Boc, Curtis, Rose, Buffy, Vic, Nofo and KC decided to be lame and not submit a story. So, you guys have been exterminated from the competition... Never to see the day of light again.

Okay, now that we have that out of the way. I had intended the first round to root out the inactives, whilst still letting someone be eliminated who did submit a story... As for that, the rules have now changed due to the vast amount of people who got exterminated. So, instead of their being an elimanation, we'll instead give out free points for the next round!!

Last place: 1 point
2nd to last: 2 points
Etc, etc.

So your performance this round will still play an impact in your next rounds performance. Just to even out the fact that noone will be elimanated tomorrow.

So, rejoice on that fact. Thanks for the ones who did put their time and effort in making a story!!

I think ATTWS and related stuff took some time away from some people.

That said, looking forward to the results.

I realized that I'd have to drop either way if I had made it past a round. Boc and I do so much writing for ATTWS and it takes up our whole night. Sry Miko!

I do like that we were exterminated rather than eliminated lol

Ps- I told you I had to drop :p

Timmah's Story

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Prologue I. It had been a good day. Unexpected, but good. Brady sat atop his favorite horse, ‘Star Bringer’, and looked out over his men with a sense of pride. Their bright, white armor had lost some of its brilliance during the battle, as blood, sweat and mud had combined to stain the garb a drab, brownish color. Brady smiled, most of that blood belonged to the enemy. He had lost precious few of his own men. ‘His men’. Brady reflected on that in awe. At only sixteen cycles, he was the youngest Captain in the long, storied history of the Lord Commander’s army. The legendary White Army. Led by the White Mages, under the control of the most powerful White Mage in the Realm. The Lord Commander was a figure who inspired loyalty and fear, in equal measures. ‘One day’, thought Brady, ‘I will be the Lord Commander’. Brady had always been ambitious. As a youth, that ambition often took the form of acting out against those who thought themselves above him. Born to into a modest family, his ma’ and pa’ had been forced to send him away to the Battle School, the training ground for the White Army. The final straw had come when he issued a savage beating to Jared, the magistrate’s son. Jared's crime was telling Brady to ‘mind his station’. Jared was a portly, red-faced, insufferable youth of ten cycles. Brady was only five. In order to placate the magistrate, Brady's parents agreed that on his six name-day, he would be sent to the Battle School. Brady entered Battle School, as all youths did at the rank of “Boy”, denoting that he was freshly arrived trainee. Battle School was a highly structured environment, and the training of soldiers began in their sixth cycle. Each cylce, at Yule, the trainees were tested. Those who passed were promoted. Failure resulted in dismissal from Battle School. As was their wont, the older trainees often made sport of their younger counterparts. Brady turned his reflection to one such occasion, one that would alter his path forever. It was Oath’s Day, about six weeks after Brady arrived at Battle School. He had just finished up cleaning the stables with the other Boys. On their way to report back to the stable master, their path chanced to take them by a large group of “Lads”, trainees in their ninth cycle. One of the Lads in particular, Jonith, was a hulk of a boy, standing nearly a hand taller than the rest of his fellow Lads. Jonith was a brute, well known for bullying younger trainees, and the Boys often went out of their way to avoid him. On this Oath’s Day, Jonith determined to focus his bullying on Weill, one of the smaller Boys. As the Boys made their way past the Lads, Jonith, taunting the group of Boys, snatched the pail of dung from Weill’s hands and turned it upend on Weill’s head. The Lads roared with laughter, and Jonith smugly proclaimed that Weill’s new name was to be ‘dung head’. Brady was not overly fond of Weill, but he felt a sense of loyalty to the Boys in his unit. This was too much. This was an insult that Brady could not let stand. Before he even thought, Brady whipped his own dung pail into the back of Jonith’s head. He could still remember the satisfying ‘thunk’ that the pail made as it struck Jonith, knocking him unconscious to the ground. Brady knew instantly that this was an act of aggression that would be repaid in kind. The other Lads, seeing one of their own attacked, sprang into action. Three of them tackled Brady, pounding him with their fists. The remaining Lads held the rest of the Boys back, forcing them to witness Brady's savage beating. It was to be an example. A warning that they must mind their place in the hierarchy. Brady lay there, helpless to defend himself. Trying his best to cover his head and endure the Lads' furious onslaught. After the first few seconds, something odd happened. Instead of feeling the pain, Brady only felt rage. That rage grew and grew, until, no longer able to hold it back, it rushed forth, exploding from Brady as if it was lava exploding from a fire mountain. The last thing Brady remembered before he fell unconscious was the screams of the three Lads as they hurtled backwards through the air away from him. II. It was not until Brady awoke, three days later, that he learned what had happened. He opened his eyes, taking a moment to gather his bearings, not knowing where he was. When he finally regained his orientation, he saw that he was in the infirmary, laying on a small cot. From behind his bed, he heard a strong voice, asking him: “Do you know what you have done?” Brady turned, eyes widened as the awesome figure of the Lord Commander himself came into view. When Brady did not respond, the Lord Commander continued: “You severely burned three Lads. Luckily none were killed.” Unable to understand what the Lord Commander was saying, Brady still did not say anything. The Lord Commander continued: “Do you know how you did such a thing?” Laying there, terrified that he was to be expelled from Battle School, Brady could barely muster the courage to shake his head, “no”. Instead of responding in anger, as Brady anticipated, the Lord Commander closed his eyes, sighed, and took a seat in the chair by Brady’s cot. “Son”, the Lord Commander said, “What you did was to call forth fire, to defend yourself from those Lads. This ability. This magic. It is something that only those born with the Power can do. It is a thing of the Magi.” Brady was dumbfounded, thinking only: ‘Me!?’ ‘Magic!? ’. As the Lord Commander rose from his seat to go, he paused, putting his hand on Brady’s shoulder: “When you are recovered, you will report to the Hall of the Magi, where you will begin your training to become a White Mage.” Brady took quickly to Magi training. On his tenth name-day, he was promoted to the rank of Apprentice, a feat not even the Lord Commander could boast. By his thirteenth cycle, he had advanced all the way to Adept, only one step from the ultimate rank of Master. Becoming an Adept earned Brady a role in the leadership of the army, where he started at the traditional rank of Sergeant. The Magi’s role in the White Army had always been to lead the army, using their Power to facilitate in utilizing the Realm’s forces in the never-ending battle against the Dark Realm. The White Mages were, of course, fully trained in combat magic. But, as the ranks of the Magi dwindled over the years, the mages were reserved as the lines of last defense, using their Power in direct combat only when the circumstances demanded. Or when a Dark Mage accompanied the enemy troops. Brady took quickly to officer training, earning a name for himself as the foremost among the young officers. His rise up the command chain of the White Army was swift, and with every promotion Brady's ambitions only grew. Now, at the age of sixteen he was already a Captain, in command of an entire battalion of warriors. In only three, short months as a Captain, Brady’s reputation had already begun to spread throughout the Realm. He had already led his forces into battle on four occasions, routing the dark enemy in each fight. It was the last such battle, however, that created a legend. The Enemy in that battle had been led by a Throkda, a creature not seen in the White Realm in twenty or more lifetimes. Indeed, Throkda were thought to be creature of legend. Of folklore. A bed-time story meant to frighten young, misbehaving children. No one would have believed Throkda even existed, much less that he had killed one, Brady thought, had he not brought the Throkda’s corpse back triumphantly to the White Fortress, and presented it as a trophy to the Lord Commander. ‘Throkda!' The mere thought of the creature sent a cold shiver to run down Brady's spine. The Throkda stood once and a half again the size of a man, with talons the length of a dagger, capable of ripping even the finest of chain mail to shreds. This particular Throkda had been leading a raiding party of Dragos, ravaging the countryside bordering the mountains that separated the Twin Realms. The creatures had destroyed no less than five villages, leaving nothing save mutilated corpses in their wake. Brady and his men had lain in wait for two full days, ready to spring their trap on the rampaging hell beasts. ‘What a battle that had been’, thought Brady. When the Throkda first led his Dragos into that ravine, he'd nearly lost his men. The mere sight of the creature sent a wave of terror through his battalion. It was only through sheer force of will that he was able to rally his force to attack the... III. Brady’s remembrance was cut short by a sharp horn blast. His Lieutenant was calling a halt to the pursuit, and barking orders for the men to reform the lines. Brady and his battalion had been out on routine patrol that day. They came across the troops from the Dark Realm outside the sleepy village of Greenhill, only a day’s march from the White Fortress itself. This was no ordinary raiding party. These soldiers were regulars of the Dark Army. But, Brady wondered what they were doing so far from the Dead Fortress, here in the heart of the White Realm? He was going to get this information from the captives they had taken during the battle. When he returned to the White Fortress, Brady thought, he would report a full accounting of the reason the Dark Lord had sent soldiers so deep into the Realm, gaining even more favor with the Lord Commander. As his men reformed the line, Brady looked off towards the far hilltop where the enemy’s commander had spent the battle. The hilltop was empty now. A shiver ran down Brady’s spine as he recalled the events of the battle. Confident that his men were fully in control of the battlefield, Brady had turned his attentions to the enemy commander. As the far hilltop was too far to make out the commander’s features, Brady had activated his power of sight, granting him acute vision over long distances. Brady recalled his sense of confusion when he looked towards the enemy commander on the hilltop. Instead of getting a good look at his counterpart, the creature's features were distorted, almost as it Brady was looking right past him. Before he cut off his enhanced vision, he could have sworn that the creature raised his arm and pointed a long bony finger, right at him. Putting aside these concerns, Brady surveyed his men. He was proud of his soldiers. The enemy had been routed, and what was left of the Dark Army’s forces were scattered, fleeing back through the hills. Brady smiled, this would be yet another battle to add to his growing legend. He could almost taste his next advancement. As was his custom, Brady dismounted and began his post-battle inspection. First, he walked amongst his men, now reformed into lines. He congratulated them on a battle well fought, and praised their courage and resolve. Next, Brady strode over to where his injured were being tended to by the battalion medics. Brady made a point to speak to each injured man, assuring them that they would be well cared for when they returned to the White Fortress. Finally, it was time for Brady to walk the field of battle. After every battle, Brady walked the field in solitude. He issued strict orders to his men to remain in the line, while he walked among the dead, alone. Brady took the time to stop over the body of each of his fallen soldiers, committing the name of each one to memory. Fifty-seven of Brady’s men had lost their lives during his time as a Captain. He knew the name of each one. This battle had cost him eight more of his men. The bodies of the enemy, Brady noted with pleasure, numbered near fifty. As Brady stood up over the body of the eighth fallen soldier, his eye was caught by the body of a soldier in bright, white armor, laying on the far hillside. Had he miscounted his men left in the lines? Wanting to be certain, he cautiously made his way up the side of the hill. Perhaps one of his men have disobeyed orders and given pursuit. Cut down before the enemy fled. IV. 'Odd', Brady thought. There was no blood staining the fallen soldier’s armor, and the soldier’s white cloak was draped over his face, obscuring his identity. Brady reached out to pull back the cloak. To his surprise, his hand passed right through where the body should have been. ‘Illusion!” Brady thought too late, as he tumbled forward, falling head over heel through the illusion and into the hillside. After what felt like an eternity, Brady came to rest in a large, open space. Wiping the dirt from his eyes, he took stock of his surroundings. The cavern he found himself in was quite large, and very dark. So dark that he could not see the far side. Seeking a better view, he forth the power of light, bathing the cavern in a soft, white light. He could see that he had fallen down a dark, narrow tunnel that led back up to where he had fallen into the hillside. That tunnel must have been quite long, he thought, as could not see any light filtering down from the world outside. Turning his attention to the cavern, Brady saw that he was in a single, large space, with no other passages leading in or out. At the far end, Brady noted a series of raised stones, set in what looked to be a perfect circle. Cautiously, Brady approached the circle, a sense of dread creeping into his blood with every step. When he reached the circle, his blood froze. At the center of the circle, painted in blood, was the figure of a man with the head of a bull. 'The Dark Lord's sigil', Brady thought, ‘It must be a gateway! But, how could the Dark Lord have a gateway here, this close to the White Fortress?' As he turned to make a hasty retreat, a loud crack and a flash of red light filled the cavern. It felt as if a lightning bolt struck a nearby tree. The force threw Brady forward onto his knees, knocking the wind from him and causing him to lose his connection to the light. Quickly regaining his footing, Brady turned towards the gateway, summoning his staff as he turned. Too slow. He stumbled to his knees again as he felt this link to the Power ripped from his grasp. It felt as if he was suffocating, unable to draw a breath. He could feel it, some alien power, blocking his ability to draw on his Power. Slowly drawing his gaze back towards the gateway, he knew instinctively what he would find. A Black Mage, standing in the gateway. As he struggled to get back to his feet, the Black Mage stepped slowly towards him, his guttural laugh echoing throughout the cavern. For the first time he could remember, Brady felt truly afraid. In a last, desperate gamble, Brady launched himself towards the Black Mage. He hoped to disrupt the spell blocking him from his Power, buying him time to summon his own staff. Once again, he was too slow. He barely saw the black staff move before it slammed into his temple, knocking him to the ground. Just as he lost consciousness, Brady thought he heard the Mage whisper, ‘The Dark Lord has been waiting for you... Brady.’

Brian's Story~ Trouble in Tanule

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Twas many suns and moons ago when dragons still took breath In that time if you saw one it surely meant your death For dragon's fire burns straight through steel, its teeth could crush through bone As if those problems were not enough, its claws could rip through stone It's in this age our tales takes place, in a kingdom called Tanule The king was quite a portly man who some would call a fool Tanule was plagued by flying beasts who scorched up all the land The king was furious, enraged he vowed to take a stand He donned his gear, got on his steed, and brought his shield and sword For all his faults (and he had several), 'twas quite the daring lord He traveled far and traveled wide to slay the vicious beast The dragon's lair was in a cave on a mountain to the east King Blotter arrived to the rocky mount and began to make the climb Once close he heard some noises there, so 'twas just a matter of time He reached the cave and peeked inside, the sight shocked ol' King Blotter For in front of him was the dragon, balls deep inside his daughter. "This is who I am now, Dad."

Chris' Story

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I fled along the banks of the river, sharp pains shooting down the back of my leg. I staggered along, whimpers and moans escaping my lips as I drunkenly hobbled along. The smell of charred hair and burnt flesh still filled my nostrils. I felt a pang of panic in the pit of my stomach as I wondered if I would ever be able to remove the memory of that awful smell and the screams of my dying companions. As I stumbled along, I tripped over a tree root and went down on one knee. I tried to get back up but my body wouldn't cooperate, I rolled onto my side as blackness crept in from the corners of my vision. I took a deep breath to try to stay conscious but exhaustion won as I fell into a world of blackness. Our journey had started weeks before, the five of us. We barely knew each other at the start of the journey but soon found we needed to rely on each other if we were to do the job for which we had been royally decreed. Talin was our leader, of course he was, he was the only one of us that had royal blood coursing through his veins. Apparently royal blood isn't immune to dragon fire. He got tasked the job with leading our rag tag group of idiots into this god forsaken land in order to slay the dragon that had wiped out a good chunk of the Queen's Northern Army. Talin volunteered for the job believe it or not. It turns out that his great-grandfather, who was cousin to the king at the time, was caught buttfucking a servant boy in a store room in the royal residence. The blowback on his family was terrible and they've been trying to buy back their family honor for three generations. Fuck honor, that shit will get you killed. The other three that traveled with us to slay the Great Northern Dragon were what were called “service volunteers.” Which essentially meant that they were enlisted soldiers who committed some kind of terrible crime against the queen. Roderick it seemed, had a tendency for fucking sheep. Unfortunately for Roderick, the Queen owns all the sheep. Rod was a big burly black haired son of a bitch that loved to talk about all of the women he fucked and how much they loved the size of his cock. Dayvin was a quiet red haired boy who had apparently murdered his commanding officer because he made a pass at Dayvin's mother one day after training exercises in the village. From what I heard from Talin, he ran his straight through the gut with a pike and left him there to flop like a fish and bray like a donkey while his guts ran down the stake. Dayvin was dangerous. Cornell was the last service volunteer, he was quite a bit more mysterious than the other two, Talin really didn't know what horrible thing he could have done to have gotten placed in our little company. But honestly, I guess it doesn't really matter, they're all dead.

Dylan's Story

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Noah awoke to a bright light preventing him from acknowledging his surroundings. He shielded his green eyes trying to regain his vision, unaware of his surroundings. This was not the location he had been just moments ago. His mind wandered as his eyes tried to adjust to the light. He began to notice that the rays were not coming from a singular object but multiple circular objects far above him. As the picture of his whereabouts became more clear he realized they were stars, radiating the light similar to that of the sun. But there were three of them. Noah wiped his long brown hair away from his forehead as he rested it on his knees. Memories raced back to him. Of sitting at recess hearing about the legend of the janitor’s closet, thinking it was some fools tale. He remembered finding the note hidden in his locker. How it begged him to rescue some captured princess from some evil wizard in some far away land. He chalked it up to the high school bully but could it really be. Having regained his sense, Noah took steps in this new land. It had many similarities to earth. The grass was green, the sky was blue, and light was received by a nearby star, well three of them. He could see mountains in the distance, a river of clear blue water about five hundred yards in front of him. Trees and flowers were sporadic, though their colors and shapes did not identify as any sort of type from Earth. Though Noah noted he was no scientist on plants. He could not recall the scientific name for that study either. There were definite differences though. Masses of land floated above him like clouds. While some were far away and looked like floating rocks, on the closer ones he could make out trees and even rivers flowing around the rock. Noah also noticed that there were no signs of life apart from the plants. He began to feel a dryness in his throat. He hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since lunch and had made his way down into the basement after class had ended. He wondered how long it had taken him to transport to this new land as he reached the base of the river. He reached his hand down to the water before pausing right before making contact. Curiosity again reigned supreme. He realized assuming that this was water could be wrong, for all he knew the reason there were no living things around was because the water was poisonous. He quickly got up and took a couple step backs deciding to err on the side of caution. He was startled as he heard a rustling of leaves and saw a creature walk towards the water. It reminded Noah of deer but had subtle green scales and only two legs. It slowly moved and reached its head towards the water. This gave Noah the confidence to the same. As he scooped a handful of water towards his mouth he was startled by a loud screech. The green animal was charging towards him. It leaped over the river and landed near Noah. Noah unable to stand due to fear slowly crawled back trying to grasp something to defend himself. Anything. Noah felt a tree branch that had fallen and picked it up holding it like a sword. The beast was on top of him. From a distance it had looked small but it was seven feet high. It gnashed its teeth as Noah swung the stick around in self-defense. The stick was flung out of Noah’s hands with the monster’s mouth and tossed into the water. Noah closed his eyes fearing the worst. He felt the teeth dig into his right leg, but they did not release. It took him a second to realize he was being dragged. Afraid to open his eyes he swung his other leg up hoping to make contact with the animal. Startled the grip on his leg was loosened and he was able to gain freedom. As he began to run he felt the damage on his leg. He tumbled to the ground unable to apply his weight. He could hear the footsteps behind him as the animal let out another shriek. Biting his lip, Noah got up attempting to return to the place where he had regained consciousness hoping that it would somehow lead him back to his home, back to his family, back to where he wasn’t going to be changed by two legged green deer with razor sharp teeth. He saw the clearing, and saw the flattened grass from where he awoke, but did not see the rock in his path. With a solid thud he landed on the ground. Fearing the worst he closed his eyes and crawled forward the noise of the beast got louder and louder until it finally stopped… Noah once again awoke, this time to darkness. There were three rays of late, but this time they were from dingy lights hanging from the system. He scrambled to scan his surroundings. He lay on some sort of cot and in the corner of the room was the locker. The locker whose combination was 26, 5, 21 and was the one he opened before he blacked out. He quickly felt his leg. A bandage covered what he had remembered as being bitten. Confused he looked around. “Ya’ got some splain’ to do boy,” a grizzled old man got up from a chair just out of the eye line of Noah due to the darkness. “I ain’t seen nobody come outta that locka in a vary vary long time.” Noah recognized him as the school janitor. He wasn’t sure of his first name, but he was pretty sure everyone just called him Jenkins. Jenkins slowly walked towards the bed. He leaned closely and whispered to Noah, “It ain’t safe in there no more.” Noah gently pushed him away. He did not know what was going on and wasn’t particularly comfortable lying in a dungy school basement with some creepy janitor. “Who the hell are you, what the hell is that place, and why the hell…” he stopped unsure how to finish the question. He took a breath and continued, “And why the hell was some green mutant thing trying to kill me. And how the hell did that note get into my locker.” The last question seemed to Jenkins attention. “Well so ya ain’t just some punk kid follin through on a dare,” Jenkins said in his southern draw. “Well in that case.” The old man scratched his dirty grey beard. “Well maybe ol’ Benji has some hope after all.” He smiled, “Son, ya’ betta rest that leg of yers. Those nattocks, they gonna be the least of your worries when you go back.” Noah looked at the old man as if he had three heads. “Go back? Why in the world would I go back?” The old man smiled, “Noah, you are the chosen one.”

Sentence.

FUCK!!

Don't judge me!!

Eric's Story~ Lamentaire

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Lamentaire A calm breeze circled the great white oak tree. The tree stirred, stretched its branches, and moaned as a stronger wind rocked against it. Upon the wind sat the whistling message of a young sycamore. “Be wary, the minotaur’s have arrived on the edge of the forest, the fae’s must be protected. I send them to you on the North wind, my lord. May the magic of the guardians empower you.” The great white oak swayed with the wind, stretching and preparing itself for the coming onslaught of fae’s. It creaked at the squirrels and birds living inside an upon it. The squirrels set to work clearing their hollows and gathering nuts and berries. The birds dropped their freshly emptied nests and began constructing new ones, shedding extra down for comfort. The fae’s were gentle and kind, the size of the great oak’s leaves. They never asked for more than shelter from their predators, but the great oak knew their power over nature. Selfishly, it thought of the wilting grass and its dying brother trees nearby. Their magic would refresh the land and the great oak tree wanted the fae’s to feel at home for as long as it could. It did not take long for the preparations to be set. The birds hung vines with dew drops along the great oak’s branches and the sun shown through its leaves, giving the drops a cheery twinkle. The stags and does trotted up with woven sacks made by earthen elves and the squirrels loaded them with Autumn’s fallen leaves, tan colored grass, and empty nut shells. The earthen elves were but one of the four elven communities living inside the forest, one for each of the elements. The wind elves were in charge of retrieving and sending messages, the water elves sprinkled the forest and delivered drinking water to the animals. The fire elves controlled the heat of the sun and kept the forest from burning while also giving light to lost travelers. Together they brought peace to the forest by working in perfect unison. They’re magic had its limits and the fae’s would always arrive to enhance what the elves had created. The great oak tree shivered its branches in anticipation and creaked its thanks for the help of the animals and the elves as the North wind arrived and the light of the fae’s engulfed the great oak. It shuddered in welcome and the king of the fae’s moved forward on transparent wings. “Lord Lamentaire, we, the humble fae’s of the forest, seek your shelter from the minotaur army. In return, we shall replenish your land and extend your life force by turning back the hands of time.” Lamentaire swayed its leaves in acceptance and soft lights appeared in its hollows. The king of the fae’s, his family and his many thousands of subjects bowed and swiftly flew into their hollow homes. Lamentaire sighed contently with the wind. A loud, sharp, drum beat cut the air. The fae’s shrieked as one, the lights were doused and Lamentaire stiffened. A second drum beat, the wind stopped and a strong silence fell around the great oak tree. A constant beating consumed the air and a thunderous pounding shook the ground. Trees came crashing down nearby. Lamentaire shook with anger. The birds, squirrels and fae’s tried to calm him with their songs, chittering and whispers. An ax flew through the air and missed Lamentaire by a hair to land in a nearby maple. The ax dug so deep it bled sap and its brown bark slowly changed to a dying gray. Its leaves fell to the ground and its animal inhabitants sang sorrowful songs and squeaked with rage. A fiery arrow struck the maple and went up in flames. The noise died as the maple crackled and burned, a golden shield spread around the maple to isolate the fire until the tree was nothing more than cinders. Two birch trees on the other side of Lamentaire were suddenly struck and the horns of a minotaur pierced clean through them. The minotaur roared a war cry and uplifted the birches to clear a path. The minotaur, covered in brown fur and pulsing muscles, strutted across the small clearing, around Lamentaire, and picked his ax up from the remains of the maple. The minotaur army followed and surrounded the great oak tree. A strong wind blew in, another golden shield encircled the Lamentaire, a thick fog hid the tree from view and a barrier of vines pushed the minotaurs back. The minotaurs chopped and hacked at the vines. The strongest fae magicians sang spells and the vines regrew. An ax was swung at them and the vines whipped out around the minotaur’s arm. They wrapped around his body and he collapsed in a heap. Minotaur soldiers attempted to cut their fallen comrade free, but the fae’s singing wrapped around them as well and soon the minotaurs were in a pile on top of each other. The others pushed back, uncertain how to proceed. Holes formed in the vines and tiny wooden darts with red tips flew out and pierced many of the minotaurs chests in various places. They fell to their knees and forward onto their faces as the rest retreated out of the clearing. The fire and earthen elves appeared, long legged and elegant. The earthen elves conjured up stretchers and, despite their weight and size, were able to fling the massive bodies of the centaurs onto them and scurried away while the fire elves charged with torches after the ones who escaped. The wind and water elves surfed into view. The wind elves blew through the cinders of the maple and planted a new seed and the water elves cleared the ground while simultaneously watering the seed. The faes sang a soft, healing song and a small green stem popped out of the ground. The vines slowly receded as the wind and water elves took off after the fire elves. A female earthen elf returned. “The minotaurs are restrained and will await the sentence of the Guardians. We, the earthen elves, apologize for the loss of the birch twins. They will not be forgotten for their sacrifice. Thank you for sheltering the fae, Lord Lamentaire.” Lamentaire acknowledged the elf by dropping a leaf into her hand. “You are most gracious, my lord.” The elf took the leaf and stretched her arm above her head. The leaf glowed white and the elf disappeared in a flash. The fire elves suddenly came through with more stretchers and minotaurs. One stayed behind. “The minotaurs are fallen. The Guardians are notified. The minotaurs were unwise to take on the whole forest, we are unsure of their motivations, but they will soon be revealed. We thank you, Lord.” He snapped his fingers and burst into flames before disappearing in a cloud of smoke as the water and wind elves passed by once more and a wind elf came to a halt as the others flew in on the wind. “We have salvaged the remains of your fallen brothers and reseeded the ground, my lord. Be settled in the knowledge they’re deaths were not in vain. The minotaurs will be punished for their ax play and fire. Their outburst is due to the humans. We will divulge more information when the fire elves are finished, it appears the two species found a common enemy in the fae’s. We are not sure why, but we believe it is the forest magic they possess. Jealousy is a fickle emotion.” Lamentaire shivered in indignation. The wind elf bowed and picked up a ride on a passing breeze. The vines were gone by then and the fae relit their hollows. The king whispered their thanks to the great oak tree. “Your power is truly boundless, my lord. As promised, we will live for years with you to give life back to your land. You must be tired, rest, we will tend to wounds. Be at peace, Lord. The land is safe for another day.” A warm breeze fell over Lamentaire and his branches swayed away their stiffness as it fell back into a deep sleep.

Keeping the most visibly dedicated player for last. :)

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention this but Badger has decided to step out of the competition. (S)He did write half a story, but decided to still step out anyways. So Badger, you will have the honor of being eliminated instead of exterminated considering you atleast tried making a story.

Miko @ 31/1/2016 5:16

Keeping the most visibly dedicated player for last. :)

Thank you, been a blast reading everyone's stories.