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Destiny

Discuss all things Destiny.
originally posted in:The Black Garden
Edited by Aleroth Aloki: 7/15/2013 2:13:33 PM
268

Spread your wings. (Fan Fiction Contest)

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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  • Edited by codeAppleJacks: 7/15/2013 5:24:14 AM
    [b]Martian Crypt[/b] The Buried City. Former Capitol of Mars, hub of commerce. The terraforming, gone: trees and vegetation, wasted away without their human curators, atmosphere as toxic as before the Golden Age. A sandstorm howls above as a trio of guardians cautiously investigates the ruins of the old city center. “Bunker… Sealed from the outside...” the Hunter murmurs. The Titan -Exo, standing a full head over its compatriots- presses against the enormous shield blocking the door. Creak, creak, moaaaaan. “Another graveyard, then” the Warlock supplies. The shield gives way, then the door. The Warlock’s ghost flits forward to restore power to the cavernous room, revealing a massive tomb. Hundreds of skeletons litter the ground, piled atop each other, some ground into dust. Scorch marks and ancient bloodstains mar the walls. “These people didn’t starve.” “No,” the Hunter says approaching a blinking console. “They didn’t.” She accesses the most recent file. [i]My name is Clement, lead researcher of technology at the Institute: I am the last. We detected their ships only moments before they were upon us. Giant beasts, merciless. My wife. They... oh gods! They destroyed her! Survivors retreated to the city storm shelter, hoping to wait out salvation, but the aggressors found us instead. I feigned dead; thought they bought it. But no. They left me alive, alone. The last. My city burns, dead! I can’t get out. I starve. I rot. The air is rancid. Days have passed in misery, in darkness. What’s become of Mars? What of Earth? 3% power remaining. The light strains my eyes. If you find this, go to the Institute. There are powerful secrets buried deep I haven’t the time to detail. That must be why they attacked. It must be! Remember us.[/i] Silence. To honor the perished. Then, “Ready up. We’re reclaiming that Institute.”

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