Fortnightly Writing Competition: ABANDONED PLACE (Results)

[Baron]

Welcome scribes and scribblers, tale-tellers and textual-titillators, to the epic writing challenge of the age.  I want you to throw a motley crew of unsuspecting characters into a strangely, hauntingly, mysteriously

Abandoned Place



The abandoned place can be a physical space (ruined city, dilapidated building, an inentionally sealed tomb, or just a pristine but mysteriously empty edifice), or a mobile setting large enough to host a drama (ghost ship, space wreck).  The important thing is that it was once occupied by intelligent beings, and subsequently abandoned (or at least apparently abandoned ).  The drama that takes place inside the abandoned place is up to you.  It can be comedy, suspense, survivor horror, etc.  I look forward to being immersed in your creativity!

DEADLINE: Sunday January 24, 2016

Good luck to all participants!

[Baron]

Speaking of "abandoned place", check this thread action out!

Seriously, is this thing on?  I'll be here all week.  Try the shrimp!

Oh yeah, one week left.  Don't forget to remember!

[Sinitrena]

I'm working on something. As a matter of fact, it's already the second story I started for this topic - I realized after about 5000 words that the first one just doesn't work . So I'm not too sure I can make the deadline and might have to ask for a slight extension later on. But I try my best, and hope for some competition here.

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Edit: done

This is part 1 of 3

The Naming of Names

Sand. There was sand everywhere. This was the first thing he realised, though it was hardly new. He thought for a moment that he had seen nothing but sand for the last two weeks, even though he knew this wasn't true. There were, after all, a few cacti here and there.

Until a few hours ago, the sand had been nothing but an annoyance that stuck to his sweaty skin and aggravate his eyes. But the merciless sun during the day and the unbearable cold at night were much more dangerous. Worst of all was the thirst, of course. He had bought a camel to carry water for him like all the other people in the caravan and as the leader of the caravan had suggested, he only drank the water in small sips instead of gulping it down like he wanted to do, but it was still excruciating in some moments â€" like now.

He wasn't used to the desert. He was familiar with mountains and plains and had played half-naked in the snow with his sister when they were little. But at first, the heat hadn't seemed so bad. In Torem, the city at the edge of the desert, shelter and water had made the sun nothing more but a little distracting. He had even spent some days just strolling through the public gardens and savouring the smell of exotic plants. In the desert on the way to Bershem, the southernmost city of the northern one of the Connected Continents, while they walked up and down the dunes, he came to think that he could never again enjoy a day in the sun.

They conversed their strength as much as possible. They didn't walk in the midday heat and they didn't talk much. Most of the merchants of the caravan were used to this journey and so he could use them as an example. It wasn't as bad as it could have been, and not suicidal like his plan to walk alone through the desert like he had walked alone over the rest of the continent.

But now he lay on the ground, covered in sand. He remembered cries and a large cloud that looked more like a wall, but it took him a while to get his bearing.

He licked his dry lips, opened his burning eyes. He swallowed, only to cough in the next moment. Pure instinct made him jump up immediately and sand trickled down his back.

He couldn't see, not properly. Everything was blurred. His eyes burned, they hurt so much. He tried to rub them clean. But his hands were dirty and rough. He only rubbed the sand in even more.

“Istes?” he croaked, calling for the merchant he had talked with when the storm came. “Ekrelem?” Anyone?” His voice wasn't louder than the light breeze that still swept over the desert.

Nobody answered and the boy coughed again. He had turned sixteen while they travelled through the desert, though he had told no-one. They thought he was older. Maybe they even believed him.

He fell to his knees when the cough wouldn't stop this time. Dry retching, he fought for breath. At least that meant that his eyes began to water. He tried to control his stomach and lungs but he allowed his tears to stream freely and clean his eyes.

After a while, he tried to call again for the other travellers. His voice was stronger but the answer stayed the same. He didn't know how much time had passed since the storm reached their camp or if anybody but him had survived. He couldn't even tell if he still was where their camp had been. He should have panicked when this thought reached his mind, he even thought he should panic. Or feel anything. But there was nothing, not yet.

Instead, his mind was focused on the words of his old sword master, even though he was fairly certain only his sister had properly listened to this lesson. Assess your situation: Where are you? What do you have on you? What do you need? Can you get it? Keep in control.

Now that the tears had cleaned his eyes a bit, he looked around. He saw nothing he recognised. The desert looked the same to him everywhere anyway and the only thing that stood out before were the colourful tents of his travelling companions. They were nowhere to be found. There was nothing left: no friends, no animals, no tents, no water.

Slowly, he got to his feet again and stumbled a few steps in one direction or the other. He had to leave. He had to find the others, find water, leave the desert. Survive. He had walked the whole northern continent from north to south looking for his destiny. He wouldn't give up. He had to survive.

After a few steps he stopped himself. What was he doing? He had no sense of direction, no idea what time it was or how far away from Bershem he still was. What was he thinking? It wouldn't do him any good to just stumbled through the desert. No, he had to wait, had to think. He had a compass, hadn't he? He had stolen it from a merchant in Torem just a day before he started his journey. And if the compass was gone, he could figure out the cardinal direction from the sun or the stars, but only if he knew the time of the day. So, finding the compass or waiting for nightfall it was.

He patted down his whole body, searching in every pocket but the compass was gone, and so was his knife. As a matter of fact, the only things left in his pocket were a set of lock-picks, a leather string he sometimes used to tie his long dark hair, two gold pieces, a flask with some oil for a lantern, and sand, a lot of sand. Worst of all, the water skin he had tied to his belt this morning was gone.

It was impossible to travel like that: without resources, without people who actually knew what they were doing. The boy sank to the ground, sobbing. Absent-mindedly, he brushed the sand to the left and then back to the right. He wasn't looking for anything. Rationally, he knew there was nothing to be found, but he had nothing better to do either. He had no shelter to protect him from the sun, no water, no idea where he was until the sun set. He could only wait.

*

Djelbra was afraid. Her hands were shaky and sweaty, even though it was comparatively cool in the temple. She didn't fear for her life. There was little chance that one of them would die that day, but she was afraid to fail. At seventeen, she was not particularly old or particularly young to take the test of the god and, as with everyone else, her future depended on it. Of course, she could stay in the temple even if she failed, even teach if the priests thought her skills in one area sufficient, but it just wasn't the same. And she believed in their god. She believed that it was her destiny to serve their god, that she was more than a disciple. She wanted to use her skills, not just hoping for his blessing, but for him and in his name. And then there were the secrets that were only revealed to priests, the final part of a very special education only priests received, and the skills the god himself gave to them. She wanted this. She had chosen this path, not just because there was nothing else for her as with so many of the disciples that entered the temple starving and desperate, but because she knew it was right for her. And wasn't this one of the principles of their order, to take what you want?

She dried her palms at the rough grey cloth of her robe over the two pockets. She wasn't allowed to wear anything else or take anything into the labyrinth. She could take whatever she wanted there, even steal it from someone else, but what was there to steal when no-one had anything on him? As could be expected with students of their order, everyone had smuggled something in, of course. She had taken three hairpins and hid them in her curly red hair, but that was all, except for the cord that held her robe.

Stealthily, she looked around the room. She wasn't supposed to, but stealth was part of what she had learned in her last four years in the temple and so she wasn't surprised when she noticed that some of the other initiates also looked around. They were in a great hall in the underground, about a days travel from Bershem, also through the underground. Frescos decorated the dome, and mosaics the floor and walls. The scenes depicted were not really fitting for their god. There were naked men and women everywhere. On a picture right next to Djelbra's knees, two men sat next to an obviously pregnant woman, one hand each on her stomach, the other holding the one of the other's man. The goddess this temple originally belonged to stood over them, her hands extended for a blessing. A surrogate, Djelbra thought absent-mindedly and averted her eyes. They might use the sanctuary of a different goddess for their ritual, but they still respected the other gods and their domains to some degree and a surrogate was sacred, not supposed to be stared on, not even in picture.

Djelbra focussed on the rest of her surroundings instead. Torches illuminated the sanctuary and threw rhythmic patterns on the mosaics and the statue of an unassuming man that stood at one side of the round room. It held its hands like a bowl and long hair obscured its face. Sixteen doors led out of the room, one for each god, even one for their God of Thieves. The Feeling One and the Silent One were no enemies like the Seeing One and the Silent One. In temples of the Seeing One, the only references to their god were statues of the Silent One in chains. Of course, the statue wasn't here while the goddess still reigned, only the sign of their god on one of the doors.

Seven other men and women knelt before the statue of their god and fifteen priests in black robes stood around the edges, while one, standing directly in front of the statue, intoned a blessing. He had a mask in front of his face and disguised his voice â€" a skill they all had learned during their time in the temple â€" so that it was more difficult to recognise him. There was no real reason to it. They had all lived in the temple for a while, they knew the priests, but disguise was part of their traditions and an honour for their lord.

The blessing was spoken in a secret language only their cult ever learned. It didn't even share its grammar with any other language of the Connected Continents. Spoken in a rhythmic pattern and changing pitch and volume to denote different meanings, it sounded more like a delicate, unmelodic song than normal speech.

“Silent One,” the high priest said, “God of Thieves. God of Liars. God of us. God of those in the shadows, who stole the sun and the stars and only gave them back with shadows following in their paths. We call to you on this day in the darkness of a stolen temple. When the Weeping One, Goddess of Death and Mercy, claimed this city, we came and stole the temple of the Feeling One, Goddess of Love and Fertility and her labyrinth for our use like you taught us, like we stole all our temples. From the Weeping One, Goddess of Death and Mercy, you take life; from the Feeling One, Goddess of Love and Fertility, you take offspring; to the Beaming One, God of Sun and Light, you bring darkness; at the Smiling One, Goddess of Luck and Wealth, you smile; and at the Seeing One, God of Law and Justice, you laugh. You walk on the northern continent, domain of the Northern One, and on the southern continent, domain of the Southern One, and we follow in your path, taking like you take - with words or hands. Protect us now. Smile on us in this hour of knowledge, when you take the powers of the Hidden One, Goddess of Future and Past, for one night. Give us your blessing and your sign, offer to us like we offer to you. Open your hands and reveal to us the number you have chosen, show us how many of those that seek your blessing will receive it today!”

The priest had turned around to the statue and risen his hands to it. Slowly, he placed them around the cheeks of the statue and then let them slide down on its body until he held the hands of the god in his own hands.

Djelbra wasn't sure if the god actually responded or if the priests used an elaborate trick. When you are a disciple of the God of Thieves, this is really not easy to tell, even though they were taught how to recognise all kinds of tricks. It didn't really matter, a trick would certainly be something he would agree with. On the other hand, Djelbra was fairly certain that not even a high priest could feign the hands of a statue opening. In any case, a short while later, while the priest threw his head back in some kind of ecstasy, silver medallions fell, one after the other, into a silken cloth underneath the hands of the god.

“One,” Djelbra counted in her mind. “Two. - Three. - Four. - Five. - Six.” Six, and then nothing. There were only six, but eight initiates knelt in the sanctuary of the Feeling One, hoping to become priests that day.

They only had one chance. There was no rule how long you had to learn in the temple before you were allowed to try for priesthood or how old you had to be, but there was only ever one chance. If the god didn't choose you, this was the end of your career as a priest. Two of the initiates would leave the temple of the Feeling One and return to Bershem, to the main temple of the Silent One as mere disciples for the rest of their life. And they would always live with the knowledge that their god did not want them. At least, there were six medallions. Djelbra had heard of years were the Silent One did not offer a single one.

The high priest walked around the room, giving one or more medallions to one priest or the other, or none at all. They were as stealthily as possible in the middle of a room full of thieves so that the initiates would not know who took them and went and hid them in the labyrinth around the sanctuary. The labyrinth was originally a symbol of the Feeling One that represented the intertwined and twisted paths of love, but for the purpose of the Silent One it became an obstacle course with traps, secret passages, locked doors and false walls, and hidden holes where the priests would hide the medallions. Fifteen of the Sixteen doors that led out of the room were entrances to the labyrinth while the sixteenth, the one they had used before, led back to the once public space of the original temple.

The priests would hide the offerings of the Silent One while Djelbra and the other initiates waited for a day and a night and prayed with the high priest and then they would each enter the labyrinth through a different door and search and whoever brought a medallion back to the statue would be ordained and choose a new name for himself. There were hardly any rules in the labyrinth. You could steal the medallion from someone else if you wished, as long as you didn't use violence. The Silent One did not look down favourable on those who needed force where stealth was also possible. The labyrinth was as much a test of their skill as of the will of their god.

*

Stone. There was something hard under the sand. He moved his hands around in circles across the solid ground, cleaning it. The stone was about one step wide, cut into a cube and as yellow as the sand under which it was buried.

It was certainly not what the boy had expected or hoped to find and most likely not very helpful. What good could an old building do to him? Nevertheless, he brushed more sand away, cleaning it in larger and larger circles until a second and then a third stone surfaced. But next to this stone, there was wood instead, and metal in the middle of it. The young man swept the sand more furiously.

This was a trapdoor! The sandstorm had covered a trapdoor. And a trapdoor meant shade, protection, maybe even water if whatever was underneath was used as a hiding place. He had no idea what someone could hide here or why it was here in the middle of the desert and for one, excruciating second he even thought he might be hallucinating. But his hands felt the wood and his eyes saw the sun sparkle on the metal of the handle and there was a lock. A lock that looked new, well kept!

At least he hadn't lost his lock-picks. He wasn't very good with them. After all, he only acquired them a month ago and didn't ever really need them before. He had only used them to hone his skills, or create them in the first place for that matter. He had survived the last year doing the odd job here and there and as a thief, but before he started this journey, he was more proficient in dances and fine conversation. But he was on his way to Bershem because this was supposedly where the main temple of the Silent One was and so he considered this lock a good opportunity to honour his god.

His sweaty hands slipped again and again when he entered his picks but he would not give up, he could not. This trapdoor was hope, more than anything else. Clumsily, he felt around the mechanism, not really knowing what he did. After a while, the lock sprang open. The trapdoor itself opened surprisingly easily.

A polished ladder made from some kind of dark wood he wasn't familiar with glittered in the sunlight, that didn't quiet reach the bottom of the pit. The ladder wasn't connected to a wall, only to the ceiling and probably to the ground. It was impossible to tell how big the room under the sand was.

He had oil for a lamp or torch but no other materials to built either the one or the other and so he had no choice but to climb down into the darkness. Slowly, carefully, he slid over the edge and felt for the rungs of the ladder, putting his feet on them when he was absolutely certain he wouldn't fall. His heart beat heavily, though he couldn't tell if he was nervous or if the sun had affected him more than he could manage. Counting, he began his descent.

“One, two, three, four... fifteen, sixteen... twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-” No. That felt different. Pebbles and sand scrunched under his boots and an echo of his voice resounded through the room. He sighed with relief and opened his cramped hands. It weren't so many rungs that he would be exhausted from climbing down, but he didn't feel too great to begin with.

He had nothing to orient himself, no walls to hold onto. He couldn't even tell if one wall was closer to the ladder than the other. They lay in darkness, especially for his eyes, that were used to the glaring light of a desert sun. He waited a moment for them to adjust, but the main part of the room stayed dark. Only where he stood and where the ladder reached up to the surface, a square of light shone down on his head.

He felt around for anything without stepping away from the ladder at first but there was nothing but more sand that had trickled down to the ground from above. If this was a hiding place of some kind, its owner had put nothing right next to the ladder.

The air was stuffy and stale but all in all not too bad, like a house that hadn't been lived in for a while, not like a crypt. And it was cooler than directly under the burning sun, though just as dry. If there was water to be found it would be water someone stored there, not groundwater.

The man put his back against the ladder and then he started to walk. Slowly, he sat one foot in front of the other, his hands outstretched to feel for anything in his path. Again, he counted. After just a few steps, it became too dark to see his own hands. He realised that he couldn't walk in the complete darkness, not without staggering like he was drunk. Maybe it was because the ground was uneven or because he really never tried to walk in total darkness through an unknown room before. In any case, it was disconcerting and confusing to walk like that without even a wall to hold onto and he was afraid he would miscount or not walk in a straight line and mess up the plan he created in his head. He had done this before, created a map by counting his steps, but then it was just to find his sister faster in the corn labyrinth the peasants at his home built every year in autumn for their marriage ceremonies. He was eight and she was six when he used this skill the first time and became pretty good, but mapping a labyrinth in the light of day was different than mapping a room that just happened to be below the Bershimi desert.

He sank to his hands and knees, hoping that that would stabilise him. It was more difficult to measure a distance like that. He new how wide his normal steps were but not how far his knees moved with every shuffled step. Still, a straight line was more important to eventually find his way back than the exact distance, especially if he stayed in this cellar past sunset. Night came fast in the desert, after all. If he returned earlier, he would probably be able to see the lonely beam of light that shone into the cave, but he thought he should better be careful.

Only now did he realise that the ground wasn't just uneven, it also declined slightly. The pebbles pressed painfully into his skin but he just felt safer closer to the ground. After a few more steps, his hand touched a wall. He caressed the rough surface while he got back on his feet. Feeling along the stones, he realised that they were cut into a convex form, making it more difficult to tell whether the wall was straight or bent for a round room.

On the floor, there was a lot less sand than right under the trapdoor, obviously, but it wasn't clean by any definition of the word. No chests or sacks stood next to the wall where he had reached it and so he had no choice but to circle the room.

He took one of the golden coins from his pocket and placed it on the ground. He would count his steps again and the coin would help him find this spot again. He turned to his left and placed his right hand against the wall. Walking normally now, he started his exploration again. He was less wobbly on his legs, holding onto something, and so he was fairly certain that the map in his head would at least be accurate from now on.

After ten steps, the wall to his right suddenly disappeared and gave way for an alcove or hallway and he entered the corridor carefully. He didn't expect to meet anything or anyone dangerous down here, but he had to mind trapping hazards of all kinds and forms, maybe even deliberately place traps. This strange cellar was obscured by sand â€" though probably not intentionally - and protected by a lock, after all. He felt for anything strange with every step but there was nothing.

By now, he was as excited about this place as he was nervous about his situation. He wanted to find out what this was as much as he wanted to find water. This wasn't sensible, but whenever he tried to think about it, he soon realised that there was nothing else to do right now anyway.

The corridor ended in a room, at least he assumed it was an other room when the walls to both sides shied away after a short distance and gave way for a different surface.

Wood. Polished like the wood of the ladder, the object was maybe half a metre wide and reached higher than his head. On the side that faced the room, it was open and something stood there. Something stood on shelves. Shelves? If this was a hiding place for smugglers or something, they were fairly tidy. And what was on the shelves? This was strange. Some where empty, this was easy to feel, and on the others, something solid stood. This was remarkably familiar to him. His fingertips touched leather, rough on the surface, soft underneath when you pressed against it gently, and then hard. Book, these were books. Who stored books in the middle of the desert? And why?

He couldn't tell, not without light. If there were books here, maybe there was also a way to read them â€" a lamp or candles.

He felt further along the shelves, entering the room properly and forgetting to count. This was not a small library for such a strange place, though it was probably a lot smaller than the one they had at home. He couldn't tell yet. At home, they didn't store candles on the higher shelves, he remembered suddenly. In a library, books where placed at eye level, of course. Where were the candles at home? Right, in a cabinet underneath the main shelves. He knelt down again. Yes, there was a door and it opened easily. And there it was, the sticky feeling of wax.

Excited, he took a handful of candles and turned back to the door. He could light them in the sun. That wasn't difficult, and then he would see this place and maybe even figure out what it was. He wanted to run back to the first room, but stopped himself just in time. He wasn't sure how long he had already spent in the cellar, so it was better to go slowly and count the steps on the way back like he did before, just in case the sun had set in the meantime. And there was the fact that it just wasn't such a good idea to run in the dark. Before he entered the corridor again, he took a random book from the shelves. After all, it was easier to read in the sunlight than the light of a candle.

He reached the first room without problem and turned to the left, putting his hand against the wall again. He counted the steps and when he reached the place he had first touched the wall according to the map in his head, he knelt down and searched for the coin. It was where he had left it. A few minutes latter, he climbed up the ladder again.

The sun hadn't set yet. As a matter of fact, it seemed like no time had passed at all. The sunbeams burned down on his head without mercy like before as soon as he climbed over the edge. He had thought the air under the surface was stuffy, but the overheated air outside was worse. He broke out in sweat immediately but breathed in deeply nonetheless. He had forgotten how dry his throat felt. The excitement of his find had made him forget his thirst for a short while. It was stupid. Why did he even care what the books in this library where about? It was sensible to examine the cave and to take a candle, but a book?

He looked at the one he had taken for a moment, opening it on a random page. He hadn't read it before, not even seen this story before. It was some kind of legend in the form of a poem. But now, in the heat of the sun and thereby reminded of his situation, he didn't really care. He loved books, especially poetry and his mind was as thirsty for books as his throat was for water. He never realised before his journey how difficult it was to get books when most people didn't know how to read. But there were more important things right now.

He shut the book with a slap and let it fall into the sand. It wasn't the right time to read. No, he had to light the candles and explore the cellar some more, hoping to find water, even though it wasn't likely.

[Sinitrena]

This is part 2 of 3


*

Djelbra had spent the last day and night with the other initiates in the great hall. Most priests had left them to hide the medallions and locked them in. The high priest prayed with them for a while and then left them to their own thoughts. Some of them prayed some more, some talked, and an older man, Velotan, who was at least thirty, told everyone who wanted to hear it â€" or not â€" about one of the few times some twenty years ago when one of the initiates had disappeared in the labyrinth. They hadn't found him for four days and when they did, he had drowned. Deaths were seldom, but they did happen from time to time. The traps were not supposed to seriously hurt, only to incapacitate for a while, but that didn't mean there were no accidents.

In the end, the search for the medallions was a race. Whoever brought them back first won and became a priest. You were allowed to take an already found medallion from an other candidate as long as he hadn't entered the sanctuary again and as long as you didn't use violence. The God of Thieves and Liars was a god of stealth, not of violence and he only approved of it in dire circumstances. Becoming a priest was not a life or death situation.

Djelbra had spent four years in the temple of the Silent One in Bershem, Velotan nearly twenty-four and the other six somewhere between two years and ten. There was no rule as to how long you spent as a novice. It wasn't a fair race but it was also common knowledge that it wasn't a guaranteed win for those with more experience. The god decided and showed his will in the skills of his disciples, there was no doubt.

Fifteen of the sixteen doors opened at once and dim light framed the priests for a short moment before they closed them again.

“Come daughter,” one of them said.

“Come son,” added the second.

“Come sister.”

“Come brother.”

“Come, come all.”

“And steal from the Silent One what is his to give.”

Slowly, every single one of the initiates stood up and went to one of the doors. There was no system, no pre-assigned order, but somehow they each found a door just for themselves without hassle.

Her door was adorned with the symbol of the Digging One, Goddess of Animals and Agriculture, above the door frame. Not a bad sign, but not a good one, she though, even though she wasn't superstitious. Next to her, on her left, stood Velotan in front of the sign of the Fighting One, Goddess of War and Resistance, and on her right Char, who was slightly older than her and had only spent three years in the temple. He had chosen the door of the Helping One, Goddess of Plants and Healers. She idly wondered why she had even thought about the people next to her. After all, she didn't now if the corridors behind the doors connected again right away or after long and spiry paths.

Without an outward sign to each other, eight priests opened eight doors and eight initiates began their search.

Djelbra entered a very short corridor that ended in a second door after just a few steps. Of course, she didn't take even one of them. When she heard the door behind her clunk shut, she looked around carefully.

Small lamps right underneath the ceiling illuminated the walls. They were shielded at the bottom so that only dim and flickering light reached the ground. Dancing shadows obscured the colours of the mosaic that was mounted to the walls here as everywhere else in the temple.

There could be a secret compartment everywhere in the wall, or a switch that activated a trap. Her eyes wouldn't help her here. The light was too confusing, the colours too manifold, even in the shadows. Systematically, she began to search for anything strange or unusual in the patterns on the wall, spending minute after minute in a short corridor that wasn't longer than six steps. Again and again she knelt down to look for cracks and seams in the ground. There was nothing. The room had no special features, no additions the priests of the Silent One had made.

The door was locked. But this didn't worry her all too much. She took the hairpins from her red curls â€" not ideal but easier to hide than actual lock-picks. The lock sprung open with a soft click and revealed total darkness behind. She only shrugged and turned around.

She pressed one hand on each side of the corridor and climbed up to the lamps, taking one from the wall. The lamps! She had forgotten about them. There were six, three on each side. She climbed up to the other five and searched them but there was nothing there either.

In that moment, a gong echoed through the halls, signifying that the first medallion had been found. It was so soon. How was this possible? The answer was easy, of course. She had meticulously searched the very first part of the labyrinth herself after all. Someone else had more luck, apparently. It was a slow process to search every little stone and crack but definitely necessary.

Behind the door, the corridor branched into three paths and she chose the one to the left. Maybe it was because Char was to her right somewhere and Velotan to her lift and she liked Char more and didn't want risking to take a medallion he might find, but in all honesty she didn't really think about it.

Her thoroughness turned out to be well-founded when she noticed first a seam on the ground that shouldn't be there and then the floor plate that would probably trigger the trap. Her first instinct was to jump over the trap or to climb over it pressing her hands against the walls on either side, but she didn't know how far she would have to jump or if there was a second trap or a secret compartment on the wall.

She knelt down and pressed her hands against the floor plate. The ground in front of her gave way as she had expected.

A second gong echoed through the halls.

The pit wasn't very wide and so she decided to jump, forgetting for a moment that she didn't know if the ground behind the pit was safe.

She was lucky. She landed safely and even the oil lamp didn't spill.

As she passed a fork of the corridor to her right, a third gong sounded. Three medallions were gone already, only three more to go. But then again, it must have been at least one or two hours since she had entered the labyrinth. That she had only searched a very small part was due to her caution. Maybe some of the other initiates were less wary but more lucky.

The corridor ended in a small round room with a single column in the middle. Five corridors led from it, including the one she had used.

There was no mosaic on the column, for a reason she could not guess. Bare sandstone, as yellow as the sand of the Bershimi, stuck out from the adorned and shining blue and green pebbles of the mosaic like a priest of the Seeing One in a temple of her order.

She let her eyes glide over the stone for a moment but decided to take care of the other walls first.

Nothing, nothing and nothing again. She didn't find anything and was just about to leave the crossroads again when she remembered the column.

And yes, there, just under the ceiling, was a small hook on the wall. She didn't see anything that could mean a trap and so she pulled the hook.

A door she hadn't noticed was there sprung open. She should have noticed it, but here eyes were tired from looking at small pebbles over and over again. She hadn't realised that her task would become more difficult with every hour that passed and not just because others found medallions before her.

But a secret door was a good sign, a very good sign. She nearly ran to the new corridor put stopped herself in time. Even a secret door could be a trap.

She saw the medallion right there on the ground when the fourth gong sounded.

*

Leather. The smell of old books only libraries exuded filled his nose again. It was a familiar smell, the smell of home and security. He had missed nothing more than all the books he had left behind when he began his journey from their castle nearly a year ago.

But while his own library and this room somewhere under the Bershimi certainly served the same general purpose of storing books, they couldn't have been more different. Not many people still used the library at home. It was years since his family gave a ball and just as long since visitors came and stayed with them. But the library was still cosy and welcoming with a fireplace in one corner, high windows that were decorated with lead glass, thick, heavy curtains in front of them, and armchairs that stood around low, small tables. The tables in this library were long and practical, some heavy but uncomfortable chairs around them. There were no windows, of course, and a fireplace was probably superfluous. While his library at home was a place to relax, this room was only practical, made to study books but not enjoy them.

All in all, the room wasn't very big and definitely smaller than he had thought in the dark. He was curious, as a matter of fact, he became more curious to every aspect of this place the longer he spent there, but he didn't stay long or do more than take a superficial look at some of them. Above ground, his pressing need for water had become stronger again and when he had climbed down the ladder again with a candle in his hand and looked around the first room, he had noticed a second door leading out of it. Maybe he would find some water there, however unlikely it was.

He didn't recognise any of the text he chose at random. They were probably rare and expansive, but there was hardly any system as to what they talked about. Most of them seemed to deal with religious topics, though. One was a book about the Connected One, God of Negotiation and Compromise, that was probably only ever supposed to be read by priests of this god. But there was no reason for this order to hide books in the middle of the desert. Their god wasn't controversial at all.

It was difficult to walk away from the books, but his tongue stuck to his palate and his saliva felt like mud. He had to look around further.

The second corridor was longer than the first and declining further. Masoned walls became rough stone, and the ceiling lower and lower. He had to walk with a croaked back, but still hadn't counted all that far, when the corridor ended in a solid wall. A short and unnecessary ladder, made from the same polished wood he was familiar with by now, though he still couldn't tell what tree it came from, let up to a trapdoor just over his head.

Carefully, he pushed the trapdoor up and looked over the edge. He didn't see much. The light of a candle only reaches so far. But he did notice that the ground his fingertips touched was mode of very small stones, each smooth on the surface but all together creating an uneven whole. Mosaic. It didn't form any pictures here, only creating patterns on the ground. He had seen mosaics for the first time in Torem, visiting the temple of the Dancing One, Goddess of Music and Pleasure. Not many people used mosaic in their home and so he thought that he might have entered a temple in a rather unusual way.

They said the Dancing One was on good terms with the Silent One and so he had decided to pray to him there when he got ready to leave for the desert on his search for the Silent One's temple, to become one of his priests.

It was as dark in the temple as it was in the corridor before. As far as he knew, all temples had windows, even though there was nothing that was the same in every temple. The public area of the temple of one god could just as easily be the public are of the temple of a different god. Only the statue of the patron god was different, of course. Temples could be completely different and eerily similar at the same time. The young man looked around in the weak light of his candle, counting the steps he took, measuring the room. It was large, and the windows he expected to find were there, made from strong glass and keeping the sand out that had enfolded the whole building.

By now, he had a fairly good idea what had happened: A long time ago, this temple had been built like most other temples and then something had happened to destroy the city it was part of. Sand had covered the building when nobody was there to clean it away. But the building was strong and solid and so it kept the sand out, leaving a temple under the desert. Later still, someone had added a secret entrance and a library connected to it, for the two trapdoors were certainly never part of the original structure. As to why and how, he had no idea.

Maybe, he thought idly, the Working One, God of Mountains and Craftsmen, was interested in a strange sanctuary. He doubted it. It really didn't fit for this god and such thought didn't help him find water anyway. At least he was fairly certain that this temple was still in use in one way or the other and so it was at least possible somebody had stored water there.

When he reached the back wall of the public area, he understood immediately whose temple this originally was. The statue of the Feeling One was gone, but the three doors right next to each other were a rather large give-away. The one in the middle, bigger and more pompous than the others let to the sanctuary, while the other two were for the lovers that meant to marry in the temple. They used one each, accompanied by a priest or priestess to enter the labyrinth that started behind them. The priests let them through the maze, following longer or shorter paths, determined only by their knowledge of the lover's love, to the sanctuary where only priests and future spouses were allowed, and the latter only for the time of the ceremony. The labyrinth itself was open for everyone, at least when it wasn't as permanent as this one, like in his home town, and so it wasn't that unusual that he had played there as a child.

He shuddered as he pressed the left door open. Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to use the one in the middle and walk directly to the sanctuary. He was sure the goddess wouldn't mind him there just this once, not because someone else had obviously decided to use her temple for his own purposes anyway, but because she was a benevolent goddess and he obviously needed help. And then there was the little detail, that his god was the Silent One, who took what wasn't his, just like his followers. He would protect him, probably. Still, it just didn't feel right. Maybe his thoughts were addled from thirst by now. It wasn't a logical decision.

Right behind the door, a very short corridor let to a t-junction. He saw the other wall right as he entered the labyrinth. It couldn't be more than two or three steps. Of course, he made absolutely sure to get the distance right in his head as he was even more concerned about getting lost now that he had entered a maze. The labyrinths of the Feeling One weren't built to make anyone lost and her priests knew their way through them, but for someone who didn't know them, they were confusing. And he expected this one to be rather big, as it was built as a permanent structure. While the goddess still reigned here, it was certainly illuminated by lamps or torches, but now everything was dark.

He choose the path to his right, getting nearer to the one straight way that let to the sanctuary. He assumed there weren't as many corridors there as on the other side, though this also made it more likely to run into a dead end.

After just a few more steps, the corridor turned to the left and the young man followed it. He stepped carefully, making sure he didn't miss a branch, but the corridor turned out to lead straight in the direction he assumed the sanctuary would be. Maybe he was lucky and had found one of the short paths through the labyrinth.

He hardly paid attention to the intricate patterns of the mosaic on the walls and floor, only noticing it absent-mindedly when his hands brushed over the by now familiar surface.

He still wondered who had decided to break through to the old temple a long time after it was buried under the sand for his own purposes, while he followed the only possible way. And then it struck him like the sandstorm a few hours ago when the ground gave way under him.

*

So hers was the fifth medallion. Four others had returned before her to the great hall and knelt down. After all, that was when the priests knew that someone had decided to wait for the last part of the ritual and should have a medallion with him. Otherwise, he or should would certainly enter the labyrinth again. And when he knelt he was protected from anyone else trying to steal the medallion from him. This was one of the very few rules. When six gongs had rung through the halls, the last two candidates would know that it was time to return.

The way back was easy. She hadn't gone too far and she had checked every square of it so she didn't need to pay too close an attention to her steps. She wasn't able to anyway. She smiled from ear to ear and skipped through the corridor like a small child. She hadn't acted like that since long before she was picked up on the streets by a priest and sent to the temple.

She felt a blow to her back and fell to the ground, thudding her head against the cold stone. The oil lamp fell from her hands, going out but clanking over the ground. Someone was over her, systematically going through her pockets, his warm breath on her nape. She grabbed for his hands but his weight was on her.

“You're breaking the rules!” she hissed but her attacker only laughed.

He took the medallion, kicking her in the stomach when he stood up. He rolled her over the sharp edges of the mosaic. She tried to hold on to his leg, fight back, but her head swam and then there was no ground under her.

She fell, not with her legs first like she should have when the trap was triggered normally, but sideways, hurting her ribs and hip in the process.

The fifth gong sounded. There was only one medallion left: hers.

“You're breaking the rules! This is not the way of our god!”

“Who cares?” her attacker said, laughing. She recognised the voice. Velotan. He must have seen her find the medallion, followed her without her noticing when she was overjoyed and distracted.

“The Silent One does!” she screamed, picking herself up from the rough ground of the pit.

“We'll see. We'll talk about this again when I am a priest and you are â€" nothing.”

She heard him step away. She had to follow him, catch up to him before he found his way back to the sanctuary but he walked fast, sure of his way like she had been before, knowing perfectly well that there were no other traps around.

She reached for the edge of the pit, ignoring the pain in her ribs. The pit wasn't all too deep, only an obstacle, not a prison. It still was difficult to hoist herself out of it. Running, she followed Velotan through the dark. She reached the large crossroads, turned to her left where she expected his door to the sanctuary and then she heard the final gong of this race.

*

Water. It pressed down on him, sliding into the mouth, he had opened to gasped when the solid ground turned into a slide. It was cold and heavy on his tired body. His legs crashed painfully against the bottom of the pit and something solid bumped onto his head. It slid into his hands through the swirling water and he held onto it.

A gong echoed through the halls. Maybe it was just his ears ringing.

He fought his way back up. The candle was gone, of course. He had a small, round thing in his hand instead, maybe a coin. He had to make sure later. No light helped him orient himself again. Nothing told him where the slide was or how far over his head the ceiling.

“By the Blowing One!” he cursed, gasping for breath when he came up, “I wanted something to drink, not something to drown!”

Of course he knew that this was no fault of the God of Water and Storms. No, this was all the Silent One's doing, or at least that of his priests. Who else would dare stealing a temple, even an abandoned one? It was obvious now, made clear by a trap he hadn't even imagined could be there and certainly not seen.

At least the water seemed clean. He had already swallowed a not too small amount and it had tasted fine â€" that is, for water he didn't want in his mouth at this moment â€" and so he took the time to take a few mouthfuls now and drink them with audible gulps. It felt so good to moisten his dry lips with the best drink he ever had and washing the taste of sand from his sticky tongue.

When he had satisfied his thirst, he took stock of his new situation: improved in some aspects and worsened in others. He wasn't likely to die of thirst any-time soon but he was lost. If he could find the slide again, he could just walk out of the temple, but the trap was probably good and might have closed behind him. He swam through the small underground lake, touching the wall as high out of the water as possible. He had fallen a bit before he entered the water but he thought it was less than a man's hight. But there was no slide, no hole somewhere up in the wall. There was only one opening in the solid walls surrounding him.

He heaved himself up, careful not to bump against the ceiling but he needn't have worried. The corridor was as high as the one he had used before. He felt through his pockets for his other candles, even though he knew that there was no way to light them in complete darkness and wet at that. He sighed when he realised that they were gone. His flask was gone, his lock-picks, the little gold he had left, everything was gone. Only the coin that had fallen on his head, probably loosened when he triggered the trap, was still in his hand. There was no sense in going back into the water and search. That was just a waste of time. No, he had to find a way out, not step into any other traps, remember where the water was just in case and maybe find a shorter way to the cave should he stumble through the labyrinth for too long.

He sighed. His situation hadn't improved at all.

The corridor was slightly smaller than the one from the entrance to the trap. Without light, it would be even more difficult to notice anything strange and he had no idea in what direction the sanctuary could be.

He had no choice. He put his left hand against the wall, deciding that it was best to follow a wall instead of a corridor. That way, it wasn't so easy to get lost. If he only had some idea how to recognise a trap. The surface of the wall was as uneven as before, adorned with mosaics like the rest of the temple. There was no hint there. After a few steps, he decided to remove his boots, to better feel the texture of the ground. He started his constant counting again.

The corridor followed a wide curve before it gave way for an alcove and then led straight ahead. Curves were not good. They were confusing in the dark.

[Sinitrena]

This is part 3 of 3.


*

The room was filled with people. There were more priests than before. Six disciples knelt on the ground, the cowls of their robes deep over their faces. They held their backs straight, confident, and only their heads were bowed in respect to the Silent One. She was the second to last to return. Who else was missing, who else hadn't managed to get a medallion? She couldn't tell. She only saw them sideways from where she stood and as one who would not become a priest in just a short moment, she was supposed to kneel behind them.

Velotan was certainly among those waiting for their ordination. He had broken the rules. He had broken one of the very few rules the God of Liars did not consider a technicality. She should say something, do something... She knelt down. She had never heard about someone who brought back a medallion but was not ordained. No, this was one of the other clear rules of this competition: When you entered the sanctuary again and knelt down, the test was over. Now, only the Silent One could still help her. She prayed.

While she concentrated on her belief in the Silent One, a door at the other end of the round room opened. It was Char, who had left this room a few hours earlier just beside her. She had always liked him. Well, at least she would share her misery with someone nice.

Char held his head down as he walked through the room, followed by the eyes of everyone. He hobbled, dragging his left leg. Maybe he had hurt it in one of the traps.

The line of designated priest was like a wall he had to pass through. He hesitated for a moment.This must be humiliating, Djelbra thought. At least she didn't have to pass them directly. He sighed and stumbled forward. One hand landed on the shoulder of one of the future priests for a second, bracing the young man. The last few steps were even more humiliating, still followed by the eyes of everyone in the room.

When he passed Djelbra on his way to kneel next to her, he put his hand on her shoulder for a moment and squeezed it comfortingly. “The god works through his disciples,” he murmured and she felt something slip into her lap.

“And the faithful work in his name,” she finished the saying without thinking.

In that moment, the gong echoed again through the hall, announcing the next and last part of the ceremony, the actual ordination. But she couldn't focus on it. She had seen what Char had slipped her. He had given her a medallion, he had given her his medallion! But why? There was no-one who wanted to become a priest of the Silent One more than him and... No, wait. That wasn't possible. There were only six medallions that day and six people knelt in front of her.

She looked to her side. Char was looking down like he was supposed to but a sly smile played around his lips. What was going on? What did he do? Had he forged some extra medallions just in case? No, that was an absurd idea. The priests would notice, of course. They knew how many medallions there where just as she did. And besides, he couldn't have known what they looked like, could he?

She was so focused on this mystery that she hardly noticed how one after the other, in the order they had returned to the sanctuary, the initiates got up and went to the statue.

“What do you bring to the Silent One?”, the high priest asked everyone.

The future priest presented the medallion and put it in the hands of the statue. “What was his and is now mine.”

The medallion glowed for a second and then the high priest said: “The Silent One accepts your offering.” The high priest gave the medallion back to the disciple. “Do you wish to serve him with all your skills?”

Of course, there was only one answer to this question. “Yes,” the new priest said, taking the sign of his office.

“When you were born, your mother chose a name for you. Now be born again, stolen by the Silent One as one of his priests, and choose a name he shall call you.”

There were no rules to what the name could be or if someone were to use it outside of the temple of the Silent One, but from this moment on, this name would be considered the real name of the priest. Some chose a nickname they had used for a while or a random name, some even kept the one they had used since childhood. It didn't really matter.

Djelbra still hadn't figured out what was going on when it was Velotan's turn to be ordained. He stood up, turning around slightly just to throw a smug smile back at Djelbra. She hated him, she really, truly hated him in this moment. “Bastard,” she said under her breath.

Velotan strode forward, taking the medallion out of his pocket. But, no, it wasn't there. He patted himself down, searching all over, panicking. Suddenly, he turned around, looking directly at Djelbra. “You!” he hissed, menacingly. “You took it!”

Threateningly, he made a step towards her but the voice of the high priest held him back: “If she took it from you, she did nothing but follow the rules of the Silent One. It is your own fault you didn't notice it.”

“She can't have. I took it from her in the labyrinth and left her in a trap! It's impossible! She... she broke the rules! She took it from me here!”

“She was nowhere near you since you returned.”, one of the priests admonished slightly. “Please sit back down.”

“I... This is impossible.”

It wasn't impossible, it just didn't make a lot of sense. Now she understood that Char had stolen Velotan's medallion and given it to her, but why. “Why?” she whispered while two priests escorted Velotan back to the middle of the room.

“The god works through his priests,” Char whispered just as silently, “And the Silent One probably doesn't want one who breaks a rule he actually cares about.”

He must have seen what Velotan did to her and acted on her behalf, but that still didn't explain why he didn't keep the medallion for himself. “What about you?”

“And his priests work in his name. I'm sure it's what the Silent One wants.”

*

A door opened to a round room. Torches illuminated sixteen doors that encircled the sanctuary, one for each god. But the statue close to the door wasn't one of the Feeling One. He hadn't expected it. This may have been a temple of the Feeling One once, but now the Silent One reigned here.

*

She had no time to question him further. As if in trance, she stood up and went to the statue. She went through the motions of the ritual without really noticing what she was doing. “Djelbra Gorbiin,” she said when the high priest asked for a name, using the one she had known her whole life.

“The god works through his priests. And his priests work in his name,” the high priest said, using the version of the saying reserved for priests. In this situation, it became an oath.

Only when she repeated it with everyone else, swearing her loyalty to the Silent One, did she realise that Char had used these words to her before. But he wasn't a priest. It was no grave transgression, not as bad as stealing the medallion in the sanctuary, but still...

*

The young man walked slowly to the statue, admiring the craftsmanship. He let his hands glide over the smooth surface. It felt so lifelike that he imagined for just a second that he touched a living person. It was only the second time he saw a statue of the Silent One. In his home country, the order was forbidden and everywhere else it followed some basic rules of secrecy.

He was so focused on the statue of the god he worshipped that he didn't even notice when a man in a black robe stepped out from behind it. “What do you bring to the Silent One?”, he asked.

It was a priest of his god, wearing a dark cowl over greying hair.

He had to offer something, anything. “Ehm...”, he said, lost for actual words. And then he remembered the little coin that had fallen on his head and quickly took it from his pocket. “Ehm,” he said again, “This. I have nothing else and, well...”

*

The high priest put his hands over the heads of the new priest. “Now let us welcome you to our order. Stand before the Silent One and...”

“Ehm,” Char said suddenly, loudly. He and Velotan were the only ones still kneeling, not being priests, but now Char stood up. What was he thinking? That was unheard of.

Ignoring everyone else, he took a medallion from his pocket and stepped in front of the statue. He had another medallion? This was impossible, completely impossible. Djelbra shook her head. No, she thought, this really isn't possible. There were years, long ago when initiates had died. Had the priests left medallions in the labyrinth then?

“What was his and is now mine,” Char said, placing his offering in the hands of the Silent One.

*

The priest took the silver thing and put it in the hands of the statue and the coin glowed golden for a long moment.

“The Silent One accepts your offering. Do you wish to serve him with all your skills?” the priest asked, offering the medallion back to the young man.

“Yes!” This was why he was on his way to Bershem, after all. Why should he lie?

“When you were born, your mother chose a name for you. Now be born again, stolen by the Silent One as one of his priests, and choose a name he shall call you.”

It took him a moment to realise what he was just asked. This was impossible, this wasn't real, this was... this was... The best opportunity imaginable.

He couldn't give his real name, his old name. Too much depended on this name and on this different life he had chosen for himself.

“Lomin Tribent,” he said, using the first name that came to mind â€" a name he had just read for the first time some hours ago in some legend he had never heard before.

*

He put his head against the forehead of the statue.

“You know what name I chose three years ago,” he whispered. Louder, he said: “I am Lomin Tribent.”

*

The old priest finished the ordination of the newest member of the order of the Silent One smiling.

*

By now, he knew what legend was connected to this name and so he wasn't surprised at the reaction of the other priests in the room. While they were silent and confused before, they started to talk excited among themselves now. But nobody tried to stop him.

*

The sun was just about to set when Lomin climbed back up into the desert, just as the old priest had said. Bershem wasn't far away, just a day's walk, directly to the south. The old priest had told him that, before sending him away with a warning that it wasn't time to tell anyone just yet that he was a priest.

“Wait three years,” he said while Lomin already opened the door of the Feeling One that led back to the public area.

When the boy turned around one last time to ask why, the old priest was gone.

*

Lomin turned around to face the room and finished the ritual. “The god works through his priests. And his priests work in his name,” he promised. Behind him, a statue bowed its head.


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

No other entries yet, so I thought I write for two (or three)

This story is chronologically the first set in the world of the Connected Continnents and I realise that the reaveal in the end has more of an impact if you know the others. They are, in chronological order so far:

Little Dove
Truth!
The social, friendly, honest man...

Fun fact: All seixteen gods of this world are mentioned here.
If you're intrested, here's a, not true to scale, map of the labyrinth with notes in german (sorry).

[Azure]

Here's mine:

The house

This is the first time I've returned.  I've avoided it for so long, and yet here I stand in the ashes of the house where I grew up. I snap a branch off the deadly oak tree, the bark is charred and flakes off in my hand.My crinkles hands shake as I grasp the branch. My heart beats as I approach the front door. The frame is the only thing that survives. It's just me and the door standing here. My heart beats faster, and a sinister little laugh erupts out of me. I stand upright and knock on the frame.
“Hey, it's me!” I cry out. No one responds and as I enter I mime opening the door. I step into a thing layer of ash. Holding the branch out in front out in front me I sketch out the plan of the front room.
This is where the sofa was. There was a coffee table over here. Our busted up TV was here. Up above it was a long thin mirror.
I sit on the ‘sofa' the ash staining my clothes.
I stare blankly at the “TV” I wonder what's on.
Static. Hiss, hiss, hiss. I find the white noise comforting. I used to sneak down here late at night and watch it. No one came to ask me how I was, no one read me bed time stories or gave me milk and cookies. No, they just watched.
I was seven when I finally realized that there was someone in the mirror. I quite clearly heard voices, and I looked up at the mirror and realized there was something was odd about it.
At first I thought perhaps that the ‘me' in the mirror was actually the ‘me' who I'd dreamed about, the girl whose Mother and Father came to collect her. I was sure her parents wouldn't let her wander the house alone after a nightmare, I bet her parents let her eat as much ice cream as she liked. I bet her parents wouldn't keep making her visit the Doctor. I hated what happened at the hospital, there were mirrors there too. So I would keep fantasizing that there was another me in mirror, one who was happy a long lost sister who would remember me and came and take me home.

Once I even thought I saw her, she looked a little older and her Mother snatched her hand and dragged her away as soon as she saw me looking.

That memory disturbs me so I get up out of the ash. I try and brush it off my clothes but it just works in deeper. My knees, creak. I'm getting old.

None of the stairs remain so I sketch out the base. My bed room was upstairs first door on the right. I couldn't remember where anyone else slept. They changed often.

I wonder if they watched me up here too, probably.

I collapse down at the foot of the stairs.

I'm old and I am going to die soon. I was always sure I was going to die here. After the girl in the mirror came for me, we swore we'd never go back.  I am sure it was she who burnt it down, but I am sure they blamed me. I mean how would you tell for sure? The DNA would be the same.

Someone shakes me. I open my eyes reluctantly. The girl from the mirror stares back. Her skin smooth, radiating youth. Here I am half her age, but my hair is grey and my skin wrinkled. People often think I am her Grandmother, but in truth it's almost the other way around.
“Here you are, I should have known.”
She offers me her hand, I almost don't want to take it. My rough skin makes contact with her smooth skin and she helps me up. I wonder what it's like for her, this mirror into her old age. I feel like the cheap copy I am. I can't help it, I start to sob. To my surprise she does too. She mirrors me.
“ We were both used” she says as she embraces me. She suffered too, and despite that she shows me kindness. But no matter what she says, how many of their facilities she burns, how much she comforts me before I die. There's no escaping the fact, that I'm the clone and I'm going to be the first to die.

[Baron]

Nice!

24 hours left until the deadline, but I won't start the voting until Monday evening, just in case someone from Hawaii wants to participate at the last minute.

[Baron]

Well, it looks like we're doing this one-on-one, old school styles!

Our entrants are:

Sinitrena with The Naming of Names
Azure with The House

Our voting criteria are as follows:

Best Character: Most believable/audacious/funny/enthralling/loveable/despicable/complex character.
Best Plot: Someone tries to resolve some sort of conflict in a gripping or entertaining way.
Best Atmosphere: Did you get the deep sense in your bones that the background setting is eerily empty?
Best Style: Encouraging the composition of memorable turns of phrase, or bold new ways of combining words.
Most Substantive: Was the abandoned setting a canvass used to paint a lesson about humanity and the world around us?

Voting will be open for the next five days, concluding at this hour on Saturday January 30, 2016.  I don't think I'll have time to wrap things up on Sunday, so be prompt with your votes since I'll probably do it Saturday night.  As always the contest administrator reserves the right to break all ties.  Happy reading and happy voting!

[kconan]

Best Character: Sinitrena for Djelbra
Best Plot: Sinitrena's took a while to get into, but good stuff once was I was hooked.
Best Atmosphere: Azure's house felt pretty desolate.
Best Style: A few typos, but lots of good turns of phrase in Sinitrena's tale.  I'm a sucker for using sounds for descriptions, like the door that had "clunk shut".  Also, there was lots of great descriptions of various things around the place like the mosaic.
Most Substantive: Sinitrena

[Sinitrena]

Best Character: Azure for the girl in the mirror, as in, the original. There is a lot of backstory here that`s more implied than explained, but the motivations for the girl, who - at least that is how I understand it - decided to free her clone just because she thought it was right is inspiering.

Best Plot: Azure - The plot is more in the backstory than in the here and now, but that isnt bad at all.

Best Atmosphere: Azure - You get the impression of someone who is glad to have left a place behind and still misses it at the same time.

Best Style: Azure - The descriptions bring the ruin to life, even though there are same unnessecary typos.

Most Substantive: Azure -Interesting moral implications in the background.

It`s always sad when there is just one story to vote for but Azure deserves points in all categories.

[kconan]

Speaking of "abandoned place", check this thread action out!

VOTE People.  You're not even required to explain your votes, just list a name per category.

[Baron]

I.... can't.... vote!  My hands are tied!  It's agony!

[SilverSpook]

Ok, sorry I won't have time to go into detail but here's some votes!

Best Character: Sinitrena
Best Plot: Azure
Best Atmosphere: Azure
Best Style: Sinitrena
Most Substantive: Sinitrena

[Ponch]

Best Character: Sinitrena
Best Plot: Azure
Best Atmosphere: Azure
Best Style: Azure
Most Substantive: Sinitrena

[Baron]

Well, the people have spoken.

The Silver Trophy of Ruination in a very near-fought contest goes to our beloved Sinitrena, with 9 votes.  I thought this was one of your better pieces, and my votes (had I been able to grant them) probably would have nudged the contest into a tie.  Yes, the length was a bit daunting, but at no point was it a chore to read: the pace was fast and the story gripping.  I also liked your turns of phrase, using words with an almost Shakespearean creativity (A "spiry" path, his "croaked" back (I'm not sure if the latter was a type-o, but I like the imagery of a hunched frog! )).  Just a few nitpicks: a few details were needlessly repeated in close proximity (the "no violence" rule springs to mind), and I had to read the end twice to understand exactly what happened (Lomin was posing as Char, right?).  Overall I was very impressed, and look forward to word-duelling with you next time.

And the Golden Trophy of Abandonment goes to Azure, long-time AGSer but first-time Fortnightly Writer with 11 votes.  Congratulations!  You definitely nailed down the "atmosphere" component of the abandoned place, and I liked the synergies between the abandoned place and the abandoned person.  The relationship between the two halves of the mirror girl seemed a little too complex to convey in its entirety in such a short piece, although what we do learn is definitely intriguing.  I'm glad the theme caught your fancy, and I look forward to reading more of your stuff.  But not next time, since as winner you are now hereby anointed host of the next competition.  This means you get to set the next theme, the voting rules, and use the awesome authority invested in you to declare a triumphant victor. 

I can't wait for the next contest: all this reading gets me itching to write something myself.  So I greatly anticipate the next exciting instalment of...

...The Fortnightly Writing Competition!

[kconan]

I thought this was one of your better pieces, and my votes (had I been able to grant them) probably would have nudged the contest into a tie.

Azure voting as Sinitrena had would've resulted in a closer contest as well.  Anyway, good stuff all-around and congratulations Azure!

[Sinitrena]

Just a few nitpicks: a few details were needlessly repeated in close proximity (the "no violence" rule springs to mind), and I had to read the end twice to understand exactly what happened (Lomin was posing as Char, right?).

Yeah, needlessly repeating things happens when I don't write in the correct order and don't read through it in one sitting - in other words, this story is in desperate need of more editing but I had no time left (especially considering that I need to step back from stories for at least a week to properly see my own mistakes).

Lomin wasn't exactly "posing" as Char, he simply is Char. (The usual order of things is: Come to the tempel in Bershem, spent time there, go to the labyrinth, become priest and recieve some special powers, spent some more time in the temple in Bershem to leran to use these powers. For Lomin it was: find the labyrinth by accident, become priest and recieve powers, go to temple in Bershem, spent time there - he just didn't tell anyone that he was already ordained and returned to the labyrinth when it would be considered normal for him.)


Congratulations, Azure.

[Azure]

ah tbh I feel a bit odd about this as I didn't really understand the voting rules I started writing up a response then ran out of time so there for a I 'won' because of something I forgot to do, it seems really odd that in a two person entry you can vote for the other person if you entered ( so it's not really a vote at all). I think I'd rather withdraw my entry because Sinitrena clearly stormed it and I didn't really win.

[Sinitrena]

Sometimes I think we should write down our rules for voting somewhere. They are a bit of a tradition by now, but if you don't check this competition regularly, I guess it can seem odd.

It's actually pretty simple: You can vote for everyone but yourself and if there is only one other entry beside your own, it's just nice to vote for the other entrant and maybe - if you have time - critizise/compliment a story in the different categories. (And if you don't have time for a longer response, just posting the votes is enough, after all.)

That being said, I don't feel too bad about you winning, even though it is because I voted and you didn't. So go ahead and start a new round if you want.

[Baron]

The important thing is that the rest of us get a chance to do some writing.   So somebody needs to start another round.   I'm not so fussy as to who that somebody is, as long as it isn't me.