WARNING- MILD GORE, ZOMBIE, AND CREEPINESS INCOMING AAAAAAA @DarkWolfMoon2 @XxSpacePandaxX @Pinnacleer @Winterberry @BrainyBookworm @MayaKiona @MistCat @WorthyGames_Test @Iceberg-the-Icewing @-porkii- @Wolfie05 Thank you all so much for your participation in the DMAC swamp boy competition! I loved each of your characters so much and I can't wait to incorporate them. Make sure to keep an eye on the Heirs studio for any projects because there's a chance they will involve a character you designed. In the meantime, thank you for Dex, Plush, Tin, Chow, Glint, Vigil, Poet, Wisp, Bite, Half, Collar, Chain, Dog, Sing, Ray, Beau, Chicken, Leech, and Bone. I will take good care of them. Our two winners are @-WinterBerry- (Vigil) in first place. I found his story so intriguing and tragic. He worked well in the narrative, and I can't wait to explore how the changing world will impact him. There is some artwork of him inside the project as well as a written segment below. Press space to access the art. @MistCat in second place. Dog was a terrifying and quite useful addition to the story. He also gets a written portion below. Also thanks to @DarkWolfMoon2 and @-Porkii- for submitting 3+ characters. How did you do it? I am very impressed. Press the flag for the entire montage, but you can use the keys to skip to your boy in particular. this is a podcast btw. Here's the key: Sing= press A Poet = B Vigil = C Ray = D Beau = E Chicken = F Bone = G Leech = H Dog = I Plush = J Tin = K Dex = L Bite = M Half = N Collar = O Chow = P Glint = Q Wisp = R Chain = S Press Space, for your fanart uwu Story for A fog had spread over the scarred, burnt path, like the swamp itself was trying to hide its wounds. Still, through dry, lifeless eyes, Vigil could just make out the smoking husk of what had once been the Priest’s tower. The chalky, burnt scent stuck to the back of his throat like a plaster and cold tears ran down his half-melted cheeks, washing away the sting of soot. This again, he wondered? How long had it been since…since… Something moved. He hopped back a step, fists drawn to his chest in alarm. Of what, he wasn’t sure. He was so long dead, there wasn’t anything he could give up to a potential danger. There was no life left to lose…he dropped his hands. Puzzled, he studied the thing. Caked in ashes, with limp dark hair and eyes/lips turning black with rot, it was another boy. One arm was burnt all the way down to the bone and the other weakly grasped at the stones, dragging his shaking, smoking body forward. Shaking? The body was convulsing in a kind of gasping fit. His chest heaved with every Vigil stared down at the boy warily, then narrowed his eyes. This was the boy responsible. The one Lock warned him of, the one Sing had let get away, the one who had undoubtably torched the Priest’s records. It was the lost Zealot and escaped prisoner, Maze. “Why would you do that?” The words came out soft and hoarse, instead of strong or demanding or even confident. “There’s no way out of the swamp. The curse is unbreakable. No…no, I’m sorry,” Vigil whispered, kneeling down and wiping his eyes. “It’s all useless.” The Zealot went silent. His eyes were as dark as coals. “I’m not trying to break it,” he spat with the conviction of a condemned man, “I’m burning it all down.”
FOR @MISTCAT It had been a violent reunion. And even though their numbers were dropping as starvation and illness set in, they weren’t quite gone yet. In their narrow faces, their bulging eye sockets, the saliva dripping down their cracked teeth, he saw how much they truly blamed him. Those animals that he had once called his friends, his pack, would hunt him down until he was no more than gnawed bones underneath the water. Unflinching, he stared straight ahead at the lithe, shadow-like shapes, padding and stalking around the ferns with a contempt malice. They would surely pounce again, and take more of his body in their hooked teeth. Did he blame them? No. Did he hate them for it? Yes. He lifted up a rock and threw it at them. With a loud splash, it sunk to the bottom of the sludgy waters. The branches snapped and the shapes withdrew a step, before leaping back out, fangs barred. Perhaps this was it, the moment they circled around him, tore him to pieces, and exacted their revenge. He felt what was left of his heart begin to throb. Could he run? He had been running his whole life, and now that he was dead, now that his body was beyond the limits of exhaustion or human weakness, surely he could just keep going until he left his pack behind…but he was surrounded. The animal in front of him snapped open its jaws and began to snarl. Its caked, dull eyes locked on him and he raised his one good forearm to shield his face instinctively, not that that would do him much good. The dog gathered its strength in its haunches and prepared to leap when- The birds in the trees above alighted quickly into the air. The murky pools of water cracked with ripples. And the dog faltered. It pawed at its ears, a shrill whine replacing its guttural growl. Around him, the other dogs whimpered from their hiding places, before scampering off in different directions. He heard the familiar cracking of sticks under paws, but this time, the sound faded away until all that was left the gentle swinging of branches in the wind. Dog stared dumbfounded. Why had they all retreated so suddenly? Perhaps they found a new master and he had called them off. Dog gritted his teeth and started to turn around, when something stopped him. Amongst the ferns, there was a young, fragile-looking boy. A rusty key looped around his neck. Between his off-red bandana and the once-blond mop of hair, his bloodshot eyes bore into Dog with a kind of undead fixation. The boy was tiny. Easy to break in half. Was this the new master the dogs had found? Instinctively, Dog snapped a branch off a low hanging tree and brandished it towards the small boy, ready to attack. “Oh, put that down!” The key boy hummed in a voice overlapped by many. An inhumane, soft, rustling sound like ferns brushing together, streams gurgling, and the chiming of bells in an old Church. Dog squinted at him, but didn’t move the stick. What a peculiar little creature. He would be very easy to throw into a lake. “I only changed my vocal-frequency and scared them off. They aren’t hurt if that’s what you’re worried about. And it’s useless against humans,” the dark, blood-shot eyes glowed. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to hurt you.” The little key boy held out one bruised, stick-like arm, “Let’s be friends. I’m Lock by the way. Who’re you?” “…Dog.”
