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November Myst Writings Challenge

#1 User is offline   J'ohn 

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Posted 01 November 2005 - 04:11 PM

Let's thank Aurelië for this month's very innovative challenge! :)

Challenge: Choose a favorite quote from any character's speeches or journals and, using it as an epigraph, connect it to another character or event in the series. For example, Saavedro's "Tonight I will sleep among the ghosts" could preface a story about Atrus revisiting the Ages his sons ravaged.
Make sure the reader understands the connection. Also, dig deep! "The ending has not yet been written" and "swimming out among the stars" are both beautiful, but there are many other gems in the games and novels.

Focus: Perspective

Length: 900 words or less

Submission deadline: November 30th, Midnight GMT

Additional guidelines: All entries must be your own original work, no plagiarism and should follow the tenets of MystCommunity's family rated language. WiP's (Works in Progress) are allowed if you would like to submit your work for feedback and suggestions prior to submitting your final entry. Please label all WIP's threads as: "November Challenge WiP".

DPWR is an excellent resource for quotes if you're stuck or can't remember an exact wording.

SBS :laugh:

#2 User is offline   Cactus Wren 

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Posted 09 November 2005 - 10:18 PM

A counter to the "From K'veer" pieces. Atrus's life is not all angst and ose.


From Tomahna: Near midnight

“It's obvious how much he adores her.... If there is any hope in this for all of us, it will be through her.” – from Catherine’s personal journal

I’m the only one awake. It’s warm in our bedroom, but the air outdoors is cold enough to put frost in my beard. The moon is full, a high winter moon silvering the hills and turning the harshness of cholla to something more resembling a soft fur. A nighthawk bobs across the sky, in merry pursuit of moths.

Lazily I undress and wash, preparing for bed. I’m in drawers and little else, reaching for my bedshirt, when I hear you make a small sound.

As quietly as I can, I pad barefoot across the room and look down at you. You’re stirring restlessly. “Ssh,” I whisper, to no avail. You make a little bleating sound, and then another.

With infinite care I pick you up, cradling your small body against my bare chest. You turn towards it hungrily. “No, nothing there for you,” I whisper. “It’s night – you should be quiet and sleep. Your mother is tired.”

I give you my finger to suck. You accept it eagerly, then turn away, dissatisfied. I look down at you in wonder: as tiny as you are – it’s not three months since you slid, impossibly perfect and impossibly small, into my waiting hands – you have such self-knowledge, such awareness of what you want and don’t want. Yesterday I could have sworn I saw your mind working out a puzzle: you wanted something in your mouth to suck, and way over there was this thing, somehow connected to you (it was your hand, but you don’t know that yet). How to get that thing to your mouth so you could suck on it?

But now you make another sound, louder, fretful: you want something more nourishing than your fist or my fingertip. Murmuring to you, I carry you over to the bed, where your mother lies curled. I lay a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Mm?” she says, only half waking.

“Sorry to wake you,” I whisper, tucking you into the curve of her body. “I’d do this myself if I could.”

She chuckles sleepily. “The one task you can’t share. Thank you for bringing her.” Eyes still closed, she opens her bedgown and draws you to her.

I sit and watch, and find myself thinking of your brothers. As dear as they were to me, somehow I never felt this closeness to them. Perhaps it was the circumstances of their births. Your great-grandmother delivered them, and she still was encumbered with the ideas she’d learned as a girl: that the body was something to be ashamed of, that it wasn’t proper or seemly for a man to see a woman when she gave birth, even to their children. And I was so young, I still felt myself under her authority – I thought she must surely know what was best. So both times I withdrew and walked endlessly around the beaches of Myst Island, until I heard the sound of a baby’s cry.

It was different when you were born. I remember Marrim behind Catherine, embracing and supporting her. I remember kneeling beside the midwife – I recall thinking distantly but very clearly, It’s fitting to kneel now, because this is a truer and completer worship than I’ve ever known. And then I received you, a whole and self-existing life, into my hands.

Satisfied, you’ve nestled into your mother’s warmth and settled back into sleep. Not really awake herself, she caresses your soft black hair. One of your hands emerges, waving aimlessly. I intercept it with my thumb – your grasp is tiny and so fierce. I had thought I’d washed all the ink off, but a smudge transfers itself to your fingers.

Some superstitious portion of my mind wants to find that very significant – that already, not yet three months old, you have ink on your fingers.

I disengage my hand from yours and lie down, facing your mother and mirroring her posture – knee to knee, brow to brow, our bodies forming a protective human cradle for you. How I wish we could shield you in this way forever. Her hand and mine meet and clasp, across your tiny warmth. I can feel the small movements of your breathing. I feel your mother’s kiss.

And I turn my face so the pillow absorbs my unexpected tears, because I’m almost afraid to believe this much happiness can exist.


#3 User is offline   Talashar 

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Posted 15 November 2005 - 10:17 AM

"The donuts, my friend, did you bring the donuts?"

:) Maybe I should rethink this one.


Okay. The following story is based on a bit of D'ni history that is revealed in Uru, but has absolutely nothing to do with any plot or characters in the game.


The Judges

“The D’ni culture will be reborn, and the lives of millions will be purified.”
-Gehn, defeat in Riven

It was cold on the outcropping, but Airis did not mind the cold, for Yahvo was in it. It gnawed at his toes and fingers and ears, and he longed to stand there forever, letting Yahvo take his body piece by piece. The cold of Yahvo was only for him and a few other D’ni. For the savages, it was merely the cold of their home, and they minded it no more than he did the darkness of the cavern. Though they could long for warmth, just as he longed for light.

It was time to bring that light to the darkness. Light shone. Light burned.

D’ni was in darkness. Even those who pretended to follow Yahvo knew nothing of him. They mumbled about “purposes” and “patience” and so demonstrated that they were nothing more than idiots. The purposes of Yahvo? What purpose could there be but to make D’ni the Perfect Age? The patience of Yahvo? Patience was a weakling’s excuse.

And so the darkness ruled, and as a sign of this the eyes of the D’ni grew paler every generation, so that now many children needed goggles when they ventured into light, horrendous things that hid the soul.

A savage approached him. “Dh…dhorah p…pahdhaim-“

“Speak in your own language, since you mangle mine so,” Airis said calmly in the Pento tongue.

“Greetings from Karue and Mejka,” the savage said with relief. “They sent me to tell you that the palace is taken. The king has fled with his family.”

It was a pity. He would have liked to see Mararon’s son dead. A taint of darkness did not end at one generation. But the king would be found eventually. Airis turned, one arm behind his back, the other holding a Linking Book back here to Pento, and went down the slope to the settlement, to the great Linking Temple. His companions were there already, those four who shared with him the greatest knowledge of Yahvo, who had passed into the blinding Truth.

“Praise Yahvo,” he said, his lips hardly moving.

“Praise Yahvo,” the others replied. They followed him up the winding stairs to the highest chamber, the only one the savages could enter, where a special Book was kept. Airis opened it and pressed his free hand to the Linking Panel.

Blindness took him for an instant, and the sound of roaring wind filled his ears. Then he was in halls of stone dimly lit by firemarble lamps. He was inside the palace, the heart of D’ni. Mejka stood a few spans away, completing a bow. “Welcome to D’ni,” he said, smiling slightly.

“So all the darkened ones have been driven from the palace?” As he spoke he heard the others link in behind him.

“D’ni is ours now, there can be no doubt of it. Come, I will take you to Karue.”

They passed bodies as they went, servants and guards with their throats slit or bloody wounds in their stomachs. “Praise Yahvo’s justice,” Airis murmured as he smelled gore and a curious thrill went through him. The Perfect Age was beginning.

The Pento chieftain was in the throne itself, smiling broadly at them. He was surrounded by a large group of Judges who bowed as one when they saw their five leaders. “Ah, my sons were possessed by Dur this day,” Karue said. “Spirits of death, they seemed. Timaue was as a kraken and Mekarr as a raven. You have done as you promised. There were books of secrets in the library, and I looked through Yahvo's eyes. Beautiful, lush, warm worlds, they showed. You have delivered our people, and I thank you. Ah, and the looting D’ni promises!”

“Destroy as much as you can,” Airis said. He went to a window and looked out over the city. The alarm bells were tolling and people milling about in the courtyard. Soon they would learn of the truth of Yahvo. Learn or perish.

He left that room and ascended the stairs to the roof of the palace. There he turned to face the Arch of Kings. No more of the depraved dynasty of the infidel Ja’kreen would come beneath that towering arch. After more than a thousand years, D’ni would at last be restored to knowledge. Knowledge and truth. A blazing light appeared in his mind, illuminating his surroundings, and for a moment he sensed the Truth, that which Was, and knew its form and shape intimately. He was the new Arch of Kings, and from him the Truth would emerge and all who stood counter to it would be annihilated. And as he trembled in the presence of Truth, he knew it would be so.

#4 User is offline   Korora 

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Posted 27 November 2005 - 08:29 PM

Haven Dust


“Surely it begins to pull you. Its strength grips you.” ~Ešer, EoA


Brian Rex(The Stranger) was committed to a Cevenian mental hospital in 1855. His son Albert, a respected machinist in the village of Ętruspa in northeastern Spâr, was devastated. Given that Brian was not Ronę, his 73 years meant that there was a chance he might not live to recover. Then, Albert’s wife Di’Tiama died when a magna-train slipped the fields and smashed into a castle higher up.

That Lîvot, a ragged type offered him some green powder. Haven Dust, it was called, and The Green Stuff; it was the green powder Achenar had used on Hęvn for hunting. It enabled Albert to forget his woes, and experience a buzz as well. He sought that buzz again. And again.

He came back the next day. The nausea decreased, and the buzz increased, then tabled. Meanwhile, he got more and more insufferable when he didn’t have it. His son Hadre didn’t know the reason for the change, but he took most of the Ages and moved to Vydmr.

Albert soon found that he could not function without The Green Stuff. He told himself he wasn’t really hooked. Meanwhile, he got sloppy at work. In 1866, he even declared a faulty capacitor design suitable in order to get money for The Green Stuff.

That year, at a Guild meeting, Telam Carrad discovered drug paraphernalia in Albert’s case. Albert went into rehab and with a lot of help kicked the habit. But his actions would haunt him. The following year, tragedy struck the Relîšan Guild of Ink-Makers when Garo Nava Gavas died when the capacitor for his Skywalker Lungs blew out unexpectedly. The reason was traced to Albert’s fraud mentioned earlier. Albert was tried, convicted, and expelled from the Guild. The Ages he still had were confiscated.

In Ętruspa, Albert perched in the lowest part of the castle, meaning to commit suicide. It was a long way down to the green glow of the electrified krypton layer at the surface. Along came a very egotistical Telnava named Andritus. He surveyed the scene, and marked Albert’s hesitation. He was very annoyed. “JUMP, for squees’ sake!” bellowed Andritus. When Albert still hesitated, Andritus added “Do you really want me to miss Nirm’s new Symphony!?”
“I guess I know where I stand in the grand scheme of things,” growled Albert. He kicked Andritus in the face and jumped. Guild of Writers Telnava Lrmbi saw this and was too late to intervene. But he did bawl out Andritus(with language not suitable for this board), and reported to the Guild what had happened. Hadre slapped Andritus with a wrongful death suit and won a substantial weregild. Also, Andritus would have acted differently had he known that Brian would be discharged from the f’ni farm too soon…

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