumphal Procession: I've pretty much said everything I felt about this story in my voting comments above. Apart from a few grammar issues I thought this story was the tightest of all the entries, except probably for that last redundant sentence. I'm guessing the author did not feel confident that the twist had been explained properly, but it had.

90 Mile Straight: While the writing is kind of alright, in that it does carry the reader forward from moment to moment in a workmanlike fashion and leads them through this rather dubious, but thankfully short, tale, this story was obviously a lot more fun to write than it is to read. It is also a quite obvious ripoff of "A Christmas Carol" but without the character setup that would make you give two shits about "Cameron" or whatever his name was, and leaves his potential "redemption" in the hands of the ambiguous final line: "They aren't mine." (Actually, that was kinda cool). I would suggest to the author that this story is fine to write all in a rush at 1AM but that maybe they should seriously think about posting it or not the next morning, or if maybe they should put a little more effort into developing it further beyond a scene in a movie you just walked into by mista... In fact, almost every bit of "critique" I said about the other stories above applies three-fold to this one.

[close]

And finally, thanks to Baron for the very appropriately done act of making a public spectacle out of my late voting in the thread and even in the thread title!!!

/me is the final spectacle!!!

I havent really found the time to read all the stories. Sometime soon, I'll read through them all and vote.

I'm not sure if it's too late to vote. I'm "hiding" my votes just in case.. so you can always pretend their not there. :)

Spoiler

Best Character: The Square of Flowers by Sinitrena (character-Tjoisal)
I haven't read your other stories, from the same "world", but I'm intrigued.

Best Spectacle: The Square of Flowers by Sinitrena
I enjoyed the suspense leading up to the rescue. I've seen this type of rescue before (escaping the gallows), but I liked reading it from the prisoners point of view.
It's one of those spectacles that would be fun to read in all the different players points of view. The masked boy, the thieves, Istra, etc...

Best Writing: 90 Mile Straight by Mandle
Wonderful visuals and storytelling

Most Thought Provoking: 90 Mile Straight by Mandle
Life is not unlike racing down a 90 mile straight. Beautiful :)

[close]

I'm interested in FunnyBoy's opinion, so I'll leave voting open for him. :)

------------------------

Edit:  This is getting silly.  One more day, then I'm wrapping things up.

...and that's the end of voting.  More with a whimper than a spectacular roar, but I'm tired of holding the competition hostage with perpetual voting.
Here are the results:

(http://www.vanwijst.com/games/Published/spectacle_gold.png) The golden trophy of spectacularness goes to Mandle with eight votes.  I thought a flaming crash would have been a more spectacular conclusion, but that'd probably be too obvious. ;)

(http://www.vanwijst.com/games/Published/spectacle_silver.png) The silver trophy of spectacularity goes to Sinitrena with seven votes.  I like the depth and texture of the setting in your stories all set in the same background world, although I might be biased having read all of them.  Does the world have a name we can refer to it by?  Otherwise I'm calling it Sinitrenia (so you'd better choose one :) ).

(http://www.vanwijst.com/games/Published/spectacle_bronze.png) The bronze trophy of spectacularment goes to FunnyBoy044 with five votes.  I, too, was confused by the presence of some components of the chain reaction in the factory, but the basic plot was compelling.

Quote from: Mandle on Sun 10/09/2017 13:04:39
Most Thought Provoking:...... Yeah, not really sure what purpose this vote category fills. It seems more an unneeded slot to fill rather than something that actually applies to writing/reading stories in general. Unless maybe we have an "Aesop's Fables" theme perhaps...)

Of course as the new comp administrator you may choose whichever voting categories you like, but I feel the "thought provoking" category has merit.  We focus a lot in our voting on the elements of writing (setting, atmosphere, plot, character, word style) but not so much on the message, which is really the whole point of writing anything in the first place.  Just my opinion.

And now I happily turn over contest administration to Mandle, be it his burden to bear for the next fortnight and change.  I for one am looking forward to the new topic in the next exciting instalment of....

The Fortnightly Writing Competition!

Quote from: Mandle on Sun 10/09/2017 13:04:39
The Square Of Flowers: This story could be brilliant if I read it as part of a larger work that spoke of a world I was already familiar with. The author is obviously very familiar with her world and walks within it with confidence.[...] There were a few moments when I got interested: The mysterious figure perched on the rooftop. The fingers for sale as souvenirs at the stalls. [...] But for me I felt kinda like I had walked into the wrong movie after a bathroom break and watched a scene or two of it before realizing my mistake. Keep writing your world though, mate... It seems like a very interesting place when read within its full context!

I find it interesting which parts hooked you, because, to be honest, the fingers for sale were just to create an atmosphere, without any meaning. I just wrote them in without thinking. Something I really shouldn't do in a larger universe.
As for walking into the wrong movie, yes, I know what you mean. This story is not just part of a universe, it's part of another idea for a story I had in this world. So I probably ended up with some elements that really didn't help this story as a standalone.
Thanks for your critique. It was helpful.

Quote from: Baron on Wed 13/09/2017 00:33:25
The silver trophy of spectacularity goes to Sinitrena with seven votes.  I like the depth and texture of the setting in your stories all set in the same background world, although I might be biased having read all of them.  Does the world have a name we can refer to it by?  Otherwise I'm calling it Sinitrenia (so you'd better choose one :) ).

Sinitrenia? That sounds particularly awful :-\ I refer to these stories in my head as the Stories from the Connected Continents (which doesn't make any sense to you because this geographical feature wasn't mentioned yet - oh well (roll)), or as the Lomin-series, because Lomin is the link between all the stories (he shows up in all of them or is mentioned, although he's not always named or named something different - have fun re-reading and looking for him 8-))


Thank's for all your votes, guys, and congratulations Mandle!

Congratulations Mandle!

Quote from: Sinitrena on Wed 13/09/2017 01:18:56
Sinitrenia? That sounds particularly awful :-\ I refer to these stories in my head as the Stories from the Connected Continents (which doesn't make any sense to you because this geographical feature wasn't mentioned yet - oh well (roll)), or as the Lomin-series, because Lomin is the link between all the stories (he shows up in all of them or is mentioned, although he's not always named or named something different - have fun re-reading and looking for him 8-))

Your Lomin Series is pretty great, have you ever thought about having the stories published as some kind of anthology book? :)

Quote from: Blondbraid on Wed 13/09/2017 10:02:41
Your Lomin Series is pretty great, have you ever thought about having the stories published as some kind of anthology book? :)

This raises a good question, what becomes of everyone's entries post-comp? 

I stick my favorites up on shortnovella.com, and then my whopping 4.7 visitors per month apparently skim them for 6.74 (average) seconds before departing.  Still, I like the theory of putting my writing out there.

Quote from: kconan on Wed 13/09/2017 11:17:02

This raises a good question, what becomes of everyone's entries post-comp? 

I stick my favorites up on shortnovella.com, and then my whopping 4.7 visitors per month apparently skim them for 6.74 (average) seconds before departing.  Still, I like the theory of putting my writing out there.

I don't enter as much as I'd like due to time restrictions, but all my entries are stored on my computer. I tend to use the same setting for this as for some of my novels, and this contest helps develop those worlds. They're mostly vignettes though, so not worth putting online, but I want to reuse my Whodunnit entry at some point. I liked that one ;)

This brings up another interesting question: would game-related stories (ie, game fanfic) be allowed? I've always wanted to post one of mine but I'm worried I'll be breaking some kind of unwritten rule :S

Quote from: Baron on Wed 13/09/2017 00:33:25
I thought a flaming crash would have been a more spectacular conclusion, but that'd probably be too obvious. ;)

I actually started to write the spectacular crash you mention, and then backspaced and abandoned that storyline, for the exact reason you mention: It was too obvious...

I am honoured to win this round and will be thinking hard on the next theme...

And, yeah, I will actually create trophies this time. Sorry about that other time, but the eventual trophies by Baron were way too good to miss out on, so I guess something positive was added to the universe in the absence of my contribution...

New theme coming soon...

Quote from: Baron on Wed 13/09/2017 00:33:25
I feel the "thought provoking" category has merit.  We focus a lot in our voting on the elements of writing (setting, atmosphere, plot, character, word style) but not so much on the message, which is really the whole point of writing anything in the first place.

Incorrect! The only point of writing is to win little pixel trophies. They are the only thing that give life any meaning! :=

So... you gonna add a bit of meaning to your life next round? ;)

Crap! I'm sorry! I got so kept up in school that I forgot to vote! Anyway, many thanks for the Trophy and I might just enter another one of these sometime.