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[Christmas Points] The Nightmare Before Murmas

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The Nightmare before Murmas
A little horror is always the best just before celebrations of joy.  For this we call up upon
the spirits of those gone and past.  Your nightmare, should you take it, will involve creating
a story about a character from MDs past.  Then you must put them in an nightmare enviroment,
either for you or them. The story must have a complete plot as well as a ending that results
in someone/all death.

The story must contain at least 300 words
The main character must be a MD player who no longer plays
The story must be told in 3rd person, like story tellers at Christmas time
By the end of the story at least one character in the tale must die
All stories must have a plot that is revealed by the end of the tale
All stories must be submitted by 12/31/15

All stories will be posted in the forum.  
There will be at least 2 judges
Like/Dislike will be considered in the judging
Anyone who writes a tale, but gives negative critizism to other tales will be disqualified



1st place: 4 Gold and 4 Christmas points

2nd place: 3 Gold and 3 Christmas points

3rd place: 2 Gold and 2 Christmas points

4th place: 1 gold and 1 Christmas point

All participants will receive birthday cake and tea, 1 Christmas point, and possibly more.

Edited by phantasm
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Here's my instant inspiration :D

Caution! It's scary!!


edit: small note, don't take it in personal connection with recent events, I'm against ally take-overs, I like Wodin's symbolism, it's just a story.



All these years nobody summoning him.
He did want to take a break and not ponder upon his own decisions, that's why he allowed GG leaders to summon him, but this was over the top!
As if everybody forgot about him...
Wodin decided to come back and bring things in order.
Straight up from Road of battles, he first strolled towards Paper Cabin to see if there are any LHOs around, that will be the best way to scout the situation, after all, he hasn't been around for a long time.
Arriving there, he noticed most of the stuff stayed the same. Some scrolls looked new though...
But the shocking thing was... There was nobody there!
Peculiar, he thought to himself... Once, the cabin was crawling with younglings, ready to worship him as soon as they meet him at his Road-of-battles-spot.
"Oh well, off to Willow's shop for me, a crowd's gotta be there!"
As he walked, the emptiness of the land he traveled was more and more unsettling.
On his way, he reached Gazebo of Equilibrium. Finally, some people, but most were lying around, being idle.
He heard an unknown voice shouting "Popes in defense, hit my popes in defense!"
"Popes in defense, peculiar!" Wodin thought to himself, beings of light becoming the most popular creature, it was satisfying to the old warrior of light...
"UNHOLY PRIEST?! What is this monstrosity?!", Wodin backed away from the Gazebo and, not turning his back on these vicked people, he was walking backwards towards Marind Bell.
He managed to hit someone. Turning his back he saw his old friend...
"Dst, bro! Oh, thank the numerous divine admin-accounts and Mur's alts! I'm saved, how ar... Wait, why are you wearing a girl's clown costume...? Ooo..." Wodin blinked then squeaked in terror and ran away!
Finally reaching Willow's shop, again he met the unsettling emptiness, there was nobody around.
Maybe that was the better alternative, he pondered...
Wodin had to check one more place. His home, Golemus Golemicarum...
He sneaked around the Gazebo of Equilibrium, he reached the Gates of the Ages, crossed the bridge...
There he found Grido without his Guerrilla badge.
With a tear in his eye, he shook him "what happened, man? :("
He couldn't bare to hear, he knew, it must have been those vile Necros.
No matter the cost, he will take his revenge!
Wodin marched upon the Howling gates and charged through.
Found one Necro, some Neno Veliki dude, but not with a Sentinel badge, this one was different, albeit similar... The stats on his tree were so high he couldn't grab even a plain old win!
What did the shades do, did they infect their vile powerful abilities into anyone willing to serve them?!
He had to retreat, and reach a sanctuary.
Alas, Necro leader heard about Wodin's impudity and arranged to have Wodin locked in chaos.
There, he was tortured, skill damaged and camp-farmed upon for days...
As a final blow, Lashtal strangled him.
Wodin still had some awareness around him, but he was 'dead', lying on Necrovion graveyard.
He shouted for help, and he thought nobody heard him...
But there was a kind soul, Nimrodel, who used to be part of Golemus once, and came to visit this warrior of old.
She was merciful, and left her revival equipment on the top of a nearby hill...
Wodin, with hope in his eyes managed make his remains climb towards his revival. He didn't actually 'move' in full sense, because it was the same scene, thus in his power of movement.
Finally, it was in his reach! But then he saw the other side of the hill... Mysterious, bloodlusty eyes staring at him...
Wodin looked at this figure with question in his rotting eyes.
The figure just responded "."


Edited by Jubaris
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I'm sorry, I couldn't completely kill anyone in the story :(

I started with the intent of killing everybody, it just didn't work out. Message me to remove the story if it doesn't fit.


Ailith was climbing the steep rock, her hands grabbing each dint of stone, her fingers beaten and blue. The storm was brewing, there were clouds whirling madly and lightning bolts lit the darkened sky. But she did not look above, she could not hear anything - the deafening wind was trying to lift her and throw her off the cliff, blowing with murderous rage. Blades of wind were cutting the skin, but she kept on climbing, holdding on with all she had.
How she got there, Ailith couldn't explain.
She got to the top of the cliff, crawled a few steps and lied down, exhausted. She was shivering - her hair ravaged, her hands bloody, her clothes stained with dirt and blood and moss. Her blues lips were murmuring "Enough, enough, please"...And as she lied there, an angry voice said "I didn't allow you to stop yet. Get up, get up!" Ailith woke up and felt the ground with her hands. She got up, twitching, and started walking - ahead, towards a light in the horizon, through emerald-green moss...
It was a sunny afternoon when she met him. A pleasant man, with a pleasant smile. He had a mean look in his eyes sometimes, but that's no measure for someone's character. He offered to show her a box of emeralds he discovered in the pastures of the Ivory Island, the place where it was said the dreams take forms of animals and feast on the sleeping ones. Ailith smiled and shook her head. She knew about the island well enough and would not go there for anything. But then he leaned towards her and whispered something in her ear. The next thing she remembered...she was in a boat...then a mist...a green shore...and then, nothing...
Ailith was dragging her feet over the rugged ground. Here and there were patches of moss, but she didn't care. She wasn't looking down, she wasn't feeling anything. Her feet were bleeding, she did not feel the soft moss - only slits in her soles. At last, she came to a ruined castle wall. Whatever is this? she thought. "Go inside" she heard. Ailith obeyed. The wall had an entrance and she went through it. She was now in a chapel, an old stone chapel, cold as ice. Ailith felt it burning.
There was a stone table, with a vial on it. Rays of light came from the vial and it had golden fillets, spiraled around it's body. Ailith felt the urge to have it. She stretched her hand and grabbed the vial. She looked at the small shining light in her hands. Tears were drawing in it, making it radiate even more light. Whose tears were those? Hers?
The chapel started to shake and crumble. Ailith screamed, and put her hands above her head. But she was in no danger. Instead, she was in the mouth of a cave, a mossy cave with a small spring flowing into it. That man appeared and shook his head. "You failed, Ailith. And now you will watch them die." Her eyes filled with terror. "You will stay with me and watch them die, won't you? I don't want to let you go." Ailith looked down. "It was all a lie, wasn't it?" she asked. "You can't kill them, can you?" The man smirked. "No, but I can kill you. If I just break this phial, you'll be in the world without dreams. And that's enough to kill one." Ailith smiled. "You're a wicked man."
She got up and dispelled the dream with a wave of hand. "Someone out there has my dreams" she started to sing.
[spoiler]Somewhere on the Ivory Island, a man was playing with a vial, throwing it in the air and catching it. One time, his fingers slipped.[/spoiler]

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Here's my attempt. My story will be about Mya. I had something else about Ailith in mind, but Richie beat me to it. Some characters still playing will be included, though the main one is Mya.


Here's something to listen to while you read.



There was a soft humming coming from the Defensive Quarters; it smelled of pretty flowers and fresh leaves – clearly a festive day in old Loreroot. Mya Celestia was sitting on the windowsill, singing to herself while braiding together freshly picked flowers, all white. Her dress, equally bright, had a few grass stains on it, but was otherwise plain; neat and elegant in its simplicity.


Once the first flower braid was complete, Mya undid her long hair and began braiding it together with the flowers, shuffling uncomfortably on the windowsill; there was not an awful lot of space, and she had no mirror to look at, so the hairdo ended up being imperfect. If anything, it looked slightly frizzy, with a few leaves and flower stems jutting out erratically between hair strands – quite like the forest, in a way, with trees growing wherever they wanted to, not where they were meant to.


A few heavy footsteps could be heard, uncertain whether they were coming from the stairs that led to the basement, the ones at the entrance or somewhere else; even more, while the sound of boots clanking was sharp and clear, there was a strange but subtle dragging noise, as if something was being pulled across the floor. Mya herself was still looking out the window, her fingers trying to get every last lock and wisp of hair into place, but she smiled knowingly.

“Krioni, my love, is that you?” she hummed along the tune she was already singing.


Silence. A few more heavy boot steps.


“Krioni?” she asked once more, beginning to turn around, knowing he would be there… Knowing…


Boots. Krioni never wore-






Smoke. Thick, black, cloying the air and tarring the throat, stinging the eyes and the nose. Her head heavy with a deep, throbbing pain, Mya awoke. Everything was spinning and she felt nauseous… But there was so much smoke. She had to get out of the Defensive Quarters. She tried to sit up, but a shredding pain seared from her side – instinctively, she clasped her left hand over her right side. Her pristine, white dress was soaked red, with somewhat darker, clotting blood where a cut wound would have been.

She coughed. Her throat stung more and more, and as if the stab wound didn’t ache enough, her lungs felt like they were shriveling, every breath was harder and harder to take in.


She tried to stand once more, breaking down in tears. She could vaguely see the orange, flickering light of flames, and there was no doubt. There was a fire. But she had no way of knowing just how high the flames rose, just how bad the fire was… Those at the Gazebo of Equilibrium knew.

In that flickering light, a shadow was cast; someone was standing in the doorway.




“Please! Help me-“ she gasped, wincing and falling back down on her side as she shouted; the pain was worse, and her attempts to move had made the wound open again. Her vision blurry, she looked up, and to her immediate relief, she saw Sunfire.

“Sunfire! We… must find the… others! Something horrible has happened… I… “ she said, barely managing not to wheeze noisily between words. Her eyes trailed further down from the face she knew.




A quick stab in her stomach from the fear and sudden realization. Boots. And blood – they were caked in blood and ashes and scorched leaves and twigs. The blood wasn’t all from her, which made her stomach twist.

“No… “ she said as she began crawling back across the creaky floor in a pathetic attempt to escape. “No… why?... Sunfire, why?... How many?... How many have fallen…”

There was no answer other than an armoured hand reaching down and grabbing her face; the metal was warm and seemed to get warmer and warmer, soon beyond uncomfortable. She could barely even squirm, but with the corner of her eye she managed to look out the window where she was peacefully gazing just hours earlier.


Ashes. Cinders. Raging fires. All… all was consumed by flames.


“Why-“ she began, but her cry was cut short by the roar and whoosh of flames, bursting like a meteor from the hand grasping her face; so powerful, so sudden, so scorchingly hot that the maiden’s head was utterly incinerated, nothing but ashes in the air in just a mere second. The body fell down to the floor with a heavy thud.

So violent was the fireball that it left the poor, bleeding cadaver jerkily reaching for its no longer existing head with its hands in spastic movements that faded away over the following few moments, leaving just a flaccid corpse on the creaky floor of the Defensive Quarters.


As blood trickled across the wooden floor, the cloud of smoke rose higher and higher and screams kept echoing from Loreroot, distorted into distant, sinister wails by the wind.


Edited by Aeoshattr
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This story is not MD themed, so pretty sure that disqualifies it, haha.
Not really the point though, I'm posting this here as a sort of inspiration to others entering the quest - I have very little time to participate in quests of any kind this year, sadly. Yes, I am aware that changing a few names would have made it suitably MD themed, but that's not my way.
Fair warning, this poem is actually fairly disturbing. As such, I will be putting it in spoiler tags.

I was inspired to write this by one of my close friends photography works, if you want to see the pictures you can find them on Facebook here. Again, fair warning that the subject matter is disturbing.


[spoiler]Twas the night before publishing and all through the house,
Aaron's model sat watching, still as a mouse.
Yet as we all know mouses struggle to be free,
Testing their bonds to escape harsh destinies.

The cameras were snugly secure in their cases,
After long days spent taking photos of faces.
Aaron sat thinking, Eliza by his side,
As they sharpen their knives and contemplated their next bride.

When out of the basement there arose such a clatter,
They sprang from their seats to put an end to this matter.
Away to the stairs, they flew in a flash,
Tore open the door and made a quick slash.

Blood welled from the chest of their next victim bride,
Scarlet her fingers, her mouth gaping wide.
"We have warned you before that escape will cost dearly,
Let this message be understood, and let it be clearly!"

The ones that remain all huddled in fear,
For they knew their own futures, would soon be as near.
Whether bravery or cowardice not one of them could say,
Had driven the poor captive, to end her life this way.

"Grab her and take her! We have to act quick!
Take her legs! I've her Arms! Now try not to slip!
We'll wrap her in linens! But first stop the flow!
This blood! Such a waste! Let not a single drop show!"

At the top of the stairs on a slab they prepared,
A masterpiece artworks, although not one to be shared.
For grim though their subject and methods applied,
The artwork was pure, with deep message inside.

The linens you see no shroud but a dress,
Her blood painted cheeks, a rouge of the best.
For in this world their subject now had fled,
A celebration of life, was now shared with the dead.

Propped on a stand they spun her around,
Posing her before, rigor mortise abounds.
The beauty she held she'd denied in her life,
Love of self thrown away, then claimed by the knife.

Though downstairs they may huddle in their fear,
It was by their own choices, they had ended up here.
This studio, dark and dry, forsaken by all,
Would give them a first dance, and a last curtain call.

On the streets in their freedom they had wandered lost souls,
Eyes dull to the beauty, each held in themselves.
And so an add for models of subject matter grim,
The artists had placed, and one by one lured in.

Though their models forms carried flaws,
Society in judgement, could not adore.
Aaron and Eliza help their eyes finally see,
The inner beauty they shared, and helped set it free.

And so with a snap the hall was filled with harsh light,
A spotlight burned bright, to document end of life.
Cameras whirred, shutters clacked, back and fourth the artists spun,
The perfect image to capture, to the end of film they run.

Their work now completed, they each shed but one tear,
For the beauty discarded, they hold quite so dear.
None in this world were perfect in right,
And in the midnight of death, we all fade from sight.

But these images remain as a testament to life,
To be published by morning, and remembered by night.
So the world could remember it was not fit, thick or thin,
That defined our own value, but the beauty within.[/spoiler]


If I write a proper story it will probably be about the trial and execution of dst. But I doubt I will find the time.

Edited by Kyphis the Bard
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In regards to those who post stories that do not follow the requirement.  Those stories that do not follow the requirements will not be eligible for 1-4th place.  However, if you create a story that has MOST of the requirements, then you are still a participant.  Therefore, you will receive the participants rewards of 1 Christmas Point and Birthday consumables.  Please try and stick to the required guidelines for the story though.

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Do you remember years ago? Back when the sun was always shining? Before the moon was talked about and the renovations of the Archives? Before a time when the East was even dreamed about? No? Well that's a pity. I do, pull up a chair and listen to a time of Innocence, Inneundo, Renavoid, MRD, and many others but most importantly Yami-no-sakura.
The day was beautiful, as it always was back then. Willow's was packed full of so many people getting beat and slaughtered that it was deafening, and beautiful. Looking to Wind's sanctuary we can see blood trailed and can hear people crying about their wounds and laughing about good times, it too is packed full of people from all lands. Turning the other direction we see a thinner crowd in Loreroot, but still more people then the few that gather at the GoE today.
Yami is skipping and singing to herself when she happens to accidently over hear a conversation going on in the middle of LR: xcercses: lol im getting called holy god from my new adepts thats weird .Raven.: lol xcercses: well does somebody here wants to become my adpet lol mishadowst: ooo X has a cult and brainwashing... wheres the koolaid? Tarquinus: do they know you eat people? xcercses: lol xcercses: um....no.. xcercses: should i tell them that .Raven.: maybe.. As days and weeks went by she told stories, trained her crits, laughed and enjoyed life to the fullest, but slowly over time her note taking went from being a hobby to a job until finally it became an obcession. She forsakened her friends and hid from everyone while watching and listening. She had no more time to talk..only write, write, write down every word everyone said frantically jumping from place to place sleeping less and less as the need to log everything rapidly consumed her life. Until one fateful day she was in the wrong place at the wrong time and heard the wrong thing. A name that is so powerful it cannot be spoken or even written down without its ownder knowing about it. SO as she wrote the last letter of his name he came through the shadows and fed her to his drachorn. To this day you can hear her screams if your mind is open enough and you fiddle with a mechanical sphere the right way. His name you ask? It's Pip---AAAAAAHHHHHH




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[log= Yami's Legends]

Far into the future from now, children sit in the Archives


"Yami! Yami! Tell us a story!" they yell in unison.


Yami smiles, her body still weak and frail from her time sleeping "Hm, well...I know of one. It was written long ago by an Archivist named "Aethon". It's based upon feuds and war, death and deceit! It teaches us to choose our actions, and our allies, wisely."


The children shuffle impatiently as Yami opens a strange, charred notebook and begin to read.




“They have arrived, Rider. Shall we kill them all? Be done with this foolishness.” the dragon snorts, gliding lazily, high in cold winter's sky.


“No. That is not why we are here.” Nimrodel looks down upon the armies of the mainlands, sat elegantly upon the dragon's back. “We must let them fight their battles, if they so choose...”. She let's out a sigh “When will they learn that war brings nothing but harm and rarely resolution?”


Draconas let's another, indignant, snort. “You expect too much from them, Rider.” The dragon scowls down upon the ground, his eyes watching the scene below with contempt “I do not know why you get you help them... They do not deserve it.”


Nimrodel smiles softly, leaning forward and stroking his glassy, scaled , nape. “No one deserves death forced upon them, Draconas.” She gazes down upon the scene, a sad look in her eyes “Only one should have the right to deny life...their own life... and that is themselves.”




“Here they come...” he says with a hint of despair.


Ungod turns, facing his king “Nad...please. This won't help; We need to speak to them no..”. “No.” Nadrolski barks, quickly cutting Ungod's speech short. “They disrespected our land and now they will pay!”


“And Necrovion? They were simply defending their land and it's resources...” Ungod sighs. “War is not an answer...” he looks back towards the approaching armies “...especially when we're outnumbered.”


The King laughs, “We are strong! Do you not trust in the strength of your king and his people?!” “No but...” Ungod tries to interject, but finds himself quickly cut off again by nad “Perhaps you are planning on joining them? To revolt against me?” The King glares at Ungod, daring him to speak against him.


Ungod frowns in reply “Of course not, my King...” he turns away from the now smirking King and looks back towards the iminant death he faces “...but let us hope you're right about our strength...” he mutters under his breath.



“AH!” Nimrodel snaps from her daydream and grabs at her saddle, Draconas's wings beating down hard in the air, propelling them up and forward. “Sorry Rider.” the Dragon grinned, toothily “We were getting a bit too low to glide...” “Some warning next time!”


She mumbles and looks back down, brushing away a stray, wind swept, lock of hair from her face. “Looks like they're talking now.” the Dragon state's “Odd how the Necrovion's decided to join forces with the Golemites.” “Yes, indeed it is...” Nimrodel frowns, her brain quickly running through a rolodex of possible reasons why Azull would help Golemus – Aside from their mutual interests in being rid of Nadrolski...why else would Azull agree? They'd been a feuding land for as long as she'd known..?


Then again, Golemus didn't discrimate any land, when it came to starting feuds...


Drachonas' deep, growling voice snapped her from her thoughts again as he spoke “They are speaking.” Nimrodel nodded, placing a hand on his nape again, voices suddenly clear as day as she listened through the Dragon's ears.




“Surrender now and we shall be lenient with your punishment.” the Golemus king yelled, a discomforting calmness to his voice. “HA! I'd rather die than surrender to you and your pitiful 'Flopshade' army!”


Ungod shakes his head and sighs, thinking to himself “Carry on like this and you will...” He frowns, noticing Azull whispering to his hand, Lashtal. “What are they planning...? Why are they here...?


“This is your last chance, Nadrolski. Surrender the crown or we will take it by force” the Golemus king yelled again.


Just do it for goodness sake. Why drag us down with your personal feuds?”


“Ungod.” he blinked out from his internal speaking and looked toward Nad “Yes?”. The king grinned benevolently, “It's time to get some blades bloody.” With that he ran forward, roaring, his weapons raised and ready to strike.


Ungod sighs “Here we go...”. He rushes forward, following relucntanly behind his fellow Bellians.




Death will come quick. Silent and unexpected. As is the Necrovion way...” A smile flickered on Azull's face.


His plan was falling into place.




Magic sparkled and cracked in the air below. Blades and shields clashed. Sunlight occasionally reflected off of steel, flickering and shining, covering the ground in morbid sparkles.


It was a cold day, but the sunlight was unhindered by clouds up here. It's rays stroked Nim's skin, bathing her in warmth whilst the wind of flight provided a cooling breeze; it was an enjoyable and well balanced mix to relax in as she waited for the battle to play out.




Nimrodel opened her eyes and cast her gaze to the battlefield. “What's happening?” She asked wearily. “The little ones are tiring” the Dragon let out a hearty chuckle “Such weak beings...”


Nimrodel smiled. “Not all are as 'mighty' as you, Draco.” The dragon chuckled and turned slowly in the air as she leaned back, enjoying the breeze once more.


A growl echoed through the Dragon's body and she opened her eyes again, sensing the change in Draco's thoughts. “What is it?” She said.


He growled again. “Look.”


Nimrodel frowned but leaned forward, placing her hand on his nape once more, seeing and hearing as he did.


She saw warriors exhausted and injured. Some still fought whilst others lay on the ground, grasping wounds. “At least they have the sense to stop before death...” She thought to herself.”

Over there” Draco thought to her, looking down at a small group of warriors. “The kings meet. Grido is trying to reason, Azull has been silent.” Nimrodel frowned but continued to watch and listen...




“It's over Nadrolski. It's time to surrender.” Grido exclaimed.


Ungod watched, breathing heavily and clutching his injured arm. Somehow the three Kings had remained unscathed “Perhaps it's some 'Kingly' power?” he thought to himself, somehow finding the effort to chuckle quietly.


They had fought as hard they could but, as he had predicted, the power and numbers of the two lands had overwhelmed their own. Now here they stood, face to face and surrounded. “We could have avoided all of this if they'd just kept their problems to themselves and not made things worse...” he thought to himself again.


“You...think I'll just...give up and let you...kill me?” Nadrolski grimaced, clutching his side “A broken rib, most likely...” Ungod thought, turning his look towards the two other kings. “What's the plan now then? Hopefully something sensible...


Grido frowned and stepped forward “Killed? I don't want you killed? We just want you..” Azull stepped forward, speaking with calm and directed anger “..I do.”


Grido turned his frown to Azull “We agreed that if he stepped down from ki...”


Ungod furrows his brow into a frown to match Grido's “Was this Azull's reason to help..?”


“No.” Azull interrupted Grido “You agreed that. I agreed I would help you to end this...” Azull turns to Nadrolski, the now dead king's body tumbling forward, a smile on his face.


“...and now I have.”


With that the Necrovion King turned and walked away, his plan fulfilled.




Azull stopped outside the Howling gates, smiling as a shadowy figure appeared beneath it.


“You served me well...” He places a hand on the figure's shoulder.


Lastal grins “The plan worked well...though I could have done it without the war.”


Azull nods “That I do not doubt, but it would have lacked the impact I wished for.” he turns towards the gates “No one disrespects the Lands I have been trusted to rule over.” He turns back to Lashtal “And now all have seen what happens when one does.”


Lashtal nods “And now?”


Azull smiles. “And now we rest, friend.”




Nimrodel removes her hand from Draco with a frown of her own.


“Do we visit the Graveyard, Rider?” Draco asked, both a witness to the events that had just occurred.


Whilst Grido was arguing with Azull, Azull had ordered for Lashtal to appear behind Nadrolski, killing him as he distracted Grido.


He had wanted to get close without suspicion. He had known Grido would try to talk truce and therefore would be able to get them closer... He wanted a scene and he got one.


She sighed “No Draco...”


“But you said no one deserved to die, Rider?” The Dragon said, with confusion.


“I also said that only one should have the right to deny life – their own life – and that is themselves” She shakes her head “Nadrolski was given the opportunities to negotiate, to surrender peacefully. He entered the battlefield believing he would die and was killed before given the belief otherwise.”


She turns her head to the battlefield “It was his actions that caused this and it was his choice to pursue a road which he believed to have only one ending, for either party; Death.”


The Dragon nodded in understanding “I see Rider.”


She smiles softly “It is a sad loss, but it is an ending he chose. Therefore I shall not deny him of his own wish; for himself or another.”


Nimrodel turns to face the wind. “For now, we Ride on, Draconas. If he seeks us, we shall help. If not...” She smiles and grips the saddle handle tightly “Aethon's be slacking lately. Fancy another bath?”


Draconas grins, baring his teeth. “Certainly...”




Yami closes the notebook with a smile.


" And with that they turn, soaring off towards Willows Way, leaving the battlefield far behind them."


The children all start shouting questions "What happened to Ungod!" "What did Azull and Lashtal do next?!, "How long was the dragon?!"


The children, and Yami, all raise an eyebrow at the child asking about the dragons length, but Yami speaks calmly and with a warm smile "All these questions to be answered but such little time..." She yawns and stretches. "It's time for me to sleep again, children."


The children all let out a resounding "Awww..."


Yami chuckles "I will be around again tomorrow, worry not..." 


And with that she slowly drifted back into a dreamless sleep, a smile upon her face...for she had missed the realm dearly and was happy to be back home.[/log]


Excuse any mistakes, it was 4am when I finished this. :P


As a note, it is indeed a story within a story, though the main character should not be confused with one from the story within the story, for the main character is the story teller involved! :D


Anyway, hope you enjoy! :)

Edited by Aethon
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I was asked a question today about the stories.  Someone wanted to work more on their story but thought once posted it was done.  As far as I see it you have until the 31st to submit your final stories.  If you want to edit, add, or change completely is up to you as long as its done by the 31st.

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My submission:
To start click on the symbol on the book. To navigate click on the edges of the book in the direction you wanna go:  right is forward, left is backward.
LE: because someone told me it's a big pain to go and read on the site, I'll post the story here as well:[spoiler]

Pamplemousse slowly opened her eyes. She looked around not remembering where she was. After a minute or so she recognized the Underground scene she fall asleep in, the night before. She jumped to her feet and dusted herself off. What should she do today? Maybe she could go train a bit. There should be plenty of targets now that Murmas is approaching.
Making up her mind, she started walking towards the meeting of the targe...aaa players. She was mindlessly clicking the arrows thinking about nothing in particular when suddenly she noticed another player in the scene she just entered.

- Je Suis?? Je Suis Oeufs Fous?? - she could not believe her eyes. The former archivist was there.
- Pample? What are you doing here? Je Suis replied whith his eyes as big as plates from the surprise.
- What do you mean what I am doing here? I am heading for GoE to feed a little my creatures.
Je Suis' eyes grew even bigger:
- How long have you been awake?
- I just woke up few minutes ago! What question is that? asked Pample starting to feel a little annoyed.
- Then you don't know! Je Suis whispered.
- Know what? Speak up Crazy eggs! yelled Pample as her annoyance started to grow into anger.
- I've been awake for a long time. I don't even know for how long because the clock never ticks. Have you noticed that?
Pample had a look on the clock and realized that the time was indeed stuck.
- It can be a bug. Mur will fix it. I'll report it soon. And why haven't you reported it yourself? Or check if others did?
- I tried to but I can't seem to find the forum. None of the links work. NOTHING works except for the arrow.
- Then let's go to GoE and we'll talk to people there. I am sure they already have an explanation!
- NO! You don't understand! - Je Suis yelled - We cannot reach GoE.
- Of course we can you silly boy! Pample replied.
- Have you found by any chance MasterB's stash of nightshade? Pample asked eyeing Crazy Eggs.
- Fine! Go and explore on yourself. You'll see that I am right.
- No! You're coming with me! said Pample reaching Je Suis's arm and grabbing it firmly. Keep clicking the left arrow. That's the way out of this ugly place!

Pample clicked furiously on the arrow. One. Two. Three. Four....Ten. She stopped. She was in the same spot she first met Je Suis.
- Told you! Je Suis hissed.
- Shut up. We're going in the other direction! CLICK IT Crazy Eggs!

So they both went in the opposed direction. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. There it was: a crossroad.
- Ha! Told you. You should defo lose the nightshade habit Crazy Eggs!
But Je Suis was not listening to her. He keeled next to one of the walls and started tracing something with his hand.
- What are you doing? Pample asked approaching him.
- Shsh! This is the first time I reach this place. And it's something written on this wall. If I could only make up what the words are!
- Let me! Pample kneeled next to Je Suis and started running her hand on the wall as well. "BWR F ODS PLNG GMS! REN" spelled Pample.
They both looked at each other puzzled.
- Ren? Je Suis asked.
- It says REN indeed. Bah! What if this is one of the farces he played? Like the crashing of the spaceship on the House of Liquid Dust!
- No no no! I don't think so.
- Whatever! said Pample with a flick of her hand. Let's move.We'll take the path to the left. C'mon you lazy bum! Move!
As they advanced further and further they felt that the path was rising. Soon they reached a dead end. It was a small and musty cave like room.
- What is this place? Je Suis asked.
- From the look of it, it's a dead end - replied Pample visually checking the walls. And now we have to go back! she whined.
Je Suis was already at the far end of the dead end checking the wall.
- Come Crazy Eggs, we need to go back!
- Shsh! I hear something!
- You're crazy! Of course you hear things!
- Shut up Pample! I mean it! Shut up and come closer. I need your help!
Mumbling Pample aproached Je Suis: - What do you need me for?
- Help me move this slab of limestone! I need to move it horizontally! I cannot drop it on the floor cause it has some sort of fixing mechanisms. Like sliding doors!
Pample just noticed that Je Suis had his hand on a big slab and was trying to push it away.
- Hang on! I'll help you.
She moved next to him and they both started to push hard. After few seconds, the slab moved an inch!
- Harder! said Je Suis breathing heavily.
And they tried again. They pushed and push and while they were struggling Pample heard something as well. Also a small ray of light started to make its way out under the slab.
Finally they managed to push it enough to reveal an old rusted grid. They stopped with the pushing and looked through the grid. What they saw puzzled them.

Down in a big bright room, sitting at an old table there were 2 persons covered with capes. Their faces were also covered. And they were playing...chess.

- Ten, stop fooling around and move! I don't have all time!
- Of course you do you old fart! You have an eternity! and they both started to laugh.

Pample and Je Suis looked at each other.
- Who are they? Pample asked.
- I don't know - Je Suis admitted.
- I'm going to call them!
- NO! You should NOT do that - Je Suis covered here mouth - Look at the chess pieces they use for the game!
Pample tried to have a better look and she almost screamed in horror! She recognized the avatars of the MD players on the chess board. Chewett, dst, Kyphis, some new avatars that she didn't recognized were on the board while others like MRD, Blackwoodforest were out.
- What IS this place Je Suis? Who are those..specters? And why are they playing chess in this way? I am getting scared! she said with trembling voice
- I don't know Pample. And I am scared too!

- Ten, do you remember those pieces you misplaced some time ago?
- Yes, I remember. I might be old but I am omniscient!
- You're not! Otherwise you would have known where those pieces were by now! And you would have not lost them!
- Buhu! So what if I lost some pieces? It's not the end of the world! Besides, we've already played those pieced. We don't need them any more!
- You are NOT supposed to lose any piece! You know what we must do with the discarded ones!
- So I know! But who'll punish me??
- Let's not get into that discussion any more. I am sick of it! I just wanted to tell you that I found them.
- You did? Really? Where were they?
- Well...technically I didn't find them. They found us - said the specter snickering and starting to raise a bony finger.

Pample and Je Suis felt their hair raising on their necks. And a chill breeze surrounded them as they watched the bony finger pointing at them.

The spectre called Ten reached with his bony hand and grabbed the two new pieces on its table. He took them both and stuck them inside his cape.

- I never liked those Archivists! They were always trouble. You never know what to expect from them. They really are wild cards and I don't like playing with wild cards!
Now they are out of the play! Next to their beloved space ship crasher. And I have a place for the rest of them as well. Can't wait! Now, dear Ed, it's your move, said the spectre moving dst to D5.
- You know they can always return like alts, don't you?
- You really think that low of me? Of course I know! But alts don't have the power of mains and you should know that better than anyone. And they should all be happy I am such a good chess player! And they should all be even happier that I am a pacifist! yelled Ten while hitting the table with his grotesque hand making simplyzero's avatar to drop under the table. Then Ten stood up, crashing simply in the process and walked way towards the only existing door in the room. We'll continue tomorrow! I am tired and you simply indisposed me!
- As you wish my dear brother, as you wish! said the other specter taking a sip from a skull shaped mug which materialized in his hand. See you tomorrow! And sleep tight!And then he continued moving pieces on the chess board.


Edited by dst
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The Lady of the Pelt


[spoiler]You will recall, no doubt, Helen. She after whom a totem is named. Vilified by revoked ‘Lore’. The revocation came as a shock to the land of Magic Duel. The people there broke as it did. Imagine if all of history was washed away. Though none of them lived it, and some say it wasn’t even lived at all, it still had lessons and morals to it. Still, the law or ‘Lore’ imbues quite clearly, that the maker of both can do as they please. So it was there was no Helen, the very ghost whisper of her a sacrilege to state. Still...with no history but for the living, there was a gap. A little niggly thing, a hole in the otherwise seemingly sturdy wall of Magic Duel’s being. The people of the realm, quite rightly, felt compelled to plug that little gap. To firm up the wall again somehow, make it secure. If not out of respect, then out of fear the whole thing would come crashing down around them. Both of these things are reasonable responses, but there is a third. For some, this little gap was a lot larger than it appeared, for whoever could plug it would become part of the fabric of the realm itself. There would be rewards, most certainly. Popularity, maybe even gold, but more than that...there would be power....

Of the people of the land, one young lady had such a thought. She had successfully wooed and captured a useful tool already. The all powerful one-eyed Jon. Jon was a mean little chap, short but loud and firm. He was a law-maker. Carried his weapons close by wherever he went. He lost an eye in a fierce battle with an elephant and a goat who caught him sleeping one day in his paper house. Some say the animals hid it in a jar beneath the floor boards of his very living quarters and amused themselves that he could not find it. Some say they ate it. Either way, his name stuck. One-eyed Jon. Yet, for all Jon’s trials and firm stance, the lady wooed him well, and one day under moon-lit romance, disposed of him over the edge of a cliff-face, never to be seen again.

The lady had gathered many under her command, and through seemingly polite courteous effort. Many a man and woman alike defended her honor, and she spit acidic bile to any who opposed her or those clan of miss-guided guards beneath her. Still, whilst her psychopathic skill with people kept her in good stead, it did not fare so well with the animal inhabitants of the realm. The goat and elephant remained vigilant against her. To thwart their bravery, she decided that to conquer all of Loreroot would prove her worth with the animals. They would HAVE to bow to her if she reigned over such a luscious forested land as that. So she took heel one afternoon, down the dusty no-mans paths. She entered Loreroot, and to show her power she hid in a bush. Now now, don’t be silly, hiding in a bush was hardly the full display of power, only the beginning of her plot. There she crouched, bow in hand, arrow poised, one eye closed, the other searching the areas in front for a victim she could dispose of and bring back a haul to prove she was above all others. There, escaping from the lake and shaking himself off a small beaver cub crept up a grass verge. Oblivious, he plonked himself down and chewed happily on a twig. No sooner had he dug his teeth in than an arrow struck him between the eyes, and his life was taken.
The lady emerged from the bushes, took the small beaver by the leg and ferried him off to the weapon-smith whereby one of her minions skinned him. She spent the next few weeks donning the pelt around her neck triumphantly, showing her vigour and that she was not to be trifled with. The animals of the realm began to fear her, just as she’d hoped, and so, her power grew and her manipulation continued.

Back in Loreroot, the parent beavers searched desperately for their cub, but found nought but a riven twig and splatter of blood. Word travelled of the lady and her arrows, and the beaver clans held vigils for their lost member.

Back in the rest of the realm, a clown was having an argument with the lady. The clown didn’t believe anything the lady said. The clown had no interest in her clever tricks and said she must have bought the beaver pelt from a shop, that it looked fake, and it meant nothing. The animals of the realm gathered behind the clown, and supported her, making sure the lady couldn’t hurt the only one brave enough to stand up against the tyrant.

The lady grew tired of the arguments and could see she was losing favour with the animals, but more importantly she was losing their fear. She vowed to travel again to Loreroot, and gather another pelt to prove her metal. The clown saw no reason for this not to happen, but demanded to tag along....so she could be sure of the outcome. So it was, the lady again travelled to the forested land. Alone again this time, but with a clown in tow.

In Loreroot, the lady felt confident, she had killed once, she could easily do so again, but her scent was known now, and the beaver clans knew she had been the one to kill the cub. No beaver left their den in light, and the lady travelled in silence with no success. The clown was amused, and mocked her. Clearly there weren’t any beavers in Loreoot, let alone skins. The lady was unperturbed and continued into the night, lighting a small fire and waiting. Soon enough, they fell asleep. The beavers, in dead of night, crept from their dens and surrounded the camp site. They descended upon the lady, ripping her skin from her body, laying liquids and meaty proportions out in splattered patterns across the forest floor. When the sun rose, the beavers were gone, and so was the lady’s life. The clown awoke, confused by the scene, but being a clown had no real sense of fear. All was comedy to the clown, and in this case, it was especially amusing. Isolda, queen of the beaver pelt, lady of the lands, now a piece of modern art. She decided she would charge a visiting fee to all those who had followed Isolda, and never tell who or what the art was. As for where Isolda went, those questions were met with a shrug. How could the clown possibly know, they didn’t get on after all.



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Here's my story:

On the eve of a red night, let me tell you a story.

Once upon a time, there lived a mighty king, the Mighty King of the East. He was an Emperor of sorts, called as the "Emperor of all maladies" by some. He was one who was cursed and spluttered at everytime he drew his sword. He was one of the most loved and most hated kings of all times. A demon in its true form. A ruler whose presence commanded the attention of everyone. Who knew how to taunt and harass. Who knew how to claim. Who knew how to protect. One day, he took the liberty of falling asleep in his castle and as fate's ploy unfolded, he fell asleep for a long long time. During this time, many rulers came and left. Some stayed still. But the memory of his power gradually diluted. And during this period, a grave error was made. All the kings held a council and forgot to invite the Demon king of the East. The King woke up and decided it was time he bottled terror again. A slow blade plunged into the Queen of loreroot and gutted her out. That was his first play and the most benevolent play because he knew she was a young queen. And she could be revived during the Contest of Torches. Moving on to the next land, he tore the mighty Guerrilla Alliance and rendered it's members badge less. The king of the Guerrillas played his card to shackle the emperor, but tightened the noose around his own neck instead. While the Demon King barely faced any consequences of his act, the scale of blunder grew heavier for the Greedy King. The King of the East sealed his fates with his statement and sharpened his sword quietly. The quiet before a calamity. Here ends my story about an Emperor, an emperor who'd be remembered for an Eon. Or does it? Remember the cold blade. Imagining it twisting through your gut. Remember the horror. Remember the fear. Because what is in store for the rest, is not a mere nightmare, But another experience of Blood and terror, a tale  saved for another red occasion.

Edited by Nimrodel
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I'd like to take a shot. I don't know which would be more scary, my terrible writing skill, or the story itself. Now taste a Chinese flavored nightmare:)



Wodin, the greatest legendary warrior in the world, once decided to recruit an apprentice to heritage his combat skills. The news spread faster than a lightening bolt. Boys who wanted to please girls, girls who wanted to see Wodin, and some true warriors came from the coldest glacier, the hottest desert, the moistest forest and the driest barren, hoping themselves to be the chosen one. There were so many candidates that Wodin had to set up a bunch of random tests to screen some first. The tests were not meant to be dangerous, but even Wodin cannot predict everything...


This boy, boasted his bravery, called himself Ironheart. He picked an envelop from the pool of the tests. The paper inside read, "Head east, find an exotic old lady selling dumplings 10 miles away. Buy some dumplings and take them back. It is said she uses oriental voodoo to make her dumplings delicious. Every night she will chose a customer to become the fresh meat in her dumplings. The victim became barren soul haunting around to help her get more preys“ 

Ironheart grinned, "It's damn easy. They don't know I'm Ironheart?" 

Ironheart set off at around 9:00 pm. It was still early when he found the old lady and her vendor booth. It was a small cottage by a crossroad, far away from other people. It opened all day long, as the lady lived inside and sold dumplings outside.  A big iron pot was set up with boiling water at any time. Whenever a customer approached, she picked and threw into the pot some dumplings.


It was very dark. The moon was behind the thick cloud. Only some dim light came from the fire underneath the pot. Ironheart went up to the door. The old lady was sitting behind the door, looking aimlessly into the void. Her lips were like cut on the trunk of an aged tree. Ironheart couldn’t tell if he saw her smile or wrinkle. She stepped out so slowly that Ironheart stopped his breath, being afraid of blowing her down. Ironheart asked for a dozen of dumplings. And waited with quite a long silence. The dumplings were hold in a flat wooden box with cover and handed to Ironheart. 


It was a long way back. The light from the fire disappeared. The wind was howling around him. But Ironheart was not afraid at all. He was just a little bit curious about the dumplings. He tilted the cover a little and peeked into the box. But there seemed to be an empty slot int he box. He counted again to find only 11 dumplings left. All of a sudden he felt that he already sweated his shirt. He thought he heard some sound, like someone was chewing. Ironheart took a deep breath, and tilted the cover again. He almost went mad. Another dumpling disappeared. The face of the old lady seemed to hide in the darkness. With the sound of chewing, he could also hear steps towards him. Ironheart couldn’t believe what happened. He hold the box harder, and tilted the cover very slowly and carefully… to find only 4 dumplings left. 


The other day, Ironheart was found dead, from heart attack, on the road. There were a dozen of dumplings scattered around him. some in a wooden box, some on the ground, and some stick to the back of a wooden cover. 




About dumplings:


Other than the fried dumplings you may have eaten before, Chinese dumplings are steamed or boiled. When it gets cold, the flour may turn sticky.


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  • 2 weeks later...

  The Results of the stories are as follows:


Those who did not follow the guidelines of the quest:

Kyphis: Not MD oriented

Nimrodel: MD player is still active

These people all earn a cake, tea, and Christmas point as well as all others who did not get 1-4



It was very close for first place, but in the end 1-4 is as follows:


1st: Aeoshatter

2nd: Zleiphneir

3rd: DST

4th: Aethon


Thank you all for participating in my quest. Come and see me for your rewards.

*as a side note* I would like to say that Kyphis's story actually scored higher then anyone elses. Was sad not to see it meet the guidelines, but I am sure it would have lost some of its flavor had it been.


*edit* sorry full list of participants:






Aethon 4






strike through means they have been rewarded

Edited by phantasm
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 I agree that DST should be taken off the disqualification list.  By score then that makes DST at 3rd place. 


As clarification, all stories were scored wether they qualified the requirements or not,  as stated in the post aobut Kyphis story.

Edited by phantasm
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Those who did not follow the guidelines of the quest:

Ungod: no death



... "No, but I can kill you. If I just break this phial, you'll be in the world without dreams. And that's enough to kill one." ...

Somewhere on the Ivory Island, a man was playing with a vial, throwing it in the air and catching it. One time, his fingers slipped.

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Apparently there were some issues with this quest as to what was considered a "death" in these stories.  If Jubaris is taken off the disqualification list, he still did not score high enough to be 1-4, so receives the same reward.  People view what is an actual death differently it would seem, so my apologies for not being more precise in my description. The judges scores and qualifications were based on their view of what a death was, more in terms of a slaying.  In the future I will try and make it more clear of what we consider death being in a story.  I personally was trying to go more for the horror knife in the shower sort of quest, but wasn't presented clear enough from these issues.

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Apparently there were some issues with this quest as to what was considered a "death" in these stories.  If Jubaris Ungod is taken off the disqualification list, he still did not score high enough to be 1-4, so receives the same reward.  People view what is an actual death differently it would seem, so my apologies for not being more precise in my description. The judges scores and qualifications were based on their view of what a death was, more in terms of a slaying.  In the future I will try and make it more clear of what we consider death being in a story.  I personally was trying to go more for the horror knife in the shower sort of quest, but wasn't presented clear enough from these issues.


Anyhow, I appreciate it, Juba, but I didn't quite kill anyone, as in actual slaying, as Caretakers would like.


A little dead is nice, they say...

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Ah yes sorry for the wrong name, i meant ungod.  Jubaris's story had all requirements.  I will remove Ungod from the disqualification list, but as I stated he did not have high enough score for 1-4.  I hope in the future to keep issues like this from coming up

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