World of Warcraft®

CC has always had a very rich history of wonderfully rich stories here. In view of that, Pia is hosting a story teller contest.

Story must be 2,500 words or less.

PG-13. No erotic, excessive violence, or offensive stories.

Subject matter is open. You don't necessarily have to write about a WoW subject.

Contest will be judged by professional writers.

Grand prize will be a Blizzard mount. If there are less than ten entries, an alternate award will be given.

Deadline is August 12, 2012 midnight.

Post entries here, but, once again, if you post a short story online, most publishers consider that publication and will not accept it for publication. If you plan to sell it or publish it, please do not post online, anywhere.

Interesting! Sounds fun, though I'm not certain I'd be able to write something.

Some questions:

How do you submit your entry?
When is the deadline?
What will Pia Presidium be doing with the entries?

The entries will be on the forums since it's to promote stories on our server.

I'm thinking of dropping the word count to 2,500 to be less intimidating for the writers and less work for the judges, most of whom will be going to conferences very soon and are busy getting their own stuff ready.

Deadline, Even though this is part of Pia anniversary week, I think the deadline will go past our celebration to give people time to write and judges time to read. I'm discussing that now.

Pia will do nothing with your stories. We will not retain any rights to anyone's work. However, if it's something you plan to publish, please know that if you post a story on the net, most publishers consider that as publishing and will not buy it. In addition, stories you post on WoW forums, Blizzard could claim belong to them, so please do not post anything you think you want to try and submit professionally. I had considered offering to host them on Pia's forums, but the purpose is to promote storytelling here.

Once again, if you have a work you think you may try to publish, do not post it on the internet anywhere, including your blog, site, or any other site. It's a short work and publishers, most of the time, will not consider it.

Updated

What if one on the Horde-side wanted in?

It's completely open to anyone who is interested. I really hope we have some horde stories. We have some excellent writers over there.

This includes Pia members and judges right? We can write stories too?

Well, I'm not a judge although I could claim published previously to get in there and judge right? Heh heh. I know I'll tell the epic adventure of PallyPocket the Gnome Paladin. Or maybe Rumplestoneskin the Gnome Shaman who thought he was a Dwarf until the tragic day that he got shot with an arrow...

Pia members can enter. Judges can't, but most of the potential judges don't have a clue what WoW is.

((Post stories in this thread or a separate one or label it CONTEST ENTRY FOR STORIES OF EPICNESS BY IZBY, because I personally prefer everyone label their entries that way so I have a 100% chance of victory.))

Help young Draenei out. You help Izby win. I donate to orphan charity. We have balloons. Magic show. Maybe I find lawyer to tell jokes to kids. That what lawyer do yes? Maybe Fizzy want come and show his new frosty disposition. Silly elemental. Party are for people.

Khan

Taking several direct hits from behind, Khan's crew was tossed about the ship with deadly force. Survivors scrambled back to their posts in an attempt to continue to serve their Khan. But it was too late. The ship had lost its momentum. Noonien Singh almost groaned inwardly at losing the fight to Kirk. Though his final act at revenge was teleported to the Enterprise. At least he would have the satisfaction in seeing the other ship explode, though he did wish he could see Kirk's face when it happened.

In his final moments aboard the ship, his thoughts turned to his wife Marla.
She would have loved seeing history in the making.. to know that her Khan was triumphant in the end.

Smoke choked the air of the ship's command as electronics continued to melt from the heat of the flames. Sitting in the Captain's chair Noonien Singh lightly held his breath, his eyes now closed to the surrounding chaos. The drone of alarms had finally ceased.
And yet, on opening his eyes..

Alive?..
He looked to his new surroundings, no longer seeing flames, fallen crew and blinking lights from consoles. The smell of destruction was replaced by the almost sweet fragrant air of the countryside.

The towering building directly in front of him was the Northshire Abbey.
A few of the townspeople stood nearby as he approached. His sudden appearance did not seem to startle them despite what appeared to be a medieval time period. Sounds of battle were heard to the side of the Abbey. And yet, even after finding the source, he could not seem to shake the feeling that this was some elaborate hoax.
Green skinned humanoids, in both extremes of size were fighting humans near the tree line as large wolf-like creatures charged at the Abbey's defenders. At first he fumed, being deprived of seeing the Enterprise destroyed for this.. interlude. His ship had to have been sabotaged! Tiring of the show, he now looked for what was sure to be some sort of hallucinogenic canister creating these illusions.

After a few hours, Noonien Singh found himself surrounded by the concerned clergy members of the Abbey. The inside of the building now in disarray as books, scrolls, furniture and tapestries had been moved - and even thrown in order to end the charade. With the realization of time, he was finally able to accept that this world.. was real.
He was not on earth, but Azeroth.

After taking a brief inventory of the few belongings he had, Noonien decided to make the best of his situation. The clergy accepted his help in restoring the Abby; In the process, he learned that he was not alone in being thrust into this world. The Abbey accepted him, and granted him priesthood.Feeling as if he could perhaps start life again, Noonien walked along the cobbled road that led to Stormwind.

With the newly found powers of a priest lightening his step on his journey, he went in search of a race called the Draenei. Surely such a race would be able to help him not only find another ship, but if allied they could help to obliterate Kirk for his atrocities.
And with this Khan smiled.

(Wow, very nice. Thank you for entering.)

Well then, I have a bit, not about WoW, I've written, not long, but I might as well throw it up, you want it here, or elsewhere?

((A chapter in one of my writing-rage-RAWR novel-things that never actually get completed.))

"Serephina! We need to leave now!” Camus screamed, frantically searching for her. She rode up to him bearing a quizzicle look.
“Why? For once, the battle is in our favor!” she protested.
“This is a little complicated to explain,” Camus began, “but we seem to have attracted an uninvited guest…”

“Demons? Tarthur!” she cursed. The Queen gazed across the battle field. “Retreat! Fall back now, we are about to have an Emergence on our hands! Retreat!”

Bearing faces contorted in horror, the Dwarves and Arcanians didn’t even think a
second thought. They turned around frantically and tried to escape. Camus even noticed the usually composed Ekrian make a turnabout when a soldier explained the situation to him. But it was too late.

A giant quake suddenly shook the ground as Olison’s stronghold began to collaspe. The ground fell into itself, fire bellowing out from the Abyss. Screams of the Cursed fillled the air as their firey masters charged out to destroy.

Serephina tugged at the reins of her horse, and it made a turn about. “Get on now!” she screamed. Camus leaped on, and Serephina struck her horse again. “Retreat! Fall back to Modorn!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

((more coming))

Serephina and Camus had rode for an hour until they reached the first mountain of the Pillars, where Modorn and its sister cities lay. They had caught up to Ekrian, who hitched a horse when its original rider was struck by a bolt of fire. The demons had mostly abandoned the chase, but they took down most of Serephina’s army. It had been a massacre.

“We’re not going to be safe in Modorn. The demons will be practically next door, considering that the demons have taken Olison’s fortress,” Camus protested.

“Impossible. Modorn’s priests have warded the city. Unless any of the gods die, which will not happen in the foreseable future, no demon will be able to step foot in it and live. There is one concern I have, though,” Serephina said. “The Infernal Dragonkin. Remember what I told you about the fate of Zarron’s race? Well, the ones controlled by demons, the Infernals, can enter the city, for they have physical bodies, contrary to true demons.”

“Sounds pleasant," Ekrian noted sarcastically.

“Oh, its a fate worse than death, I tell you," Serephina assured. She stopped her horse in front of the mountain and signaled for Azurlyn to get off. “I am loyal to my rearer, stone, down to my thickest and longest bone.”

The bottom of the mountain rumbled as a set of small doors revealed themselves. “Inside, inside! Tell Zarron to come in the same door as us. He’s the only Dragonkin here,” Serephina told Camus. He turned, but the general was already with them.

“My Queen, are you injured?” he asked with a tone of concern.

“No, I am fine. I am more worried for our footmen, however. What are the losses?” Serephina asked.

“Most of the horsemen are here, excluding the one Prince Shagrir stole from. The Dwarven footmen hitched rides on the siege tanks they brought to Olison’s fortress. Some Arcanians were able to hitch a ride, but most that did not were killed on sight. Only half of our forces stationed here made it,” Zarron reported.

“I lost that much? Damn. One more massacre like that…I don’t want to think about it,” Serephina declared softly.

After a moment of silence from the Queen, she raised her head with authority. “This will not happen again. Men, inside! Horsemen down first, then infantry. If you got here on a tank, then go with the Dwarves to the vehicle elevators on the other side. Now!” she ordered. The Arcanians sprung to life again.

The four stepped inside the nearest “elevator” which happened to be an invention of the Dwarves shortly after the Mountain Wars for better movement of troops. Inside, Serephina dismounted from her horse and tied it to a bar of sorts. The elevator had mirrors for walls, and small buttons to the right of the door. The floor was covered by a rich Elven rug. Serephina pressed one near the bottom, and the room lurched as it began to climb down. It was an uncomfortable ride for both Camus and Ekrian.

“Is King Thoman still in power? I heard Dwarven civil wars are rough,” Ekrian asked curiously.

“No, he died in the attack on Arcania. His son Fordon is in command now,” Serephina responded.

The elevator stopped, and the doors opened again to reveal a larger room, with a chandelier and bustling crowd eager to see their guests. Two finely clothed Dwarven men stood in front of the door. “War Room’s to the left. We’ll take care of the horse, ma’am,” said one with a long red beard.

Serephina led the four down a long hall which opened up into a huge command center. The Dwarven generals stormed in on both sides as they approached, and Fordon walked in with his bodyguards directly in front of Camus’s group.

“You are a very courageous Queen, Serephina, to come here with demons at our doorstep!” a general exploded.

“Cool your temper, Aaron! She was in command of a lot of good soldiers, who I wish not to see dead like your previous king, my father! Unless you want your favorite liutenants and knights turned into the servants of demons or death knigths, I advise you to leave this room now!” King Fordon retaliated for Serephina with equal explosiveness. Aaron humphed and left the room.

“Nice to see he’s still his loveable self,” the Queen joked.

“Indeed, my friend. Welcome back! I see, though with complication, your mission was a success,” Fordon stated. “All elevators have come down or are coming down. You may take your friends to your usual room, I believe it will prove spacious enough for the four of you.”

((Hmm...are excerpts of stories that would otherwise be too large, allowed?))

((Alrighty, here it is! Zombie-sci-fi amusement!))

Dead in the Water

Alone. Alone. Alone.
The words beat in time with my heart. I'm the last one. I'm Skye. I am, was, the three-thousand two hundred twenty-ninth person on board the CIV class carrier ship, Starfire. I am, as of two minutes ago, the first and last living passenger.
They're all dead.
My heartbeat is slowing, finally, and I can breathe normally. Arin was my friend, and now she's dead too. I wish I could've done something, anything to save her. I hate myself for hiding in the walls like a coward. I hate myself for not sharing my hideaway.
Gone. Gone. Gone.
I see the sense, now, in keeping it a secret, as I can be fairly certain that there is no one who would have died in my sanctuary, but still, I am cautious as I creep along between the walls of the large ship, alert for any sound out of the ordinary. Starfire... My home. My only home. I don't remember Earth, I was nothing more than a baby when I left with my family...
Dead. Dead. Dead.
With each beat of my heart, something else rises in me. Fear. Hatred.
The Feds did this to us. They were the ones who froze the...zombie... and packed it along with us. So then, who freed it? I would ask, except I fear I already know. Our captain, for lack of a better word. He sabotaged us, even as he was idolized as a hero. When I first wandered into the cryo-unit that held the thing, it scared me more than you could imagine. I was “borrowing” supplies, and underneath a loose tile on the floor was a ladder.
Maybe going down that ladder saved my life, I knew what was going on before most everyone else, either way, it was something I never wanted to see again, and now... now I've steeled myself against it. I never thought I'd be one to kill, if it's really killing, at this point, since they're already dead. Already broken. Arin's dead, Mother's dead, Father's dead. Everyone I ever spoke to, is dead. My world has become no more than the constant noise of the dead.
I can't keep my mind in one place. My thoughts jump from present to past to future wildly. I realize that I am likely to never set foot on a planet's surface. That I am likely to not see the end of the month, let alone year. That is a sobering –
I hear them.
Moaning, scra.ping, clawing, crawling, hauling themselves along the once-pristine corridors. As I place my eye to a crack in the metal, I can see them. A group of three, slumped and slouched. The center one is painfully familiar, even beaten and bitten and torn, even partially rotted, I know my father's face. I almost make some noise, and catch it at the last moment. Clenching the glowing blade in my hand, I slip from my space through the near-invisible hatch. As I come upright in the hall, I cannot help but curse .
Sooner or later, we are all dead.
They turn, I growl, even knowing it does me no good it helps to release the pent-up sound of anger. The zombies' moans rise in pitch, as if in response to the proximity of the last living flesh on the ship. I freeze for an instant. Enough so that I forget where I am, and the undead close with me. When I blink, they're closer, the creature that was my father in the lead. I don't want to do this. I don't want to.
I can't not do it. So I raise my blade, the plasma in the weapon humming menacingly.
Why? Why? Why?
I've done it so many times before, it should just be habit, and it is, I suppose. I can't think about what I'm doing as I drive the blade into their heads, twisting it.
The next one comes slowly, its knee is broken. The slumped thing approaches, and I mechanically cut it down, its brain ruined by my blade.
The last one is my father, or his shell. I hadn't thought about this when I decided I wanted to live. Now? I just want to die on my own terms. I raise my weapon, squaring my shoulders. My arm moves of its own accord, the sickening crunch of bone and the wet slurp of the undead's brain.
I can't allow myself to think yet, so I don't. I run. I know what I'm doing, somewhere in my head, as I careen through the ship, a number of dead litter the floor, my and Arin's work, and I leap over them, making more noise than safe. I just run. It's not until I get to my old room I realize what I want. I don't hesitate to push open the door, sling my helmet strap around my shoulder, grab my air-tank, and push through the loose ceiling tile.

((1/2))

There's enough space to stand here, run, so I do. I fasten my air-tank around my shoulders, my suit clicking into place, my helmet bouncing against my shoulder blade. Too late I realize there is motion ahead of me. I realize my delusions of safety were just that.
The thing grabs me, its mouth closing on my ankle. I scream, it's over at this point. I feel the teeth meet in my leg, and drive my sword into the thing's head. The jaws relinquish their grasp and I stagger free. Helmet and sword forgotten, I break into a painful run as I near my destination. My breath comes in gasps as I swing down into the room with the airlocks. Catching myself, I struggle upright, punching the code into the airlock door.
I want to die as myself.
No hope.
I slide inside, blood running down my leg. I slam my hand into the red button inside and face the zombies. They converge on me, the airlock opens, and I lose consciousness.

((There you have it! Hope you like it! Sorry about the language filter... Blizzard needs to smarten up about it.))

((2/2))

((Love the idea! I love writing stories about my characters to pass the time, so here's one of my favorites for the contest :) Just a little insight into Isiravos, with an appearance by my orc.))

The waters of the moonwell reflected his face in their soft glow. It was late at night, and the light of the water illuminated the area well. His form was silhouetted on the edge of the well, stooped and staring into the waters.

Isiravos didn’t know why he had returned to the Moonglade this late. He had left most of his equipment in his room in the Scarlet Raven, so he would be returning before morning. He had a soft robe covering his body, but little of his armor was actually with him. He stared silently into the waters of the moonwell, not really seeing them. His eyes were a shimmering emerald color, the familiar sensation of a waking dream as his mind wandered…

“Come on Rav! Go for a run with me!” Kynra was tugging on his arm, trying to drag him away from the letter he was writing with a laugh. “You’ve been working all day, let’s go have some fun!” Isiravos laughed, setting his quill down and sprinkling powder over the ink to dry it.

“Alright Kyn… You know I can’t say no to you.” His mate gave him a playful grin before dragging him out of his seat. He struggled to keep up as she dragged him towards the door, letting go of his arm as she went outside to drop into her cat form. He dropped into his cat form after her, and she flicked his nose with her tail before running into the forest. He took off after her, following the sounds of her laughter through the trees.

Eventually he lost sight of Kynra, as he knew he would. When she said she was going for a run, she meant it, and she was faster than he was. He could still hear her laughter though, and he knew she could hear his own. She wasn’t trying to lose him, just having a little fun.

Isiravos rounded a large tree root when suddenly the dark shape of his mate pounced on him from the shadows. She latched onto him lightly with her paws, and they began to roll. Laughing, they separated as they stopped rolling only long enough for him to get back on his feet. Kynra pressed herself against him, nuzzling her head under his chin. Isa smiled and nipped her ear lightly, admiring how her dark fur mixed with his light pelt. He could feel her purring against him, and he knew he was purring happily as well. Kynra whispered into his neck, “I love you Rav…”

Isiravos shut his eyes tightly, feeling the tears forming around his eyelids. The tear drops slid down his cheeks, running down the grooves of his scars. The sound of the tears hitting the waters of the moonwell was audible in the silent night air, as was his whisper. “Kyn… I don’t care anymore… I miss you…” His shoulders shook slightly with quiet sobs as he lost himself in another memory.

“Kyn, where are you going this late?”

“Just going for a run. Won’t be long.”

“Do you want me to go with you? I could use a break, and we haven’t seen each other much lately… I miss you Kyn.”

“No, you have work to do Rav.” With those words, Kynra dropped to all fours and turned into her cat form, running into the woods. Isiravos looked down at the report he had been filling out, the one he had just finished. Sighing, he set his quill down and looked at the woods where his mate had disappeared to. With a sly grin, he dropped to all fours and shifted into his cat form. “I’ll surprise her”, he thought.

Kynra had a decent lead on him, and she hadn’t left many signs of her passage. He smiled as he ran, traveling on a combination of his training and instinct. She always had been better at subtlety then him… He had one advantage to tracking her though. He had her scent. Hell, he loved her scent. There was just the slightest trace of it in the air, but he could smell it clearly. He smiled as he ran on after her. He would follow that scent to the ends of the world…

Isiravos slid to a quiet stop on a rocky outlet, looking down into a clearing. He quickly flattened himself onto the stone, catching a second scent in the air. Orc… Peering cautiously over the edge of the stone, Isa didn’t quite understand what he saw. Kynra was standing in the clearing, talking with an orc with a large axe strapped to his back. He saw her hand the orc a sealed scroll case, and he strained his ears to hear what they were saying.
((1/3))

“Here you go. Kaldorei troop movements in Ashenvale. You can use them to let your peons avoid patrols while you harvest lumber.” He could see the orc check the documents in the case before sliding them into a pouch at his belt. The orc grinned at her, speaking slowly.

“You have proven helpful yet again, Kynra… I am trying to finish formalizing your induction to the Horde. Soon you will be able to walk freely with me in the streets of Orgrimmar, leaving your foolish people behind.” Isiravos couldn’t believe his ears. Or his eyes, as he watched his mate smile happily and lean to kiss the orc on the cheek. His claws were rooted to the rock, terrified by what he was seeing. The orc tried to return her kiss, but she danced away from him.

“Nu uh… Not until you finalize my papers.” Kynra winked at the orc, then switched into her cat form and ran back into the woods. Isiravos trembled from his hiding place as the orc left the clearing, his body shaking. It couldn’t be real… Not his Kynra… Not his life. He didn’t know how long he stayed rooted to the stone before turning and running back to their house.

He walked through their door in his elven form, his eyes filled with tears and a knot in his throat. “Kyn, are you home? I… I need to talk with you.” He was answered when his mate sprang from the corner, hidden in the shadows near the door. He heard her roar, and he turned towards her enough to catch her claws fully across his face. They bit deeply, entering the skin above his right eye and dragging across the full length of his face. He felt the skin tear away, and he screamed with the pain as blood fanned away from the wound. He couldn’t see, her claw having scratched his right eye and blood having splattered up into his left one. He knew what would be coming though. Kynra always went for the kill…

Isa dropped to all fours, shifting into his bear form. He lashed out with a large paw, still blind. Kynra was in mid-air already, trying to bite his throat, when the paw hit her. He felt the impact and heard her tumble across the room. He heard her scream in pain, and the sound hurt him nearly as much as her claws. He switched back into his elven form and pressed his hands to his face, starting a healing spell. He knew if he didn’t act quickly he would be blinded permanently, and after he pulled his hands away he wished maybe he had stayed blind.

He saw his mate; impaled by one of the ornate weapons they had hanging on their walls for decorations. With a pang of guilt he realized it was a glaive he had bought her for winter’s veil, knowing she loved the sentinels’ weapons. It had slid loose from its hangings as she hit the wall and landed directly on her. He crawled towards her, exhausted by the healing and shaking with guilt by what he had done. “Kyn… No… No no NO!” He pulled the glaive from her chest and tried to heal the wound, but it was too late. She was already dead.

Isiravos cried out at the memory, slamming his fist into the stone rim of the moonwell. It wasn’t fair… He had loved her. He didn’t know where he had gone wrong, what he had done to lose her, but he would have done anything to fix it… To bring her back. “Kynra…”

“How did I know I would find you here tonight, Druid of the Claw?” The voice was in common, though it was difficult to understand. It had a heavy orcish accent, and Isa knew it would have been nearly unintelligible if he didn’t know a bit of orcish himself. He looked out of the corner of his eye, turning his head slightly to see an orc in battered brown armor. There was the face of a wolf pelt hanging from the orc’s belt, and two massive stone hammers across his back.

“Ror… Why are you in the Moonglade?” The orc walked towards the moonwell, gesturing over his shoulder with a snort.

“The damn lizard brought me here. Wasn’t my plan.” Isiravos turned to see the bronze drake that served as Ror’nack’s companion sitting a ways away. The dragon bowed his head in greeting, but stayed silent. He turned back to the orc as he felt Ror’s hand on his shoulder. Isa fought to hide the tears in his eyes, but it was in vain. The orc surprisingly didn’t mock him though, merely nodded. “You were thinking of her.” The way Ror said it didn’t make it a question.

Isiravos slumped, looking back into the moonwell. “I cannot help it friend… I miss her.”

((2/3))