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Contest October-November 2020 Short Story Contest, Entries Closed

Lizards of Renown said:
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There is a room separated from reality. There are many like it, hundreds if not thousands. In this room its occupant scratches his gnarled pen on the great tome in front of him. He is ancient, not truly the most ancient of beings, but old enough to have been worn by time and his duty to his lord. His white fur glimmers slightly in the old candle dimly lighting his chamber. He could as well be a god, and yet at the same time he is a prisoner. Too long he had dwelt in the dark writing his definitive history; then again time flowed differently in the daemonic realms. One of the runic devices he had scribbled down suddenly cavorted and changed, then shimmered and changed back again. The Vermin Lord glared down at the section now changing back and forth and muttered his annoyance. The skein of fate was undecided again between what seemed to be two paths. The candle guttered slightly in sympathy. R’'tti'g’'wtil sighed and reclined in his chair and waited for the fates to decide what would happen.
 
Y'ttar Scaletail said:
There is a room separated from reality. There are many like it, hundreds if not thousands. In this room its occupant scratches his gnarled pen on the great tome in front of him. He is ancient, not truly the most ancient of beings, but old enough to have been worn by time and his duty to his lord. His white fur glimmers slightly in the old candle dimly lighting his chamber. He could as well be a god, and yet at the same time he is a prisoner. Too long he had dwelt in the dark writing his definitive history; then again time flowed differently in the daemonic realms. One of the runic devices he had scribbled down suddenly cavorted and changed, then shimmered and changed back again. The Vermin Lord glared down at the section now changing back and forth and muttered his annoyance. The skein of fate was undecided again between what seemed to be two paths. The candle guttered slightly in sympathy. R’'tti'g’'wtil sighed and reclined in his chair and waited for the fates to decide what would happen.
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"... and yeay, thus was the tale told. Of the daemonic denizen who wrote not with a quill, but a claw. Whose prose and poetry encapsulated the winding tributaries of time and existence itself. At once a giant and a mite, courageous and craven, they named him he-who-pondered-a-story-but-wasn't-sure-which-one-he-wanted-to-write..."

;)
 
I am stuck on a bit of conversation (crucial part) after which some actions occure. I am leaning on the thought of bypassing it for now and write the oitcome of it... But not sure if it would end up as a coherant piece when the conversation is filled in later...:confused:

Grrr, Imrahil
 
*Crazed verminous chittering*

An idea-thing! Much scribble-scrawl with hot-hot ink on talon. Yes-yes...

Ahem...I mean I think i've got something now. How're the rest of you doing? :P
 
Imrahil said:
I am stuck on a bit of conversation (crucial part) after which some actions occure. I am leaning on the thought of bypassing it for now and write the oitcome of it... But not sure if it would end up as a coherant piece when the conversation is filled in later...:confused:

Grrr, Imrahil
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No progress here...:oops:

Grrr, Imrahil
 
Scalenex said:
I'm getting a little worried about not having nearly as many entries as the enthusiasm for this contest would indicate. I'm sure most of you are waiting for the last minute but I wouldn't mind a few sooner...
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I am still figuring out how to proceed, and I don't got a lot of time during the days to work it out.

Grrr, Imrahil
 
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