NATION

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The Native Story Index [Open; All Techs]

A staging-point for declarations of war and other major diplomatic events. [In character]
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Jenrak
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The Native Story Index [Open; All Techs]

Postby Jenrak » Fri Aug 20, 2010 3:56 pm

NSI
The Native Story Index


Hey guys, Jenrak here. This here is the Native Story Index, which is a collection of short stories written in, about, around or focusing on the nations of those who are interested in writing short stories about their nations. Themes, scale, scope, narration, technique in addition to tech levels and technology are no worries, and I won't be scanning for quality. Therefore, it is your own responsibility and freedom to write a story as you want.

The main requirements to writing in this thread is simply that you keep each story that you write to one post, and the rule vice versa when posting. Keep posts limited to one story, so simply make a new one if you want to post a new story. If you are spamming stories quite frivolously, I will ask that you take a breather before posting up any more.

Length is not a problem, so whether you are a Victorian imagist or a Flash Fiction micro-writer, I won't argue against it, so no worries. You may write about anything, as long as it is about your NS nation, whether PT, PMT, MT or FT, so no worries about that. That said, I do ask that you have one of these handy tags at the beginning:

[ PT ] * [ MT ] * [ PMT ] * [ FT ]


To tell me which tech level it is as well as provide your readers as to some indication as to what tech level they're going to read about. The code is here:

Code: Select all
[align=right][size=150][b][[color=#BF0000] INSERT TECH LEVEL HERE [/color]][/b][/size][/align]


That said, if you're writing a mature story (carrying sex, strong or gratuitous violence, gore, or extremely questionable moral themes [abortion, rape, etc.]), please add a mature tag as well:

[ Mature ]

Code: Select all
[align=right][size=150][b][[color=#BF0000] Mature [/color]][/b][/size][/align]


Ultimately, what you write about is your own idea, but this is just to let RPers let their creative juices flow without having to work on a long RP project or have to find people to read their things. It also provides RPers with a good reference thread to get acclimated to another RPer's style of writing without having to fish through their posts, and can work as a reference for organisations and players alike.

Provided will be a Table of Contents, and as often as I can I will add stories as they appear in the thread.

Happy Writing.
Last edited by Jenrak on Mon Dec 20, 2010 5:50 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Jenrak
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Postby Jenrak » Fri Aug 20, 2010 3:56 pm

Table of Contents

0-9

A

B

C

D

E

F

G

H

I

J

K

L

M

N

O

P

Q

R

S

T

U

V

W

X

Y

Z
Last edited by Jenrak on Sun Jul 29, 2012 7:32 pm, edited 48 times in total.
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Enzo Turga
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Postby Enzo Turga » Fri Aug 20, 2010 4:00 pm

tag, this is a good idea
Selarian Federation Factbook (FT)
List of Conflicts
Turgan-GWO War-Victory
Berouvian Civil War-Stalemate
Tamsian Oil Conflict-Victory
Revolution on Helghan's Moon of Calm-Victory
The Bug Expansion-Victory
Pandora Conflict-Victory
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Septill
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Founded: Aug 18, 2010
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Postby Septill » Fri Aug 20, 2010 4:02 pm

-unfinished-
Running From Fate

[ FT ]


Aboard the Vision of Wind
Prototype Extreme Range Exploration Ship

"The jump rail is holding a charge," One of the navigators reported, "The EM flux is in the green, right where the engineers said it would be."

"Thank you, Stav," the ship's commander Yurlatov said, smiling. After years of work to refine methods to create an asteroid capable of interstellar travel, the dream of his and his colleges was about to be realized. It took a crew of over a 500,000 to keep the ship running but finding people willing to travel the stars was quite easy with such heavy government restrictions on space flight.

Their first jump was already plotted out at 428 light years, a record in and of itself as it was easily double that of the next longest jump, and it had taken the vanguard cruiser that was waiting for them three jumps to reach the destination star, but if the engineers were correct, that jump was a mere stretch of the legs for the ship. Other then the two vanguard cruisers which served as scouts for the ship, making sure the destination stars knew what was coming, the Vision of Wind also had four General Purpose Mining ships, or GPMs, docked on it. As this was a new ship, no one knew exactly how fast it would go through fuel and the ability to scoop some more from gas giants would be incredibly helpful.

"Release control of the energy dump to the Jump Operator, and lets see what this baby can do," Yurlatov said leaning back in his chair.

Discreet blue lights started blinking all over the ship, indicating an imminent jump. The jump operator took her time finding the destination but after a minute of waiting energy surged along the rail. The static field within the ship caused by this made everyone's hair stand on end. The jump rail surged with power, glowing a white hot even as coolant systems struggled to keep up. A massive burst of radiation flowed outwards from the nose of the ship, surrounding the 10 kilometer length of it in seconds before exploding outwards in a burst of radiation hard enough to kill any unprotected person within kilometers. The actual transition time of a jump is effectively instantaneous. Though anyone who has ever been on a jumping ship would tell you it felt like a lifetime. Scientists were at a loss to explain the effects the jump had on people, according to them you shouldn't notice anything. But the effect it had on people couldn't be denied.

"Incoming transmission," the sensor director said, "Patching it through now."

"Greetings Vision of Wind! This is the Lonely Current, congratulations on you record breaking jump!"

Almost at once everyone on the ship broke into cheers, everyone was so distracted by their accomplishment they didn't notice as a ship wearing the colors of the local government vanished in a burst of radiation after having waited, unmoving, for over an hour.

Two weeks later

The testing of the Vision of Wind was complete, and her creators had decided she was ready to begin explore the far reaches of the galaxy. With her longest jump currently standing at 1,297 light years, and the Jump Operators have claimed that the ship was capable of much more then that. While the ship required a minimum of half a million people, it required another 200,000 to operate the hydro farms on board and make the ship self-sufficient. Combine that with about 10,000 crew for the two vanguard cruisers and four GPM ships and simply getting the crew off the habitat stations was an operation. The Vision of Wind was incapable of docking with the habitats themselves, so the cruisers had to act as ferries to transport everyone on board.

"Last of the crew are on route aboard the Lonely Current now, we should be ready to jump out system in under and hour," the communication director reported, turning to look at the commander.

"Very good," Yurlatov said, finishing off his cup of coffee. "get the jump rail charged up, lets be ready to go as soon as they're docked."

"Incoming communication from... the Government ship Lonely Revenge. They claim that our ship violates international treaties regarding maximum power generation," the communications director said suddenly, interrupting the Navigator's acknowledgments.

"No it doesn't..." the Commander said, leaning forward in his chair to pull his console off a nearby table, "I checked it myself, that treaty only applies to government owned ships, not privately funded ones."

"So did I," said Aleke, the designer of the Jump Rail system the Vision of Wind, said, storming onto the command deck, "I just got word over the local net, the government bought out our investors. They're trying to shut us down!"

"Why?"

"Hell if I know, but they are NOT going to get away with this," she said, pushing the communications director out of his seat and tapping away at the console. "Even if they control our funds the ship is already together and we're self-sufficient now, they still don't control or own us. Plot the jump."

"But Ale, if we-"

"PLOT IT!"

"Yes... Ma'am."

Shortly after the Lonely Current docked energy surged around the asteroid and it vanished in a burst of radiation despite the angry yells of the Military ship that was still too far away to do anything.

-To Be Continued (dramatic reverb)-
Last edited by Septill on Sat Aug 21, 2010 4:53 pm, edited 3 times in total.
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Space Combat Basics Now you have no excuse to not be prepared

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o/o/o/o/o/

"SHIP OFF THE PORT BOW, SAH!"

"FIRE ONE!"

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Goroslavia
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Founded: Feb 18, 2010
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Postby Goroslavia » Fri Aug 20, 2010 4:11 pm

MT nation story set in PT MATURE

Uniting Goroslavia

Prologue
In the northern village of Durnstov Goroslavia on a cold winter day an elderly man sat in his home next to his young grandson.

"Grandpa its to cold to go outside will you tell me a story like you used to tell daddy."

"Of course my child what would you like to hear about."

"I want to here about us grandpa i want to hear about our history an our wars."

"Very well my child let me begin with the great war."



Chapter One the Great War
"In the year of our lord 1219 a storm was brewing on an Island known as Goroslavia. The island had always been divided between the clans of the are. The clans(Goros Devins, Jourov, Houlders, and Fedlemen) were constantly locked in a battle of economics or small tribal wars. However on the date of October 17 1219 the Houlders launched a massive invasion of the Jourov bringing there Fedlemen allies withthem. The Devins however would not let this stand and joined in attempting to save the Jourov for a period of time the Goros stayed neutral. Battle after battle was raged villages after villages were decimated. After one of these decimation's of a Goro village by accident (Lourdenville) that they joined the war as an independent side."

"Thats all fine and well Grandpa but i want to hear the stories of the exciting battles."

"Very well my child i shall tell you the story of the battle of the forest of Youring"

"As the Goros moved to threaten the capital of the Fedlemen a massive Jourov army moved to attack the Goros preparing to march on the capital. The Goros seeing that they were out matched moved there army into the forest of Youring. There only hope of survival would be to destroy there army through a massive ambush."





But as the Goros joined the war the tides of battle turned. Yet it was not enough. For on the day of February 1221nd the Great Goro chieftain Houlber Houldgar was killed. The chieftain having been decapitated by the Jourovs was buried the next day. The death of the great man brought about the end of the 2 year war that brought desecration to the land. The tries returned to there homes and went about the task of rebuilding there scarred land life would never however be the same.



Chapter two Alexis the Great
If the war produced anything it was the great chieftain Alexis the first female chieftain of the Goros. Born to a warrior under the old chieftain she was elected to take his place after the fall of the great chieftain. Under her rule the the Goros rebuilt there farms and Iron mines and ships and all sorts of industrial things lost. The Historic day of March 14 saw the peaceful annexation of the Fedlemen and the Houlders. Then came the Devins Alexis many say had an easier time unifying the tribes due to the fact that they were all of Goroslavian race and culture. The Jourov had to be isolated and eventually on November 11 they joined the Goros and on that historic day Goroslavia was declared. It was and always be a great day in our history.
Last edited by Goroslavia on Sat Aug 21, 2010 11:18 am, edited 8 times in total.
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"May the plague and her angels fall upon us we are ready!"
Goroslavia stands on the brink of the largest conflict ever known to man. We shall not back down rather we shall meet this great war with sword in hand. And if Goroslavia does perish she only ask that it be known of her loyalty.
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Aozvas
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Founded: Aug 19, 2010
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Postby Aozvas » Fri Aug 20, 2010 4:21 pm

Hard Hitters:
Crime & Punishment in Troy


[MT]
[ Mature ]

WIP

I. The Big City


"It's fifty fannies, kid."

"Look, I only have forty-five, take it or..." I flashed the middle finger at him. The disgruntled taxi driver drove off. I turned to face my home. It was a semi-detached red-brick home, probably built centuries ago. My brother's crappy little car was parked outside. I slung my huge duffle bag over my shoulder. First home since the incident. I walked to the bright red door and knocked twice. My brother, Max, came to the door wearing a pair of blue jeans, a communist t-shirt and a wristwatch. He had a joint in his hands, unlit.

"Emmet!" he greeted before hugging me. I embraced him too; it'd been a long time since I saw him. "Welcome to home!"

He made an elaborate gesture to inside the house. Straight forward were the stairs, to my right the living room. There was a woman in ripped jeans and with no bra on - classic prostitute look - looking angrily at Max from the living room. The door to the room was off for God knows why. The woman walked up to Max and demanded payment. Max said he'd pay her back later. He got a slap, I got spat on and she walked out, slamming the door.

I stared at Max, "Max...she's gonna kill you, you know?"

He put the joint in his mouth, "Yeah yeah, let's smoke."

"Max...I drink, not smoke."

He nodded, getting a lighter from his pocket. "A'right. There's Crest Fresh in the back."

I dropped my duffle bag and tiptoed into the kitchen. It was a smelly dump. Open pizza boxes with half-eaten ham and pineapple had been infested with flies, the sink was full of overflowing soapy water and kitchen utensils, there was a mysterious pool of vomit in the corner and blood in the other. A huge brown smear decorated the fridge. I raised an eyebrow and walked to the fridge. Slowly, I opened it. Crest Fresh alright. About the only thing in it and the fridge was still fill. I took one out, cracked it open with a spare knife and walked back into the living room.

What the hell had happened to Max? At home he'd been so smart and ambitious. He never drank, never did anything illegal. He'd wanted to be a partner in a big city law firm. He was studying Law at South East Troy College, SETC. I hadn't seen a single textbook and the house was a wreck. I leant against the unpainted walls as Max sat on the ripped sofa, smoking his joint.

"You know...brother...you know..."

I sipped my Crest Fresh, "What the fuck are you about, dingbat?"

"I...stole an SUV..." he grinned like a fool, "And...and...burned it."

I tilted my head, "Cool story. Foreign?"

"As foreign as that woman there...oh aye, she's...she's a real goer, ya know?"

He had a set of speakers with a portable media device in it. He turned it on. It was playing dance music. Techno, house. "C'mon, brother, rave at SET!"

"No, Max. Just no," I shook my head. "What happened to you?"

He grinned at me, that childish, ambitious sparkle in his eye transformed into a sad, lonely, jaded plea for help, "I learnt how to live." Max took a long puff from the joint and began raving. I sighed. Poor Max. I walked out of the trashed living room, taking one last look back. To an outsider, it must appear strange. Three brown sofas, east, south, west surrounding a glass table with pornos on it. A smashed-in TV and stuff all about the place, rave music blasting and a stoned student failing at techno dancing.

I picked up my duffel bag and trudged up to my room.

II. Turn Up or Die


I was stopped by the sound of breaking glass. A beer bottle came tumbling down from nowhere and landed just in front of me. I looked up. Train passing. They dropped bottles out of trains? Odd. I guess the city was mucked up. Everybody I passed was either an alcoholic, drug addict, preacher or a hobo; occasionally all in one. A lot of the houses were boarded up and TMC cars accounted for every other car passing by. Why had Max moved into this armpit? The inheritance we divided would've paid his university fees and accommadation.

I heard a scream coming from down an alleyway beside me. My head swooped around instantly. A young woman had her back up against the wall and a black guy was...

Holy...she was being raped.

I looked about frantically. I hadn't brought my mobile. I better help the woman.

I ran down the alleyway. Back at right angle almost, going in for the tackle. I let out a huge groan. Hit the guy on the back. Let go of him. He collapsed onto the ground. I stared at the woman. I pointed north, "Go!" She had nothing on her lower half; she grabbed her jeans and just ran for it, putting them on as she ran.

Oomph. I collapsed. The guy was on top of me. Oomph. Oomph. Crack. Tears pouring down my cheeks. Lip busted. He was punching me to hell.

He got out a knife.

Black.

* * *


I woke up. I was tied down to a soggy bed. Two guys were beside the bed; the rapist and some old white guy. I pulled the ropes, "What the fuck am I doing here?" I shouted, my heart going wild. I was scared as hell and my face throbbed like...

"Name!" the white guy said.

"Max Baxter," I lied accidentally. Shit.

"Age!"

I had to run with the character.. "Twenty-four."

"You little cocksucker..." he shook his head. "I believe you interfered with my employee here."

"Yes," I replied, meekly. I'd just noticed the gun in the black guy's hand.

"Here's your choice; pay off your debt or..." he gestured towards the black guy, who took aim with the gun.

"I'll work, I'll work!"

"Tomorrow, noon. Skyrides Community Centre. Don't turn up and..." the guy dragged his index finger across his neck.

WIP
Last edited by Aozvas on Fri Aug 20, 2010 5:21 pm, edited 5 times in total.
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Tergnitz
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Postby Tergnitz » Fri Aug 20, 2010 5:50 pm

Tag.
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Abruzi
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Postby Abruzi » Fri Aug 20, 2010 6:24 pm

Tag for post later tonight. Great idea Jen.
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Fumos
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Posts: 51
Founded: Jun 23, 2010
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Postby Fumos » Sat Aug 21, 2010 3:37 am

Tag for post ;)

The Call Of Avalon

[ FT ]

[ Mature ]


I. Of Chaos And Order


"After him!"

The metallic, grating voice cut through the sound of crackling fire, thunderous footsteps and even the splitting sound of gun shots. A man, wiry, clothed in just ragged robes and wearing an expression that would disturb even beasts of the Warp. He half ran, half stumbled across the dusty ground as the sound of massive footsteps behind him grew louder. He took a moment to glance back at the carnage he had unleashed. Burning vehicles, dying colonists. Lives destroyed. Equipment annhiliated. Chaos, death and grief. His work here was done.

He looked down the hill he had managed to scramble up before they had clocked him. Yet they had not fired at him, and seemed more preoccupied with attempting to chase him across the barren plains. He grinned another manic grin, and moved on, sliding down the hill as quickly as he could. By the time he reached the bottom, he looked back to see the enormous sillouette looking down on him. He knew the monstrous figure would never catch him now. Continuing to grin manically, he laughed at the figure, before sprinting off as quickly as was possible.

Atop the hill, the huge sillouette, clad in bulky armour, making his head appear small in comparison, watched the figure run, a look of contempt for the little man etched across his face. However, he did not give chase. He merely watched as the man got further and futher away, until he was nothing more than a black speck on the dusty ground.

"Do you have him, Atheus?" the large man asked, watching the figure before him. He got no answer, save for a gunshot from beside him that splinttered the very air around them. Even at this distance, it was was possible to see the cloud of red mist as the rifle's slug tore through flesh and bone, bringing the deluded little man to the ground, where he began to writhe and scream as he clutched his wound.

"Yes, Captain" Atheus replied, emerging from under a cloak, revealing himself to be significantly shorter than the Captain, but still somewhat formidable looking with the long rifle he clutched in his gloved hands.

"Good work." the Captain said, turning to head back down the hill, adding "Bring him to me."

***


It was a few minutes before the Scouts retrieved the traitor, now groaning and sobbing and clutching what remained of his lower leg, as the massive slug had torn off everything below the knee, leaving a bloodied, mangled mess of torn flesh and shattered bone where his leg shoud be, his life slowly spilling out and staining the sandy floor a deep shade of red. They were merciless, throwing him forward before the Captain, who proceeded to stamp on his other leg, crushing it completely under the massive armoured boot, causing a fresh bout of tears and screams of agony to burst forth from the man. The Captain did not sway. He did not flinch as the bone splinttered and the blood showered over his armour. He simply held out a hand, into which a fellow soldier, wearing similar, although not as ornate armour, handed him a sword, the blade dancing with electrical energy. Removing his foot from the traitor's leg, he stared down at him.

"Repent, and find forgiveness in the Emperor's embrace" he said, simply, the sword clutched in his gauntleted hand. Through the pain and the trauma, however, the traitor's eyes burned almost as the fires he created as he spat at the Marine

"F-fuck you. Fuck you and your false God, loyalist s-scum" he spat, blood trickling from his mouth. The Captain did not hesitate. A second later, the sound of metal piercing bone echoed, momentarily, as the Captain jammed the sword through his neck. More blood showered out, covering the Captain's armour. After that, he simply left the sword, and the body, where they were.

"Get these people back onto the transports. We've still got a way to go." he ordered, as the traitor's blood stained the ground at his feet. The scouts and marines obeyed, ushering the unharmed people into the remaining APCs. The Captain, however, moved over to the now charred wreck of the other APC, as a pair of marines, also different to the others, tended to the wreck and to the dead. The Techmarine offered the Captain a nod of respect as he passed, but said nothing. The Apothecary, too, said nothing at first, closing the eyes of one of his brothers, charred and shattered body. He had been right next to the explosion the traitor set off. Even the armour couldn't save him from the blast. Beside his body, what remained of the civillians and serfs' bodies were lined up, their eyes already closed.

"Brother Lysane?" the Captain asked, looking down on him. The Apothecary shook his head, before kneeling forward to remove the Marine's glands. The Captain looked away. He had seen many things that most would be scarred for life by, but he could not look upon the death of a brother. When the Apothecary was finished, he stood up, placing a gauntleted hand of his own on the Captain's shoulder

"He has passed into the Emperor's embrace now Demos" the Apothecary assured him

"I know, Barkiel" Demos replied "Come on. We still have to get these colonists to their destination."


II. Where Angels Fear To Tread


The approach. It was as routine as ever. The small town on the edge of the vast Nikos Sea, so unlike the hives of Terra, and the Brotherhood's Fortress. It was small and desolate and sat in the shadow of Avalon. It was a place few people visited, and fewer still actually wanted to visit.

The grinding tank tracks signalled their arrival in the town. It was empty. The sound of creaking doors and the wind blowing gently in from plaine, bringing tufts of tumbleweed rolling across the road intersection. The lead Rhino did not stop for it, rolling right over it, making it a permanent fixture of the road as the others passed by.

The town was empty. Too empty. It was meant to have over 150 people here. But there was nothing. Not even a trace that they'd been there at all, save for the town itself.

Demos was aware of this. Walking alongside the lead APC, he was aware something was not right about the whole thing. He held up a fist, the grinding coming to an abrupt halt, with only the slight rumble of the APC's engines idling. With a pair of sharp metallic bangs, the side hatches opened up. The sound of boots hitting the ground as a squad sized force of yellow-gold armour clad marines disembarked from inside. The gripped their enormous, blocky rifles, although two of them were equipped with a large smoking flame weapons.

"Gurz, cover the roof." Demos instructed the Marine carrying the large multi-melta. He obeyed silently, dissapearing behind one of the buildings, before reappearing atop of it, overlooking the group. Demos watched as the remaining marines looked inside the buildings, one by one.

All were empty. It was unreal. Yet Demos shouldn't have been shocked about the silence when it was broken by the screech of shell passing by, narrowly missing his head, and impacting the APC behind him. The shell tore through the frontal armour as if it were paper, leaving the front decimated and smoking. As the smoke cleared, Demos looked in through the hole it had made. On impact, it had opened up the front of the APC, punching a hole right through the marine driver, whilst the force of the explosion killed the co-driver. In fact, it had been so powerful, that it had punched a hole clean through the driver, through his seat and out through the back. He looked upon the two, brothers in arms, gone to the Emperor's embrace without a chance to repent. Two more than should have gone.

He had no time to reflect on them, however. The contrail of a rocket indicated that the shell was not an isolated accident. As it impacted the rear APC, destroying it completely, all began to become clear. Gripping the bolt pistol, he spun around, to see a group humans, their faces twisted and manic, rushing towards him. He picked his shots carefully; for the five shells that hit the floor, five humans followed suit. But they were not the last. More and more were rushing in from rooftops and buildings not yet searched, even from beneath the ground itself.

As they began to exchange laser fire for the Marines bolter fire, they were easily dispatched by the well-trained marines. Gurz had left more than one of them as simply puddles of molten plasma on the town floor. A lucky shot later, however, and he slumped to the floor, his face blackened and burnt by a well-timed grenade. By the time Demos spotted the two cultists grabbing his Multi-Melta, it was too late. He simply saw a flash of fire, and then it faded to black.

He knew not why he could only see out of one eye, or what had happened after he was hit. All he knew is that there were too many humans wandering past his line of vision than he cared to count. The thunderous sound of footsteps indicated a marine appoaching. He could not see him, but he recognised the signature footfall upon flagged stone as it grew ever closer. The marine entered Demos' field of view, and what was left of his body screamed in rage and agony. This marine was not covered in the purple-black of his comrades, but in a spectral green, making him look almost ghostly. He looked down upon Demos with contempt, when Demos noticed that in his hand, he gripped a twisted blade, one that crackled with red energy.

He didn't have time to repent.
Last edited by Fumos on Fri Aug 27, 2010 3:00 pm, edited 13 times in total.
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The Master M
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Posts: 1894
Founded: May 18, 2009
Liberal Democratic Socialists

Postby The Master M » Sat Aug 21, 2010 7:50 am

[tag]
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Dimoniquid
Powerbroker
 
Posts: 9819
Founded: Jul 10, 2009
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Dimoniquid » Sat Aug 21, 2010 8:09 am

[ PMT ]


A deal with the devil.


It was dark. Well, not much of a story opener, but it'll do. The last thing I remember was... screaming. Lights were showering across the hall, engineers rushing about, getting to their posts. It was hectic... the amount of fear in everyone's eyes slapped me in the face so many times... although I knew it was going to be okay, not everything was what it seemed. My story started on the Atlantis. Not a ship - a space station. Ever heard of the ISS? Yeah, ours is bigger, better, and has a few missiles on it. Kick ass, you know? Sure, spending time away from my family is kind of sad, but we get messages on our computers everyday, and we somehow get four bloody bars up there as well. I was working as an engineer - just fixing computers and electrics. Simple, right? Well, not really. Have you tried to rewire a whole space station before? Exactly. So, I was in engineering...

You know what?

What?

That red light is blinking. Weeeeird.

Riight. Can you fix my... lap...top... what the hell is that?

Squab? Joke. It looks like... a meteorite shower... I better tell the bridge to ionize the plating. Stay here.

Alright...

I had trekked my way through to the communications panel, and hit that button. Nothing but a standard procedure. That's what we all thought.

Engineering to bridge, pick up.

Bridge to engineering, what is it?

There's a shower on our left... no, I mean my right, your left.

I see it on the radar. Thank's for the memo.

Wait... brace! Bridge, ionize that damn pla-

And that was all there was to it. The last thing I remember then was being by the door, and the whole station being on alert. They had locked down all the doors - where everyone was, they were staying there. Move it! Get those casualties to the sick bay, I want deck fourteen on lock down! Bridge, we have a breech! Shit! Communications are down. Alright, we're stuck here! How far are we to the cargo unit?

Around thirty meters, sir. If we move now, we can get basic communications and hopefully send a distress signal to a century base, I hear they're doing a restock. Hopefully we can get a shuttle to evacuate people.

Alright, get an engineer to bypass the doors.

Then, everything went black again. I have never been so scared. My children growing up without a father. My wife living alone. Never seeing my family and friends again. But that's why I joined. The... the very thrill, and acceleration of fear has never made it so... much like ecstasy. It was chaos. Chaos... however, is just a synonym for fear.

-James Liam Carding, Space Station Atlantis - Evacuee, survivor.
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Jenrak
Retired Moderator
 
Posts: 5674
Founded: Oct 06, 2004
Ex-Nation

Postby Jenrak » Sat Aug 21, 2010 9:52 am

[ FT ]

[ Mature ]


Swimming Under the Spanish Moon


6544 AD.

“What are you writing? Oh, that again? Are you ever going to finish that?” Her eyes were stricken in my stare with the soft pound of summer heat. Her breasts were rested on my back as her arms swung over my shoulders, looking at the tablet in my hands.

“I will when I’m ready. It’s not easy, y’know, to write something. It’s difficult, for me, at least. Not for Honours students like you.” I said. I couldn’t help but smile around her.

“Hehe, there’s nothing special about being an Honours’ student. Just no life. Nothing special about that.” Her lips were pressed against my cheek, with the faint smell of strawberries. Last night, she tasted of Mountain Dew, and the night before that, of French Vanilla.

I tell her I like strawberries. She smiles an even wider smile than before. “I never knew that.” She says with a coy voice. She likes to do that nowadays.

“Has there been any word from the base?” I ask her back, and she shakes her head. Her hair gets in my eyes, and the small black thread gets stuck as I put down my tablet and try to get it out.

She apologises, her face blushing in embarrassment.

“It’s okay,” I say, tearing as she reaches with her fingers to pull it out. Her lips were glossy today, with the smell of strawberries. I kiss her.

She kisses back.

Together, we smile. “So it’s scheduled already, right?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“No, don’t be. It happens, and they need you. I’ll wait here.”

“It’s still different and unknown. We’ve never done this before.” She places her head on my shoulder, and closes her eyes. “The Verge is new, so they’ve found something on the edges of its space, I think.”

“Yeah.” I say, picking up the tablet again. “Help me think of a title, will you?”

“Okay. I got time before packing.” She gives me a title name, and then we go back in the house.

***


I grew up remembering that town through her, and of all the things I remembered, it was her farewell.

I remember her standing at the steps to the plane. I remember her goodbyes as she waved at me. I remember blushing and crying as she tells me to be a man, chiding me in the tone like a mother chides a child.

I remember our last night before the call, before it all. I remember the letter and how she sat slumped on the floor. That was our first night together.

I remember the hours and the press of our lips and the taste of her skin. She remembers the taste of mine.

Her lips smelled of strawberries. I couldn’t help but smile.

***


“Progress is slow, they say. The King wants more recruits for the war on the Verge. He’s sending more medics and soldiers to the front.” He says to me, his pencil in his mouth.

I tell him that’s gross, and he smiles back at me. His grin is wide and toothy and his teeth at the edges were stained yellow from a smoker’s habit. His breath smells like Mints and his eyes covered deep black irises, like that of a cat’s. He wears leather and has deep black hair. Nobody talks to him.

Nobody except for me; he’s a married man, and his wife serves as a frontliner on the Verge.

“Any word?” He asks me. I shake my head. December 24th. It’s the sixth one so far. The bone-white snow peppered the bare branches of the long rows of trees as the sound of cars along the roads were beeping in the waning daylight. The moon was vast in the sky as a full beast, shining with a coin-bright shimmer as it was trickling along a net of satellites.

I flip open my cell phone. “No. It costs too much money and takes too much time for any messages to be sent across the Verge. We made a promise not to.” I shake my head, and he pats me on the back as we walk down the busy sidewalk together.

“Don’t worry. I’m here for you.” He says. We go out to eat.

***


In my dreams, I remember that town: the long roads that led to nowhere, the deep canvasses and ditches that stretched into the deep mines, and the cold fog that would creep on spring mornings. I remember the soft songs of the crickets in their melodious serenades. I remember the deep summer heat. I remember her breasts as they touched my back and the ice-cold kiss of the nights.

I remember thinking of something to think for the title. She tells me ‘Swimming under the Spanish Moon’ because she says it’s something she always wanted to do.

I tell it’s impossible. It’s too expensive, and she frowns before she kisses me. “I know,” she says, “just suggestin’.” It tasted of strawberries.

I tell her I like it.

“I know.”

***


The news was on. A special that everyone had to know. During a commercial, I look at the calendar.

December 24th. It was the twelfth one so far.

King Haunser stands on a podium. He shakes his head, and says “The Verge is lost. We’ve lost too many soldiers. Too many. We can’t go on like this, and it is imperative that we pull all our forces out, for the sake of our own well-being.” He looks apologetic.

I didn’t. I was happy. She was coming back.

***


My book was published. Swimming Under the Spanish Moon. It flops – people say it was too heavy and hard to read. People say it was a paperweight.

I didn’t mind. I shrug at my editor. He asks me, with his tweed glasses and his thin and pointing fingers and his staring frown, “Why did you name it that?”

“Because it was something I always wanted to do.” I tell him, and he shakes his head.

“Think of the readers.”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t.” He says, the patter of snow falling on the soft windowsill beyond him. The noise of cars downs the rushing lanes again, only occasionally sticking them apart in traffic. The sound of bells jingling and the shine of tinsel blocks out his voice.

It was the twentieth so far.

***


“You wrote Swimming Under the Spanish Moon, right? I love that book. It’s a wonderful book, despite the reviews. It takes time, right?”

“You’re calling it a sleeper hit?” I ask her as I take another.

“Yeah, definitely.” She gives me a smile and pats my back in assurance. He doesn’t do it anymore. He pats the back of his son, now. He doesn’t wear leather anymore. He sold it. He’s clean shaven and smells of Brut cologne and tucks his pants in.

It was the twenty-second so far.

He calls me in out of nowhere and says ‘I know someone who is just your type’. Out of nowhere, just like that, he calls me up to tell me he finds a girl who wants to meet me.

And out of nowhere, just like that, I fall for it.

She names herself Isabella. She has long deep black hair straight right to the ends and her eyes are sapphire blue. Her smile is wide and her lips are sharp. Her chin is deep and pronounced that leads in a curve to deep collarbones. She smells like peaches all the time.

It smells nice.

That night, we make love. She goes down on me and as my fingers twitch in euphoria. She giggles and I smile back nervously. “This is awkward.” I admit.

But it was nice.

***


The flaps of cardboard boxes were everywhere, carrying everything I had. Tape was everywhere and a tucked up cardboard cutter was sitting on top.

I sit down and look at the newspapers. I couldn’t think this morning, so I make a cup of coffee. Isabella walks through the kitchen and she reaches into the pantry. “Let me get that,” I say, eyeing her growing belly, “just sit.”

“Thanks.” She said, looking at the papers on the table. “Have you moved all the things out? All your old stuff?”

“I’ve got all my stuff with me, yeah. It’s all with me, so I’ve been sifting through it.”

“What’d you find?” She asks, eying the coffee machine with a smile. She briskly walks over to kiss me. The taste of peaches. It’s nice.

“Some old stuff. Right from when I was born. I really like to hoard stuff, apparently.” I joke, and she laughs nervously. I chuckle back at the attempt.

“Thanks.” I say, as she raises one eyebrow.

“For what?”

I pause, thinking about it. “You know what? I’m not sure.”

***


The afternoon went by slowly, and the embrace of summer heat was hot. Isabella had gone to fill out a form for maternity leave from her work. The windows were open and the AC was broken. There was no word from my editor so far.

Piles of boxes were here, blasted by vicious sunlight. Only occasional kisses of frigid thundercloud winds came through the doors, with the anvil heads high above waiting for nightfall.

I open a box and look inside, looking at my tablet. I remember that.

I remember the cell phone. No batteries. I plug it in.

It’s old. Too old. But it turns to life, and hums one more time for me.

One voicemail, sent on August 8th, 6556. Received two days ago. “Hello, hey? I’m sorry if I got it wrong.” The voice says, my mind trying to figure out who it was. “Anyhow, I just got here, so it’s soooo far away. I hope things are good on your side, but definitely, when I get back, we have to see some of this stuff. The things on the Verge are so pretty. I’m never going to want to go to Spain with this. But yeah, sorry for breaking the promise. I knew I shouldn’t pay for a direct mail home, but I just really wanted to, you know? Hey, please don’t forget me, oh, and send me a copy of your book, when you get it done! Pleaaase?

I have one message left, so I’m going to be frank. I love you. That’s all I can say, haha. My god, I’m so unsure as to what to say. Uhm, I hope you’re feeling good. Don’t drink too much coffee in the morning, don’t smoke, and don’t forget that I’m always to keep things ahead of the game, haha. When I get back, we’ll go to the Verge when the war’s over. And, well, I don’t know.

Though, in the off chance that something does happen, don’t forget to shower every day and brush your teeth and keep clean, you lazy ass. And I know I sound like a mother, but I’m not trying to. Just, well, I want my boyfriend to be presentable, you know? I’ll try to get home by Christmas like we promised, so keep on then! I love you.”

I turn it off.

I remember that town. I remember those strawberry lips. I remember the touch of summer heat on my skin. I remember her.

I don’t want to anymore, and I stand up, my fingers running through my short hair and continue unpacking.

I look at the clock. Isabella should be home within the hour, so I put the phone, the tablet, a copy of Swimming Under the Spanish Moon, the soft cricket songs, the deep canvasses and ditches, the winding roads and the entire town back into the box, and I place it out onto the curve in the strong summer heat.
Last edited by Jenrak on Sat Aug 21, 2010 9:56 am, edited 3 times in total.
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LINTYLAND
Minister
 
Posts: 2315
Founded: Aug 23, 2009
Ex-Nation

Postby LINTYLAND » Sat Aug 21, 2010 10:21 am

So basically we write about daily life in our nations?
14:12 Solm Black people shouldn't be on NS

I makeTitles!!!
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Dimoniquid
Powerbroker
 
Posts: 9819
Founded: Jul 10, 2009
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Dimoniquid » Sat Aug 21, 2010 10:23 am

LINTYLAND wrote:So basically we write about daily life in our nations?

Kind-of.

You can write about a day in your nation, an event, or just generally about anything. Well, that's all I know.
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Jenrak
Retired Moderator
 
Posts: 5674
Founded: Oct 06, 2004
Ex-Nation

Postby Jenrak » Sat Aug 21, 2010 10:25 am

LINTYLAND wrote:So basically we write about daily life in our nations?


Anything related to your nation, in any tech. It doesn't have to be daily life, it doesn't have to be war or politics or anything. As long as it relates in some way. Just keep a story to a single post, that's all I ask.
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LINTYLAND
Minister
 
Posts: 2315
Founded: Aug 23, 2009
Ex-Nation

Postby LINTYLAND » Sat Aug 21, 2010 10:27 am

Jenrak wrote:
LINTYLAND wrote:So basically we write about daily life in our nations?


Anything related to your nation, in any tech. It doesn't have to be daily life, it doesn't have to be war or politics or anything. As long as it relates in some way. Just keep a story to a single post, that's all I ask.

Alright
14:12 Solm Black people shouldn't be on NS

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Abruzi
Minister
 
Posts: 2001
Founded: Jul 20, 2009
Ex-Nation

Postby Abruzi » Sat Aug 21, 2010 11:07 am

[PMT]

[ Mature ]





Stealing from the State



Jeffery slowly straightened his back, the hours of being bent in the cramped coal mines reaping their tally as he felt hot waves of pain flow through him. Coughing in response he pushed through and stood fully erect before the cracked mirror in his family’s home on the outskirts of Anshan. Working in one of the thousands of coal mines in the Pit was just enough to keep him and his family of seven afloat. Their small home was cozy and obviously cramped but it was a roof over their head. Many Pit families hardly had that.

Sighing he stretched before stepping from the tight confines of his and his wife’s room into the kitchen/family room. The warm stove heated the whole house in the winter and now it cooked the family’s breakfast. One egg that would be divided amongst the children and two pieces of dry toast for the adults. It was a large meal by many standards in this part of the Pit to Jeffery’s family it was a daily constant, signifying their relative wealth. Jeffery’s wife Alina worked shifts at the local illegal textile factory and with this extra money they could afford to eat well.

Leaving at exactly 0500 like he did everyday Jeff slid into the driver’s seat of his beat up old Forgeburg pickup. The car sputtered to life and belched out a cloud of acrid black smoke before rolling out of their small gravel driveway. Turning left he drove calmly down the road, past the crumbling houses, past the pools of filthy water where children played snug in their tiny gasmasks, past the shattered glass of an empty and broken store window. His own Gas Mask leaked, made long before when it was not needed for daily life it couldn’t take the stress of constant use. The Filter was wasting away and soon he would need a new one.

Turning into the parking lot he got out and joined the crowd of workers who were a bit slower to enter the mines today. Pushing his way to the front the quickly saw why. Two armed men in military Gas Masks with the stylized L that signified the Legion were searching each man before they entered. Worn fingers opened pockets, tore clothes, even searched wallets for something. Jeff wished he knew what but within ten minutes he was through and back into the mines. As he bent over to begin with his work mining a rich vein of coal, worries regarding security drifted away.

The work was hard and long, hours of toil scraping away at the rock face with a small pick for little more than half an Abruzian Gear an hour. Good money for The Pit. Rising up from the mine that night he was searched once again by the guards before being released to return home. Driving home through the slums again he was disturbed to note the streets were completely empty. He suddenly felt nervous, several weeks before someone had taken a bag of coal from the mines to heat their home, now the guards and the lack of traffic on the street meant they would be hunting for whomever had it.

Pulling into his driveway he was greeted with the sight of his wife being held at gunpoint by two Zealots. The armed men turned and flagged him as well pointing to a spot next to his wife and children against the wall of their home. They were only two men, one larger than the other by almost a foot. He was most definitely from Forgeheim, the Scandinvan blood making him larger than his fellow. The smaller man however had the more stylized gas mask and chest plate marking him as being the senior of the two.

He drew his pistol and cocked the hammer and pressed it against his wife’s head in one fluid motion. The featureless Gas Mask face was like staring into the face of a machine or a wall for it displayed nothing, no rage, no regret, no sympathy. The man nodded to Jeffery before saying,

“How is it you can afford eggs? We have been keeping an eye on the local food retailers and you are the only family who can afford so much. Were is the property of the State?!”

Suddenly it made sense to Jeffery, his family’s good fortune had singled them out, made them different. Now they thought that he had stolen the coal and sold it for food. Shaking his head Jeffery tried to plead with the man, shouting his and his family’s innocence. The Zealot listened for about three minutes before he shook his head and fired.

The stink of cordite was detectable even though Jeffery’s old Gasmask. His wife’s newer mask had been penetrated by a clean hole 9mm in diameter right along the top of her head. There was no exit wound. His wife was dead. The two Plexiglas eye holes of the mask were splattered with the remnants of his wife's brains, the bullet bouncing around inside of her skull turning her pretty face to a nightmare visage. A neat trail of smoke flowed out of the small hole, as the body slumped over a single line of dark almost black blood flowed forth like a macabre river.

The larger man shook his head, the only sign of emotion that Jeff had seen the pair exhibit. Sinking to his knees next to his wife's corpse the last thing he ever heard was the larger man mutter,

“Stealing from the State, you scum.”
Last edited by Abruzi on Sat Aug 21, 2010 11:15 am, edited 3 times in total.
02:01 RomanEmpire Because I dont know about you
02:01 RomanEmpire But I want to monger some fucking fish
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Jenrak
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Founded: Oct 06, 2004
Ex-Nation

Postby Jenrak » Sat Aug 21, 2010 12:23 pm

[ MT ]

[ Mature ]


A Military Woman

“So, uh, Selenna, uh, huh. This is something I don’t do much.” He makes a blowing noise with his mouth, exhaling loudly before he shakes his head. “Alright, okay, okay. So, uh, what music do you like?” He asks, his best business smile turned on to reveal a crooked grin.

She looked back at him with an amused stare, chuckling cutely at his responses. “I guess I like Indices.”

“Oh, wow, that’s a really old band. I grew up listening to that when I was young. About high school? Did you get acquainted to Indices in high school as well?” He was jittering and nervous, his hands sweating and his glasses running down the slippery bridge of his nose as he sat up straight again. “I mean, like did you find out about them in high school?”

“Oh, okay, because I thought you meant ‘acquainted’ as in know them, hah. I was all ‘what?!’ but it makes sense now.” She nodded. “Yeah, I found out about Indices from a friend in high school”

“Oh, cool. That’s awesome. Ever been to one of their concerts?”

“No, never. Never had the time.” She sighed, sitting back as her arms were crossed. The area was filled in warm, reddish light as the sounds of soft jazz was ringing in the background. The lights were slightly dimmed and the whole place was bustling with life, though the conversations were kept low and minimum for the songs. Whispers rang through the rooms, but nothing else was audible but the music.

“Just, well, high school stuff? I don’t know what you guys do.” He caught himself, “well, I mean, like, high school girls, y’know. Like, I don’t mean you guys are guys, cause obviously you’re not a guy and – fuck!” He shook his head, smiling in an embarrassment as she looked back with incredulity and amusement. “Sorry, sorry.”

“Geeeeeeez,” she replied back, “chill out.”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just, I don’t talk to girls in a romantic sense very often. I mean, I talk to girls, but I get friended very easily.”

“Ah. The ever prevalent problem for young, virile males.”

“You sound like a dirty old man when you say that.” He snapped back.

“Shut up!” She made a mocking slap with her hand as he made a mocking defensive stance. They had a little mock fist-fight, drawing the looks of a few people at their immaturity before they stopped. “Okay, well, why did you get friended alot?”

“Because I went from nice guy to lackey very easily. Too easy a target, from girls and guys. Not that I was weak, mind.” He pulled himself into a defensive seating position again, trying to look strong and tall.

She smiled. “Well, I think it’s adorable.” She said, her face resting on her hands as she looked at him. He blushed. “You’re a nice guy, and a real nice guy is hard to find. Like, really hard.”

“How hard?”

“Okay, now you’re just being a creep.” She answered back.

***


They left the way they came – through a cab, as he sat with his hands together and her legs crossed and her arms across her chest. “I’m sorry.” He answered, still nervous. The taxi cab driver looked at the two of them, as he leaned forwards to push up the window separating him and the cab driver. Only a small slit for the rearview mirror was visible. “I got friended again.”

“Hey, before you start judging me, mister, I’m not friending you. Never did.”

“Okay, well can I call the first date a success?”

She thought for a second. “Yeah, of course.” She paused, before turning to him, a great smile on her face. “Can I?” She asked back, looking at him.

“Yeah, definitely.” He said, dumbstruck by her question.

“Okay, then...” She leaned in to kiss him, her lips pressed against his as her tongue swam in his mouth, her fingers moving to his chest as he began to panic. He moved to her pace and rhythm, but she continually kept overpowering him as they began to slowly undress.

Her lips ran down her neck as he touched the top of her navel, feeling a small line on her stomach. “You found it.” She said, looking at him with bright and beautiful eyes. She was a beauty, definitely – her eyes were emerald shines as her slightly tanned skin was matted under long and shaggy layered black hair. Her lips were red and shimmer, accentuated by the black eyeliner she wore. She had a strong, lithe body, and her smaller shoulders lead to a perk figure. A truly Methronnian beauty.

“What is that, if you don’t mind?” He asked, as she pulled his hand to touch her chest, revealing a deep black tattoo of a withering tree. He raised his eyebrows. “You’re a Ssiren?”

“Does it intimidate you, Myraum, to be dating a military woman?” She asked.

He smiled. “Why would I be intimidated, my dear?” He tried to sound suave, but she only chuckled at his attempt.

“Sorry, it just sounded so adorable.”

“Shut up.”

***


Myraum awoke to an email on his phone from someone he hadn’t seen in a long time.

    How’s it going bud?

It was Aliam. He nodded, smiling as he typed back.

    Good, good. Just finished university, you?

It waited a second before replying.

    Good. Just finished military myself. Campaign sucks balls man, haha. Anyhow, I met a girl you might like. Still single?

Myraum shook his tired head.

    What’s with this all of a sudden? You still trying to find me someone dude?

Nevertheless, he smiled.

    Yeah, definitely. Friends gotta stick up for each other bro.

He chuckled.

    Lol, stick up. Man, maybe I’m so tired, but my mind’s going to the wrong places. Sounds pretty gay, but whatever, I’m up for it.

He waited again, before the last message appeared.

    Lol, shut up.

***


“You know it’s going to hurt for a long time. You’re not going to get acclimated to it until your brain starts to kick in and rewire itself. Then we’ve got the pills and the silicon and the fat. It’s really a daunting task the first few years. You won’t be able to do much in your condition. No drinking, no smoking, nothing.”

“It’s okay,” a young man answered back, his hands locked together as he absorbed the information being thrown at him. The doctor nodded, looking at a clipboard before he placed it down, “I have a military benefit plan. I can do this.”

“Alright, but I’m warning you. This isn’t done very often, especially in the mainland. Like I said last month for your previous appointment, we’ll transfer you out to Sentiauhk for the operation there. Now, I need you to think and sign the forms that I’m giving you. Most are waivers, but some are purchasing receipts for the medication you’ll need in the beginning.

This is included with the identify forms you’ll need. I’m assuming you’re going to pretty much reset everything?”

“Yeah.”

“What about your parents? Have they agreed?”

“Yeah, they’ve agreed. We all think it’s better this way, rather than just have it sit like this.”

“Okay, then, you’ll specify in there, then.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“Okay, well, just fill out the forms and give them to me when you’re done. I’ll be back in ten.”

***


“The third girl you’ve turned down today, Aliam.” The drift of smoke ejected from his mouth as his friend stood beside him, the two of them standing outside the open windows of the classroom hallways by the fountains. Nobody visited the area there, and the groundskeepers were always too sick of the garbage that it was overgrown and dirty. There, the two of them sat and talked under the canopy of a blue and open sky.

The blaze of summer was hot. “Only one month left.” Myraum said, making a large and long blowing noise from his sighs. “One month.”

“Stop copying me.” Aliam said, smiling at him as Myraum looked up at him, flicking a cigarette butt onto the filthy pavement. Unused fountains and the abandoned barn on the edge of the grounds were haunting backdrops, but apart from the long grass and everything else it wasn’t much to see.

The lines of trees were enclosing the area, but otherwise, that was it. “Got one more month here, then I’m off.”

“Deployment, huh? We are you going, and why a month?”

“I have a second doctor’s appointment in a month. And then, I get to go to Sentiauhk for deployment.”

“No wars are fighting there, though.”

“Yeah, but it’s just what happens.”

“Sounds stupid to move personnel to a place that’s not really fighting.”

“Just politics.” Aliam took another smoke, blowing out small distorted rings. “No more smoking.” He whispered to himself.

“What?” Myraum asked, looking back up at him.

“Nothing. Nothing at all. So, how was the date with Susan?”

“Non-date, really. Another friended.” Myraum complained, shaking his head.

“You’ll find someone. I guarantee it.”

“Easier said than done, Mr. Suave. I mean, you’re so goddamn good-looking – according to Susan, mind, not like I have the hots for you, I don’t swing that way, man,” Aliam chuckled as Myraum nervously defended himself, “but you’re everything girls want.”

“I just don’t like moving into a relationship like that. At least, not like right now.”

“Deployment?”

“Yeah, that too.” Aliam said, looking down and smiling at his crouching friend. “What about you – what kind of girl do you like?”

“Someone who’s classically Methronnian. Y’know, everything about her. A sense of humor would be nice, and someone who won’t friend me immediately. I gotta fix my personality to not be so weak-willed.”

“It’s alright, bud. I think it’s adorable.” Aliam admitted.

“Doesn’t help me if a guy says it.”

“Heh. No, it doesn’t.”
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Ustio North
Diplomat
 
Posts: 618
Founded: Jan 16, 2008
Ex-Nation

Postby Ustio North » Sat Aug 21, 2010 1:02 pm

[ MT ]


C'est la vie


Life goes on.

Even under the greying clouds of the oncoming storm, the fluttering of flags as the wind picks up, the angry shouting of a foreign voice, life seems to go on. Even under the fact that the City sat under the fluttering of a flag not their own, the people seemed unmoved by this, and seemed content to go about their lives as if it were just another day.

For some, however, life went on as normal on the outside.

Within, it was a different story.

For a young, impressionable woman who had spent most of her life learning and studying and preparing for later life, the change had come as quite a shock. In fact, it wasn't until one night, with what friends she had left, she found herself inside of one of the few still open drinking dens in the City. She could still recall the bartenders voice that night. The sounds, the smells, the sights. They had all but blurred into one long meaningless existance. Yet those words stood out more than anthing else. They seemed to echo, deafeningly in her head as she sat behind the wheel of her car;

"When you can feel then you're alive. When you don’t feel, you're not"


She looked ahead. The open country, beyond the city. It was so close she could reach out and touch it, let it envelop herself in the smell of lavender and the soft grass. It seemed like the cold, hard concrete of the City was in another age.

She stared out at the freedom it represented. Unthinking, her hand moved the key in the ignition, her heartbeat rising as she unlocked the car's handbrake and pressed the accelerator, shunting it into second gear. It began to move faster now, towards that freedom. People scurried to get out of her way, but she didn't let up. She was almost there.

Almost free.

Almost home.

A shout rang out as she got ever closer, sounding distinctly like "Halt!". It didn't register; her heart was pounding like the drums of war in her head. She merely pushed the car harder. It impacted with something a moment later, something hard and metallic, yet somewhat flimsy. It didn't stop her; she didn't even look back. She was out now. Free now.

She was falling. Or was it rolling? It was hard to tell. Her ears rang with the sound of explosions and the loud roar of something passing overhead. It made little difference now. She had stopped rolling, the windscreen shattered, covered in something red. She could feel again now. The faces of people passed before her eyes as men, not of this land, rushed over in front of her line of sight.

It didn't matter.

She was passing into the land of freedom. A place where she could feel alive forever.
Last edited by Ustio North on Sat Aug 21, 2010 2:36 pm, edited 3 times in total.
Reports of my death were greatly exaggerated. However, rumours of my retirement were not.
[ Jenrak ]
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Sons of Corvinus
Secretary
 
Posts: 37
Founded: Apr 10, 2010
Ex-Nation

Postby Sons of Corvinus » Sun Aug 22, 2010 9:33 pm

FT | Mature


"For Glory & Riches"


The last stronghold on the world of Ancyra was a little more than a jaunting outcrop of weather blasted rock that sat upon a thin peninsula that rested between the great arms of a roaring ocean. The indigenous populace had fought long and hard, but nothing could stop the tide of the Amaran army. Not even to the last, as now was the case. Extinction was the only choice. Everlasting existence beyond the realms of the living. A prospect which the last remaining defenders seemed to stubbornly refuse.

Phosphorous sea-green eyes watched as explosions ripped through the advancing lines of human levies as they charged towards the reinforced barricaded walls of the fortress. Bodies were ripped apart or simply obliterated. The smell of blood was strong on the air currents, making Alcara's fangs elongate in expectation and desire. Only after a quick, angry jerk of the head were her thoughts returned to the battle at hand.

Alcara Desmona Philipa Aleron of House Aleron commanded the expidition to Ancyra. Four months of slogging through mud and mire and now they were on the brink of bringing the planet fully under the power of the Amara Empire. It was a heady feeling. Alcara had forced her uncle, Primogen Meyer Aleron, to get her the commission for command. As Primogen of House Aleron and a member of the ruling Council her uncle had been able to secure her a large army of levies and a small core of household troops. Nothing less for a scion of House Aleron.

“My lady,” said a voice. Alcara turned her head to see Vorenus, one of her officers, on bended knee before her throne-like seat, right fist clenched over his heart, head bowed in reverence. It was the natural pose for any person meeting someone of Alcara's stature that was not of the Supernus Bloodline or higher. Alcara simply flicked her finger and sniffed the blood-filled air, the only outward sign that she deigned to notice the kneeling soldier.

“I bring a report. The levies are retreating from the latest attack. The enemy is too well defended to take by direct assault. Captain Nuad reports that if we continue with these assaults that we will run dry of levies,” said Vorenus in a reverent voice.

Alcara hissed in frustration. Vorenus bowed his head lower. Alcara looked at Vorenus angrily.

“Those levies had better take the escarpment within the next hour or I will have all of their heads on stakes! Nothing but useless trash that they are, they should realize how honored they should be that I allow them to fight under my family's banner!”

“Of course my lady,” replied Vorenus. “Such lowly beasts are ignorant to their good fortune. However Captain Nuad says that, with your permission, he could take a small group of household troops and infiltrate the walls and open the main gates.”

“And waste Amaran blood when we have plenty of levies still?” said Alcara, incredulous at the suggestion.

“Captain Nuad is a capable veteran, my lady. He would not make the suggestion were he not capable of carrying it out,” placated Vorenus. “He would carry your army forward and bring glory to House Aleron with the completion of our campaign.”

Alcara considered the proposition, shifting in her seat. The pristine animal skins that covered it gave her little comfort, nothing at all like the finery that was present back upon Nightgane where her family's many mansions were more sumptuous than many could imagine. It made her think harder on the subject. The sooner she finished up the campaign here on Ancrya the sooner she would return to her palaces on Nightgane and thence to glory and honor within the Imperial court. The night sky began to thunder as Alcara grinned broadly, flashing her fangs in vicious delight.

She turned to the kneeling Vorenus. “I will allow Nuad to make his attack. If he is not successful by dawn then I will see to it that his head sits on a spike outside my tent.”

“As my Lady commands.” Vorenus shuffled backwards six steps, stood, bowed, and then quickly turned.

* * * * * * * * * *



Vorenus tucked his helmet under his arm as he walked away from Lady Alcara's command stage. The glory-hounding, vile woman had declared that she would watch every battle from her chair from the best vantage point so as to see and hear everything that happened during battle. Vorenus had tried his best to dissuade her from doing so, as the enemy would take every opportunity to kill an enemy commander who so flaunted her presence in the open. Only by either luck or the favor of the gods below had no incident yet happen.

The camp of the household troops of House Aleron was a city of tents. They were aligned perfectly into blocks of nine tents each, each tent holding four soldiers and their gear. Clear paths ran between each tent block, allowing for the quick passage of any companies that may be ordered out to march. Surrounding the ordered camp of the household troops was a wooden palisade reinforced by dug earth and rock. Human menials had dug the wall upwards and erected the palisade. It wouldn't stop artillery or any kind of determined attack, but it was a physical barrier between the lowly human levies and their vampire lords.

The aide-de-camp stepped through the gateway of the palisade, the four guards there saluting with an armored fist clenched over their hearts. Beyond was a shanty town of hovels, ruined tents, and open campfires. The household troops called it the 'Gutter.' Thousands of human levies, armed with anything from captured enemy guns to old lasrifles to simple short swords, were crammed together like so much cattle. While it was true that humans had a fairly decent life back upon Nightgane, with their own cities and lands provided by their rulers, those that were conscripted to be levies of the various armies of the Amara were treated as they were: cannon fodder.

A grav-bike was waiting for Vorenus, one of his attendants waiting at its side. He mounted quickly and sped off down the side of the encampment hill, almost killing a pair of humans that had stepped out of their mud hut.

As he sped across the battlefield like a phantom from the gods below, he observed the latest attack by the levies. Hundreds lay upon the empty ground before the walls of the fortress like so many broken rag dolls. Great craters, created by the fearsome bombardments, freckled the mud and dirt; levies huddled within them for cover.

Ignoring their desperate plight, Vorenus sped his grav-bike under the covering lee of an outcropping rock that stood a kilometer or so behind the besieging trench line of the levies. Standing there like a hulking, iron golem was Captain Nuad. Vorenus shunted the power of his grav-bike down and came to a halt beside the warrior.

Nuad stood a foot higher than Vorenus, but he tucked his head in respect to Vorenus as he was an officer and a higher caste. He was a warrior of the Candidus Bloodline, born to be strong and fast, a warrior from birth. He was part of a mercenary army that would lend its forces out to those noble houses that wished for extra troops to supplement their own household forces. As such he had little decorum or manners when it came to vampires above his blood.

“So is the spoiled bitch going to let me and my boys spill some blood?” asked Nuad.

A heartbeat and the edge of Vorenus' bloodsword lay against the side of Nuad's throat. He stared with fury at the mercenary captain.

“You will express the correct honor and supplication to the Lady Aleron,” warned Vorenus.

“I could honestly care less,” said Nuad. He looked down purposefully and Vorenus followed his gaze. Nuad's own bloodsword was in-between Vorenus' legs, the blade edge lying against his thigh; inches above the main artery. After giving Vorenus time to see it, Nuad slowly withdrew the sword and returned it to his sheath.

“But she has given us a good fight and the spoils will make me a rich man, so...what is is that our dear and glorious Lady orders us to do?” finished Nuad.

Vorenus growled and clenched his teeth. As a noble that served under House Aleron he was obliged to protect the family's honor and that of his master's, however he couldn't help but feel that there was some truth to Nuad's comments; this entire expedition had been taken against her uncle's advice. He took his sword away from the captain's throat and sheathed it.

“My Lady commands that you enact your plan and take the walls. Fail to do so by dawn and your life is forfeit,” said Vorenus. “Kill everything.”

Nuad grinned, his facial features forming to look like some devil from the gods below.

“Now those are orders that I can happily follow,” replied Nuad. He turned and faced the shadows of the rock outcrop. “Isn't that right boys?”

Several hundred glowing eyes peered back from the darkness and menacing, guttural laughter echoed outwards.

Vorenus jumped back atop his grav-bike, and turned to Nuad before pressing down on the accelerator.

“Do not fail.”

* * * * * *



The human levies were forced into attacking again, the cracking whips of their overseers falling upon their backs like an unending tide. Screaming at the top of their lungs with fury and fear, they charged forwards en masse; a human tidal wave. It was their job to die. A role that they filled very well.

Entire swathes of charging levies were annihilated by artillery from the walls. Blood would scatter through the air in billowing clouds of vapor, drenching their comrades from head to foot in crimson. It gave them a bestial look as they ran forwards carrying ropes, ladders, and anything that might help them scale the outer wall.

While the enemy was distracted by the charging mass of humanity before its walls, Captain Nuad and a chosen force of three hundred men moved like silent ghosts across the sandy beach of the peninsula. It had been suggested at first that they might use a boat to reach the rear of the peninsula-guarded fortress, but that hope had been quickly dashed when human levies had been turned into fish food by the raucous waves.

So, here they were, three hundred and one Amaran mercenary soldiers running swiftly across the beach towards the far, flanking tower that made up the end of the outer curtain wall. All attention was focused elsewhere, and this allowed Nuad to reach the wall easily. He growled at his lieutenants.

“Get up there and silence the guards,” he ordered.

Two men nodded and stowed their lasrifle carbines behind their backs and using their emense strength, began to scale the wall like spiders. A minute later they were atop it. Nuad stamped his foot impatiently, then smiled as a dead body fell in a loud crunch at his feet. It was a human guard wearing an enemy uniform.

“Everyone of you, up!”

Like a pride of ants, the soldiers climbed the wall the same way that their brethren had before them. Once Nuad reached the top of the tower he saw that they had successfully invested the tower. He gazed over the curtain wall. Fountains of flame from firing cannon billowed out from the walls, cries of the dead and dying below echoing back. Hundreds of enemy soldiers scrambled across the walls, carrying shells and other equipment, preparing for any of the levies to actually reach the wall. Nuad turned to his men.

“Faesco, take your Fist and infiltrate further into the city. Capture the inner gate and hold it. Drako, gather your Fist and head towards the supply dumps. Kill everyone you find and then set charges to the dumps. Once done, join Faesco. I'll take the third Fist and take the main gate. Clear?” growled Nuad.

“Understood sire,” nodded Faesco.

“As crystal, captain,” replied Drako.

“Then go!”

Trailing with a hundred men each, his two lieutenants ran off into the night air. Nuad turned to his own Fist of men, a hundred strong, and grinned at them. They were either prepping their lasrifles or testing the blade of their bloodswords. A few had the blood-fury upon them, their eyes turning red in color as they thought about the massacre that was to follow.

“We take the walls. No one stops. Kill everything in our way,” ordered Nuad. He gripped his bloodsword and turned toward the unsuspecting curtain wall. “Charge!”

Nuad and his men hit the flank of the soldiers guarding the walls like a thunder bolt. The wall was wide, allowing for six men to walk comfortably abreast. Nuad split his men, one half moving along the top and the other half on the road that ran behind the wall, along its length. The men followed the example of their captain, the joy of the blood-letting fueling their strength and some even began to sing the lewd shanties from the various carousing brothels back home.

“Monsters!” shouted a human. He turned and brought his gun to bear at Nuad's chest. He fired, but Nuad had already moved. With preternatural speed Nuad had dodged the path of the bullet and was next to the trembling soldier.

“Yes,” said Nuad. He slid his bloodsword between the man's ribs. “We are monsters.”

Enemy soldiers scrambled back from the onslaught. The main gates where meters ahead of them when they closed the reinforced door, one lone soldier left crying outside, begging to be let in. The man fell to his knees, continuing to slam his hands against the door until they were bloody.

“Please! Open the door! I have a family! I don't want to die!”

Nuad stood over the man and looked down in disgust. Pitiful humans, they don't even have the decency to stand and die like a true warrior. The man, sensing what was behind him, turned and looked up at Nuad in absolute fear.

“P-P-Please, I-I-I be-be-beg of you!” he stuttered. Spittle and blood flecks spattered on Nuad's boots.

“You ruined my new boots you base cur!” growled Nuad. The mercenary captain reached down and gripped the man by the throat, easily raising him with one hand despite his weight. “That will cost you.”

The man was choking, but Nuad only tightened his grip. Like a vice, Nuad's fingers closed tighter and tighter; unyielding bands of steel. Bone cracked and the man's eyes bulged outwards. With a slight twist, the skin broke, and Nuad literally popped the man's head off. The body fell like a sack of grain, arterial blood bursting out. Smiling to himself, Nuad raised the head above him and stuck out his tongue, catching a few droplets of blood. Laughing, he threw the head away.

Three giant explosions rocked the wall. Nuad turned to his left, inside the wall, to see large fire balls expanding outwards. Drako had done his job swiftly. Nuad turned to his men.

“Alright boys, let's take it. I want to be done with this by the end of the hour,” said Nuad. He turned his attention to the door blocking their entry into the main gatehouse. His enhanced hearing could pick out hushed whispering and curses from behind it. Nuad tightened his hand into a fist and rocked backwards on his heels. “Knock, knock!”

Like a battering ram, his fist hit the door and obliterated it. Pieces of wood and metal flew inwards, cutting down those unfortunate to be caught by sharp edges. Before any could recover from this unexpected occurrence, Nuad's soldiers were inside and the slaughter began once again.

* * * * * * *


Nuad sat on top of the gatehouse, a wineskin in his hand half empty. Around him the men of his company went about gathering the spoils of war or simply carousing with wine, food, or sipping blood from captured young human women. The fortress that had denied them entry for a month was in ruins and was smoldering with smoke in the morning sun.

Drako walked over and sat next to Nuad. “So, Captain, what are we getting paid for this job?”

“Ten thousand gold drachma,” said Nuad.

“Then we're rich!” smiled Drako.



Coming through the gate atop her palanquin was Alcara. Walking next to her was Vorenus, who was reading out the number of dead. “We lost some four thousand, three-hundred and twenty-four levies. Two of Nuad's men were injured by explosives. We captured--.”

“Enough!” said Alcara. “I don't care about the details. All I care is that I now have the glory.”
Last edited by Sons of Corvinus on Mon Aug 23, 2010 12:49 pm, edited 3 times in total.
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Bavin
Negotiator
 
Posts: 5305
Founded: May 11, 2009
Ex-Nation

Postby Bavin » Mon Aug 23, 2010 12:56 am

[ FT ]

Hell And Back


I knew it was shit deal from the beginning.

First off, it was farther into the negs then any attempted mining operation in the history of the company- hell, as far as I know, the history of the damn planet. Secondly it was that asshole Lewellyn's idea. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not prejudiced. I've got nothing against the Derdonese people, just corporate sycophants who wouldn't say no to a 90 year old whore. So when the Boss tells me that Lewellyn's survey drones found the biggest pile of Hee-Three he'd ever seen, I was a bit skeptical. Didn't stop me though. I needed the cash if I was ever going to get the hell off this dump.

Perhaps you're wondering where I'm writing this from. Heredies is a hellhole of a planet, a ribbon world. That means there's a band of decent land along the meridian, a bone-dry desert on one and an icy wasteland on the other. Isn't it just our luck that the only minerals worth mining on this rock are smack dab in the middle of the wastelands?

He-3 deposits like the ones of Lunar legend, some freak accident of cosmology, the scientists tell us. They also tell us Heredies supplies almost all the Hee-Three that the Federation uses, like we were some kind of heroes, sacrificing ourselves to haul in the preciously valuable Hee-Three. That's a damned lie. All the mining and deliveries are done by robots. Normally, all the human employee's of firms like Hay'or and Schei and DoW Minerals do is sit in a chair and stare at screens. Normally.

There was nothing normal about this pile, that's for damned sure. The brass had their tits in a flutter about it, calling it the "find of the century," whatever the hell that means. Unfortunately, it was in an area where our drones didn't have an accurate wind map, and the first cargo wing we sent out there went down less then 30 clicks from the deposit.

Now, you gotta understand, this equipment is shit expensive, and on Heredies, labor is the exact opposite. So, instead of sending drones to attempt to recover/repair the wing and the extractor, the cheap option is to draft up a couple of yahoos with a little bit of mechanic experience, and fly them out to the nearest drone base, and have them take a crawler the rest of the way. To save time, they usually sign these guys before the operation gets underway, and that's where I came in. I signed on after hearing about the job at the company bar. I'd worked for H and S before, but never more than 100 clicks from the T Zone.

Me and Jerry rode the chopper out to the base, and didn't talk much, which was normal. These missions didn't have the best survival rate out there- hell you stood a better chance in an Orbital Infantry drop then on a mining expedition into the negs. Better not to know the other guy at all, other then a facemask that eats and sleeps.The first real conversation we had was while transferring to the Crawler.

"Where you from?" I'd asked him.

"'Round here," he replied, hesitantly. I knew he was lying. Most kids his age (he was a real young kid) that were born here were locked into service contracts with the firms early, and were junior engineers or Lewellyns by the time they reached his age. A contractor like him, nah, not from here. None of us are. We came here for the same reasons- escape, a chance to make it for ourselves, the same old reasons that have kept this rock alive for decades. [WIP]
Last edited by Bavin on Mon Aug 23, 2010 11:11 am, edited 1 time in total.
The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds.- Carl Sagan
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Storm Gard
Envoy
 
Posts: 282
Founded: Jul 16, 2009
Ex-Nation

Postby Storm Gard » Mon Aug 23, 2010 5:01 am

[ FT ]

[ Mature ]


Degrees of Hatred


His skin burned.

Hell stretched around him in all directions. Twisted rebar and molten concrete formed a sea of purgatory, spreading out in all directions. Fires roared from the ground, twisting and clawing at an orange sky. Through the gloves, the body armor, and the fatigues, he could feel heat beating against his skin.

He knew it was hot. Searing fires licked and tore at his skin, yet there was no pain. It was a horrific, surreal sensation, to have such fury hammering him, clawing deep inside of his body, yet not to feel the slightest agony from any of it.

He turned, slowly staggering across the little platform, the metal shivering in the broiling heat. He couldn't see the horizon past the flames, nor could he see the dirt for all the roiling molten stone. His touched one hulk of broken steel jabbing into the air before him, and could feel the red-hot metal through his gloves, as if they weren't there.

He continued his circuit around the platform, hands brushing the leather chair, the device in the center of the hellscape unperturbed by the armageddon surrounding it. His boots rang on the metal like it was still solid, still sane, and as he came back around the other side, he saw . . . .

Her.

She was staring out over the landscape, the same as he was. The pale, nearly translucent skin caught the orange and yellow light of the storm, casting her in a surreal light. Her black hair draped over her shoulders and ample bosom, and her slender, delicate fingers absently rubbed-

He closed his eyes, hissing to himself at the pain.

Fingers pushing against his face, the twisted, horrified expression right as he pulled the trigger.

" . . . . help me please help me!"

Korux. My best friend.

She reacted. Her head rose, those black strands waving faintly in the hellish wind, and she slowly turned to face him. Behind the dark hair wreathing her face, falling across her features, her red eyes gleamed at him, even as her hands continued rubbing the-

A bloodied woman, holding a pistol and looking at him with tired old eyes.

"I'm sorry. Really, I am. I'm not a bad person . . . ."
Arimi. My first teacher

He stared back, feeling a dozen equally brutal emotions battling for control in his mind. Hate.

Revulsion. Sympathy. Horror. Desire. Terror.

A nine millimeter round tore into her left lung, gasping, dying on the floor as she crawled along in her own blood . . . .
Kiria. My most promising student.

She peered back at him, her expression unreadable. He didn't know what she wanted, from him or the . . . .

His fists clenched.

"What now?" he whispered, and the specter peered back at him, head slowly cocking to one side. In the back of his mind, he realized that this was the longest he'd actually had to look upon her before; every other time he'd seen only a glimpse, or a few brief seconds of her before she'd attacked or vanished.
She didn't answer him. He wondered if she even could. What kind of mind lurked in there, or wherever it was she lurked in the first place? The form and shape she took was as human as he could imagine, but the will behind it seemed as twisted and alien as the dark hordes that claimed this world.

He turned away, and she was sitting on the chair.

They weren't the same. One was tall and slender, feminine and swollen with the . . .
This one was familiar. Small, clothed, clad in crimson with glittering red eyes and a mournful look on her face. A few strands of her black hair caught in her mouth from the hellish winds, and her little legs were waving back and forth.

Those white hands, reddish-gold in this light, were clutching a twisted doll in the shape of a rabbit.
She stared up at him, her sad face baffled, and something about it filled him with revolted rage.
Fingers brushed him, passing right through his armored vest and sliding across the skin of his shoulder. He recoiled from her touch, the same touch that had drawn his fingers to her stomach and . . . .

He stepped around the chair, away from the little girl, and stared back out over the landscape. He didn't want to feel sympathy for her. What she'd done, the lives she'd taken, the ruins she'd inflicted, the . . . what she'd done to him. He only wanted to hate her, not feel anything like sympathy for her.

He hated the fact that he did feel sympathy for her.

He felt sorry for the fact that he hated her.

He didn't know how long he'd stared over the fires and heat and ruins’, wondering how much was real and how much were just her illusions. Time passed, and then he felt her close, just as he'd sensed her in the subway, or in the royal palace and the countless streets where they battled for dominance. The throbbing in his head came and passed, and then she was behind him. She inched closer, and a sudden prickling slid up his back, her fingers brushing his spine.

He shivered at that touch, hating it and wanting to pull away. He could pitch himself into the fires below, forgetting her and all this madness, and the idea appealed to him. If only he knew if he could commit suicide here, in her world.

If it was her world, and not his, twisted in her image.

Her flingers slid outward, folding around his sides and over his stomach. They traced over his abdominals, and closed together. He could sense her pulling close, her chin touching his shoulders, breasts pressing against his shoulder blades, and his lower back feeling the . . . .

He closed his eyes, shivering at the contact, even as she gently laid her head against the nape of his neck. Her black hair tickled his skin as it slid through his clothes.

He had to stop himself from clutching her hands in his own.

"Why?" he whispered, gritting his teeth. Though he couldn't feel pain from the boiling heat, somehow her warmth flowed through his body. His skin both crawled and was soothed by the presence.

Safe now

He jerked, only slightly, as he heard her in his ears and deeper. In this place, his physical body seemed to mean nothing except what she wanted of it.

"Why the . . . ." he couldn't speak the word. The voice. The child. The . . . the thing she'd . . . .

you

"Why me?" he hissed. Several seconds passed, and her fingers gradually detached from his stomach. They withdrew, and moved upward as she pulled away. She touched his shoulders, and gently turned him to face her. He saw no point in resisting.

As he came around, the little girl was sitting atop the chair's headrest, still staring at him as she held the doll, clutched to her chest. Then, his eyes fell on the woman's face, and the red eyes hidden behind the strands of her hair. Her lips slowly separated.

breathe

He didn't understand. He couldn't understand, either her or any of the madness associated with her.
He wanted to ask her what she wanted, but he already knew that. And what she wanted, she took. But at least she could tell him the fuck why.
Why me

He blinked, and she turned her head to the side, looking away for a second. Her hands slid down his chest, and one detached to touch her belly.

"Why me?"

He looked up, hearing the girl speak, her voice a sobbing gasp. She held the doll out in front of her, peering at it as if it was some ancient mystery.

He'd seen it, lying in the streets covered in blood and viscera after the battle for Leed Island. And before, he'd seen her lose it, when they'd . . . .

why me

He stared at her for a long time, eyes moving between both of them.

He'd read the reports. He'd seen the Cabal's cold, analytical studies of her abilities, and he knew what she'd been through, but that . . . .

No. No, that wasn't it. That couldn't be . . . .

She looked back up at him, and flashes of the material he'd read on the Harbinger, Origin, Apex projects flew through his mind.

They were the same. Neither of them had asked for this. She hadn't asked for the curse that had rendered her a broken god, dumped in a sealed room to waste away and die because she couldn’t control the ruinous energies in her mind. He hadn't asked for this perversion that was the link that brought them together.

They were both victims.

His mouth twisted as the rage fought its way back to the surface.

"I don't give a damn," he hissed, and his eyes met hers. "You took them away from me. You killed my team, my teacher, my students. You."

She stared back, and he wondered if she could even comprehend what he was saying. She was a child, a twisted, broken child, violent, psychotic, and murderous, yet still a little kid.

I just want to be normal again

Silence filled the endless hellscape as she whispered those words.

He wanted to blame her. He wanted to hate her. He did hate her, for all the people she'd killed, good people he'd cared about. He especially wanted to hate her for what she'd done to him, for the . . . thing whispering in her stomach.

But she was a child. A lost, confused, sobbing child.

It wasn't just the treatments that had drawn her to him. That had just given her something to focus on. It was the similarity between them. The Formis Corporation had used them both to their own ends.

But that didn't mean . . . .

"I don't want you," he whispered, taking a step back to pull away from her.

Two sets of red eyes bored into him, one sad and mournful, the other confused and uncertain.
The woman took a step toward him, raising her hands hesitantly. He wanted to move away, but the sadness in those horrific red eyes made him do otherwise.

"Stay . . . " he whispered, ordering her to keep away, but he didn't fight back. His skin shivered with revulsion and something else he hated almost as much: desire. She slid her arms around him, and his stomach felt the bulge of the thing pressing against him. He stared at her face, inches from his.
He could smell fresh grass, blowing in the wind.

Part of him hated her, absolutely and totally. Part of him felt for her, understanding what she'd been through. Part of him feared her, for what she wanted and for what she could do.

His hands slid up her back, inside her hair, and pulled her head close to him. Her lips met his.
Part of him wanted her, and that was the part she'd used, which made him hate her all the more.
Fuck you, he thought, letting his rage at her feed him as he explored the specter's mouth, and felt the heat of her against him, nothing compared with the hellish fires all around them.

Fuck you for making me feel this way, Cassandra.

The little girl watched them, clutching her doll, and began to sing, as she became real.

Miles away, in another reality, amidst the ruins of a palace complex riddled with bullet holes and almost completely reduced to cinders, a music box began to play. And a symphony of joy and life whistled through the air.
Last edited by Storm Gard on Mon Aug 23, 2010 5:18 am, edited 2 times in total.
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Ozymos
Minister
 
Posts: 3082
Founded: Oct 14, 2009
Ex-Nation

Postby Ozymos » Mon Aug 23, 2010 8:15 am

[ FT ]


Three Line Whip



Few can claim to have stepped on New London in a political capacity. It is regular for foreign political disputes to be solved on board a ship in neutral space. So as Vladimir Markov stepped out of the gently hovering black Rolls-Royce in the center of New London's political district, he took a short moment to take in the fact that he was the only Slav for fifty million light years in any direction. It was humbling, but also a painful reminder of why he was here in the first place.

"Govenor Markov." He was greeted by his title, as he was a Govenor of one of the outlying Slavic colonies near the Bretonian border, by a similarly smart dressed man, who offered his hand in friendship. Markov took it in the sense that it was offered, but the underlying reason for his visit was still at the forefront of his mind as he smiled politely at the man, an aide of some sort. "Welcome back to New London, Govenor" he added, as they released hands and stepped inside the arcane Parliament building.

"It's good to be back" Markov admitted, surveying the hallway of the Parliament building as he entered. Looking around, he noticed a distinct lack of politicians, but rather more workmen and engineers than he recalled from his last visit. "The ceiling has been changed, I see." he noted aloud as they made their way up a flight of stairs.

"Yes, i'm afraid." the aide replied "It was irreplacable after a terrorist bomb detonated in the foyer a few months ago. The rest of the old roof now resides in the History Museum on Russel Street."

"I'll be sure to make a trip there before I leave." Markov noted "I always admired the architecture."

They reached the end of the corridor they had moved onto. The aide stopped at a door and opened it a crack. Voices drifted through. Angry shouting, followed by a mix of booing and applause. The aide turned back to Markov, saying "The House is already in session. Go on in."

He nodded politely in thanks, and stepped through into a upper balcony area, taking a seat in the shadows of the room. He looked down into the room. Hundreds of men were sat in long, leather lined benches. Arranged in rows of three along the side walls, a single seat at the head of the room was occupied by a rather bored looking man, who seemed to be presiding over a rather heated argument. One one side of the center line, a man, smartly dressed but somewhat harrowed sat on a bench with his fellows. Opposite him, another man, also smartly dressed but somewhat less harrowed-looking, was addressing the House

"Look at the economy, Prime Minister" he demanded, although he made a sweeping gesture with his hand, suggesting everyone should do it "The Slavolians are exactly what we need in these troubled times. More people bringing in more money. Kick starting our shattered economy. Working on the cheap!"

He sat down to thunderous applause, and the Prime Minister, opposite him, stood, awaiting for a momet as the applause died away, before calling him out

"The opposition wishes to bring the Slavic Unions back into the Kingdom. Does he not recall why they were outcast in the first place? Slavery. Rape. Organised Crime. Is the Shadow Cabinet trully suggesting that we bring all of that back to New London - nay - to Bretonia?" the Prime Minister hit back hard. "We get hourly reports from agents within Slavic Territory that these actions are even more rife now than they were twelve months ago."

Markov made a mental note that this was where things would get tricky for them. A significant proportion of the Slavic Union, even when within the folds of the Kingdom, had been involved in illegal activities that, when it all came out, outraged both the Regent and the Prime Minister. He noted that as the PM took his seat again, to even more thunderous applause than before, the other man took a moment before standing up

"You would tar all Slavs with the same brush, Prime Minister?" he asked quietly "Not all Slavs were or are involved in those actions."

He sat down, this time in silence. Markov looked on as the Prime Minister stood up again. It was unlike the House to be silent after a speech by either side. What happened now could tip the balance completely.

"I am aware of that, Mr. Saxon. But I cannot forget the past." he said solemnly, before adding "We shall vote on it, and that shall settle it."

Saxon merely nodded at this, before the bored man at the head of the room, aware of a nod from the Prime Minister, called the room to order. Saxon looked up to the balcony above, but found it was empty.

Markov was already leaving the building as he heard the sound of voices exiting the chamber. He swiftly entered the black Rolls-Royce parked outside, where he found himself sat next to a man who he did not expect to see

"Ambassador Alexei?" he asked, closing the Rolls' door and gesturing to the driver to drive. As the Rolls' pulled out of the courtyard and onto the main street, Alexei spoke, without turning to him.

"How did it go, Markov?" he asked, looking straight ahead.

"It's too early too tell." Markov admitted, bitterly "One thing's for sure though; This is going to get much worse before it gets any better."
Last edited by Ozymos on Mon Aug 23, 2010 8:30 am, edited 1 time in total.
"Through adversity, to the stars!"
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Neo Prutenia
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Founded: Oct 21, 2009
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Neo Prutenia » Mon Aug 23, 2010 8:34 am

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Always assume I'm the exact same tech level/reality as you are, with access to the exact same technology/abilities; I just happen to prefer very strict MT. IC name: Prut Meritocracy
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Lemonius
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Founded: May 14, 2010
Ex-Nation

Postby Lemonius » Mon Aug 23, 2010 9:02 am

[ FT ]


Beauty of Annihilation
A passage from a book written by a veteran of the Lemonian-Kyrpian war. In which, he writes spiritually, describing belief and how it differs from what we are destined to believe in.


To learn more about your enemy, which may be what you believe in. What you refuse to accept, may be the truth. You must learn more about the unknown - The ghosts which may haunt you but what you may be destined to become. What we want to believe may conflict with what we actually do. And only one can remain...

What we believe in, is different to what we believe, and so we are scared. A choice, which can create and destroy. Which can birth new worlds of theory and belief and kill another. It is almost it's own circle of creation.
What do I believe?
What do I believe in?


There is a cold feeling of pity, when you kill things - Without seeing their faces. When you fire weapons, capable of wiping out whole civilisations. Your world is changed, warfare has evolved greatly. The Kyrpians, whom we had now warred with for years experienced the pain of losing planet after planet, as we The Lemonian Empire burned their cities, and whole worlds were set ablaze. I was fearful, as were many aboard our vessel. And when you are scared your mind begins to think at speeds it has never done, it begins to spark new ideas. Ideas, which you refuse to accept, may be the truth. These, people, whom we slaughter. We do so, because what they believe is different to what we believe, and so we are scared of what may happen - should we let them live. But, it is a sad reflection that in these dark times of war, when two worlds are forced in conflict only one can remain. Is this what I am destined to become? A killer, whom has no remorse. No form of emotion, and kills because I believe it is right, is this what I should do? Lay down, and accept this is what I am? Or is this not what I should be? Killing for they share a belief of religious morals amongst their own culture, this is not what I believe in. What I may want to think, scares me. But which being inside shall be written? Which one shall die?

And there, is beauty. In that moment, from which I spawned. There is beauty in creation, and the person who admits they believe in something, even though it may be fearful has been born. They are the honest person. But the one they leave behind, the one who is in denial, the one who believes what they want to is doomed to drift as a ghost, who cannot reconcile what or who they truly are. The do not believe in what they are destined to, they believe what they must. That person, that being, is annihilated. And there is beauty in that too. In this circle of creation, while one is born - another dies. Truth, and lies. Acceptance and denial. There is beauty in it, there is the beauty of re-birth, in acceptance and... in it's own way - There too, is the Beauty of Annhilation


Officer L5091
Main weapon operator aboard LIV Wynter
Last edited by Lemonius on Mon Aug 23, 2010 9:13 am, edited 2 times in total.
My factbook has been in disarray since Imageshack was subject to new management
Formerly Venezue, founded in June '09 now Lemonius, regularly 'inactive' since 2014
Many thanks to many friends who made this my home for a time
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