TBNESIOT I - The Tournament

[thomas.berubeg]

At it’s heart, this IOT is a story writing competition. Stories are an integral part of IOTs, NESes, and, really, CYOAs. This NESIOT will attempt to capture that beating heart, and call on the writer inside of you.

The Setting:

Why you are here is not important. Some are here for glory, some for the illusive prize, but all that matters is that they are here, drawn together for the single-minded, bloody, goal of beating the tar out of each other. The setting is an Arena, able to place the competitors in the environment chosen by the All powerful Moderator. For those here to fight, the only way out is through victory... or in a body bag.

Rules:

You will create a character and enter them in the competition, beginning with an entry where they find themselves in the Fair. This entry should demonstrate a little of their personalities and what they are capable of (NOTE: This is submitted before matchups are posted and the first round begins). Each turn will be marked regularly by the Judges, and will consist of you writing a story of you competing against your opponent. At the end of the time-limit (Which will likely be around a week) The Judges will deliberate and vote and chose a victor for each group.

Details:

-Anyone can enter! Please don’t hesitate to give it a try. Have some fun writing!

-Fan-characters will not be accepted. Do not introduce any characters from an existing franchise you do not yourself own. Any sort of special abilities, magic powers, or weapons you bring with you are allowed, just remember that good story writing is the name of the game.

-Battles can be written however you like, so long as they end in your defeat of your opponent. Of the utmost importance is preserving story canon (entries from the winners of previous rounds) and capturing the personality of your opponent’s character. SOME BATTLES WILL EXPLICITLY HAVE GOALS BESIDES DEFEAT OF YOUR OPPONENT.

-Battles don’t necessarily have to end with your opponent’s character getting mutilated or focus entirely on your character’s sweet moves. The focus should be on creativity and originality, and it just has to be a “defeat”. Write the way you like to write, and don’t be afraid to express yourself or try something new. Essentially, demonstrate your character defeating their opponent in SOME way, and give the judges a reason to want to see more of them.

-Quality trumps quantity

-Since a nice clean 1 – 2 – 4 – 8 – 16 – 32 tournament isn’t likely, we are going to have to improvise. If there is an odd number left, a group may have three contestants or one player may be given a bye. Matchups will be randomized each round to ensure fairness.

-When posting your stories, please, at the top, in bold, post the competitors as such:
Harry Potter vs KGB Vladimir Putin

-Lurker comments are encouraged, so long as they are on topic, as are Spectator Stories.

-All Judge Decisions are final.

-Above all, have fun. That’s what it’s all about, really.

To Sign up:
Post a story introducing your character to the "Tournament," a great fair ground surrounding an oval arena. This story should outline your character's personality and abilities.

Note: I am in search of two judges, who will, with me, judge the stories. The Judges cannot enter as competitors. To apply to judge, please approach me on IOTchat, and convince me.

 

[thomas.berubeg]

Brackets

 

[thomas.berubeg]

Judges:
Thomas.berubeg
KaiserElectric


Story Archive:


Signups:
The Man of the False Face - Arrow Gamer
Yohn Fleming - Civ'ed
Eddy the Janitor - Red_Spy
Huang Ying - Christos200

 

[SouthernKing]

Edit: as mentioned on chat interested in judging

 

[Tyo]

interest is piqued

 

[Civ'ed]

"Gather round ye merry folk
As I tell and spit and choke
for you see there is no way
to tell how 't shall be this day
For I, Yohn Fleming shall see
the world as 'twas meant to be
naught but pyrotechnics and fun
they have been known to name me "the Sun"
The wires they are all aligned
many people their fates entwined..."
(yeah, signup poem is bad)

 

[Arrow Gamer]

The Man of the False Face

A woman descended from the sky, her skin dark as ebony. She had eleven alabaster white wings swirling around her like wheeling hawks on the wing. To onlookers she was was a sight full of wonder. She smiled softly.

But, that’s not quite right. Indeed, there were no onlookers. The woman was the first there. So it should be said: A woman descended from the sky, her skin alabaster white. She had eleven wings swirling around her like wheeling hawks on the wing. The empty fair welcomed her coldly. She smiled softly.

But, that’s not quite right. She was not a woman, and she had no wings. Instead, she was a man wrapped in the guise of an angel. So it should be said, a man descended from the sky, his skin as dark as ebony. His body was covered only by the tattered remains of a leather jacket, band tee and jeans. The empty fair welcomed him coldly. He smiled softly.

But, that’s not quite right. The man did not smile, and could not remember the last time he had. So, it should be said, a man descended from the sky, his skin as dark as ebony. His body was covered only by the tattered remains of a leather jacket, band tee and jeans. The empty fair welcomed him coldly. His lips were contorted in a frown.

But, that’s not quite right. The man could not fly. Only the form, the illusion, he had wrapped himself in could. He limped along the ground. So, it should be said, a man walked into the fair, his skin as dark as ebony. His body was covered only by the tattered remains of a leather jacket, band tee and jeans. The empty fair welcomed him coldly. His lips were contorted in a frown.

But he was not ebony, he was pale as a snowfall. He did not wear a jacket. He was not the first there, nor the last. He was grinning ear to ear. Or was he? It is impossible to say, for the man has a thousand faces and he wears them all. Or should it be said, the woman? No one can be certain.

A thing entered the fair. Ask no more questions, lest you find the answers.

Spoiler Real Talk :

The character is an illusionist of uncertain power. He can change his form and the environment with ease. He prefers psychological warfare over direct confrontation. I will use he, as his gender is unknown and this is easiest. More information will be given only sparingly.

 

[KaiserElectric]

I am interested, subbing

 

[Nuka-sama]

Interested.

 

[JohannaK]

Very interesting. If I cannot come up with a good character I will apply to be Judge.

 

[gay_Aleks]

Curious, despite the fact I'll get the crap beaten outta me.

 

[Red_Spy]

“Well Bertha, ain’t ya glad we don’t have to clean that up anymore?”

The man, kneeling down on the ground, looked away from his broom and toward a pile of horse excrement in front of him. He inspected it closely, noting its fine qualities, colour, texture, smell. Then, slowly, he got up.

“Look at that. Some horse just walked by and did that, Bertha. Without a care in the world, just left to its own devices. Didn’t care what happened at all.”

The man slammed his foot into the pile in front of him.

“God I wish I was that horse.”

He took a few steps forward and kicked his left leg into the air. The feces stuck to the bottom of his shoe was lifted into the sky. It rained down in front of him, as well as more than a bit on top of him.

“If I was that horse, I wouldn’t have to clean up after those pissant kids who think they're smarter than everyone around them! And the COs, I wouldn’t have had to listen to them yell at me to get in a foxhole with those filthy go-“

The voice of the ranting man grew ever higher before being suddenly silenced. He grabbed the baseball cap off the top of his head and slowly rested it over his chest. He turned and looked apologetically at his broom.

“I’m sorry Bertha, I really am. You shouldn’t have to listen to that. There there…”

He rested the broom on his shoulder and patted its handle while returning the cap to its resting place on the top of his head. He stood there for a moment, hugging Bertha. As the man collected himself, he reached toward his belt with a sigh.

“Still have to clean up after myself, though.”

He laid the broom down in front of him as he took off his glasses with his right hand. A spray bottle was produced from his other, and the man proceeded to clean the filth he had showered onto himself. After making sure they were spotless he returned them to his face.

“Well Bertha, let’s go knock it out of the park.”

He grabbed his broom and ran forward. Grinning like a child at his first game, he swung Bertha like a baseball in front of him.

Strike.

------------------------------

Eddy the Janitor reporting for duty.

 

[Terran Empress]

Intrigued, subbing

 

[thomas.berubeg]

I'll give until 5/23 to sign up for this extravaganza!

 

[christos200]

Huang Ying​

A young man in his twenties was walking on a dirt street. He was heading towards the Tournament. He was wearing a blue silk robe decorated with countless golden stones. He had long black hair and a face so handsome that no woman could resist him. Huang Ying, that was the young man's name, was heading to the Tournament for what reason? For wealth? But he was the only son of Huang Wang, one of the wealthiest merchants. For glory? He was already famous. So, why bother coming to this Tournament?

Well, despite his handsome looks and his wealth, he was unhappy. He could feel that all the girls that were literally "hunting" him for a kiss, wanted him only because he was the son of a rich family. Same with his friends. Huang Ying wanted to go to the Tournament in order to prove his worth, to prove that he is not admired only because of his family background and wealth, but also because of his skills and his own achievements.

His martial arts and swordsmanship were excellent, or so he thought. He knew that all those who had fought him did not dare to beat the son of the Huang family. He had doubts as to weather his skills were as good as he thought. But he would find out in the Tournament.

After walking for half an hour, he made a stop to practice among the tens of Peach Blossom trees. Their fragrance was captivating. He drew his sword. The steel was cold. Like his will. It emitted an aura of death. His moves were elegant, almost like a dance, and seemingly had to no power in them. But if one looked carefully, he could notice that his attacks were precise and vicious.

The combination of Huang Ying's natural beauty and the elegance of his sword fighting created a spectacle worth of admiration. Especially since the Peach Blossom trees were enhancing the beauty of the scenery. When making those moves, Huang Ying was feeling sure of their excellence. He would stop doubting himself or thinking about anything else. He was becoming one with the blade. The blade was becoming one with the wind. The wind was becomes one with the aura of death that the sword's steel was emitting. The aura of death was consuming everything. When Huang Ying ended his movements, he said with self confidence: "Maybe I was not winning only because of my family name, but also because of my skills."