NATION

PASSWORD

Short Story Contest

A coffee shop for those who like to discuss art, music, books, movies, TV, each other's own works, and existential angst.

Advertisement

Remove ads

User avatar
The Weimar Republic
Attaché
 
Posts: 95
Founded: Oct 17, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby The Weimar Republic » Thu Dec 29, 2011 7:58 pm

CM, I think it would be cool if you made this an annual tradition like the sexiest NSer thread.

Everyone else, hi there.

I just want to offer some unofficial brutally honest feedback. If you don't like my feedback, you are free to ignore it. It's just that some people in here really don't know what they're doing, and it might be helpful if someone told them what they are doing wrong. Or it might crush their soul, but this is meant to be a helpful reality check, not a soul-crushing attack.

New East Ireland: That's not a story. It's a scene. It has no plot. It also has a severe shortage of character development. Who are these people?

JuNii: You have a lot of mechanical problems, like sentence fragments and so forth. I'm unclear on whether you are writing about wolf-people or just wolves. You say Artimis's mother “calmly put one hand on her shoulder,” but if they are wolves it ought to be a paw rather than a hand. It seems like you've thought a lot about the mythical setting, the organization of these wolf packs, etc.; but you need to put more emphasis on developing the individual personalities of the characters. It's obvious that you are interested in the world you're writing about, but I skimmed the last few paragraphs because I wasn't interested in the characters.

Yesopalitha: You're trying too hard. There's a lot of dramatic tension, but you don't need to have that level of tension in every scene. It gets to be a bit one-note if the whole story is like that.

Manahakatouki: Some of the writing is a bit hackneyed, but I have seen worse stories that were professionally published. The next time you write a short story, you might want to try submitting it for publication. Minor nitpick: "harmful pestilence" is redundant.

Foamy XIII: It needs more of a plot. Some of the word choices are a bit clumsy because you're faking a 19th century style and not quite getting it right.

Nationstatelandsville: Not too bad. It's a decent story idea, but the writing doesn't grab me.

Zeth Rekia: It's incoherent, it has problems with sentence structure, and the character-development leaves something to be desired.

Theseonia: You're trying way too hard. Some of the individual sentences are beautiful, but when you agonize over every sentence, it makes it a bit agonizing to read. When you're writing dialog, you might want to use "he said" and "she said" more often so it's easier to keep track of which character is talking. You have a lot of blocks of dialog alternating with paragraphs of narration, where each block of dialog is close to the same length, and each paragraph of narration is close to the same length. You should vary the rhythm of the story more. You don't have much of a plot, and your characters aren't particularly compelling. The ending is amateurish over-the-top crap. The ending would be a lot more emotionally powerful if the woman in the story was a more engaging character. This story would be better if you expanded it and described some of the events that led up to this scene.

Dragosovlkiav: I'm sorry; I can't read that. You've misspelled words in both German and English, and it looks like you are trying too hard to make your story gritty.

Maineiacs: You write well, but you are trying to cram in too much plot in too short of a space. You said you were planning to turn this into a larger work, and I think that is what you need to do. Compressing it into a short story didn't work.
Following new legislation in The Weimar Republic, the streets are ravaged by murder and violence to prove political points.

User avatar
Norstal
Post Czar
 
Posts: 41465
Founded: Mar 07, 2008
Ex-Nation

Postby Norstal » Thu Dec 29, 2011 8:59 pm

NEI got deleted. Do I still have to judge it? Because, I don't want more work. :D
Toronto Sun wrote:Best poster ever. ★★★★★


New York Times wrote:No one can beat him in debates. 5/5.


IGN wrote:Literally the best game I've ever played. 10/10


NSG Public wrote:What a fucking douchebag.



Supreme Chairman for Life of the Itty Bitty Kitty Committee

User avatar
Conserative Morality
Post Kaiser
 
Posts: 76676
Founded: Aug 24, 2007
Ex-Nation

Postby Conserative Morality » Thu Dec 29, 2011 9:06 pm

Norstal wrote:NEI got deleted. Do I still have to judge it? Because, I don't want more work. :D

Depends if he comes back with another account within two days.

So probably not. :p
On the hate train. Choo choo, bitches. Bi-Polar. Proud Crypto-Fascist and Turbo Progressive. Dirty Étatist. Lowly Humanities Major. NSG's Best Liberal.
Caesar and Imperator of RWDT
Got a blog up again. || An NS Writing Discussion

User avatar
Metanih
Senator
 
Posts: 3888
Founded: Jan 21, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby Metanih » Thu Dec 29, 2011 9:08 pm

I will get a story in. I promise. Even if I have to submit one I had already written.
Nationstates Ninja
Second to Reploid Productions...
Everyone should watch this excellent show, and the movie Serenity.
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0303461/

If you don't know me well, talk to me more. I have a DeviantArt account here. http://merin593.deviantart.com
Also, I am a pansexual genderfluid individual. If you don't know what that means, look it up. I deal with enough people asking in real life. . ;)

User avatar
Nationstatelandsville
Khan of Spam
 
Posts: 70969
Founded: Apr 27, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby Nationstatelandsville » Thu Dec 29, 2011 11:00 pm

Conserative Morality wrote:
Norstal wrote:NEI got deleted. Do I still have to judge it? Because, I don't want more work. :D

Depends if he comes back with another account within two days.

So probably not. :p


He's unbanned on the night of the 31st and he says he'll be back then.
"Then I was fertilized and grew wise;
From a word to a word I was led to a word,
From a work to a work I was led to a work."
- Odin, Hávamál 138-141, the Poetic Edda, as translated by Dan McCoy.

I enjoy meta-humor and self-deprecation. Annoying, right?

Goodbye.

User avatar
JuNii
Postmaster-General
 
Posts: 13517
Founded: Aug 22, 2004
Ex-Nation

Postby JuNii » Thu Dec 29, 2011 11:07 pm

The Weimar Republic wrote:CM, I think it would be cool if you made this an annual tradition like the sexiest NSer thread.

Everyone else, hi there.

I just want to offer some unofficial brutally honest feedback. If you don't like my feedback, you are free to ignore it. It's just that some people in here really don't know what they're doing, and it might be helpful if someone told them what they are doing wrong. Or it might crush their soul, but this is meant to be a helpful reality check, not a soul-crushing attack.

New East Ireland: That's not a story. It's a scene. It has no plot. It also has a severe shortage of character development. Who are these people?

JuNii: You have a lot of mechanical problems, like sentence fragments and so forth. I'm unclear on whether you are writing about wolf-people or just wolves. You say Artimis's mother “calmly put one hand on her shoulder,” but if they are wolves it ought to be a paw rather than a hand. It seems like you've thought a lot about the mythical setting, the organization of these wolf packs, etc.; but you need to put more emphasis on developing the individual personalities of the characters. It's obvious that you are interested in the world you're writing about, but I skimmed the last few paragraphs because I wasn't interested in the characters.

Yesopalitha: You're trying too hard. There's a lot of dramatic tension, but you don't need to have that level of tension in every scene. It gets to be a bit one-note if the whole story is like that.

Manahakatouki: Some of the writing is a bit hackneyed, but I have seen worse stories that were professionally published. The next time you write a short story, you might want to try submitting it for publication. Minor nitpick: "harmful pestilence" is redundant.

Foamy XIII: It needs more of a plot. Some of the word choices are a bit clumsy because you're faking a 19th century style and not quite getting it right.

Nationstatelandsville: Not too bad. It's a decent story idea, but the writing doesn't grab me.

Zeth Rekia: It's incoherent, it has problems with sentence structure, and the character-development leaves something to be desired.

Theseonia: You're trying way too hard. Some of the individual sentences are beautiful, but when you agonize over every sentence, it makes it a bit agonizing to read. When you're writing dialog, you might want to use "he said" and "she said" more often so it's easier to keep track of which character is talking. You have a lot of blocks of dialog alternating with paragraphs of narration, where each block of dialog is close to the same length, and each paragraph of narration is close to the same length. You should vary the rhythm of the story more. You don't have much of a plot, and your characters aren't particularly compelling. The ending is amateurish over-the-top crap. The ending would be a lot more emotionally powerful if the woman in the story was a more engaging character. This story would be better if you expanded it and described some of the events that led up to this scene.

Dragosovlkiav: I'm sorry; I can't read that. You've misspelled words in both German and English, and it looks like you are trying too hard to make your story gritty.

Maineiacs: You write well, but you are trying to cram in too much plot in too short of a space. You said you were planning to turn this into a larger work, and I think that is what you need to do. Compressing it into a short story didn't work.


not my best work... but fan fic wasn't allowed... so... :(
on the other hand... I have another set of fingers.

Unscramble these words...1) PNEIS. 2)HTIELR 3) NGGERI 4) BUTTSXE
1) SPINE. 2) LITHER 3)GINGER 4)SUBTEXT

User avatar
Conserative Morality
Post Kaiser
 
Posts: 76676
Founded: Aug 24, 2007
Ex-Nation

Postby Conserative Morality » Fri Dec 30, 2011 2:18 am

"Is he ready?" I asked the doctor exiting the cell.

"Uh, yes general. He's perfectly healthy, just a few cuts and bruises." Grigory muttered. Grigory Korovin was a good man, a good friend, and a good physician, but sometimes I think he lacked the stomach for government work. I waved him off, and he gratefully scampered out. I drew myself to my full height and straightened my saber before I entered the room. When I did, I saw a man who looked like he lost an argument with the business end of a mace. His face was bloody and smashed to hell. He glared at me sullenly as I walked in and closed the door behind me. "Captain." I said. "I believe you should salute your superior officer."

He spat a glob of blood on the table. I could immediately tell that this man was going to be a handful. I sat down across from him. Ignoring his attitude, I said "Captain Kvavsov, your service record is commendable. You were the best shot in your regiment, the 5th Turiyov Infantry, if I'm not mistaken. You were awarded the Order of the Golden Sun and thus a non-hereditary knighthood for your valor at the Battle of the Two Rivers; I note it is rather conspicuously missing from your uniform-"

"As bugles blow and trumpets roar
We cry: 'Man is man, and who is more?'" He muttered.

"Ah. A traitor, then." These Republican types were always quoting scripture. As if it meant anything.

He immediately straightened up in his seat, struggling against his constraints. "I am not a traitor!" He shouted "The Tzar is the traitor! He sold-" I brought my fist across his face hard enough to almost tip the chair over.

"You will not disgrace our Autocrat in my presence. Is that quite clear?"

His head rolled to the side as he gasped in pain.

"I won't ask again, captain."

He brought his gaze up to meet mine, slowly. "Yes. Sir." He said through gritted teeth.

"Good. Continue in a manner that respects Tzar Viktor. Tell me what happened"

He dropped his gaze to the ground. "I killed them. That's what you want to hear, isn't it?"

I shrugged. "Yes and no. Tell me how. Tell me exactly what happened in Goyiv."

"I ordered my men to round up the prisoners, all of them. Colonel Melnikov was quite pleased to have them taken off of his hands. I forced a local farmer to loan us his shovel, and then I made each of those blank-eyed bastards dig a grave, and kneel in front of it." He lifted his head when he said that, as though he were proud of what he did. "Then I ordered my men to fire by rank, all hundred and thirteen of them." He smiled. "There is no feeling more satisfying than doing the work of Man, which is the work of God."

"What you did was neither the work of man nor God." I snarled. "You killed prisoners that were going to be exchanged for our own men! You disobeyed your Tzar's commands, and you have threatened the peace that he worked so hard to create!"

The traitor tipped the chair forward and spat "He has created a Godless peace with sub-human scum! He has bowed down to elves and craven creatures of the night!" I brought my fist across his face again, to no avail. "No god but God! No man but Man!" He cried "No god but God! No man but Man!" I got out of my chair, disgusted. I walked over beside him and calmly tipped his chair over. It shut him up for a moment, long enough for me to leave the room. I left to find Carl Weber, a pale, blond-haired eastern piece of shit, calmly sliding two knives across each other.

"I take it you need my assistance?" He said, with his characteristic near-unintelligible accent and that slimy little smile of his.

"Get him to recant. We need him to recant in front of a crowd. If he reverses his opinion when we get him to the gallows-"

"Yes, yes, I am familiar with the purpose of a recantation. I'll have him begging for death by tomorrow, I promise you." I shook my head and walked off. "I know you disapprove of my methods, General," He said "But I assure you, I only do what is best for the Empire." Men like Weber are sick, cruel for the sake of cruelty. For all of his sweet talk of necessity and patriotism, he's just another parasite, feeding off the pain of others with government permission. Before he was Head Interrogator for the Tzar, he was the Head Jailer for some eastern knight, and before that, a mercenary. He has no allegiance to anyone or anything, save himself.

And yet... He is right that he's necessary. A necessary evil, perhaps, but necessary nonetheless...

---

"Hail Tzar Viktor, first of his name, Emperor and Autocrat of all the Selonans!" I shouted, raising my right hand in the air and taking a knee in front of the Tzar. "Please, Pyotr, get up, I don't have time for this nonsense. Are the rumors true?" I tensed as I stood. Revealing bad news to the Tzar was never a good idea. He was a good man, and a fair ruler, but his temper was... Mecurial, at best.

"Tzar, the rumors... Are, indeed true. One of our officers rounded up unarmed elvish prisoners, and massacred them. He didn't even deny it when I confronted him."

The Tzar turned around and paced back to his writing desk. He picked up a piece of paper, hands shaking. "Do you see this, Pyotr?" He asked, voice quivering. I gritted my teeth. I could tell by his tone that this was going to be nasty.

"Yes, Tzar, I see it." I said quietly.

"Do you know what it is, Pyotr?" His voice rose to a crescendo, and he looked as though he were about to tear the paper apart.

"It-it's a peace treaty, Tzar." I said.

He brought his other hand to the paper and softly ripped it in half, then into quarters, and threw the scraps in my face. "Not anymore, Pyotr! Not anymore! Because of your men!" I deeply resented the association, but I held my tongue. The Tzar didn't like being contradicted. "I've fought this war for ten years, Pyotr! Ten years! And now that little shit of a soldier is going to unravel it all! We could have had peace! At a cost, but any cost is better than slavery and death at the hands of elves! Do you realize what the Ostenians will do once they hear of this?"

"They might send a diplomat to request reparations-"

"They will come in here, and they will burn the city to the ground, and then they'll salt the earth behind it! That's what they'll do, and you know it!" The Tzar shouted in my face. Striding over to his window, he gripped the railing so hard his knuckles turned white. He took a few breaths of seaside air and ran a hand through his hair before turning back to me. A thunderstorm crackled distantly as he quietly continued. "This is the end, Pyotr. Of everything. We've fought inside and out of this Empire for years, haven't we? It's been sixteen years since I took the throne, but it seems a lifetime. And we are nearing the end. We've given up so much for this peace... And now..."

"Viktor," I said quietly "It's not all over. If we can get the captain to publicly recant, maybe his confession and execution will smooth things over enough-"

The Tzar waved me off. "Do as you will, Pyotr. I... I have some last letters to write. Tell Nicholas to bring me the carrier birds. All of them. I think it's time for them to take one last trip." I frowned and looked at the Tzar. He was barely a child when he took the throne, only fifteen. Now he looked almost fifty. His hair was already starting to grey, and his figure had become frail and gaunt after years of the burden of rule. He hadn't inherited this empire in good condition, but he had hoped to leave it in peace and prosperity. Now it seemed that he wasn't going to leave it at all. I silently left his room, leaving him to write his final letters in peace.

----

I made my way to a quaint little tavern that was constantly changing it's name (I think it was the Black Horse at that time, or maybe the Blind Pig) that was a favorite haunt of two of my oldest and closest friends. I smiled faintly as I smelled the familiar smoky aroma of the tavern, tinged with boar, and dully lit by a number of lanterns hanging from the ceiling. I nodded cordially to the tavern's owner, a broad, mustached man by the name of Ivan Shryenko, who returned the nod respectfully. I found Grigory and Vasily sitting in their usual corner, drinking and talking. Vasily was smoking a pipe, as usual, when I came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.

He snarled "What the hell do you want?" as he turned his head around, but his angry sneer quickly turned into a smile when he saw me. "Petya!" He pulled me into a big bear hug, a huge grin on his rough, scarred face. He looked like a vicious bastard, but Vasily was all soft on the inside. I'd had him as senior sergeant back when I was just a green lieutenant, and I haven't been able to tear myself away from him since. "Here I thought you'd be too busy with, y'know, 'affairs of state' to come in to drink with us."

I grimaced. "Well, if affairs keep going as badly as they have been, there may not be a state to worry about."

A sympathetic look crossed Vasily's face. "That bad, huh?"

I shrugged. "Yeah. But I'd rather try and forget about it for a few hours." I pulled a chair away from a nearby table and sat down.

Grigory rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Did you get what you needed out of the captain?" He asked

I shook my head and said "Weber is." Grigory shifted uncomfortably in his chair. I can't blame him, we both knew what kind of a man Weber was. "So Grisha, how is Anna coming along?"

Grigory smiled. "She should be due in about a month." He said, and laughed. "To think I'll be a grandfather soon... Makes me feel old." Out of the three of us, he was the youngest, but only barely, at forty-seven. I was forty-nine, and Vasily was fifty-five.

Vasily snorted. "You think you feel old now? Just wait until your youngest is starting a family. That's when you feel ancient."

Sofiya, Ivan's daughter, came up to me and placed a pint of Eastern Lager in front of me. "Your usual, General." I smiled and thanked her.

"I remember when Mariya had her first kid, I felt like the whole world was coming down on me. Now Vira is already on her second and I feel just fine. Calm as can be." Vasily took a puff from his pipe and calmly blew smoke up towards the ceiling.

"Don't you know that stuff is terrible for your health?" Grigory coughed and waved some smoke away from his face.

Vasily gave him a patronizing smile and said "So you keep telling me. I've never been convinced."

"The fact that it makes people cough should be a dead giveaway."

Vasily rolled his eyes. "People cough when they drink water too - when they drink it the wrong way. Do you see me coughing?" Vasily turned to me. "You've been quiet Petya, what's going on in that head of yours?"

Fear. "I'm anxious. In a bad way."

Vasily raised his eyebrows. "Should I be anxious?"

I stood up, my drink untouched. "Yeah, probably. I'll see you two later, I need to go check on the men."

-----

It seemed the more I tried to push my fears away, the stronger they took hold of me. It was only natural, of course. If I wasn't worried, if I didn't try to do something against the inevitable Ostenian reaction, would I really have been worthy of my rank? That question ran through my head as I roughly kicked the leg of Colonel Kastarov's bed. He startled, cursing and fumbling out of his blankets. When he saw me, he gritted his teeth together and rubbed his eyes, muttering "It's three in the bloody morning, so this had better be a goddamn emergency!" He then added, as an afterthought "Sir."

"Colonel." I acknowledged him with a slight nod. "Rest assured, this is an emergency."

Kastarov sighed angrily and slipped his pants and boots on. "Goddammit. How far away are they?"

"I'm not sure yet. There's been no official break, but I'm sure you've heard the rumors."

Kastarov affixed his cap neatly on his head and slipped on his jacket. "Fresh out of one war and into the next." I was always amazed at the Colonel's ability to look like a proper soldier on a moment's notice. Always clean shaven, save for a well-trimmed red mustache under his prominent eagle-like nose. As he finished slipping on his uniform, I would never have thought that not a minute beforehand he was fast asleep and in bed.

"Get the militia ready and below the west wall," I said "I've already informed colonels Golovin and Potemkin to marshal the regular army."

"Tell the truth Pyotr. How bad is it going to be?"

I balled my hands into fists. "I don't know colonel. But if we're caught off guard-"

"They'll sacrifice the lot of us." Kastarov said bitterly. "To Jawin, or whatever heathen god it is they worship." It's Chwin, actually, but I didn't feel like interrupting the colonel. He scowled "I'll see to it that the men are impressed as to the importance of this. They still won't be happy about being dragged back to the ranks after a month of peace."

"I don't think we have much of a choice. Godspeed colonel."

"Godspeed general."

------

Warm rain pelted my face and ran down my back as I paced across the walls towards the western gatehouse. The men were aligned in rows three ranks deep, wheellocks ready and loaded. They stood at attention as I moved past, recognizing my distinctive peaked cap even in the heavy rain. Colonel Nikita Golovin saw me and quickly joined my side at a brisk pace. "General," He said "We have to talk."

"By all means, go ahead." I said

"Sir," He hissed in my ear "We can't possibly expect to win this battle. Between the rain and the fact that we don't know anything about their force; we don't know how many there are, we don't know who's leading them, we don't even know when they're coming, means that staying here and fighting is suicide!"

I turned quickly and snapped "What else-" I looked away for a moment to calm myself down. I couldn't show any fear, any uncertainty in front of the men. An officer must serve as an example for the rank and file. Lightning flashed as I took a deep breath and continued. "What else can we do, colonel? Do you think that the Ostenians will just let us murder their soldiers without retribution? Have you forgotten what started the war in the first place?" I heard a few voices in the distance, drowned out by the rain and the thunder.

Colonel Golovin's voice took on a conciliatory tone. "Sir, I'm not saying that. What I am saying is that we're not even at a fourth of our strength, even counting the militia as regulars, and the riders to Volovin and Turiyov won't reach the cities for days. Even if this was a clear, dry day, we still wouldn't be able to take a fifth of the Ostenian army. Sir, we could..." He bit his lower lip hesitantly. "We could abandon the city. Move the men southeast, to Turiyov, form our army there."

I turned away in disgust, and in turn Golovin's voice rose to an almost pleading timbre. "General, please, it's our only chance. If we're caught here, there'll be no saving Selonan."

"Nikita." I said quietly. "Do you remember what happened at Stavvich?"

"Y... Yes sir."

"Apparently you don't, so let me remind you. The city surrendered, Nikita. Surrendered. And..." I closed my eyes, tried not to picture the aftermath, the bodies laying in the streets, the profane symbols painted in blood... "They sacrificed one-hundred thousand human beings. Men, women, children, it didn't matter, all murdered for their heathen gods. What the hell do you think is going to happen if we give up this city without a fight? We hold here until relieved by reinforcements from Volovin and Turiyov."

"Sir, I-"

"We hold here until relieved, colonel." I snarled "Is that understood?"

He nodded. "Yes sir." He whispered. He looked as though he had at least enough common fucking decency to be ashamed of his proposal. He saw what happened at Stavvich too. He had family in Stavvich. Of all people, he should have been the last to propose abandoning another city to those inhuman monsters.

"Good."

In the distance, I heard the voice of one of my scouts, Ivan, I think, I don't remember his last name, over the storm shout "Let me in, dammit! I told you I have a message for the general!" I saw a lantern swinging back and forth in front of a pair of mounted silhouettes, one in a cloak.

I found it odd, as I had ordered the scouts out alone rather than in pairs. Still, I raised my voice over the cacophony of the storm. "Let them through!" The gate guards must have recognized my voice, because a few seconds later I heard the gate groan and start to open. I turned to Colonel Golovin. "Find Colonel Potemkin and Kastarov, and meet me with them in the gatehouse. The guards will know which room."

-------

As I entered a small side room of the gatehouse and motioned for the guards to clear out, I took off my hat and wrung it of water. "What do you have for me, soldier?"

Ivan saluted. "General sir, I uh, well, he's a messenger, sir." The cloaked man- no, the cloaked thing drew it's hood back to reveal telltale pointed ears and clear, slightly luminescent eyes.

I straightened up and balled my hands into fists when I saw it. "There had better be a good reason for this, Ivan. Or I'll have you against a wall before his... Comrades... See the city."

"Please general sir, you have to listen to what he has to say."

The elf looked smug, although I think they all do. I can't tell them apart, they're all the same, they all look the same, they all think the same, they all act the same. They treat us like dogs who have yet to learn their place. Well, I suppose if that's the case, we've spent the past ten years teaching them what happens when you kick a dog one too many times. "General Pyotr." It smiled. "I believe you are just the man I'm looking for."

"General Vorontovich to you." I said coldly.

"General Vwrontwovrich." It said, still smiling as his accent butchered my name. "My sincere apologies. There seems to be a misunderstanding between our two countries about the intentions of my masters." Masters. Like a slave. Like a dog. Not like a man.

Colonel Potemkin entered the room, and drew his pistol as soon as he saw the elf standing there. Luckily, I grabbed his hand before he could level it at the messenger. "He's a messenger, Alexander."

"Like hell. He's a spy, I don't care what he-"

"Alexander. We're hearing him out." Alexander put his pistol back into it's holster, reluctantly. His thick gray mustache bristled as he sneered at the elf and moved out of the doorway to let Colonel Golovin and Colonel Kastarov in, who both eyed the elf warily.

"Please." I said "Continue."

"Our 'force', as your soldier put it, is only the retinue of a diplomat, who has come here in light of... Certain events that have transpired recently." The Ostenian elf's smug little smile didn't leave it's face.

Ivan nodded eagerly. "There wasn't more than twenty elves there, I promise you general sir. Er, sirs."

"It's lying." Snarled Colonel Potemkin. "You remember how many times we attacked a supply caravan of 'just' fifty or sixty elves, and then how a whole damn division would come out of the woods? Elves are cowards, and liars. It's trying to make us let our guard down, so when they do attack they can butcher us!" The elf just continued smiling, which only encouraged Alexander. "You see? It doesn't even try to deny it! We should kill it now while we still have the chance!"

"Alexander. Please, calm down." I said. "Nikita?"

Colonel Golovin shrugged. "I don't know. I think he's telling the truth... But Alexander is right, elves are notorious liars. And we've had our share of ambushes during the war."

I looked over at Colonel Kastarov, who was studying the elf intently, hand rubbing his chin. "Mikhail. What do you think?"

Colonel Kastarov narrowed his eyes at the elf. "I think he's telling the truth. Partially. I think he's also hiding something."

I drew my saber from it's sheathe and looked it over carefully, judging the elf's reaction. Nothing. "You think yourself safe here?"

The elf nodded. "I think you... Humans... Have enough sense to not kill diplomatic envoys."

"Really? Well, by your own admission, you aren't the diplomat. You're just part of 'his' retinue. How angry do you think your master would be if one of 'his' servents went missing? Travellers go missing all the time along these roads. Ivan, I believe you have some leave days left? And family in Turiyov?"

The smile ran away from the elf's face. "He would be very upset, General Vwrontwovrich, and not quite so foolish as to buy such a contrived tale." Ah, that's all I wanted. I just couldn't stand that smug little shit's smile.

I put my saber back in it's sheathe. "Colonels. Tell the men, regulars and militia, to stand down, and march them to the Citadel of Stars. We can't risk Republicans... Or nervous recruits... Taking a shot and risking spoiling this opportunity for a renewed peace."

Colonel Potemkin frowned. "And if he's lying?"

"If he's lying, the guns in the Citadel of Stars are the biggest in the empire, and the artillerymen there have the calibrations to hit anywhere on the western side of the city. You'll take command and storm the walls with shot and bayonet." He seemed satisfied with that, and saluted before leaving the room, as did Mikhail and Nikita.

--------

"I think we should get down to business." The elven diplomat, by the name of 'Nuallan', said to Tzar Viktor.

"Of course." Tzar Viktor said, and smiled thinly. "I believe you are here to discuss the nature of some rumours that have been circulating lately-"

"They are no rumors. Truth travels on the wings of eagles, and there are ears in every forest." I hate how they always need to be so... Enigmatic. "We know what happened. But my masters are willing to forgive this little incident, for a price."

Tzar Viktor hesitated. "And what price do you ask?"

"The hundred men that committed the deed."

"Just a minute," I objected "The only man responsible for this was the officer in command. The men were just following orders."

Nuallan cocked it's head. "Is that what you human soldiers tell yourselves? I seem to remember this business of executing prisoners being quite common-"

"During the war! Not in peace, and not to-" Tzar Viktor raised his hand to silence me.

"Please, Pyotr. You want the hundred men as prisoners, correct? And the officer for execution?" Tzar Viktor asked, a hint of hope entering his voice.

"As sacrifices." Nuallan said.

"Get out." Viktor whispered. I knew that tone, and braced myself for his reaction.

"Pardon? I'm-"

"Get the hell out of my sight, and be happy that I don't take your head! You dare enter MY city, come into MY land, and demand that I give MY people to be sacrificed for your gods? You should be happy I don't throw you to the dogs, you subhuman bastard!" Viktor roared "You think that you can just come in here and demand the world? I'd sooner hang myself than betray my own wards!"

The Tzar sat down slowly. Nuallan just looked stunned, like a rabbit or a deer who's just seen a hunter. "My men will tell you when you can leave, Nuallan. They will escort you to your quarters until I've decided just what to do with you." The elf looked as pale as a ghost as he stumbled out the door.

The Tzar pinched the bridge of his nose and choked down a sob when Nuallan was gone. "Pyotr... Pyotr... God, what can I do?" The Tzar took a deep breath. "We... I can't, couldn't accept their terms could I? How-how could I call myself a man of God if I did?" He ground his teeth together. "How can I call myself king if I don't? Oh God, Pyotr... If they come out in full force, we can't stop them. They'll torch the cities, sacrifice thousands to their heathen gods." He slammed his fist on the table. His entire body with shaking with rage, or maybe fear. He put his hand on his forehead and went quiet. I stood up and walked over to the door. He sat there, in silence and despair, with only the burden of the crown to keep him.

God help him; I can't.

Clocking in at 4,398 words. :lol:
Last edited by Conserative Morality on Fri Dec 30, 2011 8:00 pm, edited 1 time in total.
On the hate train. Choo choo, bitches. Bi-Polar. Proud Crypto-Fascist and Turbo Progressive. Dirty Étatist. Lowly Humanities Major. NSG's Best Liberal.
Caesar and Imperator of RWDT
Got a blog up again. || An NS Writing Discussion

User avatar
Nationstatelandsville
Khan of Spam
 
Posts: 70969
Founded: Apr 27, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby Nationstatelandsville » Fri Dec 30, 2011 1:58 pm

Weimar, I'll reply to you without quoting because I'm lazy: I plan to rewrite it tonight if I have time. I just jotted it down and submitted it early so I could have something by the deadline.
"Then I was fertilized and grew wise;
From a word to a word I was led to a word,
From a work to a work I was led to a work."
- Odin, Hávamál 138-141, the Poetic Edda, as translated by Dan McCoy.

I enjoy meta-humor and self-deprecation. Annoying, right?

Goodbye.

User avatar
Zeth Rekia
Post Marshal
 
Posts: 18387
Founded: Oct 11, 2010
Ex-Nation

Postby Zeth Rekia » Fri Dec 30, 2011 2:01 pm

The Weimar Republic wrote:Zeth Rekia: It's incoherent, it has problems with sentence structure, and the character-development leaves something to be desired.

You're obviously sober.

User avatar
Nationstatelandsville
Khan of Spam
 
Posts: 70969
Founded: Apr 27, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby Nationstatelandsville » Fri Dec 30, 2011 2:03 pm

Zeth Rekia wrote:
The Weimar Republic wrote:Zeth Rekia: It's incoherent, it has problems with sentence structure, and the character-development leaves something to be desired.

You're obviously sober.


Tsk, tsk.
"Then I was fertilized and grew wise;
From a word to a word I was led to a word,
From a work to a work I was led to a work."
- Odin, Hávamál 138-141, the Poetic Edda, as translated by Dan McCoy.

I enjoy meta-humor and self-deprecation. Annoying, right?

Goodbye.

User avatar
Jeniva
Civilian
 
Posts: 1
Founded: Dec 30, 2011
Ex-Nation

Oh hi there (entry)

Postby Jeniva » Fri Dec 30, 2011 5:22 pm

I wasn't sure if I could just jump in, but hopefully no harm done if I wasn't supposed to. Regardless, here is my story. Hopefully you enjoy it.

-- Jeniva


Rope Swing

The dead man’s facial expression isn’t calm, it isn’t peaceful, it isn’t at rest. He looks like he died angry. He has frown lines, even his eyebrows seem scrunched. How bad must his expression have been that the funeral director couldn’t get it a little happier? I smile a little at the guy. He always used to be able to fake a smile. Strange that it didn’t carry over once he died.

“God, Al,” I whisper to him. I use a nice, soft voice so that anyone who hears me thinks I’m grieving. “Could you make your guilt a bit more obvious?”

I rise to my feet and walk away from the casket, avoiding eye contact with all the hicks standing everywhere. Christ, one guy is wearing jeans and muddy boots. And they wonder why I left this shit hole.

Still, I can’t help but hear their whispers as I walk by.

“Jay? That’s Jay? Like… Martin’s daughter, Jay? Ain’t seen her in years.”

I make my way to the back table where all the flowers are placed. I can’t help but feel out of place. I knew I shouldn’t have brought the Gucci purse. I don’t want to grieve his death, I don’t want to look at any pictures, and I certainly don’t want to talk to his trashy, beloved friends and family.

“Janet Madigan, is that you?” I cringe a little, then turn to face a tiny old woman. I realize, with some surprise, that she was my high school English teacher.

“Mrs. Fernad,” I say in my best attempt at a pleasant voice. “It’s been so long.”

“It has, it has! You graduated… what? Fourteen years ago?”

“I believe so, yeah. I’m surprised you remember.” Hell, I didn’t even know that. The small town mentality must be great for remembering pointless shit no one in the real world would care about for more than a week.

“Oh, I could never forget you and your friends,” she says. I feel like I was just doused in ice water. I look at the nearest flower arrangement and try to focus very hard on the patterns in the leaves. “Always such trouble makers, you five. It’s a pity things happened like they did, with Peter and all. Such a tragedy.”

“Mrs. Fernad!” comes a smooth, familiar voice. I reach my hand out to touch the leaves of the arrangement, maybe if I look busy he won’t bother me, won’t even notice me. “Did you see Sarah Biggins? She came in all the way from Iowa, you should go see her.”

I hear Mrs. Fernad shuffle off with a faint goodbye, I hear him take a step closer to me. I see his tall shadow fall over the table, I can smell his cigarette scent.

“Starting to seem like I only see you at funerals, Jay,” he says. He touches my arm, I pull away and face him. He’s as handsome as ever. His jaw is stronger than the rest of the town’s people’s. His hair is well kempt for a citizen of Rockcreek, Indiana. There was always a sort of dark charm in his face, especially in his dark eyes.

“There’s not much life worth celebrating in Rockcreek,” I say. I don’t even try to hide the loathing in my voice. He smirks.

“More life to celebrate out in New York, hmm?” He leans closer to me. “How’s the big company?”

“Excellent.”

“Bullshit, excellent. Look at you, Jay. Starting to look like one of them government bitches. What happened to the good old days, hmm? When you used to be one of the boys to everyone ‘cept me.”

“I got an education,” I say. “And I don’t mean the college.”

He leans back, his confident physique only slightly falters.

“Do you think Pete’s parents will be here, Shane?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. “There’s something I’ve wanted to tell them for some time now.”

“You—We swore, all of us, swore to take that to the grave.”

“Most of us are already there. Two left out of the five. Funny, how we’re all dying young. I’d probably quit smoking if I were you, you might be next.”

“Yeah? You dare utter one word to them, one word to anyone, and I promise you it ain’t gonna be me next.”

“Oh, are we back to threatening?” I say. I look around at all the idiotic grievers. None of them seem to be paying any attention to Shane and I. Will anyone notice if he hits me?

“I don’t need to threaten you,” he says. “You already know. Hell, even if I don’t get to you, your whole life—all that New York shit with your fashionable clothes and white collar job, that’s all gone. You’ll be in prison with the whores and addicts for the rest of your life.”

He puts his hands in his pockets and looks at me with his most wicked grin. After so many years, I've learned there's only one thing I can do against that smile, so I turn from him and walk away. I feel overwhelming nausea. I make my way clumsily to the women’s restroom, as I pull the door open, I see her.

She looks so much older than the first funeral I saw her at, but she looks just as sad. She walks out of the bathroom and though I try to avoid her eyes, I still catch a glimpse. They have the same light blue color as Pete’s eyes, but they have none of the life he had. I swear she looks more like a corpse than the actual corpse in the next room over. I've seen her at every funeral I've attended in this town, but I've never gotten used to my reaction to seeing her.

As I pass her I nearly fall over, only catching myself on a dirty sink. I stumble into a stall, fall to my knees, and vomit longer than I care to know.



Shane’s truck bounced up and down on the dirt road. The windows were all rolled down, but it didn’t stop us all from sweating like pigs. I sat in the passenger seat while Shane drove. Al and Jim were sitting in the back seat, Al was trying to light up a joint.

“Shit, is this broken?” Al asked as the wind extinguished yet another flame. Jim had given up a few minutes ago, deciding that a beer would suffice. Shane held his beer bottle between his legs as we pulled into Pete’s gravel driveway. Pete had the nicest house of any of us. Al and Jim both lived in the trailer park, Shane and I both lived in little run-down shacks of houses near the ravine. Pete’s house was a farm house though. It had a nice green lawn, unpeeling paint, and a few horses fenced in the back.

“He knows we coming, right?” Jim asked.

“Yep, but you know Pete,” Shane said. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “His parents are real asses. We just got to give him a little time.”

“Fuck that,” I said. I reached my arm out and, before Shane could stop me, I punched the horn.

“God damn, Jay,” Shane laughed. “We don’t want little Petey to get in any trouble.”

The guys in the back chuckled a bit. I looked up at Pete’s house in enough time to see him open his front door and wave back at his parents. He jogged up to the truck, I opened my door for him, and he climbed into the back seat.

“What’d you tell them this time?” asked Al.

“What? Oh, that I’m going to a bible study with Frank Biggins.”

“Pathetic,” Shane laughed.

“You seen his little sister? Frank’s? Fuck, that girl’s been developing. I mean, still young, but damn,” Al said.

Shane pulled out of the driveway, Jim offered Pete a beer. We drove around the town as usual, with nothing to do and nowhere to go, until finally Jim spoke up.

“We ain’t been to the ledges lately. Want to stop by there? Hot as hell in this truck.”

“Sure,” Shane said. “Haven’t been to the ledges in awhile.”

The ledges were some rock formation, like someone had reached down and took a chunk of earth from the ground, leaving big cliffs all around a small patch of woods. We’d learned about them in school, but my report card was enough to let anyone know I hadn’t listened to much anyone said in school. They were in the middle of the woods, but you could park off Quinn road and take a trail to them, which is what we did.

We walked along the trail, bored as always. Al had finally light his joint and was sharing it, but I didn’t take it. I was always experimenting back then with trying to get a better high, and I found that the less often I smoked, the better it was when I did. Instead I just stuck a cigarette in my mouth.

“Fuck!” Shane said after a few minutes and a couple hits of the joint. He stopped walking, so we all stopped too. “Look at us. We’re sheep, all of us. Here we are at the finest natural beauty Rockcreek has to offer, and we’re just going to walk on this path laid out for us? We ain’t gonna explore?”

“Path’s safer,” Pete mumbled, but as always, we ignored his momma’s boy bullshit.

“Come on, let’s walk closer to the edge. Live life on the edge. Huh? We don’t need none of this path bullshit.”

This was a phenomenal idea and we all agreed. I put my hand on Shane’s shoulder to congratulate him on his pure genius. He was always the smartest. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me in for a quick kiss, and then we were off of the path, kicking our way through dead leaves and past thorns and branches that snagged on our already torn clothes.

It was beautiful, more beautiful than it could ever be on the path. We weren’t dumb, we knew to stay a few feet from the edge, but we were still close enough to see the whole area under the cliff, and to see the whole surrounding area.

“What’s that?” Jim asked. I looked over and knew exactly what he meant. My dad’s house had one just like it.

“That,” I said. “Is the most beautiful rope swing I’ve ever seen.”

It was tied to one of the biggest trees, some distance away. It dangled just a few feet from the edge of the cliff, so that if someone got enough motion, they’d swing over the edge and feel like they were flying. We agreed immediately that we should go on it, so we made our way to it.

“Think it’s safe?” Jim asked. He reached out and touched the rope, which looked old and slightly frayed. Then again, rope gets a little frayed very fast and still lasts forever.

“Only one way to tell,” Shane said. “Now, who wants to take the rest run?”

No one volunteered.

“Come on now,” Shane said. “We’ll just give it a few swings, nothing big enough to get over the edge, not until we know it’s safe.”

Still, no one spoke up.

“Well, then,” Shane said. “Who’s the smallest?”

Naturally, everyone looked at me.

“Fine,” I said. “If none of you can be man enough, I will.”

I walked up to the swing, put my foot into the loop at the bottom, and hopped back a few feet, then let go and swung there, back and forward over a few feet. Shane came up behind me and pushed me a little, so that I came very near to the edge, but didn’t go over. After a few moments, I reached a foot down to stop myself from swinging.

“Works fine,” I said. “Who now?”

“Pete’s the next smallest,” Al said. “We should break it in, you know? Just in case.”

We all agreed that this was a good idea. Pete walked up to the swing, he put his hand around the rope first. He tugged a little on it, obviously more hesitant than I had been.

“Come on, Pete!” Al laughed. “Jay’s a girl and has bigger balls than you.”

Normally I would punch someone in the face for saying me being a girl had anything to do with my personality, but I was too busy watching Pete reluctantly put his foot into the loop. He hopped back a few feet, let go, and swung forward a few feet.

“Come on,” Shane laughed. “You can do better.”

“Give him a push, Jim!” I said. Jim, being the strongest of any of us, walked forward. Pete looked like he was going to jump off, but Jim was already there, already pulling Pete back so he would swing forward.

Jim let go, Pete flew forward—over the edge, then safely came back.

“All right!” Shane said, clapping his hands together. “Not so bad, huh, Pete?”

Jim caught the rope again, holding Pete high in the air.

“Let me off,” Pete said.

“What? No, we have to get the fear out of you. Let him go, Jim.”

Jim let go of the swing, it swung forward again, over the cliff again. Pete was whimpering, yelling, but all any of us did was laugh.

Then Al was next to Jim, he was pushing Pete after Jim was letting him go, Pete was flying far over the edge of the cliff. His face, as he came back, was white and all screwed up like he was terrified.

“Let me go! Let me go!” he was saying, but Jim and Al were having their fun. I jerked my head in their direction and strode forward, Shane followed me. Shane helped Jim pull the rope backwards, I helped Al push, Pete was screaming, we were laughing, and then I heard the sound everyone growing up in a farm town knows, the long snap of a breaking rope, just as it had started coming back over the cliff.

I watched it as if I were high too, so high that everything was moving in slow motion. I watched as Pete sank down while the rope was giving way, I could see the desperation in his eyes, the hope that the last strand of rope would hold through long enough for him to come back to the edge, but it didn’t. I ran forward with the other boys, ran to the edge, as I was running I heard the thud that must have been Pete hitting the cliff, and I heard the crack as he hit the floor. By the time I reached the edge, Pete’s broken body already lay some forty feet below, sprawled out but in such a strange angle that I knew he must be dead if he wasn’t screaming. The entire length of the rope lay at the bottom with him-- It had broken where it’d been tied to the tree.

Then everything sped up, like time was trying to compensate for the slow motion. We were at the bottom of the ledges, we were carrying Pete up, we were tossing him in the back of the truck. Shane was screaming at us to go home, he would take care of things. I was screaming at him about a proper burial, I was crying. Then I was studying, doing homework to try and forget his face, then I was graduating, and then I was driving away and promising myself I’d never go back unless someone died.




I lean back against the cool metal stall door. I’m not sure if I’m so dizzy from vomiting or from the memories. I take a second to breathe. I’ve never really thought about any of this, not in such detail. Not without distracting myself.

Fourteen years ago. I’m only thirty one, and no one was much older than me. Jim committed suicide two years later. And now Al has died in some freak case of food poisoning. If I die before Shane, no one will ever know. Pete’s mother will never know where her son went. She’ll never know if he ran away, if he was kidnapped, if he was killed, killed himself, or just died. Another wave of nausea sweeps over me when I think about those dead, blue eyes of hers. I sway as I get up, I have to use the stall walls to stand, but I am determined.

I walk back into the room with all the relatives and pictures and flowers, I look for the tiny, old form that’s Pete’s mother. She is next to a board of pictures, touching her hands to one of them. I walk up behind her and look at it.

It’s a picture of us five right before she found out about the drugs and told Pete he couldn’t hang out with us anymore. Jim stands in the back with his arms folded over his chest, Shane looks at me with his arm around my shoulder, but I’m looking away towards Al, probably laughing at some dumb thing he said, because he’s wearing the old giant smile he’d wear when he made us laugh. Pete’s mother’s hand touches Pete, in the photo, not Al. Pete is the only one looking directly in the camera, and he’s smiling because we were all young and life was still beautiful and fun.

“Mam,” I said softly. The old woman turns around and looks at me with her sad eyes. “I’m Janet Madigan. I used to be friends with your son… There’s something I have to tell you.”

User avatar
Metanih
Senator
 
Posts: 3888
Founded: Jan 21, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby Metanih » Fri Dec 30, 2011 6:20 pm

Blah. Pre-written story, but I couldn't come up with anything I liked more.

Dawn of the Morning Star
A Fantasy Story
Ayliah stood quietly, gazing into the large crater that made Sylandral. Odd for a race
composed of plant beings, to build a home in such a place, a hole in the earth miles deep.
Ayliah wasn’t supposed to be here, on the edge of the city, nothing but the empty air on one
side, the bustling city on the other. Her legs dangled free, the soft leather armor covering the
upper parts. Her feet were uncovered, as was custom for fighters of her race.
She was a Treefolk, a race of men and women gifted with aspects of a plant. Ayliah was
personally an aspect of Morning Glory, and her brilliant purple blue hair reflected this. The rest
of her skin was a light tan with green hints. Her ears tapered to points, like the elves that lived in
far off lands. She was dressed in soft leather, perfect for deflecting the practice weapons, but
useless in real combat. It was heavily padded, and caused the wooden weapons to bounce off
harmlessly.
With a distinct sigh, she stood, turning to become face to face with her trainer. She
needed a new spot to hide, apparently. Trainer Farrik had found this one. “Umm, hi?” Ayliah
said. She would normally run, but she had a distinct lack of options, and suicide was not worth
avoiding the punishment for skipping practice. It came close, but still. Farrik was creative,
sometimes forcing labor, sometimes forcing her to work in stables, and sometimes she had to
train against the upper-years. Like her sister. Ellesime was two years older, but not much of a
fighter.
The rest of her class was, and Ayliah carried many bruises from “training” with them. For
one, they were allowed the use of shields, which was denied to her level, for another year, and
they had two or more years of training more than her. It was obviously unfair, but Farrik
preached something along the lines of “It makes you tougher, and able to withstand wounds.
You will thank me one day.” Ayliah thought that was a bit unlikely. Military was for those who
were true tree-folk, not those with aspects of flowers.
Ayliah was the top of her own class, it was true, but it was boring enough, and often
demeaning enough to make her run off. It was not fun, not in the way sitting on the edge of the
Abyss was, feet dangling. Knowing that one loose rock and you would be sent falling a
seemingly infinite distance. Practice couldn’t match the interest inherent in that.
“Hello young student. Do you know what would happen if one snuck up behind you, and
gave you a slight shove?” Farrik asked. He was being obviously annoying, and intentionally
stubborn. Ayliah was hardly paying attention, however, she was still on the topic of what sort of
thing could create such a gouge in the earth itself. Nobody could create that kind of thing, even
with the magic available to the greatest of magicians.
People said she had the ability to create magic. The magic sensers had detected teh
ability inside her, but Ayliah had never accessed it. She was a better fighter. It was evidenced
by many things, really, but strength and speed had much to do with it. However, despite her
thinking of herself as a fighter, Farrik’s slap caught her unaware, as she was too deep in
thought. “Are you even listening to me? You can have fun training with the upper years
tomorrow. Perhaps your spoiled sister would like to watch you be crushed. Unless that ego of
yours is made of iron, perhaps.” He taunted, as Ayliah stumbled against the wall. He turned,
making it very clear that he wanted her to follow. Ayliah did so reluctantly. Normally she
managed to hide for at least an hour or so, before Farrik found her. This time hadn’t lasted
nearly so long. It seemed she would actually practice today, and against her sister’s level.
After the seemingly hour-long walk, Ayliah arrived at the practice yards, and immediately
went for her favorite weapon. A mace. A single handed, ebony handled, metal mace. It
weighted about three kilograms, but it was effective enough. And almost nessisary against
higher levels. She was usually encouraged to use a different weapon when sparring, but
everyone knew she needed every advantage.
Her first opponent was one of the weaker upper level boys. His sword was gripped too

tightly, and his shield was obviously a bit heavy for him. Using a two handed grip, Ayliah
stepped forward, going for a slam toward the boy’s shield. He appeared to be incompetent at
blocking as well, as he caught the blow completely wrong, and spiderwebs of cracks spread
across the wooden shield. His clumsy swing was easily dodged, and Ayliah swung another shot
at the damaged shield, and with a satisfying *crack* the thing burst into small shards of green
and brown painted wood. The boy toppled, the sword hitting the ground, as he gripped his arm.
He would have bruises, but Farrik would get someone who would give her some of her
own before the day was over. She walked over, and found an energy plant. It tasted bitter, but
chewing it gave energy to tired limbs, and Ayliah needed that. She was due back on the
sparring field in ten minutes. Likely against someone more skilled than the boy previously.
Moments later, her sister, Ellesime approached. “Hello sister. You really shouldn’t run
away like that. You know Farrik will just punish you. I hope i don’t get assigned to fight you next.
I would hate to face that mace of yours.” Ellesime knew Ayliah was the superior fighter, as
Ayliah knew Ellesime was the better diplomat. Ellesime had a career in politics ahead of her,
while Ayliah would likely only have some military career. Fighting was not a talent in a modern
world.
“I would not hurt you. I honestly didn’t mean to hurt that boy, i though Farrik would have
taught him better than that. Honestly, i have no formal training, but i know that is not how to use
a shield.” Ayliah said honestly. The boy was obviously not fighting material. Maybe diplomat or
politician type like Ellesime. Hopefully, because in that case, the boy had a future. It was
obvious military would never work for him.
“He is a recent recruit. Not much training. I believe Farrik was showing him humility with
that lesson, letting someone he would think would be easy defeat him like that.” Ellesime said.
Of course he was new. That would explain a lot. Sadly, it also meant that Ayliah was playing
into Farrik’s hands with that. Ayliah didn’t like that, for some reason.
“Damnit Farrik, couldn’t you give me something real, and not make me a part of your
training games.” Ayliah said to herself, almost mumbling. A bell rang, and Ayliah spit out the
bitter leaf, and made her way to the practice field, mace in hand. Armor would block most the
damage, but bruises, Farrik’s favorite sight, would of course happen, no matter the weapon.
As Ayliah entered the field. Her current opponent was a thin girl, with a sword in one
hand, and a small weapon in the other. Neither were real, but had blunted edges, but they
looked like enough to punch past the meager armor Ayliah was forced to wear. Farrik called out
to go, and Ayliah strode in confidently, taking a heavy swing downward, confident that the two
weapons the girl carried would be incapable of stopping the heavy mace.
Ayliah was right, the weapons would have been incapable. If the girl hadn’t sidestepped
the blade, and shot the dagger like object forward, where it impacted heavily on Ayliah’s
stomach. Ayliah stepped back, one hand clutching her stomach, the other feebly holding the
mace in a defensive pose. Obviously attacking didn’t work. Something else, before the devilishly
fast woman came in again.
The sword seemed to arc out of nowhere, and Ayliah barely caught it on her mace,
before ducking under the dagger thrust at her throat. Her dodge left her off balance, and the
quick sword came down again, only to be caught by Ayliah’s left wrist. A distinct popping sound
echoed ominously, but Ayliah wasn’t finished that fast, and her right hand, the one with the
mace, darted forward, the heavy mace’s tip impacting the woman’s chest, and knocking her
back four feet, and onto her back.

The woman, apparently stubborn as well as fast, went for the sword she had dropped
upon getting hit. With quick movements, Ayliah stepped on the sword, and pointed the mace for
the woman’s head. Apparently she could see sense when it stared her in the face, with a
metallic tip. “Yield!” She called out, stopping reaching for the practice sword.
Ayliah had won her second match, but her wrist felt like a dozen small fires danced
inside it. And like fires, they started small, and gained in size, and power over time. In minutes,
Ayliah was begging Farrik to allow her to stop practice for the day. With a careful, and highly
painful probing, Farrik proclaimed the wound “Not broken, simply sprained.” After that, he sent
her home for the day. Ayliah was thankful for that at least, as she walked home, her wrist
throbbing painfully.
Upon arriving home, the walk long, boring, and uneventful, her parents immediately
assumed she was skipping training. “What are you doing home early? Training will last another
half hour.” Her father said, starting the conversation.
“Trainer Farrik let me go ear-” Ayliah tried responding, but her voice was overshadowed
by her mother, who interrupted her.
“We paid for that training, and you disregard it like this? Do you have no respect for this
family, for what we do for you? We do this for you to have a better life.” She said, glaring, as if
she didn’t even hear Ayliah speak.
“Honestly!” Ayliah said loudly, continuing with, “I was injured, and he sent me home for
the day.” Ayliah said. It didn’t occur to show them her wrist, which had a nice bruise already, but
was covered by armor. The ‘blocking with the wrist’ tactic was apparently a bad move in combat.
“You have used that excuse before, and we were dumb enough to fall for it then. We
learn your tricks Ayliah, don’t think us to be that naive.” Her father said, glaring.
“If you are so wounded, show us the wound.” Her mother said. She was a healer, it was
her nature to care for those hurt, and when Ayliah showed the pair her wrist, her father grunted,
and walked away. He was in the military as a strategist, not for caring for wounded, and he
recognized a situation that he wasn’t needed.

Ayliah’s mother, a woman by the name of Gennifae, was a woman who believed in
natural remedies before using magical healing on a wound. This habit made Ayliah very
annoyed, very often, but sometimes it was really better. After wrapping the wound, and putting a
horrible smelling salve on the wound, she gave Ayliah a cup of sweet smelling tea. Without a
second thought, Ayliah drank it, and within five minutes, she was fast asleep on her bed.

Edit: Mostly I couldn't come up with anything else. At all.
Last edited by Metanih on Fri Dec 30, 2011 6:20 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Nationstates Ninja
Second to Reploid Productions...
Everyone should watch this excellent show, and the movie Serenity.
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0303461/

If you don't know me well, talk to me more. I have a DeviantArt account here. http://merin593.deviantart.com
Also, I am a pansexual genderfluid individual. If you don't know what that means, look it up. I deal with enough people asking in real life. . ;)

User avatar
Buffett and Colbert
Post Czar
 
Posts: 32382
Founded: Oct 05, 2008
Ex-Nation

Postby Buffett and Colbert » Fri Dec 30, 2011 7:35 pm

The inner Grammar Nazi in me is itching to manifest itself...

But I definitely have a favorite. :)
If the knowledge isn't useful, you haven't found the lesson yet. ~Iniika
You-Gi-Owe wrote:If someone were to ask me about your online persona as a standard of your "date-ability", I'd rate you as "worth investigating further & passionate about beliefs". But, enough of the idle speculation on why you didn't score with the opposite gender.

Nanatsu no Tsuki wrote:
Buffett and Colbert wrote:Clever, but your Jedi mind tricks don't work on me.

His Jedi mind tricks are insignificant compared to the power of Buffy's sex appeal.
Keronians wrote:
Buffett and Colbert wrote:My law class took my virginity. And it was 100% consensual.

I accuse your precious law class of statutory rape.

User avatar
Conserative Morality
Post Kaiser
 
Posts: 76676
Founded: Aug 24, 2007
Ex-Nation

Postby Conserative Morality » Fri Dec 30, 2011 7:39 pm

Buffett and Colbert wrote:The inner Grammar Nazi in me is itching to manifest itself...

But I definitely have a favorite. :)

Favorite as a reader or favorite as a Grammar Nazi? :p
On the hate train. Choo choo, bitches. Bi-Polar. Proud Crypto-Fascist and Turbo Progressive. Dirty Étatist. Lowly Humanities Major. NSG's Best Liberal.
Caesar and Imperator of RWDT
Got a blog up again. || An NS Writing Discussion

User avatar
Alexlantis
Postmaster-General
 
Posts: 12194
Founded: Jun 14, 2009
Ex-Nation

Postby Alexlantis » Fri Dec 30, 2011 7:44 pm

I will post after I get my friend to edit it.
"What shall it profit a man if he gains the whole world, but loses his soul?" -Jesus Christ

Nation does not necessarily reflect political views.
Economic Left/Right: -7.88
Social Libertarian/Authoritarian: -8.00
INTP/INTJ
Writer, high school student, Democratic Socialist, vaguely agnostic Christian of some sort (maybe), Libertarian.

Foxtropica's NS cousin, Samuraikoku's Sancho Panza
Individuality-ness wrote:You are Alex, NSG's writer and lead procrastinator. *nods* :P

User avatar
Astrolinium
Post Czar
 
Posts: 36603
Founded: Mar 05, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby Astrolinium » Fri Dec 30, 2011 7:47 pm

I will have something to post by midnight tomorrow even if it kills me. Promise. It might not be pretty, and it might not be amazing, but it will be prose, and it will be under 5,000 words.
The Sublime Island Kingdom of Astrolinium
Ilia Franchisco Attore, King Attorio Maldive III
North Carolina | NSIndex Page | Embassies
Pop: 3,082 | Tech: MT | DEFCON: 5-4-3-2-1
SEE YOU SPACE COWBOY...
About Me: Ravenclaw, Gay, Cis Male, 5’4”.
"Don't you forget about me."

Ex-Delegate of Ankh Mauta | NSG Sodomy Club
Minor Acolyte of the Vast Jewlluminati Conspiracy™

User avatar
Conserative Morality
Post Kaiser
 
Posts: 76676
Founded: Aug 24, 2007
Ex-Nation

Postby Conserative Morality » Fri Dec 30, 2011 7:48 pm

Astrolinium wrote:I will have something to post by midnight tomorrow even if it kills me. Promise. It might not be pretty, and it might not be amazing, but it will be prose, and it will be under 5,000 words.

*cuts off Astrol's internet*
On the hate train. Choo choo, bitches. Bi-Polar. Proud Crypto-Fascist and Turbo Progressive. Dirty Étatist. Lowly Humanities Major. NSG's Best Liberal.
Caesar and Imperator of RWDT
Got a blog up again. || An NS Writing Discussion

User avatar
Buffett and Colbert
Post Czar
 
Posts: 32382
Founded: Oct 05, 2008
Ex-Nation

Postby Buffett and Colbert » Fri Dec 30, 2011 7:49 pm

Conserative Morality wrote:
Buffett and Colbert wrote:The inner Grammar Nazi in me is itching to manifest itself...

But I definitely have a favorite. :)

Favorite as a reader or favorite as a Grammar Nazi? :p

Both.

Oh, and I found a story to submit. We were forced to write short stories for English class once, and I absolutely loath it. My teacher was a huge fan of a certain poem, so following every single guideline she gave, I produced this:

Approaching a fork in the road upon which I was traveling, I paused to consider which path was best suited for my adventure. Suddenly, a measured voice called out to me and proclaimed, “Make a u-turn.”
If the knowledge isn't useful, you haven't found the lesson yet. ~Iniika
You-Gi-Owe wrote:If someone were to ask me about your online persona as a standard of your "date-ability", I'd rate you as "worth investigating further & passionate about beliefs". But, enough of the idle speculation on why you didn't score with the opposite gender.

Nanatsu no Tsuki wrote:
Buffett and Colbert wrote:Clever, but your Jedi mind tricks don't work on me.

His Jedi mind tricks are insignificant compared to the power of Buffy's sex appeal.
Keronians wrote:
Buffett and Colbert wrote:My law class took my virginity. And it was 100% consensual.

I accuse your precious law class of statutory rape.

User avatar
Conserative Morality
Post Kaiser
 
Posts: 76676
Founded: Aug 24, 2007
Ex-Nation

Postby Conserative Morality » Fri Dec 30, 2011 7:50 pm

Buffett and Colbert wrote:Both.

Oh, and I found a story to submit. We were forced to write short stories for English class once, and I absolutely loath it. My teacher was a huge fan of a certain poem, so following every single guideline she gave, I produced this:

Approaching a fork in the road upon which I was traveling, I paused to consider which path was best suited for my adventure. Suddenly, a measured voice called out to me and proclaimed, “Make a u-turn.”

:lol2:
On the hate train. Choo choo, bitches. Bi-Polar. Proud Crypto-Fascist and Turbo Progressive. Dirty Étatist. Lowly Humanities Major. NSG's Best Liberal.
Caesar and Imperator of RWDT
Got a blog up again. || An NS Writing Discussion

User avatar
The Weimar Republic
Attaché
 
Posts: 95
Founded: Oct 17, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby The Weimar Republic » Fri Dec 30, 2011 7:51 pm

Conserative Morality wrote:
"Is he ready?" I asked the doctor exiting the cell.

"Uh, yes general. He's perfectly healthy, just a few cuts and bruises." Grigory muttered. Grigory Korovin was a good man, a good friend, and a good physician, but sometimes I think he lacked the stomach for government work. I waved him off, and he gratefully scampered out. I drew myself to my full height and straightened my saber before I entered the room. When I did, I saw a man who looked like he lost an argument with the business end of a mace. His face was bloody and smashed to hell. He glared at me sullenly as I walked in and closed the door behind me. "Captain." I said. "I believe you should salute your superior officer."

He spat a glob of blood on the table. I could immediately tell that this man was going to be a handful. I sat down across from him. Ignoring his attitude, I said "Captain Kvavsov, your service record is commendable. You were the best shot in your regiment, the 5th Turiyov Infantry, if I'm not mistaken. You were awarded the Order of the Golden Sun and thus a non-hereditary knighthood for your valor at the Battle of the Two Rivers; I note it is rather conspicuously missing from your uniform-"

"As bugles blow and trumpets roar
We cry: 'Man is man, and who is more?'" He muttered.

"Ah. A traitor, then." These Republican types were always quoting scripture. As if it meant anything.

He immediately straightened up in his seat, struggling against his constraints. "I am not a traitor!" He shouted "The Tzar is the traitor! He sold-" I brought my fist across his face hard enough to almost tip the chair over.

"You will not disgrace our Autocrat in my presence. Is that quite clear?"

His head rolled to the side as he gasped in pain.

"I won't ask again, captain."

He brought his gaze up to meet mine, slowly. "Yes. Sir." He said through gritted teeth.

"Good. Continue in a manner that respects Tzar Viktor. Tell me what happened"

He dropped his gaze to the ground. "I killed them. That's what you want to hear, isn't it?"

I shrugged. "Yes and no. Tell me how. Tell me exactly what happened in Goyiv."

"I ordered my men to round up the prisoners, all of them. Colonel Melnikov was quite pleased to have them taken off of his hands. I forced a local farmer to loan us his shovel, and then I made each of those blank-eyed bastards dig a grave, and kneel in front of it." He lifted his head when he said that, as though he were proud of what he did. "Then I ordered my men to fire by rank, all hundred and thirteen of them." He smiled. "There is no feeling more satisfying than doing the work of Man, which is the work of God."

"What you did was neither the work of man nor God." I snarled. "You killed prisoners that were going to be exchanged for our own men! You disobeyed your Tzar's commands, and you have threatened the peace that he worked so hard to create!"

The traitor tipped the chair forward and spat "He has created a Godless peace with sub-human scum! He has bowed down to elves and craven creatures of the night!" I brought my fist across his face again, to no avail. "No god but God! No man but Man!" He cried "No god but God! No man but Man!" I got out of my chair, disgusted. I walked over beside him and calmly tipped his chair over. It shut him up for a moment, long enough for me to leave the room. I left to find Carl Weber, a pale, blond-haired eastern piece of shit, calmly sliding two knives across each other.

"I take it you need my assistance?" He said, with his characteristic near-unintelligible accent and that slimy little smile of his.

"Get him to recant. We need him to recant in front of a crowd. If he reverses his opinion when we get him to the gallows-"

"Yes, yes, I am familiar with the purpose of a recantation. I'll have him begging for death by tomorrow, I promise you." I shook my head and walked off. "I know you disapprove of my methods, General," He said "But I assure you, I only do what is best for the Empire." Men like Weber are sick, cruel for the sake of cruelty. For all of his sweet talk of necessity and patriotism, he's just another parasite, feeding off the pain of others with government permission. Before he was Head Interrogator for the Tzar, he was the Head Jailer for some eastern knight, and before that, a mercenary. He has no allegiance to anyone or anything, save himself.

And yet... He is right that he's necessary. A necessary evil, perhaps, but necessary nonetheless...

---

"Hail Tzar Viktor, first of his name, Emperor and Autocrat of all the Selonans!" I shouted, raising my right hand in the air and taking a knee in front of the Tzar. "Please, Pyotr, get up, I don't have time for this nonsense. Are the rumors true?" I tensed as I stood. Revealing bad news to the Tzar was never a good idea. He was a good man, and a fair ruler, but his temper was... Mecurial, at best.

"Tzar, the rumors... Are, indeed true. One of our officers rounded up unarmed elvish prisoners, and massacred them. He didn't even deny it when I confronted him."

The Tzar turned around and paced back to his writing desk. He picked up a piece of paper, hands shaking. "Do you see this, Pyotr?" He asked, voice quivering. I gritted my teeth. I could tell by his tone that this was going to be nasty.

"Yes, Tzar, I see it." I said quietly.

"Do you know what it is, Pyotr?" His voice rose to a crescendo, and he looked as though he were about to tear the paper apart.

"It-it's a peace treaty, Tzar." I said.

He brought his other hand to the paper and softly ripped it in half, then into quarters, and threw the scraps in my face. "Not anymore, Pyotr! Not anymore! Because of your men!" I deeply resented the association, but I held my tongue. The Tzar didn't like being contradicted. "I've fought this war for ten years, Pyotr! Ten years! And now that little shit of a soldier is going to unravel it all! We could have had peace! At a cost, but any cost is better than slavery and death at the hands of elves! Do you realize what the Ostenians will do once they hear of this?"

"They might send a diplomat to request reparations-"

"They will come in here, and they will burn the city to the ground, and then they'll salt the earth behind it! That's what they'll do, and you know it!" The Tzar shouted in my face. Striding over to his window, he gripped the railing so hard his knuckles turned white. He took a few breaths of seaside air and ran a hand through his hair before turning back to me. A thunderstorm crackled distantly as he quietly continued. "This is the end, Pyotr. Of everything. We've fought inside and out of this Empire for years, haven't we? It's been sixteen years since I took the throne, but it seems a lifetime. And we are nearing the end. We've given up so much for this peace... And now..."

"Viktor," I said quietly "It's not all over. If we can get the captain to publicly recant, maybe his confession and execution will smooth things over enough-"

The Tzar waved me off. "Do as you will, Pyotr. I... I have some last letters to write. Tell Nicholas to bring me the carrier birds. All of them. I think it's time for them to take one last trip." I frowned and looked at the Tzar. He was barely a child when he took the throne, only fifteen. Now he looked almost fifty. His hair was already starting to grey, and his figure had become frail and gaunt after years of the burden of rule. He hadn't inherited this empire in good condition, but he had hoped to leave it in peace and prosperity. Now it seemed that he wasn't going to leave it at all. I silently left his room, leaving him to write his final letters in peace.

----

I made my way to a quaint little tavern that was constantly changing it's name (I think it was the Black Horse at that time, or maybe the Blind Pig) that was a favorite haunt of two of my oldest and closest friends. I smiled faintly as I smelled the familiar smoky aroma of the tavern, tinged with boar, and dully lit by a number of lanterns hanging from the ceiling. I nodded cordially to the tavern's owner, a broad, mustached man by the name of Ivan Shryenko, who returned the nod respectfully. I found Grigory and Vasily sitting in their usual corner, drinking and talking. Vasily was smoking a pipe, as usual, when I came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.

He snarled "What the hell do you want?" as he turned his head around, but his angry sneer quickly turned into a smile when he saw me. "Petya!" He pulled me into a big bear hug, a huge grin on his rough, scarred face. He looked like a vicious bastard, but Vasily was all soft on the inside. I'd had him as senior sergeant back when I was just a green lieutenant, and I haven't been able to tear myself away from him since. "Here I thought you'd be too busy with, y'know, 'affairs of state' to come in to drink with us."

I grimaced. "Well, if affairs keep going as badly as they have been, there may not be a state to worry about."

A sympathetic look crossed Vasily's face. "That bad, huh?"

I shrugged. "Yeah. But I'd rather try and forget about it for a few hours." I pulled a chair away from a nearby table and sat down.

Grigory rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Did you get what you needed out of the captain?" He asked

I shook my head and said "Weber is." Grigory shifted uncomfortably in his chair. I can't blame him, we both knew what kind of a man Weber was. "So Grisha, how is Anna coming along?"

Grigory smiled. "She should be due in about a month." He said, and laughed. "To think I'll be a grandfather soon... Makes me feel old." Out of the three of us, he was the youngest, but only barely, at forty-seven. I was forty-nine, and Vasily was fifty-five.

Vasily snorted. "You think you feel old now? Just wait until your youngest is starting a family. That's when you feel ancient."

Sofiya, Ivan's daughter, came up to me and placed a pint of Eastern Lager in front of me. "Your usual, General." I smiled and thanked her.

"I remember when Mariya had her first kid, I felt like the whole world was coming down on me. Now Vira is already on her second and I feel just fine. Calm as can be." Vasily took a puff from his pipe and calmly blew smoke up towards the ceiling.

"Don't you know that stuff is terrible for your health?" Grigory coughed and waved some smoke away from his face.

Vasily gave him a patronizing smile and said "So you keep telling me. I've never been convinced."

"The fact that it makes people cough should be a dead giveaway."

Vasily rolled his eyes. "People cough when they drink water too - when they drink it the wrong way. Do you see me coughing?" Vasily turned to me. "You've been quiet Petya, what's going on in that head of yours?"

Fear. "I'm anxious. In a bad way."

Vasily raised his eyebrows. "Should I be anxious?"

I stood up, my drink untouched. "Yeah, probably. I'll see you two later, I need to go check on the men."

-----

It seemed the more I tried to push my fears away, the stronger they took hold of me. It was only natural, of course. If I wasn't worried, if I didn't try to do something against the inevitable Ostenian reaction, would I really have been worthy of my rank? That question ran through my head as I roughly kicked the leg of Colonel Kastarov's bed. He startled, cursing and fumbling out of his blankets. When he saw me, he gritted his teeth together and rubbed his eyes, muttering "It's three in the bloody morning, so this had better be a goddamn emergency!" He then added, as an afterthought "Sir."

"Colonel." I acknowledged him with a slight nod. "Rest assured, this is an emergency."

Kastarov sighed angrily and slipped his pants and boots on. "Goddammit. How far away are they?"

"I'm not sure yet. There's been no official break, but I'm sure you've heard the rumors."

Kastarov affixed his cap neatly on his head and slipped on his jacket. "Fresh out of one war and into the next." I was always amazed at the Colonel's ability to look like a proper soldier on a moment's notice. Always clean shaven, save for a well-trimmed red mustache under his prominent eagle-like nose. As he finished slipping on his uniform, I would never have thought that not a minute beforehand he was fast asleep and in bed.

"Get the militia ready and below the west wall," I said "I've already informed colonels Golovin and Potemkin to marshal the regular army."

"Tell the truth Pyotr. How bad is it going to be?"

I balled my hands into fists. "I don't know colonel. But if we're caught off guard-"

"They'll sacrifice the lot of us." Kastarov said bitterly. "To Jawin, or whatever heathen god it is they worship." It's Chwin, actually, but I didn't feel like interrupting the colonel. He scowled "I'll see to it that the men are impressed as to the importance of this. They still won't be happy about being dragged back to the ranks after a month of peace."

"I don't think we have much of a choice. Godspeed colonel."

"Godspeed general."

------

Warm rain pelted my face and ran down my back as I paced across the walls towards the western gatehouse. The men were aligned in rows three ranks deep, wheellocks ready and loaded. They stood at attention as I moved past, recognizing my distinctive peaked cap even in the heavy rain. Colonel Nikita Golovin saw me and quickly joined my side at a brisk pace. "General," He said "We have to talk."

"By all means, go ahead." I said

"Sir," He hissed in my ear "We can't possibly expect to win this battle. Between the rain and the fact that we don't know anything about their force; we don't know how many there are, we don't know who's leading them, we don't even know when they're coming, means that staying here and fighting is suicide!"

I turned quickly and snapped "What else-" I looked away for a moment to calm myself down. I couldn't show any fear, any uncertainty in front of the men. An officer must serve as an example for the rank and file. Lightning flashed as I took a deep breath and continued. "What else can we do, colonel? Do you think that the Ostenians will just let us murder their soldiers without retribution? Have you forgotten what started the war in the first place?" I heard a few voices in the distance, drowned out by the rain and the thunder.

Colonel Golovin's voice took on a conciliatory tone. "Sir, I'm not saying that. What I am saying is that we're not even at a fourth of our strength, even counting the militia as regulars, and the riders to Volovin and Turiyov won't reach the cities for days. Even if this was a clear, dry day, we still wouldn't be able to take a fifth of the Ostenian army. Sir, we could..." He bit his lower lip hesitantly. "We could abandon the city. Move the men southeast, to Turiyov, form our army there."

I turned away in disgust, and in turn Golovin's voice rose to an almost pleading timbre. "General, please, it's our only chance. If we're caught here, there'll be no saving Selonan."

"Nikita." I said quietly. "Do you remember what happened at Stavvich?"

"Y... Yes sir."

"Apparently you don't, so let me remind you. The city surrendered, Nikita. Surrendered. And..." I closed my eyes, tried not to pciture the aftermath, the bodies laying in the streets, the profane symbols painted in blood... "They sacrificed one-hundred thousand human beings. Men, women, children, it didn't matter, all murdered for their heathen gods. What the hell do you think is going to happen if we give up this city without a fight? We hold here until relieved by reinforcements from Volovin and Turiyov."

"Sir, I-"

"We hold here until relieved, colonel." I snarled "Is that understood?"

He nodded. "Yes sir." He whispered. He looked as though he had at least enough common fucking decency to be ashamed of his proposal. He saw what happened at Stavvich too. He had family in Stavvich. Of all people, he should have been the last to propose abandoning another city to those inhuman monsters.

"Good."

In the distance, I heard the voice of one of my scouts, Ivan, I think, I don't remember his last name, over the storm shout "Let me in, dammit! I told you I have a message for the general!" I saw a lantern swinging back and forth in front of a pair of mounted silhouettes, one in a cloak.

I found it odd, as I had ordered the scouts out alone rather than in pairs. Still, I raised my voice over the cacophony of the storm. "Let them through!" The gate guards must have recognized my voice, because a few seconds later I heard the gate groan and start to open. I turned to Colonel Golovin. "Find Colonel Potemkin and Kastarov, and meet me with them in the gatehouse. The guards will know which room."

-------

As I entered a small side room of the gatehouse and motioned for the guards to clear out, I took off my hat and wrung it of water. "What do you have for me, soldier?"

Ivan saluted. "General sir, I uh, well, he's a messenger, sir." The cloaked man- no, the cloaked thing drew it's hood back to reveal telltale pointed ears and clear, slightly luminescent eyes.

I straightened up and balled my hands into fists when I saw it. "There had better be a good reason for this, Ivan. Or I'll have you against a wall before his... Comrades... See the city."

"Please general sir, you have to listen to what he has to say."

The elf looked smug, although I think they all do. I can't tell them apart, they're all the same, they all look the same, they all think the same, they all act the same. They treat us like dogs who have yet to learn their place. Well, I suppose if that's the case, we've spent the past ten years teaching them what happens when you kick a dog one too many times. "General Pyotr." It smiled. "I believe you are just the man I'm looking for."

"General Vorontovich to you." I said coldly.

"General Vwrontwovrich." It said, still smiling as his accent butchered my name. "My sincere apologies. There seems to be a misunderstanding between our two countries about the intentions of my masters." Masters. Like a slave. Like a dog. Not like a man.

Colonel Potemkin entered the room, and drew his pistol as soon as he saw the elf standing there. Luckily, I grabbed his hand before he could level it at the messenger. "He's a messenger, Alexander."

"Like hell. He's a spy, I don't care what he-"

"Alexander. We're hearing him out." Alexander put his pistol back into it's holster, reluctantly. His thick gray mustache bristled as he sneered at the elf and moved out of the doorway to let Colonel Golovin and Colonel Kastarov in, who both eyed the elf warily.

"Please." I said "Continue."

"Our 'force', as your soldier put it, is only the retinue of a diplomat, who has come here in light of... Certain events that have transpired recently." The Ostenian elf's smug little smile didn't leave it's face.

Ivan nodded eagerly. "There wasn't more than twenty elves there, I promise you general sir. Er, sirs."

"It's lying." Snarled Colonel Potemkin. "You remember how many times we attacked a supply caravan of 'just' fifty or sixty elves, and then how a whole damn division would come out of the woods? Elves are cowards, and liars. It's trying to make us let our guard down, so when they do attack they can butcher us!" The elf just continued smiling, which only encouraged Alexander. "You see? It doesn't even try to deny it! We should kill it now while we still have the chance!"

"Alexander. Please, calm down." I said. "Nikita?"

Colonel Golovin shrugged. "I don't know. I think he's telling the truth... But Alexander is right, elves are notorious liars. And we've had our share of ambushes during the war."

I looked over at Colonel Kastarov, who was studying the elf intently, hand rubbing his chin. "Mikhail. What do you think?"

Colonel Kastarov narrowed his eyes at the elf. "I think he's telling the truth. Partially. I think he's also hiding something."

I drew my saber from it's sheathe and looked it over carefully, judging the elf's reaction. Nothing. "You think yourself safe here?"

The elf nodded. "I think you... Humans... Have enough sense to not kill diplomatic envoys."

"Really? Well, by your own admission, you aren't the diplomat. You're just part of 'his' retinue. How angry do you think your master would be if one of 'his' servents went missing? Travellers go missing all the time along these roads. Ivan, I believe you have some leave days left? And family in Turiyov?"

The smile ran away from the elf's face. "He would be very upset, General Vwrontwovrich, and not quite so foolish as to buy such a contrived tale." Ah, that's all I wanted. I just couldn't stand that smug little shit's smile.

I put my saber back in it's sheathe. "Colonels. Tell the men, regulars and militia, to stand down, and march them to the Citadel of Stars. We can't risk Republicans... Or nervous recruits... Taking a shot and risking spoiling this opportunity for a renewed peace."

Colonel Potemkin frowned. "And if he's lying?"

"If he's lying, the guns in the Citadel of Stars are the biggest in the empire, and the artillerymen there have the calibrations to hit anywhere on the western side of the city. You'll take command and storm the walls with shot and bayonet." He seemed satisfied with that, and saluted before leaving the room, as did Mikhail and Nikita.

--------

"I think we should get down to business." The elven diplomat, by the name of 'Nuallan', said to Tzar Viktor.

"Of course." Tzar Viktor said, and smiled thinly. "I believe you are here to discuss the nature of some rumours that have been circulating lately-"

"They are no rumors. Truth travels on the wings of eagles, and there are ears in every forest." I hate how they always need to be so... Enigmatic. "We know what happened. But my masters are willing to forgive this little incident, for a price."

Tzar Viktor hesitated. "And what price do you ask?"

"The hundred men that committed the deed."

"Just a minute," I objected "The only man responsible for this was the officer in command. The men were just following orders."

Nuallan cocked it's head. "Is that what you human soldiers tell yourselves? I seem to remember this business of executing prisoners being quite common-"

"During the war! Not in peace, and not to-" Tzar Viktor raised his hand to silence me.

"Please, Pyotr. You want the hundred men as prisoners, correct? And the officer for execution?" Tzar Viktor asked, a hint of hope entering his voice.

"As sacrifices." Nuallan said.

"Get out." Viktor whispered. I knew that tone, and braced myself for his reaction.

"Pardon? I'm-"

"Get the hell out of my sight, and be happy that I don't take your head! You dare enter MY city, come into MY land, and demand that I give MY people to be sacrificed for your gods? You should be happy I don't throw you to the dogs, you subhuman bastard!" Viktor roared "You think that you can just come in here and demand the world? I'd sooner hang myself than betray my own wards!"

The Tzar sat down slowly. Nuallan just looked stunned, like a rabbit or a deer who's just seen a hunter. "My men will tell you when you can leave, Nuallan. They will escort you to your quarters until I've decided just what to do with you." The elf looked as pale as a ghost as he stumbled out the door.

The Tzar pinched the bridge of his nose and choked down a sob when Nuallan was gone. "Pyotr... Pyotr... God, what can I do?" The Tzar took a deep breath. "We... I can't, couldn't accept their terms could I? How-how could I call myself a man of God if I did?" He ground his teeth together. "How can I call myself king if I don't? Oh God, Pyotr... If they come out in full force, we can't stop them. They'll torch the cities, sacrifice thousands to their heathen gods." He slammed his fist on the table. His entire body with shaking with rage, or maybe fear. He put his hand on his forehead and went quiet. I stood up and walked over to the door. He sat there, in silence and despair, with only the burden of the crown to keep him.

God help him; I can't.

Clocking in at 4,398 words. :lol:


This is one of the most readable stories in the thread, and I like the setting; but you have too much plot and too many characters for a story this length. I'm actually impressed at how well you introduce your characters, but there are an awful lot of them. The plot looks like it got hacked to pieces in the process of writing. It's distracting having so many of those breaks with the dashes, and the ending is kind of weak. It looks like you got tired of writing (or were trying to keep your story from going over 5000 words) and just stopped in an arbitrary place. It could use another paragraph or three to wind the story down. Did you cut it off short because of the limit on word count? The individual scenes are quite good, but you need to work on fitting them together effectively.
Following new legislation in The Weimar Republic, the streets are ravaged by murder and violence to prove political points.

User avatar
Conserative Morality
Post Kaiser
 
Posts: 76676
Founded: Aug 24, 2007
Ex-Nation

Postby Conserative Morality » Fri Dec 30, 2011 7:56 pm

The Weimar Republic wrote:This is one of the most readable stories in the thread, and I like the setting; but you have too much plot and too many characters for a story this length. I'm actually impressed at how well you introduce your characters, but there are an awful lot of them. The plot looks like it got hacked to pieces in the process of writing. It's distracting having so many of those breaks with the dashes, and the ending is kind of weak. It looks like you got tired of writing (or were trying to keep your story from going over 5000 words) and just stopped in an arbitrary place. It could use another paragraph or three to wind the story down. Did you cut it off short because of the limit on word count? The individual scenes are quite good, but you need to work on fitting them together effectively.

Thanks for the praise, and the criticism. :)

I stopped where I did because the deadline is coming up and I wanted to have a little time off for my Christmas vacation.

And yeah, maybe I was a little tired of writing it too. :lol:
On the hate train. Choo choo, bitches. Bi-Polar. Proud Crypto-Fascist and Turbo Progressive. Dirty Étatist. Lowly Humanities Major. NSG's Best Liberal.
Caesar and Imperator of RWDT
Got a blog up again. || An NS Writing Discussion

User avatar
The Weimar Republic
Attaché
 
Posts: 95
Founded: Oct 17, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby The Weimar Republic » Fri Dec 30, 2011 8:07 pm

Nationstatelandsville wrote:Weimar, I'll reply to you without quoting because I'm lazy: I plan to rewrite it tonight if I have time. I just jotted it down and submitted it early so I could have something by the deadline.


Fair enough. You don't really have anything to be embarrassed about. If this was a parable contest, you'd win.
Following new legislation in The Weimar Republic, the streets are ravaged by murder and violence to prove political points.

User avatar
The Weimar Republic
Attaché
 
Posts: 95
Founded: Oct 17, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby The Weimar Republic » Fri Dec 30, 2011 8:08 pm

Zeth Rekia wrote:
The Weimar Republic wrote:Zeth Rekia: It's incoherent, it has problems with sentence structure, and the character-development leaves something to be desired.

You're obviously sober.


France made me give them all my booze because I owed them money from the Treaty of Versailles.
Following new legislation in The Weimar Republic, the streets are ravaged by murder and violence to prove political points.

User avatar
Zeth Rekia
Post Marshal
 
Posts: 18387
Founded: Oct 11, 2010
Ex-Nation

Postby Zeth Rekia » Fri Dec 30, 2011 8:10 pm

The Weimar Republic wrote:
Zeth Rekia wrote:You're obviously sober.


France made me give them all my booze because I owed them money from the Treaty of Versailles.

This is no excuse.

By the way, where is your story?

User avatar
Nationstatelandsville
Khan of Spam
 
Posts: 70969
Founded: Apr 27, 2011
Ex-Nation

Postby Nationstatelandsville » Fri Dec 30, 2011 8:25 pm

The Weimar Republic wrote:
Nationstatelandsville wrote:Weimar, I'll reply to you without quoting because I'm lazy: I plan to rewrite it tonight if I have time. I just jotted it down and submitted it early so I could have something by the deadline.


Fair enough. You don't really have anything to be embarrassed about. If this was a parable contest, you'd win.


I'm not embarrassed. I've been writing since I was six, damn it, I'm going to take something out of it. Even if it is just a petty title, IT'S MY PETTY TITLE! :p
"Then I was fertilized and grew wise;
From a word to a word I was led to a word,
From a work to a work I was led to a work."
- Odin, Hávamál 138-141, the Poetic Edda, as translated by Dan McCoy.

I enjoy meta-humor and self-deprecation. Annoying, right?

Goodbye.

PreviousNext

Advertisement

Remove ads

Return to Arts & Fiction

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users

Advertisement

Remove ads