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Post by Admin Roc on Aug 29, 2011 16:22:14 GMT -5
(Sorry to steal the events spotlight Nova... but I think you'll like this idea enough to forgive me. ^_^)STRICTLY NON-CANON [/u] [/i] 800 words :: 100 Points / 1200+ words :: 150 Points CREATIVITY / CHARACTER EXPLORATION: Content that goes above and beyond the basic expectations of the event and gives a strong sense of how an altered fate effects the character's nature and development :: between 25 - 100 Points (based on quality) BONUS! - TEAM EFFORT: Swapping fates between two or three characters nets an extra 20 Points.[/ul] [/ul] EVENT PREMISE
Every character is strongly influenced by the personal history of their lives, the "fate" that has been dealt to them. But what if fates could be changed... or exchanged?
For this event, take the character of your choice and the backstory of one character owned by another forum member. Your task is to write a short scene -- any time, any locale -- focused on a version of your character if they had lived the "fate" of the other character instead of their own. This isn't a rewrite of the character's history section; the differences in who they are should be acted out or strongly hinted at in the scene, not dryly listed. You may wish to change the character's last name as well if family plays a strong part in their new fate, but avoid radical changes such as gender if possible. Changing the character's race / type -- such as a Meister who's new fate is that of a Weapon, or a Witch or Kishin Egg -- is perfectly alright and expected.
This is a particularly good exercise for Weapon / Meister teams to do together, as doing a mutual "fate-swap" will net an additional 20 Points. However, any two characters (owned by different people) can do a swap, so it isn't strictly limited to teams. You cannot fate-swap two of your own characters!
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Post by nova on Sept 27, 2011 17:15:10 GMT -5
“Is that the best you can do? Seriously?”
The voice was harsh and yet somewhat amused, as she lay on the cold stone floor, shaking and weak, wheezing in pain. Her brother just laughed at her, a sharpened sword pointed at her chest. Once again she’d lost. It mattered not how much she trained, he would always out fight her, but at the same time she refused to give up. There were days when she had no idea why she tried, or even, why she was still alive, how she stayed alive here.
“Pathetic, truly pathetic.”
Anton found some sick pleasure in beating her along with the rest of her siblings, sheathing the sword. He’d been light on her today, thank whatever God looked upon this Earth, if any at all. They prided themselves on picking her out and bringing her down, but be damned if she ever let it show through. The girl couldn’t decide whether it was making her stronger or weaker but for now all she could do was grit her teeth and bare it. One day she’d be away from all this, she vowed that on her mother grave she’d be freed from all this before it was truly too late for the young girl. For now, however, she could only plan her way out, and hope for the day she got out of here.
"Indeed..."
Today, the Baron, her father, had come to check on whatever progress she had been making in her combat training, which had never been a good thing. Despite the pain that would have otherwise crippled a normal humans body, the raven-haired girl forced herself to stand, shaking on weak legs. It tired her out just to stand, but she had to hide it. She had to be strong, for herself if no one else. In some way she wished she could prove she was just as strong as the rest of her siblings, but that wasn't the case. In her heart, she wasn't a fighter. For now she knew better then to speak up against her father, so she stayed quiet, finding it hard to stand up straight and composed, but she managed, for now.
Despite the fact her father was no longer that young, he still scared her as much as any of her brothers or sisters ever did. He walked towards her with that same air of arrogant pride that she tried to imitate but failed. He stood, looming over her, his eyes seemed full of disgust and disappointment, before, inevitably, she was met with a cold, disapproving slap.
"And we dare to call you a d'Metreon...you are nothing of the name, November."
Nova kept her head turned away from him, the sharp pain of the hit faded in with the rest of it, but she stood her ground in front of him. And this was the only family she had ever known apart from her beloved mother. Anton just smirked at the small girl he knew as his sister. He regarded her as a waste of space and time, a good punching bag at best. That's how most of Nova's siblings felt about her. She was the youngest, after all, she had been damned to this for however long it took. Her bitter blue eyes burned with a will to grow stronger, and she would. It mattered not what it took, she would become stronger. She would survive this.
In a subdued voice she replied; "Forgive me, father." He scoffed at her. She wasn't worth his time as far as he was concerned, but still she remained his problem to deal with, as much as he loathed it. "Prove to me you are worth a single breath, and I may consider it." With that he turned away from her, facing her older brother, who looked on with pride at his father. He had earned a more approving gaze from their elder, that was for sure. He favoured the strongest and the most cunning. "I believe you have earned yourself a break, my boy. However, November here should retire to her room for study, I wish not to see your face for the remainder of the day." - "Thank you, father." Anton replied with contained glee, shooting Nova a spiteful glare.
The Princess lent down a picked up the sword that had fallen from her hand with something of care. The Baron turned to her; "Go! Get out of my sight!" "Yes, of course." And with that, she turned, placing the sword back into its rightful place on the wall-mounted rack and left the combat hall, just gratified that the worst part of the day was over. Though she remained ever disappointed in herself, thousands of thoughts filled her mind on the way back to her room, the last of those was the pain in her body that came back with the trek. The whole Castle seemed like a Prison, she couldn't get out and it was hell at the best of times. She never felt safe or at ease, constantly skittish about everything. Something beaten into her, literally.
Sometimes she wondered, when she was alone, if there was a better life outside of the walls of the Castle, beyond the d'Metreon boarders. She also wondered, that if she ever got there, if she would live long enough to enjoy it, or if the Reckoning would get her first. She had long ago forgotten how to cry but it felt like she should. It felt like there was something out there, waiting for her. Some place, somewhere, something, someone. For now, they had to wait. It had to wait. Her first priority was herself, of course.
After the long walk back to her room, she was almost pleased to see a white ball of fur curled up on her bed poke its head up to investigate who had just opened the heavy door, but not enough to grant her a smile these days. Schrödinger normally lazed around here waiting for her. She didn't know why, the cat just liked her for some reason. The small white car mewed at her, and got up, jumping down from the bed and roaming between her feet. Nova sighed "Leave me be, I have studying to do..." Her head hurt, the last thing she needed was to study. But still, one of her other siblings would probably come up to check that she was still awake.
Oh God she hated this. Hated being weak, hated being looked down upon and underrated. She hated being trapped here, told what to do but not why she did it, she hated being the youngest. The most worthless.
The most underestimated.
What she wouldn't give to trade out this life for a new one. Anything to escape the curse the d'Metreon blood line placed upon her. What she wouldn't give.
Word Count;
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Post by cloudman on Sept 29, 2011 16:35:23 GMT -5
It was raining. The water fell from the sky, a million tapping fingers keeping the beat of whatever crazy rythm the gods played to. The sheer volume of the falling rain created a mist that creeped around the graveyard, like a blind monster groping its way around a cavern. Tendrils of the moist ether curled around most of the tombstones, smothering the epitaphs as if they were offensive curses marring the beauty of something much less sombre than a graveyard. It would appear to do so indiscriminately, or at least, from a normal human's point of view. But for those who had a high elevation, or were just unnaturally sharp-eyed, it would become apparent that such deliberate twists and turns were not in the power of ordinary fog. Indeed, this was no normal mist. This was underlined by the fact that it seemed to coalesce around one grave, swirling in a way that seemed to draw something from around it. Something old...nay...ancient. Something dangerous. Something trivialised in the modern age...but that made it no less magnificent. This...
...this was magic.
Electricty danced on the tongues of any that cared to observe, tingling the tastebuds, weaning the ready from the not. Darting around like a sprite ready to cause trouble, the electricty, which was of a fluorescent yellow-green-purple colour -- known in magic circles as octarine -- struck the grave that the fog had gathered around. A huge shockwave was released upon contact, sending the mist reeling and exposing what was truly going on for but a moment. As soon as it started, it ended, and the centre of the graveyard was shrouded in mystery once more. However, where it had been empty previously, there was now a silhouette. A figure made of midnight that possessed old, weary eyes; eyes that seemed always to be looking somewhere else, eyes that had seen it all before it had begun, eyes that were, above all, distant. Eyes that glowed an unsettling green. Nothing else penetrated the thick fog. Despite the fact that the figure was facing the grave from which it would appeared to have sprung, the same all-piercing eyes that demanded nothing but the upmost attention sliced through the mist-laden air, boring into the soul of all that were unfortunate enough to gaze into it. The gaze was just..impossible: it seemed to encompass all of the graveyard, and from each and every direction it could lock with all eyes in the city. Everyone should have been sleeping, and yet the next day they would all mention the same perturbing eyes staring at them in their dreams. In their nightmares. No one would ever forget the night they saw it.
A spectre in the fog...
- - - - -
Why did this always happen?
It was but one thought that pervaded the thoughts of Merlin Vincenzo Pyrmtongue. His robes proved to be cumbersome in a chase, although that wasn't as much of a problem as the sound of running footsteps behind him. Whoever was following him wasn't doing too subtle a job of it. In fact, it seemed that they down right wanted him to know that they were chasing him, judging by the ranged soul purges and shots of soul wavelength from demon weapons coming his way. If it weren't for his magic, he could have been seriously injured hours ago! A ribbonlike scroll appeared behind him, unravelling to just the right length to be struck by a wanton burst of soul wavelength. A language lost in time inscribed upon its paper rippled and flexed with the rest of the scroll as the attack made contact. The ranged soul wavelength attack simply dissipated around the words, with the scroll tying itself back up and disappearing again. A communal groan could be heard over the sound of Vincenzo's sandals slapping against the cobbles of the shopping district's paths.
Despite his supposed wisdom, Vincenzo (he went by that now -- Merlin was so old fashioned) was oblivious to the fact that pretty much all of the meisters, demon weapons, exorcist agents, and even some civilians were after him today. His little 'second coming' was not greeted with fanfare, as he had expected. In fact, he'd been the only one there. How was he supposed to know that when the world needed him again, it would be in the middle of the night? That cat hadn't been too pleased. Neither had the mice it had been talking to. What did it say its name was? Maurice or something...
GAH!
Now that attack was certainly malicious! Vincenzo had almost felt that one. He rounded a corner, the cork of his sandal sole sliding against the smooth stones that comprised the shopping district's pebbles. All he had to do was get to his book store -- Witch's Cove -- and he'd be safe. It was no mere book store...it was a magically fortified castle of ancient wisdom and tea cake. Vincenzo allowed himself a smile despite the near-seriousness of the situation. It didn't take much effort to seal away the expiration date of that tea cake. Despite the fact that it was older than most of the inhabitants of Death City, it was still as fresh as ever. He'd tell people the cobwebs on the plate were for show -- delicate icing really -- but that was an elaborate lie.
They were cobwebs.
It was with that thought that he burst through the door of his bookstore. With the alactrity of lightning Vincenzo switched the OPEN sign around, letting everyone know the store was closed.
"That should keep them out," He said, removing his sandals and going upstairs. The staircase, which revealed itself to no other eyes but his, led to his private collection of grimoires. The endless shelves were his sanctuary. From there he could figure out how they managed to discover that he hadn't paid that parking ticket today. As he passed a shelf he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He stopped, for some reason transfixed by his own appearance. As Mr Pyrmtongue thought about it, he realised that he hadn't checked how he looked since his 'awakening'. He had shaggy black hair that was kept out of his eyes by magic..or frequent puffs from his chapped lips. His eyes were pools of green that seemed to bore through the mirror and stare into the soul of his reflection; something that unsettled the inhabitant of the bookstore. His robes were a dark green, contrasted with a dull turquoise embellished with swirls that seemed to move of their old accord. They were actually meant to be dragons, but Vincenzo hadn't changed the design since his first life, and so the stitching had merely been transported through the ages onto his new vestements. Still, it gave him a dog-eared appearance: fitting for a propreitor of tomes. There was a purple sash on him, something he had mistaken for one of the ribbon like scrolls that his magic manifested. In the clarity of the mirror, he could see the text upon it.
LIBRARIAN
Vincenzo nodded in agreement. Wait..agreement with himself? But he hadn't said that...or had he? He was probably out of sync with time at the moment. Or someone else was in the library. He couldn't quite tell the difference.
The sound of a cloister bell ringing disturbed the librarian from his thoughts. Someone had entered the library. Someone was coming up the stairs. Someone had seen the staircase that revealed itself only to his eyes. He would have asked how it was possible, if it weren't for the book sailing towards his head. Vincenzo ducked, his robes billowing in a cloud that would have hampered his evasion if it weren't for their magical quality.
IMPRESSIVE, MERLIN.
He murmured to himself in a voice that wasn't his. Wait..that made no sense. Vincenzo tried to seal the air in front of him, so that whoever it was that had gotten past the insurmountable barrier that was a hidden staircase would be forced to retreat. He frowned when nothing happened. This frown deepened as a blade swept down, held in an feisty meister's hand, and cleaved his skin like a hot knife through butter. Merlin could only gasp in surprise, his mouth opening and shutting like that of a dying fish. Where had his magic gone? As he fell to the ground, his eyes flailed, looking for the answer. A disheveled book held the answer. An orb the size of a grapefruit and deep green merged with the paper, before the book hid itself away. A little smile claimed the witch's features. They weren't ready for him yet, and so he'd done it again.
CURTAIN?
No.
- - - -
Word Count: 1432
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Post by Eva on Sept 7, 2012 21:06:52 GMT -5
THIS EVENT HAS BEEN RE-OPENED INDEFINITELY. PEOPLE ARE NOW ABLE TO MAKE SUBMISSIONS.
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