Author Topic: Fortnightly Writing Competition: Reader's Choice (Results)  (Read 7685 times)

WHAM

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@WHAM: ...dancing on top of an erupting volcano...

Oh goddammit, Sinitrena!

"It's over, Anakin! I HAVE THE HIGH GROUND!"
(For the record, this was not my entry.)
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JudasFm

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@WHAM: ...dancing on top of an erupting volcano...

Oh goddammit, Sinitrena!

"It's over, Anakin! I HAVE THE HIGH GROUND!"
(For the record, this was not my entry.)

If it had been, I definitely would have voted for it  (laugh)

Baron

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Rules are rules.  ;)   

But sometimes rules aren't rules.  (wrong) 

There's a rule about when rules are rules and when rules aren't rules; I will make a ruling on that rule if it would clarify matters.  :-D

The main rule is always BARON RULES!!!1!  :=

In the mean time, there's nothing saying you can't have two themes, as long as you include the mandatory one somehow.  You can call your work "Magnolia"....  (roll)

Sinitrena

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Okay, since you don't like zombies, I'll retract that. But HOW can you not like zombie???   :shocked:

I find them incredibly boring and due to their standard definition there is very little to explore character-wise. The mindlessness of zombies is so much integral to what defines a zombie that to make them real characters you need to seriously subvert the trope. But you would need to subvert is so much that you are left with creatures that don't really fit the difinition of zombie anymore. And besides, the subversion is always the same: that they aren't actually mindless.
And if you use them as purely antagonistic, the stories tend to become really unrealistic, again, due to the standard definition of what a zombie is and which abilities he has: slow, eats brains, one-track mind, infections passes only through bite - realistically, a zombie apocalypse is one of the easiest things to fend off. Though, having them as just a danger and foccusing on the survival of human characters at least allows some character development for these characters. But that has been done a thousand times.

So, I really don't like zombies.

But, I did write a zombie story a while back for a topic set by Baron, so at least I have that for you.

WHAM

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@WHAM: ...dancing on top of an erupting volcano...
(Prompt provided by Sinitrena)


What is gained without a price paid, is of no worth

What is gained without a price paid, is of no worth.

The Silver Haired Chief raised his hand, the dark-brown skin of his palm wrinkled, the aching old joints swollen. He drew a deep breath, the air bitter and hot in his lungs, and made a broad gesture at the mountain that loomed above and ahead. His withered frame cast a long, twisting shadow on the rocky path. Behind him came the men carrying torches, illuminating the path that snaked its way up the mountainside. Despite the flickering flames, the light struggled to fend off the darkness enveloping the land like a heavy shroud. The ring finger of the chiefs right hand was missing. The price he'd paid to become chief so very long ago, so that he'd never forget the one single rule that had bound together the tribes of the lush valley.

As the chief marched forth, standing as tall as his old age would permit him, the others followed. One hundred and one souls in total climbed up to the Smouldering Mountain, to the prepared ritual site. Ten chiefs of the ten tribes, and with them a companion for each finger in their hands. Some of the chiefs had many daughters with them. Others had many sons. Those without strode forth with their most sharp-witted and wise, their wealthiest traders or their bravest warriors. Beneath their feet they could feel the vibrations that signalled the fresh, burning wrath of the Smouldering Mountain.

The good times were at an end, the fish had fled the rivers and the birds of the trees had fallen silent. A new price had to be paid for them to return once more.

The Emerald Eyed Youth walked behind her father, the Silver Haired Chief, her mind turning this way and that, like an animal in a cage frantically seeking a way out. She knew precisely what this ceremony would hold. She knew the fate of the one soul too many, the price to be paid to soothe the angered spirit of the Smouldering Mountain. She looked to her left and saw the stoic face of her brother, the Silent Scholar, a young boy of ebony skin. His head was shaved clean as payment for the three scrolls of wisdom carried upon his chest to mark his learning. She looked to her right and saw her mother, the Wise Matriarch. Despite her years and wispy gray hair, the Matriarch remained proud and noble, her eyes the same bright emerald that her daughter had inherited. Around her neck and on her arms shimmered the clasps and rings of gold, contrasting brightly with the umber tone of her body. The cold metal marks of her status as the wife of the chief. The price she'd paid for the marriage was the eldest brother of the Emerald Eyed Youth, living in another tribe now, with no knowledge of his true mother. Among them, the Emerald Eyed Youth felt small and insignificant, her youthful face narrow, her emerald eyes bright, her raven-black hair long and smooth as it cascaded down her shoulders. She was clad in the dyed dress of blue and creamy white that were the colours of her family. No insignia of rank or learning or wealth was upon her. She had paid no price, and so she had little. Her place in this world was unknown and uncertain. It was only by birth she was here this night.

Soon the gathered crowd could see the platform, steps of stone and carved wood rising up to its edge. The tall structure stood as close to the lip of the fiery pit of the Smouldering Mountain's core as the slave-workers had dared make it. The ten chiefs took their positions, their companions gathering around them until only one soul stood apart from the rest.

The Tiger Souled Warrior.

The look in his eyes was fierce and bold, his jaw clenched and brow furrowed with determination. He'd wrapped the skin of the orange-and-black striped hunter around his shoulders. Its great claws hung on his broad chest, their razor-sharp tips caressing the old scars he'd accumulated in the two wars he'd fought and won. The scars were his stripes, and earned him the right to take such a skin, and the name. Pure white cloth, held by a polished strap of leather at his waist, hung down to his knees, leaving his strong calves and bare feet visible. His hair was black as the night and cut to the length of his thumb, his skin darker than the darkest wood gathered in the deep jungle. As he took the first step up onto the platform his muscles could be seen rippling beneath his taut skin, which shimmered in the light of the many small fires carried by the gathered crowd.

As the warrior rose higher and higher, the Emerald Eyed Youth looked on, wanting nothing more than for the man to turn back. The animal that was her mind rattled its cage, screaming for her to speak, to move, to act! It clawed at the insides of her skull so hard it hurt. Instead she squinted her eyes and silenced it, clutching the fabric over her chest so hard her fingers shook. To escape the now, The Emerald Eyed youth sought refuge in her memories. The fiery air of the mountain seeming a little more bearable as she recalled the cool river waters.

As the Tiger Souled Warrior reached the top of the platform he turned around, noble and strong and fierce, and silently addressed the crowd. Was it her imagination, or had his eyes lingered on the Emerald Eyed Youth for a second or two? Her heart skipped a beat. As she looked up to him she recalled the night he went to war for the first time. Recalled so very vividly how she'd waved to him and shouted words of worship and admiration, knowing well they would be safely lost in the cheer and song of the warband marching on.

The Silver Haired Chief shouted, and the Tiger Souled Warrior responded in kind. The mountain answered too, the ground shuddering beneath the feet of the gathered crowd, causing the platform to waver. Far off in the distance, the sound of rumbling and crashing rock echoed over the trees and hills. The ceremony had commenced. Atop the great platform the warrior bowed his head, then his body, and turned. His feet moved like those of the great feline beast his name was given after, as he began to move. To one corner of the platform he went, then another, crossing the narrow space and measuring it with his every step. His body glistened with sweat from the oppressive heat rising up from within the mountain. The air stank of smoke and sulfur and bitter anticipation. As he neared the far edge, the orange glow of the mountains fiery insides shimmered around him. The furthest corners of the platform were already emitting tendrils of smoke, like venomous snakes ready to strike, as he finally began his dance.

The Tiger Souled Warrior bowed and rose and moved across again, his arms wide one moment, then joined in a fierce clap that echoed off the mountainside the next. The Emerald Eyed Youth recalled another moment. She'd watched the warriors at practice, engaging in mock duels, wresting spears from one another's hands and slamming their shields. As they exchanged bruises, the air filled with laughter and good-natured jokes alike. She recalled how her heart fluttered as she stood there with a skin of fresh water from the well, waiting for her turn to give it to him. Another warrior snatched the skin from her hand with a playful, well-intentioned grin as he mistook her for another. His apologies were genuine, but as he left to refill the waterskin, it was already too late. The Emerald Eyed Youth had stood there, empty-handed, when the Tiger Souled Warrior ended his practice for that day.

The warriors gathered around the ceremonial platform stomped their feet and raised their voices in song, as the Tiger Souled Warrior spun his body in wild turns. He leapt up into the air like a spinning top, then landed on his heels with a mighty thump to begin anew. The heat around his body was so great that the sweat turned to vapor in seconds. Flames licked the edge of the platform, forming a fluttering backdrop of smoke for the performance, upon which the twisting shadow of the Tiger Souled Warrior was cast. The song of the warriors rose higher and higher. The Silver Haired Chief joined in with his croaking voice, as did the other chiefs, recalling their own youth in the moment. The Emerald Eyed Youth looked up and saw that the Tiger Souled Warrior did indeed look upon her! With every sweeping motion of his body he was turning his neck so that he could see her, and she could see him. Eye to eye. As her vision of him blurred with tears of regret, she wondered if his blurred too, or if the heat made the tears disappear as well, leaving behind only bitter salt.

She blinked and shook her head, and saw that none stood near her. As if afraid that her emotion might spread like a disease, even her own family stood an arms length away from her now. But, atop the platform, the Tiger Souled Warrior danced on and smiled to her.

She recalled that smile, too. It was the same smile from that night a mere two full moons ago, from when she had sat by the fire alone with him during the darkest hour of the darkest night. Her mind had been full of unanswered question, unspoken confessions and promises that she would now never have the opportunity to keep. As she'd struggled to speak on that night, as she's fought so hard to force herself to voice the words, the Tiger Souled Warrior had filled the silence with song instead. Hed sung and smiled to her to make the silence go away, gesturing for her to sing the song of the warriors with him. She could say no, and with a smile on her lips the Emerald Eyed Youth had sung, too. Afterwards they had drank, and sung and laughed and forgotten all else, sure that more nights would come, that there was time.

Then the mountain had come alive with smoke and fire, and the old rituals had been called for. The strongest warrior for the mercy of the mountain.

What is gained without a price paid, is of no worth.

The Emerald Eyed Youth wanted to look away, to run away, but she couldn't abandon him. She blinked away the tears as fast as she could so she could look upon him and remember always the smile and the motion of his limbs. The Tiger Souled Warrior danced frantically, twisting his body flawlessly to the precise choreography, even as the fur of the animal skin he wore smouldered about his chest. It was clear to see that the smoke was choking him with each ragged breath. The Emerald Eyed Youth was burning too, on the inside. If she dared look down, she was sure she'd only see a smouldering hole where her heart had once been.

The song of the warriors ended. They stomped their feet one more time and the Tiger Souled Warrior did so too. He gritted his teeth, shut his eyes and stepped back toward the billowing wall of smoke. He cast his arms wide and flung himself backwards through the smoke and fire, into the pit beyond.

As the price of the mountain was paid, surely bringing calm and good harvest for many years to come, one soul paid a price higher than any could comprehend.

The scream of pain and loss and regret, that echoed down the mountain, through the woods and to the ears of the villagers below, was not his.
« Last Edit: 26 Apr 2019, 08:12 by WHAM »
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Sinitrena

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I'm early, but I'll probably need an extension. I've got my outline done but nothing written yet and little time the next few days. Could I have the three days I lost waiting for a prompt, please?  :-*

Baron

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Oh, c'mon Sinitrena!  You've got three more days to ask for an extension!  Stop worrying and start procrastinating!  :=

Sinitrena

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I really do need that extension...
Please?  :-* Pretty please?  :-*

Baron

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No complaints here.  Deadline is hereby extended to midnight of Saturday April 4, 2019.

Edit: By that I mean, of course, Saturday May 4, 2019.

Just keeping you on your toes, folks.   (roll)
« Last Edit: 29 Apr 2019, 22:31 by Baron »

WHAM

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Make it count, Sinitrena! With the extra time allotted, I expect only the best!  :-D
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Sinitrena

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The Chronicler


The book lay between them like a demonic presence. It seemed to pulse with an energy indescribable even to them, a warning of a truth not meant to ever be written down.

This was the strangest thought. The written word was not just their bread and butter, not just their livelihood, not just the reason they could exist, but the reason they existed – their very being. And now it lay between them and they feared it, feared it above all, beyond all the powers of imagination.

Which was less strange. Imagination was not what they dealt in. Truth was. History was. Stories were. Written by them, through time and space, it meant everything to them.

“How?” It was the first word spoken between them for a long time. The coffee had long become cold, the scented candle they both loved had burned to just a puddle on its plate, and the sun had set behind shadows and clouds.

She answered with a shrug. She had thought about it again and again since she had received this journal in the mail one morning, but an answer was just not forthcoming. They stared at each other, bright blue eyes into dark green ones and from time to time they seemed to sparkle as if the candle still burned.

In the end, she shrugged again. “Does it matter?”

“No. Hardly. The question is if she's a threat.” There was a slight amount of hope in his voice, the attempt to take away her fears.

“Does it matter, Viktor? The rules are clear. The decision was mine, the mistake as well. I should not have written here.”

“No, you shouldn't have. But you did. When your world falls, it is your own fault. I will not absolve you of that.”

Her green eyes found a single thread of the tablecloth and followed it through all its weaving. There were stories in the cloth. She saw every one of them: the woman who created the pattern fell in love once and lost her lover to an illness, the man who sheared one of the sheep saved someone from the burning wreck of a car once, the weaver went to work every morning and told everyone that she really needed the money but in truth she had inherited and just loved the job, the shop that sold the tablecloth once upon a time was robbed not long after, the ship it was transported in long ago survived over eleven heavy storms and would one day be moored and turned into a restaurant, …

“The Greeks nearly got it right once,” she said.

“They were wrong enough. And they had no names, or newspaper articles, or photos.”

“Nothing of this proves anything, though. She has a wild theory... And we only met once. Worst case scenario, she proves that I stole all my story ideas from you. So I'm a plagiarist, what's so bad about that? It only means I won't be able to write again. I wasn't supposed to write in this world anyway. If Louise weren't here...”

“...you would never have stayed. I know, Kiara, I know.”

Usually, they avoided each other's eyes. Usually, they avoided each other. But that day, they stared at each other and they looked deep into the stories they usually did not tell, the stories of the paths they would take and the heartache they would feel. Usually, they avoided the truth about themselves more than anything else and lived as they were able to live, loved who they wanted to love and destiny allowed them to close their eyes and be safe in the retrieve of their own stories. Now, they both opened their eyes, not just to the stories around them, the paths taken and the paths missed, but also to the future they were not supposed to see.

It allowed them to answer questions they wondered about before. The answers did not matter. The answers did not change the past. They did not alter the future. The man and the woman were never supposed to be actors on the stage of life. They were the writers who kept the stories alive. They brought them to every world. Here, they told of the dragons on a far away continent, of the mermaids deep below the sea, of the spaceships destroying whole planets and worlds. Here, they told of worlds so fantastical that nobody would ever believe them to be real. In the world of dragons and magic they told of weapons that could destroy cities in a mushroom cloud or of a rocket send to the moon. In the world of spaceships there were stories about dragons or mushroom clouds, about two-legged people and about submarines. And in every world, people like her and like him were there to see and were there to collect stories and in different worlds they told them.

“When she comes, death follows her,” Kiara said.

“And you lose the love of your life. Louise dies,” Viktor added. “I'm sorry, sister.”

“I choose to stay. I should have travelled on, but...”

“It happens, sister. We see and live and love. We are supposed to see, but sometimes we see too much and too little all at once. We share space and time and stories. Sometimes, we become the story.”

Their eyes met again and then they both closed them, closed them to the world for a moment and to the knowledge of what was to come.

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

That got rather far away from the prompt and from what I meant to write. And it turned out a bit weird. Sorry, I had a great idea but it would require about fifty pages to properly write it and even then it would be rushed. Well, I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.

JudasFm

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AN: Apologies in advance for my mega-short and poor effort. I was battling a seriously nasty virus for most of the last week and this is very much a last-minute thing. TBH it's fine if nobody votes for me; I just didn't want to be the only one who couldn't meet the deadline :)

"Alright, so where next?" Kooki asked.

His friend Pimsha, who was busy keeping a running blog of their expedition, which no one except friends and family would bother to read, turned an eyestalk in his direction. "What?"

"Where next?" Kooki repeated. "We did that diamond planet for Prrdi, the weird one with purple trees and yellow crystal caves for me, and Ankila says he doesn't much care where he goes so long as there's an ocean. You're the only one who hasn't picked a planet yet, Pims, so what'll it be?"

As a race evolved from slugs, Rellians like Pims didn't have the necessary muscles to shrug, but she did the best she could.

"I don't mind. Anywhere's good. I want to see some alien creatures though, so maybe find something with a bit of life?"

"Oookay." Kooki tapped in a few sigils. They were unintelligible to Pims, who didn't read much Bunahoopi besides the basic alphabet. "I found one a few jumps away. It looks pretty neat; there's signs of life, oceans for An, caves for me and apparently jewels and precious metals for Prrdi. Where is she, by the way?"

"Cataloguing the diamonds we picked up on the last planet. Apparently there are different grades and facets and luminosity—oh, I don't know. I didn't quite understand it, to be honest."

Neither did Kooki, who had never been able to understand the importance that some races placed on colorless rocks in the first place, although – like a true Bunahoopi – that hadn't stopped him from pocketing several dozen himself to sell on at a profit later.

"Alright. So let's hit this ocean planet." He reached out with his middle pair of arms and hit two buttons simultaneously, ordering the ship to lock in a course to this planet and get there as soon as possible.

The door to the bridge hissed open and Ankila wandered in, chatting to someone on his comm.

"—and so then she said, wait, what do you mean this isn't a reality TV show?" He listened, laughed and shook his head. "I know, right? I can't believe she even fell for that!...Yeah, sure, see you when I get back. Take care." He ended the call and flung himself into the chair next to Kooki. "Where're we going now?"

"Last stop if we want to be back in time for the winter semester. And it's a gem, so you'll want to take your camera."

Ankila, who had already taken enough photos to wallpaper a small mansion, grinned and ran to get ready.

Baron

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It's voting time!

Our contestants this fortnight are:

JudasFmVirus Induced Ravings  (Theme: "Wait, what do you mean this isn't a reality TV show?", supplied by WHAM)
WHAMWhat is gained without a price paid, is of no worth  (Theme: "...dancing on top of an erupting volcano...", supplied by Sinitrena)
Sinitrena: The Chronicler    (Theme: "Someone gets a journal in the mail from a distant acquaintance, and the journal leads them to a secret", supplied by JudasFm)

Please judge the contestants on the following criteria:

Best Character: the most believable/captivating/magnetic/unique character
Best Plot: the best journey from A to B, told in a gripping way.
Best Writing: the technical category for polish, word-choice, conciseness, etc.
Best Use of Theme: who was best able to take a difficult theme and make magic of it?

Voting will be open until Thursday May 9, with votes tabulated the next day when I find the time.  :)

Good luck to all participants!

WHAM

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All my votes go to Sinitrena this time around, despite my struggling to really follow the conversation or comprehend what it tried to imply. Somehow I felt like the story needed some more closure, a resolution beyond what was now delivered. There were a couple small typos, though with the deadline looming, those are pretty much unavoidable. Not enough to flip the best writing point to JudasFm this time, though.

Best Character: Sinitrena
Best Plot: Sinitrena
Best Writing: Sinitrena
Best Use of Theme: Sinitrena

As for JudasFm's little story, it kind of fell flat for me, I'm afraid. Mostly just due to having so little space to flesh out characters, and because the theme barely seemed to connect to the story, being relegated more to a single line that I also failed to really grasp the meaning of. It reads as if the theme sentence is spoken outside of the context of the characters presented, something said to some unseen and unknown third party, without much of a reveal or payoff.
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JudasFm

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All my votes go to Sinitrena this time around, despite my struggling to really follow the conversation or comprehend what it tried to imply. Somehow I felt like the story needed some more closure, a resolution beyond what was now delivered. There were a couple small typos, though with the deadline looming, those are pretty much unavoidable. Not enough to flip the best writing point to JudasFm this time, though.

Best Character: Sinitrena
Best Plot: Sinitrena
Best Writing: Sinitrena
Best Use of Theme: Sinitrena

As for JudasFm's little story, it kind of fell flat for me, I'm afraid. Mostly just due to having so little space to flesh out characters, and because the theme barely seemed to connect to the story, being relegated more to a single line that I also failed to really grasp the meaning of. It reads as if the theme sentence is spoken outside of the context of the characters presented, something said to some unseen and unknown third party, without much of a reveal or payoff.

No arguments here ;) It's very kind of you to call it my entry a story though (laugh) I don't know why - probably because my brains were frying in my head for a few days and I was zonked for most of the time after that - but my mind just went blank when it came to the prompt. Worst entry I ever made, deserves to be forgotten and I'll probably sneak back and delete it once the winner's been decided  (nod)

Best Character: WHAM. I'm not crazy about characters being called things like "Silver Haired Chief" (what did they call him before he went gray and became chief? Likewise, did the "Emerald Eyed Youth" start life as the "Emerald Eyed Baby?" Although the idea of a culture where names change to reflect the owners is fascinating - and inspiring ;) - the names here didn't do much for me.) All that said, you did a great job of making me care about the characters.
Best Plot: WHAM again. It had a cohesive beginning, middle and end. Sinitrena's left me feeling a bit confused.
Best Writing: This was a tough one but I'm going to have to go with Sinitrena. There were some powerful images there, and I felt like WHAM's story, while well-written, waffled a bit.
Best Use of Theme: WHAM got the closest. Sinitrena had a good setup but we never find out what the book is, or what the secret is (which was the whole point of the prompt, or did I miss something in your entry  ??? ) or who/what the characters are.

Sinitrena

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WHAM, your story had just the right amount of suspense and atmosphere and length. The only thing I missed was a bit more of a description how the heat of the volcano felt and what the dance looked like - stuff like that. I agree with Judas that I'm not exactly a fan of the wy you named the characters. It felt a bit too stereotypical (to avoid the word racist - It is of course possible that a culture uses naming conventiones like that, no matter how confusing they might become easily, but they just really remind me of old movies/books where Native Americans were called stuff like that to make them seem more exotic or stranger and also to create a us vs. them mentallity.). Other hints of the culture were very enjoyable: The whole paying the price concept works fairly well. This was an enjoyable story that has its flaws.

JudasFM, I agree with your own assessment: Everything else I read from you was way better. It's not bad in a slice-of-life kind of way, but I really ended up wondereing why this was a story. What happened that made it a noteworthy scene? In a novel, that's a chapter to cut. It's nice enough writing and it introduces us to same alien races, but other than that? It could maybe work as a calm before the storm moment or the very first introduction of the characters before the atual plot starts.It also has nothing to do with the prompt. I still enjoyed the writing from a technical point of view.

I think my votes are not surprising:

Best Character: WHAM
Best Plot: WHAM
Best Writing: WHAM
Best Use of Theme: WHAM

Sorry, JudasFM.

As for my own entry: I wanted you to be confused, but probably not as much as you were. It's based on a - let's call it - philosophical thought: All the stuff we write about, the other worlds and other times, do they "really" exist in some way? Let's assume the answer is yes, all this is real, in a differnt dimension, and writers are just people who get a glimpse of these different worlds. Now assume there are people who not only get glimpses, but see everything and can travel between worlds - and now you have the concept of "Chroniclers" (thus the title of the story) - they see everything but are not supposed to be part of what is going on, but at the same time they are people with flesh and blood...
Now, originally I wanted someone to figure this out, send their journal to Kiara (who lives in the wrong world because she fell in love) to extort her and then have Louise (her lover) get on the trace of the secret. I have three different beginnings of this story in my notes and even more for the ending but they all went into too much detail or not enough or people knew too much or never reached the conclusion I wanted them to reach...
Let's just say Chroniclers really don't like it when I try to write about them...  (roll) 8-0
(They have occasionally shown-up in a couple of my stories but never really as the main characters.)

JudasFm

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Sorry, JudasFM.

No apology necessary :-D It's what I was expecting. I'm feeling a lot better now so hopefully my next entry will be back up to speed  ;)

WHAM

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The only thing I missed was a bit more of a description how the heat of the volcano felt and what the dance looked like - stuff like that.

I really struggled on how to describe a dance, to be honest. I've never danced, I had no idea how to properly describe the motions of the human body in an interesting way. With the dance being such a key part of the story here, I feel it didn't get nearly enough attention.

I agree with Judas that I'm not exactly a fan of the wy you named the characters. It felt a bit too stereotypical (to avoid the word racist - It is of course possible that a culture uses naming conventiones like that, no matter how confusing they might become easily, but they just really remind me of old movies/books where Native Americans were called stuff like that to make them seem more exotic or stranger and also to create a us vs. them mentallity.).

This naming convention was actually a stolen idea. I've been playing the Sunless Sea and Sunless Skies games a lot recently, and those almost never use actual names (even though characters have real names) but descriptors such as: Fortunate Navigator, Reckless Driver, Useless Cat, Fatalistic Signalman etc.

I wanted to try my hand at conveying the character's key trait in their name, so that the name itself features the characters most striking feature, but I guess it kind of fell flat.

To the both of you: thanks for the many positive comments! To hear that you found the characters interesting enough to care for them, and the story as having enough suspense to keep you reading, is the highest praise I could hope for!
Wrongthinker and anticitizen one. Pending removal to memory hole. | WHAMGAMES proudly presents: One More Fathom!

WHAM

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    • WHAM worked on one or more games that won an AGS Award!
    •  
    • WHAM worked on one or more games that was nominated for an AGS Award!
I wish we had more non-participants voting in these.

As the voting deadline has closed, unless we do get more voters in before Baron calls the competition officially, I will open up the next fortnightly on Monday. That is, if nobody has anything against it.
I think Baron might have started his weekend a bit early, and might not sober up 'til Monday anyway.  :-D
Wrongthinker and anticitizen one. Pending removal to memory hole. | WHAMGAMES proudly presents: One More Fathom!

Sinitrena

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I will open up the next fortnightly on Monday. That is, if nobody has anything against it.

You've obviously won, and deservedly so. I have absolutely nothing against it.

I wish we had more non-participants voting in these.
So do I. But it's difficult to get people to vote here. It's easier for the art competitions, as it's a lot less time consuming to look at a couple of pictures and decide which one you like best. There's not really anything we can do.