Altador Cup XX - The Grey Year

[Pickles]

Whelp. It's here. Yay?
Altador Cup Home

Altador text:

To Rescue a Retinue

Red and blue banners snapped in the wind as King Skarl and his retinue stepped outside the Hall of Heroes. A dozen metres ahead, Salayne Ritad stood a little straighter at his post and took a deep, calming breath of spiced market air. Though the midday sun baked the stone underfoot, Altador's crisp, coastal breeze offered some relief from the heat.
"Welcome to the Bazaar District, King Skarl," Salayne recited under his breath. This was his first official tour, and he wanted to start off on his best foot. "I'm here to escort you to our finest shops, beginning with the Illustrious Armoury..."
Team Altador had volunteered to be official guides while the city played host to Neopia's greatest rulers. Their captain, Foltaggio, had taken a sudden leave of absence on the Isle of Yooyu, leaving the team feeling unmoored. Salayne was not as upset about their captain's withdrawal as the rest of them. After the dismal results of Cup XIX, he knew Foltaggio needed the break, just as his teammates needed a renewed sense of purpose.
Salayne tore his mind from the Isle of Yooyu as the red-robed king approached. This was his purpose, now.
"Welco-" A pair of Meridell guards hefted a large trunk of coins into Salayne's arms, nearly throwing him off balance. "Er, welcome, King Skarl! I'm here to-"
"Where is this glorious Shopping Centre?!" the king shouted. "Pick up the pace, you sluggards!"
Salayne fell into step with the king's retinue as they shuffled ahead. Despite their two month stay, he didn't recognize many of Skarl's aides; rumour had it, they were on constant rotation.
"Has the grey made him grumpier?" he quietly asked a Shoyru holding a sack of hearty foods-snacks, he supposed, for the road.
The king whirled around to erupt once more, but stopped short at the sight of Salayne walking behind him. "You, Elephante! Where do I know you from?"
The goalkeeper tried to be heartened by this. It was the whole reason the team had volunteered-so they could be familiar faces for troubled visitors in a foreign land. But in this moment, beneath King Skarl's beady red eyes, he wished he'd gone to the Isle, too.
"Oh ho, yes, I remember. You're that keeper for Team Altador. Played like dung."
"Er, thanks." Salayne shifted the weight of the trunk in his arms.
"Strong, though. Could use that. The grey has turned my guards weak and pathetic! Prove your worth here and I'll make you my squire."
As Skarl marched forth, Salayne took note of how dismal the retinue felt: eyes downcast, shoulders slumped. He gently nudged the Shoyru, and quietly shared a little joke to try to build some camaraderie.
"Squire for Skarl? I'd rather face ten Darigan Yooyus!"
A gasp rippled across the retinue, who all shrunk away from the king. Apparently Salayne's voice carried, even in a whisper. The Shoyru gave him a sideways glance, until-
"BAHAHAHA. Oh my," King Skarl said, wiping tears that'd sprung to his eyes. "My, my. I can't remember my last laugh. You're a funny one. Thank you. SCARDELL! Take that chest."
A Meerca squire juggling an armful of scrolls quivered and approached, but Salayne hefted the chest to his shoulder.
"That is quite alright, your majesty," he said, stepping forward to take the lead. "I can handle this one. Allow me to escort you to the Illustrious Armoury."
As they walked the streets of his beloved city, Salayne took courage from being on home turf. The sun was shining, and Sasha the Dancer was performing in the square. Salayne carried the conversation, giving the guards and squires a breather from their king. "Have you tried Altador Buns yet? They're truly a delicacy. Just a bite perks me right up."
As the entourage from Meridell slowly made way, Sasha the Dancer, a Protector of Altador, watched how Salayne's strong instincts smoothed over King Skarl's thorny personality. When her performance concluded, she dashed to the Hall of Heroes with a proposal to King Altador: perhaps the goalkeeper ought to become an official Council Aide.

Altador prize(s):

The Grey Year Brochure
Desk Yooyuball (old staff tournament prize)

When you claim your first prize, you get this as well:

You received an avatar!
Something Has Happened!
You are now eligible to use 'Dizzy Yooyu' as an avatar on the NeoBoards!
The Altador Cup Committee has given an avatar to you, loyal Yooyuball fan, as thanks for your continued support!

It appears they're doing what I expected and handing out old AC prizes (or staff tournament prizes) as premium prizes. Time to watch the value of my SDB plummet again. Sigh.

[Siniri]

So... Literally participation prizes for clicking each day? How fun. And original.

[Blue]

Yay? I guess I'll do much better this year... Grey Year, indeeed. Meh.

Now... say the name "Salayne Ritad" with a heavy Boston accent. Sorta rude ya think? "Ritad..." It's now the only way I can hear it in my head.

Prizes. New Avatar. Yay.

[Pickles]

Posted: Wed Jun 04, 2025 11:38 am NST
Brightvale text:

A Trick Up Their Sling

Reb Weemelott, the spotted Nimmo from Brightvale, captures the first Yooyu. He’s quick, he’s crafty, he’s going for goal—! But no, it’s a trick! And “Weems” does not appear to be in on it… the Yooyu has wrapped around his arm! Fenny, Roo Island’s left defender, is doubled over—not injured, though. She and Brightvale’s goalkeeper appear to be… laughing?
Gordo Gunnels calls for a time-out. Once a Roo Island player himself, he got traded to Brightvale in Altador Cup VI. In return, Roo got “Squeaky Clean” Tressif—Brightvale’s old captain!
The Roo Island commentator stopped as whistles blew, and Gordo crossed the pitch to Weems.
“What’s going on? The gummy Yooyus have never been this sticky before!”
From the shade of the far goalposts, a yellow Ogrin dressed in Brightvale green watched the chaos unfold: when the first gummy Yooyu was forcibly removed from Weems’s elbow pad, its replacement reattached in exactly the same way. Weems wriggled his arm around in panic, and Orie tried to suppress another laugh. Not easy with Fenny giggling uncontrollably from the Roo side of the pitch.
Of course Tressif clocked the two guilty parties, that old spoilsport; he waved Orie over to the sidelines to talk. She sighed, taking in the hijinks for a moment longer, then followed him to the water table.
“What do you think you’re doing, Orie?” her former captain asked. He was dressed in that nonsensical Roo Island uniform now, and it was hard to take him seriously. If you asked Orie, he’d looked better in green and gold.
“Playing a scrimmage with a buncha old friends,” she said, leaning against the table. “Fancy commentator you’ve got there, by the way.”
“He needs practice, too. And that’s beside the point.”
“Do tell, Squeaky.” She playfully flicked at a bell on his uniform.
Tressif appeared to chew on words for a moment, seemingly fighting whether to address the old nickname or accuse her outright. Orie raised an eyebrow in anticipation.
“I was only called ‘Squeaky Clean’ because I played for ‘Dirty Brightvale,’” he said, adjusting his Yooyu sling. “I’m hardly ‘Squeaky’ at Roo.”
“Ooh, what are you now, a devilish rogue? I’d love to learn your new tricks.”
Turning a red Lupe redder; an old pastime of hers. Orie almost forgot about the jester collar.
Tressif shook his head and started listing out her pranks. “Switching out all the team photos with Hagan fanart, sticking weights in the gummy Yooyus, sneaking springs into Fenny’s boots?! And let’s not talk about the hundreds of motes we keep finding places.”
She glanced over to Weems, who’d ditched the elbow pad. Gordo was examining it now—wouldn't be long before they found the strong magnets in his old “ice pick.” She and Fenny had placed them behind the metal piece he used to elbow opponents in the gut, hoping the magnets would pull in the old weights they’d stuck in the gummies.
“Don’t you miss it?” she said, turning back to Tressif. “Just a little?”
“Orie. There’s a reason I left. I’m happy here. I don’t have to look around every corner for evidence that you’ve been cheating.” He rubbed his sling arm again.
“It’s just been harmless fun.”
“Not when it starts seeping into the pitch. I know Brightvale…”
“The springs were Fenny’s idea, not mine!”
Tressif’s voice lowered. “Gordo brought you all here in the hopes that the good-natured sportsmanship at Roo could rub off on your team—not the other way around.”
“I dunno. I think I’ve picked up a thing or two from Fenny.” Orie nodded to centre field, where Weems was donning a new Roo Island elbow pad. “There goes the old ‘ice pick,’ for one thing. Then the weights in the gummy Yooyus? Made us all stronger. And you have to admit, the boots turned Fenny into a formidable presence on the pitch for a day. That spring in her step gave her confidence that she’d lacked. I’ve learned… I don’t know… maybe there’s more to fun than winning.”
“Hmph.” Tressif searched Orie’s face for a tell. “And the… Hagan drawings?”
"Ahh, that was just some good laughs. Though…” Orie paused, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “You may want to check inside your Yooyu sling.”
Tressif tilted his head as she darted off. He unbuckled his sling and found a long, bumpy strip of athletic tape stuck to the inside edge. When he ripped off the tape, a half dozen rock motes tumbled to the ground. He laughed, just as the whistles blew.

Brightvale prize(s):

Yooyu Trapped in a Display Box (old AC prize)
The Grey Year Megaphone (instrument....not a weapon)

So I guess they're mixing it up a bit as to who gets the re-release prize and who gets the new one.

ETA:

Dacardia text:

Rocky Foundations

“It’s official,” Camila said. “We’re cursed.”
     The young Eyrie tossed the bottle in her hand to the ground. It landed almost silently in the sand, so not a single member of the team paid it any mind, nor did they bat an eye when Camila dramatically twirled around and pretended to faint. To add extra dramatic flair, she even draped the copy of the Neopian Times she’d found in the bottle—presumably with the news that made her declare they were cursed—over her eyes. Tyrra was, as always, nose-deep in another scrimmage plan to try and ‘prove Dacardia has what it takes’ on the Neopian stage; Magnus was juggling Crabby-bots as a reflex exercise, eyeing them like the hungry Grarrl he was; and Ruffaele…
     “I mean, come on! They’re saying he saved all of Meri Acres! How in the name of Grand Councillor Yuli am I supposed to compete with that?!”
     …Was, true to his nickname, “rowdy” as ever over coming second in his imaginary popularity contest against fellow Gelert and Altador Cup heartthrob, Tandrak Shaye.
     “Are you still sore about all that?” Tyrra asked without looking up.
     “Get over it, bud. We’re in the big leagues now; you can’t be the only hunk on the scene anymore.” Magnus caught the last of the Crabby-bots he’d been juggling and set them down on the ground, letting them scuttle away as he went to clap his teammate encouragingly on the shoulder. “Besides, you—”
     “I’m sorry,” interrupted Camila, sitting up abruptly, “but are we not going to talk about the fact that the Altador Cup was cancelled this year?”
     That finally got everyone’s attention. Magnus’s eyes went wide, Rowdy’s ears shot straight into the air, and Tyrra’s big, strong Kougra claws nearly tore through the paper she’d been writing on.
     “What?!” she cried. “No, that can’t—but we just made it to the Cup!”
     “We haven’t even shown them what we’re made of yet,” Magnus said.
     “I haven’t had a chance to show up Tandrak Shaye, either!” Rowdy growled.
     Camila rolled her eyes. “Oh, will you shut up about—”
     “This is terrible.” Tyrra buried her face in her paws. Her shoulders hitched as she took a deep breath. “We’ve worked so hard to get where we are, and at every turn something’s stopped us, and then we finally make it and we…”
     “We almost placed last!” Camila lamented. She plopped down in the sand, wings drooping behind her, and lifted her arms into the air imploringly. “Why is the universe giving us such a hard time?”
     Suddenly, Jarek stood up from his log bench. He had been silent for most of his teammates’ exchange, but he had finally had enough.
     “RRAAAARRRRGGGHHHH!!!” he cried out, making each and every one of his teammates jump. They all looked at him, and he pounded his fists together.
     “Everyone’s having a hard time!” the Chia shouted. “Us! Them! Altador! Meridell! Even—”
     “Well, Meridell’s doing fine, since Tandrak Shaye—”
     “ENOUGH!” Jarek stomped his feet. Rowdy fell silent right away. “Take a lesson from Tandrak! He’s helping others. Just like others helped us with the storm!”
     With another mighty growl, Jarek kicked at the sand. For a moment, the only sound was the waves beating against the shore – the ocean, on the other side of which there were so many other lands, filled with so many other caring Neopians.
     Tyrra was the first to speak. “You’re right, Jarek. They all came to our aid when we needed it, and with this Grey Curse…”
     “See? There is a curse,” Camila chipped in, a broad grin on her face. Tyrra smiled back, catching the joke her teammate had lobbied, and continued.
     “We should try to help the other teams break it, or at least cheer them up if we can. Placing so low doesn’t matter – we don’t play Yooyuball to win, we play it because we want to be part of something bigger.”
     “Hear, hear,” Magnus said.
     “And,” Rowdy added, his cockiness returning, “maybe this’ll finally get my name up next to Tandrak’s.”
     “Ooh, yeah, maybe he’ll finally notice you,” Camila teased.
     “Hey!”
     Before the two of them could get into one of their playful arguments, though, Tyrra interrupted. “What do you think we should do, Jarek?”
     Four heads turned to Jarek. He hummed, low and rumbling, in thought. But just then, a Crabby-bot scuttled into view. It moved up to Magnus and tugged on his tail to get his attention; when he looked down, it lifted both claws, as if asking to be picked up.
     Jarek smiled. “We have so many little helpers. If Lania Cragg will lend us some…”
     Tyrra clapped her paws together. She’d known Jarek the longest out of all of them, so she knew exactly where he was going with this. There wasn’t much they could do individually, but with a whole team…
     “We could build something to help all the other teams get back on their paws!” She grinned, wide and toothy, and threw an arm around Jarek’s shoulders. “Now that, my friend, sounds like a game plan.”

Dacardia prize(s):

The Grey Year Visor
Covered in Sticky Notes (old staff prize)

[Blue]

Thanks for posting the update! I nearly forgot to collect today's prize.

[Pickles]

Posted: Fri Jun 06, 2025 8:10 am NST
Darigan text:

Playing with Fire

“Remember: don’t aim for the big bullseye,” Layton said to Tormo, clearly using his captain voice. “Do aim for the giant field of hay. And make sure those Yooyus are holding on tight.”
     The skies around Darigan Citadel were clear. There wasn’t so much as a wispy cloud to obscure the light of the full moon, which gave everything a beautifully eerie glow. It was the perfect night to test out this… “experimental practice,” Layton had called it. Sure. Practice.
     Tandrak, the team’s right forward, pulled Reshar aside as the goalkeeper was placing the final Yooyu. “Keep an eye on ‘Tormo the Terror’ for me, would you?” He nodded towards the Bruce, who earned his nickname by letting practical jokes go a little too far, and pat Reshar on the back. “Thanks, mate.”
     The two land-bound players would be punting Yooyus from their practice pitch in the Citadel, leaving the three winged players to catch them mid-flight over Meri Acres—so Tandrak couldn’t exactly keep an eye on their most chaotic teammate himself.
     With the Yooyus in place, Tandrak, Layton, and Kep dove into the crisp night air.
     Meridell had been the first land in Neopia to be hit by the grey. Tandrak remembered when the team first saw it spreading, even from up in the Citadel. Tormo had made some stupid joke about their rival’s downfall, but their captain quickly put him in his place. They all knew this tragedy went far beyond the confines of the pitch.
     The land now shone under the pale moonlight, silver and still and silent. The three Darigan players flew ever closer to Meri Acres, the closest terrain to the Citadel. Layton called them into position over their “goal”—the field of hay—but before they’d even given the signal, a fiery ball of light whizzed towards them from above.
     “What the—? We didn’t line up any Fire Yooyus!” Layton shouted. “Dang it, Tormo, do you ever think things through?!”
     Tandrak swooped, pinning his wings against his back to gain momentum. He caught the Fire Yooyu mere metres from the ground, opened his wings to slow himself, and crash landed into a decently padded surface. Bailed out by a bale of hay.
     “Ow,” he said; his right wing had still struck the ground, and he knew he had a bruise coming on.
     Then came the screams. Tandrak swore at Tormo under his breath. Fire raining down from Darigan? That certainly painted a picture.
     “We’re under attack!” Someone was shouting nearby. “We’re under attack!”
     The haybale caught a spark as he dug his way out of it, despite his attempts to cradle the burning Yooyu. He tossed it toward a dirt patch and climbed to his feet, where he came face-to-face with the yellow Gelert who was raising the alarm.
     “Hey,” Tandrak said, giving the old fellow his trademark smile.
     The Gelert whacked him with the side of his pitchfork. “Help!!”
     “Ow!” Tandrak said, blinking and rubbing his temple. “Ever tried Yooyuball? You got the arms for it.”
     “Hold yer Hoovles… yer that handsome devil from Darigan.”
     Tandrak, doing his best to save face for his team, flashed another smile. “Guilty as charged.”
     Two more Fire Yooyus streaked down from the sky, and his two teammates were diving to intercept them. Before the farmer could turn to see them, Tandrak patted him on the shoulder. “Ahh, look at us,” he said. “Two Gelerts in our prime.”
     “Yer just tryin’ to beguile me with yer good looks.”
     “Is it working?” Tandrak said, but he could feel the warmth from the now-burning haybale behind him.
     The farmer's eyes narrowed as others began to gather around.
     “Kicking us while we’re down, are you?” It was a familiar voice—Fiorina, the Eyrie from Team Meridell. Tandrak vaguely remembered reading that she was from Meri Acres.
     “Typical Darigan,” said Ilsa, another player from Meridell. He picked up the Fire Yooyu and tossed it to Fiorina. “I’ll get the guards.”
     “The Fire Yooyus weren’t part of the plan,” Tandrak started to say, then: ”Duck!”
     Ilsa instinctively crouched, allowing the Darigan forward to catch a Normal Yooyu before it smacked into anyone else.
     “Wouldn’t normally say this to a rival, but… good reflexes.”
     Ilsa growled and stole the Yooyu from Tandrak’s arms.
     “Wait!” Fiorina said. “Look what the Yooyu’s holding.” She had coaxed the Fire Yooyu open, revealing a child’s toy: Darigan stacking rings.
     Ilsa opened the Normal Yooyu, which held a bundle of blankets.
     “Are these…”
     “Supplies, resources, stuff you might need,” Tandrak said, though he was looking to the sky—thankfully now devoid of fire. “And there’s a lot more coming. I recommend spreading out and putting those big strong arms to use. Lookin’ at you, farmer—catch!”

Darigan prize(s):

Winning Strategy Playbook (old AC prize)
Muscles Without Matches

ETA:
Faerieland text:

An Exciting Proposition

Nothing could beat a sweet treat after exercise. For two Faerieland players, Faerie Foods had become a post-practice tradition, and the Earth Faerie in charge knew them by name and order: Strawberry Faerie Sundae for Whimsi and Dark Faerie Sundae for Delma.
     “Kakoni, he’s our team captain, he was telling me that sometimes I get too tied up in talking to the refs! But the refs are so interesting, and I think it’s too bad people only ever yell at the refs. So to get to know what refs are like, I read the rulebook!”
     Delma watched the shopkeeper’s eyes lose focus as Whimsi kept talking. They had already received their sundaes, but with no one else in line, the Earth Faerie had no way to politely turn the chatty Vandagyre away. They were, yet again, her only patrons.
     “Apparently,” Whimsi continued, totally oblivious, “there’s an archaic off-sides foul that most tournaments have ruled unnecessary!”
     “Whimsi,” Delma softly interrupted. “Your sundae…”
     “Oops!” Whimsi said, licking the strawberry sauce from her feathers.
     With that momentary pause, the Zafara guided her talkative teammate out of the shop and back into Faerie City. Lately, the place had begun to feel so… empty. Fewer faeries in the shops and parks. The few they did see out walking were clearly focused on a destination and hardly made eye contact with any of the Neopets they passed.
     When the world was in chaos, Fyora’s faeries got busy.
     Whimsi was halfway through reciting the Yooyuball rulebook when Delma spoke up.
     “Everyone’s so stressed here.”
     “Mhmm! And busy!” Without missing a beat, Whimsi switched to Delma’s topic and dropped her own. Delma appreciated that about her friend; while Whimsi certainly talked enough for the two of them, she always made room for the words Delma did care to share.
     “I know their work is important, but the faeries could use something fun, something to take their mind off things,” Delma continued, thinking out loud. “They might not know it but… they could use sports. And honestly, the team could use some enthusiasm in return!”
     Whimsi scrunched her face, evidently experiencing a brain freeze, but held up a wing to speak once it receded. “I don’t know if the stadium could get any louder than last year. Didn’t you hear all the pretty bells our fans were ringing? It was magical!”
     “True, but… how many faeries do you remember seeing in the stands?”
     “Hmm. Maybe just the Fire Faerie? The one who plays Gormball?”
     “Exactly. And she was cheering for Virtupets.”
     After the last Cup, the team had felt proud of their higher placement. But returning home, there were no parties, no celebrations… they’d hardly received “congratulations” from the shopkeepers who knew they played for Team Faerieland, Faerie Foods excepting.
     “We have the unique ability to give faeries something—or someone—to root for, with lower stakes than ‘the end of the world.’ If we can just get their attention… maybe for an exhibition match? I think we’d find some new fans who’d be excited to cheer us on.”
     Whimsi gasped and nearly flung her sundae. “I know JUST the faerie!”
     The Vandagyre flew off, and Delma followed. They left Faerie City, passed over clear springs and verdant fields, and arrived at a colourful wheel and the Light Faerie who ran it.
     “Hi, Whimsi!” Vivianna said, waving cheerfully as they landed. “Here for a spin?”
     “Not quite! Here to see if you could drum up excitement for Delma’s wonderful idea!” Whimsi lifted a wing, presenting Delma in dramatic fashion. “Go ahead, tell her!”
     “We want to play an exhibition match, here in Faerieland,” Delma said, “for… fun.”
     Agh, Delma thought, that would’ve sounded so much more exciting if Whimsi had explained it.
     But somehow, the Light Faerie lit up, pumping a fist in the air. “Oh my Fyora, I LOVE that! I could make flyers, if your team could put them up! Then we could get Delina to craft some cosy bleachers—you’ll need more seating at your practice pitch. And and and! We can tap the Employment Agency to gather event volunteers!”
     “Oooh, yes! And if we could get a certain big name to show for the match,” Whimsi said, gesturing to Delma’s melting Dark Faerie Sundae, “who could resist coming? We can set up a dark throne on a nearby bluff and maybe, just maybe…”
     “Do you really think she’d show?” Delma’s eyes went wide. Jhudora had always been her favourite of the famous faeries—she wouldn’t have dreamt of inviting her.
     But Vivianna was tapping her chin, deep in thought. “I think we could pull some strings,” she said. “We all need a break from work, after all…”
     “FLYER LOCATIONS,” Whimsi started, listing ideas on her feathers. “Faerie Foods, Bookshop, the Healing Springs—OH! The Discarded Magical Blue Grundo Plushie of Prosperity, of course!!”
     “I’ve always wanted to go to a game myself,” Vivianna continued. “The Wheel of Excitement just gets busy sometimes. But that’s hardly an excuse! I miss being around other faeries and Neopets—and from what Whimsi tells me, there’s nothing like a good game of Yooyuball to bring a community together.”
     “It’s true,” Delma said, smiling at Whimsi as she spun circles in anticipation. “It’s how I’ve met my very best friends.”

Faerieland prize(s):

Expired Yooyu Fries
Yooyu Rice Bowl (old AC prize)

Looks like we're alternating between the premium prize and the regular prize being either new or rereleased from an old one at this point.

[Siniri]

Oh, the irony...

there’s nothing like a good game of Yooyuball to bring a community together.”

I'm glad they're not making us put those flyers up, though.

[Pickles]

Posted: Sun Jun 08, 2025 1:19 pm NST

Haunted Woods text:

More Than Just a Scary Face

Wisps of neon-pink smoke and shadow rose into the air, mingling with the mist of the Haunted Woods. High on a hill, atop a gnarled and leafless tree, sat a Wraith, gazing out at the land before him—or rather, a Draik who was painted Wraith.
     Crade Talvos sighed and held out a clawed hand before himself, examining, not for the first time, the way swirls of light danced on his palms. He had just returned from visiting a relative in Faerieland, and while he had been there, he’d felt more eyes on him than he was used to—more scared eyes. He supposed it was reasonable, considering how he resembled the Wraiths that had destroyed Faerieland before, but…
     Suddenly, a familiar flash of flames burst into his vision. The wings of his teammate Zo Junior flapped as he alighted next to Crade on the tree. “I didn’t know you were back already, Crade,” the Korbat said. “You should have come to say hi, the team was hoping to take you to the Fairground to celebrate your return!”
     Crade forced a weak smile. “Thanks Zo, but I’m not really in the mood for the Coconut Shy today.”
     Ah—he shouldn’t have said that. Now Zo would know something was bothering him, because he loved the Coconut Shy. They all did; it helped them practice for Yooyuball.
     Zo frowned. “Is something eating you?”
     Crade’s smile faded. He looked out at the Haunted Woods, at the place he called home. “Hey, Zo… Do you think I’m…” He paused, biting his wispy lip. “...Scary?”
     Zo tilted his head to the side. “Huh? What do you mean?”
     “You remember I wasn’t always painted Wraith, right? That before I tried out for the team, back when I was a waterboy, I was just purple?”
     “Yeah…?”
     “Well… I painted myself because I thought it would make me feel more comfortable around you guys... and maybe then I'd feel more like myself. I thought it might make you guys take me more seriously as a candidate for the team, but… I don’t know. When I was in Faerieland, some of the other Neopets there—and even some of the Faeries—seemed like they were scared of me. I thought looking scary was what I wanted, but I’m starting to think painting myself Wraith wasn’t a great idea.”
     That gave Zo pause. He was silent a moment; then, after chewing on the inside of his cheek, he said, “Crade… do you think we brought you onto the team because you painted yourself Wraith?”
     Crade’s hands clenched together. His throat felt tight—he wasn’t sure if he could say anything. He couldn’t even look at Zo, even though Zo shifted closer and draped a comforting wing around him.
     “Hey, do you remember Wan Dirx?” Zo asked.
     That perked Crade up a little. “How could I forget? He used to be your star defender, and he even recommended me as his replacement for some reason.”
     “It wasn’t just ‘some reason.’ You know we had dozens of Neopets—and monsters—lined up to play for us when he retired? When you were still purple?” Zo grinned, while Crade’s eyebrows shot up. “We coulda picked any of them. Dirx coulda picked any of them. But we all chose you. In fact, we didn’t even realise you’d painted yourself Wraith until after we’d decided you were the only defender for us.”
     Crade looked down at the woods below. A few Ghostkerchiefs fluttered by, all of them chasing after a Zomutt. They caught up quickly; when they did, the Zomutt flopped over and batted at them while they danced and hovered above it.
     “Why?” Crade asked, softly.
     “Because we knew you.” Zo stood up on his branch and put his hands on his hips, wings folding behind him. “You’d been with us longer than anyone else, and we’d seen you on the pitch. Sure you weren’t as strong as Dirx, or as big as some of the tryouts—”
     “Thanks,” Crade said flatly.
     “—But, if you’ll let me finish… We knew you had heart. You organised that birthday party for Fanetti, and helped get Flankins out of Captain Krell’s fur the night before our first match in the Year 10 Cup. Not to mention how many times you’ve stopped Brains from trying to eat the Brain Tree.”
     “He seems to think its branches make for good toothpicks.”
     “And speaking of Brains,” Zo Junior said, “You were the first one who realised he could say more than just ‘braaaaaiiinnnssss’ over and over again!”
     Crade laughed. “I don’t know why he insists on keeping up that schtick.”
     “Me neither.” Zo laughed too, but his smile quickly faded into a more contemplative look. “My point is… you’re a part of the team no matter what you look like. So if you want to go back to being purple, you don’t have to worry.”
     Crade was silent for a moment.
     “Thank you,” he said at last.
     “So… do you want to go back to being purple?”
     Crade thought about it for a moment. He looked out at the treetops again, and listened to the howl of the werelupes, and the shuffling of branches, and the cackling of witches… and he caught sight, once more, of the wisps of smoke and light swirling and dissipating from him. As the mix of darkness and light faded into the mist, Crade smiled. He liked how that looked—and in that moment, he realised that he felt more at home here, and in his own skin, than ever. Here in the Haunted Woods, where scary was good, and where he had found his place among friends.
     “...No,” he said at last, and as the word left his mouth, he was surprised to find how true it was. “I don’t.”

Haunted Woods prize(s):

Thrown Slushie Cup (old AC prize)
Grey Slushie

ETA:
Kiko Lake text:

Hitting Lake Bottom

After a grey practice on a grey pitch by a grey lake, Erli Quinnock hit the books.
     Not the offense/defense/play kind, though strategy was normally of great interest to Erli. No, this work was purely numbers and Neopoints. He felt like his team could do more to support their community, especially after the events of this last year.
     “If everyone could hang around a bit longer, I’d appreciate it,” the purple Peophin said, double-checking a larger calculation in his mind. “I’d like to figure out today, if possible, how much we can afford to donate. Any last ideas?”
     Even a little would mean a lot; the grey had hit Kiko Lake harder than most Neopians realised. The once-colourful town relied heavily on tourism, and the shore had been barren of visitors from the moment that sad colour had spilled across the entire lake.
     A pink Kiko peered over Erli’s shoulder. “What about coach’s fees? If we had to raise them after we did well… could we lower them after placing 16th?”
     “I don’t think it works that way, Meelah,” Erli said. “We’d be incentivized to do worse.”
     Meelah huffed and rested on a bench in the locker room. “Kinda feels like raising it has the same effect.”
     Out of the corner of his eye, Erli caught their captain slowly drifting out of the room without even removing his Yooyuball equipment.
     “Poke,” he said, leaning back. “I remember you saying something about us having a rainy day fund?”
     The brown Kiko paused, then turned back into the room. “Did I?” he said, squinting.
     “Yeah,” a quiet Uni said from one of the benches. Lili paused midway through removing her cleats, apparently tracing a distant memory. “I remember… we were at the big post-Cup party my first year, and the mean Maraquan player called us broke…”
     “Did he?” Poke said.
     “Ohh yeah!” Meelah chimed in. “And you said we could ‘break the bank’ with all we’ve saved! When we asked, you said you were preparing for a rainy day, just in case.”
     “This might be that day,” Erli added.
     Poke closed his eyes and breathed deeply. “Fine.” He hovered over to the team closet, which had always been locked; he held the only key. The rest of the team gathered behind him as he turned the lock and opened the door…
     Hundreds of items—Nerkmids, dubloons, Usuki dolls, amulets, maps, paint brushes, and even a number of highly prized weapons!—had been carefully sorted and filed away in a room so large it had no business being labeled a closet.
     “Poke…” Erli’s deeper voice carried a warning tone.
     “Awesome,” Holbie said; evidently the blue Kiko had finally started to pay attention.
     Meelah sputtered in exasperation. “Is that how we were able to afford a flying glass bottom boat last year?!”
     “In my defense! In my defense!!” Poke said, floating back and waving his arms wildly. “Only three of us here remember our first Altador Cup, how hard we worked to fund the team. Meelah, you woke up before morning practice to sell newspapers! Holbie missed workouts to work at an antique shop! And I spent months delivering groceries door-to-door.”
     Poke paused, shivering. Clearly, it wasn’t a pleasant memory for him.
     “It was hard, but we did whatever it took to make it to the big stage,” he continued, “and it put us on the map. Kiko Lake, right up there beside the likes of Meridell! The Lost Desert! Altador itself! Entire kingdoms with the treasury to afford the Cup each year, without question. But in that first year, the team really had to hustle for our spot.”
     “And Lili and I have, too,” Erli said, scowling. “We might’ve joined later, but we still picked up jobs at Pizzaroo two years ago, on your suggestion.”
     “Because our first year’s experience was so valuable,” Poke explained, “and I thought maybe the hard work would help us all bond. It makes playing at the Cup all the sweeter.”
     “So then why..?” Lili said softly, peering into the treasure hoard.
     “I never wanted to feel that… panic again. Of possibly not getting there. I wanted to know that, no matter what, we could make it happen.”
     “You didn’t steal all of this, did you?” Erli’s patience was wearing thin.
     “No!! Not… not exactly,” Poke said.
     “Not exactly?!”
     “I can be persuasive! Give donors a little ‘poke,’ y’know?”
     “And the glass bottom boat?” Meelah stressed.
     “Okay, yeah, I commissioned that one. The only time I dipped into the team pot!”
     “Worth it,” said Holbie, who tried entering the room until Erli pulled him back.
     “Speaking of—we could put the boat to good use this year,” Lili said.
     Meelah, rubbing his face and sighing, nodded. “We all know what it’s like to work hard. If anyone can help the whole world with a benefit this year, we’re the team for it.”
     “As for the rest of this stuff… it’s way too much, Poke,” Erli said. “It’ll take a lot to make this right. But I think we start with donating it to our neighbours in Kiko Lake.”
     “...All of it?” Poke said, deflated.
     Erli nodded. “All of it.”
     As the captain pouted, the team began hauling bundles of items out of the closet.
     “Can’t believe I have to start collecting donations from scratch,” Poke muttered, arms folded.
     Erli, carrying a basket of paint brushes, tilted his head. “What’s that?”
     “Nothing.” The captain’s mutters turned into incomprehensible grumbles as he watched his teammates deplete his hard-earned stash of goods. Or rather, “donations.”

Kiko Lake prize(s):

We Would Have Won Foam Finger
The Grey Year Snowglobe

Both new today! Change of pace!

OMW the Kiko Lake text. So much hilarity there! (For those not aware, there is 100% a "Drain Kiko Lake" movement, for everyone soooo tired of losing things to the RE where you "donate" something to Kiko Lake.)

[Siniri]

As I clicked on today's, I mentally grumbled about all the "donations" I've been forced to give to KL over the year. I laughed my way through today's story.

And then that prize at the end -- after all of TNT's final results shenanigans the last few years... Though I wonder whether they have any self-reflection on that.

I feel like we're getting a few hints about the next steps of the plot... Sounds like maybe a charity corner-like donation?

[Pickles]

Posted: Tue Jun 10, 2025 7:29 am NST
Krawk Island text:

Precious Cargo

“We’ll be taking your ship now. Unless you want to risk angering Bluebeard, our mighty captain!” A dishevelled pirate lifted his sword toward Captain Hale, who stood on the deck with his arms crossed—the epitome of an unbothered Bori—even as the assailing crew were preparing to board their team’s ship.
     A spotted Ogrin laughed nearby and returned to swabbing the deck. Coco knew the captain was more than qualified to dispose of the inconvenience. This was the umpteenth pirate crew who invoked the name of Bluebeard to sound tougher. Of course, if any of them had actually come across the real Bluebeard, they’d know their crew could never pass as her underlings. For one, they’d be at the bottom of the ocean the moment they bent the knee. But also, her crew was entirely made up of petpets.
     The only reason Team Krawk Island lived to tell the tale of their encounter was… well, Coco wasn’t really sure why. They’d lost to her, and yet Bluebeard had spared them; she’d even been friendly for a moment. The Ogrin supposed they were lucky to have survived such a stunning opponent; one unlike any Neopet she'd ever seen before, with her large ears, flowing ruff, and big ocean blue eyes.
     Coco shook the thought from her mind as the last cry of the attacking pirate crew ended with a splash of seawater.
     “Word must have gotten ‘round about what we’re hauling below deck,” Captain Hale said, dusting off his hands. “That’s the only reason I can fathom why they’d so brazenly attack us, especially with such a lousy lie about their captain.”
     “Bluebeard must really be making a name for herself, for so many to claim to know her,” said Coco.
     “If only all those scallywags were worth the fight.”
     “At least you got to hear her name again!” Nitri shouted from the kitchen porthole, her tusks scraping at the door. “Ain’t that right, Coco?”
     “Stick to cooking, chef, ain’t no one asking ya!” Coco yelled in response. She slammed the mop in the bucket, splashing herself.
     “Scupper that, Cap’n,” Zayle said, climbing up from below deck. The Grundo was covered in gunpowder, like always. “Didn’ get to try out me shiny new cannon! Couldn’t ya have saved some fer the rest of us?”
     “Aye, I wanted to crack a few skulls!” said Dinksy with her sing-song voice from the Crokabek’s nest.
     “You know we can’t be thrown off schedule, just for you all to have some fun.” Captain Hale chuckled and shook his head as he returned to the ship’s wheel.
     The team resumed their voyage, seamlessly manoeuvring around one another as they worked the sails. Coco shrunk back with her mop to stay out of the way. She was the outsider—the only one to have come from another team, another land. She loved being out on the open sea, but she often didn’t feel like a true pirate. Not like the rest of them.
     A loud crash rocked the ship and pulled Coco from her thoughts. Seawater and wood planks flew into the air. Cannon fire! But before the team could locate the aggressor out at sea, a Neopet that few had ever seen climbed on deck. She aimed her blunderbuss at their captain. Her blue eyes burned with anger, darker than night.
     “Heard talk of pesky pirates in these waters, speakin’ my name in vain.”
     “Aye,” Captain Hale said calmly. “And we lovingly disposed of them for you. Now, why don’t you lower that weapon of yours?”
     “Nah, I don’t think I’ll be doin’ anythin’ of the like. Not with your lot lookin’ like that.”
     Coco looked around; everyone else had pulled out a weapon to save their captain. Everyone but her.
     “Besides, I can’t be makin’ the same mistake as before ‘n lettin’ you all go,” Bluebeard spat. “‘Tis a shame, I really thought we had an understandin’ before. But smugglin’ innocent Yooyus—’tis a crime not even a pirate of my infamy can overlook!”
     “That’s what all those pirates think?” Coco blurted out. “It’s not even close to true!”
     For a moment, Bluebeard turned her dark eyes to Coco. Instead of the clear ocean blue Coco remembered, they were as though a storm was rising over the sea… but there was still something familiar in them. When Bluebeard turned her attention away, Coco seized the opportunity—she flung the mop and bucket right at her.
     The rest of the team sprang into action. The first to swing missed Bluebeard but knocked the blunderbuss out of her hand. Bluebeard pulled a cutlass, as Captain Hale did the same. But even with four crewmates fighting, Bluebeard held her own. No one had ever fought a beast like her; it was as though she could move between their shadows as she attacked.
     In the chaos, Coco opened the hatchway to the cargo hold. Before Zayle could get a shot off with the blunderbuss, Coco used her full force to tackle Bluebeard below deck.
     The Varwolf pirate cushioned Coco’s landing. When she opened her eyes, she found Bluebeard holding her, as if protecting her from the fall. The captain’s fluffy namesake tickled Coco’s cheek, and she rolled away, blushing through her spots.
     “What’s all this?” Bluebeard said, taking in their haul: piles and piles of paintbrushes and potions. Sure, there were Yooyus hustling about keeping everything organised, but they were crew, not cargo.
     “We’ve been gathering as many colours as we can for those affected by the grey,” Coco explained. “We know it can’t cure them right now, but maybe one day, ya know?”
     “Well. Why didn’t you just say so!” Bluebeard laughed, and her eyes sparkled.
     Coco saw kindness in them—an ocean of blue once more—and let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

Krawk Island prize(s):

Infectious Smile of the Shootout Showdown Goalie (old AC prize)
Grey Techo Fanatic Wearable

I hope IF they do any sort of donation thing it's not specific items, like they did in COM or we're toast again. But I would be down with a real CC event. My SDB is more than prepared for that...

ETA:
Kreludor text:

Been There, Done That, Got the T-shirt

This was Qlydae’s best day ever.
     Well. His second-best day ever. The first-best one was definitely the day he held the Cup high over his antennae. In that moment, he proved himself worth more than a single, deeply unfortunate own-goal from a bygone tournament. And yet… AND YET. Even in the midst of a month-long Kreludorian celebration—even in the blazing light of his victory—fans continued to remind the Grundo of his tournament-losing mistake.
     No more!
     His second-best day ever, hot on the heels of his first, was the day teammate Ealyn Hawkshanks finished building a t-shirt cannon powerful enough to reach Neopia.
     It was Qlydae’s idea, and he was making sure that no one would forget that. He’d been spontaneously giggling every time he thought about it. It was genius! Before Ealyn had been traded to Kreludor, he’d played for Krawk Island. He must’ve fired cannons hundreds of times aboard their team ship. While Ealyn got started on the firing mechanism, Qlydae picked up a screen printer on discount from Grundo Warehouse.
     His first design was obvious: “ALTADOR CUP XIX CHAMPIONS!!!” on a purple shirt with orange splatters. A masterpiece. But he couldn’t stop there.
     His next took inspiration from the local landscape: “KRELUDOR ROCKS!!!”
     His third admittedly got a little out of hand: “Virtupets? More like VIRTU_PESTS!” But c’mon, who wouldn’t give a little jab at their biggest rival when the opportunity arose?
     And now, surrounded by stacks and stacks of homemade moon merch, they were taking aim at Neopia. Their intended t-shirt target: Brightvale.
     “Why Brightvale?” Derlyn Fonnet, team captain, was chewing gum and lounging on a nearby bench. The Gnorbu only half-watched Qlydae and Ealyn bicker about which way the atmosphere would be blowing; the rest of her attention was on the notepad in her lap.
     “To send a MESSAGE that we BEAT THEM,” Qlydae said, exasperated that this was not obvious. “Because they came in SECOND!”
     “Aren’t they down enough as it is? Y’know, being totally grey?”
     Qlydae chewed on this. Ealyn lit a match. He raised it to the fuse…
     “Upupup!” the Grundo said, waving his hands. “Cut that out! I’m thinking.”
     Ealyn dropped the match into the dust and squashed the flame with his boot.
     “You’d get the most publicity by sending shirts to Altador,” Derlyn continued, scribbling in her notebook. “Plus, added bonus, it might actually remind the Council that Kreludor exists.”
     “Ugh. What do you know? You’re just writing to that weirdo Brains kid again.”
     Derlyn raised her eyebrows. “Oh? You got a problem with that?”
     Qlydae crossed his arms. “He’s just soooo weird. That’s all the press ever talks about! Brains, Brains, Brains. Pen pal with Brains. Blegh!”
     Ealyn lit another match just to watch the flame. “Don’t worry, mate. Pretty sure the fans are still stuck on yer own-goal.”
     That was the moon rock to break the mining cart. Qlydae’s shoulders rose, his fists bunched, and he stomped around, letting out frustrated growls. This was not how his second-best day ever was supposed to go!
     “Okay, mini-Motor Dahy, calm down,” Derlyn said.
     “I’m not like Motor!” How dare she compare him to their hot-tempered teammate!
     “No, you’re not,” she said. “You’re right.”
     “It’s just—it’s just nobody believes I have good ideas!” Qlydae collapsed onto the ground by Derlyn’s bench in dramatic fashion, when—FWOOOP!
     Ealyn dove out of the way as the cannon fired, rocking several metres backwards. In the far distance, the first purple t-shirt sailed into Neopia’s atmosphere.
     The ex-pirate chuckled and got back to his feet. “Thar she goes!”
     “Nooo, Ealyn!! What have you done!” The Grundo buried his head in his knees, giving in to feelings of failure, until he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder.
     “Hey, bud. Mistakes happen,” Derlyn said. “Nothing we can do about the past… that shirt is long-gone. Sometimes it’s easiest to forget when we learn to embrace it.”
     Qlydae sniffed and rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, right.”
     “Now, maybe we sling t-shirts to all of the lands—at least so it feels less targeted,” she continued. “Personally, I think Tyrannia would get a kick out of the ‘Kreludor Rocks’ shirt. And what do you think… maybe Maraqua for this one?”
     When Qlydae looked up, Derlyn was showing him what she’d been drawing in her notepad. It was a t-shirt sketch of him holding the cup with a big, blocky heading: “MVP.”
     He chuckled, and she smiled.
     “Ealyn,” he said, standing and dusting his knees. “Prepare for t-shirt number two!”

Kreludor prize(s):

Grey Techo Fanatic Plushie
Protein Shaker Bottle (old AC prize)

[Blue]

Thanks again for updating. In an airport and nearly forgot!

[Pickles]

Posted: Thu Jun 12, 2025 6:52 am NST
Lost Desert text:

Shifty Dealings

It was as hot as ever in the Lost Desert that day. The sun was high in the cloudless blue sky, bright and beating its rays down on the sands and the mud bricks making up the walls of Sakhmet – but despite the heat, the sun was not the reason that Luvea Trivon was sweating.
     The Draik’s team made their way to the Yooyuball pitch on the edge of Sakhmet City, while he slowly beat his wings to trail along behind them. Today wasn’t their usual practice day, but Leera Heggle, the team’s captain, had decided to call a sudden training session just an hour ago since Derbi, their right forward, had told them that she had a dental appointment set for their usual time.
     “I still can’t believe you scheduled your appointment for our training time,” Rhee muttered to Luvea’s teammates up ahead.
     “I can’t expect you to,” Derbi replied, sighing exaggeratedly. “You don’t have a winning smile to take care of. Do Kikos even have teeth?”
     “Derbi…” Leera frowned. He had been growing more and more exasperated with Derbi’s antics lately due to the rest of the team’s complaints, but seemed reluctant to punish the Scorchio. She was a superstar on the pitch, after all.
     “Whatever.” Derbi came to a stop before the equipment shed. “You’ll all be thanking me when the photo-ops come—EEEK!”
     Luvea shrank back, letting his teammates crowd in to see what had startled the Scorchio – and then tried to make himself even smaller when they realised what he already knew.
     “Where’s all our stuff?! The game-day gear, the practice equipment, the extra scrimmage Yooyuballs – everything’s gone!” Vonde exclaimed. The Wocky quickly began to examine the shed door, looking for any signs of breaking and entering. Unfortunately for him, though, he wouldn’t find any – the Desert Scarabs were expert thieves, and if they didn’t want to leave a trace of themselves behind, they wouldn’t.
     “All right, which one of you did it?” Derbi asked, glaring at her teammates. The moment her eyes fell on Vonde, though, her infamous accusatory finger came out, and she pointed it right at him. “I bet it was Vonde. He must've hawked all our stuff, trying to impress the Gourmet Club with all his expensive foods!”
     “What?!” Vonde stomped over to her. “It wasn’t me! If anything, it had to have been you, paying for all your fancy clothes and dental treatments!”
     Derbi opened her mouth to protest, but Leera got in between them and pushed his sturdy Kau hooves into their chests to separate them. “That’s enough, you two. Nobody here sold our equipment.”
     “What makes you so sure?” Rhee asked.
     The captain calmly turned his attention to Luvea, and Luvea gulped.
     “Luvea,” he began, “you’ve been rather quiet.”
     Luvea hung his head. That was it—his Geb was cooked. Last year, he had shown up with brand-new Yooyuball equipment to replace what they’d lost in a sandstorm; despite his optimism, the team had been suspicious, and Luvea couldn’t blame them—especially since Leera knew about his past connections with the Desert Scarabs. He had asked Luvea some questions about it, but ultimately continued to trust him. And now…
     Now he had betrayed that trust.
     The knot in Luvea’s chest tightened, and he wrung his claws together. “Sorry, guys, I…”
     Just then, he heard a shuffle of movement and a chorus of familiar laughter. From behind his team, a small crowd of Neopets emerged, all of them with the same tattoo emblazoned on their arms.
     Luvea’s heart sank like it was trapped in quicksand. The moment his team turned to look at the intruders, their laughter was silenced. The Desert Scarabs – led by Tomos, the Lupe – fell still, looking at the team with wide, startled eyes.
     They were wearing the missing Yooyuball gear.
     “Thieves!” Derbi cried, launching into the air and pointing her finger at them now.
     “H-hang on a second!” Luvea cried, rushing to stand between his old friends and his team. “They didn’t steal anything!”
     “Then how do you explain them having our equipment?” Rhee asked.
     “I…” Luvea looked from one party to the other and sighed, shoulders and wings deflating. “I let them take it.”
     Derbi took a deep breath. Luvea knew what was coming next – scolding, accusation, anger. And that was if he was lucky – her fire breath, while she never used it on her friends, was nothing to sneeze at. But before she really got going, Leera raised a hoof to quiet the coming tirade.
     “Why?” he asked calmly, and that was almost worse.
     “Because we wanted to play,” Tomos said. He stepped forward to stand next to Luvea, and laid a kind paw on his shoulder. “We’re pretty infamous around here—just walking around the market gets us a bunch of dirty looks. We wanted to do something that wouldn’t make others look at us like Apis dung, and we saw how playing Yooyuball helped Luvea, so…”
     “Since they helped me raise money to replace the gear we lost, I promised them they could borrow it whenever they liked. That way they wouldn’t have to steal any more to get their own.” Luvea closed his eyes. “I wanted to give them a chance like you did for me, but I didn’t think you’d agree to let a bunch of thieves play with our Yooyuball gear, so I gave them my storage key and told them when we wouldn’t be practicing.”
     “I see.” Leera moved forward. He eyed Tomos, then cast his serious stare onto Luvea…
     …And held out his hoof in offering.
     Both Tomos and Luvea looked up at him in surprise, but Tomos quickly accepted the handshake. A breath of relief passed throughout both groups – until Leera turned back to Luvea.
     “Next time, Luvea,” he said, a small grin pulling at his lips, “tell us when you make such promises. We trust you, so you need to trust us, too. Now…” He turned to the group at large – thieves and teammates, all together. “Who wants to play some Yooyuball?”

Lost Desert prize(s):

Perfectly Preserved Diamond Yooyuball (old AC prize)
Deflated Yooyuballoons

ETA:
Maraqua text:

Clearing the Water..

Just outside of Old Maraqua, a strong, steady current ran the perimeter of the full Maraquan circle. Underwater denizens had long used it to safely travel great distances, from Mystery Island to Krawk Island and back. When schools were out, the Maraqua Current could get quite busy—which was why Oten and his teammates had answered the call to help with today’s cleanup.
     The grey hadn’t affected Maraqua directly—the Skeith wondered if the ocean was simply too large and barren to bother trying—but they had been dealing with the ramifications nonetheless. At first, coastal cities had tried dumping excess paint into the sea, hoping it would recede… only to clutter Neopia’s ocean currents with blobs of grey. Then, as boat travel increased, so did their, uh, “waste.” And now…
     “T-shirts?” Tonie said, stretching his large Koi fin out to catch one. “MVP, with a picture of that Grundo from Team Kreludor. Ahh, to be the victor.”
     “Maybe it’s a good thing Elon didn’t come with,” Lamelle said, and Oten had to agree.
     When he had pitched the service idea, their captain had insisted on keeping to their regular practice time, claiming they “had to win the Cup at some point.” Elon’s absence for this activity was for the best. And, to be frank, solo practice closely resembled his usual gameplay style, anyway.
     Lamelle swam through the current to catch another shirt, this time with the reigning team plastered fully across the front. The Kiko presented the “CHAMPIONS!!!” print to his team, and Tonie laughed.
     Barit’s fins twitched; the Maraquan Techo watched another bundle of purple and orange shirts sweep by in the current.
     “There’s gotta be hundreds,” Oten said. “Surely they weren’t all meant for Maraqua.”
     “We are the biggest target,” Tonie said. “If ‘we’ could be considered ‘the ocean.’”
     “Catching shirts as they speed by? This could be our defender practice!” Lamelle said, excitedly bobbing up and down.
     It didn’t take long for them to develop a strategy: Lamelle and Barit would catch and pass shirts to Tonie and Oten, who swam outside the current. Soon the team found a flow, laughing and singing sea shanties to their rhythm. It felt like a game.
     Then Elon showed up, and the fun subsided.
     “Thought you weren’t interested,” Oten said.
     “Got bored.” Elon casually rolled a Maraquan Yooyu from one Acara tentacle arm to the other.
     An awkward pause. Then Oten had an idea. Might be bright. Might be stupid.
     “Bet you can’t get as many shirts as Lamelle,” he said.
     “Pssh,” Elon said. “Easy.” The Acara swam closer, eying the speed of the current.
     “Let’s time it, then,” Barit said. “Oten catches for Lamelle, and Tonie for Elon.”
     “Think of me like a goal,” Tonie said, holding his Koi fins wide, and Oten snorted.
     Right. Because he’s never had to pass a day in his life.
     Barit started the timer, and the two players caught and tossed shirt after shirt. Though Lamelle was the smallest on the team, the Kiko had quick hands and a tenacity that put his captain to the test. He and Oten worked seamlessly; the two defenders had passed countless Yooyus to one another over the years, and the Skeith could easily read his teammate’s movement.
     Elon clearly had the upper hand in the number of t-shirts thrown, but his erratic tosses had their goalkeeper swimming every which way to keep up. To his credit, Tonie had only dropped one or two across the dozen flung in his general direction.
     By the end, the two throwers were neck-and-neck, with Elon just barely in the lead—until his last two throws flew wide of Tonie, dropping him behind at the last second.
     “Tonie!” Elon whined. “What the flipper, dude? You can’t catch anything!”
     “Woah, hey now. Tonie’s got the best reflexes on the team,” Barit said. “He’s the reason why we place so high all the time in the Cup. Nothing gets past our goalkeeper.”
     “What do you call those drops!” Elon gestured to the shirts that floated down below.
     Oten sighed. “Maybe it’s because you’ve never practiced passing to a target, and Lamelle has. How do you think you get the ball as often as you do?”
     “Don’t bother. He just wants to hog the spotlight,” Barit said, folding his arms.
     “Uh, no,” Elon said. “I’m just being strategic. If I know I can score better than any of you, why would I bother passing?”
     That’s when it dawned on Oten. “Holy kelp... You don’t trust us.”
     It wasn’t that Elon craved attention, or even that he wanted an all-guy team, as the rumours had long stated. No, the ego went deeper than the Maraqua trench: if their captain could wave Fyora’s staff, he would create an all-Elon team.
     “What? I trust you fine, when you go to practice.”
     “If you actually trusted Lamelle with the ball,” Barit added, “or trusted Tonie to have your back, we’d be a much better team.”
     “All the players we’ve lost, because you didn’t believe in them…”
     Elon backed away from his teammates. “They were holding us back anyway.”
     “Buddy,” Oten said, “you’re the common denominator in all these Cups. You’ve been our only forward this whole time.”
     That did it. Elon sputtered, red at the gills, then swam off in a burst of bubbles. Tonie, ever the sweetheart, made a move to follow, but Oten pulled him back.
     “Let him go,” he said, thinking. “Now we know trust is at the heart of it. I think we can all put our heads together on things we can do to build that up… preferably off the pitch.”

Maraqua prize(s):

Grey Yooyu Mask
Discarded Magical Blue Grundo Plushie of Prosperity Monitor (old staff prize)

[Siniri]

I haven't had time to read since KL. So I need to pick up at KI if I decide to read the rest. While there are amusing bits, they feel overly long, like they feel they have to try to describe all team members and their personalities, but the vignettes are so short, there's really not room for that many characters.

[Pickles]

Meridell text:

The Quest for Team Colours

It takes a lot of yarn to adorn a town, especially a grey one, and a lot of dye, too. Ethel’s usual dyes relied heavily on Meri Acres berries, but with the state of Neopia, Pick Your Own fruits had been restricted for culinary use only. Understandable. And with Ethel’s endless drive to replenish her own yarn, a minor hurdle.
     But it was nearly Illusen Day, she had banners and gifts to knit, and she was all out of colours.
     “Red on top, blue in the middle,” the old Ixi repeated for the two teammates that had tagged along for her latest adventure.
     She’d received a tip from one of Illusen’s couriers: a patch of elusive Meriberries had been spotted on the edge of Shadowglen Woods. Despite the inherent danger of the area, foraging on the fringes was the best she could do under the circumstances. Venturing as far from the grey as possible, searching for oft-forgotten fruits that no one would find appetizing… (A pity, really, because Ethel firmly believed that with enough sugar, anything was palatable!)
     “This is really far from town,” Ilsa said. Her fellow Ixi, a gorgeous shade of red, ducked beneath a branch that Ethel had easily walked under.
     Ethel had noticed that this was the first time in a long while that her teammate had opted to wear a long, maidenly dress, with the skirt hitched up for travel. She’d felt it accentuated Ilsa’s tall frame quite well; and she’d taken note on how she might adjust her current knitting project.
     “The harder the find, the sweeter the reward!” Ethel hummed, peering through a thorny bush to get a better look at the plants behind.
     “And why are we looking for a red and blue berry? Isn’t Illusen Day… earthy?”
     “I’ve got my reasons.” Ethel smiled; a bit of mystery never hurt anyone.
     “You’ve already done so much for Meridell Town,” Ilsa continued. “I think everyone would understand if you needed to slow down, take a month off.”
     “Trust me, dearie, I’ll slow down when I need to. Though if you two need to rest, please do! I brought invigorating tea just for the occasion.”
     “I’ve still got energy!!” Yoris bounced out of the treeline and nearly tripped over his own JubJub feet.
     Ilsa sighed. “Just make sure you’ve got enough to make it back without a cart ride. We might not be as lucky on our return trip as we were getting out here.”
     “An astute observation, my dear,” Ethel said. “And duly noted.”
     Ethel understood Ilsa’s concern; she’d been in a knitting frenzy since the last tourney. The old Ixi taught the team her craft so they could all produce plenty of warm jumpers, caps, and scarves for all of the grey lands by winter. She’d additionally made plushies for the little ones and knitted plants to brighten Illusen’s Glade. And now, while their captain was busy planning Illusen Day festivities, Ethel had promised knitted garlands for every building—and perhaps a green blanket for Turmaculus—to help revive the Meridell spirit.
     She was very keen on the idea; her neighbours could use a festival to boost their morale. At least tensions were low enough for it—thanks, in large part, to the continued aid from Darigan Citadel. Fiorina had even volunteered to fly goods back and forth. It was a curious time; Ethel wondered if there’d be increased trade between the lands, if all this grey ever subsided. Imagine the deep purple hues you’d get from Spiked Dariberries…
     “Aha!” Yoris exclaimed, jumping this way and that. “Red on top, blue in the middle!”
     “Wonderful!” Ethel hurried over to him.
     But before she could confirm the berry, twisting vines curled around the JubJub’s foot and yanked him into the Shadowglen Woods.
     “Yoris!” Ethel and Ilsa shouted in unison, leaping into the treeline after their teammate. In the shadowy brush, a half-dozen monstrous flowers and pet-eating plants had him surrounded.
     “Stay back, Ethel!” Ilsa called. She tackled the nearest flower, flattening it to the ground.
     But the old Ixi sprung into action: she popped open a flask of Kayla’s sleeping draught—she’d never go foraging without it—and flung the substance across the roots of the living vines. They drooped and loosened their grip, plopping Yoris into a bush.
     “Get out of here!” As Ilsa rammed a second plant into a tree, an enormous, stinky flower loomed over her, oozing a dark and mysterious nectar. Ethel pulled out her foraging knife.
     “Sorry, flower,” she said to the creature. “I’m more knightly than I look.”
     While the flower bore down on Ilsa, Ethel swiped at the stem. It twisted, whirling its jagged leaves, but Ethel was too low to the ground for it to reach. With a few more cuts, she sliced the stem in two. The monster withered and collapsed. Its stench turned abhorrent.
     Chartreuse nectar pooled on the ground, and Ethel wondered if it might make for a unique dye colour of its own. Oh yes, she thought. A perfect green for the big blanket!
     With the flowers defeated, the three Meridellian players crawled out from the treeline, back into clear, odourless air and the warm protection of daylight.
     “How did you—?” Ilsa started, holding a cut on her arm.
     “Oh, they are fearsome creatures, to be sure,” Ethel said, uncorking a salve for her, “but nothing I haven’t seen before. It’s just been a decade or two since my last encounter!”
     Once everyone had been patched up, the old Ixi gleefully examined the bush that was indeed packed with Meriberries. She picked as many as could fit in her baskets.
     “I… feel like I owe you an apology,” Ilsa said as they walked back to the road to Meridell. “You clearly had a handle on things back there.”
     “Oh nonsense,” Ethel said, watching Yoris bounce ahead. “You couldn’t have known. It was very brave of you, to jump into unknown danger for Yoris—and little old me.”
     Ilsa laughed, shaking her head. “I should’ve known, tough as you are on the pitch.”
     “Just think if we played with balls of yarn, rather than Yooyus!”
     “That would definitely be unfair. You’d be unstoppable.”
                                ~~~
     The night before Illusen Day, with colourful knitted garlands lending warmth to the grey old town, Ethel gifted all of her teammates new jumpers: bright red and blue for Team Meridell.
     She sat by Ilsa and watched her unfold two different sweaters, both perfectly sized to her tall stature. One flowed like her skirt, while the other resembled the boxier garments that Ilsa had worn before.
     “I wanted to make sure you were comfortable no matter which felt… right for you, the day of the festival. Though either would go fine with skirts or trousers!”
     A smile spread across the red Ixi’s face. “You are not to be underestimated,” she said, and wrapped her arms around Ethel in a big hug. “Thank you, Ethel.”
     Ethel gave her an extra-tight squeeze, a familiar warmth spreading from her chest. This right here was what drove her to work as hard as she had: this special moment of seeing to someone’s need, without them ever having asked.
     “It was my pleasure, dear Ilsa,” she said. “And it always will be.”

Meridell prize(s):

Meepits Pulling Wires (old Staff prize)
Grey Altador Cup Referee Bobblehead

I've really only read a few of them, but I 100% agree, Siniri. They're nice, but...there's something lacking.