Post by Data Holder on Aug 2, 2014 17:11:21 GMT
Hello there. Here are the entries for our first contest.
With the few entries per category so far,it seems everyone will receive a decent prize no matter your ranking. Mods and members will both vote.
We ask that you vote for one entry for each category, totaling three in all.
Cooking Contest
Lore Contest
Art Contest
With the few entries per category so far,it seems everyone will receive a decent prize no matter your ranking. Mods and members will both vote.
We ask that you vote for one entry for each category, totaling three in all.
Cooking Contest
{Spoiler}
 | Combine butter, flour, eggs, sour cream, salt, baking soda and lots and lots of sugar! | |
 | ||
Put it in the oven for a while... (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ | ||
<== Baked, cooled, stuffed with mangoes, peaches and cream... and then chilled! | ||
With a sour cream muffin! ==> | ||
It's all done!  | ||
{Spoiler}
So... Just to let you know, everything was made by hand... batter, sauce, everything (except the ice cream). I did not use an electric mixer, so making the egg whites peak took literally two people and 1 hr of work... anyways, here are the pictures!
So this is the picture of the pre-batter. This is melted White Chocolate, sugar, and vanilla extract.
This is when the Egg White started to peak. You can see the sugar on the side, as I was adding sugar while it was peaking. I eventually moved it to another bowl to facilitate the mixing with an whisk. It took another 15-20 minutes from this point and doing so with an already sore arm sucked... D:
So this is the remainder of the batter that I have yet to use, however it's after the peaked eggs, more sugar, flour, were added to make an amazing batter.
So I decided to only make 6 of them in case something went terribly wrong...
10 Minutes in, and this is what it looks like. They're starting to puff, and it seems pretty good to me :)
So this is after 20 minutes of baking at 350 F. It's not bad. The burnt parts look darker than they actually are, but they were cut off anyways, but even then, they were enjoyable to eat.
This is the final product. The white at the base of the cake is the white chocolate sauce. It was amazing to taste and soaked into the cake really well. The pink around it is strawberry syrup which was used as a secondary dip, should you wish to add a bit of fruity flavor to it. To top the warm thing off, ice cream was added to the top, because who wouldn't like an amazing pizookie type of pastry? Hope your eyes enjoyed it as much as my stomach did!
So this is the picture of the pre-batter. This is melted White Chocolate, sugar, and vanilla extract.
This is when the Egg White started to peak. You can see the sugar on the side, as I was adding sugar while it was peaking. I eventually moved it to another bowl to facilitate the mixing with an whisk. It took another 15-20 minutes from this point and doing so with an already sore arm sucked... D:
So this is the remainder of the batter that I have yet to use, however it's after the peaked eggs, more sugar, flour, were added to make an amazing batter.
So I decided to only make 6 of them in case something went terribly wrong...
10 Minutes in, and this is what it looks like. They're starting to puff, and it seems pretty good to me :)
So this is after 20 minutes of baking at 350 F. It's not bad. The burnt parts look darker than they actually are, but they were cut off anyways, but even then, they were enjoyable to eat.
This is the final product. The white at the base of the cake is the white chocolate sauce. It was amazing to taste and soaked into the cake really well. The pink around it is strawberry syrup which was used as a secondary dip, should you wish to add a bit of fruity flavor to it. To top the warm thing off, ice cream was added to the top, because who wouldn't like an amazing pizookie type of pastry? Hope your eyes enjoyed it as much as my stomach did!
Lore Contest
{Spoiler}
Back when people were still in reality, Thames was known as the river that flowed through the center of London. Seagulls would fly near the coastlines of it, especially since the river emptied out in the ocean. Their caw was usually unmistakable and the sound of motorboats would have pierced through the air, were there not airplanes, cars, and multitudes of people on the daily. Well, it was different now. Jonathan Blake was the name of the man who was looking along the coastline. He had once toiled everyday on the docks, trying to make his way through the world. He found relief in playing Elder Tales which was why he was here today. He brought out a guitar he had crafted and strummed it nonchalantly to make sure it was in tune. This place was different. The place was more… peaceful. The absence of motors, cars, and all the like, it was peaceful, however the scene was still morbid.
The view was never a good one. The setting of Elder Tales was always post-apocalyptic, where technology no longer worked. While many would think that everything was happy-go-lucky, it was not so here in this world. It was exactly as it sounded, post-apocaltpyic. The once famous Ferris Wheel that stood tall near the riverbed was rusted and destroyed. The bridge that went across the river looked like it could not hold much more than the rusted cars that remained on top. Who knew when the last time those cars were used? The river was no different, however. To add to the effect of the world, the river was full of partially sunken ships and old rusted tin buckets that were sure to be unable to move should he try. It was such a short cry from what London used to look like, Jonathan was lamenting. In those moments, he decided to write a song.
Going through a few chords, he strummed a mournful and sorrowful tune with words to match.
O the River Thames,
So peaceful are you now,
With naught a plane, boat, or car
To mess with you now.
O the River Thames,
So desolate and destroyed
Where once was a sight,
But now simply a curse.
O the River Thames,
Why are you like this now?
Continuing to flow freely,
Yet no evidence of live abounds.
It was just that. He placed the guitar back into his inventory so that it would not get wet on his journey closer to the coastline. He walked slowly towards the edge of the river, until he made it to the bridge. He treaded lightly, but the bard had no need to tread too lightly. After moving towards the middle of the bridge, he jumped off, but instead of landing in the water, he landed on top of a ships mast. The ship was anchored and partially sunk. It didn’t move much as this part of the river was rather shallow. The bard simply climbed to the highest point of the mast and finally he looked around the area.
“So this is what has become of my home… this is what has become of London,” he said. From this point, he could see all of London. All that had become of it. Because of the workings of the game, it was much smaller than what he was used to, but it was still sad to see. The taller buildings of London were broken and desolate. Most of the glass on them were broken. No building was spared by time, as everything was sure to fall should nothing be done about it. The seagulls began to fly around the man, aware of the appearance of people. “I guess some things haven’t changed,” he said after smirking. After he took a good whiff of the fresh air, he jumped off and back onto the bridge. He then walked down the riverbed. There was a variety of buildings, desolate and destroyed, however there was one area on the south side of the river that he knew had no buildings at all. His goal was to go there. As he made the long trek there, he would walk through the streets, passing by old cars. He didn’t bother looking through them as they were most likely useless to him. Everything in these cars were old and useless. Rust usually had eaten through everything, but it did not bother him. He wasn’t here to scavenge, he was here to remember the days of old. As it was a good 5 miles, it took him a good while to get there, even with the scaled down travel time. He made it to where he wanted to be. It was named Cliffe. It was full of greenery, full of green fields that one could lay down and relax in. The closer he moved to where he was going, the more he realized that the shrubbery had gone further than before. He took out a machete, sword thing and began carving a path for him to be able to walk through. It had become a jungle. He never thought this would’ve happened, but it was the case. Finally getting past the shrubbery, he was now at the tall grass that had not been cut for who knows how long.
“I found it… this is where my spot will be… this is where I will come when I need time to think. This is my place, from now on,” he said, smiling. The expanse of the Thames Coastline was large, but only few parts were worth visiting. The buildings around him were mostly destroyed, however they could be useful should someone decide to use them. What Jonathan Blake wanted was a place where he could be one with nature. He was a romantic after all. And from here, he took out his guitar, a nice large, comfy bench and he began strumming his guitar, humming a happy and cheerful tune.
The view was never a good one. The setting of Elder Tales was always post-apocalyptic, where technology no longer worked. While many would think that everything was happy-go-lucky, it was not so here in this world. It was exactly as it sounded, post-apocaltpyic. The once famous Ferris Wheel that stood tall near the riverbed was rusted and destroyed. The bridge that went across the river looked like it could not hold much more than the rusted cars that remained on top. Who knew when the last time those cars were used? The river was no different, however. To add to the effect of the world, the river was full of partially sunken ships and old rusted tin buckets that were sure to be unable to move should he try. It was such a short cry from what London used to look like, Jonathan was lamenting. In those moments, he decided to write a song.
Going through a few chords, he strummed a mournful and sorrowful tune with words to match.
O the River Thames,
So peaceful are you now,
With naught a plane, boat, or car
To mess with you now.
O the River Thames,
So desolate and destroyed
Where once was a sight,
But now simply a curse.
O the River Thames,
Why are you like this now?
Continuing to flow freely,
Yet no evidence of live abounds.
It was just that. He placed the guitar back into his inventory so that it would not get wet on his journey closer to the coastline. He walked slowly towards the edge of the river, until he made it to the bridge. He treaded lightly, but the bard had no need to tread too lightly. After moving towards the middle of the bridge, he jumped off, but instead of landing in the water, he landed on top of a ships mast. The ship was anchored and partially sunk. It didn’t move much as this part of the river was rather shallow. The bard simply climbed to the highest point of the mast and finally he looked around the area.
“So this is what has become of my home… this is what has become of London,” he said. From this point, he could see all of London. All that had become of it. Because of the workings of the game, it was much smaller than what he was used to, but it was still sad to see. The taller buildings of London were broken and desolate. Most of the glass on them were broken. No building was spared by time, as everything was sure to fall should nothing be done about it. The seagulls began to fly around the man, aware of the appearance of people. “I guess some things haven’t changed,” he said after smirking. After he took a good whiff of the fresh air, he jumped off and back onto the bridge. He then walked down the riverbed. There was a variety of buildings, desolate and destroyed, however there was one area on the south side of the river that he knew had no buildings at all. His goal was to go there. As he made the long trek there, he would walk through the streets, passing by old cars. He didn’t bother looking through them as they were most likely useless to him. Everything in these cars were old and useless. Rust usually had eaten through everything, but it did not bother him. He wasn’t here to scavenge, he was here to remember the days of old. As it was a good 5 miles, it took him a good while to get there, even with the scaled down travel time. He made it to where he wanted to be. It was named Cliffe. It was full of greenery, full of green fields that one could lay down and relax in. The closer he moved to where he was going, the more he realized that the shrubbery had gone further than before. He took out a machete, sword thing and began carving a path for him to be able to walk through. It had become a jungle. He never thought this would’ve happened, but it was the case. Finally getting past the shrubbery, he was now at the tall grass that had not been cut for who knows how long.
“I found it… this is where my spot will be… this is where I will come when I need time to think. This is my place, from now on,” he said, smiling. The expanse of the Thames Coastline was large, but only few parts were worth visiting. The buildings around him were mostly destroyed, however they could be useful should someone decide to use them. What Jonathan Blake wanted was a place where he could be one with nature. He was a romantic after all. And from here, he took out his guitar, a nice large, comfy bench and he began strumming his guitar, humming a happy and cheerful tune.
{Spoiler}
(Forgive the description for being really long winded. Just something I threw together for the writing contest.)
“Gahh, not yet.”
A deep groan shook the canvas as the first alluring kiss of the morning sun kissed the eyelid of the sleeping man, like any good woman the sun didn’t give him rest for when he rolled the light followed so with a sigh he accepted his position in the hierarchy and rose, every season made the rising of his trunk all the more difficult. Greeting his wife of 20 years and some of his youngest hires, he ate lunch with them in the rural farmhouse, comprised of rough stone, wooden beams and cement and the fire gently rumbled in the corner. Having eaten he rose, today the overseer wanted to see him over the yield this season and as head of the families it was his obligation to see it through.
Theron had spent his entire life on this island, at the old age of 36 he had seen everything his life had to offer yet even to his hardened heart he felt a warm shiver as he cast his eyes across the fields, for two thirds of the year isles itself appeared insignificant, if large flat island with gentle rolling hills, the land divided into levelled off plots created by man.
This time of year however the land changed as the moon cycles passed. The grain had grown to its full length with great swiftness, the three great recovers craved into the land by their ancestors provided the water necessary for nourishment that could be released into the lower pastures via simple manual dams. In the sun the yellow of the shaft’s and the whites of the chaff merged into one colour, this resulted in the island becoming a floor of waving yellow’s and whites that shimmered with gold hue that competed with the sky orb, the sun could only stare down from its jealous sky as he walked in fields of gold.
This led the isles to be called one of two names. The first of which was the isle of grain, the major producer of crop away from the land dwelling mobs, the other was more romantically “The Gold Island”, not because of wealth from the ship wreaks that were dotted around the island, but that the surface appeared like a shining orb against the blue of the horizon from the mainland, a complimentary sun that seemed content to let it’s brother rise from the sky.
The families that tended to the land were few, no more than 9 consisting of up to 80 persons, but they got by as they always had done to living memory as most were between the age of 14 to 40, old enough to take on adult responsibilities, as evident that all but the youngest were out in the fields at this time of day. As such there was no central village, but rather a series of dwellings in isolation, joined together by dirt roads that snaked between the plots. Each family lived in a humble, two story stone house similar to his own from cobblestone and a crude cement and strong supporting beams. Though weathered, the families and the homes had stood the test of time and would continue to do so, even when the rest of the world had moved on. Every winter they would compete in the winter games in the bare pitches, the only time they really had off.
As the elder farmer continued to stroll along the dirt tracks that crossed the field and began on the gentle downward slope toward the settlement, a pleasing orchard that shown brightly with deep greens of the leaves and bright red, oranges and browns of the various apples and pears grown here. Beyond that, to the tip facing outmost toward the sea were animals kept in pastures. The life here was mostly simplistic and agricultural, with their water either provided from boiling sea water or drew from the reservoirs. This part of the land had yet to catch up with the times, as while there were barns to store the season’s gain there were no windmills or fancy technology, those that lived here grew hardy from the backbreaking manual work that they had to preform to process the gains into edible meals.
The farmer took a sigh and turned out to face the sea from his vantage point, there was a second purpose to the island that was tucked away, a small concave harbour had been built away from the preying eyes of the mainland. It was a simple, efficient design that had been built where once stood a more humble fishing port. The settlement had been hastily erected within a month of discovery of the lost colony, and thus primarily consisted of wooden housing that consisted of wooden planks hammered down around a framework of solid tree trunks, a real boom town almost as if imported from a wild western. These dwellings were arranged around the pontoon with direct access to the sea, also made of fresh planks and study beams. Amply spaced to provide docking for up to 10 small fishing sized vessels, though in the busy autumn it would likely be entirely filled by transport vessels. The Thorin struggled to imagine what that many ships would, he had only seen three sea vessels at most so 5 great ships were beyond his imagination
The farmer felt a shiver down his spine as the loose dirt of the ground was replaced with the loud clatter of fresh oak timber, the street was quiet at this time of the morning, so aside from the idly patrolling hired arms and the simple scene of children playing on the street, the din of the islands newest residents was kept to a minimum. Much of which was apartments for the Landers that had come to guard the islands as part of the golden Concordia, though some were vacant for “important visitors”. As such, imported products from this land accounted for at least 40% of London’s produce, it made sense would want to protect his investment from mobs, though the chainmail and long spears that the patrols carried was a constant reminder that the times were changing. Thankfully the settlers had agreed only to build in this cove for the time being, though the families had accepted these newcomers with open arms it would take time to accept their customs.
As the farmer walked through the fresh stone buildings, he couldn’t help but feel a little of the awe from the mainlanders. Most of those buildings had been hurryingly erected in a matter of months since the first discovery. The most impressive of which was the barracks that greeted him at the lip of the road, a simple construction of stone column with wood sections and a crude, simplistic battlement that poked just over the land. Immediately across the road was a single dedicated spot for the simple boat that passed as a petrol boat, though as a lifeboat it was a formality considering the creatures that dwelled in the sea.
The central building, at the central curve of the U shape was a large two story tavern, built to house Lander and Adventurer alike at extortionate prices, solid beams in the shape of beams and wooden planks completed the sea worthy look. Tucked behind that building, using the natural cove of a cave was an addition on the back. The shadows and careless whispers back there could turn boys and girls into men and women. The lander’s nose flared with disgust, he would have to forbid his sons and daughters from ever going to that dark place. In addition to that he was aware that there was a cave behind there that even the fish fiends couldn’t go in times past, he only hoped that the landers had properly examined that mysterious place before building a brothel over it. Beyond that were only more housing, stalls, commercial dribble from the main land and two storage barns, to pack the seasons yield before shipping to the main land.
Directly across the tavern, across the street and built to stand above the water was a grand hut, held firm by pillars of stone that reached into bedrock stood the overseers hut. The first floor was thick stricture clad in outward facing tree trunks with only narrowed slits to see outside, the second floor was a smaller wooden extension that consisted of the overseers living quarters. Crowned upon that was a cylindrical tower, that shone green from the clear green glass that wrapped that peered down the sloped roofs of the first floor. Many, settler and villager alike, took to calling this lavish mansion on stilts “the eye”, the room where the overseer, Kelborn, lived, ate and sometimes slept in that dominating vantage point overviewing the town.. It was positioned as such so clinical room could observe all around it, with a hunger that only one of dwarven kind could muster. Underneath the house, nestled between the pillars rested a small personal yacht, close to hand.
The broad lander could only chuckle, before he adopted the stone face, the face for dealing with outsiders. He entered, the first floor simply consisted of a small waiting chamber and a wall, beyond that simply consisted of a mini-barracks of his personal guard and passage to the next floor, illuminated only with candle light and what little light crept through the slits. A pair of armoured landers preformed the indignity of a weapon search before he was allowed though the door and immediately ushered up away from the unmarked doors.
Thorin winched from the blinding green hued light that enveloped around him, it took great force of will to not blink, as his vision cleared he could begin to see the frame of a broad dwarf behind the broad desk, his hair whitened by the passage of countless winters and an eye misted over, unseeing of this world, in contrast his remaining seeing eye seemed sharpened by the passage of time, a sharp cyan tint pierced deeper than any blade. There were few items on display, an unsheathed short sword was lain upon the table an personal effect of a previous life, and there was several rolls of parchment piled to one side.
“Beautiful day fo’ business, so?”
Despite content of his speech, Kelborn spoke with a brisk, sharp tone. He would be a pleasant chap, if he managed to find a sense of humour amongst the gold collected. At least the dwarf was in a good mood today, the farmer had heard of fouler rumours of his legendary temper, of him forcefully ousting those that didn’t pay the fees into the sea, and a capital punishment mentality for any that disturbed the peace. Still, he had treated the farmers fairly thus far, thus he was content to keep the aviculture and broader world apart for as long as possible.
“Yield is goin’ as expected, there will be around 6000 kilograms of wheat and 500 apples, 300 pears from this harvest, by next month harvest will begin.”
A slow nod was the dwarfs only reply, the lander let his gaze flicker, surprised that he was able to see for miles around unimpeded, often the myths about the dwarf’s eye being all seeing had some merit, at least in this humble island.
“Aye, ya may go now. Oh, by the way, hav’ you met an adventurer before, Thorin?”
The human glanced as he turned, his hands combed through his grey black beard. He had heard rumours of the living demi-gods that had forged a path for this civilisation thus far.
“Can’t say that I do. What do you suggest I do if they stay, old friend?”
The dwarf behind the desk let out a harsh laugh, a swift hand producing documents that damages to property, most notably by dwarfen projectiles. Already the dwarf behind the counter appearing pale, a face the villager hadn't seen before. Terror.
“Just pray they don’t chose to stay.”
“Gahh, not yet.”
A deep groan shook the canvas as the first alluring kiss of the morning sun kissed the eyelid of the sleeping man, like any good woman the sun didn’t give him rest for when he rolled the light followed so with a sigh he accepted his position in the hierarchy and rose, every season made the rising of his trunk all the more difficult. Greeting his wife of 20 years and some of his youngest hires, he ate lunch with them in the rural farmhouse, comprised of rough stone, wooden beams and cement and the fire gently rumbled in the corner. Having eaten he rose, today the overseer wanted to see him over the yield this season and as head of the families it was his obligation to see it through.
Theron had spent his entire life on this island, at the old age of 36 he had seen everything his life had to offer yet even to his hardened heart he felt a warm shiver as he cast his eyes across the fields, for two thirds of the year isles itself appeared insignificant, if large flat island with gentle rolling hills, the land divided into levelled off plots created by man.
This time of year however the land changed as the moon cycles passed. The grain had grown to its full length with great swiftness, the three great recovers craved into the land by their ancestors provided the water necessary for nourishment that could be released into the lower pastures via simple manual dams. In the sun the yellow of the shaft’s and the whites of the chaff merged into one colour, this resulted in the island becoming a floor of waving yellow’s and whites that shimmered with gold hue that competed with the sky orb, the sun could only stare down from its jealous sky as he walked in fields of gold.
This led the isles to be called one of two names. The first of which was the isle of grain, the major producer of crop away from the land dwelling mobs, the other was more romantically “The Gold Island”, not because of wealth from the ship wreaks that were dotted around the island, but that the surface appeared like a shining orb against the blue of the horizon from the mainland, a complimentary sun that seemed content to let it’s brother rise from the sky.
The families that tended to the land were few, no more than 9 consisting of up to 80 persons, but they got by as they always had done to living memory as most were between the age of 14 to 40, old enough to take on adult responsibilities, as evident that all but the youngest were out in the fields at this time of day. As such there was no central village, but rather a series of dwellings in isolation, joined together by dirt roads that snaked between the plots. Each family lived in a humble, two story stone house similar to his own from cobblestone and a crude cement and strong supporting beams. Though weathered, the families and the homes had stood the test of time and would continue to do so, even when the rest of the world had moved on. Every winter they would compete in the winter games in the bare pitches, the only time they really had off.
As the elder farmer continued to stroll along the dirt tracks that crossed the field and began on the gentle downward slope toward the settlement, a pleasing orchard that shown brightly with deep greens of the leaves and bright red, oranges and browns of the various apples and pears grown here. Beyond that, to the tip facing outmost toward the sea were animals kept in pastures. The life here was mostly simplistic and agricultural, with their water either provided from boiling sea water or drew from the reservoirs. This part of the land had yet to catch up with the times, as while there were barns to store the season’s gain there were no windmills or fancy technology, those that lived here grew hardy from the backbreaking manual work that they had to preform to process the gains into edible meals.
The farmer took a sigh and turned out to face the sea from his vantage point, there was a second purpose to the island that was tucked away, a small concave harbour had been built away from the preying eyes of the mainland. It was a simple, efficient design that had been built where once stood a more humble fishing port. The settlement had been hastily erected within a month of discovery of the lost colony, and thus primarily consisted of wooden housing that consisted of wooden planks hammered down around a framework of solid tree trunks, a real boom town almost as if imported from a wild western. These dwellings were arranged around the pontoon with direct access to the sea, also made of fresh planks and study beams. Amply spaced to provide docking for up to 10 small fishing sized vessels, though in the busy autumn it would likely be entirely filled by transport vessels. The Thorin struggled to imagine what that many ships would, he had only seen three sea vessels at most so 5 great ships were beyond his imagination
The farmer felt a shiver down his spine as the loose dirt of the ground was replaced with the loud clatter of fresh oak timber, the street was quiet at this time of the morning, so aside from the idly patrolling hired arms and the simple scene of children playing on the street, the din of the islands newest residents was kept to a minimum. Much of which was apartments for the Landers that had come to guard the islands as part of the golden Concordia, though some were vacant for “important visitors”. As such, imported products from this land accounted for at least 40% of London’s produce, it made sense would want to protect his investment from mobs, though the chainmail and long spears that the patrols carried was a constant reminder that the times were changing. Thankfully the settlers had agreed only to build in this cove for the time being, though the families had accepted these newcomers with open arms it would take time to accept their customs.
As the farmer walked through the fresh stone buildings, he couldn’t help but feel a little of the awe from the mainlanders. Most of those buildings had been hurryingly erected in a matter of months since the first discovery. The most impressive of which was the barracks that greeted him at the lip of the road, a simple construction of stone column with wood sections and a crude, simplistic battlement that poked just over the land. Immediately across the road was a single dedicated spot for the simple boat that passed as a petrol boat, though as a lifeboat it was a formality considering the creatures that dwelled in the sea.
The central building, at the central curve of the U shape was a large two story tavern, built to house Lander and Adventurer alike at extortionate prices, solid beams in the shape of beams and wooden planks completed the sea worthy look. Tucked behind that building, using the natural cove of a cave was an addition on the back. The shadows and careless whispers back there could turn boys and girls into men and women. The lander’s nose flared with disgust, he would have to forbid his sons and daughters from ever going to that dark place. In addition to that he was aware that there was a cave behind there that even the fish fiends couldn’t go in times past, he only hoped that the landers had properly examined that mysterious place before building a brothel over it. Beyond that were only more housing, stalls, commercial dribble from the main land and two storage barns, to pack the seasons yield before shipping to the main land.
Directly across the tavern, across the street and built to stand above the water was a grand hut, held firm by pillars of stone that reached into bedrock stood the overseers hut. The first floor was thick stricture clad in outward facing tree trunks with only narrowed slits to see outside, the second floor was a smaller wooden extension that consisted of the overseers living quarters. Crowned upon that was a cylindrical tower, that shone green from the clear green glass that wrapped that peered down the sloped roofs of the first floor. Many, settler and villager alike, took to calling this lavish mansion on stilts “the eye”, the room where the overseer, Kelborn, lived, ate and sometimes slept in that dominating vantage point overviewing the town.. It was positioned as such so clinical room could observe all around it, with a hunger that only one of dwarven kind could muster. Underneath the house, nestled between the pillars rested a small personal yacht, close to hand.
The broad lander could only chuckle, before he adopted the stone face, the face for dealing with outsiders. He entered, the first floor simply consisted of a small waiting chamber and a wall, beyond that simply consisted of a mini-barracks of his personal guard and passage to the next floor, illuminated only with candle light and what little light crept through the slits. A pair of armoured landers preformed the indignity of a weapon search before he was allowed though the door and immediately ushered up away from the unmarked doors.
Thorin winched from the blinding green hued light that enveloped around him, it took great force of will to not blink, as his vision cleared he could begin to see the frame of a broad dwarf behind the broad desk, his hair whitened by the passage of countless winters and an eye misted over, unseeing of this world, in contrast his remaining seeing eye seemed sharpened by the passage of time, a sharp cyan tint pierced deeper than any blade. There were few items on display, an unsheathed short sword was lain upon the table an personal effect of a previous life, and there was several rolls of parchment piled to one side.
“Beautiful day fo’ business, so?”
Despite content of his speech, Kelborn spoke with a brisk, sharp tone. He would be a pleasant chap, if he managed to find a sense of humour amongst the gold collected. At least the dwarf was in a good mood today, the farmer had heard of fouler rumours of his legendary temper, of him forcefully ousting those that didn’t pay the fees into the sea, and a capital punishment mentality for any that disturbed the peace. Still, he had treated the farmers fairly thus far, thus he was content to keep the aviculture and broader world apart for as long as possible.
“Yield is goin’ as expected, there will be around 6000 kilograms of wheat and 500 apples, 300 pears from this harvest, by next month harvest will begin.”
A slow nod was the dwarfs only reply, the lander let his gaze flicker, surprised that he was able to see for miles around unimpeded, often the myths about the dwarf’s eye being all seeing had some merit, at least in this humble island.
“Aye, ya may go now. Oh, by the way, hav’ you met an adventurer before, Thorin?”
The human glanced as he turned, his hands combed through his grey black beard. He had heard rumours of the living demi-gods that had forged a path for this civilisation thus far.
“Can’t say that I do. What do you suggest I do if they stay, old friend?”
The dwarf behind the desk let out a harsh laugh, a swift hand producing documents that damages to property, most notably by dwarfen projectiles. Already the dwarf behind the counter appearing pale, a face the villager hadn't seen before. Terror.
“Just pray they don’t chose to stay.”
Art Contest
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* Correction: Capsule and Shira
