Spring Ceramic DM™: WINNER POSTED!


First Post
very clever indeed!

*starts buffing the club(tm), getting ready for anyone making a flamefest from a ceramic DM story*


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First Post
Okay, just a quick note before I post my entry. I hope that everybody can appreciate this as a piece of literature (or at least an attempt at one), and though it contains a religious statement, please, for the purpose of these boards, limit the discussion and feedback to the literary nature of the work.

I know that some of what I have written could be controversial, and to some degree that is my intention. I want to write something that will provoke a response. Please, keep in mind that this is a story, and that I am writting to communicate an idea, a theme. I do not intend to offend anybody, but by trying to create a feeling in the reader, I may offend some. I apologize if this story offends anybody.

If anybody does feel a need to discuss anything religious about this story, please keep it off these boards. I would be happy to discuss anythgin unsuitbale for these boards in email.

And now that I've mad all this hubbub about the story, I hope it lives up to everybody's expectations. I really wish I could put something a bit better together, but I'm tired. Finals, moving out the dorms, three previous rounds writing, and a rugby 7's tournament tomorrow have just worn me down.

And now, on to me getting trounced by Mythago.


First Post
Ceramic DM Final: Mythago vs. Macbeth
My God
by Sage LaTorra, a.k.a. Macbeth

Michael walked with Christi into the loft apartment, the tinted glass hiding the surprise ahead. This was what always impressed them. He wouldn't be alone tonight.

“You ready, darling?” He asked with a sly smile.

“Yes” Her voice was smooth. Michael couldn't wait for the night.

He walked into the loft ahead of her, through the glass door in the glass wall. The sight inside almost made Christi drop the flowers Michael had given her over lunch.

The windows, tinted from outside, were amazingly clear from within, letting in the soft light of the London afternoon. On a raised dais in the center on the room, a huge boy crouched, as if curling up in fear, wearing only a simple pair of shorts. The boy must have been 50 feet tall, if he was standing tall, but hunched over he was maybe 20 feet. The look of fear on thee boy's face was haunting.(1)

“This,” Michael said, with a certain amount of glee and a sly smile, “is God.”

Gabe was tired. London was a big city, and he was tired of having to travel around it. He detested the subway, but the streets were too slow. He was finally getting close, he could feel him, a throbbing pain in the back of his head, letting him know that he was near the Keeper. Gabe was ready to do his job.

“What?” Christi managed to stammer, her jaw dropping in what Michael considered a most un-lady-like manner.

“This is God. The God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, the God of the Isrealites, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” Michael relished every word of it. It got better every time, and it always got him a night with his choice of the ladies.

Christi reached for words, failed, and instead stood there, speechless. She mad another valiant attempt at speaking: “Why?” Given her state, it was a rather long sentence. Most of them took at least another minute before they asked Michael any questions.

“Because I can. Because, my dear, God is a bit of a pushover. 'Ask and ye shall receive.' Many generations back, my family was about to be killed by a horde of barbarians, and so my ancestor, being a devout Christian, asked for God's help. The word became flesh, so to speak, and we were saved. And then... nothing. You would expect God to come and go in a great flash of blinding light, but he just... stayed. And he's never moved since. Just sat there, like a scared child. He's been a family heirloom ever since. We've managed to manipulate a bit of his power, see just a bit into the future, change the world by small measures, and so here we are today, a family fortune greater then you can imagine, and the power to keep that fortune for eternity.” That was the hook. She was his now. The women couldn't resist power and money.

“How?” They always asked how. Time to pull out the relics.

“Let me show you.” Michael walked to a seemingly empty bit of wall, put his hand flat against it, and the wall slid out of place. Michael reached into the hole the wall had revealed, and took out a low, flat box. “Come over here and take a look.” He led Christi to the bar, setting the box on the counter.

“These are the relics. They were in God's possession when he saved my family. My ancestors took them from his pockets after he hadn't moved for a few days.” Christi looked into the box, unimpressed. It contained nothing but an old picture of a run down, decrepid car in the woods, an address book, a pair of glasses, several pins, and a knife.(2) Michael savored her initial reaction. Wait till she found out what they were.

“This picture shows the most important place on the planet for whoever holds the picture at any given time. That car that it's showing right now was used by a diamond smuggler. It ran out of gas, the smuggler went to get more, and got caught. So it holds a small fortune in diamonds right now, which is very important to me. By noticing the plants and watching the sunrise and sunset, I've managed to narrow it's location down to a 5 mile radius, and I have a crew searching for it now.” Christi looked more impressed.

“And this knife. This knife can cut through anything. It made my great-great-grandfather quite the jewel thief in his day. A bit too hands on for my tastes.”

“The pins are a bit of a mystery. My father though that they were pieces of the spear that pierced Jesus' side, but we've never proved that. However, Hitler did offer my grandfather a handsome sum of money for them.”

“These glasses let you see through things. Real x-ray glasses. Again, a little too hands on for my tastes.”

“And the book. The book is my favorite. It has information on everybody, everywhere. I can find out who's out to get me, and who I'm out to get. Always opens to the page you want, too.”

She should be impressed by now, Michael thought. If past experience holds true, next she'll ask me too bed.

“But... why is he so sad?” The record of dialogue Michael repeated with every women skipped a track. Nobody had asked about Him before...

“Well... I think he wants something. Can't really say what. Or maybe he's just waiting for... something.” Michael had to improvise, something he didn't relish doing.

“And you don't try to help or anything?” Christi was definitely different from his average girl.

“How can I help? It isn't as if I'm keeping him here. The is the Almighty! What can I do to help him?” Michael was getting upset. He should be walking her to his bedroom by now.

Christi sounded meek in the face of Michael's verbal assault. “I don't know.”

“I'm sorry honey... I just don't like to... I don't want... hey, you want a drink?” Michael tried to recover. A few minutes ago, his pan for the night seemed set. Now he was loosing her.

“No, I think I should go.” She gave him a dispassionate kiss on the cheek. “I'll see myself out. Thanks for lunch.” Christi turned to go. Michael made an attempt to stop her, but he couldn't find the words. This wasn't supposed to happen. The sun was going down, it was starting to rain, and Michael was going to be alone for the night. He kicked at the dais that God sat on. “Fat load of good you've done me.”

Gabe was close now. He could feel the Keeper. It had been so long. It seemed that nobody had even tried to find Him, that things had just gone on without Him. But Gabe was going to get him back.
The rain started to fall, and the darkness closed in. Gabe rushed through the increasingly wet London streets in the direction that he felt the keeper. He brushed by a beautiful women who was crying as she ran towards the subway with flowers in her hand. Gabe instinctively wanted to stop and help, but he was in too much of a hurry. Humanity's worries could wait, this was more important.

Michael fixed himself a drink at the bar, hoping it would improve his mood. He was actually starting to feel better, until he realized he had automatically made two drinks, a habit he had picked up from many a night spent with a women in his home. The two drinks were a painful reminder of his failure. He was alone.

Not being one to let a good drink go to waste, Michael took both drinks and sat down in a rather artistic, rather uncomfortable, chair near God. He sat, a drink in each hand, wondering if this was all wrong. Wondering if it was wrong to just keep God here, for his family's gain. But eventually he convinced himself that anybody who would die for your sins would be more then happy to give you a few stock tips and a little protection. He sat, confident that he was in the right, when he heard a knock at the glass door. It was dark outside, with occasional flashes of lightening giving the night an ominous feel. It was too late for visitors, so Michael decided to let it be. Whoever it was would go away soon enough.

The knocking continued. Michael finally became annoyed enough to make an effort to find out who it was. Twisting his head to see the visitor, Michael stared into the inky blackness of the night. He couldn't make out a thing.

An odd flash of lightening threw everything into a blood red relief, an odd red light that illuminated a shadowy figure walking out of the rain, through the glass wall, and into Michael's nightmares.(3) Gabriel loved a flashy entrance.

A voice like a chorus of trumpets boomed into the glass room. “I am Gabriel, Servant of Heaven, and I have come for the Almighty.”

Despite the copious amounts of alcohol in his veins, Michael jumped quickly (if a little awkwardly) to his feet. He rushed behind the bar, and grabbed the gun he kept there, just in case.

Two shots rang out, rather well aimed despite Michael's lightly drunk condition.

Gabe had to think fast. The bullets cut through the air towards him. He reached into the other, reached into the minds of those in the Beyond. After milliseconds that seemed like an eternity, he found the soul he was looking for, and dragged her consciousness into his body.

Yoshimay Kurosawa was a little known warrior in imperial Japan. She was little known not for lack of prowess, but because of her sex. Had she been deemed worthy of respect, historians would have written of her greatest feat: when faced with a squad of riflemen sent from England to kill her family for refusing to change to the ways of the West, Yoshimay took her dead husband's katana and deflected a volley of bullets, sending a good number of them directly back to those who fired them. The members of the firing squad not killed by their own bullets ran away, and Yoshimay's family was never bothered again.

Gabe pulled Yoshimay Kurosawa's mind into his body. “Sorry to disturb you” he thought, as she took over. Gabe forced himself to let her take control. He willed his own weapon to become her weapon. He let her be... herself.

From Michael's point of view, the body of Gabriel seemed to fade, distort, and be replaced by a astoundingly attractive Japanese women, a blur of blade and silk. He sword moved with practice speed, and he could hear the bullets ricocheting from the blade.(4) Surprised to find that his bullets had had no effect, Michael emptied the rest of the clip into Gabriel, and every bullet was deflected in a clean, smooth motion.

With the clip emptied and his body intact, Gabriel gently pushed Yoshimay back into the afterlife. “Thank you” he thought to her, as she returned to her family. “You are most welcome, Gabriel-san.” She thought back.

Gabriel was ready for the business at hand. “Release the Almighty!”

Michael was out of options. Time to be assertive. “Release him! I'm not keeping him here! He hasn't moved in centuries. I've done nothing but use what power he has, since he obviously isn't doing much with it.”

Gabriel wasn't expecting this. His voice lost the tenor of trumpets, “You mean... he's not a prisoner?” It had been somehow easier to serve a God weak enough to be held captive instead of a God so mysterious that he would take no action.

“Hell no, he's no prisoner. I doubt I could keep him here, if he wanted to leave, but all he's done for centuries is sit there. I think he wants something, but I have no idea what.”

“So he just saved your family, and he's been like this ever since?”


This was not what Gabriel was ready for. He was ready for righteous smiting, not trying to understand the Most Holy. But he was going to change things. “Then we are going to find out what he wants.”

“Oh, great. Then tell me, what does he want?”

Gabriel stumbled, trying to sound sure of himself. “Well, a blood sacrifice always went over pretty well.”

“A blood sacrifice? Like a goat or something?”

“Exactly.” Gabriel's voice again sounded like a full brass band. “You, Michael, will sacrifice a goat to the Almighty.”

“Fine. But, just one question, How do you know my name?”

“It's an angel thing.”

Finding a goat in London turned out to be quite easy for someone with Michael's resources. Early the next day he picked up a young goat from a farm a few miles out of town. Back in the loft, Gabriel's had ripped out a good section of the bar and turned it into an altar.

“So I have to kill this goat?” Michael wasn't keen on the idea.


“Why can't you do it?”

“Because, somehow, this is all your family's fault, so you get to repair the damage.”

“Ugh. Fine. How do I go about this?”

“I'll tie up the goat, you take a knife and kill it while offering it to God.”

“Easier said then done.” Michael took off his shirt, grabbed a knife from the kitchen, and began.

He cut into the goat's innards, glad that Gabriel had the foresight to bind it's mouth shut. The blood flowed and the beast stopped squirming. Michael was almost covered in blood. Some primal instinct had taken over, he sacrificed in the same way his ancient ancestors had, long ago. He reveled in the basic urge, in the indulgence, in the power of his offering. The blood flowed everywhere, and Michael bowed down. “For you, Lord.” This felt right, in a guttural, visceral way.(5)

But God did not move. He still sat, still, scared, motionless.

Michael snapped back to himself, forgetting the visceral need to sacrifice he had had second before. “Why... Why didn't that do anything?”

Gabriel had been watching from some ways away. “Can't really say. The Almighty is hard to understand. Maybe we could...”

“No” Michael interrupted. “I've had enough of your ideas. Now we go to see Grandma.”

“Your grandma? What's she got to do with this?”

“She's the only other living member of the family, and she knows better then I do what's going on.”


Michael took Gabriel to his grandmother. Without regard to the family fortune, Michael's grandmother had chosen to become a nun after she divorced his Grandfather. She had never liked the family's relationship with God, and had left to atone for the evil she believed the family was doing. She lived in a nunnery in London, praying for the souls of her family every day.

Michael had never been comfortable in the nunnery, it seemed too holy to him, too self righteously pious. He called ahead, and one of the younger nuns was waiting to take them to his Grandmother's room.

Michael and Gabriel walked into the room. It was dark, illuminated only by a few candles. Michael's grandmother's wrinkled face was the only thing visible in the gloom. His father had always said that every wrinkle was a secret Grandma had learned.(6)

“Hello, Grandma.”

“Hello, Michael. Who's you friend?”

“This is Gabriel. He's part of the family business.” With the mention of how the family made their money, a disapproving look crossed Grandma's face. “Gabriel wants us to let him go.”

“Same thing I've been telling you for years, Michael. You need to let Him go.”

“I don't have much of a choice now, Grandma, Gabriel is making me let him go.”

“Good for you, Gabriel. Now I suppose you want me to tell you how to free him.”

“Yes, grandma.”

“Hmmmm, let me think... Say, would you like candy? We were visiting the orphanage, and I ended up with some extra candy when we got back.”

“Sure.” Michael took the tightly wrapped sweet from his Grandmother's hand and popped it into his mouth.

“Michael, what have I taught you? What do you say when somebody does something nice for you?”

“Thank....” And it clicked. “oh... Thanks Grandma. You're always a big help.” He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and a hug, and headed back to the loft.

Gabriel seemed confused when they got back to the loft. “What did I miss? What did you find out? That you should give God candy?”

Michael finally understood. “No no no, we already gave God candy. That sacrifice, that's like giving him a present or candy. But I think what he really wants is... well, you'll see.”

Michael walked to the dais where God sat, still as always. He looked up at God. “Thank you.” For perhaps the first time in his life, what Michael said and what he felt were in sync.

With motion like continental drift, God moved. He stood, no longer small looking, dominating the room. With huge, loving eyes he looked down at Michael. He opened his moth, and spoke with a voice like a full symphony in performance, a musical force that was almost physical. “You're welcome.” And he was gone.

Michael was satisfied. He had finally done something for himself. He felt he had done the right thing for once. And it wasn't as if he didn't have enough investments to still lead a long, secure life. And for the first time, Michael considered that he really didn't need all of that money, that somebody else might be able to use some of it.

Picture Use
(1)God in Michael's flat, with Christi and Michael looking on.
(2)The Relics.
(3)Gabriel entering Michael's flat in the rain and lightening.
(4)Yoshimay deflecting the bullets from Gabirel's body.
(5)Michael making his sacrifice.
(6)Michael's Grandmother.


First Post
And it is done....

Whew, goo dto have it out. I don't think it's my best work, but I just don't have anything more to give. I've pretty much exhausted my writing abilites for the tim being. Now to finish moving out of my dorm room, get read for BSF's game tonight, and get ready for my girlfriend to meet my Mom. Fun....


OK, I finally had a chance to read it, while eating a sandwich for lunch. A lunch that was much too late, but I am feeling better now. So, um , what can I say? Well, nothing here. I will move myself over to the other thread and pipe up. :)


Ooh, Goody! More reading. Alas, I have a game to prepare for in an hour and a half. I might not read and reply to this one quite as quickly.

Hmm, I will let Macbeth know though. He might have already left to make it to my house on time.


First Post
Maldur said:
my verdict is sent :)

But I must say I am amazed at the great stories this ceramic produced. You guys are the best!


And may I just take a moment to thank the Judges? Without them, we really wouldn't have been able to do this competition. Congrats to you guys!



alsih2o said:
That has to feel good hear from the pic-pickers chair :)

How many pics would a pic-picker pick
If the pic-picker picked slick pics?

I have Maldur's judgment, and I'm writing mine. I don't know Arwink's schedule, though, so I'll post it when We Three Judges are all complete.


Clockwork Golem
Piratecat said:
How many pics would a pic-picker pick
If the pic-picker picked slick pics?

I have Maldur's judgment, and I'm writing mine. I don't know Arwink's schedule, though, so I'll post it when We Three Judges are all complete.

I'm at least a day or two away. Between marking and...er...other distractions...I'm going to have to wait for a break between classess before I have the time to give the stories my complete attention.

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