This contest will be held on our Discord
In this contest, participants must recreate the story below with a maximum of 4 images.
- Sunday, April 12th: opening submissions.
- Sunday, April 19th: closing submissions.
- From Monday, April 20th to Friday, April 24th: judges will cast their votes.
- Sunday, April 26th: announcing winners.
You can submit up to 4 pictures to represent the story of the month.
Entries should be posted on the #entries channel at our Discord server.
The winning entries will be featured on our Twitter and newsletter (if published that month) at the end of the contest.
Neither NSFW nor nudity pictures are allowed.
The theme voted by our sponsors for this month is “Quarantine”.
Judges will take into account the following parameters to set their votes:
- How well the pictures fit into the the short story
- Picture quality
- Originality of interpretation
We’re giving MogStation prizes to 1st, 2nd and 3rd places thanks to our sponsors!
- 1st place: 15€
- 2nd place: 10€
- 3rd place: 5€
*If there’s only 3 participants, only 1st prize will be given away. If there’s 4, only 1st and 2nd. 3rd prize will be added with 5 or more participants.
A cold wind howled through the Firmament. It had come a long way since the beginning of the reconstruction. What once was nothing but a heap of rubble inside the noble Foundation had slowly begun to take shape. Refurbished roads, statues and fountains already adorned the recently-finished paths and plaza. Much of the Firmament still awaited repair however: the Ishgardian people, and the many helping adventurers who filled the city to the brim these past weeks, had plenty of work ahead of them.
All the stranger is that the wind howls lonely along the stone, for not only the Firmament, but the whole of Ishgard, has come to a standstill. Only a few souls scurry furtively along the streets, surrounded by an eerie quiet not unlike the stillness of the Coerthan plains.
And thus the wind travelled south, whirling up snow here and there. It whistled through the gates of Revenant’s Toll and onward, beyond the silent steel of the Garlean castrum, until soothed by the warm air of the Thanalan desert. Now a gentle breeze, it brushed against the towering walls of Ul’dah. Defying the shut gates, it slipped over mighty walls and into the city’s winding avenues. Yet here, too, the clamorous markets of Sapphire Avenue had been utterly silenced. One might think the city had died, for the gil exchanged in those markets was the blood that flowed through its body along the veins of its packed streets.
A corpse ought to be silent, but the city was not. Away from the main streets, in Ul’dah’s many alleys, poor and downtrodden remained forgotten. Their voices provided a hint that the city lived. A few of them, emboldened by circumstance, rifled through stalls and empty shops in search of valuables, watchful of the few Flames that still roamed the streets.
Even passing for dead, Ul’dah kept a tight watch on its coinpurse.
Redirected by the winding roads, the wind bent west and fled the city. Over towns that lay empty and through villages that nevertheless carried on undisturbed, Eorzea was afflicted with a certain strangeness. The wind cared nothing for any of it. Reaching the coast and whipping across the Strait of Merlthor to scatter on the shores of Vylbrand, it finally ended its journey, but not without stirring the coat of traveller also coming to the end of their own.
Unfazed by the wind, the person crossed the bridge into the city above the sea. Tired and aching from a long journey, they made their way to the inn and sat down at an empty table. It took them a while to notice that every table was an empty table. No one was serving, no one kept watch over the counters, and no one’s voice echoed in the cavernous space. In sudden confusion, they broke the silence:
– written by @Rhika_Kaatah
Good luck and enjoy the challenge!
We reserve the right to disqualify any participant due to not following these rules or inappropriate behavior