Newtype Berserk Fanfiction contest

Miyu

I'm smiling on the inside.
I just got the August Newtype and the fanfiction contest is going to be Berserk! They're accepting submissions until August 15, 2003. Here are the contest rules:

-Entries must be between 800-900 words and be original works by the author. (Please note the change in word count requirements. If your submission goes over the requirement, it will automatically be disqualified.)

-You can enter in one of two ways, E-mail it to forum@newtype-usa.com with a subject line reading Fan Fiction. We ask that the files be attached in Microsoft Word (save as Word 6.0/95) or be in the text of the e-mail itself.

-Postal mail will work as well; please send it on letter-sized (8 1/2" x 11") paper with your name on each page. You may use a pen name, if you'd like.

Send your submission to:

Newtype USA, Inc.
Attn: Forum/Fan Fiction
P.O. Box 631607
Houston, Texas 77263

Submissions (in either format) must be received by August 15, 2003. Please include your name, city and state for publication, as well as your e-mail or home address so we can contact you.

*To qualify for entry, the text must be appropriate for a PG-13 movie. That means no eroticism, explicit violence or foul language.

*whew* :) That's everything transcribed from the magazine. But thought I'd let everyone know.
 

Miyu

I'm smiling on the inside.
I finished my submission if anyone's interested. If not, than just skip this post. Flame away if you want.

One Look​

The sound of horses could be heard trotting along the dusty road while a flag bearing the symbol of the Band of the Hawks blew effortlessly in the wind. The faint outline of a large decrepit tree grew clearer as the group made their way through the rough terrain. Every member of the mercenary group could see skeletal figures hanging from the tree’s branches swinging ominously with the wind. Each of the corpses had a noose strung tightly around its neck and some of the bodies appeared so old that they probably had been left to rot for years under the tree. The armed soldiers who could not fear death while on the battlefield all stared at the tree with all of its ghastly ornaments and shuddered.
“That just gives me the creeps,” Corkus said harshly.
“I wonder what these people did?” Rickert chimed in with a mix of sympathy and fear in his voice.
“They were probably enemy soldiers or thieves,” Corkus replied.
“But some of the skeletons look too small for a soldiers’ build. Look,” Judeau said as he pointed to a group of smaller skeletons. “Those corpses look like they might belong to children, or even women.”
“Why would they be hanging women and children? They have to be soldiers or thieves,” Corkus practically yelled. “Either way, they probably got what they deserved.”
“That’s so scary,” Rickert said as his hands clung to his reins.
“What are you afraid of? They’re not going to jump out and bite you,” Corkus said as he patted his young comrade’s back. “But maybe we should do that to our enemies. Hey, Griffith! What do you say?”
“Will you just shut-up!” Caska said as she pulled her horse in front of Corkus, blocking his view of their leader.
Guts listened to his comrades’ droning and then turned his attention to the decaying corpses. The feel of the land and the image of this tree seemed familiar to Guts, like he had been here before long ago. He remembered the first time he ever heard about his real mother. He couldn’t sleep that night and overheard some of Gambino’s men talk about finding him under the body of a hanged woman. That was the moment he realized that he wasn’t Gambino’s real son. Looking up at the patch of small corpses, he wondered if Judeau was right. Were these the bodies of women? What crimes did these women commit to get there here? Could this be . . .?
The group finally made it to the tree and most of the soldiers looked away from it, keeping their eyes ahead of them. As Guts passed, he turned his head and glanced at the bodies. The wind picked up slightly and caused the skeletons to twirl around until one of the corpses stared straight at Guts. He knew that if the body had eyes, he would have been looking right at them, but instead he stared into two empty sockets that once held many tears and tales of hardships. Turning his head quickly, Guts fixed his eyes on the road.
He tried to concentrate on keeping his horse in line, but his mind wandered back to the corpse’s face. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he could tell that the corpse was once a woman. Guts was tempted to turn his head for one more look to get a better glimpse of body, but something held him back. Just one look. Guts slowly started to crane his neck but stopped when his eyes landed on Caska. She had finished her argument with Corkus and had been staring at him.
She lurched her horse forward until she was right next to Guts. “You’re drifting, that’s not like you,” she said with no emotion.
“I was just thinking,” Guts responded.
“About the battle?” Caska said as she cocked an eyebrow. “I hope so, because you’re going to do your job and do it well or you’ll have to answer to me,” she said as she pulled her horse forward closer to the front line.
Guts watched as Caska rode ahead closer to Griffith. She made her way to their leader’s side silently and faithfully. Guts smiled as he watched her look at him out of the corner of her eye. He gave his horse a slight kick to catch up to Caska and Griffith, forgetting about his earlier desire to see the face of the corpse one last time.
Guts’ image became fainter and fainter as he moved further away from the old gnarled tree. The wind caused the lighter skeletons to spin around until one of the bodies turned and stared at Guts’ fading figure. When the corpse was still alive, she had short brown hair and a thin red cloak protecting her body. Her eyes remained open when she died and if her body hadn’t rotted away, she would have seen for the first and only time the face of her son.

~End~
 

Xans-Griffith

Everything changes.
Very nicely done, Miyu. It's quite an interesting topic. The ending was stirring. It left me with this deep lingering feeling. And you captured the characters quite well. Caska's was especially well done, I thought. Congratz on a job well done and good luck! :)
 
Miyu said:
I finished my submission if anyone's interested. If not, than just skip this post. Flame away if you want.

Great, that was wonderly done. Btw just let me know how old was Guts then, Caska was still the old stern woman she used to be. So i assume Guts probably join the hawk less than 3 yrs ago, or i mean Gutz was no more than 18


P.S: I suggest maybe you should write this after the final battle with Griffith, when the manga was about to end. Or at least after the assault in Flora house. :)
 

Miyu

I'm smiling on the inside.
Wow,thanks guys. :) I don't think it'll win, unless all the other entries just suck ass.

But to answer your question Smith, I planned this sometime after the battle with Zoddo and before the battle at Doldrey. Don't know what you're talking about in your P.S., but I hope that answers your question.
 
Miyu said:
Don't know what you're talking about in your P.S

Well i mean something that may happen in the future, if our dear friend with his band (Isidro, farnese, Serpico etc) happened to cross that tree while on the journey to elfhelm! Or at least something like that :p
 

Miyu

I'm smiling on the inside.
Deadline extended!

Good news! I just read that the deadline for Newtype's Berserk fanfiction contest has been extended to September 15, 2003. The same rules apply so it still has to be between 800-900 words and a PG-13 or below rating. Anyone who didn't make the deadline last time still has a chance. Typically Newtype will post the winning fanfiction at least two months after they announce the contest so when that comes around, I'll post the winning fic. But write and submit!
 

Miyu

I'm smiling on the inside.
Newtype Berserk Fanfiction contest winner!

Sorry for dredging up an old topic, but after waiting since August, Newtype has finally picked a winner in their Berserk fanfiction contest. Please don't copy this work and consider it yours cause it's the work of the author.

Under his Wing

by White Aster
Griffith wasn’t in his tent. Judeau eased off his helmet and knives and prepared to wait. After all, he thought wryly, it wasn’t as if Griffith wouldn’t be coming back.
The table was littered with maps and diagrams. Judeau’s eyes lit on a quill that was lying on the corner, still wet with ink, next to what looked like an open supply ledger. His brow furrowed. Why would a supply ledger be here and not where he’d left the others?
The handwriting was neat, compact, the same handwriting that he and Rickett and so many others had tried to imitate. In the beginning, drawing as they were fro\m the poor, the serfs, the outcasts, hardly any of the Hawks could read or write. I was Griffith that had learned, snatching lessons from kindly priests and scribes, and taught any who wanted to learn. He’d said that it was a valuable skill for officers.
The words that marched across the page, however, were not supply lists.
“. . . Is that why I lay awake at night and tell myself it is because of the heat that I cannot sleep? Is that why I feel despair and restlessness every evening, when I see the sun set and realize another day is done.?”
Judeau’s eyes widened. *I shouldn’t be reading this, this is personal. I shouldn’t be reading Griffith’s journal--* But the quiet despair in the words held him.
“ . . . Why, as this summer wanes, do I feel that I am letting something precious slip through my fingers?”
“Call me made, but at the risk of sounding like a penny fortune-teller, I am becoming more and more convinced that something terrible is on the horizon. Something black and unstoppable as a thunderstorm sweeping across the land.”
“I am afraid. Another day has passed, and I am afraid and do not know of what.”
“Ah, Judeau, there you are.”
Judeau managed not to jump at Griffith’s voice. He turned away from the table, slowly, trying not to look TOO guilty. Griffith’s hair was a fall of white against his doublet as he toweled it off, and even in the lantern’s low light he looked tired.
*Why is it that the more successful we are, the close we get toe Griffith’s mysterious goal, the more unhappy Griffith seems to be?*
“I followed the main retreat for several miles, sir. They’re scattered and don’t seem to be regrouping.”
“Ah, good. Have they crossed the river?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very good.” Griffith tossed the towel away and moved to the map table. Judeau held his breath, but Griffith only closed the journal absently and moved it to the side. “The King’s men should deal with them there. Caska says that casualties were lighter than expected. Everything went according to plan.”
Judeau smiled. “Your plans always do, sir.”
Griffith looked up at hin, blue eyes catching the lantern-light, mouth quirked. “Not always. I distinctly remember Atherton.”
Judeau smiled crookedly. “That was a long time ago, sir. You were--”
Griffith raised an eyebrow. “I was . . . ?”
“I was going to say--” Judeau flushed a bit. “—that you were green then, sir.”
Griffith laughed. “Quite right. Yes, very green.” He ran a hand lightly over the maps, smile fading. “We were all so young, then.” He shook his head. “Ah, but I’m keeping you. You’ve done well. You should be out celebrating. Dismissed.”
Judeau saluted automatically. “Sir.” He turned, grabbing his equipment on the way out, but stopped at the tent flap. The sunset was staining the sky red.
*The sun descends . . . *
He turned. “Sir?”
“Hmmm?” Griffith’s eyes were still on the maps, distracted.
*I lay awake at night and tell myself it is because of the heat . . . *
Judeau heard himself say, “Why don’t you come out by the fire, sir? Pippin’s found a few bottles of Chuder red . . .”
Griffith looked up, and Judeau bulled on before eh could say no. “It’s just that only those two and you like the Chuder stuff, and if they drink it all, Guts’ll be hungover tomorrow, and Caska’ll wake up half the camp when she starts yelling that he’s a drunken pig . . .” Judeau stopped himself, words stuck in his throat. “We just . . . we miss you, sir.”
Griffith stared at him, obviously surprised, and Judeau bit his lip to keep quiet. *Don’t you know? That you inspire the kind of loyalty most kings would kill for? That we old Hawks remember that you’d teach us to read by the firelight or give up a meal to make the rations last longer or charge in to save a knot of us that got cut off in battle? Of course we miss you. We would die for you, and you’re fading away before our eyes.*
Griffith slid to the side, perhaps to the journal that was still sitting on the table. Finally, though, he smiled, and it was not noble Griffith the General, with his platitudes and polite smiles, but the White Hawk that had taken so many of them under his wing. “Very well.” He clapped a hand on Judeau’s shoulder as he went out with him. “I would hate to give Caska anything ELSE to yell at Guts about. Did you see him on the north flank today . . . ?”
The cries of welcome from around Pippin’s fire drowned out their conversation, and a place to sit opened for them like they’d never been gone.

___

Ok, finally transcribed. I hope I didn't put any errors in it. I tried to keep it as it was printed in the Newtype. But congrats to the winner!
 

Pyotr

It is my destiny to lead
That was really cool. Im not sure Griffith would ever record thoughts like that, and Im not sure that he was becoming depressed. But I liked the story, and heck... They were able to keep it clean.
 

number18

a sci-fi bitch
I didn't like it that much, just because it seemed so out of character for Griffith to keep such a journal. Maybe he would if only for the reason of having others find it, but eh. But yah for sexy Judeau! :D
 
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