The Non Star Wars Fanfiction - Role Playing Writing Challenge! RESULTS POSTED

***The Non Star Wars Fanfiction - Role Playing Forum Writing Challenge***

[image=http://www.gildedquill.net/Graphics/Gilded_Quill.gif]

Welcome one and all to the *Decision Phase* for the Non Star Wars FanFiction - RPF Writing Challenge! For the past four weeks, writers from the Fan-Fiction and Role Playing Forums have been working on entries for this challenge meant to bring Fanfiction and Role Playing closer together. And now, finally, we've arrived at the point of judgment.

The Prompt

Writers were asked to write a 2000-8000 word piece of original Non Star Wars literature based on the prompt "Write about an excursion to a market/trading establishment of your choice."

The Reward

Both members of the winning team will get colours for 1 week, and those in 2nd place will get colours for 4 days. The winners will also receive the title of "Best Writers in the JC" and Golden Quill Award. The title and award will last until the next competition between the boards, a minimum of three months. Further rewards to the writers themselves may be granted by their respective mods. Ticker-tape parades, holidays, it's all possible here.

There are five (5) entries for your consideration here, each written by one Fanficcer and one RPFer.

The Contestants

The contestants are going to remain anonymous until after the contest. Then everyone that submitted will be revealed. At the moment, they will be represented by planetary pseudonyms, just like last time.

What you can do!

You, the general public, are going to decide who is the winner of this contest! You do not need to be active in Fanfiction nor Role Playing to vote here. The more voices, the better.

Firstly, feel free to PM this awards sock only with your judgment on these authors. You will be allowed to choose 3 out of the five as the best of the bunch. The piece you rank first will be granted 3 points. The piece you rank second will be given 2 points. And the piece you rank third will be given one point.

We will be tallying these points over the course of two weeks ending March 15, at the end of which the winner will be chosen. The password to this sock has been given to both the RPF and Fanfic Mods to ensure that there is no foul play in the tallying of votes. Socks will be actively screened out of the voting process.

You may use this template to vote:

1st Place (3 Points): [Insert Planet/Name]
2nd Place (2 Points): [Insert Planet/Name]
3rd Place (1 Point): [Insert Planet/Name]

Also, feel free to let the anonymous authors know what you think of these pieces! Positive comments only please!

They will appreciate your feedback.

Any Questions?

PM DarthXan318 or NYCityGurl and ask them!

And now, without further ado, the entries!

 

Mercury (Lord of the Rings... sort of)

The first thing Aragorn's sleep-bedraggled mind noticed was the unholy amount of noise around him?far too loud for his taste. The last thing he remembered was making camp at Parth Galen, but there certainly hadn't been such a ruckus on...in fact he doubted even four hobbits would be able to create one like this?with the possible exception of whoops of joy when seeing mushrooms, that was.

Opening his eyes, he winced as bright light hit him from above and quickly closed them to slits again. Squinting, he made out the source of the blinding blue-white light, which seemed to be a metallic box at the ceiling. ...Wait! Ceiling? The last time he'd slept beneath a real ceiling had been in Rivendell!

"Mister?"

A timid voice broke through his line of thought, which might even be a good thing, considering where it led. Acting on instinct, developed over decades of living in the wild and encountering enemies practically everywhere he went, Aragorn's hand shot to his waist at the same time that his head whipped around to face the speaker, a young woman, but to his horror, his hand only met rough cloth. No sword, not even a dagger, and now that he looked at himself, he noticed that he wasn't wearing his normal weather-worn garments, either, but some stiff trousers of blue color and a white shirt.

Fighting down rising panic, since panicking certainly wouldn't help him any given the circumstances, he looked at the woman again. Maybe she could shed some light on what was happening...

But before he could open his mouth, she spoke again, sounding half-relieved and half-cautious now that he was awake.

"Are you alright? You seem a bit...lost."

Aragorn nearly snorted; lost was a rather apt description of his current situation. For a moment he just scrutinized her closely, and was relieved to find only sincere worry and confusion in her deep brown eyes. He noted that she wore a similar pair of trousers like he did, and a red shirt. Maybe this was the normal wear around here? Wherever here was...

"Yes, I am alright, milady, thank you for asking," he finally replied politely, inclining his head.

To his surprise she giggled. "Why do you call me 'milady'? That's totally old-fashioned!"

'It is?' he thought blankly. "Um...I'm sorry...what's your name then?"

"I'm Ellen," she said. "And you?"

"Trotter," he replied, choosing one of his less known names - and regretting it almost immediately when she cocked an eyebrow and asked skeptically, "That's a name?"

Aragorn saw her reaction to his name and regretted having said it. Quickly, he looked around, trying his hardest to decide on what name might be found acceptable in these parts. His eyes settled on a board that looked like it listed some names. He picked the first one that caught his eyes. "Well, that's what people call me," He stammered, ?But my name is Viggo."

The girl looked at him for a moment. "Like the actor?" she inquired.

"Um.... yeah. Yeah, like the actor." The girl seemed to accept this. "So, Ellen, could you tell me where I am?"

Ellen gave him another strange look, as if wondering if he was slightly nuts - and he couldn't blame her; he was wondering the same thing, but nevertheless said, "You're in a shopping mall of course."

'What by the grace of the Valar is a shopping mall?!'

Aragorn puzzled this puzzling phrase... shopping mall... for quite some time. Ellen, for her part, puzzled over the puzzling expression that had crossed this stranger's face. After a while, they both got tired of puzzling, so they stopped.

"Want to look around?" Ellen asked Aragorn?or Trotter, as she knew him.

Aragorn merely nodded. After a moment, it seemed that may not have been enough, so he decided to say something as well. "Lead on." He made a broad gesture towards the bustling crowds and Ellen stood, casting an odd look at him. A strange man indeed.

For some time, Aragorn merely followed the girl. It was such a strange and foreign world... he didn't know what to make of it. On occasion, he would point at something and as

 

Venus (Multi-fandom)

Each of us has a story to tell, right? Some stories involve romance or action or suspense or whatever-else the heart desires. Other stories involve a lot of laughter and giggles and leg slapping. But this story?

This story is so insane that I?m pretty sure no one will ever believe it.

I woke up with my surroundings blinding the crap out of me. Imagine being in a vast room -- no, scratch that. Imagine being in complete, white nothingness. There was no beginning or end to this place, just whiteness.
?Have you ever had a dream that you were so sure was real??

I blinked as I heard the deep, unknown voice. I realized I was sitting in a big, antique armchair, the ones you would see on television harboring grandparents reading books to the kids.

?What if you were unable to wake from that dream?? The voice continued. Indeed, there was a second armchair and a dark skinned man sat forward with black sunglasses perched atop his nose. I had this funny feeling of having seen him before. ?How would you know the difference between the dream world and the real world??
I lifted my brows in surprise when he sat up straight and extended his hand toward me, palm upward.

A blue pill.

And a red pill.

?This is your last chance. After this, there is no turning back. You take the blue pill - the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill - you stay in Wonderland and I show you how deep the rabbit-hole goes.?

I chuckled and tried to remember what had happened before waking up and finding myself having a conversation with Morpheus. He even wore the cool black leather coat.

I had gone to bed early because I had been having headaches all day long. I had fallen asleep as usual and I?d woken up here, being faced with a decision to take the blue pill or the red pill. There was, of course, only one explanation.

I was dreaming.

But this was a fun dream! I mean, who gets offered a blue and red pill? And who in their right mind would even consider going back to the boring, every-day life waiting for me back home? So the blue pill was so not an option.

?Remember, all that I am offering you is the truth.?

I leaned forward and snatched the red pill from his hand, throwing it into my mouth and swallowing it with one big fat grin on my face.

Morpheus gave a slight nod and I think his lips lifted in the tiniest of smiles. ?Follow me.?

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is where the story begins.

---

I hadn?t expected the story to begin in a mall, though.

Of all the places on the planet, why a mall? There should be maps indicating malls with little, bloody skulls to let us non-shoppers know that we?re entering dangerous territory. I hate the mall! Absolutely find it despicable!

I mean, hordes of people mingling about tiny disgustingly pretty shops with twinkling and blinking items for sale and not to mention all the happiness that just oozes out of most shoppers pores. The only thing I find mildly amusing in shopping malls or those people who?re in a hurry to find a gift for a loved one ? it?s their panic stricken faces that are most enjoyable.

As I walked through the double entrance door to the mall, I noted that Morpheus was no longer there. It was as if he?d just poofed into thin air.

Figures. I bet he doesn?t like malls either.

So where was I going to find the truth in the mall, of all places? And what kind of truth for that matter? Was it really smart to except the red pill, I wondered as I took a deep breath and aimlessly wandered through the brightly lit foyer of this horrid shopping center.

I passed a small store with a lot of electronic gadgets in the windows. There were watches and digital cameras and get this ? tricorders! I?m serious. These guys were selling tricorders and I swear there was a Starfleet communicator on display as well.

It was neat, I have to admit. No doubt fakes but still ? not everyone would dare sell Trek memorabilia out in the open, now would they?

I walked on minding my own business when I heard shouting from somewh

 

Mars (Harry Potter)

Title: Albus Potter and the Diricawl Debacle
Timeframe: Pre-Epilogue
Characters: Albus Potter, Scorpius Malfoy, Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Mr Ollivander
Genre: Adventure
Keywords: diricawl, debacle
Summary: Albus + Scorpius + a rogue wand is a recipe for disaster!
Notes: Written for the NSWFF/RP Challenge




ALBUS POTTER AND THE DIRICAWL DEBACLE


?Holly and phoenix feather. Eleven inches.?

Mr Ollivander held the wand out. His bushy brows rose expectantly.

Harry Potter nudged his son forward, but Albus didn?t want to move. He didn?t want to take the wand. Other than his unfortunate name (being named after one prominent war hero was bad enough, but two?), Albus Severus Potter had also, unfortunately in his eyes, inherited the scruffy good looks of his famous father. He had the same black mop of unruly hair, the same green eyes, and just yesterday his mother had taken him to get his glasses fitted: round spectacles with black frames, just like his father before him.

And now Mr Ollivander was holding out the exact same wand his father had made famous. Technically not the same because the feather encased in this eleven inches of holly hadn?t come from Albus? namesake?s phoenix; but still, it was similar enough that Albus was sure he would never hear the end of it if he came to Hogwarts with this particular wand in his pocket.

Albus shook his head. ?No.?

Mr Ollivander withdrew the wand, but he didn?t put it down. ?The wand chooses the wizard, Mr Potter,? he said mysteriously.

Albus imagined the old man saying those same words to his father nearly thirty years ago. He felt sick. His shook his head more emphatically when his father knocked him on the shoulder in warning.

?No, sir,? he said. He gulped.

Mr Ollivander put the wand back in its case. He turned around, his back cricking loudly, and pulled another dusty cardboard box from the multitude of shelves that lined his little store. He set it down in front of the Potters and lifted the lid. A cloud of dust rose into the air. Albus coughed.

?Try this one,? Ollivander said, holding out a shorter, paler wand for Albus to inspect. ?Willow and unicorn hair. Nine and a half inches.?

It was the same as his mother?s wand. Albus laid his hands down on edge of the counter. He took a long breath and tried to make his smile as unaffected as possible. He probably failed. Albus never had been very good at lying, especially not when the lying involved adults.

?I think I?ll just look around for a while,? he said brightly. Too brightly, obviously. His father visibly winced. Mr Ollivander looked away, setting his gaze out the curved window to the crowd of witches and wizards beyond.

Albus could hear his father and the old wandmaker mumbling quietly to each other as he slowly made his way around the store. Their voices were too low for him to hear what they were saying, but he could imagine the words well enough. ?It?s hard for Albus,? his father would say. ?I placed quite a burden on him, by giving him those names.? Mr Ollivander would say no, like everyone else. He would say, ?Albus is strong enough to accept that burden, Mr Potter. He?s like his father in that regard, I?m sure.?

It was always the same. Albus was sick of it. He was sick of being compared to his famous, fabulous father ? the Great Harry Potter, Auror Extraordinaire. He was sick of being likened to his namesakes, of hearing people gossip in the streets about the skills and expertise he knew he didn?t have. He was sick of the speculation that he would grow up to be just as successful and as popular as his older brother, James, or that he would be an astounding Quidditch player, like his mother. Albus was sick of it all.

He wanted to shed his skin. He wanted to rid himself of all expectation. He wanted to be his own person.

The door to Ollivander?s back room was open a crack. Albus could see a light on in there, shining on a perfect shaft of jet black. It was round on the ends and had a sculpted handle car

 

Jupiter (Neil Gaiman's Sandman)

Note from the Authors: We didn't format some of the speech in black-and-white just to stand out; it's exactly how it's done in Sandman and it was something we wanted to preserve.

IRREVERIE

?...In that place they held festivals of celebration. Many would come from near and distant lands, for then they might dance together and make merry.

In the east of this place there had been pitched a tent. And outside the tent was a raven, and inside it was a man. He was tall and thin and his skin was as white as the snow. But of his face there was nothing to tell, for he had turned away, so that none who entered might see his eyes...?

?Ahem,? said Nate, attempting the awkward half-cough that was traditionally used to get somebody?s attention. ?It said ?dream reader? on the card outside.?

The tall and spindly man gave no answer, and did not look around from his books.

?Oh sorry, forgot,? muttered Nate. He fumbled in his wallet and came up with a couple of notes. ?Your ?gold pieces? is it? The pirate at the rollercoaster was charging a straight quarter-per-piece, but the wench at the cotton candy stall was saying it was a dollar. I think she?s still using the pre-recession exchange rate.?

He smiled weakly at the man?s back.

?Shall we call it two dollars??

The tall man nodded, though still did not turn around. Instead he selected another book from his shelf, and began leafing through it.

?Keep having this dream about a market,? said Nate. ?It?s a lot clearer now than the first time I had it. Lots of people in there. Selling themselves.?

The man?s head lifted slightly from his book.

?Oh, not like that!? Nate hurried to clarify. ?Selling themselves in a different way. Selling who they are, I guess. I...well...shall I just tell it??

The tall man seemed quite unwilling to turn or reply, but some change in his posture suggested that he was listening, and so Nate recounted the story as best he could.

---

[blockquote][i]?...and Lo, though this was a barren and parched land, there sat a marketplace in its centre.

Outside this marketplace there was a sign written in many tongues. And some of these tongues were from times past, and they were written in words. And some were from times further past, and they were written in pictures instead of words. And then some were from times furthest past, and they were written in neither words nor pictures, but in blood...?[/i][/blockquote]


The first time had started in the middle of a sand dune, with nothing around for miles and miles. Nate had needed to walk before he could even make it out in the distance, and to his annoyance he woke up shortly afterwards.

The second time he could see it on the horizon, shimmering in the heat like a mirage. And after a time he wondered if it was a mirage, because he seemed to walk for hours without coming any closer, and that time he simply collapsed onto the sand.

The third time he found himself right outside.

He was lying in front of a large wooden signpost, on which someone had scrawled the word ?welcome? in a number of languages. He recognised the first half dozen or so.

WELCOME. BIENVENUE. WILLKOMMEN. BIENVENUTO. BEM-VINDO. SWAAGATAM.

Further down, they started to become rather more obscure.

CHAIRE. XICALAQUICAN. AHUP YAN.

Past that, letters were abandoned entirely, in favour of hieroglyph-like icons and symbols. Birds carrying rods, men with the heads of dogs.

And then there was nothing but fingerprints, daubing an inelegant line across the bottom edge of the signpost, in some sort of red...paint? Or...

Nate's mind worked quicker than his hand, and he pulled his fingers away, clamping down on the impulse to touch.

Past the sign was what appeared to be a vast and colourful city, stretching as far as he could see. The buildings were skyscrapers in the most literal sense- they seemed to touch the sky- but not the kind Nate was used to. These were more like countless shacks, piled on top of each other like a giant game of Jenga. Yet t

 

Saturn (Lord of the Rings)

The Return of the Ring

Three Rings for the Elven-lords way outside,
Seven for the Dwarf-kings of stone and steel,
Nine for Mortal Guards doomed to ride,
One for the Dark Lord, part of the Deal,
In the Shops of Maldor where the Shadows buy.
One Ring to fit them all, One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all and with dark savings bind them
In the Shops of Maldor where the Shadows buy.


Silence echoed through the halls of Rivendell in the wake of the speaker's pronouncement, the light fading as though throttled by a shadow conjured by the dark words.

"Never before has any voice dared to utter words of that jingle in Imladris, Gandalf the Grey," said Elrond, as the shadow passed into the mists.

"And let us hope that they will never be uttered in such place again," answered Gandalf. "Nonetheless I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond, only that those of you present put aside your doubts. This is that One which the Enemy has declared anathema, fraught with all his callowness; and in it lies a great part of his weakness of youth. The Enemy knows that that One is found, his servants pursue it to our door and seek to obliterate it from the annals of history. They would see it buried along with its bearer, so that his failure remains hidden from the world. Such knowledge would destroy him, it would put an end to a reputation unchallenged for a millennia."

One man stepped forward. Boromir.

"Then let us use the ring. It is a gift. A gift to the foes of Maldor," he exclaimed, excitement rising in his voice. "Long has my father, the manager of Gondor, kept the forces of Maldor at bay. At the cost of our employees are your stores kept safe. Give Gondor the weakness of the enemy, let us use it against him."

"You cannot display it" came a soft voice. "None of us can. That One Ring is feared by Saleron alone. Others will never fully comprehend it."

"And what would a stockboy know of this matter?" Boromir scoffed.

An elf suddenly stood.

"This is no mere stockboy. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir to the store of Gondor. You owe him your obedience."

"Gondor has no owner!" The first man glowered as he returned to his seat. "Gondor needs no owner."

"Aragorn is right," said Gandalf, "we cannot wield it."

Elrond rose to his feet.

"You have only one choice. The Ring must be returned. It cannot be used to halt Saleron by any means we currently possess. That Ring was malformed in Saleron's back room, only there can it be unmade. It must be carried deep into Maldor and cast back at the register from which it was obtained."

He paused for a moment, his gaze sweeping the room.

"One of you must do this."

"One does not simply make returns in Maldor," said Boromir. "Its customer service desk is staffed by more than just Orcs. There is incompetence there that knows no limit. The Great Buy is ever neglectful," he continued. "It is a forsaken complex where even health inspectors dare not tread. Not even with ten thousand hours could you find a helpful employee. It is folly."

At this, the councilroom erupted into shouts, for what man, elf or dwarf would willingly bear Saleron's Folly? That One Ring, so poorly wrought that its ill-fitting touch seemed to infect whatever digit it was placed upon just as swiftly as its garish presence ate away the senses. But without a wearer, who would ever accept it as the genuine article?

A small voice pierced through the din.

"I will wear it" said Frodo of the Shire as the room fell silent once more. "I will bear that Ring to Maldor... though I do not know the way."

And thus the walkers nine depart, to wander hill and vale,
Bearing the Dark Lord's miswrought art to reject its tainted sale.
Graceful elf and hobbit, stalwart dwarf and man,
Each a valued member of this heroic caravan.

First was Frodo Baggins, for that ring he did carry,
Along with his hobbit friends, Pippin, Sam and Merry.
Legolas of the Mirkwood, an elf with sight sure and sound,
Gimli, son of Glóin represents the dwarves of underground.
And from the Men of the

 

They're all so great!

"Venus" is hilarious.

 

Great entries! Everyone should vote

 

Oh wow. Why didn't I know about this? Crud. Oh well, next time.

 

Yeah, we'd definitely like to do something like this again And we'd love it if people would vote . . .

 

I'll try to read these between uh... Today and sometime Monday. How long is it before votes have to be in?

 

Awesome! Monday.

 

As a Sandman fan, I must say Jupiter is well written and very well planned out. I could "see" the panels as each scene presented itself. Though it may have irritated some, I thought it was fitting that you highlighted Morpheus' dialogue in black, just like the novel. Really felt like an addition to the series. Well done!

 

Goooooo vooooooooote.

At the very least, you contestants ought to put in a vote for your own story if you haven't already...

 

You know, I was going to avoid doing that out of some fake sense of honor or ethics or whatever they call that stuff I don't have...but the way you say it, it sounds like it might be the difference between winning and losing

I don't know, I'd hate to win that way. Probably less than losing that way, though.

 

I don't actually know how the vote's doing yet - I haven't checked. But if it makes you feel better, you're supposed to vote for 3 in order of preference, so you'd be voting for yourself and also putting in some points for two other fics.

Whether you put your own at #1 is up to your own conscience, though.

 

I'm of the same mind as Exeter...I consider it somehow bad form to vote for your own entry. I'm the same in the RPF Awards. It just goes against the spirit of what these competitions are about, in my humble opinion.

As for the entries we have here, they're all excellent and I did enjoy reading them, but I would suggest that the next FF-RPF challenge returns to a shorter format. I suspect that any paucity of votes is simply down to 'tl;dr'.

If I recall correctly, the first challenge was restricted to 2000 words, and I think even shorter than that would be a good idea. Concision is an art.

 

You may be right - we increased the word count minimum because there would be 2 authors per piece, and then we increased the maximum as a kind of "Well, if you really want..." sort of deal, but it didn't quite work out that way.

At the very least, we might reduce the maximum next time. It does make things more difficult for voters.

IMPORTANT ETA: It has come to my attention that the voting period was supposed to be 2 weeks, not 1 week as I erroneously stated in the first post. So you all have until March 15 to vote.

 

It's an epic slog, to be sure. Lasted me the better part of an hour - granted, I was distracted at some points, so effective time more like 30 minutes.

 

I think I should be able to get to these tonight.

 

I was wrong. But I'll still finish before the deadline.

 

Up! Last day to get votes in!

 

Ugh. Due entirely to my own procrastination, it will take... Quite an effort... To finish these before midnight.

 

Did some reading, but I won't be finished till tomorrow at best. Although since it's TFN time, that should be fine.