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12 Days of Christmas
Caption Christmas


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[Contest] Twelve Days of Christmas

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[Contest] Twelve Days of Christmas

Post by Sammy » Fri Dec 01, 2017 8:31 pm

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With December and all of the festivities that entails now upon us, allow me to introduce The Collective’s Twelve Days of Christmas! This is a contest we ran for the Collective’s very first Christmas three years ago and, after some interest from some of our newer members, we thought we would give it another spin. The challenge here isn’t to best your fellow members (though you’re welcome to try that too) but rather to complete all twelve stages (or as many as you can possibly manage) in the time allotted for each.

:greenbullet: The Theme :greenbullet:

Every day (or so) I will be providing you all with a prompt. Some of them will be vague - a word, theme of image and some will be rather more specific. Unless otherwise specified, you will have to write at least 200 words for each. You will have two days to complete each prompt and I’ll be keeping track of which are open and which are closed for you in the post below.

:greenbullet: The Rules :greenbullet:

:redbullet: You have to write at least 200 words (unless specified otherwise)
:redbullet: You entries must go up within the three days allowed for each prompt.
:redbullet: You can approach the prompts however you like (unless a particular medium is specified)
:redbullet: Please post all days in separate posts.

:greenbullet: The Twelve Days of Christmas :greenbullet:

:redbullet: The First Day of Christmas - CLOSED
Write at least 200 words inspired by this image. Let it Snow by DA artist depingo.
Completed by: McGenty, Georgeanna, Marquis, Palacia, Darkblade, Skummy the Kitty, Trekwars, Serafim, Forge, Sammy, Fireynay

:redbullet: The Second Day of Christmas - CLOSED
Write a haiku about Christmas Eve. Obviously, this task does not require you to write 200 words.
Completed by: Palacia, Georgeanna, Marquis, Darkblade, Serafim, McGenty, Forge, Sammy, Fireynay, Trekwars

:redbullet: The Third Day of Christmas - CLOSED
Write at least 200 words about an event that thaws a cold, icy heart.
Completed by: Georgeanna, Darkblade, Marquis, McGenty, Serafim, Forge

:redbullet: The Fourth Day of Christmas - CLOSED
You are a very naughty elf. Write a letter of at least 200 words apologising for whatever misdeed you have committed in the run up to Christmas.
Completed by: Marquis, Sammy, Georgeanna, McGenty, Forge, Serafim

:redbullet: The Fifth Day of Christmas - CLOSED
Write at least 200 words inspired by this image.
Completed by: Marquis, Georgeanna, Niathria, McGenty

:redbullet: The Sixth Day of Christmas - CLOSED
You are Santa’s illegitimate child. Write at least 200 words of either a character sheet or some prose to give us an insight into what this character might be like. It’s totally up to you whether they know about their origins.
Completed by: Georgeanna, Marquis, McGenty

:redbullet: The Seventh Day of Christmas - CLOSED
Write at least 200 words about a Christmas-like celebration in a modern, traditional or science fiction fantasy world of your choosing/creation. You can pick and choose which elements of Christmas to include but your celebration must bear at least some resemblance to the holiday as we experience it.
Completed by: Georgeanna, Marquis, McGenty

:redbullet: The Eighth Day of Christmas - CLOSED
Write at least 200 words beginning with this opening line stolen (and slightly altered) from The Stupidest Angel by Christopher Moore.
‘He/She/they looked at the red-and-white pile on the ground at his feet and realized for the first time what it really was: a dead Santa.’
Completed by: Georgeanna, Marquis, McGenty

:redbullet: The Ninth Day of Christmas - CLOSED
Write a conversation or interaction between two characters as they observe the Northern Lights. This can be set in our world or any other world of your choosing.
Completed by: Georgeanna, Marquis, McGenty

:redbullet: The Tenth Day of Christmas - Open until 13th December
Write at least 200 words inspired by this image.
Completed by: Georgeanna

:redbullet: The Eleventh Day of Christmas - Open until 15th December
Write at least 200 words inspired by this adorable Christmas stocking.
Completed by: Georgeanna

:redbullet: The Twelth Day of Christmas - Open until 16th December
Write at least 200 words containing or inspired by this quote from George R.R. Martin.
‘A cold wind was blowing from the North, and it made the trees rustle like living things.’
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Re: [Contest] Twelve Days of Christmas

Post by Sammy » Fri Dec 01, 2017 8:35 pm

Day one is a go!
“Trekwars” wrote:
“Palacia” wrote:
“Georgeanna” wrote:
“Marquis” wrote:
“Serafim” wrote:
“McGenty” wrote:
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Re: [Contest] Twelve Days of Christmas

Post by McGenty » Sat Dec 02, 2017 1:45 am

Here's mine!
The mountain rests, cloaked in the silence of a winter’s night, yet something stirs. The Snow Queen awakens. She comes first as a whisper; the slightest hint of a breeze through the pines. Her footsteps fall softly, as the imperceptible sound of gentle flurries landing gracefully on the leaves and needles covering the forest floor.

As the Queen comes nearer, moonlight fades behind her train of clouds. The breeze of her breath comes stronger and colder, and her subjects: foxes, wolves, rabbits, and deer alike, seek refuge from her presence. The Queen is not cruel, only cold, and it brings her no joy to see how creatures tremble before her. Yet such is her nature, and she knows her role in the grand cycle. Tonight, she wishes to play her part especially well.

She stretches out her hand, and the snow falls faster. The trees add their whisper to the sounds of wind and snow, and the night is no longer silent. Her Majesty turns her gaze on the village nestles in the valley, and to her chagrin, the people have taken no notice. Music, laughter, and feasting continue without so much as a pause for all her wonder. This will not do.

Her attention still on the village, Lady Winter raises her other hand, and the sky darkens again as the shower becomes a storm. The wind howls through the pines, and far over the mountains, Old Man Thunder rumbles his approval. Now the villagers take notice. Mothers hustle their children indoors while fathers scramble to close shutters and pile wood on their smoldering hearths. Peddlers stow their wares, and the Queen smiles with satisfaction. This is her time, and her presence will not be ignored.

The blizzard rages through the night as the Queen dances her beautiful, dreadful dance down the mountain, through the valley, and back up into her home in the heavens. For all her terrible presence, she leaves a gift to the village: the sound of children’s laughter as they play in the newly fallen snow. After all, Lady Winter is not cruel, only cold.
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Re: [Contest] Twelve Days of Christmas

Post by Georgeanna » Sat Dec 02, 2017 2:32 am

I also finished mine! :wink:
The snow moved, stirring itself up to have a look around. Never before had the elements have any awareness in the little glen, but a sure as the stars shine, the snow could feel. Every powdery flake felt a call deep inside and collected themselves into a figure.

The figure wasn’t of a snow bank, a snowman, or even of a larger snowflake—the snow had created a woman. She felt her consciousness come to her all at once and looked about herself. Skin more translucent than the clearest windowpane, she took on whatever her background wanted to portray. For a time, that was enough. She moved among the trees, brushing their fronds with glittery frost. When she sneezed, a flurry came into the glen coating it with fresh sparkling sleet. Yet she was never lonely. The birds and other animals came to visit her frequently for fresh snow they could play in. The does would shuffle in the downy frost, the birds would swoop in arcs catching it in their beaks, and even the resident bear woke up to enjoy the winter spell. They all called her the mother of cold.

One day the birds fluttered over to her in a flurry.

Mother! Mother! You must flee. The warm time is coming and the father of summer will be arriving soon. He will undoubtedly kill you if he finds you here.

Mother lay in thought and decided the only way to truly carry on would be to engage in her destiny. So she met Father and they indeed fight…right before falling deeply in love. They soon had a daughter of spring and a son of fall. Not ready to leave her children, though the temperature warmed, Mother sacrificed herself falling to the ground as fresh dew.

Whenever the dew shines, it is the life force of the Mother reminding her family that they are never alone. Only during the winter season can they be together. This is why family is such an important part of the holidays.
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Re: [Contest] Twelve Days of Christmas

Post by Sammy » Sat Dec 02, 2017 3:05 am

Wow, you guys are speedy!
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Re: [Contest] Twelve Days of Christmas

Post by McGenty » Sat Dec 02, 2017 3:44 am

Yeah, that's what my wife says. I don't think it's a compliment. :p
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Re: [Contest] Twelve Days of Christmas

Post by Sammy » Sat Dec 02, 2017 4:06 am

Haha!
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Re: [Contest] Twelve Days of Christmas

Post by Palacia » Sat Dec 02, 2017 5:46 am

Saving a spot, and confirming that I will post here.
Prompt 1
“Amidst the rolling endless dunes of the southern expanse a whisper caught, forever trapped, by the swirling sands and aridity. The nomads who dwell, whisper of a forlorn expanses of unnatural land in the very heart of the desert. It’s name never spoken, yet always known, for those who return are never quite right again.” -- An elderly woman spoken, aged and wise.

Memories 0653/12/24
Each step taken by the man only took him a half-step, the sand had continuously grown harder to walk on the farther he traveled inward. A fortnight previous he’d sat camped with a nomadic tribe, they’d been kind of enough to host him for the evening. In exchange he told many stories of the northern unknown lands. The tribe had gathered around, leaning in, listening, exclaiming in silence. Seeing the expressions, wonderment in the little ones and the twinkle in the elderly, made the long forlorn road bearable. The night's revelry ended with the eldest of the tribe gifting the man with a story. A story of the elder’s youth and a great exodus from lands inhospitable to one's hospitable. He spoke of being separated from the main group, lost in a ravenous sandstorm. Stumbling blindly in the storm, he thought all was lost, he struggled and fought the looming death in vain. He collapsed exhaustion had taken his bodies will to fight, he said his last thought was of his family and the tribe. His story did not end, he spoke of awaking to a world covered in white powder, great white-covered trees, a land illuminated by a beautiful elegant moon. He whispered it’s name to the man that evening, “ Luna Sea”. He spoke of a caring beautiful being, luminescent spirits round and playful, and in the center of it all a great Grandfather Tree. The like of which the elder had never seen, he told of how magical the place felt, invigorating and despite the extreme cold he bothered him not.

By the end of the story, the wandering man so enthralled by the elders story decided to set out that very evening in search of this mythical sounding place. The man knew the chances of finding such a place, if it existed would be slim, but with curiosity aroused and the shadows close behind he walked onward. The man hadn’t stopped moving since he’d left the nomadic tribe, even during the day. His cloak provided some protection against the oppressing sun's rays, his form now more akin to a swaying wraiths. He knew not what drove him so fiercely, perhaps the elderly man had spun some form of enchantment in his words. Soon minutes spun into hours and hours twisted into days, days contorted into a week then two. The man’s will nearly driven, his footwork uneven and broken. Signs of his immortal body finally fatigued, it seemed the deep desert could affect even the immortals of this world. A misstep, his body twitched attempting to right itself to no avail. He plummeted of the crest of the dune, rolling, twisting all the way down to the trough. Unknown was the reason that he fell unconscious, time seemed to blend together in his mind, falling and twisting down the dune to suddenly finding himself. . . Where?

His hands felt not sand, but colder compacting particles… Snow. Finally he’d found the place whispered, “ Luna Sea”. He sat up, his mind still adjusting to the rapid shift of environmental extremes. A fire lit a few feet away, a bundled figure hunched over some unknown object, the figure’s movements unknown to the wandering man.

“ Greetings,” a smooth wispy welcome came from the bundled figure, it turned around to reveal the face of an enchantingly beautiful face. The smooth marble like features reminded the wandering man of the northern elves, but not even they could match this being’s beauty. It shuffled smoothly over the wandering man, handed him a bowl of steaming liquid and shuffled back to it’s original position.

It mimed with both hands drinking the liquid. “ Go ahead, I mean you no harm. You must be exhausted! Few come here who aren’t.” The being’s face brightened, providing such a gentle, compassionate smile, the wandering man was taken back slightly.

He knew he couldn’t consume the food, it’d only make him sick and that would be most rude. He spoke, “ I. . . I can’t, I’m terribly sorry, it’s just.” He paused, “ I can’t consume mortal food, it makes me sick.”

“ Oh! I didn’t know, excuse me, I got so carried away. Is there. . Is there something I can offer that would satisfy you, as food would a mortal?” It asked.

He shook his head, “ No, it’s quite alright, my tastes are unsavory to say the least.” He attempted a little used reassuring smile and set the bowl down.

“ Ah I see, well if you aren’t hungry. Might I ask why you’ve traveled to this place?”

“ Curiosity, mostly.”

“Ah, Well enjoy your stay, I'm sure you'll peace here. Such deep wounds will take help you know, but I wouldn't worry, you'll find someone soon enough. I think you'll find sometime in your future a fork in the road, and in that fork you'll discover a child lost. Save that child and meet someone you'll never forget.” The being stood up, bowed, and was then replaced by a brief light-snowfall. The flakes catching the firelight and refracting it it a mesmerizing show.

Ryuit looked one last time at the fire and the bowl he’d set down before standing up again. He looked around taking in the majestic scenery around him, the old nomad wasn’t mistaken in naming this place “Luna Sea”. It was, truly, beautiful. The arctic pine trees each held such a perfect amount of snow. The full-moon overhead illuminated the land with such a soft gentle light that even Ryuit’s sensitive eyes felt at peace.

The place was relatively small, just a small valley, the old nomad hadn’t been wrong about the Grandfather tree which stood in the dead center of the area. Even for Ryuit, who’d seen many marvelous trees gazed awestruck at it’s majesty. He walked through the crunching snow exploring every nook and cranny he could, finding many marvels. Everything the old nomad has spoken of was here, the luminescent sphere like fairies, they were playful buzzing about Ryuit. Quiet fairy voices invited him to play with them, he willingly agreed and partook in their games for many hours, forgetting about all things and for the first time in so long he felt content and happy.

Then he remember.. He stopped, looked at the Grandfather tree and whispered “ Oh, it’s that time of year again. No wonder,”
A Haiku, crap.

Silent out,
A Dream Frozen,
Lies life
Last edited by Palacia on Mon Dec 04, 2017 8:17 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Re: [Contest] Twelve Days of Christmas

Post by Marquis » Sat Dec 02, 2017 6:33 am

So this is what I was all about this for...I needed some writing prompt. Went off on this one. That said, fair warning, this is not holiday cheer. Edited to put in spoiler tags.
We Cannot Bury Our Dead

Valley Forge, December 1777

Major Rime slowly rode his pale horse down the line between two solemn rows of tents. Maintaining troop morale around Christmastime would be difficult, but whatever morale they had left was about all there was holding the Revolution together. General Washington swore by his rides amongst the regulars and therefore so too did all the officers whom endured that harsh Pennsylvania winter together. Uniformed soldiers gathered around open flames with makeshift scarves wrapped over their faces. Occasionally one would see the Major and snap to attention, presenting his musket in shivering hands, but most of them pretended not to notice. He didn’t mind. In a winter like that one, warm soldiers were better than orderly soldiers. A fact that became abundantly clear as his ride continued.

Halfway down the rows, Major Rime rode beside a crouching figure. He knew something wrong because the soldier held a tin cup between motionless, ghost-white hands. The Major dismounted. He had to play the situation out for anyone watching despite the foregone conclusion. He placed a gloved hand on the corpse’s shoulder, then bent to look the man in his cold, dead eyes. This was the first regular to look Major Rime in the eyes in at least a week. He stood up and signaled to the nearest huddle of soldiers. They all dipped their hands practically into the fire and trudged over to him, eyes locked on the frosty ground beneath them.

“Another one here, gentlemen. Do the Christian thing.”

Major Rime climbed back onto his apocalyptic steed and pressed on. There were three more men frozen in permanent service before the end of the rows. Dozens more in other rows, under other officers. Major Rime was perhaps the only one of them to look to the usually unforgiving winter sky and pray. Not to God, but to the biting air itself – to the season.

“If this trend continues, we will have more men to bury than men to bury them with. We are in hell down here, so I am not so foolish to expect salvation for these men. I only ask that you give us men left behind the illusion that we are not doomed to the same end. We cannot bury our dead, not for much longer.”

Deathly white clouds dragged across the sky like spindly, divine fingers tracing the fractures between our world and the next. Snow blanketed the camp by the next morning and the wind blew it into unpredictable drifts. No one took note of the men who went missing during the night. Everyone ignored the crunches beneath their feet.

Ardennes, December 1944

Bullets splintered trees and sent icicles careening toward the ground all around Staff Sergeant Hale. Sharp points and fleeting geometric angles in every direction made it appear to him like he was running through a colorless kaleidoscope pointed at an ever-changing snowflake. Germans seemed to pour out of the woods in every direction and the only escape was an elder’s joke – uphill through the snow.

Hale stopped behind a particularly wide oak as the cold ripped the air from his lungs, and tugged at the soul behind it. Another American from another shattered unit rested against a nearby birch. The other soldier was waving blue hands in wisps of his own breath, the fingers stuck together like a mitten and any thoughts of his gun long gone. Hale pressed his hands against his own heart, unable to feel his heart’s heat, but reassured by his racing heartbeat. When he turned back to his compatriot, only a black crater remained.

“Nothing colorful remains in this world.”

Bodies dropped all around Hale as he started off running again. Most of them were already lifeless white before they fell dead. There was the occasional splash of crimson red blood, but most of it sunk into the deep snow that would then cave in around it.

There were fresher Americans shooting back at the enemy from the top of the hill, but they were fighting just to give the men below a shot to escape the carnage. There was no counteroffensive. Not there, not then.

Staff Sergeant Hale tried to imagine his young son at home, hanging angels with his mother on a small tree like the ones he rushed past on the hill. The pale little figures would be fair representations of the soldiers dying a world away from them. On the other hand, their sparkling little halos were about as different from the frozen grimaces of the dead as a thing could be. He knew he should try to remember some lesson from that day, but he wished for nothing but for his memory to be blinded by the blank white snow.

“We cannot bury our dead…I have to get home…I have to forget this.”

Just above the din of the battlefield, some celestial force must have had its ears attuned to his pleas. Heavy snow fell in clumps from the heavens. The round that came for Staff Sergeant Hale melted through snowflake after snowflake before it eased its way into his helmet. All he would remember about the Battle of the Bulge was the white snow and the black spot where a man once stood.

Chosin Reservoir, December 1950

Subzero temperatures and a massive influx of Chinese troops had enveloped the Marines. Corporal Sheets thought there were only two deaths to fear as the Americans fought to escape the enemy encirclement: the cold and cold steel. Sheets marched closely behind the exhaust pipes of one of the few vehicles his unit could still get running. Cold averted for now. He spotted an enemy and thought he could deal cold steel death first. He pulled the trigger on the Garand, but it made a futile click in place of the familiar bang. The enemy fired on their shambling convoy, but Sheets was spared that end too.

A formation of Marine Corsairs flew towards their predicament with no Chinese air assets in sight. The Americans cheered and then half of them fell into fits of hacking and wheezing. But the planes were coming in too early. A few soldiers in the formation already held up their fingers to shakily trace their paths in the sky as the bombs started to drop. Fire erupted in their wake and consumed the American forces a click up from the Corporal’s position.

A minute later burning soldiers came running in their direction. There was a haunting juxtaposition of all-too-slowly freezing soldiers desperately trying to help all-too-quickly burning soldiers. But for the most part the burning soldiers just ran past them until they collapsed in burning heaps. Corporal Sheets tried to keep plodding forward to some unknown point where his allies supposedly held some abstract line.

Some officer whose rank was quickly fading in authority tried to order enlisted men to collect as many of the dead as they could, to load them onto the truck with the wounded.

One of the soldiers replied, “We cannot collect these guys. They’re still on fire. We cannot bury the dead. Can’t do nothing. Just give us a second, sir.” The soldier tried to warm his hands over the remains of his battle buddy. They were surrounded by enemy gunfire and snowfall that at best felt like pins poking against tender flesh and at worst, felt like nothing at all. It was a mad survival delirium.

Corporal Sheets dropped his rifle and continued to walk. Chinese soldiers moved in on their formation. One of them through a white phosphorus grenade that for an unrecognizable instant exploded like a snowball in their truck before it incinerated the wounded within. In his delirium, Sheets swore he saw a woman form from the smoke that ensued. He coughed, but then waved to her, forgetting himself. She beckoned him forward. She gave him something to have faith in.

One of the enemy soldiers pointed his weapon at Sheets. The Corporal raised his hands to the heavens, not as a gesture of surrender, but reaching for the illusive smoke woman. The enemy yelled at Sheets, but his ears were shriveled and waxy. The smoke woman had given them flirtatious nibbles as she passed and left them frostbitten. The Chinese soldier searched Sheets for other weapons. He smiled dumbly as the smoke woman started to slide away on an icy wind. When his enemy released him, Sheets started to follow her once more. He left the fire to burn the world behind him. He wanted nothing more than to be with the winter woman, wherever she hid away from the other seasons. The cold had always been patient with him.

Paktia, December 2013

“Jin-gle-bells-jin-gle-bells-jin-gle-all-the-way,” Private Chill sang to himself under his breath as he performed CPR on the only other soldier he was able to find after his squad had taken fire on patrol in the mountains of eastern Afghanistan. Nothing else mattered anyway. He was a medic, he had his patient. The enemies, whoever they were, wherever they were, had stopped shooting.

“Oh what fun- “ He couldn’t remember the next line. It was getting darker, and colder.
“Oh-what-fun-oh-what-fun-oh-what-fun…” He got caught in a terrible loop. His patient’s lips were cold and already gone from blue to almost white. His fingertips were in similar condition. They were…

“Cyanotic.” Chill tried to take refuge in his medical training. Instead, he had broken himself from what had become the carol’s refrain…or the whole song really. He had lost any sense of time and with the darkness almost total, his sense of space would follow soon after. The patient was dead then. Chill had failed. No one had come. No soldiers from his unit, no Apaches called in for support, not even enemies scouring the cliffs for potential prisoners.

As a medic, Chill had always hoped to keep someone alive nearby. Instead, he was alone on a mountainside. He yanked the dogtags from his patient. A cruel wind kicked up and sent a spasm down Chill’s spine. He dropped the tags and heard the metal clink farther and farther away. His tears started to frost on his lashes. Another brutal wind whipped the mountainside and Chill was forced to press himself against the corpse to prevent either of them from slipping down into oblivion. A third wind and over the entire mountain, snow shook loose.

Flurries waltzed about the surrounding air before forming into what could only be described as a goddess – true sublimity – a beauty so total that it terrified Chill as he was tempted into peeking at her.

“We…I cannot bury the dead…but you cannot have him!” Private Chill screamed at her.

She grasped either side of the mountain’s peak and bent over him. The corpse beneath him became colder and colder until he had no choice but to roll off him.

The goddess whispered on a gentler breeze, “He will be in good company.” She moved her colossal lips just in front of his. “And you will be too.”

Private Chill reached out to draw her in by her cheeks, but she was gone already. She towered over the mountain in her wintry form. Her white lace gown blanketed the mountain in even heavier snow than before. Private Chill swaddled himself in the fabric. She ignored him as his gentle tugs became urgent and then nothing. She looked far away as she did her work, farther than humanly comprehensible. She took no pleasure in her labor, but it was her duty to help the world forget…at least until spring.
Last edited by Marquis on Sun Dec 03, 2017 1:19 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: [Contest] Twelve Days of Christmas

Post by McGenty » Sat Dec 02, 2017 7:44 am

Holy crap. Well done, Marquis. Well freakin done. :clap:
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Re: [Contest] Twelve Days of Christmas

Post by Trekwars » Sat Dec 02, 2017 11:10 am

Great, now everyone is gonna show me up! I'll get mine uploaded here soon.
-I have a plan, it's a terrible plan and will probably fail spectacularly, but it's still a plan!

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Re: [Contest] Twelve Days of Christmas

Post by Sammy » Sat Dec 02, 2017 7:44 pm

Amazing work so far guys. Can we keep entries in spoilers, please?
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Re: [Contest] Twelve Days of Christmas

Post by Sammy » Sat Dec 02, 2017 8:47 pm

Oh and second day is up!
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Re: [Contest] Twelve Days of Christmas

Post by Palacia » Sun Dec 03, 2017 1:47 am

Yay! finished with my rough attempt.
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Re: [Contest] Twelve Days of Christmas

Post by Georgeanna » Sun Dec 03, 2017 3:00 am

Im going to pretend day 2 didn’t require me to look up the syllable rules for haikus or clap out said syllables like I’m in primary school again.

So here it is!
Santa is coming
I must sleep before midnight
What is that loud noise?
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Re: [Contest] Twelve Days of Christmas

Post by Marquis » Sun Dec 03, 2017 4:35 am

Prompt #2 haiku coming in hot:
Milk and a cookie,
Rats watch jobless father pace,
Hungry children dream.
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Re: [Contest] Twelve Days of Christmas

Post by Darkblade » Sun Dec 03, 2017 11:36 am

Prompt 1
Her time had come again, Autumn had left convinced this time they may prove to Summer that their leaves were the color they ought to be. She mused on that, she never got to see leaves, only the pines kept their spiny green tendrils when Winter came to call. Evergreen, the color that Summer proposed but she wasn’t going to weigh in on that argument. No, she wasn’t foolish enough to give either of them more ammunition to continue the pointless debate. What did it matter which were right when they had their duty to make them the way they ought to be for their season?

With that in mind she danced among the pines, frost and snow adding the white of her devotion to their branches. A squirrel roused by the sudden chill scrambling along, making a bit of a mess of her work. Chagrined at the mess, but joyous in the disorder that was life upon her canvas. Shame so few took to enjoying her dance across the months of her ascendance, and of those only the fur less apes truly celebrated. Their bright lights, and good cheer, could bring a warmth to even her heart. Songs sang of white days made her desire to grant the wish implicit, but even she had to be mindful of going overboard. The Old Man had been less mindful in his youth and brought great sorrow to the world, so he had been quite adamant that the white should not cover all but only where it is most needful. Not that she wasn’t prone to a few over zealous blizzards here and there, but it all balanced out in the end. Summer dried up lakes in their yearning to give the sun it’s full due, Autumn had stolen her frost on occasion, and Spring. Well aside from spurning her time after time, he was prone to a few too many showers drowning much of their own work.

The last time he had insulted her, seeing her only as the child that was always under the Old Man’s feet. She had grown since then, and he ought to recognize that. She would remind him when the time came to pass along the right to paint the canvas. But for now she had a world to govern, which required her touch to bring about the chill, the snow, and the harshness that allowed for Spring to grow anew. Even as the cleaner of the canvas she was sure to paint upon it herself, to leave a mark here and there. Let it never be said that her time was without beauty, and while there were no vibrant colors compared to the others she could no less bedazzle the eye of mortals and bring about the awe in their hearts. So it was she danced, and sang, the chill song of Winter till the world was truly in the grip of her embrace.
Prompt 2

The snow is falling
All around us is frozen
Christmas shall be white

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Re: [Contest] Twelve Days of Christmas

Post by Serafim » Sun Dec 03, 2017 3:57 pm

Prompt 1 is underway.

Prompt 2 is:
Tomorrow's the day
Children dream of Santa's gifts
Parents wrap till dawn
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Thank you Forge for your amazing work!

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Re: [Contest] Twelve Days of Christmas

Post by Skummy the Kitty » Sun Dec 03, 2017 6:11 pm

Meow meow!

Prompt 1
Such things are fleeting, are they not? It is but an illusion that vacates our minds in the quietest of hours: the cold chills up the spine, the love of the snowfall, and the wondrous sensation of the frigid air with the fires blazing. For the cold chills give way to unbreakable shivers, the love turns to frustration as the snow builds and piles upon itself to encapsulate everything, the feeling of wonder turns to feelings of despair as your hands begin go numb and you can no longer feel your face. Her spell had been beautiful, the ice goddess had bestowed upon them a sense of merriment and joy, but in the times since then they have gone hungry. What supplies they had were vanished and it was too cold to gather anything as the blizzard continues to fall. The roads are blocked so no help can come as they can feel the cold winter nights siphoning away their heat....

It is cold, so cold, they can no longer bear it and wrap themselves in what blankets they can, laying their heads down for sleep. They shall never again come awake and thus they are forfeit to the beauty of this frostbitten night. The goddess who had laid this bless did not cease when those who lived atop her mountain were dead and gone, kept preserved in the white sea of snow. She turned her sights down the mountainside at the other settlers, and decided that they would also benefit from a taste of her magical winter.

It would begin as it had at all times past: cold chills up the spine, love of the snowfall, and the wonderful feeling of frigid air with the fires roaring.

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Re: [Contest] Twelve Days of Christmas

Post by Sammy » Sun Dec 03, 2017 11:14 pm

 ! Message from: Sammy
You have about 24 hours left to get your entries for the First Day of Christmas in! Day 3 will be up shortly.
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Thanks to Forge for the set!
Please remember to vote here and here everyday!

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