originally posted in:The Black Garden
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Ladies and gentlemen, the time has come for us writers to take center stage for a time. The Black Garden as well as our friends over in Arts and Stuff are going to host a contest that is solely devoted to writers. The rules are simple.
For any who wish to enter, you are tasked with writing a short little anecdote that is to have a maximum of 300 words. The location for this piece of work is to be located in the picture provided above. The deadline for entering is this Sunday(14th) at midnight. For any who wish to enter, please submit your stories by placing them in the comments.
Judging will be done in two phases. The first phase will consist of a Panel of both groups reading over each story and deciding which seven are the best of the best. Once the first stage is complete, we shall hand it over to you, the audience, to decide who is ranked number one as lore master. The Winner of this contest shall receive a print of the Buried City signed by the Destiny writing team.
Good luck and Be Brave.
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Sorry for going over the cap. Here's the edited version. No title. I see where are mission is taking us. A building two clicks of our position. Supposedly there are supplies in there. The Fallen are also there. I look at my comrades, a real motley crew. Some I just met, others I've known, but each has my respect. We advance forward, watching for patrols. As we move, an unusually large patrol exits the building. Twenty, followed by another ten, each carrying a crate of supplies. Before we can mobilize we notice something horrid. They have hostages. If we move, they die. I've killed many of the Fallen throughout my missions, never phased by the blood. But could I risk having the blood of a [i]human[/i] on my hands? Before I can give a command, my own charge in. They will declare the hostages having sacrificed their lives for humanity. Seeing their blood spilled on the sand makes me wonder if we have not already lost it. There are times where I question what we do to save ourselves. The violence, the loss. I wonder why we don't just die, escape. There are times where it feels like we have. But then I look up. I see it there, above our city. Hope for humanity. I realize that we don't give up because we can't. Humanity is something we humans don't give up, and seeing the Traveller there, above our species, above our world, I realize that we have a future. A future of joy, happiness, peace. The only way to get there is use what's been given to us and take back what is, and always will be, ours. So I step forward, strong in my conviction, gun in hand, and begin my mission. Praying for our dead. For our living. For myself. For our future. For our Destiny.