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Re: Altador Cup XX - The Grey Year
Sat Jun 21, 2025 1:42 pm
Posted: Mon Jun 16, 2025 1:49 pm NST
Mystery Island text:
Mystery Island prize(s):
Darigan Yooyu (Old AC prize)
The Grey Year Podium Background
Poor Darigan Yooyu was already devalued from being in the first Premium Goodie Bag pool. My poor hands are twitching every time they release something I have that took a ton of work to get. I still have a few prizes that haven't been completely devalued, but it feels like those are becoming fewer and farther between. Sigh.
It still astounds me that this bugger is only 300k:
Techo Fanatic Megaphone
Getting through 500 games of MSN with a minimal score of 6500 was EXCRUCIATING for that achievement the one year they did achievements.
ETA Posted: Tue Jun 17, 2025 4:54 am:
Roo Island text:
Roo Island prize(s):
Grey Quiggle Quiz-Giver Plushie
Giant Yooyu Plushie (old AC prize)
ETA 2 Posted: Wed Jun 18, 2025 7:41 am NST:
Shenkuu text:
Shenkuu prize(s):
Mirsha Grelinek Stamp (old AC prize)
Mirsha Grelinek Plushie (old AC prize)
ETA3 Posted: Fri Jun 20, 2025 2:32 pm NST:
Terror Mountain text:
Terror Mountain prize(s):
Grey Yooyu
Rainbow Slushie (old AC prize)
Tyrannia text:
Tyrannia prize(s):
Golden Altador Cup Coin (Old AC prize)
The Grey Year Stadium Background
ETA 4:
Virtupets text:
Virtupets prize(s):
The Grey Year Stamp (Other V album page)
Clockwork Dress (old AC prize)
Collecting all days before June 30th awards this:
The Altador Cup That Never Was
You've earned a Trophy for collecting all of the souvenirs from Altador Cup: The Grey Year! Thanks for showing up in support of every land in Neopia.
And...that's it for this year.
Why the grey stamp didn't go on either the GREY album page or Other IV, I have no idea. (Other IV still has two missing stamps. Yet they've put SEVERAL in Other V???)
Mystery Island text:
Island Hopping
Waves rolled over the shore to announce the arrival of Mystery Island’s Yooyuball team. The sand was warm and soft beneath the team’s feet and flippers, different from the slightly grittier quality of their home’s sand, and yet familiar all the same. It felt good to touch down on a proper beach, almost as if they were coming home, even though Dacardia was a destination none of them had ever been to before.
“Whoo! Feels good to be off that boat,” Vela Binal said, beak opening wide and long Lenny legs stretching out far.
“I’ll say,” Tulay agreed. She hopped from foot to foot, as was her habit, and looked around the beach. “Not all of us are as lucky as Lor and can just swim our way across the sea.”
“Have you tried investing in a pair of flippers?” Lor—a Flotsam—joked. His teammates laughed, all except Volgoth, their captain – he was already scanning the beach, looking for the reason they had made their way to Dacardia.
“Whoa!” Vela exclaimed, scrambling a few feet ahead and shading his eyes with his wing. “What in Mumbo Pango’s endless appetite is THAT?!”
The rest of the team followed behind him. There, right at the point where the beach met grass, was…
“A giant Yooyu?!”
Wordlessly, they all agreed to investigate. As they got closer to the great, towering… thing, they realised that it was not, in fact, a Yooyu, but a bunch of beams bolted together in the shape of a Yooyu. And what was more, it was surrounded by dozens and dozens of tiny red robot Crabbies!
“Get back here!” came a familiar voice, just as one of said little robots scuttled by faster than one of Tulay’s trick shots. A moment later, it was followed by none other than the captain of the Dacardian Yooyuball team, Tyrra Tamina, scrambling on all fours. “I need those nails, you silly—Ah! Volgoth!”
She came to a clumsy halt just before knocking into the towering Mynci – aided by his strong hand on her shoulder – but there was a big, wide, Kougra-fanged smile on her face that suggested she would have been just as happy to crash into him after all.
Hearing the commotion, Tyrra’s teammates began to make their way to the beach. “TULAY!” Camila cheered, speedily taking wing and tackling her Cybunny friend to the ground, while Rowdy Roo the Gelert grinned, jogged up to Vela, and said, “Vela, my guy, what’s a handsome Lenny like you doing in a place like this?”
Soon enough they were all gathered around each other, hugging and laughing and catching up. Volgoth still hadn’t properly greeted his fellow team captain, though, so he did just that a moment later – and silenced the whole crowd in doing so.
“Tamina,” he said, and the Kougra captain scoffed playfully.
“Psh! I told you you could call me by my first name, remember—wait a second. Not that we’re not happy to see you, but, um… why are we seeing you right now?”
“Nevermind that,” Lor said, gesturing toward the giant Yooyu-shaped frame. “Why are we seeing a giant Yooyu right now?”
“That’s a Yooyu?” Selmon Woulf asked. Everyone on the beach turned their heads toward the Xweetok, but nobody said anything.
“It will be,” Tyrra began after a moment. “And it’s going to be able to travel all across Neopia. We wanted to show everyone that even if things look grey right now and the Altador Cup has been cancelled, the sporting spirit is still alive.”
“I see. Only you guys could come up with something like that,” Volgoth said, rubbing his chin. “Hmm… You know, we were worried about you all, placing so low in your debut Cup. We thought you’d be upset, so we came to show our support and solidarity, but I guess we were wrong.”
“You do have a habit of taking your shots before checking the other team’s plays,” Tyrra said, nudging Volgoth affectionately. “But that’s something I like about you guys. And… not gonna lie, you were right. We were pretty disappointed to come in 17th. We know we’re new and all, but… I dunno, I guess we just thought we were better than that.”
“We felt the same way about our first low placement, too. And every low placement after that,” Lor said.
Tyrra’s smile faded, and she looked down at the sand, dragging her foot through it. “How did you deal with that?” she asked. “You guys seem so put-together and strong as a team, I just figured you were always good sports about everything.”
“This guy? Good sport?” Selmon elbowed Volgoth. “You should have seen him after AC V. Nearly toppled Techo Mountain.”
Tyrra gasped, but Volgoth only laughed good-naturedly. That had taken some explaining, and only after the Training School guardians and the Techo Master himself had fought him to the point of collapsing. He had been a lot quicker to anger back in those days. “It’s true,” he said. “And it nearly happened again the next year. And the year after that. Then we placed second… But it didn’t feel much like victory.”
“Don’t get us wrong, placing that high felt good,” Lor said, “but we’d trained so hard just to win that by the time we did, we realised we hadn’t actually had fun playing in years.”
“It wasn’t until we got back home and the whole island was celebrating our second place standing that we figured out why we were really playing,” Vela said.
Volgoth eyed each of his teammates, and they grinned back at him in turn. “You know,” he began, “a giant mechanical travelling Yooyu’s not a bad idea. It looks big enough to house a whole Yooyuball field on it, too.”
Tyrra blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Last year, Darigan Citadel came to Mystery Island on vacation,” Volgoth said. “While they were there, we practised together.”
“Wait,” said Rowdy, lurching forward in shock. “You’re all buddy-buddy with Darigan Citadel? That means you know some of Tandrak Shaye’s tricks, right? Then could you help a Gelert out and—”
“Not this again,” Vela groaned, grabbing Rowdy around the snout and forcing it closed, in the same instant that Camila swatted her teammate’s ears.
Volgoth grunted. “I don’t know about tricks – they’re honourable players. But that’s not the point. The point is that just because there’s no Cup doesn’t mean we can’t play. And if you put a playing field on your giant travelling Yooyu…”
“Everyone can play!” Tulay finished, bouncing up and down and tugging on Tyrra’s braid. “Just for fun!”
“There’s more to Yooyuball than winning,” Volgoth concurred. “And it’s about time we all reminded ourselves of that.”
Waves rolled over the shore to announce the arrival of Mystery Island’s Yooyuball team. The sand was warm and soft beneath the team’s feet and flippers, different from the slightly grittier quality of their home’s sand, and yet familiar all the same. It felt good to touch down on a proper beach, almost as if they were coming home, even though Dacardia was a destination none of them had ever been to before.
“Whoo! Feels good to be off that boat,” Vela Binal said, beak opening wide and long Lenny legs stretching out far.
“I’ll say,” Tulay agreed. She hopped from foot to foot, as was her habit, and looked around the beach. “Not all of us are as lucky as Lor and can just swim our way across the sea.”
“Have you tried investing in a pair of flippers?” Lor—a Flotsam—joked. His teammates laughed, all except Volgoth, their captain – he was already scanning the beach, looking for the reason they had made their way to Dacardia.
“Whoa!” Vela exclaimed, scrambling a few feet ahead and shading his eyes with his wing. “What in Mumbo Pango’s endless appetite is THAT?!”
The rest of the team followed behind him. There, right at the point where the beach met grass, was…
“A giant Yooyu?!”
Wordlessly, they all agreed to investigate. As they got closer to the great, towering… thing, they realised that it was not, in fact, a Yooyu, but a bunch of beams bolted together in the shape of a Yooyu. And what was more, it was surrounded by dozens and dozens of tiny red robot Crabbies!
“Get back here!” came a familiar voice, just as one of said little robots scuttled by faster than one of Tulay’s trick shots. A moment later, it was followed by none other than the captain of the Dacardian Yooyuball team, Tyrra Tamina, scrambling on all fours. “I need those nails, you silly—Ah! Volgoth!”
She came to a clumsy halt just before knocking into the towering Mynci – aided by his strong hand on her shoulder – but there was a big, wide, Kougra-fanged smile on her face that suggested she would have been just as happy to crash into him after all.
Hearing the commotion, Tyrra’s teammates began to make their way to the beach. “TULAY!” Camila cheered, speedily taking wing and tackling her Cybunny friend to the ground, while Rowdy Roo the Gelert grinned, jogged up to Vela, and said, “Vela, my guy, what’s a handsome Lenny like you doing in a place like this?”
Soon enough they were all gathered around each other, hugging and laughing and catching up. Volgoth still hadn’t properly greeted his fellow team captain, though, so he did just that a moment later – and silenced the whole crowd in doing so.
“Tamina,” he said, and the Kougra captain scoffed playfully.
“Psh! I told you you could call me by my first name, remember—wait a second. Not that we’re not happy to see you, but, um… why are we seeing you right now?”
“Nevermind that,” Lor said, gesturing toward the giant Yooyu-shaped frame. “Why are we seeing a giant Yooyu right now?”
“That’s a Yooyu?” Selmon Woulf asked. Everyone on the beach turned their heads toward the Xweetok, but nobody said anything.
“It will be,” Tyrra began after a moment. “And it’s going to be able to travel all across Neopia. We wanted to show everyone that even if things look grey right now and the Altador Cup has been cancelled, the sporting spirit is still alive.”
“I see. Only you guys could come up with something like that,” Volgoth said, rubbing his chin. “Hmm… You know, we were worried about you all, placing so low in your debut Cup. We thought you’d be upset, so we came to show our support and solidarity, but I guess we were wrong.”
“You do have a habit of taking your shots before checking the other team’s plays,” Tyrra said, nudging Volgoth affectionately. “But that’s something I like about you guys. And… not gonna lie, you were right. We were pretty disappointed to come in 17th. We know we’re new and all, but… I dunno, I guess we just thought we were better than that.”
“We felt the same way about our first low placement, too. And every low placement after that,” Lor said.
Tyrra’s smile faded, and she looked down at the sand, dragging her foot through it. “How did you deal with that?” she asked. “You guys seem so put-together and strong as a team, I just figured you were always good sports about everything.”
“This guy? Good sport?” Selmon elbowed Volgoth. “You should have seen him after AC V. Nearly toppled Techo Mountain.”
Tyrra gasped, but Volgoth only laughed good-naturedly. That had taken some explaining, and only after the Training School guardians and the Techo Master himself had fought him to the point of collapsing. He had been a lot quicker to anger back in those days. “It’s true,” he said. “And it nearly happened again the next year. And the year after that. Then we placed second… But it didn’t feel much like victory.”
“Don’t get us wrong, placing that high felt good,” Lor said, “but we’d trained so hard just to win that by the time we did, we realised we hadn’t actually had fun playing in years.”
“It wasn’t until we got back home and the whole island was celebrating our second place standing that we figured out why we were really playing,” Vela said.
Volgoth eyed each of his teammates, and they grinned back at him in turn. “You know,” he began, “a giant mechanical travelling Yooyu’s not a bad idea. It looks big enough to house a whole Yooyuball field on it, too.”
Tyrra blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Last year, Darigan Citadel came to Mystery Island on vacation,” Volgoth said. “While they were there, we practised together.”
“Wait,” said Rowdy, lurching forward in shock. “You’re all buddy-buddy with Darigan Citadel? That means you know some of Tandrak Shaye’s tricks, right? Then could you help a Gelert out and—”
“Not this again,” Vela groaned, grabbing Rowdy around the snout and forcing it closed, in the same instant that Camila swatted her teammate’s ears.
Volgoth grunted. “I don’t know about tricks – they’re honourable players. But that’s not the point. The point is that just because there’s no Cup doesn’t mean we can’t play. And if you put a playing field on your giant travelling Yooyu…”
“Everyone can play!” Tulay finished, bouncing up and down and tugging on Tyrra’s braid. “Just for fun!”
“There’s more to Yooyuball than winning,” Volgoth concurred. “And it’s about time we all reminded ourselves of that.”
Mystery Island prize(s):
Darigan Yooyu (Old AC prize) The Grey Year Podium BackgroundPoor Darigan Yooyu was already devalued from being in the first Premium Goodie Bag pool. My poor hands are twitching every time they release something I have that took a ton of work to get. I still have a few prizes that haven't been completely devalued, but it feels like those are becoming fewer and farther between. Sigh.
It still astounds me that this bugger is only 300k:
Techo Fanatic MegaphoneGetting through 500 games of MSN with a minimal score of 6500 was EXCRUCIATING for that achievement the one year they did achievements.
ETA Posted: Tue Jun 17, 2025 4:54 am:
Roo Island text:
Juggling Act
With a spectacular triple-twist fall, Jair struck her final pose on the aerial ropes. The orchestra played its culmination, and her chest rose and fell from the effort of her act. The crowd roared in a standing ovation—then the lights dimmed, the curtain fell, and the Maraquan Eyrie slid down to the stage and flew off into the wings.
She had twenty-three minutes for lunch before she needed to be at the pitch.
A kind crewmember handed her a glass of water, and she downed it as she changed out of her glittering costume and into the jingling Roo Island uniform. The heat of the spotlight always made her feel so parched, so she was thankful for the cool hydration.
Another sold-out theatre—and for a matinée, no less. Circus Rooleil had been doubling their performances to keep up with ticket demand, which was putting a strain on Jair’s own schedule. For many places struck by the grey, Roo Island was a convenient, still-colourful escape, so tourism had been booming. She kept reminding herself, even as she sped out the back door, that she was more than happy to help, especially seeing so many grey Neopians in the audience.
Fourteen minutes to the first Yooyu.
Her heart was still pounding, which was concerning; usually she’d have recovered by now. Jair took slow breaths between bites of cold potato wedges… and yet a small, sharp pain pricked in her chest. Lilo, her team captain, would understand if she were late—he knew how packed her days had become. But Jair wasn’t one to let people down. So on she flew, dodging clumps of tourists lining up outside of the popular Coffee Cave.
After a few years with the circus, Jair was accustomed to quick changes. She knew the schedule was logically possible, but she lived in constant fear of forgetting a game, an act—a play!—just trying to keep track of it all. It was hard, but even without the crowds, it was also deeply rewarding. Flying the ropes took a great level of control that helped her feel strong. And everyone could see how her work on the stage flowed into her movement on the pitch; they both served as expressions of herself. She felt like the luckiest Eyrie alive.
So why was her chest so tight?
Eight minutes to gametime.
Her mind whirred with to-do lists. The simplicity of morning Yooyuball and evening rehearsal had turned into morning practice, matinée, afternoon match, and evening performance. And somehow, she’d been making it work. Standing ovations, glowing reviews in the paper, and at-least-average showings on the Yooyuball pitch had granted her the constant fuel of positive reinforcement. It was nice to receive her flowers, but she was starting to suspect that that was just the problem…
How do you stop a Merry Go Round, before it spins totally out of control?
Four minutes.
She flew through the team entrance, quickly tossed her bag in the locker room, and collapsed on the team bench by the sidelines. Deep breath in. Hold. Deep breath out. She held her hand to her heart to help centre herself. She’d made it.
Team Roo Island and Team Brightvale were just finishing their warm-ups. The bleachers had already filled to capacity, even for a recurring friendly match. This was good; their ongoing efforts this off-season doubled as a fundraiser, with ticket proceeds going to Brightvale relief funds. Lilo, Jair’s captain, gave her a wave, then a concerned look.
Oh no, she thought. Dread coiled in her stomach like a dropped circus rope.
The Blumaroo bounced over. “Jair… are you alright?”
Emotions rose in her throat, and Jair closed her eyes. “I’m fine.”
Wait. A thought flashed in her head. Did I leave my Yooyu sling backstage—?
Her eyes flew open in a panic until she remembered she’d thrown her bag in the locker room. She breathed a heavy sigh of relief as Lilo took a seat next to her.
“I’ve been thinking,” he began, using a more serious voice than usual. “I’m sure you know this better than anyone, but… it seems like you’re taking on way too—”
“I know.” She looked at him, keeping her emotions in check. “I know. But this is important. It was a lot of work to put these matches together—I’m not letting them down.”
She gestured towards the crowd, who were getting louder; the announcer was working them into a frenzy. The show must go on.
“I’m more concerned about letting you down,” her captain said. “Maybe… maybe you should sit out the next few matches, until things cool off a bit.”
“And let you be a player short? No way. I still really want to play… I just gotta make it to the Cup.”
Her mantra of the year: make it to the Cup. Having a target end date helped it all feel possible. Once the tournament was said and done, then she could re-evaluate, maybe even cut back on half of her performances—regardless of the additional shows selling out. Then, in that perfect future, she could stop burning the candle at both ends.
“Well, I was going to wait until after the match to share the news,” Lilo said, “but it sounds like there is no Cup this year.”
Oh. It felt like a heavy tent had collapsed all around her. Breathing became difficult. The next few days, weeks, and months cycled in her mind, over and over and over…
Not now, she thought, reprimanding herself. Focus on the present.
The pitch. The sun. The cheers and chants. The itch of her collar. The teams, shaking hands. Players… laughing, on both sides.
Huh.
It looked like Roo Island and Brightvale had grown to be quite close, which came as a surprise to Jair. She’d missed most of the early team dynamics, but knew Tressif had been worried about… pranks, or something? Clearly, Brightvale had relaxed into a more easy-going team—or Roo Island had found a groove that kept their scrimmages fun, friendly, and casual. Whatever had happened, they made it through the rough patch. It had all worked out.
Jair took a deep, shaky breath. She didn’t know if she could do the same.
“I’ve got it!” Lilo snapped and bounced up off of the bench like he did whenever he thought of a brilliant new play. “An idea where both teams bench a player, so you can rest.”
Jair eyed him doubtfully. Her teammates were gathering into a pre-match huddle. Surely it was too late!
“These were always meant to be casual games, more theatrics than anything,” her captain continued, unperturbed. “What if—oooh, this is good. What if we made it more… interactive? Invite Neopians from the crowd to fill a spot on each team??”
“You think… that’d be safe?” Jair asked, thinking of the Brightvale player known for elbowing his opponents in the stomach.
The Blumaroo giggled. “Yes! This is exactly what we’ve been practicing for, really.” He paused, seeing her slide down the bench a bit. “Does that… sound okay to you? And when you’re ready—and by that, I mean your schedule has returned to normal—we can rotate you back in, and give others a rest. Because yes, this work is important, but, Jair—so are you.”
The weight… instantly lifted. This was it: her ticket off of the never-ending ride, at least for a season. She might not have had the brainspace to figure out what she needed this soon, but thankfully, Lilo did. She could finally breathe. She could finally think.
Jair nodded, then blinked a tear free.
With a spectacular triple-twist fall, Jair struck her final pose on the aerial ropes. The orchestra played its culmination, and her chest rose and fell from the effort of her act. The crowd roared in a standing ovation—then the lights dimmed, the curtain fell, and the Maraquan Eyrie slid down to the stage and flew off into the wings.
She had twenty-three minutes for lunch before she needed to be at the pitch.
A kind crewmember handed her a glass of water, and she downed it as she changed out of her glittering costume and into the jingling Roo Island uniform. The heat of the spotlight always made her feel so parched, so she was thankful for the cool hydration.
Another sold-out theatre—and for a matinée, no less. Circus Rooleil had been doubling their performances to keep up with ticket demand, which was putting a strain on Jair’s own schedule. For many places struck by the grey, Roo Island was a convenient, still-colourful escape, so tourism had been booming. She kept reminding herself, even as she sped out the back door, that she was more than happy to help, especially seeing so many grey Neopians in the audience.
Fourteen minutes to the first Yooyu.
Her heart was still pounding, which was concerning; usually she’d have recovered by now. Jair took slow breaths between bites of cold potato wedges… and yet a small, sharp pain pricked in her chest. Lilo, her team captain, would understand if she were late—he knew how packed her days had become. But Jair wasn’t one to let people down. So on she flew, dodging clumps of tourists lining up outside of the popular Coffee Cave.
After a few years with the circus, Jair was accustomed to quick changes. She knew the schedule was logically possible, but she lived in constant fear of forgetting a game, an act—a play!—just trying to keep track of it all. It was hard, but even without the crowds, it was also deeply rewarding. Flying the ropes took a great level of control that helped her feel strong. And everyone could see how her work on the stage flowed into her movement on the pitch; they both served as expressions of herself. She felt like the luckiest Eyrie alive.
So why was her chest so tight?
Eight minutes to gametime.
Her mind whirred with to-do lists. The simplicity of morning Yooyuball and evening rehearsal had turned into morning practice, matinée, afternoon match, and evening performance. And somehow, she’d been making it work. Standing ovations, glowing reviews in the paper, and at-least-average showings on the Yooyuball pitch had granted her the constant fuel of positive reinforcement. It was nice to receive her flowers, but she was starting to suspect that that was just the problem…
How do you stop a Merry Go Round, before it spins totally out of control?
Four minutes.
She flew through the team entrance, quickly tossed her bag in the locker room, and collapsed on the team bench by the sidelines. Deep breath in. Hold. Deep breath out. She held her hand to her heart to help centre herself. She’d made it.
Team Roo Island and Team Brightvale were just finishing their warm-ups. The bleachers had already filled to capacity, even for a recurring friendly match. This was good; their ongoing efforts this off-season doubled as a fundraiser, with ticket proceeds going to Brightvale relief funds. Lilo, Jair’s captain, gave her a wave, then a concerned look.
Oh no, she thought. Dread coiled in her stomach like a dropped circus rope.
The Blumaroo bounced over. “Jair… are you alright?”
Emotions rose in her throat, and Jair closed her eyes. “I’m fine.”
Wait. A thought flashed in her head. Did I leave my Yooyu sling backstage—?
Her eyes flew open in a panic until she remembered she’d thrown her bag in the locker room. She breathed a heavy sigh of relief as Lilo took a seat next to her.
“I’ve been thinking,” he began, using a more serious voice than usual. “I’m sure you know this better than anyone, but… it seems like you’re taking on way too—”
“I know.” She looked at him, keeping her emotions in check. “I know. But this is important. It was a lot of work to put these matches together—I’m not letting them down.”
She gestured towards the crowd, who were getting louder; the announcer was working them into a frenzy. The show must go on.
“I’m more concerned about letting you down,” her captain said. “Maybe… maybe you should sit out the next few matches, until things cool off a bit.”
“And let you be a player short? No way. I still really want to play… I just gotta make it to the Cup.”
Her mantra of the year: make it to the Cup. Having a target end date helped it all feel possible. Once the tournament was said and done, then she could re-evaluate, maybe even cut back on half of her performances—regardless of the additional shows selling out. Then, in that perfect future, she could stop burning the candle at both ends.
“Well, I was going to wait until after the match to share the news,” Lilo said, “but it sounds like there is no Cup this year.”
Oh. It felt like a heavy tent had collapsed all around her. Breathing became difficult. The next few days, weeks, and months cycled in her mind, over and over and over…
Not now, she thought, reprimanding herself. Focus on the present.
The pitch. The sun. The cheers and chants. The itch of her collar. The teams, shaking hands. Players… laughing, on both sides.
Huh.
It looked like Roo Island and Brightvale had grown to be quite close, which came as a surprise to Jair. She’d missed most of the early team dynamics, but knew Tressif had been worried about… pranks, or something? Clearly, Brightvale had relaxed into a more easy-going team—or Roo Island had found a groove that kept their scrimmages fun, friendly, and casual. Whatever had happened, they made it through the rough patch. It had all worked out.
Jair took a deep, shaky breath. She didn’t know if she could do the same.
“I’ve got it!” Lilo snapped and bounced up off of the bench like he did whenever he thought of a brilliant new play. “An idea where both teams bench a player, so you can rest.”
Jair eyed him doubtfully. Her teammates were gathering into a pre-match huddle. Surely it was too late!
“These were always meant to be casual games, more theatrics than anything,” her captain continued, unperturbed. “What if—oooh, this is good. What if we made it more… interactive? Invite Neopians from the crowd to fill a spot on each team??”
“You think… that’d be safe?” Jair asked, thinking of the Brightvale player known for elbowing his opponents in the stomach.
The Blumaroo giggled. “Yes! This is exactly what we’ve been practicing for, really.” He paused, seeing her slide down the bench a bit. “Does that… sound okay to you? And when you’re ready—and by that, I mean your schedule has returned to normal—we can rotate you back in, and give others a rest. Because yes, this work is important, but, Jair—so are you.”
The weight… instantly lifted. This was it: her ticket off of the never-ending ride, at least for a season. She might not have had the brainspace to figure out what she needed this soon, but thankfully, Lilo did. She could finally breathe. She could finally think.
Jair nodded, then blinked a tear free.
Roo Island prize(s):
Grey Quiggle Quiz-Giver Plushie Giant Yooyu Plushie (old AC prize)ETA 2 Posted: Wed Jun 18, 2025 7:41 am NST:
Shenkuu text:
A Prodigy's Decision
Bright purple and orange t-shirts fluttered down to the Lunar Temple, and Timu watched them fall from her regular spot at the top of the roof. Ever since her transfer to Team Shenkuu many years back, the pink Lupe often came here to stargaze or chat with Yueling, the wise Gnorbu who maintained the temple. He’d probably call these shirts “gifts from the moon itself.” Considering the colours, he likely wouldn’t be wrong.
“You shine so brightly,” he’d told Timu upon meeting her. It felt wonderful, once.
Back then, she was considered a prodigy, a star of a player. She was traded from Team Altador the moment Shenkuu had seen her potential. A few years went by, then the player she’d replaced, Foltaggio, went on to earn the captain’s role for her old team in Altador.
And where did she end up, a decade later? The same place she started.
A t-shirt landed on the roof, close enough for her to grab. ALTADOR CUP XIX CHAMPIONS!!!, it read, alongside a picture of Team Kreludor. Another reminder of how little she had accomplished lately…
When she started playing professionally, she was one of the youngest players around. They’d even called her ‘The Paint Brush’ on the pitch, due to her quick ability to adapt her playstyle to any opponent. But now… as her body ached from climbing up and then down the tall temple, she felt like perhaps she had let everyone down.
“Hey Timu, could you give me a hand over here with these boxes?” Mirsha Grelinek, Team Shenkuu’s captain, called out. The Gnorbu picked up a fallen shirt that said KRELUDOR ROCKS!!! off of a big pile of boxes and rolled her eyes.
“Sure, thing. What’s in the boxes?” Timu asked as she jogged over.
“Supplies for Xana’s Yooyuball camp. We were allowed to store them here until we started it back up.”
Xana DiLanche, the team's goalkeeper. Despite how she’d sometimes tremble before their matches, she had opened up an all-ages Yooyuball training camp last year. Her voice had shaken during its inaugural welcome speech, but as the weeks went on, her movements became surer, her words more steady, and her students had excelled under her guidance. By the time the first camp had finished, she was like a whole new Lutari.
"You've come a long way," Mirsha had said while toasting Xana over their celebratory dinner, "both on and off the field—and I'm seeing you grow more and more every day. Here's to that ever-rising potential!"
Along with her teammates, Timu had lifted her glass into the air and cheered. Now, though, when she thought about how far Xana had come...
To keep Mirsha from noticing her demeanor change, Timu grabbed most of the boxes and hefted them up on either shoulder.
“Woah, I can help, girl. No need to get them all yourself!” Mirsha said, hovering her hands around the teetering boxes.
“I’ve got it. No worries!” Timu said, dodging her attempts to grab a box. “You can grab the last two, though, if you want.”
As they walked the boxes down the long mountainside, Timu’s mind wandered to Foltaggio again—the player Shenkuu had traded for her. A captain! She’d been at such an impasse lately… she just needed to get over herself and push harder! Be better for the team, like they had expected of her.
“You know,” Mirsha said, looking between Timu and the morning horizon. “I heard Foltaggio is taking a break on the Isle of Yooyu, since the Cup was cancelled.”
“Wait, what?” Timu said, a little too loudly. Had Mirsha known her thoughts? In her shock, the boxes leaned forward, and everything crashed to the ground around them.
Timu felt a jolt of panic, and she and Mirsha scrambled to recover items before they slid off of the steep cliff. Once everything was gathered and stacked back up to the side of the path, Mirsha calmly wandered over to the cliffside. Her hair flowed with the wild winds of the mountain breeze as she took slow, deep breaths.
“I—I’m so sorry. I had it—it just slipped. It wasn't too much, I swear!” Timu fought back the obvious tremor in her voice. She wasn’t going to cry in front of her captain!
But Mirsha’s eyes were light as she breathed. She nodded for Timu to stand by her.
They were high enough in the mountains to be above most clouds, and in the early morning hours like this, one could see for miles. The sun, barely rising, stretched its rays across the mountain peaks, looking for handholds to help lift itself higher into the sky.
Timu matched Mirsha’s slow breathing as they watched the sun try to find its place.
“I’m glad Foltaggio took a break,” Mirsha eventually said. “He’s always been a hard worker, but it can be stressful when one puts so much pressure on their shoulders.”
Timu glanced back at the boxes.
“But—what if… What if this break changes something?” Timu said, hiding a sniffle.
“What do you mean?”
“Like… What if he nev-never comes back?” A single tear rolled down her cheek.
“If that’s what he wants, what would be so bad about that?”
“He’s a-a prodigy. He’d be wasting his potential.” More tears welled, clouding her vision.
“Hmm,” Mirsha hummed as she breathed out. “I would say there’s no such thing as wasted potential. It’s more important that someone is happy. If something doesn’t bring them joy, then potential doesn't really mean anything.”
“B-but so many expect more from him.” Timu blinked, setting the tears free.
“Well, even if that was true,” Mirsha said, “It’s not up to them how he spends his life. He’s allowed to pursue happiness.”
Mirsha took a final deep breath. Timu did her best to follow suit, though her breath was more choppy.
“You make it sound so easy,” she said between sobs.
“It's not,” Mirsha said, putting a kind hand on Timu’s shoulder.
Timu nodded, and Mirsha brought her into a hug.
“But you’re allowed to go at your own pace,” she continued. “As hard as it is to slow down sometimes, I know you've got what it takes.”
Bright purple and orange t-shirts fluttered down to the Lunar Temple, and Timu watched them fall from her regular spot at the top of the roof. Ever since her transfer to Team Shenkuu many years back, the pink Lupe often came here to stargaze or chat with Yueling, the wise Gnorbu who maintained the temple. He’d probably call these shirts “gifts from the moon itself.” Considering the colours, he likely wouldn’t be wrong.
“You shine so brightly,” he’d told Timu upon meeting her. It felt wonderful, once.
Back then, she was considered a prodigy, a star of a player. She was traded from Team Altador the moment Shenkuu had seen her potential. A few years went by, then the player she’d replaced, Foltaggio, went on to earn the captain’s role for her old team in Altador.
And where did she end up, a decade later? The same place she started.
A t-shirt landed on the roof, close enough for her to grab. ALTADOR CUP XIX CHAMPIONS!!!, it read, alongside a picture of Team Kreludor. Another reminder of how little she had accomplished lately…
When she started playing professionally, she was one of the youngest players around. They’d even called her ‘The Paint Brush’ on the pitch, due to her quick ability to adapt her playstyle to any opponent. But now… as her body ached from climbing up and then down the tall temple, she felt like perhaps she had let everyone down.
“Hey Timu, could you give me a hand over here with these boxes?” Mirsha Grelinek, Team Shenkuu’s captain, called out. The Gnorbu picked up a fallen shirt that said KRELUDOR ROCKS!!! off of a big pile of boxes and rolled her eyes.
“Sure, thing. What’s in the boxes?” Timu asked as she jogged over.
“Supplies for Xana’s Yooyuball camp. We were allowed to store them here until we started it back up.”
Xana DiLanche, the team's goalkeeper. Despite how she’d sometimes tremble before their matches, she had opened up an all-ages Yooyuball training camp last year. Her voice had shaken during its inaugural welcome speech, but as the weeks went on, her movements became surer, her words more steady, and her students had excelled under her guidance. By the time the first camp had finished, she was like a whole new Lutari.
"You've come a long way," Mirsha had said while toasting Xana over their celebratory dinner, "both on and off the field—and I'm seeing you grow more and more every day. Here's to that ever-rising potential!"
Along with her teammates, Timu had lifted her glass into the air and cheered. Now, though, when she thought about how far Xana had come...
To keep Mirsha from noticing her demeanor change, Timu grabbed most of the boxes and hefted them up on either shoulder.
“Woah, I can help, girl. No need to get them all yourself!” Mirsha said, hovering her hands around the teetering boxes.
“I’ve got it. No worries!” Timu said, dodging her attempts to grab a box. “You can grab the last two, though, if you want.”
As they walked the boxes down the long mountainside, Timu’s mind wandered to Foltaggio again—the player Shenkuu had traded for her. A captain! She’d been at such an impasse lately… she just needed to get over herself and push harder! Be better for the team, like they had expected of her.
“You know,” Mirsha said, looking between Timu and the morning horizon. “I heard Foltaggio is taking a break on the Isle of Yooyu, since the Cup was cancelled.”
“Wait, what?” Timu said, a little too loudly. Had Mirsha known her thoughts? In her shock, the boxes leaned forward, and everything crashed to the ground around them.
Timu felt a jolt of panic, and she and Mirsha scrambled to recover items before they slid off of the steep cliff. Once everything was gathered and stacked back up to the side of the path, Mirsha calmly wandered over to the cliffside. Her hair flowed with the wild winds of the mountain breeze as she took slow, deep breaths.
“I—I’m so sorry. I had it—it just slipped. It wasn't too much, I swear!” Timu fought back the obvious tremor in her voice. She wasn’t going to cry in front of her captain!
But Mirsha’s eyes were light as she breathed. She nodded for Timu to stand by her.
They were high enough in the mountains to be above most clouds, and in the early morning hours like this, one could see for miles. The sun, barely rising, stretched its rays across the mountain peaks, looking for handholds to help lift itself higher into the sky.
Timu matched Mirsha’s slow breathing as they watched the sun try to find its place.
“I’m glad Foltaggio took a break,” Mirsha eventually said. “He’s always been a hard worker, but it can be stressful when one puts so much pressure on their shoulders.”
Timu glanced back at the boxes.
“But—what if… What if this break changes something?” Timu said, hiding a sniffle.
“What do you mean?”
“Like… What if he nev-never comes back?” A single tear rolled down her cheek.
“If that’s what he wants, what would be so bad about that?”
“He’s a-a prodigy. He’d be wasting his potential.” More tears welled, clouding her vision.
“Hmm,” Mirsha hummed as she breathed out. “I would say there’s no such thing as wasted potential. It’s more important that someone is happy. If something doesn’t bring them joy, then potential doesn't really mean anything.”
“B-but so many expect more from him.” Timu blinked, setting the tears free.
“Well, even if that was true,” Mirsha said, “It’s not up to them how he spends his life. He’s allowed to pursue happiness.”
Mirsha took a final deep breath. Timu did her best to follow suit, though her breath was more choppy.
“You make it sound so easy,” she said between sobs.
“It's not,” Mirsha said, putting a kind hand on Timu’s shoulder.
Timu nodded, and Mirsha brought her into a hug.
“But you’re allowed to go at your own pace,” she continued. “As hard as it is to slow down sometimes, I know you've got what it takes.”
Shenkuu prize(s):
Mirsha Grelinek Stamp (old AC prize) Mirsha Grelinek Plushie (old AC prize)ETA3 Posted: Fri Jun 20, 2025 2:32 pm NST:
Terror Mountain text:
White-Out
The team ran across the field, snow crunching underfoot. It was a cloudy day at the top of Terror Mountain, and bright flecks of snow danced before Osielle Lidel’s eyes as he buzzed above his teammates. Rinok had the Yooyuball, and paused to look around for someone to pass to; Osielle darted down a little lower, waving his arm to get the Bori’s attention.
“Here!” he called, and Rinok looked up at the Buzz—or at least, Osielle assumed he did. The snow suddenly grew heavier, whirling more violently across his vision and hiding his teammate’s white fur. He squinted, trying to make Rinok out in the flurry…
And then, out of nowhere, he felt the impact of the Yooyuball. Osielle cried out and clutched at his head, losing his balance in the air, and plummeted to the ground.
POOMF!
For a moment, his vision was completely black, but then it brightened into an unending field of white. He felt his breathing begin to quicken, but promptly tried to calm himself down. It was only snow… It was only snow…
“Are you okay?”
He heard voices above him, all of them speaking in frantic, concerned tones. He recognised the first voice as Minae Mitora’s, and sure enough, with a few blinks, the blue Chia unblurred and swam into focus.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Osielle muttered, shaking his head. It was then that he saw something else fuzzy and undefined in the corner of his eye: a gloved hand reaching for him. Another blink revealed periwinkle blue fur spotted with clouds and long, antenna-like ears. Captain Prytariel, then.
He took her hand and she hoisted him up. Osielle stumbled a little bit as he got to his feet and tested his wings for injury. Nope, they were fluttering like normal, just like a Buzz’s should, but…
More snow fell between them all, so thick that it resembled fog—and thick enough that even though Osielle could feel his teammates watching him, he couldn’t quite make out their expressions. A shudder ran down his back that he knew had little to do with the cold.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Pryatiel asked.
“Yeah. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine once the snow clears—”
“Um, Osi…” Minae started, hesitantly. “It’s not snowing.”
Osielle blinked. And blinked. And blinked. Each blink lasted longer than the last and he scrunched his eyelids tighter with each one. After the third blink, and a shake of the head, Osielle’s vision finally started to clear—and he realised that Minae was right. It wasn’t snowing after all.
“...Oh,” he said, his voice barely more than a breath.
Prytariel came closer. “Is this… Does this happen often?” she asked.
Osielle remained silent.
“Is that why you’ve been taking all those sick days?” Prytariel bit her lip.
This time, Osielle decided to speak, but it took him a moment to clear the lump in his throat. “Yeah. It—it’s been getting worse, too. I figured it was just recurring Blurred Vision, like what I thought I had in Year 13, but when I went to get it checked out, the doctors said…”
He couldn’t finish. Next to him Prytariel lifted a hand, as if she couldn’t decide whether or not to touch him. The team knew he wasn’t very touchy-feely to begin with, so he appreciated the gesture—and decided that, today, he really needed the hug.
He let himself be pulled in, and the rest of the team joined them. They stood there in silence for a moment, all huddled together against the winds of a brewing storm, and Osielle closed his eyes, trying to memorise the feeling.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Minae asked quietly. It was hard to shrug, smothered in the centre of all his teammates, but Osielle tried, and everyone backed away to give him room.
“I never meant to keep it a secret,” he said. “I just… didn’t want to make a big deal of it. I thought if I just kept taking my medicine and resting when it got really bad, it’d end up going away on its own. I didn’t want to believe the doctors when they told me I was going… going b-blind.” He swallowed, unsure if he should continue, but his teammates all waited patiently for him to speak. In the end, he decided to. They were his teammates. They’d have his back.
Osielle took a deep breath. “Nothing—nothing worked. Not the ointments, not the goggles, not the resting… I’m worried that—that since I’m losing my sight, I won’t be able to… I’ll have to quit the team.”
“Oh, Osi!” Tears sprung to the corners of Minae’s eyes, and she rushed forward to try and hug him again. Thankfully Evrem, their Scorchio teammate originally from Team Tyrannia, held her back.
“Ugg ugg-gga, Minae.”
“Sorry.”
“It okay.” Evrem looked from his emotional teammate back to Osielle. “Yooyuball not just about play. Yooyuball about… ugg-ga-ga.”
“Teamwork,” Rinok supplied.
“Yes. Teamwork. That is the word.” Evrem nodded sagely.
“He’s right,” Prytariel said. “And there are ways to be part of the team without being on the pitch, you know? For days when your vision is really bad. I don’t know what I’d do without your playbook expertise going into our matches, for instance.”
“And I love the honeyed orange slices you bring to practice!” Minae said. “Buzz honey is the best.”
“You’re great with ointments and remedies for muscle aches, too,” Rinok said.
“And you ug ugga gugg akah grahgg-aka-gug. Ugg-ugg gal-akka-ack ug ug.”
Osielle laughed. “Of course I do. You’ve got to know the strengths and weaknesses of your team, and I’m not the only one here who learned how to speak Tyrannian.”
“But you were first.”
“The point is,” Prytariel said, “you’re an asset to the team both on and off the field. Nobody knows us, or Yooyuball, like you do. So we’ll find a way to keep you with us.”
“And there’s always coaching.”
Osielle and his teammates all turned to look at Rinok. The Bori crossed his arms and grinned—an expression that Osielle found himself mirroring.
“You know, that doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” he said.
Minae bounced up and down, and it was only by the grace of Evrem still holding her that she didn’t try to reach out and grab Osielle again.
“Does this mean you’re going to be our coach for the next Cup?” she asked excitedly.
“I don’t know about that. I think I’ve still got a few years left in me,” Osielle said, “and I want to keep playing for as long as I can. But it might not be a bad idea for me to start reading up on this whole coaching thing.”
“And who knows; maybe as you’re figuring things out—as we’re all figuring things out—we could put together a camp for Neopians who are going through something similar?” Prytariel suggested.
Osielle nodded. “I like the sound of that too,” he said. “In fact, I know someone who knows a thing or two about starting up a Yooyuball camp. Maybe we could pick her brain for some advice.”
The team ran across the field, snow crunching underfoot. It was a cloudy day at the top of Terror Mountain, and bright flecks of snow danced before Osielle Lidel’s eyes as he buzzed above his teammates. Rinok had the Yooyuball, and paused to look around for someone to pass to; Osielle darted down a little lower, waving his arm to get the Bori’s attention.
“Here!” he called, and Rinok looked up at the Buzz—or at least, Osielle assumed he did. The snow suddenly grew heavier, whirling more violently across his vision and hiding his teammate’s white fur. He squinted, trying to make Rinok out in the flurry…
And then, out of nowhere, he felt the impact of the Yooyuball. Osielle cried out and clutched at his head, losing his balance in the air, and plummeted to the ground.
POOMF!
For a moment, his vision was completely black, but then it brightened into an unending field of white. He felt his breathing begin to quicken, but promptly tried to calm himself down. It was only snow… It was only snow…
“Are you okay?”
He heard voices above him, all of them speaking in frantic, concerned tones. He recognised the first voice as Minae Mitora’s, and sure enough, with a few blinks, the blue Chia unblurred and swam into focus.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Osielle muttered, shaking his head. It was then that he saw something else fuzzy and undefined in the corner of his eye: a gloved hand reaching for him. Another blink revealed periwinkle blue fur spotted with clouds and long, antenna-like ears. Captain Prytariel, then.
He took her hand and she hoisted him up. Osielle stumbled a little bit as he got to his feet and tested his wings for injury. Nope, they were fluttering like normal, just like a Buzz’s should, but…
More snow fell between them all, so thick that it resembled fog—and thick enough that even though Osielle could feel his teammates watching him, he couldn’t quite make out their expressions. A shudder ran down his back that he knew had little to do with the cold.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Pryatiel asked.
“Yeah. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine once the snow clears—”
“Um, Osi…” Minae started, hesitantly. “It’s not snowing.”
Osielle blinked. And blinked. And blinked. Each blink lasted longer than the last and he scrunched his eyelids tighter with each one. After the third blink, and a shake of the head, Osielle’s vision finally started to clear—and he realised that Minae was right. It wasn’t snowing after all.
“...Oh,” he said, his voice barely more than a breath.
Prytariel came closer. “Is this… Does this happen often?” she asked.
Osielle remained silent.
“Is that why you’ve been taking all those sick days?” Prytariel bit her lip.
This time, Osielle decided to speak, but it took him a moment to clear the lump in his throat. “Yeah. It—it’s been getting worse, too. I figured it was just recurring Blurred Vision, like what I thought I had in Year 13, but when I went to get it checked out, the doctors said…”
He couldn’t finish. Next to him Prytariel lifted a hand, as if she couldn’t decide whether or not to touch him. The team knew he wasn’t very touchy-feely to begin with, so he appreciated the gesture—and decided that, today, he really needed the hug.
He let himself be pulled in, and the rest of the team joined them. They stood there in silence for a moment, all huddled together against the winds of a brewing storm, and Osielle closed his eyes, trying to memorise the feeling.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Minae asked quietly. It was hard to shrug, smothered in the centre of all his teammates, but Osielle tried, and everyone backed away to give him room.
“I never meant to keep it a secret,” he said. “I just… didn’t want to make a big deal of it. I thought if I just kept taking my medicine and resting when it got really bad, it’d end up going away on its own. I didn’t want to believe the doctors when they told me I was going… going b-blind.” He swallowed, unsure if he should continue, but his teammates all waited patiently for him to speak. In the end, he decided to. They were his teammates. They’d have his back.
Osielle took a deep breath. “Nothing—nothing worked. Not the ointments, not the goggles, not the resting… I’m worried that—that since I’m losing my sight, I won’t be able to… I’ll have to quit the team.”
“Oh, Osi!” Tears sprung to the corners of Minae’s eyes, and she rushed forward to try and hug him again. Thankfully Evrem, their Scorchio teammate originally from Team Tyrannia, held her back.
“Ugg ugg-gga, Minae.”
“Sorry.”
“It okay.” Evrem looked from his emotional teammate back to Osielle. “Yooyuball not just about play. Yooyuball about… ugg-ga-ga.”
“Teamwork,” Rinok supplied.
“Yes. Teamwork. That is the word.” Evrem nodded sagely.
“He’s right,” Prytariel said. “And there are ways to be part of the team without being on the pitch, you know? For days when your vision is really bad. I don’t know what I’d do without your playbook expertise going into our matches, for instance.”
“And I love the honeyed orange slices you bring to practice!” Minae said. “Buzz honey is the best.”
“You’re great with ointments and remedies for muscle aches, too,” Rinok said.
“And you ug ugga gugg akah grahgg-aka-gug. Ugg-ugg gal-akka-ack ug ug.”
Osielle laughed. “Of course I do. You’ve got to know the strengths and weaknesses of your team, and I’m not the only one here who learned how to speak Tyrannian.”
“But you were first.”
“The point is,” Prytariel said, “you’re an asset to the team both on and off the field. Nobody knows us, or Yooyuball, like you do. So we’ll find a way to keep you with us.”
“And there’s always coaching.”
Osielle and his teammates all turned to look at Rinok. The Bori crossed his arms and grinned—an expression that Osielle found himself mirroring.
“You know, that doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” he said.
Minae bounced up and down, and it was only by the grace of Evrem still holding her that she didn’t try to reach out and grab Osielle again.
“Does this mean you’re going to be our coach for the next Cup?” she asked excitedly.
“I don’t know about that. I think I’ve still got a few years left in me,” Osielle said, “and I want to keep playing for as long as I can. But it might not be a bad idea for me to start reading up on this whole coaching thing.”
“And who knows; maybe as you’re figuring things out—as we’re all figuring things out—we could put together a camp for Neopians who are going through something similar?” Prytariel suggested.
Osielle nodded. “I like the sound of that too,” he said. “In fact, I know someone who knows a thing or two about starting up a Yooyuball camp. Maybe we could pick her brain for some advice.”
Terror Mountain prize(s):
Grey Yooyu Rainbow Slushie (old AC prize)Tyrannia text:
It Takes a Team
There wasn’t a lot to be done once the twins got into one of their moods. Normally, they were of two minds, but when one got upset, the other usually cried alongside her.
This was why Loryche, as captain of the team, usually didn’t bring them to practice without the babysitter, but she wasn’t left with much of a choice nowadays. The babysitter’s family had been affected by the grey curse, and Loryche insisted she go be with them. A choice that she stood by, but still kicked herself for making without much of a backup plan.
Pebpeb and Brambles were crying over a Mutant Yooyu who no longer wanted to play with them. Loryche couldn’t blame the poor thing; they’d been babbling its ear off for the last few hours. She scooped up her younglings and dabbed their tears.
“It’s alright. We’ll be done here soon, and then we can go home and get some cactus blossoms. How does that sound?” Loryche said, bouncing them up and down as they giggled.
“No!” yelled a Tyraninan Moehog behind Loryche and her girls. “Cap made it to where I would faint left, and then score. You’re supposed to be the distraction!”
“Please, you’re a defender. Why would she possibly mean for you to do that manoeuvre?” laughed a Krawk, with spikes covering most of his body. “She obviously meant that to be me!”
“CAAAAP!” Scrap and Spikes yelled in unison.
They were arguing over the playbook again, always trying to find ways to one-up one another. Another pair she regularly had to calm down. Loryche tried to place her girls down to deal with the situation, but they immediately started crying once more.
“Oh, Captain! I can take them off your hands for a while!” Wila Benne-Neyhbol said as she whirled over. She was the team's left forward—a newlywed young Tonu with a heart of gold—and Loryche knew she had aspirations of becoming a mother one day, but…
“WAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!” Pebpeb and Brambles cried even louder.
…for whatever reason, the girls just didn’t like her.
Wila raised her hands and backed away to the bleachers, where she pretended to flip through the playbook Scrap and Spikes had been fighting over moments ago. Loryche would have to talk with her later, as the two numbskulls were now physically fighting over whose sling was whose.
Luckily, the captain was granted a moment of peace when Mor Gollog, the team’s goalkeeper (and one of the biggest relic Moehogs around) came up between Scrap and Spikes and lifted the fighting nincompoops by their shirts. He placed them on either side of him and gave a big huff.
“Sooorry Golloooog,” Scrap and Scruff said in unison.
Mor huffed again and pushed the two towards one another. They reluctantly hugged, a team tradition after any fight, and went out to the pitch to practice the move they’d just been fighting over. Mor then came over to Loryche and held out his hands, offering to take Pebpeb and Brambles.
“Oh no, Mor, you should join the team and train. I don’t want to take away anymore from today’s session.” Loryche bounced the girls on either side of her hips.
Mor looked over towards Wila, still sitting on the bleachers alone, and gestured again to take the girls. Loryche sighed and handed them over. The girls squealed and immediately started tugging on Mor’s tusks, but he didn’t seem to mind. He’d always been good with them, perhaps because he was the second eldest on the team besides her. She knew he was beloved by many nieces and nephews, despite having no children of his own.
“Find anything interesting in there?” Loryche asked as she sat down next to Wila.
Wila flipped through a couple more pages of past and future plays before placing it down beside them.
“Why don’t they like me?” Wila said softly.
“Oh, hun, they’re toddlers. Their interests change per bowel movement.” Loryche laughed, but noticed Wila slouch more. “They’ll come around, darling. Just give it time.”
“Maybe it’s a sign… that I won’t be a good mom,” Wila said, somehow even softer than before. “At least not like you.”
Loryche looked over at Mor. Her girls swung from his ears while he watched the other two train... perks of being painted relic, she guessed. Although, she’d also believe he was just that strong.
She sighed. This was the third practice in a row she had disrupted by bringing them. And yet Mor always helped out, Scrap and Scruff never treated her differently, and, somehow, Wila still thought so highly of her.
“Sweetie, I’m sorry,” Loryche said, pulling Wila into a big hug.
“You're sorry?!” Wila said, muffled from the tight embrace.
“Yeah, I’m sorry I must make motherhood look like an omelette-walk,” Loryche said jokingly. She released Willa and lovingly pinched her cheek. “But let me tell ya, I haven't slept a whole night in months.”
“W-what?” Wila laughed and elbowed Loryche. “That’s–that’s not–”
“Not whatcha meant?” Loryche finished for her, “I know, pumpkin. I just wanted to see ya smile.”
Wila’s smile disappeared then, as though hiding after being called out.
“It’s just… I see how hard you work. Juggling everything, and yet never dropping the ball. What if I can’t handle that sort of pressure?” Wila said, returning to her softer voice.
“Sugar, I drop the ball all the time!” Loryche chuckled as Mor pretended not to know where he was going, and her girls’ tiny hands covered his eyes. “It ain’t about not dropping balls. It’s about knowing which one’s a Clockwork Yooyu and which one’s a Regular Yooyu.”
“Huh?”
Loryche paused, putting more thought into her next words. She must need more sleep; she was barely making sense to herself now.
“I suppose what I’m saying is… you’re gonna make mistakes. Won’t make ya a bad mom, just like it don’t make you a bad Yooyuball player. Take your time, pass the ball to your teammates when you can, heck, drop a ball altogether if you need to.”
She thought of her babysitter once again; Loryche hoped the girl was doing well, but she couldn’t wait for her to return.
“It’ll take practice, though, to know which balls are most important,” she continued as she watched Scrap, Spikes, and Mor collide with each other. Mor held the girls high above his head, unfazed by the circumstances. “And it’ll take time to learn all the ins and outs of the playbook.”
Scrap and Spikes begged Mor for forgiveness, and it seemed Mor was letting the girls decide their fate. Loryche and Wila laughed.
The captain returned her attention to the young Tonu beside her. “But if you’re willing to put in the work, you’ll find there’s no better team out there!”
Scrap and Spikes, as punishment, were now running laps around the pitch with either girl on their shoulders.
Then Loryche had an idea.
“How about this?” she said, watching Wila’s old smile return. “If you’re looking for some practice, I just happen to be down a babysitter for awhile. What do you say we form a new team to tackle this whole motherhood thing together?”
There wasn’t a lot to be done once the twins got into one of their moods. Normally, they were of two minds, but when one got upset, the other usually cried alongside her.
This was why Loryche, as captain of the team, usually didn’t bring them to practice without the babysitter, but she wasn’t left with much of a choice nowadays. The babysitter’s family had been affected by the grey curse, and Loryche insisted she go be with them. A choice that she stood by, but still kicked herself for making without much of a backup plan.
Pebpeb and Brambles were crying over a Mutant Yooyu who no longer wanted to play with them. Loryche couldn’t blame the poor thing; they’d been babbling its ear off for the last few hours. She scooped up her younglings and dabbed their tears.
“It’s alright. We’ll be done here soon, and then we can go home and get some cactus blossoms. How does that sound?” Loryche said, bouncing them up and down as they giggled.
“No!” yelled a Tyraninan Moehog behind Loryche and her girls. “Cap made it to where I would faint left, and then score. You’re supposed to be the distraction!”
“Please, you’re a defender. Why would she possibly mean for you to do that manoeuvre?” laughed a Krawk, with spikes covering most of his body. “She obviously meant that to be me!”
“CAAAAP!” Scrap and Spikes yelled in unison.
They were arguing over the playbook again, always trying to find ways to one-up one another. Another pair she regularly had to calm down. Loryche tried to place her girls down to deal with the situation, but they immediately started crying once more.
“Oh, Captain! I can take them off your hands for a while!” Wila Benne-Neyhbol said as she whirled over. She was the team's left forward—a newlywed young Tonu with a heart of gold—and Loryche knew she had aspirations of becoming a mother one day, but…
“WAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!” Pebpeb and Brambles cried even louder.
…for whatever reason, the girls just didn’t like her.
Wila raised her hands and backed away to the bleachers, where she pretended to flip through the playbook Scrap and Spikes had been fighting over moments ago. Loryche would have to talk with her later, as the two numbskulls were now physically fighting over whose sling was whose.
Luckily, the captain was granted a moment of peace when Mor Gollog, the team’s goalkeeper (and one of the biggest relic Moehogs around) came up between Scrap and Spikes and lifted the fighting nincompoops by their shirts. He placed them on either side of him and gave a big huff.
“Sooorry Golloooog,” Scrap and Scruff said in unison.
Mor huffed again and pushed the two towards one another. They reluctantly hugged, a team tradition after any fight, and went out to the pitch to practice the move they’d just been fighting over. Mor then came over to Loryche and held out his hands, offering to take Pebpeb and Brambles.
“Oh no, Mor, you should join the team and train. I don’t want to take away anymore from today’s session.” Loryche bounced the girls on either side of her hips.
Mor looked over towards Wila, still sitting on the bleachers alone, and gestured again to take the girls. Loryche sighed and handed them over. The girls squealed and immediately started tugging on Mor’s tusks, but he didn’t seem to mind. He’d always been good with them, perhaps because he was the second eldest on the team besides her. She knew he was beloved by many nieces and nephews, despite having no children of his own.
“Find anything interesting in there?” Loryche asked as she sat down next to Wila.
Wila flipped through a couple more pages of past and future plays before placing it down beside them.
“Why don’t they like me?” Wila said softly.
“Oh, hun, they’re toddlers. Their interests change per bowel movement.” Loryche laughed, but noticed Wila slouch more. “They’ll come around, darling. Just give it time.”
“Maybe it’s a sign… that I won’t be a good mom,” Wila said, somehow even softer than before. “At least not like you.”
Loryche looked over at Mor. Her girls swung from his ears while he watched the other two train... perks of being painted relic, she guessed. Although, she’d also believe he was just that strong.
She sighed. This was the third practice in a row she had disrupted by bringing them. And yet Mor always helped out, Scrap and Scruff never treated her differently, and, somehow, Wila still thought so highly of her.
“Sweetie, I’m sorry,” Loryche said, pulling Wila into a big hug.
“You're sorry?!” Wila said, muffled from the tight embrace.
“Yeah, I’m sorry I must make motherhood look like an omelette-walk,” Loryche said jokingly. She released Willa and lovingly pinched her cheek. “But let me tell ya, I haven't slept a whole night in months.”
“W-what?” Wila laughed and elbowed Loryche. “That’s–that’s not–”
“Not whatcha meant?” Loryche finished for her, “I know, pumpkin. I just wanted to see ya smile.”
Wila’s smile disappeared then, as though hiding after being called out.
“It’s just… I see how hard you work. Juggling everything, and yet never dropping the ball. What if I can’t handle that sort of pressure?” Wila said, returning to her softer voice.
“Sugar, I drop the ball all the time!” Loryche chuckled as Mor pretended not to know where he was going, and her girls’ tiny hands covered his eyes. “It ain’t about not dropping balls. It’s about knowing which one’s a Clockwork Yooyu and which one’s a Regular Yooyu.”
“Huh?”
Loryche paused, putting more thought into her next words. She must need more sleep; she was barely making sense to herself now.
“I suppose what I’m saying is… you’re gonna make mistakes. Won’t make ya a bad mom, just like it don’t make you a bad Yooyuball player. Take your time, pass the ball to your teammates when you can, heck, drop a ball altogether if you need to.”
She thought of her babysitter once again; Loryche hoped the girl was doing well, but she couldn’t wait for her to return.
“It’ll take practice, though, to know which balls are most important,” she continued as she watched Scrap, Spikes, and Mor collide with each other. Mor held the girls high above his head, unfazed by the circumstances. “And it’ll take time to learn all the ins and outs of the playbook.”
Scrap and Spikes begged Mor for forgiveness, and it seemed Mor was letting the girls decide their fate. Loryche and Wila laughed.
The captain returned her attention to the young Tonu beside her. “But if you’re willing to put in the work, you’ll find there’s no better team out there!”
Scrap and Spikes, as punishment, were now running laps around the pitch with either girl on their shoulders.
Then Loryche had an idea.
“How about this?” she said, watching Wila’s old smile return. “If you’re looking for some practice, I just happen to be down a babysitter for awhile. What do you say we form a new team to tackle this whole motherhood thing together?”
Tyrannia prize(s):
Golden Altador Cup Coin (Old AC prize) The Grey Year Stadium BackgroundETA 4:
Virtupets text:
CTRL + ALT + …
Keetra and her team were midway through a virtual simulation game—a tight matchup versus an expertly modeled Team Kreludor—when Goltron Mk I went haywire.
At first, the robot Tuskaninny began to repeat binary code, jamming up their team comms. Frustrating, but not unheard of—just one of those unique Virtupets problems that her friends on Neopia never had to deal with. Though they had problems of their own, with the grey spreading as much as it had. Keetra had often entertained thoughts of going down to visit…
But she had no time to think of that now, because things had gotten weirder.
Goltron had left their digital goal for no reason at all and was now virtually chasing Sela, their left defender, around the game board. A loud yell cut through the Yooyuball Simulator, and Keetra called a time-out to pause the game.
The Cybunny captain quickly removed her headset and blinked, readjusting to the bright lighting of their real-life practice pitch. Goltron had cornered Sela, who was cowering with her back against the wall.
“Go AWAY, Goltron!” the purple Xweetok yelled. She had already flung off her headset in the middle of the pitch.
“01000110 01110010 01101001 01100101 01101110 01100100,” Goltron said again. “01010000 01101100 01100001 01111001.”
Keetra bounded over to interfere. “What in the galaxy is going on?”
XL Striker 3.8 joined her, translating the binary as he pulled his fellow robot back.
“FRIEND, he’s saying. FRIEND… PLAY…”
“01001000 01100101 01101100 01110000.”
Striker straightened, rotating his head towards his captain. “HELP.”
Keetra felt a chill run down her spine. “Friend” and “play”? That sounded a lot like Neopet V2, the evil program that had long been defunct… and the inspiration behind their team programmer’s online name. She glanced over at the programmer booth, but Weldar, her right defender, was already two hops ahead of her. The mutant Grundo pulled V2_4ever by his tail fin out onto the Virtupets practice pitch.
“Explain,” Weldar growled, shoving the Koi closer to Keetra.
V’s glowing dimensional lines burned into the captain’s vision, swimming beneath her eyelids every time she blinked. She’d always preferred speaking to their programmer over a headset; looking at him gave her a headache.
V2_4ever fluttered his tail fin, miffed, the moment Weldar released it. “We won the year I built the Yooyuball Simulator, if you remember,” he said. “Then last year, the other teams caught up. They called our tactics. I knew we needed to upgrade to stay one step ahead.”
“Some upgrade.” Sela accepted the large Grundo’s help up, moving farther away from their binary-babbling goalkeeper. She was shaking. Keetra couldn’t tell if it was fear or anger, but she knew it was likely both.
Weldar glared. “The Koi must’ve reprogrammed Goltron to target Sela.”
It was… plausible. The motivation was there: this year, Sela had been vocal in encouraging them all to trust their instincts, rather than rely so heavily on V’s programming skills to fill out their playbook. And the orderly Goltron would never have acted so recklessly on his own.
“That wasn’t the intention,” V said through gritted teeth. “I’ve been researching advanced technology and happened across a floppy disk filled with old code.”
“By ‘old code,’ you mean Neopet V2,” Keetra said, trying to keep her cool.
“Barely!” V corrected. “Only slivers of him, really… The file is heavily corrupted. But once I saw what I had, I thought of Goltron: one of his biggest weaknesses is Athletic IQ. Knowing V2’s intelligence was off the charts, I carefully—carefully—extracted a couple lines and added them to Goltron’s programming. You know, since Plan A was vetoed…”
He looked pointedly at Keetra, who’d folded her arms.
“I’m not letting you clone me,” she said. He’d pitched the idea to her earlier this year: an entire team of prodigies built, above all, to win. She’d been V’s greatest champion in how much his programming skills could help their team, but even she’d known that idea was a bridge too far.
V flug up his fins in exasperation. “You claim you’re so worried about your friends in Neopia, and yet your schedule is packed with practice and code review. Meanwhile, your clones could be helping Neopia in your stead. They wouldn’t even need to sleep.”
“I don’t want to send a bunch of bot clones in my place—I want to check in on my friends and see what they need. It would mean a lot more for me to make the trip…” Keetra rubbed her face. “Which I should probably do.”
“SAD,” Striker said, translating a new line of Goltron’s binary code. “FRIEND. MEAN. Well that could mean many things, Goltron. Who’s ‘friend’ in this instance?”
Sela took a deep breath to steady herself. She looked worriedly at their Tuskaninny goalkeeper. “I think Captain has a good reason not to trust your work, V.”
“They’d probably go the way of Evil Sloth Clones,” Weldar grumbled, “to be frank.”
Now their programmer was vibrating with anger, his bright lines blurring. “You would never have won the Cup without advancing your tech!” He gestured at the headsets they’d left on the field. “Sure, sometimes it breaks. But that’s part of staying ahead: improving the code, testing new theories, iterating at top speed. Why can’t you see that?!”
“01010011 01101111 01100010. 01010011 01101111 01100010. 01010011 01101111 01100010.” Goltron’s typical whirring noises had transitioned into a whine.
“Oh. Oh dear. I’m sorry to do this, but…” Striker opened a panel behind Goltron’s neck and held down a button. The goalkeeper’s arms stilled as he fully shut down.
“Poor bot… we’ll have to do a full reboot, using backup data.” The robot Wocky patted Goltron. “And on behalf of him: sorry, Sela. He wasn’t in his right framework.”
Keetra returned to the pitch. “There are more important things than your programming, V, as impressive as it is.” She picked up Sela’s dropped headset. “It’s not worth hurting friends just for a bit more speed, or cleverness. Honestly… the grey crisis is a good reminder of what really matters. We’re so far removed from it, sometimes it can be easy to forget. But that’s real, down there, not some simulation.”
She blinked hard, watching vestiges of V’s glowing lines dance behind her eyelids. “And you know what? Sela’s right about trusting our instincts. We’ve become so reliant on your tech to enhance our teamwork that we’ve lost sight of the strengths each of us bring to the team. I’ve been so wrapped up in improving our stats that I haven’t been thinking enough about everything—or everyone—outside of the Simulator. It’s like I’ve been trapped here.”
“What are you talking about? We’re making huge strides!”
She paused, looking at him one last time. “Find yourself someone else to clone, V. You’re done here.”
The Koi’s jaw dropped. He stared at the captain for a long while and shook his head.
“Big mistake,” he said, then swam through the air, out of the practice pitch.
Keetra let go of a breath and closed her eyes—then felt the soft embrace of Sela, and a firm pat on the back from Weldar.
“Thank you, Captain,” Sela said. “I know that wasn’t easy, but… maybe we don’t need a programmer. We can put our heads together, build on ideas that are more… us.”
“And if you are making the trip down, I’m going with,” Weldar added with a grunt. “You’re not traveling alone anytime soon. Not with that goon on the loose.”
Keetra shuddered. “Thanks, Weld. I am a little worried about what he might be up to next… but it is a relief knowing someone has my back. Several someones.” She took in this moment with her teammates, each of them a bright, burning star in their own right.
“I do think I could really use some distance from this place for a little while,” she continued. “And helping friends in need would really help me get out of my head.”
“A team trip to Neopia?” Striker said. “I can outline an entire schedule, based on the number of weeks we would like to stay. One? Five? Twenty? Let’s try one of each.”
He stood still for a few moments. “And… done!”
Keetra and her team were midway through a virtual simulation game—a tight matchup versus an expertly modeled Team Kreludor—when Goltron Mk I went haywire.
At first, the robot Tuskaninny began to repeat binary code, jamming up their team comms. Frustrating, but not unheard of—just one of those unique Virtupets problems that her friends on Neopia never had to deal with. Though they had problems of their own, with the grey spreading as much as it had. Keetra had often entertained thoughts of going down to visit…
But she had no time to think of that now, because things had gotten weirder.
Goltron had left their digital goal for no reason at all and was now virtually chasing Sela, their left defender, around the game board. A loud yell cut through the Yooyuball Simulator, and Keetra called a time-out to pause the game.
The Cybunny captain quickly removed her headset and blinked, readjusting to the bright lighting of their real-life practice pitch. Goltron had cornered Sela, who was cowering with her back against the wall.
“Go AWAY, Goltron!” the purple Xweetok yelled. She had already flung off her headset in the middle of the pitch.
“01000110 01110010 01101001 01100101 01101110 01100100,” Goltron said again. “01010000 01101100 01100001 01111001.”
Keetra bounded over to interfere. “What in the galaxy is going on?”
XL Striker 3.8 joined her, translating the binary as he pulled his fellow robot back.
“FRIEND, he’s saying. FRIEND… PLAY…”
“01001000 01100101 01101100 01110000.”
Striker straightened, rotating his head towards his captain. “HELP.”
Keetra felt a chill run down her spine. “Friend” and “play”? That sounded a lot like Neopet V2, the evil program that had long been defunct… and the inspiration behind their team programmer’s online name. She glanced over at the programmer booth, but Weldar, her right defender, was already two hops ahead of her. The mutant Grundo pulled V2_4ever by his tail fin out onto the Virtupets practice pitch.
“Explain,” Weldar growled, shoving the Koi closer to Keetra.
V’s glowing dimensional lines burned into the captain’s vision, swimming beneath her eyelids every time she blinked. She’d always preferred speaking to their programmer over a headset; looking at him gave her a headache.
V2_4ever fluttered his tail fin, miffed, the moment Weldar released it. “We won the year I built the Yooyuball Simulator, if you remember,” he said. “Then last year, the other teams caught up. They called our tactics. I knew we needed to upgrade to stay one step ahead.”
“Some upgrade.” Sela accepted the large Grundo’s help up, moving farther away from their binary-babbling goalkeeper. She was shaking. Keetra couldn’t tell if it was fear or anger, but she knew it was likely both.
Weldar glared. “The Koi must’ve reprogrammed Goltron to target Sela.”
It was… plausible. The motivation was there: this year, Sela had been vocal in encouraging them all to trust their instincts, rather than rely so heavily on V’s programming skills to fill out their playbook. And the orderly Goltron would never have acted so recklessly on his own.
“That wasn’t the intention,” V said through gritted teeth. “I’ve been researching advanced technology and happened across a floppy disk filled with old code.”
“By ‘old code,’ you mean Neopet V2,” Keetra said, trying to keep her cool.
“Barely!” V corrected. “Only slivers of him, really… The file is heavily corrupted. But once I saw what I had, I thought of Goltron: one of his biggest weaknesses is Athletic IQ. Knowing V2’s intelligence was off the charts, I carefully—carefully—extracted a couple lines and added them to Goltron’s programming. You know, since Plan A was vetoed…”
He looked pointedly at Keetra, who’d folded her arms.
“I’m not letting you clone me,” she said. He’d pitched the idea to her earlier this year: an entire team of prodigies built, above all, to win. She’d been V’s greatest champion in how much his programming skills could help their team, but even she’d known that idea was a bridge too far.
V flug up his fins in exasperation. “You claim you’re so worried about your friends in Neopia, and yet your schedule is packed with practice and code review. Meanwhile, your clones could be helping Neopia in your stead. They wouldn’t even need to sleep.”
“I don’t want to send a bunch of bot clones in my place—I want to check in on my friends and see what they need. It would mean a lot more for me to make the trip…” Keetra rubbed her face. “Which I should probably do.”
“SAD,” Striker said, translating a new line of Goltron’s binary code. “FRIEND. MEAN. Well that could mean many things, Goltron. Who’s ‘friend’ in this instance?”
Sela took a deep breath to steady herself. She looked worriedly at their Tuskaninny goalkeeper. “I think Captain has a good reason not to trust your work, V.”
“They’d probably go the way of Evil Sloth Clones,” Weldar grumbled, “to be frank.”
Now their programmer was vibrating with anger, his bright lines blurring. “You would never have won the Cup without advancing your tech!” He gestured at the headsets they’d left on the field. “Sure, sometimes it breaks. But that’s part of staying ahead: improving the code, testing new theories, iterating at top speed. Why can’t you see that?!”
“01010011 01101111 01100010. 01010011 01101111 01100010. 01010011 01101111 01100010.” Goltron’s typical whirring noises had transitioned into a whine.
“Oh. Oh dear. I’m sorry to do this, but…” Striker opened a panel behind Goltron’s neck and held down a button. The goalkeeper’s arms stilled as he fully shut down.
“Poor bot… we’ll have to do a full reboot, using backup data.” The robot Wocky patted Goltron. “And on behalf of him: sorry, Sela. He wasn’t in his right framework.”
Keetra returned to the pitch. “There are more important things than your programming, V, as impressive as it is.” She picked up Sela’s dropped headset. “It’s not worth hurting friends just for a bit more speed, or cleverness. Honestly… the grey crisis is a good reminder of what really matters. We’re so far removed from it, sometimes it can be easy to forget. But that’s real, down there, not some simulation.”
She blinked hard, watching vestiges of V’s glowing lines dance behind her eyelids. “And you know what? Sela’s right about trusting our instincts. We’ve become so reliant on your tech to enhance our teamwork that we’ve lost sight of the strengths each of us bring to the team. I’ve been so wrapped up in improving our stats that I haven’t been thinking enough about everything—or everyone—outside of the Simulator. It’s like I’ve been trapped here.”
“What are you talking about? We’re making huge strides!”
She paused, looking at him one last time. “Find yourself someone else to clone, V. You’re done here.”
The Koi’s jaw dropped. He stared at the captain for a long while and shook his head.
“Big mistake,” he said, then swam through the air, out of the practice pitch.
Keetra let go of a breath and closed her eyes—then felt the soft embrace of Sela, and a firm pat on the back from Weldar.
“Thank you, Captain,” Sela said. “I know that wasn’t easy, but… maybe we don’t need a programmer. We can put our heads together, build on ideas that are more… us.”
“And if you are making the trip down, I’m going with,” Weldar added with a grunt. “You’re not traveling alone anytime soon. Not with that goon on the loose.”
Keetra shuddered. “Thanks, Weld. I am a little worried about what he might be up to next… but it is a relief knowing someone has my back. Several someones.” She took in this moment with her teammates, each of them a bright, burning star in their own right.
“I do think I could really use some distance from this place for a little while,” she continued. “And helping friends in need would really help me get out of my head.”
“A team trip to Neopia?” Striker said. “I can outline an entire schedule, based on the number of weeks we would like to stay. One? Five? Twenty? Let’s try one of each.”
He stood still for a few moments. “And… done!”
Virtupets prize(s):
The Grey Year Stamp (Other V album page) Clockwork Dress (old AC prize)Collecting all days before June 30th awards this:
The Altador Cup That Never Was
You've earned a Trophy for collecting all of the souvenirs from Altador Cup: The Grey Year! Thanks for showing up in support of every land in Neopia.
And...that's it for this year.
Why the grey stamp didn't go on either the GREY album page or Other IV, I have no idea. (Other IV still has two missing stamps. Yet they've put SEVERAL in Other V???)
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Re: Altador Cup XX - The Grey Year
Sun Jun 22, 2025 8:36 pm
Thanks for tracking/documenting this, Pickles!
I would have sworn that I collected each day, but no trophy... Turns out that I missed Terror Mountain. Done and Trophied! At least there was no "day of" prize
I would have sworn that I collected each day, but no trophy... Turns out that I missed Terror Mountain. Done and Trophied! At least there was no "day of" prize
Re: Altador Cup XX - The Grey Year
Tue Jul 01, 2025 12:11 am
Last day to collect premium prizes and the trophy!
The regular prizes will be available to collect until next AC, but the premium ones and trophy will not be.
The regular prizes will be available to collect until next AC, but the premium ones and trophy will not be.