The September Story of the Month contest seems to have taken a bit longer to start than I expected, so I’ve come up with an idea that encourages quick writing and quick reviewing. Hopefully it will be possible to get a few decent entries in the few days before the contest closes. The theme of this contest is:
Form
We all know someone who can take the best joke and mangle it so badly in the telling that nobody laughs – and conversely someone else who can take the most banal of stories and induce complete rapture in their audience. The essence of this element of story craft is what constitutes the form of a story. The storyline itself is the content. Content without form is dull indeed; and good form can compensate for weak content. Top notch form is the feature that elevates mere writing into literature.
This month’s contest is a contest of form. The content of the story is fixed, as is the length. The idea is to take an existing story and re-write it.
Take the challenge to re-write this story in no more than 400 words. Feel free to change some details of the story (such as names, personalities, scenery and nature of the armies) within reason, but keep the overall plot the same.
Rules:
- Stories to be PMed to me (SlashingUK) by midnight GMT+1 22nd September
- Give your story a different title to the original and other entries
- I will publish all stories anonymously as they arrive
- No more than 400 words (excluding the title)
- Voting takes place during the following week using the form below (vote once for each story entered)
Voting form (23rd September to 28th September)
Title:
Overall Rating out of 10:
What you would have liked to see to achieve 10/10:
Any other feedback on this story:
Overall Rating out of 10:
What you would have liked to see to achieve 10/10:
Any other feedback on this story:
The winner is the author of the story with the highest sum of ratings out of 10. The winner gets to host the next Story of the Month. I won’t be offering any signatures or under-banners, but if anyone else is willing to do these, I’d be happy to list them as prizes.
There will also be a bonus prize this month. After the voting is completed, the authors each get to pick a "most valuable review" (MVR) from the voting forms, i.e. the feedback that would be most useful to further improve the story. Whoever gets the most MVRs will receive the accolade of Most Valuable Reviewer of this month's contest.
Let the (re-)writing begin!
P.S. I already undertook this challenge myself and you can find my effort elsewhere in The Library - and it's not the one in Runescape Stories either
The entries:
Of Men and Demons
A powerful mountain of fire cast the night aglow with it‘s shimmering magma. Such was the dominion of the Demon Lord, Chythraul, whom was hated by the human world. After nearly a decade of struggle and strife, an alliance of human nations had managed to drive back the demonic leader and his forces.
Veneficius was a mage amongst the allied forces, and throughout his career had learned many spells-each one of which was put to the test in this battle. Already, thousands of slain soldiers littered across the battlefield. The demons weren’t ready to be annihilated, and they would fight even harder knowing that this was their homeland.
Veneficius was observing the battle, which they appeared to be winning. Chythraul didn’t have time to execute an effective strategy as the humans had, so his forces made up for it with their aggression. At what seemed like the climax of the battle, the Demon Lord himself stepped onto the field. In his hand was a dark, black maul of what must have been incredible weight. After several incantations left dozens dead, Chythraul had sent the humans fleeing.
In the midst of the chaos, a lone human stood. He was known as Vir, and was one of the army’s valiant heroes. He began charging at the demonic leader. Both armies were stunned that a man could do such a thing, to defy a creature of such strength. Unsure of what to do, the Demon Lord smashed his maul against him, but to the shock of both armies, he missed. Vir approached the demon rapidly before finally plunging his spear into the heart of the creature. The beast immediately fell. The demons were in an uproar, and once again both armies charged. The clash that followed was one not to forget: thousands died within minutes, and many more casualties followed.
However, the allied lines were faltering as the cowards fled and courageous died. Veneficius paused to get a scope of the battle, and he observed that Vir was almost slain by a lone demon. He successfully cast a spell to kill the demon, grabbed Vir and began to carry him.
They managed to leave the battle undetected. After several hours of travel, they finally reached an allied town. Veneficius fainted in the commons once he got there. When he woke up, to his dismay, he learned that the hero was dead.
The Last One
War was raging against the land. Many had already died, fighting for the side that was about to lose. It was dark, but light from the volcano helped them see what was happening.
The sound of metal, the sound of magic, and the sound of arrows were heard.
The warriors were about to take advantage of the situation, when a demon with the most lethal weapon in the land had arrived. All had thought that they would die – until a brave hero had come to their rescue.
He was the typical knight in shining armor. He attacked with his sword, which was made of one of the strongest elements of the land. The demon’s weapon hit the hero, and it distracted him for a moment, how long the moment was, they were unsure.
While they had been staring at the knight, they had been distracted, and when the knight was distracted, they were gone from their distraction. And the enemy’s soldiers had attacked with force.
While the Hero rose again, he now saw blood spilling, bodies dropping dead on the ground. He saw a wizard standing in the middle of the battleground; he was all that was left. He was tired from all the fighting, his powers strained.
Everyone left. They knew they had won the well fought battle. When the hero was trying to see if there was anyone alive, he was hit by a goblin.
The wizard saw what had happened and hit the goblin with the strongest he could manage.
The wizard carried the hero on his back. He did as best as he could while carrying the hero, for the armor of the hero was heavy. The snow had started displaying itself on the land. And the wizard tried to move faster.
When he had finally made it to the city and brought the hero to safety, he fell to the ground, strained from fighting and carrying the heavy hero all night.
The next day, he woke up. The first thing he did was check if the hero was all right. He asked the healer.
“Deeply sorry. After examination, we had concluded that hours before you arrived, the man had already died. The best we can do for him now is to give him a proper burial.” The healer said.
The wizard stood there, unable to believe it. They had lost. He was the last one.
Ashes to Ashes
Fire. Smoke. An endless stream of arrows felling my comrades, one by one. Spells filled the air, their deadly song destroying countless men, some of whom I knew. I fired back clouds of poison, watery deluges, and, when I could muster the concentration, a great roiling wave of fire. But still their endless ranks converged on our troops, overwhelming us by sheer numbers.
Despite the night’s darkness, the hateful light of the demonic volcano to the east, I still had hope. My hero and greatest friend, Corin, was fighting scarcely a dozen yards away, and whenever I glanced in his direction, I could easily believe in victory. Every moment, another goblin fell before him, and none dared approach. All my remaining friends had rallied around him, and their group was pushing forward now, deep into the heart of our foes.
Then everything changed irreversibly. The diabolic volcano thrust a spurt of fire heavenward with an unearthly wail, and as the fire fell to earth by Corin’s side, it took on the shape of an enormous demon, armed with a tremendous maul. With one powerful sweep of its weapon, it crushed Corin’s entire company ― all but him, as he ducked the blow and stabbed the behemoth’s knee.
The rest of our army was fleeing, terrified, and the goblins pursued them, caring not that Corin and I still stood. I blasted through their ranks, trying to reach my friend. Before I got there, however, Corin had overcome the monster, and he slumped over as its body dissolved.
“LOOK!” I screamed, racing towards him, but I was too late.
A goblin had lain among the dead, unnoticed, and as soon as Corin relaxed, it rose and struck, driving a spear deep into his back. Soundlessly, Corin collapsed, and my vengeful spell, however swift, could only avenge him.
I could no longer think. Forgetting my exhaustion, I lifted my friend from the deserted battlefield, treasuring his every breath as worth a thousand of my own, and began to walk south. Towards home. He had a chance, I thought. The volcano had ceased to shed its devilish light. Snow was falling, and so the darkness was not absolute.
Hours later, I reached the city gates. Setting him down on the cold snow, I prepared to call for help.
But his face was serene and frozen, motionless.
I bent my head, and the darkness was absolute.
Untitled
Dying screams of men and demons alike echoed across the battlefield, the only evidence of their dying illuminated by the dim light of a volcano. Arrows and magically infused projectiles alike whistled through the scorching hot air, and yet both armies were locked in a bloody stalemate. Gaining sudden courage, the Army of the Civilized threw themselves at their enemies defensive lines, smashing through demon after demon with their superior numbers, but this proved to be a fatal mistake as a gargantuan demon came barreling out, crushing all who opposed it with a few quick swipes of its spiked maul.In order to combat this new threat, the Hero of the Army of the Civilized left his post, dealing the demon a fatal slash across its chest while narrowly avoiding the demon’s massive weapon. While he was distracted, the demonic army surrounded the humans, cutting through them like a harvester. Suddenly becoming infused with a desperate panic, the Army of the Civilized dissolved into chaos and broke from the demon’s ranks, causing them to let up a great cheer. But still, the hero remained, fighting off the demonic threat with his death drawing nearer and nearer.
As he ran with his fellows, a single Mage cast a look over to his shoulder, only to see the man sacrificing his life to buy the retreating human army time. Inspired by this courage, the Mage ran where everyone was running from to aid this brave man. But he came only in time to see the cursed sword of a goblin rip through the flesh of the hero, downing him instantly. Gathering up all of his magic, the Mage let it out in a burst of wind, tearing apart the demons that stood around he and the hero.
With his path cleared for now, the Mage drew up the hero, slinging him onto his shoulder. Then the two, made brothers by war, retreated into the forest where the demons dared not follow. Snowflakes, born from the mountain that the forest surrounded, plagued the Mage, causing him to slip and stumble on the newly frozen ground. Delirium took over the mages mind, and he worked to walk to an outpost of some sort…
Upon seeing familiar looking gates, the Mage’s strength gave and he fainted, with nothing but a few burning words stuck in his mind:
“He’s unmoving… looks like the Hero died long before, even before that Mage fainted.”
Prey
In the tall savannah grass, in the shade of giant trees overlooking the edge of the jungle, rest a pack of saber-toothed tigers. The vivid blue reflection of the lake show one of the beasts, their leader actually. Two fangs, ivory in color and almost a foot in length, dominated the image. A brownish fur designed to hide the creature in the floor of the jungle, or in the vast plains of the savannah, covered his body. He took his drink and circled the pack, finally coming to a rest in the back.
Still in action, however, was a group of men, lurking silently nearby. Their appearance was all but modern. Some wore crude hide-tunics, stained with blood and everything else you’d expect from a hunter, others wore nothing. Weapons, that were just about as makeshift as it gets, were carried in great supply. Small handles wrapped in roots or whatever scraps of hide hadn’t been used for clothing, and finished with stone tips that resembled that of a hatchet clutched tightly, or kept somewhere on the body. Even smaller were the crude knives of stone worn on wrists, ankles, anywhere they could fit. Men lurking in the trees held long spears, also finished with stone tips.
The largest man of the group stopped, and signaled the group to be still, pointing ahead. Letting out a large grunt, then a yell, the man rushed towards the pack of tiger, the others followed shortly. This was no hunt. Outnumbering the beasts when they were at rest, this was slaughter. leader of the tigers got as low as possibly and made his way stealthily towards the large man. The tiger struck, leaping with absolute ferocity, and knocked the man off his feet. Reacting without hesitation, the man swung his axe, and nearly decapitated the animal. Struggling to get away, all but 1 of the pack had been slain. The remaining was none other than the kin of the leader. Bolting around men, he made his way to his father, tackling the man as he jumped to his feet. Tearing into his flesh with his teeth, finishing him with a deadly blow to the head, he rushed to his father’s side, but it was too late.
Through the jungle he dragged his father in a bed of leaves. A whisper could be heard throughout: “Poor soul, he was the last of his kind.”
