Path of Exile Talent Competition

The evil in Wraeclast
Errain stumbled across the flimsy bridge. The wooden planks creaking menacingly under her feet, but she was way past worrying at this point. The shrill cackling of the apes still ringing in her ears, she clinged to her rusted sword as if it meant her life, because the last hour it had done exactly that.
Since she woke on the beach, nothing had been like anything she had ever experienced before. Dead men had attacked her, a strange power had somehow possessed her and even the animals of the land had viciously attacked her.
Her feet gave way beneath her and the sword clattered on ancient stone, as she braced herself against the ground. Stairs? Where was she now?
It seemed to be some kind of old ruin. Overgrown with ranks and vines, but she could hear voices from above. Mobilising the last of her strength, she scrambled up the stairs on all fours. Finally, people! She could ask for help, for directions, for …
Muscular legs appeared in front of her, barring her view of the people that promised safety. A hulking, blonde man stood at the entrance to the small encampment and glowered down at her. As she looked up, he shook his head disgusted and spat at the ground just inches from her face:
“Exiles!”
Errain was horrified. The terror of the attacking apes was still fresh in her memory and the prospect of going back to this haunted forest was enough to bring tears to her eyes.
“Please,” she whimpered, not caring about proper form anymore, “I need to rest, something to eat, please, just … please…” Her voice trailed off, too weak even to beg.
The big man would not be moved by her, she knew the same instant her voice broke to a whisper. She had met his kind before, hard men, single minded and prejudiced. Errain was ready to give herself up, to just break down on these stairs and let fate decide what happened next to her.
“For kindness sakes, just let her in!” She heard an elder voice. Strong hands reached for hers and helped her to her feet, half carrying her to the fire.
His name was Eramir. He had been exiled to this cursed island like her, but a long time before that. The stale, hard bread he gave her tasted like sweetest confection in her mouth and she desperately shoved every last crumb of it in her mouth, not even thinking about how it must look to everyone else.
“May I ask you for a favour?” Eramir asked and Errain stared at him cautiously. Of course he wants something in return, she thought. No one on this godforsaken island really cared for anyone. Wearily, she nodded, eying him suspiciously.
“There are more of us, many more. But as of late, most of them disappear. Many were capable fighters, sorcerers, men of faith. They could pose a veritable threat to everyone, should they go mad out there. I wouldn’t ask of you such a dangerous task, but if you could just look … just … guide them back here, before they hurt someone.”
Errain couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She just got here, her body was still in pain, she didn’t even had time to tend to her wounds. But when her hand found the hilt of her sword, new strength rushed through her. She felt even stronger than before. Was this magic? The feared Thaumaturgy, the church had warned her of?
Heaving herself up on the old sword, she took a deep breath and suppressed a groan, as her muscles protested against the slightest effort.
“As the battle calms, blood turns to rust”, she cited absently, “guess my battles are not over yet.” Then she left the Encampment to find the others like her.
Except she couldn’t find anyone. Only more apes with gleaming eyes, screaming for her blood. Some time ago this must have been fields with healthy farms and rich crops. Now wild beasts roamed the plains and even the rocks formed massive elementals and tried to crush her into the dusty ground.
That’s when Errain found the Strongbox. It was a big crate with iron bands. A sturdy chest to transport worthy goods, only that it was wide open. The contents were nowhere to be seen and the lid was lying next to the crate. Errain still wondered what all this could mean, when something heavy hit her right in the head. Darkness slowly engulfed her, she could feel something warm trickling down her neck and from far away, she heard a deep, rumbling voice:
“I am Greust, I hunt boar, hunt to feed my people. You are not a friend to us … in the box you go!”
She never really woke again. Cramped in the box, she could hardly breathe. Her body was contorted painfully but she didn’t have enough room to move. The most terrifying thing however was, that she could slowly, bit by bit, feel her sanity slipping…

tfw you're creative but you got no creative talents so all your imagination can't be expressed and is wasted time and thought that keeps you from achieving anything.

Made some quick ambient sounds that I would imagine fitting into the loading screen of POE. Didn't make it to complex so kept it short.

https://soundcloud.com/tony-halloran/ambient-morphing-for-poe

meh, too little time, wanned to make some IRL currency themed
accesories pack, but i might just make a kinky drawing

A worthy demonstration of talent would be for GGG come up with a fix for HP, that, would be something to contemplate.

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mattc3303 wrote:

Nice!

WTB Talent =/.

Wts guitar playing :p

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Grisu wrote:

made this tune https://soundcloud.com/grisu69/grisu-nightmayor

Buddy this is really good!

I studied for this all my life! Seriously. I study this. It's ON

welp, time to get the go-pro on and start running around and doing flips n shit in the city >_>

I thought my high-school days was over.. :/

My Submission
Category: Poetry


Wraeclast

God of Islands! Under thy feet
With searing bonds of fire we meet,
Hear our warcries, we entreat,
Exiles defend our damned land.
Guardians, Pathfinders, Tricksters from afar,
Form the shafts of strife and war,
Make their projectiles fly afar,
Exiles defend Wraeclast

Men of ev'ry league and race
Gather here on the ladder,
Asking you to bless their rng,
While they traverse this damned land.
With discipline, enfeeble, hatred,
And corrupted rares on their slate,
Making our island great again,
Exiles defend Wraeclast.

War, not peace, shall be their boast,
But, should more Exiles land on our coast,
Greet them with a mighty toast,
Exiles defend our damned land.
Lords of bandits feel thy might,
Slay your enemies if they fight,
Let your cause be lust and fright,
Exiles defend Wraeclast.

Let our love for the passive tree increase,
May the blessing of Chayula drop,
Giving us plenty of loot without peace,
Exiles defend this damned land.
With honour and without shame
Defend this Island's addicting game
Crown it with the immortal's call,
Exiles defend Wraeclast.

May the mountains ever be
Your prison's ramparts encircled by the sea,
Making you faithless in all you see,
Exiles defend this damned land.
The Beautiful Guide could be your fate,
Breaching your love and trust in man,
Working always toward a suit of Glorious plate,
Exiles defend Wraeclast.