[Voting] Challenge #1 - Writer's War

Which Submission do you think deserves to win?


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Miz

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Challenge #1: The Battle for Gradford (September 25th, 19XX)
Parties Involved: The Freelancer Federation & The United Dramatist Union
Type of Challenge: A Observation Tank Barrage

The Challenge: If not already obvious is to describe an observation scene on your Nation's Capital. You can use anything in your imagination as long as you can make sense of it, and keep it in the themes of the Early-Middle 1900s. Of course, your city could be modern for the time and have massive skylines, or be an ancient or colonially type city and have brick buildings. Does your city resemble European and Western Society, or does it resemble Middle Eastern or Asian Societies or does it do both? Is your nation religious, or militarily valued? There is so much to explain, and details are extremely important within the scene. So to get you started on building your nation, the capital is the most important part, as it is the beacon of your empire.

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Primary Rewards: 4 Points
Additional Rewards: None

Other Conditions: United Dramatist Union - Late Departure; -1 Point in score if the battle ends in a Victory. (The Entry for the UDU, was late and because of this, one point will be deducted from their scores if they win. So instead of 4 points they will only receive 3.)​


Things to look for when voting...
  • Does it match the prompt of the Challenge, or did it go on a tantrum of its own?
  • Was it interesting, and not just a pain to read?
  • Was there some good word choice or so much that you couldn't understand it?
  • Were there too little of descriptions or just too many?
  • Could you imagine this story in your head or was it just words?
Thanks to all who voted...




Submission #1 - Untitled
James walked down the water logged alley towards the street. The ground was of cobblestone, so little rivers ran in between the individual stones. As he approached the end of the ally, he noticed a bum sitting inside of a wooden crate. A rat dropped down off the top of the crate and scampered off, "How are you doing Erkle?" James asked the bum.

"Same as always James, you better get off to your mother, she'll need you." Erkle didn't seem to want anything to do with James, perhaps to keep the boy away from his own mistakes and lifestyle.

"Alright then." James walked onto the sidewalk of the street, military trucks covered in brown canvas drove by, filled with troops going off to the front lines. James didn't hear much about the war, not this far away from the fighting. But there seemed to be enough problems as is.

He crossed the street, and looked up to see the top of a statue of an ancient war hero peering over at him from behind the next building, who's name has long since been forgotten. James walked around the building and into the next alley to get a closer look. The statue itself was cast-iron, covered in brown aged rust from the lack of years of maintenance.

The location was bleak, it barely had any room to breath. There were no trees, no grass or even dirt. Not that anything of the sort could have survived under such smog. The statue was surrounded by buildings, each of which were over a hundred years old and were consequently falling apart, it essentially stood in its own little alley. James took a closer look into the sword the statue held, surely, before all this rust, the blade and armor of the hero were magnificent.

James continued down the rat infested alley, wishing he had shoes, towards the location he knew would be the bay. When he got there, he could walk along the dock without getting lost.

He turned a corner and came face to face with another bum, this one he did not know.

"Got any change son?" The bum asked.

"Sorry sir, but as you can see, I'm not very well off myself." James pointed down to his bare feet and wiggled his toes.

"You haven't got anything?"

James threw his hands deep into his pockets, grasped the cloth, and pulled them out. "Sorry, nothing. Perhaps you should try the alleys by Gerron Street."

"Thank you son, I suppose I will." The bum trudged off towards Gerron Street, the largest street in the city, which split it into two and went from the docks all the way to the front lines hundreds of miles away. James felt safe walking the alleys, no one was going to mug a simple urchin who had nothing but his shirt and shorts.

He continued down the alley, and could begin to hear a chanting. Support the war, defeat the UDU dogs, honor and glory await you on the battlefield. They always wanted people to join the military on their own will, to help with morale. At least that's what his father said before he was drafted.

James walked for another 30 minutes, across streets and through countless other alleys, and soon enough the chanting faded away, wherever it came from exactly. He came to the end of the final alley and emerged to the ocean. The water in the bay was dirty, but at least you could see blue sky in the distance instead of the gray which always lingered over the city. There was confetti and ribbons being blown through the air, being thrown out of every window of every tall building near the bay. The second division of navy soldiers were heading off to war, boarding massive battleships and destroyers. The fleet currently here had two aircraft carriers, James spent a lot of time by the bay and kept count of all the ships. But they would soon be gone, leaving the bay an empty wasteland.

James made his way down to the docks, passing through crowds of people waving good bye to their loved ones. There were many monuments by the bay dedicated to victorious naval battles. If anything, the government could brag about its navy. He walked up to the largest statue of a stone man in a formal trench coat, decorated with countless badges and medals for heroism on the sea. He had a long, full beard and a stern look. His figure stood strong and true. James always wanted to become a famous war hero, as an urchin it was all he could aim for. But he was too young to join the military. The name on the statue was Victor K. Jordan, probably the best known hero of the last war. He and his crew had died in their submarine, but not before single-handedly sinking eight other ships, one of which was a famous carrier on the enemy's side.

Alongside Jordan's statue were six other smaller statues, three on each side, of his officers. Engraved on the officers' stone slabs were the names of all the crew members aboard that submarine when it finally went down.

Everyone began cheering much louder and the national anthem began playing. James turned around and saw the ships were beginning to leave, one by one. More and more confetti was being tossed from the windows, it was all over the floor and floating in the water, a harsh contrast of dirty gray and bright pinks and blues.

James had enough excitement and began trekking down the dock in the direction of his home in the slums.

After some time, he came upon Gerron Street. He walked to the center of the road at the very end of the dock, and looked down it. It went on for so long he could not see the end. About 10 miles down the road stood the capital building, one of the few low buildings within the inner city which did not look to be in shambles. James had only seen it once, with his father, but he remembered it well. A massive concrete courtyard used for ceremonies and displays of military might, at the end of which stood a tall white building based on a mixture of Egyptian and Greek architecture, with huge green banners with the Eagle insignia on them hanging from the top of the building. It truly looked impressive. Many countries, from what James had seen in newspapers an magazines, based their capitals on the same architecture.

James continued past Gerron street along the dock, wondering what visitors thought of the contrast between a beautiful capital building and an ancient, broken, city. Honestly, he couldn't think of the last time there were foreigners in the city.

The dock ended at a cobblestone path which slowly ascended up a large bluff. James walked up it, leading to the highest point near the city. A deep fjord ran down the center of the bluff; at the center a bridge connected the two halves. He crossed the bridge and walked to the highest point where a single oak stood. Facing away from the cliffside and sea, towards the hillside, James could see the country which lay all around the city. While the city itself was not a spectacle, the farmland around it was lush with greens. That is where James lived, down in the valleys below where the runoff from local mountains fed water to the farms.

We were safe here, James thought. Tanks couldn't drive over mountains, the only way is through Gerron Street, and James has seen the amount of artillery and soldiers which patrol the pass.

James turned his attention back towards the city, which was centered around a mass of skyscrapers which filtered down to ancient structures on the outskirts. There was an air strip just outside the city, and huge military jumbo jets could be seen taking off loaded down with more soldiers. It was a huge air strip, planes taking off from there would be headed to other air-force bases all over the country. This was it, James thought. This was the last of any military he would see unless we were invaded, no one is coming home until the UDU is defeated.

James got up, and with one last look around to the city and sea, walked on towards the valleys, a place he calls home.

Submission #2 - Untitled
A faint breeze stirred the white silken curtains and swept across the bedroom. Stifling a yawn, Industrialist Bryce stepped out onto the balcony. The sun was stretching lazily across the sky, bathing Mount Servitude in a warm orange glow. The heated marble felt good under his toes, and he looked out over the city as he took another sip of coffee. Below him he could see the world shaking off sleep and rising for the day. As the sun climbed into the sky it breathed life into those below. His villa was perched on the upper levels of the volcano, and from his balcony he had an unparalleled panorama of the entire East End.

Directly below him, a bit further down the volcano, were the villas of Python’s End, a gated community of lesser Industrialists. From his vantage point Bryce could see the gilded rooftops, the white marble pillars. The sunlight shimmered off at least fifteen different swimming pools. One intrepid young man had begun his morning laps before the sun was even in the sky. He was just now emerging from the waters, dripping wet.

Below the villas the volcano sloped out gradually and met with the ground of the surrounding valley, it was here that the craggy rock face leveled off. At the foot of the ancient mountain was the Commerce District, a neatly arranged pattern of office buildings and banks. These were a bit harder to see clearly, but Bryce could still make out the reddish baked clay shingles and stone structures. Men and women were already bustling about the district, making and losing fortunes.

Past the Commerce District was the Holy Circle, an outward spanning swirl of streets choked with temples to lesser deities and spirits. In the center of the concentrically ringed buildings were the Great Three. The three buildings stared each other down across an immense courtyard, locked in a never-ending struggle. They were the heart of all religious worship in Mount Servitude, and the empire at large. Each building represented one of the major religious sects.

The Mason’s worshippers gathered in an enormous cathedral, complimented by flying buttresses and great stain glassed windows. The pillars that flanked the entrance were changed regularly, so the building never fell into disrepair. Outside, men in overalls and construction gear stood guard, ready to rough up anyone who might do the Mason sacrilege.

The second building was a large circular nondescript dome constructed from dark gray stone. Utterly devoid of any windows or doors, the temple stood stark and bare in the courtyard. As usual, a thick plume of black smoke was already rising from the dome’s rooftop vents. The worshippers of the Unknowable One rarely entered the temple. In fact, the only reason it stood was to remind everyone that the Unknowable was just as powerful and important as the other two gods. No guards stood in front of the Unknowable’s temple. None were needed. The serfs were too afraid to worship him, and the other religious sects knew better than to interfere with the Unknowable’s business. The true worship was done on the other side of the volcano, in the West End. There, the Smoking Priests did homage to their god with burnt sacrifice and fire. Their houses were in the favela at the base of the volcano, in one of the dirtiest and most polluted districts of the city. At dusk, when the worship reached its peak, the sky was blotted out by the billowing waves of smoke that swept out of the slums.

The third and final building was a sprawling complex of confusing arches, empty rooms, and luxurious displays of abstract art. Strange, animalistic statutes were scattered throughout sporadically placed courtyards, and men and women were constantly moving about in their worships. The Restless God’s temple was by far the most commonly visited and the most grandiose. In times of war, the worship increased tenfold. Recently, the worship had increased twentyfold.

Further out, beyond the Holy Circle, over the rooftops of a few upper class residential areas, was the Sapphire River. It shimmering blue waters encircled half the city before meandering off across the Bladed Plains. From the top of the volcano, one could see all the way across the windswept fields of grass to the horizon. Forests flanked the Plains on one side, and in the distance the Mountains of Night stretched their jagged bodies towards the skies, stabbing violently at the clouds that crowned their peaks.

To the left and right of the Holy Circle, the city degenerated into a hodgepodge of crisscrossing residential districts and marketplaces. On the East End the houses were middle class, so their red rooftops weren’t too much of an eyesore, but as one traversed about the base of the volcano and approached the West End, things grew worse. The West End was a nest of poverty and filth. One building was dirtier than the next, and the streets were clogged with refuse. Naked children played in piles of garbage, and rats ruled supreme. The entire West End was one big shantytown. Tin roofed shacks stood shoulder to shoulder with dilapidated tenement housings. Thieves prowled the labyrinthine alleyways and strange cults crept about at night. No civilized man would ever be caught dead in the West End. Then again, if any civilized man was caught in the West End, he would most certainly already be dead. Murders were a common occurrence in the bowels of that stinking mass of garbage. Scarcely a night would go by without at least five people found dead in the street come morning.

Over all of it, the West End, the East End and the volcano itself, the great spider web of aqueducts spread. They arched out from the base of the volcano, where massive billows captured steam from the buried veins of lava. From there, the steam was pressurized and transported by way of the great stone aqueducts to the turbines throughout the city. These large metallic constructs crouched throughout Mount Servitude, looking for the all the world like the ribcages of some long forgotten giants. The steam was forced into these metallic ribcages, where it was in turn transformed into steam energy, and used to heat the entire city.

If Bryce looked up, he would see a few mansions above him, closer to the rim of the long dormant volcano. The inside of the volcano was spiderworked with crisscrossing catwalks. Only the Smoking Priests dared walk inside the fiery mountain, and it was said that they had a shrine in the heart of the volcano, a floating island of rock and steel on a lake of lava. Only the Smoking Priests were permitted to visit it and as such, only Smoking Priests had ever seen it.
A wise man had once said the volcano was the blazing heart of the city. As Bryce stood on his balcony, looking out from his gaudy villa carved into the side of the ancient mountain, Bryce was inclined to agree. The volcano breathed life into the city. In a way, the volcano was the city.

“It’s not half-bad looking this early in the morning is it?” a voice asked from behind, forcing Bryce from his drowsy musings. He turned to see Chancellor Wight standing in his room.

Wight was in his fifties, with the broad shoulders and muscles of a man who kept himself in shape. His hair was slicked back, raven black but quickly turning gray. He was dressed in the olive drab uniform of the army, and he had his numerous medals pinned to his chest.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” Bryce replied. “Then again, it better be a nice view, with how much I paid for this place.”

Wight chuckled. “Ahh but it’s not the view you paid for is it my friend? It’s the lack of one.” He stepped forward onto the balcony and looked out over the city. He craned his neck to the left, and then the right, as if he was trying to look around the sloping corner of the mountain. “Just as I said. You can’t see even the slightest hint of the West End from here. Truly marvelous. And quite worth the price I might add. Had you chosen one of the villas just a little bit further to the left, or a little bit further to the right, you’d be able to stretch your neck and see the outskirts of the West End. Could you imagine? Waking up in the morning and seeing the serfs swarming about beneath you?” He smiled and faked a shudder. Bryce smile politely back.

“Yes, Chancellor, that does sound rather horrible.” Bryce turned to the man, hoping he’d skip to the point soon. He didn’t enjoy being intruded upon in his own house.

Wight said nothing, instead turning to gaze out over the city. The sun was higher in the sky by now, and the city was running at full steam. A dull wave of sound could be heard from the villa, the conglomeration of a thousand conversations swirling and making love in the morning air.

“You know I had a few proles meet with me this morning already. Filing a grievance report. They said that they need an old monument torn down in the Road District. Said that the kids are climbing on it and getting themselves hurt. It’s the one on Galimor Street. You know the one? It’s an old statue of a mortar. Big old gun angled up at the sky. The thing is, it’s so worn away from the years that now it don’t look like a mortar at all. You know what it looks like?” Wight gave Bryce a mischievous look. “Looks like a dick. A limp old floppy dick, sitting on a pedestal. And these damned kids are climbing all over it and falling off and getting hurt. How do you like that? These proles want me to waste public funds tearing down an old penis.” He grinned. “Ain’t the world grand?”


Bryce sipped his coffee and nodded. Sooner or later Wight would get to the point. After a few minutes of silence he did.

“We’re marching out today. The troops have been marshaled and we’re ready. Bryce, I need you to keep an eye out. With the army gone, there’s not going to be much in the way of the zealots. It doesn’t matter which group, one of the religious is going to make a bid for power. I need you to do whatever it takes to stop that. The last thing the Industrialists need is for the Smoking Priests, or Architects or whoever to take control of the city.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little paranoid? The Three have been around for centuries, and none have ever tried to seize control. The Tribunal rules supreme, and if we Industrialists have anything to say about it, it will stay that way.”

“What if we don’t have anything to say about it though? Half the Industrialists are marching off to war. None of the religious are leaving the city to fight, save a few militant priests. No, with us gone they’re going to have the perfect chance.”

“We’ve fought wars before. They’ve had this chance before.”

“Yes, but never like this. The second in command of the army, after me, is a religious. If the religious seize control of the Tribunal, all they have to do is banish me, and they have control of the entire military. I’m the only thing stopping the religious from ruling.”

“Hmmmm that is true. Maybe you’re right. I’ll make sure to keep an eye out while you’re gone. We need to make sure no one removes you from your position.”

Wight seemed relieved to hear that. He thanked Bryce, shook his hand and departed. After he was gone, Bryce had another cup of coffee and showered. As he was toweling off, his mind wandered to what Wight had said.

It was true. Most of the Industrialists were marching off to fight. The Tribunal would be weakened without them present in the city. It was a long stretch, but with enough pressure one of the Three might be able to gain more influence in the Tribunal. If they removed Wight, command fell to General Reiche, a devoted follower of the Unknowable. There was no way Bryce was going to let that happen. Whatever happened, Wight must be left in command. Without him, the radicals would rule.

Bryce pressed his suit, got dressed, and left his house. His front door opened onto a plateau on the side of the volcano. Several other villas were situated around the courtyard, and in the center was the large rectangular building that housed the elevators. Bryce would need to take the elevator down, through the crust of the mountain, and walk to the senate building. He crossed the courtyard and opened the door to the elevator building.

Inside was a tiled waiting room and Bryce pressed the elevator button. The room was empty, doubtless the other Industrialists were already at the senate. As he waited, he took a seat on the sofa and picked up a magazine to read. He flipped restlessly through the pages, pausing every few seconds to glance at his watch. The elevator was always long in coming, but today he was in a hurry. The Tribunal was meeting to make last minute war preparations and it would look poorly if he wasn’t present. Glancing at his watch again, Bryce got up and pressed the button for the elevator three times in rapid succession.

No luck.

As he turned and was about to sit down again, he heard the elevator bell ding behind him.

“Finally,” he grumbled under his breath. He turned, took a step towards the elevator and stopped dead.

There in the elevator, slumped against the wall, was the bloody, mangled corpse of Chief Chancellor Wight, Commander-in-Chief of the armed forces.

Former Command-in-Chief, Bryce realized with a wave of dread. Former Command-in-Chief.

Current Battle Map:
The Freelancer Federation: 45 Points | The United Dramatist Union: 45 Points
 

DogOfHavoc

Future Tragedy
Reaction score
55
Who can vote?

I think votes should be posted, instead of a poll. That way we know the votes are legitimate.
 

Miz

Administrator
Reaction score
428
Who can vote?

I think votes should be posted, instead of a poll. That way we know the votes are legitimate.

No one from the game can vote, because they can't vote for themselves, and that leaves big clues.

Its a Public Poll, so everyone who voted will be recorded. I would like people to comment to help you guys learn and improve (which is the Purpose of this War). But I can't really force people to do so.
 

Arcane

You can change this now in User CP.
Reaction score
87
I think it's clever how the author of #1 used the PoV of a street urchin to describe the city, but #2 is just far more engaging to me.
 

Miz

Administrator
Reaction score
428
In the end of the brutal battle, the forces of the Freelancer Federation succumbed to the heavily armed Tank Barrage that rammed against their offense into the Dramatist's countryside. Their surprise attack seem to have given them an advantage but it was quickly overcame by the brilliant commander, DogOfHavoc. Who crushed the insurance and made the Freelancer's retreat back into their own territory where the next battle will now ensue. However, because of his lack of timing and resources he was only able to push so far into the countryside until receiving strong amounts of resistance.

Results:
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Victory for the United Dramatist Union.
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+3 to the Dramatist/-3 to the Freelancers in Land Territory.
DogOfHavoc promoted to the rank of Sergeant
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(+3 Points added to Score)
Submission #2 (Untitled) will be added to Archive (Shortly).​

Teams be ready for Challenge #2 Soon, it will have more expectations and requirements and above all. Don't miss the deadline!

Latest Battle Map:
The Freelancer Federation: 42 Points | The United Dramatist Union: 48 Points
 
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