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Writing Competition VOTE! (voting ends on Friday, April 7th)

Writing Competition Minecraft Competition Better In Game Competition

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Poll: Which Writing Piece Is Your Favorite? (8 member(s) have cast votes)

Which Writing Piece Is Your Favorite?

  1. Writing A (3 votes [37.50%])

    Percentage of vote: 37.50%

  2. Writing B (2 votes [25.00%])

    Percentage of vote: 25.00%

  3. Writing C (1 votes [12.50%])

    Percentage of vote: 12.50%

  4. Writing D (2 votes [25.00%])

    Percentage of vote: 25.00%

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Posted 29 March 2017 - 08:50 AM

Thank you to all who submitted! While I was, of course, hoping for a bigger turnout, we've still got four great writing snippets to vote on! 


Read the pieces bellow and use the forum polling system above to vote for the corresponding letter to the story that you like the most. 


Refer back here for prizes and original post:


Writing is all listed in order of submission and the authors will be revealed as soon as voting ends on Friday, April 7th.


Writing A:

*honk* *honk*

Panic overcomes me as I hear that sound in the distance, echoing against the walls. 
I've been in this damned place for days now, chased by it. What was supposed to be a fun adventure with my friends ended up in being a trip into hell. We should have left the moment Rex dissapeared, that dog can smell trouble 5 miles away and yet it vanished without any of us noticing it. Our second warning came when we found the security booth, what kind of fucked up company has security armed with rifles and shotguns!
Tommy that fucking prick, it was his idea to come here. See if the rides still work, take some awesome pictures, steal some souveneers and have a cool story to tell. Susan was eager to agree, and eventually both of them convinced me and Sarah to go too. The park closed somewhere in the 80's after multiple deaths happened in the park in a half year time. 
First death was some little kid, the story goes he was too small to ride the coaster. But eye witnesses claim the safety rail shot loose, the same rail the ride attendant was messing with before the coaster took off. The strange thing is that there's no camera footage of that happening and none of the descriptions matched an employee that worked there.
The second death made national news, the last cart on the rolercoaster snapped off the main train causing the woman inside to roll back from the initial hill and flip off the tracks. The park closed down for a bit after that, and while it was closed a maintenance guy got crushed in between the gears of another ride. His body resembled spaghetti more than a corpse. That was kept silent, but years later news came out anyways. By that time the park had already been permanently shut down.
The deaths that caused the park to be abandoned for good were pretty gruesome as well. On a humid summer day the McKinley twins were found in several maintenance closets scattered across the park. I'll leave that up to your imagination. The bizarre thing is that they were only missing for one hour, yet it would take one person at least an hour to enter all those closets in the first place, someone must have seen the murderer because the park was packed that day. A large investigation lead to one arrest, the park mascot, who pleaded to be innocent. He killed himself later that week in his cell, hung himself by his shoelaces. No one really believed the guy did it though.
Why did I agree to come here, I had a bad feeling before we left. 
*honk* *hooonk*
It's getting closer, even going into this maintenance tunnel and through the river of sludge didn't shake it. What even is this place. No maintenence tunnel should go on this long, or should contain this many pits. Did I die on the way to this place and end up in hell instead?
It won't die either, we managed to shoot it with enough bullets to kill a man a hundred times over. 
*flop flop flop* *honk*
Right around the corner now, this is my final stand.
Writing B:
Blasty's Pass
Little is known about Braun Blewett, or "Blasty," as he was known to those at the receiving end of his nearly incoherent, spittle punctuated rantings, as he pursued his passion and life's work. Namely, sending rock fragments and clods of earth sailing dangerously in all directions. Lucky for most, he practiced his art in the less travelled wilds of Pureland.
Although alternatively bellicose and sullen, Blasty was not without a devoted following. Initially drawn by the excitement of explosives, then enchanted by the mystery of the eccentric rage sculptor with opaque motives and limited communication skills, his followers went to great lengths to track his progress, and ultimately discover his purpose. They called themselves "Blast Heads," "Sulphur Stalkers," and a few made t-shirts to label themselves "Kablooey Cuties." Those without camping skills or gear quickly learned and collected what they needed to track Blasty from a safe distance.
Aside from the obvious danger of Blasty’s powerful TNT arsenal, his admirers did their best to stay out of sight, because they were never sure if his threats were hyperbole intended to keep them safe, or if he was truly unstable enough to "slingshot rabid squirrels directly into each and every one of [their] stupid faces." No one was willing to test Blasty’s resolve, given his demonstrated commitment to his project.
The journey began southwest of Astoria, when a group of friends heard explosions outside the city wall, and decided to investigate. Between explosions, Blasty made it clear that he had no interest in entertaining guests, in the most colorful language he knew. The friends’ initial curiosity was strong enough to interrupt a pleasant Astorian afternoon, but now it was fully enflamed, and as unstoppable as Blasty’s now legendary determination.
The friends soon discovered that Blasty was methodically connecting bodies of water to each other, and widening connecting streams and brooks until they formed a river. Following his progress was perhaps as satisfying to the young Astorians as Blasty’s own accomplishments. By the time they approached their first stretch of desert they were hooked, and knew they’d have to become better campers and adventurers as they tracked Blasty over three kilometers northwest of Astoria.
Days, weeks, and months passed, and the friends followed their annoyed, unwilling leader with no evidence of a plan, and no reasonable expectation for answers. In time they found themselves slowly circling back around to the southeastern corner of Astoria, but not before trudging and paddling through plains, mushroom forests, jungles, swamps, and deserts.
Finally they were able to see the southeast wall of Astoria in the distance, but Blasty’s trajectory led through a hilly area higher above sea level than anywhere else along the river. Blasty disappeared for about a week to amass a frightening stockpile of TNT, and when he returned, he tore into the hills with a ferocity beyond anything witnessed in the previous months. He blasted through the nights, exploding creepers in his path before they could think to sing their sizzling songs of destruction.
Then one morning he was preparing the final charge that would connect his path to Astoria’s chanel project. His fevered pace was behind him, and for the first time he measured by pacing distances on all sides, taking into account the hardness of surrounding materials to make a perfect connection. When satisfied, he placed the charge, and sat down on it, looking back down the river he was about to complete. His Astorian followers watched in awe through tree branches as an unfamiliar calm transformed Blasty into an unrecognizable being. He took out a pipe to help him savor his impending success, and they thought they saw him grin.
He was so content that he closed his eyes, fully relaxed now, and appeared to meditate, arms crossed gently across his chest, for what seemed like an hour. The friends remained transfixed, unable to speak, and so absorbed in the moment that they were no longer impatient to celebrate the final blast of the project. After a time, Blasty took a deep breath and started to emerge from his reverie, slowly uncrossing his arms, and lowering them slowly to his sides.
All at once, the friends realized that his pipe brushed the TNT fuse, and without thinking they emerged from hiding, running and screaming to alert Blasty to the danger, as he remained peacefully on is perch of triumph. When the friends were as close as they dared, yelling and waving their arms, Blasty rose slowly, stretched out his arms, and addressed his admirers for the last time, exclaiming, "THE CIRCLE OF LIFE IS COMPLETE!!!"
On cue, Blasty was returned to the universe in grand fashion, likely as he planned from the start.
The Astorian Free Press interviewed the friends extensively, and upon publication of the bizarre story, the Astorian Government began plans to enhance Blasty’s river connections at the city outskirts, finish their internal channel system, and hatched plans to hold river races and boat tours, so that everyone could enjoy Blasty’s achievement for generations.
Writing C:
The one i am talking about is that image, theme, scenery, call it what you like, that i have been having in inspired (now merged "creative"). The last main and well made build i had was the dark with stone and obsidian Cathedral i made. Not sinister or anything alike. Maybe with some mischievous intentions. But all for the greater beauty, as i see it in my mind. It's the grandest so far, touching the limits from over and below. This one has many great features on it, but some of them shine brighter. Thus i started creating my own images based on it. As you stand tall at the entrance of this attractive beast build, you concentrate and focus your mind on the space you are in and what is around it. Everything else is automatically locked out.
Your sight gives you a plain clear image of the interior. The main body of the Cathedral is great and long. Along, there are two side wings. Seats and all manners or praying equipment placed around and heavily decorated. You keep these in your image. Then you look over to the columns that hold the heavy dark roof and semi-separates the main body from its sides. They stand firm under the heavy lift and yet they look at their most elegant state. You can only but admire their beauty. Like living graceful beasts that care about nothing but supporting the beauty they were born in. Each column connecting with each other, creating playful waves that soothes the eye. You keep them in mind as these imbued beings they are. Your eyes move on to the side wings. You can see all these outlines of the curving roof, following the wing like a different part of the building but still harmonically connected to it. It's almost like a loop. A repeating beautiful loop that it does not tire you. Every curving and every line crosses one another like sworn enemies. But what they give out is a well-bound micro universe. You keep the image of the wings in your picture as these different worlds are eagerly showing you their difference in beauty from the main body but at the same time, how they follow it with respect. Now, you look at the grand walls of the building. Besides the emblems, the crests and the colourful lines that fill you passively and slowly like a whirlpool, you can easily spot the grace of the tall and might windows. They are hold by well curved bricks that as they go up in height the split up multiple times with hanging ends, like a weeping willow on a paper. The glass, at most of its part, is deep blue in colour. As if parts of the sky have been attached to it or even made by parts of the sky. You hold them in your memory like tall drops from the heavens that stand still and show you upwards, where beauty must reside. The back of the Cathedral, the templo, is in a higher level. Raised from the rest of the floor. Connected with stairs, wide and decorated. You remember that as a detail for the interior. Now, you have a picture. With your own colours and with your own way of understanding, for all things. Thus, you have a general picture of what stands before you.
And now, to this, the imagination dives in. The back side of the roof is not chiseled and ending roughly. Instead it's a glorious dome with openings that allow the elements of nature to safely enter the atmosphere of the Cathedral. Yes, it has its atmosphere. You can hear it. Easily you distinguish the air moving about. It's not familiar to you, since it's not the same with the air outside, but yet it's dominating towards your senses. It attracts you to acknowledge it and respect it. And you do with all your will. You look around and you can make out something in the windows. They are not just coloured and elaborated. The stained glass reassembles some forms. Divine beings. Angels and revered souls. They all look content and gracious. As if they have conquered all their fears and issues and now they can embody the truth of the world. You admire these things as they happen before you. You wonder how greater you can make it feel just with your mind.
Quite the image, no?
Writing D:
Steve’s shoulders ached as he pulled the oars through the dark water. The sun was beginning to go down and the air was cool, but sweat still rolled down his back. It had been two days since the ship wreck. Two days of no water, no food--no clue of where he was, or where he was going.
“There’s bound to be land soon,” Steve muttered to himself for the thousandth time, ever the optimist. In the distance, Steve saw two moons rising above the horizon.
“Two moons,” he snorted to himself, pausing in his rowing to wipe the sweat from his eyes. “You’re going crazy, man.”
Shaking his head, he gripped his oars again and began rowing, glancing at the east to see the two moons…. TWO MOONS!
“Lights!” He gasped, his arms already turning the boat towards the east. Despite his aches, hunger and dehydration, Steve pumped the oars back and forth faster than he had in two days.
“Lights.” He whispered with a hopeful smile.
The sun had set and fog rolled in before Steve was able to reach the land. LAND! And people. There had to be people. Even though he couldn’t tell what the light source was; light meant people--and food!
“Please, God, let there be lots of food.” He said as he dragged his small boat onto the sandy beach. He saw torches inland, and the larger lights that he'd thought were a moon, floating in the air farther in the distance.
Steve followed the torches to a stone platform on the beach. There were stairs leading up a hill.
“Hah!” Steve crowed, “I never thought I’d be so happy to see stairs.”
He headed up the stairs, and midway up, he could finally see the larger lights more clearly. They were high in the sky to his left. Words. They were words.
“Dream Island.” Steve read aloud, smiling. “Well, that sounds promising.”
Suddenly Steve heard a rustling to his right. There weren’t many torches in that direction, and with the fog so thick, he couldn’t see anything.
“Hello?” he called. He heard the sound again. Like hard objects, hitting each other. Rocks? Or a pile of sticks being shuffled around. Suddenly there was a whooshing sound. A clang on a pillar right to his left, and then something fell at his feet. Bending down, he picked up the object.
“An arrow?” He questioned quietly. He heard the whooshing sound again, heard another arrow hit the pillar right where his head had been.
“Wait!” Steve cried, crouching low. “Stop, I mean no harm!”
Another whooshing sound was his only warning before pain erupted near his shoulder.
“Ahhhh!” Steve cried, clutching at his arm. No more time for talk. Steve began running up the stairs.  He barely reached the top when his legs gave out. As he sunk to the ground, he heard the sound again. Like the sound of sticks being shuffled around.
“No.” he whispered.
But the sound didn’t get closer. It stayed, shuffling lightly just outside the road. A fence, he realized. A cobblestone fence. And whatever “it” was that was shooting at him couldn’t get past the low fence. Steve shuddered as he realized that whatever was behind that fence wasn't human. But all that mattered was that he was safe. For now.
It was dark. The fog was thicker than ever. After a quick inspection of his arm, Steve was grateful to realize that the arrow barely grazed him. There was barely any blood coming from the wound. Still, Steve knew that sitting in the middle of a pathway probably wasn’t the safest place to be, even if “things that shoot freaking arrows” appeared to be stuck on the other side of the path. That’s when he heard it. Music.
“Music,” he whispered. “Scary things don’t make music, right?”
Slowly getting to his feet, Steve walked forward on the path towards the music. There was a cry, suddenly, mixed in with the tinkling music. It didn’t sound…. right. Steve paused for a second.
“No.” He said firmly before he began walking forward again, “I need to go. There has to be someone here. Someone made this place. And music isn't scary!”
With renewed determination, Steve walked forward until he came to…. A carousel. A moving, music making, carousel. Steve began to laugh until he heard the cry again. Out of the fog, one of the carousel horses began coming into view. It was moving. It was alive! He could see the horse's head shift back and forth, and he realized the sound was coming from the horse. The poor horse was in distress! Was it trapped on the carousel?
“Hey boy,” Steve called, quickly opening the gate. “Don’t worry, I’m here. I’ll help you out!”
As Steve neared the horse, it screeched once again, and this time it looked straight at him. It didn't have eyes. It didn't have a tail, or fur, or skin. It was nothing but a skeleton of a horse, floating on a shining track. But it wasn't mechanical. It was alive.... or not alive, but somehow still moving. And still looking straight at him.
Steve was frozen as the skeleton horse got nearer. Suddenly, with a loud cry, the horse lurched at him. A scream bubbled and erupted in Steve's throat.
“Ahhhhh!” Steve screamed, stumbling away from the creature lunging at him.
He back-pedaled a few steps before turning and running towards the gate. Frantically Steve ran through the carousel gate and slammed it closed behind him. He looked behind him and saw the horse moving away. Still on the glowing track. Staring at him with hollow eyes. The track or whatever force kept the horse on the track, moved the horse away slowly in an eternal circle. Its cry echoing in the air, mingling with the bright tinkling music of the carousel.
“Okay, this place is is just freaky. Where is everybody? Someone made this! This was supposed to be a dream, not a nightmare!”
Thanks again for all the great work from everyone who entered a piece and thank you for taking the time to participate (that goes for everyone who took the time to vote and read these awesome writing pieces as well)!  Remember, voting ends on Friday, April 7th



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Posted 07 April 2017 - 06:15 PM

Thanks for the votes!


The winner was, Writing A! Written by Acis!



Writing A -  Acis

Writing B - Deth

Writing C - Kos

Writing D - Alia




This next month we'll be doing a famine map competition! check back soon for more info.

Thanks again for all the submissions. 

  • deth_lettuce likes this

#3 deth_lettuce


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Posted 07 April 2017 - 07:37 PM

Congrats Acis, well done!

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