Book of War (Full Version)

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Eukara Vox -> Book of War (5/1/2010 23:14:30)

Prologue

Stacks of parchments randomly dotted the floor of the library. Though it seemed to be a mess, Eukara Vox knew exactly where everything was. Earlier in the week, her assistant, Gianna Glow, had visited and tsked at her stacks. Fortunately for her, Gianna knew Eukara very well and merely teased her about the "mess." They had sat for a while, talking of many things.

Because Gianna Glow was a fairy, she and Eukara had a very interesting ability that they shared. Eukara Vox's unique place within the library afforded her the ability to go anywhere, or anywhen, she felt like. Gianna, for the purpose of being one of those mysterious fairies, enjoyed the occasional time jump. They sat for hours, until the waning light, discussing places or times that would provide an interesting insight to what shaped the people or the various worlds in the universe.

Gianna left as the light winked out, thankfully not in a whirl, as that would have been a disaster. Eukara made her way around the library, lighting the candles that she insisted on keeping around instead of the alternative light source, electric light. For some reason, candles made her feel more comfortable and at home. As she lit each candle, she hummed a tune she had heard on a planet some distance from Lore. It wasn't Terra, and for a while, she thought on the origins of the tune.

As she allowed her mind to wander about her various travels, something stirred within her library. At first, it sounded like a whisper of wind fluttering the parchments. A candle flickered briefly on the other side of the library, casting long shadows across the stained glass windows and walls. She dismissed it as an old building with issues and continued with her evening plans.

Tonight... I must get through the war section. I loath it, as I am more of a peace seeking person, but, alas, war seems to be a necessity of existence, no matter the world on which one lives. Eukara made her way towards the blood-bathed section of her library. She had enjoyed histories of war, but when things got detailed and descriptive regarding injury, pain and death, she tended to just skim over things.

Something, or someone, flashed across the limits of her sight, disappearing into the aisle next to War. Curious, she stepped from her path to the War aisle and headed towards the Technology section. Again, something skirted the very edge of her vision... followed by a very quiet giggle.

Eyes wide, Eukara followed the sound and saw a streak of red run past, nearly tripping her. "Who is in my library!" she bellowed, clearly unhappy with someone in there without her permission.

Another giggle, more sinister this time, came from the fantasy section across the vast room. As the echoing giggle quieted, a second, almost an octave higher, came from behind her. Eukara spun, quicker than her trespasser anticipated and she caught sight of the second creature. It was small, as if a wizened elder stood in the distance. Its eyes were red and a curious cap of the same color sat upon its head.

As she glared at the creature, an explosion in the War aisle drew her attention away from the red capped imp. Papers fluttered down from the ceiling, spreading all over the library. Another explosion of documents and scrolls in the Science Fiction section spread more of her hard work about the floor.

"You are not welcome here!" she screamed.

"We aren't welcome anywhere. But for you, Master librarian and creativity guardian, we make ourselves welcome. What are you going to do?"

"Declare war."




Eukara Vox -> RE: Book of War (5/10/2010 2:19:24)

The Symphony of War

by Urufuhiken

A chilling wind whipped to life in the hollow crevices of the Black Spine Mountains. It cut down through the cold, dark grey stone silhouette of the mountain passes and wound its way through the overgrown trees to the mountain base. The wind lost its cooling chill as it flowed over the rolling hills at the bottom, crossing rivers and stirring oceans of grassy plains. Onward the wind flowed, winding itself through the myriad of trees of the Heartwood Forest, winding itself to the beat of the song and dance of the battlefield.

The leaves twirled with the wind, whipping themselves in whirls between fighting men’s feet, twirling themselves around the flight and fletching of many arrows.

The leaves whirled through the vision of First Class Captain General Al’Ren of the rebellion’s army, and Lord Captain Matrem of Andra’s Imperial Foot Soldiers as they stood facing each other, blades bared. Emotionless and cold, the pair stared at each other, unblinking and unmoving, waiting for the other to act.

The wind died down, and only the bittersweet song of steel on steel and chorus of men’s screams of rage and death overwhelmed the fall-seasoned copse; the stink of sweat and blood, and the rancid smell of death filled the nostrils of the two men standing there. Still, they stood facing each other, unblinking, unmoving, waiting for the other man’s will to crack first. Again the wind blew through the trees toward them, cleansing the air and drowning the sounds of battle in its forceful gale until it once more died down and let the song and stench of battle lift back into the air.

Captain Matrem gave a rueful smile and lowered his blade, resignation apparent on his face.

The Lord Captain was a young man, especially for the standards of his station, but he was one who wore his title deservingly. He had shortly cut hair, save for a long ponytail that hung down to his shoulders, bound tightly with a leather cord. His overlapping white mail armor shone with the dignity of his rank and did nothing to lessen his assassin-like grace: A serpent coiled in dragon’s scales.

His white, red-fringed cloak held the dual crossing of swords and a golden helmet with crisscrossing golden cords that marked his rank. Embroidered on the cloak was the half-golden sun and silver moon emblem of King Raynor, king of Andra. The Lord Captain was in deep contrast to the Captain General, despite their similar ranks.

Captain General Al’Ren wore no rich embroidery, no dignifying shiny armor, and held no emblem of any king. He was dressed in a plain brown woolen shirt and breeches, covered by a darker brown coat over steel chain mail and a forest-green cloak. The only thing that contrasted with his plain village garb was the sword he held in his hands.

Long, slender, and slightly curving, the blade itself was engraved with strange sinuous symbols of a language long lost. The hilt was pure black with the exception of a silver tree with falling golden blossoms engraved in the length of it. The handguard was silver, in the shape of two serpentine dragons wrapping around parallel to each other, golden talons clutching the hilt and golden-fanged maws clinching the other’s tail. The hilt’s silver pommel held the same design in a golden hue.

Despite his dingy garb, Al’Ren stood with as much dignity as the other man. He held the same air of authority and the same cunning grace. He stood as if he wore clothes just as richly embroidered as the other man, so much that you had to look twice to not believe it.

“So it has come to this,” Matrem said, shaking his head.

“How could it have not?” Al’Ren asked, the same look of resignation touching his weathered face. “It seems as if this was preordained since the beginning; how could we have hoped to escape it with the paths we chose?”

Matrem stiffened abruptly and then looked at the other man with a wry smile. “You have grown from the egotistical, short brat you once were when last we spoke.”

Al’Ren mimicked Matrem’s smile. “Of course I have. It has been seven years since then. You expected me to stay short forever?”

“It seems I have spoken ahead of myself—you’re no different at all!” The two men shared a small grin, but it quickly faded before Matrem spoke again.

“I suppose you are right, though, my brother. It was always just a matter of time, and I suppose in some small way we knew that, even before we parted seven years ago.” Al’Ren’s face had again turned to stone, and he just nodded grimly.

A gust of wind howled through the air again and Matrem raised his head to the sky and breathed deeply, sighing as he gazed past the many colored leaves of fall's trees.

For an instant, as the wind gave way, time seemed to stand still. Multicolored leaves lay suspended in the air, the last clutches of wind holding them.

No sound. No sound of wind. No sound of battle. No stench of the dead and dying. For just an instant the world stood still, till at last the leaves began to fall again and the song of steel filled their ears.

Al’Ren’s face softened. “Mat… I—” he began, but Matrem held his hand up in silence.

“Shall we finish the contest we started all those years ago?” Matrem asked, raising his sword. “If I remember correctly, I was the one winning!” he finished, with a slight grin.

Al’Ren shared the slight grin too, as if remembering old times. “It doesn’t have to be this way, Mat,” he said, but Matrem was shaking his head before the other man even finished.

“This goes beyond us, Ren…” Matrem began, but paused, studying his friend’s face. “No…” he said, face hardening. “Al’Ren, First Class Captain General Al’Ren, of the Rebellion’s army. By decree of His Highness, King Raynor of house Del’Marta, anointed by the Creator, I am to take you in, dead or alive. For your crimes, and the Rebellion’s crimes against the King, I am duty-bound to see that justice be done, and the rebellion culled. Raise your sword, General, or surrender your forces.”

Abruptly, the grin came back to Matrem, even if just for an instant as he said, “But I know you too well to expect that.”

Al’Ren stood there, silently studying Matrem’s stony face. There was just the hint of sadness now, veiled underneath his steely eyes. Sadly, he raised his sword, feet shifting into an offensive stance. “Then let us end it here,” he said with a melancholic nod, “Where it all began.”

With nothing left to say, the two friends, stone-faced and eyes cold, rushed into battle, swords leading as their only battle cry.

******


The blades sang their melancholic tune as they clashed in a fountain of sparks. Al'Ren brought his curved sword to bear, wielding it with deadly grace as he twisted and turned, spun and slashed in a forceful gale against the man he had once called brother, the man he still called brother.

This is the way things were, the product of the choices they had made, choices they could not, and indeed, would not take back. In the end, this battle was the only option, and its conclusion the only way to take the next step forward.

The frustration this caused only propelled the Captain General and Lord Captain to greater ferocity.

Matrem stepped back, bringing his sword up in lightning-quick precision as Al'Ren slashed out, and the resounding steel added another sorrowful wail to the symphony of war.

Matrem pushed forward, thrusting out with his longsword as Al'Ren danced nimbly away. Shuffling forward and pivoting on his feet, Matrem followed through with a spinning, horizontal slash that was deftly parried away by Al'Ren's twirling blade.

Following through with his parry, the Captain General brought his curving blade out then whipped it inward, striking for Matrem's face. Matrem, anticipating such, leaned back on his heels and spun away, using his momentum to put some distance between himself and Al'Ren's lightning fast slashes.

Sword up and in a guarding stance, the Lord Captain regarded the man that stood before him with much respect. He was not the unrefined youth who Matrem used to beat down on a daily basis. He was now a brilliant tactitioner who had mastered the art of the sword. And by the look in his eyes, he held unshakable resolve, despite any resignations.

Matrem smiled once more, remembering the past and seeing the present for what it was. Looking off around him, seeing the men screaming and dying and bathed in blood, he could only begin to imagine the future. One thing was for certain, though: the future's haze would only begin to lift by the closing of this battle.

Looking at his friend, standing in iron resolve and patience, Matrem believed he could see a flash of that future.

Nodding once more, the two man darted forward, blades singing harder than ever before. Al'Ren twisting and darting like a serpent, Matrem flowing like the water, the two men danced again to the sounds of battle—and like a serpent in water, the raging steel flowed together in perfect harmony.

The wind picked up, and Matrem made for a lunge. As Al'Ren darted to the side, Matrem began to come out of his feint, pivoting to deliver the next attack. As the wind and leaves whipped past, so too came his memories of their last battle, where Matrem had delivered the final blow in a similar way.

Al'Ren saw the feint for what it was, and in a panic darted forward with sword outthrust. In that single moment, Matrem hesitated.

The blade pierced through his metal armor and sunk into his chest. Al'Ren blinked, and looked at the sword in confusion as blood ran down its length.

Matrem dropped his sword and his knees went lax, pulling Al'Ren down as he fell. Looking up with clouding eyes into his killer's face, Matrem smiled, as if to say, 'The future is in your hands now,' before giving his dying breath.

Al'Ren retracted his blade slowly and laid his friend's corpse down gently, using his right hand to close the sightless eyes. Standing up, the Captain General looked around, the song of battle dying away and the screams of pain far fewer. Two men, both officers in his army, were purposefully striding towards him.

Looking down at Matrem's face, he brought forth his sword and plunged it into the ground at his friend's head.

"Your father's... our father's sword should have always belonged to you, brother. It seems that even in the end your skill was greater than mine. I guess I will never have the chance to claim that title away from you."

Turning on his heels, Captain General Al'Ren of the Rebellion's army turned to face his subordinates.

"The battle is won, sir!" said one in a worn-out but excited voice.

"A stunning victory!" said the other, enthusiastically fighting against his fatigue.

Al'Ren nodded silently, glancing one last time at his fallen kin before moving forward. His subordinates, not knowing what to say, followed behind him like silent guardians.

The battle was over, the chants of victory were floating on the wind, and Al'Ren's leather boots tramped over the blood-soaked grounds and over strewn bodies of the dead. They walked on in silence for some time, the wind falling and rising, and carrying with it the stench of death.

"Sir?" one of the subordinates finally asked.

"We have won this battle," said Al'Ren, stopping and turning to face his men, "and the war may very well soon follow in victory. But at what cost?

"At what cost do we overthrow a tyrant king? At what cost do we topple a corrupt monarchy? Will all these men's lives be wasted when out of the ashes of our kingdom comes not a phoenix, but a nightmare?

"Shall all these men's deaths have been in vain if in a few years or even few generations time the reason they died is forgotten, and another tyrant or tyrants rise to strip us of our freedoms?"

The two men remained silent, faces somber in light of their General's doubts. Finally, though, one of them, the youngest, stepped forward.

"Did you not once say that if we do not fight now for our rights for freedom, that we will have surrendered that very thing which makes us human? That if we don't fight now, it will be the generations after ours, our children and our children's children that suffer for it?"

Al'Ren looked at the youth, pondering the words he spoke.

"If we give up now, sir, then all these lives will truly have been lost in vain."

"But will we ever truly be able to change the world?" Al'Ren asked, more to himself than to them. "Will we ever truly be able to make a difference?"

There was no answer.

The trio heard a ragged groan. Together, they turned to look down upon a wounded soldier of the Imperial Order, a wounded and helpless enemy now seeing them for the first time.

Al'Ren's mind went racing back in time, down the dark corridors in his young memory.

He remembered a time where he too had been in a similar situation, a wounded street urchin and petty thief at the mercy of a child no older than he. Instead of striking him with his stick or calling for the guards, a young Matrem had held out his hand.

"You're pretty bold, child," said Matrem's father as he stood over the two. "I can't say I hate that. Why not come with us? I'm in need of another good apprentice to instruct in the ways of the sword."

Shakily, young Ren had held out his hand, grasping the first true light in his world.

Al'Ren looked down on the wounded man now, shaking in what could be fear or pain, and too tired to fight back.

"Well, maybe we cannot change the world," said the Captain General. "Maybe mankind will never truly learn that we are responsible for our own actions. But for those of us who had the opportunity and never made that choice, how then could we live with ourselves?

"No. We may indeed not be able to change the world. But at least we can do the best we can in the time we have been given." Al'Ren held out his hand to the wounded soldier, a friendly smile on his face. "At least we can say we did everything we could, and fought for what we believed in."

The man regarded the Captain General's hand weakly before looking up into his smiling face, to a smile he had seen once before worn upon the Lord Captain's face. Shakily, he extended his hand to Al'Ren's and grasped it.





Eukara Vox -> RE: Book of War (5/10/2010 22:52:54)

Black Life, White Death
by Crimzon5

Condemned to an inevitable fate
With dishonor cast by a checkmate
Dwelling in a world that knows no laughter
With every action stirring more and more anger

In a small world of sixty-four squares
Each having a kingdom that they call theirs
Two armies contest one another
In a game where the objective is murder

The world unfolds before their very eyes
Light purges the darkness, their clever disguise
Eight to the left, eight to the right, they gather into formation
They ready themselves but without prayer or incantation

Killing to save just one important life
A king in battle sacrificing his dear wife
Now alone with a legion now dead
In the world’s end, hanging by a very thin thread

And when it’s over, they can stand once more
Doing again what they have done before
For them, death is temporary, lives resurrect
Dying and living are just points to connect

“Enemies are not born; they are created.”
“Cats and dogs…” Only those words were uttered as they rebutted
“But you are human, not animals!” They continued on with it
“Then why do you entertain yourselves watching us fight in this cockpit?”

The fray enters a ceasefire as the sun is swallowed by night
“Good night,” two voices say, one turning off the light
The army rests for now, yet sleepless in their beds of ash and snow
They know not if the one next to them is a friend or foe

The end of one game soon leads to another
The essence of a never-ending murder

Black Life, tainted with the sin of fury
White Death, outlived by their glory




Eukara Vox -> RE: Book of War (5/14/2010 2:04:27)

Shadow In Their Eyes
By Cow Face

Father, can you hear me?
Mother, do you care?
Do these eyes of mine stare
Into nothingness...?

It was one, two, three,
March along with me,
As we trudge on, to our graves.
If you're one to pray,
Add to them today
That our bloodied souls be saved.

Pound these dusty streets
With our aching feet;
Our boots trample what yet lives.
Shake the graying hand
Of a dying man—
We'll take anything you'll give.

Then the enemy,
Our front scouts did see,
With so many more a gun.
As such was our lot—
These colors may not—
But, lord God, how we did run.

After half a night,
We could not but fight,
To defend what ground we had;
"Not to question why,
But to do and die":
Truer words were never said.

We fought hard and good,
Like true soldiers should—
We paid for that with our deaths.
Take one look at me
As beneath this tree,
I release my final breath.

Mother, can you hear me?
Father, do you care?
Or do these eyes of mine stare
Into nothingness again?

I love my gun and my gun loves me.
We are as close as two loves can be.
I feed her the bullets, she feeds me their pain—
Oh, God, am I human or am I insane?
Happiness is her muzzle,
Sorrow when she is cold.
Now listen up, soldier,
And do as you're told.
Back to the front with you,
Back to misery.
Back to the blindness.
Will we ever see?
Come now to me, shadows,
I've been waiting for you.
Are you one of them?
Are you here to take me?
I'm ready.

And it's one, two, three,
Dance along with me.
We shall waltz on, with the night.
Dim your eyes, now, sir,
Because, to be sure,
They could never stand the light.

Father, are you listening?
Mother, can you hear?
Do either of you notice,
As once more I disappear?

Take me from this harm,
Back into your arms.
Please, tell me that I can stay.
But one last request
As I surrender this breath...

Won't you make the bad men go away?




Eukara Vox -> RE: Book of War (5/15/2010 1:52:13)

Poems of Geoto Clan
by balubamboto

1
The lake water is so peaceful, warm and clear;
The silence is only disturbed by a little cute deer.
The sun shines brightly over Geoto's piece of world,
In time everything into great battle will be hurled.

For now the Geoto are relaxing or in meditation,
They continue with their studies and training with dedication.
The sun now sets on this awesome and perfect day;
The time passes with ease on the flowery month of May.

Geoto clansmen are now ready to fight,
Their courage is only surpassed by their might.
Intensively trained in combat, they never feel fright,
All who threaten Geoto will be squashed like a mite.

The disciplined ranks take up an offensive stance,
The legions of monsters don't stand the smallest chance,
The fighting fury of the clan is now fully unleashed—
The monsters never to upset Geoto have wished.

The menace that came to harm them is now a bad dream:
Everything that tried to harm Geoto died with a scream.


2
On top of high mountains, the human stands proud,
"Conquered another peak!" the human shouts loud.
The weather around him so warm and so calm,
Mother Earth chooses to hold the man in her palm.

Gaia is impressed with the human's devotion,
For this man, fear, quitting, there is no such notion!
He likes these adventures but also feels love
For all Gaia's creations beyond and above.

Man and his planet must always be in sync,
If not, all will be gone in just one easy blink!
But man's nature is strange and dark things will come;
This will effect all, not only just some.

Much harm has been done to all things in the time
Mankind became the dominant being
If it doesn't stop soon, it will pay for all crime
In a black pool of nothing it will soon end up laying.

Storms have begun, earthquakes have struck,
People are scared, they're running amok,
May Heaven protect us from Earth's mighty rage,
Or we'll end up, in history, just one short page!


3
War
In the warmth of the sun, a man plows a field,
Hopeful of the riches the soil shall yield.
Many others like him work hard to make a living,
Seeing their hard work, the gods will be giving.

Children all around play and enjoy the season,
Mothers, in husbands and sons, gleefully find reason.
The day passes quickly in this landscape serene,
Everyone works hard, but has fun in between.

These plentiful times call for a celebration
The word spreads quickly, all around the nation.
Everyone is happy, they drink and they dance—
Suddenly the air is pierced by a poisonous lance.

The celebration turns to horror as everyone is attacked,
This small beautiful village is destroyed and ransacked.
After a long time, after many years of peace,
They come once again with their frightful hiss.

But now it is different, the humans are prepared,
These snakemen are tough, but none will be spared.
Man used this peacetime in a very clever way:
To stockpile food, weapons and armor, every single day.

The war is at full force, the snakemen are amazed,
Mankind is so strong now, the snakemen are phased.
The tables have turned, man's onslaught is here,
The enemy is frightened, it can't even see clear.

All the battles, the war, last for some time,
In the end, the humans proudly stand prime.
They arise as the victors, they can now relax,
And look to the future, but still watch their backs.





Eukara Vox -> RE: Book of War (5/15/2010 14:41:29)

The Revolt
by Red Blizzard

Seth paused behind the remains of a shop to gather his breath. Outside, the clatter of footsteps told him where his enemy was. Another night, another location, and another battle. This time, it was the streets of Akiba. Ayce had sent him there on a recruiting mission for the Revolt, and so he was there, fighting for his life after a battalion of Chaos Rippers ambushed him there. What was worse, Fyre had warned him before he left for Akiba that the Order, a former ally-turned-traitor, was supposed to be active there.

Drawing out a throwing knife, he peeked out from behind the thin brick wall of the shop. Across the street, a Chaos Ripper stared back, grinning insanely, a purple chaos eye latched onto the side of his face. All three eyes blinked at him. Seth wrinkled his nose in disgust and tossed his throwing knife at it. The Ripper ducked away from the incoming knife, sped across the street, and was on top of Seth in a flash. Hurriedly scrambling to his feet, Seth tried to draw his sword from its sheath by his side, but had to dodge away the next instant as the Ripper aimed a wild slash at him with its tainted claws. Seth heard the ripping of cloth and felt a warm trickle stream down his left shoulder. Ignoring the pain, he backed up against the opposite wall of the destroyed shop as the Chaos Ripper advanced on him.

Then...darkness. Seth dimly heard a crash, but could see nothing. Icy coldness crept down his back, making his flesh crawl. Then it was over. As the black fog cleared from Seth's eyes, he noticed two things. First, the Chaos Soldier was gone; in its place was a smoldering crater. And standing beside him, emitting a cold aura, was a huge Knight dressed in red and black armor. There was no doubt what it was, from its Guardian armor covered in Doom symbols to the gaping hole in its chest where its heart should have been, to the red eyes glinting from beneath the spiked helmet perched atop its shoulders. It was a Remnant, one of the mighty warriors that once served Sepulchure, but had spurned Gravelyn's rule and now fought in the name of the Underground. Not for the last time, Seth was glad that the Remnants were on his side.

"Um... hello..." Seth began uncertainly. The Remnant didn't respond. Not sure if that was a good thing or not, Seth decided to introduce himself. "My name is Ergent Seth."

"I am Cort," the Remnant replied, not bothering to say anything more. It didn't have to. Across the street, two more Chaos Rippers were on their way. One of them had the usual set of finely sharpened claws, while the other cradled a chaorrupted crossbow in its arms. Seth groaned and picked up his sword. The pain was still there in his shoulder. He didn't need to look to know where the last Ripper's claws had torn through his thin regulation Stealth Suit. He wished he could have been given the thick armor of a Guardian instead of just a light silk tunic for scouting.

While Seth was still thinking, Cort was on the move. Unsheathing a massive black claymore from his back, he tore through the first Ripper like a pair of scissors running through tissue paper. The second one panicked, fired wildly, missing, its bolt bouncing off the Remnant's Guardian armor harmlessly. Then Cort was upon it. Seth was so busy admiring Cort's swordsmanship during that brief encounter that he almost didn't notice the fireball whistle past his head. Whirling around, he was confronted with a White Mage, bearing the symbol of the Order. It conjured another fireball and tossed it at the Remnant. Cort turned, allowing the fireball to sail straight through the hole in his chest and out the other side. Then he charged.

The fury of the Remnant was burning cold. It was well known that the Underground despised anything having to do with good. In the months past, they had kept an uneasy peace with the Order only because of the deft leadership of Fire, the former head of the Order. However, now that Fire had left the Order for the Revolt, his old clan went underground, using their powers of light to wage war on all clans, regardless of affiliation or allegiances. Cort's wrath was terrible to see, as cold, red energy built around the edge of his massive blade. In a few steps it would all be over.

Grinning, the Mage raised his arms above his head, a light orb in his hands. A blinding flash sent Cort stumbling backwards, unable to see. The sky was lit up as if it were noon, and Cort hadn't bothered to put on either sunscreen or shades for the night battle. The mage strode forward with a triumphant smile, conjuring a bolt of light, then froze. Its small, robed body was lifted off its feet by the tip of Seth's sword. For a moment, everything was motionless, the mage hanging in midair, Seth still standing with his arm outstretched, sword in hand, panting, glad that he was barely able to reach the mage in time before it could finish off his ally. Cort looked at the whole scene through blurry eyes as he lay on the ground recovering from the flash earlier. Then, a single drop of blood ran down the edge of Seth's sword, splashing onto the ground and staining it crimson. As Seth tossed the lifeless body aside, he shook a shower of blood from his blade, then sheathed it.

The Remnant got back to his feet, still blinking the light out of his glowing red eyes. Not for the last time, Cort was glad that he was on Requiem's side. In the distance, the clatter of more footsteps were heard. Seth smiled grimly, remembering where he was. This was war, caused by the fight between Good, Evil, and Chaos. Revolt, being a people's uprising, welcomed warriors, rogues, and mages from all across the world of Lore and was free to choose any side it wished...and it had chosen to side with the Remnants. And even though they were powerful, the evil Underground could not wipe out good completely. As long as evil existed in the world of Lore, there had to be good in the world as well, and as long as both existed, there would be war.....




Eukara Vox -> RE: Book of War (5/15/2010 16:56:13)

From the hand of Alex Shiveran to the Universal Librarian Eukara Vox,

Greetings!

I apologize that I have not written in some time, urgent matters requiring my attention occurred, and I was sidetracked in dealing with them. In any event, I want to thank you for the kind letter in return that I received from you. I hope this missive finds you well, and that you are settling into your new duties without too much trouble. Perhaps with a bit of chagrin I must note that while attending to the aforementioned matter I passed very near the library. Much to my disappointment I was unable to stop in, though it would have been rather rude of me to drop in unannounced on you, as I am sure that you have a great deal of work to attend to, given your station. I certainly do not envy you the work load, the keeping of records of my own world is an exhausting task, even when delegated to others, and I can only imagine what you must endure in cataloging the tales of so many worlds at once.

My familiar insisted on hand-delivering (or rather, paw-delivering) this letter, and once Slash gets an idea in her head, it is hard to sway her from her course. I do hope that you will excuse me if I ask you to look after her for some time. There are matters I must attend to in places that I would not risk taking her, so perhaps her insistence on visiting you is a good thing. In any event, I apologize for any inconvenience she may cause you, and I hope that she behaves herself during the visit. If not, feel free to reprimand her as you see appropriate.

Matters progress apace though, and I must close this missive and attend to things. Enclosed is another story for your collections which I hope you will find interesting at least.

May knowledge and understanding ever be the companions of all your journeys,

Alexander Shiveran
Wandering Mage and Scribe


Dearest Alex,

I am disappointed that you did not drop in to see me. I would have welcomed you with open arms, dropping my scrolls and books in a heartbeat. I rarely get visitors outside my own staff, so that would have been such a treat. Though, I must say that Slash is a very sweet familiar. We are getting along splendidly, not to mention she is becoming quite useful in my little war with the infiltrating, and very annoying, Redcaps. She can get places I cannot.

As to my duties, it is so overwhelming. I do not know how my Master did it, though he had done it for centuries. I guess one day I will get the hang of it... As of now, though, I am behind. And then the Redcaps showed up and have made a mess of my stuff. Explosions, scrolls tossed about, and parchments stacked and restacked to mix up the ordering. I have no idea why this Terran baddie chose to harass me, but war is upon me, in my own home!

I do hope you are careful in your endeavors so that you may sit with me at some point and relay your adventures to me. When you do arrive, I will be all ears and nothing will intrude upon your recollection of events. I promise.

Be careful, watch yourself, and come back to get Slash in one piece! Thank you for picking up and bringing this story to my humble library.

Yours,

Eukara Vox



Resolution

I have poured out twenty years of my life on the desert sands of our border with Lithica. It isn’t a surprise; the Lithicans have been pushing into our lands since before my father was born. They want our land, their own is a barren waste, made habitable only by a nomadic, scavenging lifestyle. Their incursions grew more frequent over the years, and Neretha is a small land. While what we have may seem like a paradise to the Lithican nomads, our life is by no means easy. The ground is fertile only through effort, and the last decade of war has been hard on the border region.

Military service in Neretha is compulsory for five years at least, and when I came of age, I entered service. After training we were sent to the border and placed under the command of the Queen’s Sword. I suppose since I am recording this for posterity I should explain the title. The war leaders of highest rank are called the Queen’s men, or the King’s, if the monarch is male; they are also given a designation based upon the weapon of their preference. The title was the greatest honor one could receive; it replaced one’s name even. What the Sword’s name was, I never knew, and I doubt anyone now alive recalls it, though perhaps the Queen does… but I digress. When I first entered service there were three generals, Sword, Lance, and Axe.

The Queen’s Sword was a hard man, a forty-year veteran of the Lithican invasions, a man feared even by the nomads, who gave to him the title “The Desert Fox.” I suppose that a man doesn’t live through four decades of conflict with nomads who were intent on taking over his home without becoming dangerous. And he was dangerous; the men whispered in the dark, huddled around their campfires, telling stories of the Sword’s exploits, of his prowess in battle, and of his cruelty. After battles he had the hands cut off of those Lithicans who had surrendered to him during the battle. When asked about it, he said that he was tired of caring for prisoners when he did not have the resources to care for his own men, let alone enemy combatants. Releasing them was not an option; they would simply rejoin the ranks of invaders at the first opportunity. His solution was harsh, and yet, made a sort of cruel sense. After all, with no hand to wield a weapon, the Lithicans could not fight.

Prisoner detail was not pleasant, and it was the first of the duties given to the green troops, newly come to the front. As the Sword said, it was to toughen us, to steel us for what was required of us. There was a reason the Sword had the highest rate of transfer requests of any general. As I said, he was a hard man. A hard man, haunted man; his daughter and wife had been killed in a Lithican raid, both of his sons had died in battle against the invaders. His thirst for vengeance on behalf of his dead family was something of legend, his prowess in battle, unquestionable, as if he was transported to some other place. What filled him when he fought was terrifying to see, and some said a demon possessed him, that he had made a pact with a lower power that protected him from harm as he fought for his revenge.

I am a simple man, and that is not something that falls within the realm of my experience. For my part, all I can say is that when the Lithicans ambushed the Sword and his guard, only the Sword survived. This was ten years into my service, I saw him as he returned to camp covered in blood, Lithican, as well as that of his Nerethan comrades, and his own as well. How he was walking, I do not know, one of the healers told me later that one of the Sword’s legs had been broken. The amount of blood that he had lost would have killed a lesser man, yet, he limped up to my sentry fire as silent as death itself. I rushed him to the healers, and they worked on him through the night.

It was of little use, though, as the morning revealed. The Sword had struggled through the night, and yet, in the end neither the power of his rage, nor his drive for vengeance could save him. If he had the help of otherworldly aid, demonic or otherwise, it abandoned him that night.

The days marched on nonetheless, a bloody procession of days into weeks, into months, into years. Soon enough I was all that remained of those who had come with me, the others had died, transferred, or retired. I remained, watching as the faces around me grew younger, though it was simply that mine grew older, harder. The things I saw, the things I did on those sands… They are not things that I am proud of, but they were things that were necessary. I do not regret them, for they kept my people safe; let them sleep at night with less worry, and for that I can never be sorry.

Others have asked me why I never left, why I did not return home once my required service ended. I cannot say for certain. Something made me stay, still, the years passed, and I remained. Perhaps that is why I was chosen, but that is a matter for later. Once the Sword died, another general was selected to take his place. That man met his end as well, though his was brighter, a death on the front-lines against the invaders who tried time and again to take our homeland.

I led in the interim, until the transfer or promotion of another to the leadership could be made. The letter was a surprise, delivered to me by a courier from the Queen, appointing me to head the army. It was something of an irony I suppose, I never desired leadership, but I knew what was spoken about me by the fires at night. They said I was charmed, perhaps that I was, like the Sword, in league with demons or higher powers; where before I had denied it, I no longer did after that. Was it a lie? Yes, and yet, there are worse things for a leader to do than to allow his men to believe him to be aided by something greater than they.

Command requires the respect of those commanded, and loyalty can only be earned through the trail of fire and combat. These men who follow me, follow me into the very heart of darkness itself; they do so of their own free will. Perhaps what I do I do in folly; perhaps I am seeking answers to questions that do not exist. Nonetheless, I have spent twenty years of life on these gods-accursed lands. I have watched good men bleed and die to protect Neretha from the nomads, and I have bled with them, staved off death with bow and arrow, sword and shield, and the determination to see my home liberated from the terror of Lithican aggression.

I will lead them, willing all, for those who will not follow I will leave behind, more than enough to defend the border here as I do what I must, and march for the heart of the desert country of Lithica. The border will be defended by those who do not wish to follow, and the reinforcements that I sent for a month ago. The last report says they will arrive in two days, and so I will march, abandoning my post and my sworn duty. I can no longer remain idle here while the nomads seek to drive us from our lands. No Nerethan has ever returned from those lands, and yet, I shall, with those of my men that are willing, dare the undertaking. What lives on those sands, the reason that they wish wage war upon us for our lands rather than joining with us peacefully, I can only conjecture. Some force or leader drives them to this, I am sure of it, and so, to end this war, to protect my country, I will forsake my duty, and take the fight to the nomads on their own land.

To whosoever finds this, I ask that it be delivered to the capital with all haste. If I fail, if Neretha fails, I suppose it does not matter. Then I ask only this, that you do not let this tale die, my reader. Injustice may triumph for a time, but in the end, victory must surely belong to the side of right. I can believe no less, for otherwise I could not go on.

If this reaches you, my Queen, this is my resignation. I write this both as an apology, and an attempt, however pitiful, to explain what I do, and my reasons for doing so. Understand that I have thought long and hard on this, and can only ask that any dishonor that would fall upon my men for this be directed to its source, me. They follow me, and I have spoken to each man myself, and they are honorable soldiers all. While I have no home nor family but for this command, this army, there are those who go with me who leave behind wives, siblings, families. We go because we have hope that we might find some way to end this tragedy, and win peace for our country and our future. I suspect that I will not return, even should my men, for I am old now, and as the Sword died, and the Morningstar after him, so too shall I give my life for Neretha. I do not account it a great loss, for my service to Neretha is all that I have of my life. What the morrow will bring, I cannot say, only that we march. I ask for the forgiveness of Your Majesty, of the families of the men I will lead, and of the gods themselves. I will do what I can, I will do what I must.

For Neretha. ~The Queen’s Bow




Eukara Vox -> RE: Book of War (5/15/2010 20:45:50)

Destructive Thoughts
by The Doctor

Everything that is now here
Must end when it will end
But what is left when it is done
Will surely not be fun

We must scavenge what we can
Before and after war breaks out
In times like this, reason is banned
We must head on a different route

Battles with their great death tolls
Explosives blow us out like molls
Nothing left inside the bunker
Everything has blown sky high

We must repent from our old ways
Before we darken the Sun's rays
What will set it off at last
Is likely a beginning blast

Each crash will lead to another
Triggering the end of days
Before this final great destruction
We must repent from our old ways

There is still hope in hearts of Man
If we can change their black to gold
Our world extends its own lifespan
And we will keep it in our hold




Cow Face -> RE: Book of War (5/24/2010 12:15:01)

Schism
by Red Blizzard

“In your dreams!”

“So, you refuse my offer?”

“Damn straight I do! I’d never sign any treaty with a group as shady as yours! You and your kind, thinking you can go around telling everyone how they’re supposed to do stuff, I’m sick of you all! GUARDS!!”

Ayce sighed. Another day, another group. This one didn’t even have a name, or if it did, the leader hadn’t bothered to tell anything to him. Ayce had considered looking into the clan after seeing how one of them had managed to clobber three others at the local bar. He dearly hoped that fight had been won by pure luck, now that the same guy was just across the table from him with a ruddy complexion and a drawn sword. Ayce eyed the sword for a moment; it was intricately crafted, with inlaid gold designs spiraling down its length and jewels inlaid into its pommel. But it was still a conventional design, not much different from those of an ordinary town guard. Probably it was an ordinary sword from a town guard, only fancier. Well, at least the quality of the blade wasn’t the problem. The thumping of many boots behind him was. Ayce half-rose, drawing a throwing dagger from one of his sleeves. He stopped, the golden blade poised carefully at his throat. Ayce rolled his eyes behind his shades and cocked his head to one side, staring carefully at the leader as guards entered the room and surrounded him.

“Take this scum out of my sight! May he never see the light of day again!!” Ah, well, that left him no choice then. Ayce tapped the golden blade to one side with two fingers, throwing the dagger with his other hand. He missed, and the leader made a powerful lunge forward that would have pinned Blizzard to the wall had the blade still been pointing at his neck. As it was, the sword chewed right through the wall and came out the other side, buried halfway in. Swords. What was with everyone and swords these days? It seemed as if every warrior who wanted to appear fashionable had one of some sort, even though they were flimsy weapons, prone to breaking or being blocked. Not to mention they lacked the ability to smash through walls like hammers or poke people from long distances like spears. Oh, well. Ayce skipped over the incoming blades of the guards and drew one of his demon swords.

The table was the first to go, a kick sending it tumbling over to a corner of the room. Two more kicks sent the chairs following. Then, Ayce went straight for the clan leader, pinning him to the wall by the throat while raising the blade to his face. The guards, still piling into the room, froze with what they were doing. “Drop your weapons and take a step back, or he dies.” Ayce hated using death threats, but it was his ticket out of here. Or so he thought.

One of the guards took a deliberate step forward. “Kill him, what do we care? He hasn’t paid us our wages in weeks, and besides, once he’s dead, I’m next in line for clan leader.” The other guards grinned and readied their weapons, anticipating a good fight. Ayce groaned. So much for loyalty. He aimed the demon blade at a frightened man’s face, then stabbed. The dull point went up the man’s nose and jammed halfway. Ayce swore. He had forgotten to give the blade a coating of blood before fighting with it. He wrenched the dull blade out, trailing a line of green phlegm, breaking the man’s nose in the process. A dribble of blood from the broken nose splattered onto the demon blade, and Ayce dove in for the kill, only to stop as he noticed the twenty or so guards surrounding him, swords pointing at his heart. Next to him, the clan leader had succeeded in tugging his sword out of the wall. He leaned over and whispered to Ayce.

“Let me live, and I’ll help you fight your way out of here.”

Ayce whispered back, pretending the guards couldn’t hear him in the dead silent room. “Deal.” The clan leader dove into the swarm of guards from the left, while Ayce unsheathed his other demon sword and swiped at the closest guard with his already-blood-splattered blade. The sword cut clean through the guard’s sword as he tried to parry, and Ayce left two symmetrical halves of the guard lying on the richly-decorated floor. The other guards backed up in momentary surprise, giving Ayce time to soak both of his blades in the fallen guard’s blood. When he rose again, his blades had turned a gleaming, lustrous black, red energy flaring from their edges. The blades grew sharper the more blood they drank in. Here, Ayce had enough blood to cut an entire castle in half with one swing. A wild grin spread across his face, revealing a gleaming set of white teeth backed up by an extra-large pair of canines. For a moment, the soldiers had the impression that he was going to eat them. Then they had no more impressions.

One clean slice had five guards on the ground, neatly sliced in half. The next slice had an entire half of the room cleared, as Ayce dashed straight through the thicket of enemy swords, his blades shredding thick armor like tissue paper. On the other side of the room, the clan leader was having an equally easy time against his own incompetent guards, knowing all their nuances and weaknesses and exploiting them to great extent. In two heartbeats the room was cleared. Ayce surveyed the massacre with grim satisfaction, taking in the pungent smell of blood. It felt good to be back in action again after being the peacemaker for so long. Ayce turned to the clan leader and found a sword inches from his face.

“Really? After I just saved your life?”

“What are you talking about? I saved your life, and this is how you repay me? By killing off all my men? I will avenge their deaths by killing you! DIE!!”

Ayce groaned and knocked the blade aside, diving in with both demon blades. The clan leader fell in quarters. What was with people these days? They had no honor, sticking at nothing to kill anyone they saw as a threat. Ayce squared his shoulders and looked around. Now that the clan leader was dead, the building no longer served any purpose. He might as well have some fun then.

Ayce walked out of the group's base into the sunlight. He sheathed his demon swords, pulled out a pair of chakrams, gave each one a little dose of blood, and threw them behind him. They sang through the air with a noise halfway between a ring and a buzz. When they returned to his hands, he wiped off splinters of wood and chunks of mortar, then put them away. Behind him, the clan base collapsed, completely sliced in half by the chakrams. The ruins caught fire from a running fireplace within, and the flames leaped into the air with a lusty roar, blackening the sky with smoke. Ayce spared one glance back at the destroyed base. Not bad for half a day’s work.

He got back to the Castle quickly, in part due to his borrowing a local official’s carriage. “Come on, Sysquella!” he had laughed at the official, who was in charge of cataloging all the official clans in the area, Revolt being one of them after having legitimized itself. Sysquella had bit his lip before handing over the carriage, not sure if he could trust the diplomat. When Ayce arrived at the clan base, he sent the carriage back without a driver, trusting the horses to know their own way back. They often did.

The Castle was a small fortress that had been built in the last three years as a response to the direct attack on the clan by several enemies, the Chaos Rippers being only one of them. The same old clan quarters existed under the hill, with the entrance a stone door in the rocky face of a waterfall. A large lake had grown, flooding the area and leaving only a thin strip of rock leading towards this doorway. For practicality reasons, the new fortress had an entrance of its own, as it wasn’t easy sending out attacking armies from a door where everyone had to file through on tip-toe to avoid falling into the lake. The lake was sometimes referred to as Asterisk’s Grave, after the fallen Captain who had been buried there. The Grave was often used as a burial for other members of the Revolt as well, who were pushed off into the lake on leaking boats that slowly filled with water and dragged its cargo down to the bottom. On a clear day, skeletons could be seen on the lake-bed.

Ayce entered the Castle, finding nobody around. He hadn’t been in-town for Seth’s trial, and had missed Fyre’s return as well. Seth and Fyre had gotten into a huge fight over nothing, and in the fight, Seth had banished Fyre to a different Realm for several weeks. Upon his return, Seth had repented, and Fyre was slowly learning to forgive him. Ayce, being the diplomat, had been caught up in a whirlwind of contracts and legal documents involving other militant groups in the area and had been away for the longest time. So he received an unpleasant surprise when he entered the meeting hall to find their leader, the Priest, sitting at the head of a large congregation, a dark, defiant man standing before him. “Felkaranos. You are charged with treason for betraying clan secrets to the man Ogecrazil, sometimes known as Skete, former member and traitor of the Order. You are further charged with inciting the murder of Fyre, member of this clan, and orchestrating the exile of Seth, Captain of the Revolt. Do you…”

“He’s still captain!?” A large, burly man stood up in the court, drawing murmurs of unrest from the congregation. “I know of his past deeds and all, but lately he hasn’t been doing anything for the clan at all! He left for a longer time than his exile required, and his fight with Fyre shows that he’s become a liability to the clan, and I don’t see why he should retain his post as Captain!”

“Please, Dye, we are here for the trial of Felkaranos, not Seth.” Priest raised his hands, but it was too late. Seth stood up, his white eyes flaring.

“Dye, if you have anything to say about me, say it to my face, instead of talking as if I’m not here.” More murmuring ensued from the crowd. Dye turned.

“Oh, alright, Captain, since you’re here. Ever since the Fyre incident, I’ve been watching you. The only kind of person who would fight another captain is someone unworthy of being a captain themselves. You fought and banished Fyre without permission, and you don’t deserve to just waltz back in here like nothing’s ever happened long after your exile was over and your clan needed you!” The trial on Felkaranos had been forgotten completely as members rose all throughout the congregation. A hushed silence fell over the meeting hall.

“Dye, must I remind you that you were the first to lash out at a fellow member of the Revolt, kicking Uzamaki out of the clan? How can you decide who can or can’t be a Captain when you yourself are unfit to lead according to your own standards?” A moment of silence. Then a whoosh and a roar as Dye ignited himself, flames charring the ground where he stood. Dye's magic was well-known, and feared almost as much as his inhuman strength.

“Does anyone here think I’m not worthy of being a Captain? Huh? ANYONE?” A moment’s pause. Then, right next to Dye, a small girl raised her hand. Megan, the Priest's sister. Dye turned on her, feeling his fury boiling over, not caring what happened next, knowing that he would have no regrets. Priest’s eyes went wide as he saw his sister look up at Dye, the faintest trace of fear in her eyes as they turned from purple to black, drying out and coating up with cinders, along with the rest of her body. Megan fell to the floor, lungs seared with flame, skin covered in ash, bones blackened and brittle.

The silence was broken, the entire clan rose in an uproar, frantic over the attack. Dye himself turned and stormed his way out of the meeting hall, leaving a trail of flames as he went. He was angry, he was mad, he was done with it, it was over. He didn’t care, he had no regrets: what he did, he did in the name of his pride. At the doorway he ran into Ayce, who had watched the entire incident without a word. Dye looked into Ayce’s eyes, seeing nothing but the black walls of his shades. No response? Fine, he was leaving anyways. Dye brushed past Ayce, who quickly put out the fires spreading over his suit. Ayce looked up in time to see a wave of clan members following Dye out the door. Many were loyal to him in different ways, and were willing to follow him and his strong-willed ways to the ends of the world. Nathan, Jacob, Aeon, Oblivion, others, and more. Felkaranos the traitor crept out of the meeting hall unnoticed, following his new god. But Ayce snapped when he saw his own sisters, Dawn and Pixie, following Dye out the door. They had never been on the same side of an argument before.

“Where are you two going?”

Dawn looked up insolently. “What? If you can’t control Dye, what makes you think you can control us?”

“I’m not trying to control him, I’m trying to get him to calm down!”

“Well, good luck with that. Let us know when you get that to work,” Pixie laughed derisively as the two filed out the door. Ayce stood stock-still for a moment, drinking in the words. Then he shook his head. What was with people these days?

Dye made it all the way to the entrance of the clan base and outside onto the lakeshore before he encountered any resistance. A lone figure, dressed in black with green trimmings, waited for him. Green eyes glared long and hard into Dye’s dark orange ones, carefully noting the color of Dye’s flames, the hard, brutal anger in them. The determination there.

“Do you really think you can turn your back on us?”

Dye spat. “Yeah, why? You got a problem with that?”

“Actually, I do. Your disloyalty concerns me, after hearing all that you’ve done for the clan. I thought you’d know better.”

“Well, I’m not going to stick around where I’m not wanted. Stay out of my way. If you got a problem with me, go ahead and fight me. I’ll kill you.”

Saint took a step forward, his black stealth suit making not a sound. He was the Revolt's tactician, famous for leading the rebel group to several victories over larger, better-trained enemies over the years. Nobody knew why he was a Saint of anything, the same way they didn't know why Priest earned his name when he advocated fighting, albeit in a controlled manner. Saint's past was a secret, and his habit of wearing dark clothes made him a mystery even among his fellow members. Here, he revealed a more menacing side of his personality, green eyes glowing as he approached Dye. “Was that an invitation to a fight?”

Oblivion darted forward, his thick suit of armor clanking with every twitch. “You won’t be able to touch him. He…”

“Get out of my way. I won’t ask a second time.” Oblivion backed up sheepishly along with everyone else, retreating into the forest and leaving Dye to stare at Saint alone, twenty feet apart, on the shore of the Grave.

Dye unsheathed a massive scimitar from his back, swinging it experimentally once through the air. He had been through a thousand fights with it over the years, yet it still looked as new as the day it had been made. Saint, on the other hand, drew a short-sword crafted from several bladed pieces that fitted together like a jigsaw puzzle. The blades were delicate, and Saint had several swords broken over the years. Yet each new one was an improvement over the last one, with balance, sharpness, and utility increased with each model. Saint left on all the components of the sword, knowing he would need every last piece for the impending fight.

Dye initiated the battle with a lunge, swinging wide with his blade. Dark orange flames sizzled through the air, sucking the air out of Saint’s lungs as he backflipped over Dye. Saint spun around while Dye was still recovering from the momentum of his swing, and aimed a precise strike at the back of Dye’s head. The blade struck true, sending Dye reeling as pain exploded through his skull. The blade didn’t go deep, but the cut was bad enough. Yet the attack had come at great cost. Saint’s hand had been badly burned by the attack as he stretched his arms through Dye’s flaming aura to reach him. He now nursed the burning skin, momentarily dropping his blade. Dye turned around, driven to a frenzy, and drove at Saint with a barrage of slashes. Saint grabbed the short-sword with his other hand and leapt backwards, using pulses of electricity to keep his muscles moving at inhuman speeds. Saint analyzed the situation as he dodged the incoming attacks. The flames around Dye had reached a temperature that could roast an entire boar in seconds. Melee attacks were useless, then. Saint leapt off the ground as Dye aimed a particularly vicious slash that slammed into the earth, spraying loose rocks and compacted dirt everywhere. In mid-air, Saint drew twin reverse-curved daggers and hurled them at Dye. The inner-curve of each blade had been sharpened to a razor edge and tempered, able to slice through the thickest armor. Each dagger passed through Dye’s flames with great effort, their handles burning off and their outer edges congealing. But the sharp ends found their marks, one digging into Dye’s left leg while the other sliced its way into his chest and buried itself there.

Dye paused for a moment, as a trickle of pain fought its way through the madness to his brain. With one hand, Dye reached down and yanked out the dagger stuck in his leg. It came out easily and dissolved in his hand. Then, he reached into his chest, yanking out the half-melted blade there and throwing it aside, where it collapsed into a puddle. Dye’s armor resealed itself, bolstered in part by the flames that flared up around the breach in the metal, pooling the broken bits together. The chest wound was serious, but that didn’t matter any more. As long as he could wield a blade, he could fight. Saint watched this with disgust from a safe distance. He faintly heard echoes of another clan member referring to this man. “Dye is a god, occasionally. That is all.” Who had said that? It didn’t matter now. Saint raised a hand and fired a blast of lightning at Dye. It hit him squarely in the chest, paralyzing him as he began to charge once more. God or beast, Saint had no choice but to cut him down. Saint fired another blast of lightning, bringing Dye to his knees. The flames around him flickered, then went out. An opening. Saint saw it, and knew immediately how to exploit it. He raised his blade, aimed carefully, then gave his muscles a jolt of electricity. A green and black blur rushed by Dye, too fast for him to keep up with. A cut appeared alongside his neck, barely missing his vitals. Nevertheless, it left a line of blood that drove the pain in. Dye could feel his strength leaving as the weight of his wounds settled in. Saint turned around, preparing one more strike that would carry Dye’s head into the lake.

Dye roared, an inhuman sound that might have once come from some feral God of Fire of a forgotten age. Saint’s eyes went wide as flames exploded around Dye, wider than ever before. The radius of his fire stretched to the very edge of the lake and to the tips of the forest, setting anything and everything alight. Saint was caught in a whirlwind of flames and spiraled into the air, caught by thermals as the hot air around him began to rise. Dye stood up, a little wobbly on his feet, and aimed a single, downward slash. The blade slammed into Saint and brought him careening into the ground, crushed rather than cut. Only a few feet from Dye, Saint could feel his skin beginning to crack from the sheer heat. Dye planted a foot on Saint’s chest, letting his weight sink in, crushing his rib cage. Then he brought his scimitar down in an ungainly stab, driving right through Saint’s gut and out his back. The sound of Dye wrenching his blade out of Saint made everyone witnessing the battle cringe.

Dye let his flames go out, leaving nothing behind but the fire eating away at Saint’s stealth suit. He sheathed his scimitar and turned to leave. Then, as an afterthought, he turned around and gave a mighty kick, sending Saint rolling head-over-heels into the lake, where he was slowly carried down into the depths to join his comrades. If the broken rib cage, the burnt skin, or the stomach wound didn’t kill him, Saint would die by drowning. Dye bowed his head for one short moment, fingering the sapphire star on the black chain around his neck. Then he turned to his followers. Nobody spoke. It was a solemn moment, everyone knowing that they had witnessed the end of an age. A glorious age. Some were sad to see it go. Not Dye.

“Any questions?” Nope.

Moments after Dye left, Ayce was on the scene. He could tell from a patch of blood on the ground that he was too late. He looked around, trying to find out where…there, something black in the lake. Ayce took of his shades and squinted, barely making out the faint outline of a human body. He kicked off his sandals and began to wade into the lake. One last breath, then he dove in, hoping he wouldn’t be dragging a corpse out of the water.

And far away, back at the castle, Priest kneeled over his sister’s body, struggling not to cry. He had been appointed the task of keeping the Revolt together. The failure weighed down on his shoulders like a giant’s hand. Crushing, unbearable. He gazed down at Megan, remembering how her face used to look before Dye had erased it with fire and hatred. Just because he had nothing better to do, Priest raised one hand over Megan and began chanting words. A single drop of water landed on Megan’s body as Priest began to sob as he chanted, hysteria wracking his body.

“Heal,” he said. “Please heal.”




Cow Face -> RE: Book of War (5/24/2010 12:38:34)

A Dance of Death
by astro999

Swarms of ships circled each other, spinning through space in an intricate dance. They were all connected by tiny threads of light that were, in reality, blasts of laser or plasma that were as wide as a jet plane. The dots were constantly, one by one, disappearing in little flashes of light, the only grave marker for another thousand dead. And it was our duty to end the battle, in our favor. We were a Victory class dreadnought, and easily outclassed any of the ships that were locked in combat in firepower, shielding, and size by a factor of ten, so our arrival would neatly tip the battle in our favor.

As we approached, all battle stations were readied and surplus energy was redirected towards our gun emplacements. With fearless impunity, our ship shot through the center of the enemy’s massed formation, annihilating dozens of ships in the same threads of light as we had seen before, though now far more up close and personal. The best of the enemy’s ships attempted to return fire, but their efforts were wasted as burst after burst of enemy fire glanced harmlessly off the thick armor of our ship. The laser fire from our own gun batteries quickly destroyed those who had tried in vain to stop our massacre.

I smiled grimly. The thought of murdering thousands was of course not a pleasant one, but at least now it was thousands of our opponents that were dying. And in any case, they had shown us no mercy in the battlefield, so we would pull no punches. With an immense feeling of satisfaction, I watched as the ship - my ship - made short work of wave after wave of attackers. The battle was quickly turned in our favor. The enemy seemed close to rout.

Suddenly, ruining the moment of triumph, two enormous blips appeared on our sensors. I glanced at the display and my heart sank. Approaching our ship were two Juggernaut class cruisers, each at least three times as large as our ship. Now that alone wasn’t a bad thing. The problem was that they were both painted in red and black, the color of the Federation, the color of the enemy!

The corporal, second in command, was staring, mouth open in horror, at the view-port, through which the behemoths could be seen slowly approaching, and put exactly what we were all thinking in words,

“We are so dead.”

I silently agreed, but rounded towards the communications officer and barked,

“Call the retreat! We’ve lost this battle.”

He nodded, a mix of fear and fury in his eyes at our victory being snatched away from us, and relayed my orders to the rest of the fleet. All of our ships in the battle, including mine, turned, and began to flee, trying to escape the two advancing monstrous crafts, who were steadily moving into firing range. Suddenly, I felt our ship shudder and stop. I spun around and glared at the officer responsible for engine control.

“Did I order you to stop?” I asked sharply. He stopped tapping away at his controls and jabbed a finger at the instrument panel. There were three tiny red lights flashing at the very top. I clenched my teeth in frustration. I knew what that meant. The enemy cruisers were armed with long range EMP fields, which kept the delicate balance of power required for the engines fluctuating too quickly to be usable. We had power, but the engines could not possibly function without the precise fed amount.

The twin Juggernauts had finally reached a distance from which they could aim reliably, and fired a barrage of missiles. One of the shielding engineers called out,

“Sir, permission to activate Mass shielding?”

I gnawed my lip. It was an untried idea, but at least it would afford us a chance. And, unlike the engines, it did not need an exact amount of power to function. It was worth a try.

“Granted.”

With a powerful thrum, an envelope of energy appeared around every one of our ships. I desperately prayed for the gamble to pay of. Within seconds, the missiles had reached the shields… and then they deflected off, shattered harmlessly as they impacted. I cheered slightly, inside. The idea with the shields had been mine. Mass shielding had originally been designed to deflect meteorites during near-lightspeed travel, so, when modified, they should have theoretically been able to deflect missiles. It was nice to have my theory proven, though.

We responded to their attack with a wave of conventional lasers, which barely even scored the surface of their two new capital ships, but downright annihilated some of the smaller ones. We might be stranded, but we weren’t going without a fight, no matter how hopeless it was. The communications officer looked up at me. “Sir, a transmission from the enemy flagship!”

“Take it,” I responded coolly.

A hologram appeared in front of me. It showed a woman in the uniform of a Federation Rear Admiral. She gazed coldly at me, and, in the particular, disjointed accent of a Federation citizen trying to speak Terran, spat out, “You might as well surrender. That was an admirable show of resistance, but we have you outgunned. This battle is lost for you.”

I shrugged at her. “We seem to be doing just fine, and far more of your fleet is burning or destroyed than ours,” I said, trying to show confidence that I did not possess, and, to prevent her from making any insidious reply, switched off the projection.

The engines officer seemed about to ask me if my reply was wise, then chose not to, and returned to work, trying to activate the engines. His attempt failed, once again.

“Switch all power except life support and shielding to weapon systems,” I ordered, placing my hands on the railing. “And then fire the gun emplacement code Grav7 at one of the ships between the two enemy cruisers.”

The gunnery officer looked up at me in surprise. “Sir, we are only authorized to use that in extreme emergencies, and I’ll need a military pass-code!”

I stalked over to his workstation, tapped in the authorization code, and glared at him. “If this isn’t an emergency, nothing is. Fire it NOW!!”

He gulped, suppressing a comment about it being untested and unsafe, and pressed a nondescript grey button on the bottom left of the console. Our whole ship shuddered as a blast of enormous force shot from a small gun emplacement, which had up until now remained silent. A green beam of energy tore instantly across the battlefield. The beam smashed into a small ship in between the two cruisers, and suddenly seemed to cave in on itself, pulling nearby ships towards it as well. The large ships fired their engines, trying to escape the inexorable force, but failed, and, as I watched, were drawn in and crumpled. Our ships were already far enough that the area of the gravitational field didn’t have such an effect on us, though it slowed our engine-less drift. Then, the clump that had been some fifty ships exploded outward, throwing chunks of dense hot metal everywhere, destroying most of the remnants of the enemy fleet and glancing harmlessly off our shields... I sighed in relief, and looked around. It had actually worked. I had, almost single-handedly, destroyed an entire fleet of Federation ships, including two Juggernauts.

With the EMP field gone, the engines slowly came back online, and our comparatively unharmed fleet turned and shot away from the scene of the carnage, to our next battle. Cleanup crews would be not far behind, raking the scene of the battle for bodies and fixable technology. A victory.




Cow Face -> RE: Book of War (5/24/2010 13:02:33)

The War of Love
by nolraitru

I walk down,
these quiet halls.
Not knowing where,
my heart belongs.

A ravaging fate,
a twisted end.
Do you not know,
where I've been?

I've seen the worst,
and yet the best.
I've given my life,
over the crest.

Many a man,
has seen like me.
They know the pain,
but not the personal torment.

For years I thought,
that I could stand.
But here I kneel,
begging for naught.

I look at you all,
and clearly ask of you:
“Please, give it back,
the love that you've plainly taken.”

The blank stare,
that I receive.
Tells me all,
inside of my mind.

You wonder off,
I feel you beckon.
Without your words,
you seem to tell me all.

I feel in my heart,
that this was what had to be.
I know that you hurt too,
which is why you're with me.

An angel's job,
which has to be done.
Begins with my end,
in the war of love.




Cow Face -> RE: Book of War (5/24/2010 13:18:30)

Xenocide
by Red Blizzard

"One kills a man, one is an assassin; one kills millions, one is a conqueror; one kills everybody, one is a god." - Jean Rostand

Log Date: 2:57:45 a.m., Second Season, Fifth Day, Year 4337 Location: Echo Base

I emerge from my dormitory somewhere halfway between sleep and wakefulness. I have been awoken by the man next door, who tossed and turned all night, muttering something indecipherable. Human dreams are something that I have yet to understand. I pull my black hood low with one hand, push up a muffler of the same color just a little, leaving my face completely covered, except for two glowing pinpricks that hinted at eyes of an alien nature. Then again, I’m not exactly human. I make my way towards the mech hangar, tattered cloak swishing gently. Another day, another mission.

I have no name. Not because I don't want any, but because nobody can think of anything suitable to call me. So they call me by my rank. Captain of the Black Ops Kappa Division, Commanding Officer of Echo Base. I’m part of a mercenary group that hides itself deep within the underground criminology index, a buried, half-known name that few know and even fewer understand. We do not fight for money and power, as most mercenaries do, making a few credits only to squander it away the next day. Instead, we trade our services in exchange for technology, be it a pair of thrusters or a more efficient bread-toaster. Our goals are unclear, even to me. Nobody in the chain of command was told why they were fighting for technology. Some suspect that nobody really knows. Rule number one: don’t question your superiors, you might not wake up the following morning.

A door opens on my left-hand side. A sleepy man, around twenty years old, emerges, rubbing his messy black hair as he looks around. He peers around through half-open eyes, then sees me. He manages a groggy salute as I swish past him.

“Morning, Captain…”

Hello, Jeral.

Jeral jumps, then remembers. “Don’t scare me like that. I don’t like to have voices bouncing around my head at three in the morning.”

Morning? There is no morning on this planet.

“Yeah, well the point is, stop it. I have a mission in a couple of hours, some spice merchants offering a sweet set of thrusters in exchange for protection on their trade runs. I’d rather not have to deal with voices that only I can hear while on the job.”

Very well then, good day.

Echo Base is stationed on the planet of Galidor, home of the flamdrenites. At least, it was the home of the flamdrenites until seventy five years ago, when an outdated Leviathan-Class Human Dreadnought 'accidentally' slammed into the planet’s surface, splitting it in two and tearing the atmosphere to shreds. The flamdrenites were wiped out for the most part. Some conspiracy theorists suspect that Artsugi Industries, the owner of the dreadnought, feared the flamdrenite's rapid pace of technological advancement and sought to halt them before they became a competitor in the arms manufacturing business. I personally hold them responsible for what happened.

I reach the mech hangar, which is already humming with activity as the first few pilots slide into their suits for their first missions of the day. Three o’clock in the morning, and Black Ops is already in business. One drop-ship, fully laden with ten suits, makes its way out of the hangar and into the air lock that separates the base from the outside world. Inside the air lock, gravity is reduced from the artificial force inside the base to the low-grav, zero-atmosphere world outside. The drop-ship would make its rounds around the Anderan System, dropping off pilots at their respective missions, then come back to ferry more pilots out to their jobs, each one going in alone. Rule number two, all missions are to be done solo, or you will be accused of being a coward and removed from Black Ops. As no pilot is allowed to leave the group alive, your only option left is death. I pass by a pair of young pilots, probably preparing for their first mission ever. As they see me, six feet tall and swathed in black tattered cloth, they give me a quick salute. I merely nod at them, not bothering to speak my thoughts to them lest they fall over in surprise.

Flamdrenites are simple creatures. We don't eat, instead relying on photosynthetic reactions that occur in the red "tiger stripes" all over our black bodies. We have heads, similar in size and shape to those of humans. However, we lack most of the sensory organs that humans possess. No ears, no nose, no mouth. Humans need them because they have nothing else to convey those senses to the brain. Those organs are useless for a species that can sense most things with the mind alone. When I communicate with others, I project my thoughts directly into their mind instead of using a mouth to speak. At first, it was difficult for me to ‘speak’ with others, as my thoughts were everywhere. Anyone who received my thoughts at full blast was hospitalized. However, I gradually got used to thinking in words, allowing humans to understand the basics and no more.

I arrive in front of my mech: Shiva, a small, sleek machine with wide-set legs that give it the appearance of a crouching animal. Some humans think it looks like a panther standing on two legs. I think it is beautiful. I had it colored black, with red stripes, mirroring the color of my body. I step towards it, and a small barrier of lasers emerge from the ground. I stick a clawed hand through the wall, allowing the security AI to check my DNA. Then proceed. Shiva rotates to face me as I step onto a retractable dock, standing motionless as the dock extends to reach the front of the mech. I reach out with my mind, grasping all the familiar systems of the mech, opening up the mech’s chest to allow me to enter. Unlike human mecha, I can control Shiva with my thoughts alone, though I have to be in close proximity to it in order to use it efficiently. I step off the dock and into the mech, strapping myself in and pulling down the headrest that analyzes my mind. I take a quick look around to make sure that nobody is looking, take off my cloak and hood, putting them off in a side compartment, then quickly close the mech’s chest up.

Shiva, unlike human mecha, lacks a camera head to view the outside world with, though I don't need one: I can view my surroundings through sensors set up throughout the mech that could detect sight, sound, smell, and even touch. My mind leaves my body as the sensors in the headrest integrate me into Shiva’s system. I can now see the mech as if looking from a third-person point of view, seeing all directions at once. Shiva runs the system warm-up, rotating various parts of the suit to make sure nothing is out of place. At the end of the hangar, I see the drop-ship coming back from its first round of ferrying, preparing to pick us up for our trip to work. As the drop-ship lands, the system warm-up finishes, and I can hear the photon reactor powering the mech humming happily behind me. All systems go, and we’re ready to roll.

I settle into my slot on the drop-ship, waiting as the hatch closes down on me. A low, distant rumble, and the drop-ship takes off. The air lock to Echo Base opens, and we slide out into the inky darkness of the airless surface of Galidor. I pause in the middle of suit check-ups to survey the planet of my ancestors, as I have done now thousands of times through the transparent metal porthole in the door of my slot’s hatch. The view is always the same. A great, dark expanse spreads out in all directions. On the horizon, mountains. Echo Base is located in the middle of a circular depression in Galidor’s surface, probably once a giant crater that has worn down to a bowl through erosion. I look up. The stars glow, unobscured by atmospheric dust and pollution as with other planets. Here, they do not twinkle, but stare at me, numerous and cold.

A metallic voice pops on over the intercom, disrupting my thoughts. “Entering warp gate now.” A pause. “Hold onto your breakfast.” I barely have time to react before the drop-ship disappears through a pirated warp gate orbiting Galidor, and reappear at another one orbiting the destination of the first pilot’s mission. I muse over the AI’s words for a moment. Apparently, all the chatter had gotten to its processor; now it was using human idioms. A small bump. I look out the hatch to see a suit descend from its slot on the drop-ship, flaring slightly orange as it enters the atmosphere of a jungle planet. Then we go through the warp gate again. At the next planet, another pilot disembarks. The third jump, and it’s my turn. I make contact with my clients on the planet below, and the mission briefing is sent to me in raw data form, for me to pore over at my leisure.

Mission Type: War Support Description: Give 12 hours of support to Organized Mecha Fighting Group in battle against forces of Artsugi Industries just outside city of Blackwater on planet of Cato. Reward: HRX-4 Ultralight Thrusters

As I read this brief statement, the drop-ship doors open, revealing the yawning expanse of space, nothing below but the mottled blue-grey surface of the planet Cato. Something about this mission rings a few bells in my head, but I don't have time to think as I give Shiva a small nudge out the door. Then, I'm falling, sucked downwards by gravity. To avoid burning up, I roll Shiva into a compact ball, allowing my armor plates absorb the heat of re-entry. Cato, being one of the largest planets and a highly urbanized one at that, has the longest drop and the fewest safe landing spots. More fun for me. The sky around me starts off a deep, dark blue, tinged with orange from the friction of passing through the planet's atmosphere. Paying no attention to the sky, I look downwards, zooming in on the target point. I find the city of Blackwater waiting below. As the planet's surface rises up to meet me, skyscrapers stabbing upwards like a thicket of spears, I see patches of orange blossom here and there. Looks like the battle is already underway. The first skyscraper rushes past my mech, a wall of glossy black glass rushing by. Half-a-mile to go. Then the next few, missing my mech by mere feet. Radar begins lighting up as I enter the battlefield, indicating streets, buildings, enemies. I fire thrusters at the last possible moment, slowing my descent just enough so I don't make a crater when I land.

Immediately, I'm under fire. A rocket misses my mech by a few feet, slamming into a building right behind me. Thrusters, now! I dodge out of the way as the building groans, then comes toppling down, blocking the entire street. Bullets whiz past me, and I instinctively raise my right arm, blindly aiming a shotgun. One blast, and a mech somersaults backwards, crashing into its comrades. My radar screams at me, sending me readings of twenty or so mechs heading down my way, all marked grey. I update my radar with the mission parameters, and half-a-dozen green dots light up on my screen, mostly behind me and to my left. Surrounding us on all sides is a thicket of red, nearly two-hundred strong. Mentally, I groan. That reward better be good.

Incoming missiles. I raise my left arm, and a massive energy blade erupts from my wrist. The missiles slam into the blade and detonate harmlessly away from my mech. The first of a stream of enemy mechs approaches me, missile racks empty. The mech suit looks up at me and pauses, in obvious doubt. Probably never saw an enemy mechsuit without a camera head. I slice the mech in half while its pilot is still gaping, my energy blade singing with the first kill. As the molten halves of the enemy mech slump to the ground, I see other mechs in the street pause in momentary shock. Curious as to their reactions, I manipulate my signal reader and hack into the enemy comm-link. The background music is always the same.

"What the..."

"What was that?"

"A headless mech?"

"Don't just stare, KEEP FIRING!!" This one, a gruff voice coming from one of the mech suits farther down the street, has me laughing inside as I pull out my next weapon. From my back, four curved barrels unfold, each one sporting an unearthly, dark glow from the laser crystals within. In preparation for the attack, I power down thrusters, switch off my energy blade, and set radar to semi-active. I let the capacitors build up, waiting for the humming to reach just the right pitch, then let loose. Four black beams lance outwards, instantly stabbing through the first few mechs and continuing further down the street in their deadly path. Then, I spread out my lasers just a little bit, carving up the buildings on either side and sending them crashing into the street in an avalanche of broken glass and twisted metal. Over the comm-links, I can hear my clients cheering and my opponents hastily vectoring mechs towards my position. How long had they been at this before I joined in? I scan the destroyed city, noting old battle scars beneath fresh ones. I don't envy whoever would be paying the war reparations, and I certainly don't envy the companies who owned the buildings. They will come back a week from now to find a mountain of rubble rather than a city.

Not once in my entire life have I ever questioned why I am doing this. Humans kill each other all the time, and for an alien like me, with no future in any other career, there is still a fortune to be made off of war. The way I see it, if I can earn a living coming up with cheaper, more efficient ways of killing people and then put such methods into practice, who is to complain? Other than the people being killed, of course. Besides, it was the humans, under Artsugi Industries, who had initiated xenocide against my species by destroying Galidor.

I turn my mind to the battle, scanning my radar for any enemies in the vicinity. One red blip close by. Out of the ruined street, a single mech emerges, apparently unscathed by the destruction I had unleashed. I lazily power up everything again and unleash a shotgun blast. The mechsuit skips under the blast and comes at me, twin energy blades flaring as it approaches. Over the comms, I hear a thin, high-pitched voice screaming, "For Artsugi!!" I blink, and connect the dots. In my head, I revisualize the mission statement, then the Leviathan-class Dreadnought, then the high-pitched voice. This battle just got personal. I dash forward to greet the mech, my own energy blade extending to full length. Our blades slam into each other's energy shields, and the other's blades break through my shield first, green energy coming uncomfortably close. I thruster backwards and upwards, settling into hover mode in mid-air, then rain down shotgun blasts all over. The blasts score a few glancing hits, but the other mech shrugs them off and fires its own thrusters, rising up to meet me. Our blades clash in mid-air with a fizzle of energy. For a moment, neither of us budges, and I get my first good look at my opponent.

The mech is a regulation grey, but with light blue streaks added randomly as an afterthought. It has a delicate built, suggesting its main purpose as a scout, though its twin blades, missile rack, and shoulder-mounted rifle give it enough firepower to hold its own against larger suits. While keeping the mech at bay, I run a scan with my mech's portable database, identifying the suit as an Artsugi-built Exalite model. Simple, cheap, and worthless in battle. I land a kick squarely in the mech's chest, pushing off, and counter with more shotgun blasts. The Exalite zooms upwards, dodging all my shots at close range, while letting loose a barrage of missiles. Way too many to block, and way too explosive to take head-on. Maybe this mech wasn't worthless after all. I slam thrusters downwards, hugging the ground, speeding away, with missiles trailing close behind.

Up ahead, an intersection. I slam my energy blade into the ground, using it as a pivot to swing around to my right at breakneck speeds. Dashing away from the intersection on foot, I hear two missiles explode as they try to cut corners and slam into a building. The others round the corner after me, rocket engines screaming, and I fire thrusters upwards again. Exalite is waiting right above me, and fires its rifle down upon my mech as I rise. Bullets strike my thrusters, causing one to splutter and slowing my ascent. I push thrusters up to full, trying to rise faster, but I can hear the missiles closing in and know that I'm going too slow. The impact of the first missile jerks my head around, banging it against the walls of my cockpit. The others follow up with a roar that rattles my entire body. I can feel the heat from the last of the explosions reaching out, trying to strangle me with its blast. That didn't bode well; somewhere my armor was breached. I glance at the readings. Armor down to below 50%, heat levels dangerously high. Thrusters temporarily out of action, and I'm fifty feet in the air. I hit the ground with a sickening crunch.

Exalite descends upon me like a surgeon getting to work on a brain tumor. Energy blades dig deep in carefully placed hits all over my mechsuit, but I don't let that progress far. As one blade is raised to my chest-plate to commence peeling away the armor there, I slam my energy sword into the mech's arm, catching the other pilot by surprise. Using the momentum from the slash, I swing my blade upwards, sending Exalite flying into the air, mechanical limbs flailing. When it reaches the top of its parabolic flight, I aim my shotgun and let loose. The first blast jolts the suit upwards about ten feet. The next four keep it pinned there in mid-air, jerking around loosely like a doll as bullets continue to pour in on it. I don't stop firing until my clip is empty as I unleash the full force of my fury upon the enemy. As my shotgun clicks hollowly, the enemy mech disappears from sight, only to return moments later in swift descent. When it lands, a plume of dust is kicked up, temporarily shrouding it from view. I check my own status, find my legs still functional, get up, and walk over to examine the mech's carcass as the dust settles.

There isn't much left that you could call a mechsuit. The head has been half-blown away from repeated shotgun blasts, one camera eye still staring dolefully out of what is left of its face. The arms and legs are mangled beyond recognition, loose wires crackling, no longer able to send signals to tell the mech to move. The mech's armored torso lay cracked open, revealing the chest cavity within that held the mech cockpit. That, too, has been shredded open, and I get my first look at the pilot behind the mech. I zoom in on the crack in the chest-plate. All I see is a single eye staring back at me, glinting blue. Curious, I draw my still-functioning energy blade and carve open the cockpit, removing the chest-plate altogether. Then I stare.

Strapped into the cockpit, wearing a torn and burnt regulation pilot's suit, is a human girl no more than twelve years old, with singed red hair and blue eyes that seem to stare straight at me, trembling with fear. Somewhere inside me, a reality comes crashing down. This is all wrong. I came here to fight, not to kill little girls. I have never realized before that there is no distinction, and that two very different things can be one and the same. I almost want to climb out of my mech and help the girl, even with the sounds of war still raging all around. The girl coughs, and a dribble of red trickles down the edge of her mouth. She looks down, pulling a shotgun bullet out of her belly and staring at it like a curio. I know that I never fired a shot at her; yet I know that I've killed her with that bullet. The contradiction doesn't matter. In my head, things start moving in all directions at once. I reach out with my mind, sending one, swift little message to the girl.

I'm sorry.

The girl sits up a little, looking around, reaches up to unstrap herself. She fumbles with the straps for a moment before giving up in exhaustion, and instead looks straight at me again. She is pale now, too pale to move around much. Yet I see a corner of her mouth turn upwards, and her eyes twinkle for a brief moment. Then, her suit's engine, overcooked by battle damage, goes critical, and the mech explodes.

For the rest of the mission, I find no joy in the battle. The other enemies provide no challenge of course. It is like walking through a human museum, taking shots at statues perfectly posed to accept their deaths. And, at the very end, I don't feel like getting out of my mech to accept my clients' thanks and claim my reward. Instead, the Organized Mech Fighting Group loads the thrusters into the drop-ship when it arrives, and I depart without a word. Once inside the drop-ship, I take one glance at the thrusters, and that's enough. They're not even good thrusters, leftovers from last year's models. And for some reason, I just want to shoot them. Even with an empty shotgun, an overused energy sword, and depleted laser crystals, I just want to shoot the thrusters until they burst into flaming pieces. Then I feel like crying. Of all the human emotions, sadness was the one I understood the least. Now I feel like crying, a cocktail of emotions bubbling up inside. Two hundred lives ended, a girl's smile extinguished. All for some thrusters.




Cow Face -> RE: Book of War (5/24/2010 13:27:46)

Total War
by Sheriff Duncan

Drumbeats and horses. Guns and blades.
Immortal war that will not end
A terrible sight a blood cloud does shade
Some of us fighting our once-called-friend.

The sounds of explosions beat my Wall.
The strangers are here; they try to enter.
I won't allow them;
They took everything from me.



The quill left his hands as Jeremiah Roberts rubbed his face. The night air was filled with the sound of distant battle, carried to his ears by the cold Pennsylvania air. The war had lasted far longer than anyone had anticipated. Early on, it was expected to be a family affair. Jeremiah remembered taking his daughter, Rebecca, to the side of the battlefield.

He and Rebecca sat in their carriage on a hill near the engagement. No one expected anything more than a quick battle, but the carnage was more than anyone could have predicted.


As the Higher fought the Lower
the field was stained red
We spectators cried
As the monster was fed


Roberts again turned away as he heard Ruth stirring in the room next door. He absentmindedly adjusted the burning lantern next to him as he thought about her situation. Ruth was a former slave, she was temporarily staying here on her way towards the Canadian border. Mister Roberts was a writer, abolitionist, and active conspirator in the Underground Railroad, so he was more than willing to allow Ruth into his home.

The worm which flees from the crow
Seeks shelter on this road
It pleads for help, in this world
This world of no hospitality


As Ruth made her way into the room, guided by another small candle, she noticed Jeremiah sitting at the table, burning the midnight oil. She had often seen him writing. He was sleepless and it could be seen on his face. The war had taken so much, and it was likely to take him before a peace was made.

Ruth sat there, shielding the candle from the cold breeze that seeped through the cracks in the old wooden walls. Her face wracked with concern as she watched the most gracious man she had ever met fall into disrepair like this.

At one time, Master Roberts had amber curls which spread to his neck, a flowing mustache of exceptional grooming, and the deepest blue eyes capable of making the ocean envious. His physique was not that of a soldier, but he was more than able to take care of the everyday chores like chopping firewood.

Now, a mere shadow of his former self, Ruth watched Roberts slouch in his handmade chair, pouring over his parchment with ink quill in hand. The master's amber curls had turned to wiry grey clumps. His mustache had lost the pompous aire it once carried and now sat limp along his lip. And the blue eyes that could once woo a lass from a mile away, now remained eternally glossy and faded.

As I stare at this page
I am reminded of a time;
A time of happiness, the Age
I cannot help but smile


The master stood and turned to face Ruth. She saw that he had not slept in days, the desperation hung around Roberts like a fog. The two stood, interlocked in a blind stare. Ruth noticed a lack of response to the master's eyes; there were deep bags below them and a glazed look that showed there was no reaction to what they took in.

She made a move towards him, trying to assist. "What can I do?" she asked, hoping that in some way she could save him from the pit in which she found him. "Please, come lay down." Ruth set down her candle and led Jeremiah to his bed. The structure had been made by a happier and livelier Master Roberts, and sank under his weight, mimicking its maker's spirit.

Jeremiah did not speak. He sat in bed until Ruth pushed his body down. The caring ex-slave ran to fetch a towel from the cupboard and a bowl from the kitchen. She skillfully filled the bowl with water from the pump outside, and soaked the towel to cleanse the shell of a man. Ruth began to sing as she dampened the man's forehead. The beautiful melody carried throughout the home and flew along the night air. Her voice, though low and raspy from a long life, displayed perfectly the tune of the song.

In times of trouble look up to the Lord
He is mine though I will not hoard.

Happiness and piece of mind
Brought about for all mankind.

Honey, peace be to you,
May all your troubles be gone.
Peace be to you,
This world can't do no harm,

Oh, in those times of trouble,
He'll send help on the double

Ask for it and forgiveness is yours
And take what you will from God's golden shores.


As she finished her song, Ruth looked down into the glaring eyes of the man she now found herself nursing. His movement was unnatural, his hand was embracing the other and seemed to almost twitch over his stomach. Ruth examined his hands and found that he was not twitching, but rather trying to write. She raced to the desk, grabbed the ink, quill, and parchment and bore witness to what he wrote.

'Peace be to you,
May all your troubles be gone.
Peace be to you,
This world can't do no harm.'

The siren spoke these words to me
Breath leaves me now
My last words to you
Bury this body by Hers.


A poet to the end. Ruth watched as the quill fell from the lifeless fingers which once fervently embraced it. In her grief, Ruth sang.

In times of trouble look up to the Lord
He is mine though I will not hoard.

Happiness and piece of mind
Brought about for all mankind.

Honey, peace be to you,
May all your troubles be gone.
Peace be to you,
This world can't do no harm,

Oh, in those times of trouble,
He'll send help on the double

Ask for it and forgiveness is yours
Where you are going, there are no wars.




Fleur Du Mal -> RE: Book of War (5/24/2010 14:25:09)

Wrongly Entombed
by Horusmaster9

“Inspector, I believe this is what we needed to find,” the man said, gingerly moving his hand down the prison cell’s wall. It was no mistake. The carvings were indeed intentional. And real.

“You certainly have quite the eye, constable; I’m not certain that I would catch that myself in all of this darkness,” the inspector said. “I will take it from here, then? I will be most sure to put in a good word for you.”

“Very well, sir.” With that, the constable left the inspector to himself. His job was done, and he was glad. The prison seemed to extract any happiness the constable had. It was not his place.

The inspector extracted a small notepad and pen from his pockets. He moved up to the wall. It made him shiver to see all of the words carved into the wall. He was looking at the words of a murderer who had been executed a week before the inspector's arrival in the prison, and thinking of that made him feel a little out of place. The prison was not where he belonged. No, he belonged in his office. But this was his case. To think that he had caused a fellow man to go mad was almost too much for him. But he did this almost monthly. Why should this singularity faze him in the least?

But that was irrelevant, he told himself. This was his profession. “I suppose I should start.”

The inspector put the pen to the paper...


I remember it. I see it play through my head every night since the incident even though I wasn’t there. I imagine what could have happened, what I might have committed. The casualties were more than I could bear there, so how in God’s name would I be able to see that on the soil of my home, our great nation? Tomorrow, I pay for my sins. But today, I repent and confess as if I could possibly be forgiven from the sin that will hover above my gravestone.

As a young man, I longed for adventure in the unexplored Dark Continent. It is not, I believe, too extraordinary to think that a child might admire the epic battles won by the heroes of our great nation. Even in my home town, a small cluster of homes of reasonable peace, the children would attempt to reenact the battles of Crimea with great zeal. I, myself, had long admired my father who had allegedly attempted to fight off a whole army of those barbarians to save his own unit. So, like my buried father, I, too, joined our nation’s proud army. It was a childish dream, yes, but a wasted pursuit of something else would have made me a different person.

The night before I left, my friend had told me a story. Others may not have found it extraordinarily entertaining, but I found her story to be very touching; I loved it. I do not remember much of it, but she did mention something about dragons and cookies. Just imagine what sort of mind it takes to use both dragons and cookies in the same story! Still, even though it had a queer subject and was a really silly story, it sounded like an angel’s chorus from my friend’s lips. I had loved her for a long time, too, and, since I was leaving, I hung close to her every word. After she finished, I promised that I would marry her. It may have been a quick few words, but I had meant every single word that left my lips, and hoped that she would take them the same way that I took her words. It was certainly something I would not forget during my service.

When I finally arrived to where I was supposed to, I found everything to be quite dull. There was little to do. There were a few wagons and boxes of ammunition to carry around from time to time, but nothing really struck me as incredible as the war stories my father brought before he died. This was not the kind of war I belonged in. All our commanders ever told us were complaints about slow supplies.

The mist rolled in early in the morning, and it was almost impossible to see past ten feet in front. But, when one of our sentries shot into the air, we were up and ready in moments. However, he had accidentally fired a shot, and most of us went back to bed almost as quickly as we came out. I, however, refused to sleep. There was something eerie that night, so, naturally, I couldn’t help but stay alert. I could feel some kind of presence lingering in the air. The others probably felt nothing, but I most certainly sensed it. My suspicions were confirmed when, later, all of our sentries fired shots.

They had seen a horde of our enemies in the mist. We were surrounded.

Those beasts fired their muskets, probably taken from our nation’s valiant men, and threw their crude yet somehow elegant spears in a volley of death. Many of our men died in the first shower, and many others only awoke upon the death of their allies. Our commander was impaled with a spear, so the rest of the survivors were forced to fight without orders. It was an unholy mess, and I contributed to the bloodshed. We tried to flee into a river, but the enemies caught up, slaughtering many of our men with whatever they could use or misuse.

With the sight of all of the corpses in the river, I was forced to play dead in an attempt to survive. I floated down the water, bumping into the bodies of those who were once my lively chums. With a morbid thought, I imagined this river to be a graveyard. And, with even more people dropping dead into the river, it quickly became a mobile, watery necropolis. I learned one thing from that single experience. Being buried alive is even worse than Poe had portrayed.

In time, the firing and the screaming stopped. After I had determined that the area was safe, I left the dirty, bloody waters and made my way back to camp. No one followed me. I was alone on my way to the camp. I was alone in the mists. I was alone. I would have killed myself had I not promised my friend that I would return home for her.

Thankfully, or perhaps not, I was discovered by the good men of our great country. Apparently, during the battle at the river, the next highest ranking commander had fled “to warn those who could help.” So, to not stain the reputation of that man, I was sent home immediately, or as immediately as the authorities could send me. I thanked God for this providence. I survived where no one did. And I was going home to our great nation. I was going home to leave this place I did not belong in. I was going home to marry my beloved friend.

When I first arrived in our great nation, I was forced to wait two more weeks before I could finally return to my home and wed her. I stayed in an inn. It wasn’t too bad, in fact, it was one of the most excellent places I had ever stayed in. And since I had nothing aside from my uniform to wear, I was showered with respect and thanks even from the classy gentlemen who lodged there. There was little to prevent me from retelling my single story to those who asked what I did in my service and, eventually, to the crowds who gathered in the lobby to listen.

About a week after my arrival, I was most overjoyed to receive a letter from my beloved friend. In the letter, she stated that she was going to arrive in about five days to see me home and to listen to my stories from the war. I could have floated through the halls.

From there, however, I began to have nightmares. My comrades would appear as happy as could be in one instant. In the next, they would be with me, floating down that river of death. In another flash, I would see the ape-like faces of our enemies laughing at our misery. Several times, I awoke during my nightmares in a cold sweat. The foggy nights that frequented that week made it even worse. The memories would not fade. They would forever haunt me. They were mine.

Then, on the hazy night that my friend was to bring me home to a wedding, I happened to pass by a man with a composition and complexion that was uncannily similar to those accursed, bestial men that butchered my people. He sat down at a table near mine, taking a gulp from a strangely shaped cup of his that, I thought, could belong to no one but a barbarian. No one but a killer. And the last thing I wanted in my great country was a killer.

So what else could I do? His face, like the very apes from the Dark Continent, turned to face me, smiling as if he wanted to mock my survival. His suit, his hat, his cane, they were all for naught. None of them would be able to disguise his inner atrocity from me.

Now, I regret that I had characterized the gentleman like them. Had I known him better, we might have been friends. But that was not possible then. My mind was not in a right state, after all the things I have seen. I was delusional. In fact, the rest of my memory from that time is hazy, and I do not remember much.

But I do remember some things from the event. I remember taking up a nearby lamp, frightening those close to it. I remember picking him up by the collar and glaring into his eyes. I remember a great conflagration, no doubt started by me. I remember screaming from everyone. I remember blood on my own hands. I remember tears from my own eyes. And then, the last thing I remembered was my friend. She was confessing her love for me! I could hear her angelic voice soaring through the smoke to meet my tortured ears! Each word soothed my anger little by little. And then it struck me. I had done something horribly wrong. I had murdered a man. My fellow brother.

In the chaos and confusion that I caused, I ran to my friend. But she was still under a door’s frame. The flames picked up from within the building, and she was consumed with the door. Her screaming rang in my ears, and her beautiful voice was forever silenced. My world shattered. And it was my fault.

My fault. My fault. My fault. My fault. My fault.

And I? I sit on the bench under this wall, one night before my execution.

I wish to see my friend! I want to hear her melodious voice, her stories! O Lord, forgive me for my sins!


The inspector had finished his current task at hand. He placed his notepad and pen back into his pockets. He scanned over the wall once more. The inspector took a mental note of the almost frenzied way that the convict had written in, especially the last few lines. But the convict would have to be frenzied to even carve such a thing into the wall in the first place, anyway. Still, he could not help but picture the convict carving the last lines like a madman.

“That man never belonged in that place. He seems to be quite the poor fellow,” the inspector muttered to himself. He knelt down, placing his hands together. He prayed for the convict. The inspector wanted him to be in the place that suited him, the place where he could be with his lover. He prayed for the right tomb for the misplaced man.

“Live well.”




Fleur Du Mal -> RE: Book of War (5/24/2010 14:27:33)

Empty Fields
by Clyde

The dust settles
and a truth is revealed.
That none of us wanted,
but we knew was real.

The sons of fathers,
and fathers of daughters.
Lay here in crimson sands,
the aftermath of slaughter.

Is this what we fought for?
Is this what we win?
To take another life,
I can see it in your grin.

Covered in metal,
I've never felt so exposed.
Standing by my brothers,
I've never felt so alone.

You got what you wanted,
and yet act so free.
They're all gone now,
and your fingers stay clean.

Those same ones,
that shook their hands.
Now has lead them,
straight to their deaths.

With a field so empty,
it's not hard to forget.
All those people
and their empty threats.

"Is this war?"
He whims.
He asks for more,
with that grin.

When the dust settles,
the truth will be revealed.
Surrounded by metal,
our wounds won't be healed.

Covered in dirt,
I've never felt so exposed.
In this grave with my brothers,
I never was alone.




Fleur Du Mal -> RE: Book of War (5/24/2010 14:29:48)

What Gain?
by Shreder

Roran plodded along, fighting through the clinging mud that sucked at his feet and made mere walking exhausting. A drizzle of cold rain continued to fall, chilling him as it soaked into his bones. It seemed that every day was the same: long monotonous treks through the uncomfortable weather, only to stop for the night and shiver, fires having been forbidden to avoid alerting any enemies that might or might not be out there. Often, he wondered if there even was a point to any of this…

Eventually, they crested a hill, the ground in front of them sloping down into a short stretch of plain before being swallowed up by a dense forest of grayish-green trees. The General called a halt, and surveyed the terrain ahead of them with wary eyes. All seemed well, so he signaled for them to continue down the hill. Roran grudgingly set himself in motion again, longing to stop, to rest, to be warm and well fed. But he knew these were all impossible right now.

They made their way down the hill; there was now about one hundred yards between them and the dark forest. Roran was loathing to go into that forest; its gloom seemed all-encompassing. But still, he had no choice. A sense of apprehension was evident on the faces of many of those near him, but still they had to march on. When they were about sixty yards from the trees, the forest erupted. Savages, their faces painted with fearsome shades of blue, leapt out from the trees and from holes in the ground, and emerged to challenge the oncoming army.

Then came the sound of war-cries from behind them, and they realized they had been trapped. The savages who had come up behind them came charging down the hill, roaring and shrieking as they came. The General’s voice could be heard over the tumult, “We may not survive boys, but let’s give them one hell of a fight! Charge!”

And with that, they all charged as one, running towards the savages who had emerged from the forest. As they drew nearer, they could see the angry scowls on the crudely painted faces of those they called enemies. Suddenly, with a great clash, the two forces collided. Roran gasped as he felt a burning pain pierce his chest, and looked down to find himself impaled on a lance that had suddenly been raised from the ground right before the two groups had met. His legs folded under him, and he collapsed on the ground, giving a weak whinny as his rider tumbled from him. He lay upon the ground, flanks heaving, as he watched a savage lop off his rider’s head with a hatchet. As death drew close around him, he couldn’t help but wonder: “What gain do humans find in this?”




Eukara Vox -> RE: Book of War (5/30/2010 16:28:59)

The war goes on....


The section that was about gardening on various worlds across the multiverse exploded, victims shooting up in to the air then slowly fluttering down to take their place amongst the already motley crew of parchments now acting as the library's carpet. Eukara Vox muttered something under her breath, more likely than not, something she picked up on Terra the year she went sailing.

Quiet paws ran across the floor, chasing Redcap after Redcap. Scrambling through bookcases and over tables, Slash tried her best to keep up with the devious creatures. I do not think this tactic is working, Ms. Vox. I cannot catch them, and I am a familiar who should have more skills and speed than your average feline. Slash's voice quietly intruded into Eukara's mind.

"Alright, Slash. I am at a loss. We get one section back and cleaned up, only to watch another be destroyed. I think we need help and I know exactly who to ask. She is one of those that assists me and will have a edge on these foul creatures. Her name is Gianna Glow."

And what makes this Gianna Glow what we need? A crash follows Slash's question, along with a yowl from a Redcap. Got you, you pathetic excuse for a evil creature. The air felt as if it changed pressure slightly, indicating at least one Redcap was sent back where it belonged.

"Good job, Slash. And she is perfect for this, because she is a fairy. Not a Terran fairy, but close enough. Fight fire with fire, in a way." Eukara said quickly, taking off after a Redcap headed for the Fantasy area. "Oh no you don't. I just fixed that section!"

The Redcap giggled madly.

"Gianna!" Eukara called out, frustrated.

Suddenly everything was silent for an instant as a small giggle was heard. A small green head poked over the edge of a bookshelf, peering down at the mess surrounding Slash and Eukara.

"You calling me? I do have to say, there is quite a mess here. It is bad even for you, my dear Ms. Eukara. Quite bad. I just overheard something about needing my help?"

"Yes! I thought you of all people would understand my predicament and the war going on in my library. All these... horrid creatures, these... these Redcaps from Terra are destroying everything! Just in time for me to start reassessing the war section. Do you have any suggestions?"

Gianna suddenly grinned evilly.

"Of course I have suggestions. You were thinking of hitting fire with fire, correct? I have just a great couple of ideas. Eukara and Slash, there are parts you two are going to have to work together on, but the first part I can handle myself, I do believe. With a little time bending in certain areas of your library, I may be able to save some of your books. However, we're gonna need a big diversion and boy do I mean big."

Gianna slid off of the bookshelf, glided down to Eukara's shoulder, lightly landed, and then proceeded to sit cross-legged beside Eukara's ear, whispering plans for the diversion into it.

"See, they won't know what hit them."

Eukara Vox nods and looks at Slash. "We have some work to do. First... I need to find an old book used on Terra. I mean, really old book. Seems to be fancied by a large group of humans on that planet. It's called a Bible."

A Bible? That sounds weird. Why would anyone name a book... Book? Slash furrowed her feline brow. But if you need to seek that out, then I will provide a distraction. These creatures are just way to fast, but they can't jump very well. Away I go!

Eukara watched Slash take off like lightning, bounding around a couple of Redcaps causing one to become dizzy and fall down. This seemed to infuriate them and the pursuit was on. As each Redcap joined the circus, because in all reality that is what it was, Eukara searched for the book known as Bible.

"Bible... now what section would that be in and why in the many worlds would that work against these horrors?" She looked high and low, and finally, in the religion section of the library, she found it. It was highly dusty, and she blew on it to clean it off. It set off a strong of coughs that caused Eukara some pain. "Well, I can tell this book isn't used much at all."

Opening the huge book, Eukara soon found that it wasn't just one book, but many. "Now how am I supposed to know which of these to use?" she asked, exasperated.

"Ok, first off, the Bible is considered a 'Holy' book. Its actually made of many little books though. Now, according to my knowledge of these particular little guys, anything that is 'Fey' on Terra is harmed by powers that are considered 'Holy'. So reading some of the chapters should harm them and not me. We may have quite a few choosing to leave out of their own accord. Slash can take care a quite a few more. They shouldn't like moving too much while you are reading. I would suggest starting either in Psalms or Proverbs. Both are very good in their own accord and should give me plenty of time to hide as many sections of your library in safe parts of time as I can. Got it?"

"Got it."

Gianna quickly took off with a nod and an overly happy grin on her face as she headed straight toward the largest destroyed section. She went to the middle and twirled in a circle, surveying the damage really quick. She then looked crossed her arms across her chest as she floated above one of the bookcases. Closing her eye, the whole section began to disappear from Eukara and Slash's view.

"Now Eukara!"

Eukara takes a big breath and begins to read out of the book called proverbs. "Well, here goes nothing.

'Listen, my son, to your father's instruction and do not forsake your mother's teaching. They will be a garland to grace your head and a chain to adorn your neck.'

"Well, that is useful advice. I wonder how many people who read this book ever followed that advice?"

Slash's claws clicked on the marble surface. I wonder how many Redcaps will die if you don't keep reading?

"Ouch, such attitude. I will have to tell Alex about that. Fine, fine." Eukara Vox continued to read through Proverbs.

'Wisdom will save you from evil people, from those whose words are twisted.
These men turn from the right way to walk down dark paths.
They take pleasure in doing wrong, and they enjoy the twisted ways of evil.
Their actions are crooked, and their ways are wrong.'

Literally out of nowhere, Gianna suddenly dropped onto Eukara's shoulder, her hair askew and wings drooping.

"That was harder than I thought. There is a stronger magic that has a hold on those books than I can pull. I suspect its your magic. The books are meant to stay with you and this is probably what will happen. I think I can move a couple of more sections, but that's probably about it for that idea. We'll have to come up with other ideas. How is the diversion coming?"

Eukara looks over at Slash and chuckles. She appeared to be messing with the now slower Redcaps. She pounced on one and a distinct *pop* was heard. Slash sat and licked a paw as if it was nothing to her. The other Redcaps scattered. Well, what are you waiting for. Read some more! You are making this too much fun. They scramble like mice walking in their sleep!

"Slash says she is having fun. Should I read more or something else?" Eukara looked at Gianna and sighed.

"Sounds good to me. I think I have the energy for one more section. Have a request?"

"Well, the religion section is special, as all those beliefs and stories form across the multiverse are so fascinating, if you don't mind." Suddenly, somewhere to the far left of the library the skittering of cat claws came to an abrupt stop.

"Slash?"

Uh oh.......

"What do you mean, uh--" The sound of a waterfall of books echoed through the library with a huge explosion. The clapping sound of each book hitting the floor made Eukara flinched. The sound traveled from one shelf to another, making its way towards Eukara at an alarming speed.

Stack after stack tumbled off the tops of shelves, scattering books, bending spines and creasing pages. "My.. my... books!"

Gianna stared at all of the books, wide-eyed and open-mouthed in shock. She flung herself into the air, scanning for Slash.

"Euki! It's not just your books! I can't see Slash anywhere! I think she is buried under those books! We've got to do something fast, but the books are still falling. Run Eukara! Is there any section of your library that doesn't have book that could fall on us?"

Suddenly Gianna screeched as a book directly hit her on the back of the head, causing her to fall to the ground senseless.

"Oh no! Gianna!" Eukara ran over to where Gianna fell to the ground and picked her up carefully before fleeing to her office. It was a small room, only for business, but devoid of books. She sets Gianna carefully on her desk and paces. As she looked out into the library, a huge book of plant life on a planet called Snorflux came flying towards her. She slammed the door just in time. The harsh thud made her sigh and slump down the wall. "What am I going to do. If these guys get braver, I am in trouble. Slowed or not, if they get their weapons out, I am afraid I am in big trouble. My magic isn't for fighting."

Sure enough, as soon as Eukara stood and looked out of the modest window nearest her desk, she saw the Redcaps approaching, pikes in hand. A rather large Redcap held an unconscious Slash up in the air with a look of triumph.

"Slash!" Now infuriated, her library nearly in shambles, her friend's familiar and one of her greatest assistants unconscious, Eukara glared at the taunting Redcap. She flung the door open and glared at the creatures, whose eyes had begun to glow a very unholy red. She stood, arms akimbo and feet shoulder width apart.

"This has gone far enough, you foul unholy creatures of Terra. I don't know why you are here, but your stay has come to an end."

The large redcap howled with laughter. "No one ever knows why we come and go, why we stay or leave. They just know that when we are where we want to be, you are stuck with us for eternity."

Every Redcap lowered their pikes, aiming for Eukara Vox. She didn't move or flinch, keeping her eyes on them, one by one. Her gaze touched each... it was the gaze she used on the students she taught on Lore. A couple stepped back, their pikes slightly lowered.

"That's right. Let me get a good look at you. Let my eyes pierce your souls and smash your spirit into oblivion." Eukara took a step forward, her gaze still passing over each Redcap in turn. As a group, they retreated one step.

Suddenly a low groan echoed out from Eukara's office as Gianna started to roll over, then stopped right before crushing one of her wings. Another moan of pain was heard as she reached her hand out to grab her wings and pull them flat against her back, allowing her to finish rolling onto her back. Gianna laid there for a minute before she sat up. Instantly, her head started spinning.

"Well, don't think I'll be flying anytime soon. I wonder what hit me."

Cautiously, Gianna reached back and felt the back of her head. Some dried green blood came off in her hand. She sighed and explored the rest of herself looking for more injuries.

"Well, this is gonna be interesting to create a healing spell when I need it for me."

Eukara turned around to look at Gianna. "We will make sure you are right as rain before all is over with. But for now..." she grabbed the Bible and opened it up randomly and looked down. "Psalms... hehe, this will work!" She began to read.

'Blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked, or stand in the way of sinners, or sit in the seat of mockers.
He is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither.
Whatever he does prospers. Not so the wicked! They are like chaff that the wind blows away'

The knees of each Redcap buckled, causing them to the floor. Even the larger one, the one who taunted and sneered at Eukara, fell to his knees. She paused, looking at each one in turn. She closed the book and then held out her hand, palm up, whispering words of magic. Scraps of paper began to levitate, each one in turn folding themselves into little origami birds. At her command, each bird attacked the Redcaps, causing papercut after papercut. The Redcaps ran around madly, trying desperately to be rid of the attackers.

A giggle erupted from Eukara's desk as Gianna slapped a hand over her mouth, trying not to make too much noise. Suddenly her eyes lit up with an idea.

"Come on magic, just a little more for the moment."

Gianna's eyes began to glow a fearsome green as she disappeared from the desk and appeared in the midst of the Redcaps, right next to the unconcious Slash. Her eyes still glowing, she laid her hands on Slash's head and muttered some words under her breath. When she breathed her last word out of the spell, a blinding green light hid both Slash and Gianna from both the Redcaps and Eukara's eyes. When the light faded, Slash and Gianna were gone.

Slash gone, the Redcaps now had nothing to barter. The leader growled and pointed at Eukara. "You think this is over? We have messed up your library, but now that you have tried to fight back, we will show no mercy. We will destroy this place!" He bellowed out something in his language, trying to rally his troops.

"Not in my house, you don't!" She snapped her fingers and all the tiny birds began to congregate, swarming in the midst of the group.

One by one they unfolded and joined, building themselves into a large dragon. The origami dragon roared and bit at the redcaps, slicing the skin of any creature it touched. Redcaps screamed as their wounds become more and more unbearable. They scattered, running away from the dragon and their commander. One by one, the subtle magical pop was felt when each Redcap disappeared into their own world. It continued until the large commander remained.

Gianna appeared on Eukara's shoulder, one of her wing hanging a little limply.

"Eukara, let me handle him. He and I have had many problems in the past. He probably showed up because of my visit. Slash is in your office, still unconcious, but mostly healed. I have some ideas I've been wanting to try on the commander. However, you might want to use your magic to concentrate on shielding the books from inside your office. Things aren't going to be pretty out here."

Gianna attempted to fly off Eukara's shoulder, but instead veered savagely to one side. She growled and teleported straight to the ground.

"At least I have space and time magic as well. Now, Commander Gorse, you've been bugging me since I can remember. Now, for a time fairy to say that, that's a long time. Thousands upon thousands of years and as of now I am officially done. You have incited one too many wars and dangers close to my friends, but to try and host a war within The Library? That is the unspeakable evil that even all Fey follow. I am therefore summoning you up before the Fey tribunal as is my right as the Queen of the Fairies. You must answer to all of your kin. You may choose to go willingly or unwillingly, but you will go. Now choose Gorse."

Commander Gorse chuckled madly. "You... are going to... punish me? I don't think so."

Gianna grins impishly, if that was possible for a fairy. "You do not believe me I see. So, the hard way it is Gorse. For defying a member of the High Fey Council, I hereby strip you of your rank. It will be reassigned to another by the Terran Fey Council. Also, I do believe that if we're doing this the hard way, I need to fix myself first."

She muttered a few quick words under her breath, her wide green eyes glowing yet again. A small rainbow made up of many shades of green encircled her and healed her completely, also changing her torn cloths into royal fighting raiment. She then reached into a small pocket and pulled out a staff. "I do hope you are suitably armed, because I am giving you five seconds to give in before I attack, Gorse. Do you change your mind?"

"I will never, ever bow to you. You are just a fairy. A small projection of childish dreams and hopes. Your strength is whole as long as children dream. That is rapidly losing its strength. But, nightmares... they will be around for eternity." Commander Dorse laughed and shook his head. "You do not scare me, flutterby."

"Flutterby? I am a fairy, but I am a fairy born of many things. My people are born of more than just children's dreams. They are born of every person's hopes and dreams, no matter the age, culture, planet, time, or universe. Thus you have no power. You should have listened and accepted when you had the choice. Now you are beyond hope."

Gianna suddenly flew twenty feet up in the air and held her staff out and started a summoning spell.


to be continued...




Eukara Vox -> RE: Book of War (5/30/2010 17:18:27)

Redemption through War
By. Torn


Torn sat upon the hill continued to sob.

“What have I done?” Torn said to himself for what was probably the hundredth time. Torn heard footsteps behind him, muffled by the grass. Torn turned his head and saw the Mayor of Rekar: Tato, and all of the other villagers. Mayor Tato was a short man and quite large as well. He was bald, had a unibrow, and a thick moustache.

“T-Tato…” Torn stood and stared at villagers. The villagers looked past Torn and at Orvis’ corpse,

“Torn, did you…” Larion, the innkeeper asked. Torn sniffed and nodded. Tato scrunched his unibrow in a frown.

“Prince Torn, son of King Acorus, you are hereby under arrest for the crime of murder.” Naron, the village sheriff said, stepping out of the crowd, binding Torn’s wrist’s with a length of rope. Torn did not fight back and allowed Naron to drag him back to the village. Torn fell asleep as the villagers stared in shock.

* * *


The war was the first time I ever actually killed a person. It was also the first time Orvis and I began to trust one another. My father never believed that a war like this would happen in his lifetime, let alone mine. Our neighbor kingdom: Loreằ invaded the military town of Lagos. The town was quickly conquered and the Loreằsion’s now had a foothold in our kingdom. My father was outraged and immediately prepared his soldiers for a counterstrike. My sister, Elano, and I pleaded for him to seek a peaceful diplomatic solution, but he said that children could not understand such matters. He would soon wish that he had listened to us.

* * *


Naron led Torn down the hill and into the village below. Naron brought Torn to the middle of the town, where a statue of the of the town founder had been erected. Naron brought a second length of rope and fashioned it into a noose. The villagers hurried into the village as Naron placed the noose on the statue’s outstretched hand, Mayor Tato stormed over to Naron, his piggy eyes full of anger.

“Sheriff Naron, I demand to know what you are doing!”

Naron gave an annoyed sigh and ran a hand through his greasy black hair.

“Mayor Tato, you know as well as I do that the penalty for murder and any that assist said murderer shall hang. Do you not remember, sir?” Naron said his oily voice full of venom. Mayor Tato sighed and nodded. He motioned for Naron to continue the execution. The villagers roared with outrage but was silenced by the Mayor. Naron went to the nearby inn and returned moments later with a wooden stool. Naron placed the stool below the noose. Naron placed the noose around Torn’s neck. Torn sucked in what was probably his last breath. Naron kicked the stool out from under Torn’s feet just as a dagger flew through the air, cutting the noose's rope in two. A cloaked figure jumped out of the crowd and lifted Torn to his feet.

“Come on!” The cloaked figure yelled, grabbing Torn’s wrist and began to run from the crowd of villagers.

“After them!” Naron yelled. None of the villagers moved. “Did you not hear me? After them!” Again, none of the villagers moved. Naron yelled in anger and ran after Torn and his savior.

* * *


My father was in shock when we learned that the entire army he sent as a counterstrike was defeated, with no survivors.

“How is that possible? Those were some of my best men!” My father yelled. He waved his hand, telling the messenger to leave. As soon as the messenger left, two guards burst in with a young man dressed in ragged black robes. He had a wild look in his glowing red eyes.

“Sir, we found this necromancer in the graveyard, what shall we do with him, sir?”

“Kill him,” said my father.

“Father, spare this necromancer. He is a ‘friend’ of mine.” I said as the guards began to drag him out of the throne room. My father sighed and told the guards to release him. The necromancer scrambled over to my side and whispered in my ear.

“Thanks. My name is Orvis.”

“You owe me.” I whispered back. The guards left, but before the doors closed General Teré entered. She was garbed in a leather bodysuit, iron gauntlets, bracers and iron plating on her torso. She walked to our thrones and bowed.

“My lord, word says that the enemy has taken more of our cities and are closing in on the capitol. The only thing stopping them at this point is the village Ralas and the Kaos Plains.” My father stood from his throne and began to pace around the room.

“Rally all of my soldiers for war. Any man that is old enough and strong enough to hold a blade must be brought as well. Tell my servants to get my armor and my children’s armor ready.” General Teré bowed and left.

“Why do we need our armor father?” Elano asked. My father turned to her and smiled grimly.

“We are going to war.”

* * *


The cloaked figure dragged Torn behind a building and covered his mouth with its hand. They stayed that way for what seemed hours. Finally the figure relaxed and removed it hand from Torn’s mouth.

“Who are you?” Torn asked.

“A friend.” The figure replied. Torn stared at the figure and realized that it had a feminine shape.

“Who are you, really?” Torn asked.

“A friend that cares about you.” The figure said removing her hood. Torn could not believe who it was.

* * *


My father was in his armor and was riding on his horse. He stood in front of his army which numbers twelve hundred in total.

“Men, we are the last defense of our home. Take pride in knowing that you will save our kingdom. Our children and their children will remember this day." My father rallied, boosting the soldier’s morals.

Elano and I shot a glance at each other, our eyes locking for a moment. Our father knew as well as we did that we stood no chance against the Loreằsion’s army. I glanced at General Teré and Orvis. They both looked nervous. I focused my attention to the nearing army. They were a fearsome sight. The army was clad in sickly green robes over black onyx armor. Their banner showed a hissing snake. The leader of the war party rode to the front of his army, eyeing us with his good eye. He sneered and turned to his army, motioning for them to attack. A conch horn sounded off as the army charged forward. My father let out a primal yell and rode forward, his army following him. I followed after them, Elano behind me, Orvis on my left, Teré on my right. The armies clashed in a fury of iron and black onyx. Orvis slammed his scythe into the ground; summoning an undead army to assist in the fight. I got separated from Orvis and the others in the heat of the battle. A soldier twirled a flail and swung it at my head. I dodged the flail and stabbed the owner. Another soldier charged at me with a spear. I grabbed the shaft of the spear and snapped it in two. I killed the soldier and threw the spear as a javelin into the crowd, hoping it would find a victim. I stopped thinking and let my reflexes take over. I had become a killing machine. I took a fleeting glance and saw an archer notch and arrow. He aimed it to my left. I looked at where he was aiming and saw General Teré, her back turned, her neck exposed.

“Look out!” I yelled. She turned in time to look at me as the arrow shot through Teré’s neck and continued to fly.

* * *


Torn stared in confusion at the woman standing in front of him. “Who are you?” Torn growled. The women smiled.

“I see that you missed me. You of all people should remember who I am.” Torn glared at the woman.

“Tell me your name.” She smiled again.

“It’s me, Teré.” Torn was in shock and didn't quite believe this woman. The woman looked like Teré. She had Teré’s copper red hair, although it was much shorter than her shoulder long hair during the Great War. She had the same lime green eyes. And to Torn, the same sweet smile. Torn shook his head.

“You are not Teré. I saw her die. No one survives an arrow to the neck. NO BODY!” Teré sighed.

“I know it’s hard to believe, I’m not quite sure how I survived, myself. But I’m back and you should be grateful that I saved your life.”

“No one asked you to save me.” Teré seemed taken back. Her confusion quickly turned into anger.

“You were going to let them kill you?! What would Elano do without you?! What would Orvis do without you?! What would I do without you?”

“Orvis is dead and Elano will be in a few hours. I was fighting a losing battle!” Torn snarled

“So getting killed is your solution? We still have time to save Elano and catch Orvis’ killer.”

“You’re looking at him.” Teré looked down for a moment before returning her gaze to Torn.

“Well Torn there is only one way to clear your named and get your friend back.”

“And that would be?” Teré smiled slyly.

“We’re going to Death’s Realm to save Orvis.”

* * *


I saw Teré go down. I ran over to her, killing anybody that got in my way. I held back tears as a watched the life drain out of. I ripped a piece of my cape off and bandaged the wound. I stood and stared at the enemy. I brought two fingers to my lips and whistled. For a moment, nothing happened. But then, a great shape appeared on the horizon. The figure roared and I grinned. The Dragon Elder’s assigned this dragon to work with me. His named was Drathen. He was still young; only four hundred years old. He landed on the ground and began to attack. Fire roared from his maw. He used his tail as a club, sending soldier flying in every direction. His dagger like fangs and claws lacerated anything that got in his way. With Drathen on the field, the enemy stopped attacking our army and began to attack him. Spears and arrows clattered harmlessly against his armored, emerald green hide. With the enemy distracted by Drathen, our army regrouped. Only six hundred of our soldier remained. I found Orvis; grinning like the madman he was.

“I take it that you’re enjoying yourself?” I asked. Orvis grinned wider in response. A conch horn sounded. I looked at the opposite army to see that they had trapped Drathen under weighted chains. With Drathen trapped, the enemy returned their attention to us. The enemy charged murder in their eyes. Our army roared in return and ran toward the enemy. Our armies met in combat once again. I stayed close to Orvis, stabbing and slashing with all my might. But despite our best efforts, the enemy just kept coming. Every soldier killed was replaced by another. In the midst of the combat I spotted Elano trying to free Drathen. A soldier blocked my view, and I refocused my attention on the battle. I heard an arrow hiss through the air behind me, I turned just in time to see an arrow heading straight for me.

* * *


Torn and Teré managed to slip through the village without being spotted. Torn and Teré walked through the thick forest that surrounded the village. They walked until midday, when they stopped at a large mound of rocks. Teré went to the base of the rocks and spoke.

“Icarus von nikov Lah vonh Deceus telu su ằntor.” Torn translated the ancient language mentally.

“Please, mighty God of Death, let us enter.” The stones moved with an earsplitting grind. Torn and Teré covered their ears until the stones revealed a staircase below. The two looked at each other before going down the stairs. It was narrow, forcing them to have to walk behind each other. The stones recovered the entrance, casting the stairway in total darkness. Torn and Teré clasped hands and continued down the slippery steps. The steps became narrower and steeper, the walls often brushing up on Torn’s tunic.

It seemed that hours passed as the duo descending into Hell. As they descended Teré asked Torn why he murdered Orvis. Torn told her how Naros tricked him into killing Orvis.

“Naros is a trickster Torn; I’m surprised he didn’t ask you to kill the entire village.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Not only is Naros the God of Wishing, he is also the God of Deceit”

Torn gnashed his teeth in anger, but nodded.

“So where have you been for the last five years?” Torn asked. He felt Teré stiffen at the question.

“I, I, I can’t remember where I was between the Great War and when I entered Rekar.” Torn wanted to press her for answers, but felt that she would not answer any of them. They could see an orange light ahead of us, signaling that we were near the bottom. Torn and Teré exited the stairway, the orange light hurt Torn and Teré’s eyes as their eyes adjusted to the light. They were standing in a field of brown, lifeless, grass. Stalagmites hovered overhead. There were lakes of fire on either side of them. There were thousands of semi-transparent souls shuffling around the two of them. To the far left, Torn could just make out the Gates of Heaven. Torn and Teré walked through Hell, until they were standing at the God of Death's palace. Stone soldiers stood in front of the entrance. Torn cold have sworn that they were staring at him. There were stone soldiers on either side of the long and cavernous hallway. At the end, sitting on a throne of bronze and black marble, sat the Death God, Naux, himself. He wore silky black robes, a bronze circlet sat upon his black, greasy hair. He had a black beard, which was neatly trimmed. Torn and Teré bowed low to the God.

“Why have you come here?” He bellowed. Torn stood.

“I have come to beg you to release my friend, Orvis the Necromancer.” Naux snarled and spat at Torn’s feet.

“You have already stolen one soul from my kingdom, now you ask for more?!”

“I have not taken any souls from your kingdom, sir.”

Naux pointed a crooked figure at Teré.

“Then explain her!” Torn turned to Teré, who seemed as confused as he was.

“I did not revive her, sir, I was not aware that she was dead.”

“Then who revived her?!” Naux asked, his eyes narrowed.

“I am not sure, but if you free Orvis, then I will find the culprit and bring them to justice.” Torn promised. Naux stared at Torn and then at Teré. He raised his right hand and a orb of darkness appeared in it. He threw the orb to Torn.

“In that orb lies Orvis’ soul. You need to let sunlight land on the orb to bring your friend back. Keep true to your promise or I will see to it that you die a horrible death, and spend the rest of eternity burning in the Lakes of Fire. Now, be gone!” Naux bellowed, waving his hand over the duo. Torn and Teré found themselves back at the pile of rocks. Rays from the midday sun found itself on Orvis’ soul. Orvis’ soul floated out of Torn’s hand and took the shape of Orvis’ body. Orvis materialized in front of Torn and Teré. Orvis lay on the grass floor before standing. He glared at Torn, hate in his eyes, his scythe appearing in his hand. He yelled and grabbed Torn, raising the scythe blade to Torn’s throat.

“You have a lot of explaining to do, pal.” Orvis snarled.

* * *


Orvis spun me around and split the arrow in two with his base. I stared at Orvis before I began to laugh. “I guess we’re even!” Orvis grinned as we continued to fight.

“Boss! You have to call a retreat; the Loreằsion’s have called in reinforcements. I’ll pick you up t give the call.” Drathen told me mentally. I nodded, grabbing Orvis arm I ran through the crowd and found Teré’s body. I lifted the body and placed her on my shoulder. I whistled for Drathen as Orvis continued to fight. Drathen flew above me. I grabbed his hind leg, wrapping my legs around Orvis to bring him with me.

“MY SOLDIERS, RETREAT, RETREAT! HEAD TO SITE A!” I yelled. The soldier headed my warning and began to run toward the mountains behind them. Drathen turned his head, picked me up by my cape and placed me at the base of his neck. Orvis slipped out my grasp and began to plummet toward the ground. I grabbed his scythe, the blade cutting through me gauntlet, and slicing me hand. Orvis dangled at the bottom. I hefted him up and placed behind me. I placed Teré’s body between the two of us.

“Why did you save me?” Orvis asked.

“Because that is what friends are for, Orvis. I’m sure that you would do the same for me.” I turned my head toward Orvis. Orvis grinned and nodded.

“Yeah, I’m sure I would have, friend.” Drathen flew to the site, a secluded valley hidden in the mountains. The survivors began to set up camp to rest, and take care of the wounded. I went around the camp and found that only fifty of the original twelve hundred had survived. I sighed in sadness and realized that Elano and his father were missing.

“Drathen, what happened to Elano and my father?” I asked. Drathen hesitated before answering.

“The Enemy captured Elano as soon as she freed me; I’m not sure if she is still alive or if they are holding her hostage. As for your father…”

“What happened to my father? Tell me Drathen.”

“Your father was… killed and taken as a trophy by the Enemy. I am very sorry, boss. There was nothing I could do to save him.” Drathen sounded sincere, but that did not help ease my pain. I hid myself from the soldier and wept. They were all gone now; General Teré, Elano, and now my father. I had left at that point was Orvis. I stayed curled in a ball and sobbed until night came. I got up and went over to Drathen; he was snoring contently, a loud rumbling sound. I found Teré’s body. Carrying the body, I went to a secluded spot in the valley. I dug her a grave and lowered her into it. By the time I recovered the mound and placed a headstone, it was dawn. The headstone read:

Teré Roz
Soldier, General, Friend
675-795
R.I.P


I sighed and looked toward the rising sun.

“Nice isn’t it?” I turned to the left and saw standing over me. I nodded.

“We’re going to have to go into hiding.” I said.

“Were would we hide?” I stood and faced him.

“The one place that is not on any of the Loreằsion or Akroxin map.”

“Rekar,” Orvis said, nodding.




Eukara Vox -> RE: Book of War (5/30/2010 18:04:47)

A Wizard's Tale
by balubamboto

Part One: A Lost Friend.

Usually, I liked to roam the lands of my clan alone, trying to help those in need with whatever I could. I most often attempted to keep the monsters in check. One time while I was patrolling I heard a cry for help. Rushing to investigate, I came across a young inexperienced fighter about to succumb to the might of a dragon. The beast was hungry and strong, but a mid-power fire spell of mine managed to do enough damage to make the monster flee.

The adventurer lay badly hurt, but I had a couple of healing potions in my satchel and soon attended to his wounds. After thanking me, he told me a little about himself. He said his name was Chrys and his story was nothing special: he was a poor commoner who decided that once he earned enough gold coins, he would try his luck as a wandering fighter. So when the time came, he bought a decent weapon, a cheap set of armor, an old shield, and started off in search of adventure and profit.

The forest, he said, seemed like the best place to start his journey and to get more experienced in the art of battle.

I, being a more seasoned adventurer, asked him if he would like to come with me and face the forces of evil and the monsters of the land together. He instantly accepted my offer and soon we became the best of friends and brothers in arms.

The months passed and Chrys became a powerful fighter while I continued on my path of magic and soon we weren't afraid of the critters roaming the lands, being able to defeat them or make them flee without too much pain or trouble. I told him of my clan, the Geoto, and everything it stood for, and soon we were fellow clansmen also.

One day, while we were resting under an ancient oak tree, waves of small innocent forest animals started to run past us. There was a great rumble that seemed to come from every direction; soon all the land we could see for miles was covered in darkness that was fast approaching. Sensing great danger, Chrys took a defensive stance beside me while I tried to cast a newly acquired light spell to help break the darkness. Dozens of unearthly noises came from all around us, but nothing could be seen as I tried desperately to summon the light.

I wasn't experienced enough to finish casting the spell in time, and soon the darkness engulfed us totally. A demonic scream pierced the air, making me sick with fright. With it, a desperate call for help from Chrys reached my ears but it soon stopped. I knew what just had happened. Sensing his death, I too passed into darkness.

After some time I awoke next to the body of my fallen friend and sensed a change in the nature surrounding me. An evil change. After burying him, quickly and scared, I made my way to my clan base while avoiding monsters I had never seen before, but somehow knew them to be deadly, and I... no match for them. At the base, I found my clan leader and more of my fellow Geotians scared and wounded. My leader told us that without notice something terrible had happened: the land shifted and hordes of very powerful, evil monsters materialized out of thin air. He told us that we would enclose ourselves within our base and that our most powerful clansmen would try to come up with a strategy and a plan to communicate with others and protect the base.

Part Two: Pain, Hate and Bitterness

The Isle of Paxia was once as quiet and peaceful as the home of the Geoto clan, my clan. But not anymore. Thousands of strange monsters, all carrying an unknown mark, are plaguing the land.

It has been five days since we locked ourselves in the Geoto base. We have managed to magically get in contact with others here on the island as well as on the mainland. The news we hear is not good. All of Lore is under attack. Everyone is fighting, but things are going at a snail's pace because the monsters are far more powerful than what the people of Lore are used to, and their numbers seem to be endless.

My clan hasn't started fighting back yet because, currently, our most competent members are still devising a strategy with the guidance of our leader.

It has been five days since I have slept. It is strange that I am not tired. The only things I am sensing are pain, hate and bitterness. I keep hearing that cry for help from my fallen friend and I keep seeing his grave. Where did these abominations came from? Why was I such a weakling, unable cast a simple light spell? Maybe Chrys would still be alive live if I had just been more powerful. I can't stay here any longer!

I have made copies of many powerful spells, most of which I am not allowed to experiment with. I want to go from the safety of the base and start fighting outside. I must become more powerful and I must battle these things. I do not like leaving my clan but I do not think I will be of much use to them right now.

Part Three: Mindless

Eight months can be a very long time. Eight months have passed since I left the Geoto clan but it feels much longer than that. I hear they are doing well on the island. The monsters roaming in that part of Paxia are being halted in their tracks. They will never breach our defenses, regardless of their intentions. I have had too little sleep during this time, having sacrificed it in making great progress: fighting all monsters I have met in my path, learning to effectively cast more and more powerful spells, and fleeing if the battle couldn't be won. I have fought so many monsters, the weak ones, the stronger ones; I have been hunting, stalking and trapping hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of them, mindlessly, so many that it is all I know now, all I do...

I have helped a lot of people on the island at first, and now here on the mainland.

It looks, however, like the most powerful of monsters are said to be on Paxia! Soon I will be ready... Soon I will fight them...

Part Four: Paxia

The time has come. Finally I can return to my homelands. It has been a little over a year since the strange monsters started plaguing us on the isle, then in all of Lore. I know I am ready to take the fight to the enemy. I know that the strange symbol which marks every monster means something. There has to be a leader that is controlling these things. It can be easily seen that the monsters aren't trying to conquer Paxia, but are only trying to keep the clans isolated and trapped inside their bases. On the mainland, almost all of the monsters are either killed or have vanished.

The people of Lore united well and have managed to find and exploit different weaknesses in their enemy, so victories came one after the other. Still, to me, it seems that the monsters have retreated instead of dying off.

Paxia is the key to all of this... I sense it.

I have come a long way since my first encounter with these monsters. On the mainland, I met a few extraordinary people who possessed great knowledge, some of them being kind enough to share their wisdom with me. When I arrived on Paxia, I immediately began the offensive. For seven days I battled the monsters, their numbers becoming less and less. Having learn their weaknesses from the people of Lore and from my own past encounters and battles, I vanquished the pests with ease.

There was, though, something more to them. When on the verge of losing altogether, the monsters made a strange sound. As I managed to get the upper hand and their numbers became fewer and fewer, they started retreating toward the center of Paxia, using that strange sound maybe as an alarm call. On the eight day, everything was quiet. In the distance, the battle sounds of the clans faded. It seemed that all over the island the monsters retreated.

I soon came upon a great field located right in the middle of the isle. What I saw there filled me with fear and mad joy combined. To this vast round field, where there once stood nothing but a thick forest, all the monsters had retreated. I smiled when I saw there were only a few hundred left. Yet I sensed rage and panic when I saw a creature, more monster than man, near a huge dark orb, buried half-way in the ground. Both were emanating the strange dark fog that had engulfed me and my lost friend a year ago. This creature was also marked with the strange symbols I knew so well. It was now clear that the monsters had retreated and were protecting him, but I had a chance to win the battle in one attack.

During my travels on the mainland, I once saved a young boy from becoming dinner to one of the monsters. He took me to his grandfather, the only family he had left. Seeing me, the old man immediately sensed I was a wizard and that I was on a mission to try and save everyone from this great menace. He told me he had been an archmage once but no more because some time ago, while experimenting with a spell, he had come close to losing control and destroying his whole town. After a few days of swapping stories, he said that he wanted me to have the only scroll left containing that powerful spell and said that he believed I could control it.

The time had come now. I cast the spell. A great dimensional rift opened above the monster-infested field. All the monsters were sucked in and killed by the spell, though I myself could barely maintain it. Their leader didn't appear affected at all; it was as if he was rooted to the ground.

Moments later and power of the spell was gone and I, tired of all the fighting, was defenseless.

Part Five: One on One

Calmly, the monster of a leader grabbed me with an invisible force and brought me close to him, examining me. I asked him who he was, what he wanted and why was he doing these things. Amused, he chose to answer me. He didn't tell me his name but said that he came to Lore to seek a great source of super-concentrated magical essence. He told me he had sent monsters all over Lore to find it, and that it was right under us.

The dark orb was there to burrow into the ground and to open a way for him to reach it and become more powerful than I could ever imagine.

He told me I was very powerful indeed to kill all his remaining minions, but the time had come for me to die. Before he could do anything I acted quickly and released a powerful light spell. Ironically I had used and perfected it so much in the past years that it overwhelmed and blinded him momentarily.

Part Six: Endgame

Having the opportunity to escape, I went straight to my clan base. Though I had left, I had kept well in touch with my brethren, which allowed me to enter and tell our clan leader what had happened. I told him and the others that this being was of great power and we soon acted on a battle strategy.

Thinking that melee or ranged fighters were no match for this being, we determined that a group of the most powerful Geoto wizards would battle the monster. I joined them.

We soon came to the field. The creature was still there, and the dark orb was almost buried and very close to reaching the magic source. Our strategy was simple as we implemented it.

After concentrating all our magic power on our most powerful spells, we released an attack right against the dark orb. Feeling so overconfident, the monster didn't have time to counter it. As a result, our combined magic destroyed the orb and ignited the deposit of magic essence in the process, causing a massive explosion and leaving a giant crater on the spot.

The monster was injured badly but not killed. Not having any magic source to which it could connect, it was too weak to put up a fight. Unfortunately, before we had the opportunity to destroy it, the abomination vanished in a dark cloud.

We could begin to sense the evil veil lifting off of Paxia and all of Lore. The Geoto clan had saved everyone, the monsters were gone and their leader was badly wounded, scared or hopefully dead. I finally had peace.




Eukara Vox -> RE: Book of War (5/30/2010 18:21:07)

A Pirate’s Ordeal
by horusmaster9

He sat on the side of the ship, dangling his feet over the water. It was not his place, but he had to stay. His purpose was clear. As a man searching for the legendary town by some river, it would be natural to search for the specific river by the coast. As a man looking to make his father proud, it was natural to attempt to become the explorer and his two friends who discovered that town.

But the man’s father was always disappointed in him, always deriding him for not doing enough. And now, his father might have disowned him if he had seen him. With all of the discouragement, the man faked his death and ran away to search for the town by his own means. And that was when he found the port.

It was late at night, but there was still light at the port. However, as the man got closer, he realized that the light came from a great fire. And when he got even closer, he saw armed men running toward a massive ship, each with an armful of supplies. At this point, he had no doubt that he was witnessing the pillaging of the port city by pirates. He was stuck to the spot, unable to move for fear of being killed. But then it struck him: pirates often pillage on the seas, and if the legendary town was in fact located by a river, then it would be most logical to start the search from the coast, and follow up the river. And pirates could do just that.

For a few months, the man settled in the port town and lived as a street brawler by the name of Far, named so since his arms and legs were often long and thin enough to pummel his foes without being touched. He made a living from fighting tournaments in the area, quickly rising in fame as he became the champion of all of them. He fought his way to become one of the most famous fighters in the area and made considerable money from it. However, his true intent was to be recruited into a pirate ship, and he would use his fame and money to do just that.

Then, on one night, Far awoke to the sound of screaming. A fire was blazing again. The pirates were back.

He quickly got out of bed and made his way out of the inn he was staying in. He ran out for the pirates and found them as expected. This was the moment he had been waiting for.

“You there,” Far cried out. “Who is your ship’s best fighter?”

One of the pirates stopped. “You are Far the fighter, correct?”

“Yes. I challenge your ship’s best fighter to a duel.”

“Ho ho!” the pirate laughed. He put down his things and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Isaac! It’s Far! He just challenged you to a duel!”

Isaac limped his way over to the two, still carrying stolen goods under his arm. He was a skinny man indeed, but had a frightening look to him. His eyes, which he left barely open out of laziness, seemed to look on for a thousand miles at some distant object, often making him seem thoroughly detached. But when he looked into someone else’s eyes, they would widen and focus his stare like an arrow, a trait that would allow him to win without raising a fist. Isaac limped closer to Far, who had his hands balled into fists and ready to fight.

“A duel?” Isaac muttered lazily, tilting his head slightly as if he wanted to sleep rather than pillage the port town. “Now let’s not be so formal, Far. Can I call you that? Is it okay?”

Far certainly did not expect this sort of informality and courtesy on the part of the pirates’ greatest fighters, taking a few steps back out of surprise.

“Isaac, just finish him,” the other pirate shouted. “We’ve other places to be!”

“Well, Far,” Isaac started. “If you really want to fight me, we can fight later. Want to join us? You’d make a great addition, a fighter like yourself.”

“Isaac! What sort of prank are you pulling? The government declared war on us! How do you know that he’s not some spy?” At this point, the other pirate was almost steaming with anger.

“Far is an honest, lost man,” Isaac said, turning to Far. “His eyes say it all.”

Far merely stood, stunned. He had expected to duel the man and win, earning the respect of the pirates who he expected would immediately recruit him. And the way Isaac stared into his eyes was rather unnerving. He let his guard down, lowering his tight fists. Isaac held out his hand, and Far took it, sealing the deal.

For months after the deal, Far helped the pirates raid ports and other ships when he was called, obediently doing everything he was asked. As Far worked, he later learned that Isaac was the captain. It didn’t surprise him so much, as Isaac’s strength and intimidating eyes worked excellently to his advantage during the annual elections that would choose the ship’s captain. But with all of the raids going on, Isaac was never able to fight Far.

A few years after the deal, Far was elected as the quartermaster, taking charge of all things not concerning the raids. With this power, Far proposed that the ship take to the coasts, or, more specifically, the rivers for their raids. He reasoned that river cities often had more supplies and goods to sell, which won the immediate agreement of all on the crew.

And so there he was, waiting for their next raid on a river city on the side of the ship.

When the time finally came to raid the city on the river, Isaac called his men to spread around the city and start a fire as they had for all of their previous raids. They sailed in, posing as a regular merchant ship, and the pirates streamed out as discreetly as possibly. As usual, they made their way around the city, loitering around when they had reached their respective destinations. Far was alone.

Far could hear screaming in the distance, turning his head towards the origin of the uproar. The faint glow was his signal, and he set fire to the inn he was stationed at. In the chaos, he made his way to the stores of money in the inn, stealing all that he could. When he finished, Far took to the streets, running toward the ship as fast as he could.

And that was when he saw them. He stopped in his tracks, staring at the legions of soldiers marching toward him. The nation’s generals had stationed its soldiers in the city, waiting for the pirates to rob the city. They had fallen into a trap. Far could not outrun them, for they were many in number and had already surrounded him. They knelt and raised their muskets, ready to fire. A man came out from the horde of soldiers and motioned for Far’s attention.

“You there, pirate,” he beckoned. Far was the only one between the two phalanxes of soldiers. “Do you have any last requests?”

Far was at a loss for words.

“Very well, then. Shoot down this scum, men!”

And so the soldiers fired. First, Far was hit in the arms several times, forcing him to drop all that he carried. Then his chest was riddled with bullets, forcing him to drop his body to the cold, hard streets. He was not dead yet, but he was close enough. And as far as he knew, the other pirates were probably facing the same fate as him at that very moment.

His eyes filled with tears. He banged his fists on the street with whatever strength he had left. Far bawled, calling for his father. He had not been able to discover the town by the river. He had failed his personal mission. The tears came streaming down as he realized that he did not make his father proud, and, with his life coming to a close, he would never be able to. In his father’s eyes, his son would always be a failure.

And that is what disappointed Far the most.

After some hours, Far grew quite weary. He knew that his time was up, and he closed his eyes.

As if in a miracle, Isaac limped out from the darkness of the alleys. He checked the area before limping as quickly as he could to Far’s side.

“Far, my good quartermaster,” Isaac said. “I am sorry I never held up my end of the deal. Perhaps you would prefer a special secret instead?”

“Isaac,” Far said. “I don’t want a fight. I never really did. I wanted to make my father proud.”

“Far. Let me tell you something,” he replied. “Becoming a pirate is not the best way to make someone proud.”

Far’s vision was becoming blurred. He knew his breath would soon cease. “Isaac. I wanted to find the town by the river.”

“Well, Far, that’s my special secret.” Isaac then extracted a few crumbs from his pocket. After muttering to himself, Isaac swallowed one. “You see, I have some of those special wish-granting cookie crumbs.”

A few seconds later, Far’s pain began to ease as though through magic. The wounds healed almost instantly, and a wave of pleasure swept through his body. In just a few seconds, Far was able to stand. It was then when Far knew that Isaac wasn’t lying.

“How did you get that?” Far asked.

“My good friend gave them to me ages ago after a little quarrel. She was a good friend, indeed,” Isaac replied, his eyes still staring off into the distance as if in a fond memory. “You see, I was one of the three friends in the story.”

“But then why are you a pirate? You could be so much more.”

“It lets me be free. Why do you think I start fires instead of murder people? I don’t want to hurt people; I just want to have a grand time,” Isaac replied, smiling. “If you want to make your father proud, clear your name and give him one of these crumbs.”

“What will I tell the rest of the crew?”

“I’ll just tell them you were shot down. It’s not an outright lie, after all,” Isaac said, winking. He patted Far on the shoulder, smiling. “You’re a good man, Far. You’re not meant for piracy, especially with this war going on. Trust me. You don’t need to fight anymore. Go home and live well, friend.” With that, Isaac left Far, heading back to the ship with a small limp.

While Far was on a ship to the port town where he first met the pirates, he noticed the large numbers of soldiers on the ship who were probably stationed to aid in the case of a pirate attack. He thought about the crew he had left as he sat in his room. He felt concern for them, hoping that none of them would be killed as he almost had. Perhaps he would meet them again and have a chat like they did on the seas, talking about things like fish and ethics. But he doubted it.

It took Far months to get home. But when he did, he was finally ready to face his father. He had the crumbs in a pouch tied to his side. He told himself that now was not the time to decide if his father would reject him again. Far told himself that now was the time to be courageous and make his father proud. He stepped up to the door and knocked firmly.

“Father, I’ve come home.”




Cow Face -> RE: Book of War (6/3/2010 12:54:23)

Shattered
by Xirminator

There never is one war, Sullivan thought, as he clambered over the jagged slabs of concrete and the twisted iron posts jutting out of them. There is the soldier’s war and another war for men like me. One war began when a man in a suit gave orders, the other began when a man’s world dropped like a chandelier and shattered into a billion shards and he had to find the pieces that mattered most.

Luckily, all the pieces were the same for Sullivan. But to the boy, some of them mattered.

“Are you sure this is it?” he called, looking down at the hunched figure near the base of the mountain of rubble.

The boy pointed at two gigantic metal letters, half hidden in the rubble. Dust and scratches had spoilt their silver sheen. They were not familiar to Sullivan. “Those were part of the name, I’m sure of it!”

“Why would he be here?”

“We’ve already been home and he wasn’t there. The school is gone. This is the only place left! He knows I used to work here; I brought him once and he liked it! He has to be here.”

No, he doesn’t, thought Sullivan. He could be anywhere, lying under the rubble or blown to bits with the rest of the children when the school went up in flame.

He didn’t tell the boy that, of course. He still looked around, hoping to see a figure shambling among the ruins or someone waving at them. He ignored the distant sounds of bombs and the dim flashes that threatened to break the horizon. “I can’t see anyone! Look, kid, if he’s still alive, he’s going to be looking for food, not hanging out here.”

He scrambled down the pile of rubble and came to rest shakily next to the boy. “It’s what we should doing. We need to eat. Look at you, son, you’re all bone. Stop worrying and take care of yourself first. How are you going to find him if you starve?” He took the boy by the elbow, not unkindly. “Come on, kid. We can look afterwards.”

The boy followed quietly, and Sullivan was free to wonder where the hell they were going to find food in this husk of a city. “We’ll go to where Codgeries used to be,” he said. “They packaged food. Some crates might still be in one piece.”

They walked in silence, following a street that looked like a riverbed without water, the mounds of destruction on either side acting as banks. They hadn’t seen anything alive since the fires had stopped burning. Sullivan estimated that that was about seven days ago.

“Look,” the boy said, after a while, “I know you think it’s just a false hope, me trying to find Billy. But he wasn’t one for staying in school, you know what I mean? He used to come visit me all the time. There’s a chance that he was out went they bombed the school. That’s why I’m looking. My mam would kill me if I just forgot about him.”

But your mom is dead too, son.

“We’ll look,” Sullivan promised. “What else can we do? Codgeries is up ahead… or was up ahead.” The silence threatened to fall again, and Sullivan couldn’t take it anymore. They had to talk, act as if they were still alive, not walk around like lost, shambling creatures. No one got anything done that way. “What did you use to do, son, back at that workplace?”

“Coffee,” the boy said. “It was headquarters of the Times. That’s how Billy could stay with me there, because no one cared what I did in the basement as long as I brought them coffee. It wasn’t a big job,” he said, shrugging. “But I thought I ought to start somewhere. What about you?”

“Cop,” Sullivan said.

“I thought all the officers were killed when the tanks rolled in.”

“I ran.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t think of me as a coward,” Sullivan said. “They all should have run. No point in dying like a hero.” He ignored the twinge of guilt that accompanied these words. Regretting that he was the only one alive, the only one that ran, was not something a sane man ought to feel.

The boy suddenly stopped. “Look!”

Ahead of them, hanging through the window of a bus, was a small body. They both ran towards it. It was a little boy, no more than six. Blood caked one side of his head. He wasn’t breathing. He was still wearing a small satchel. Sullivan bit his lip, and helped lift the body out of the bus. They took off his satchel and put it on the ground beside its feet. “I told him not to use the bus,” the boy whispered. “I told him there were going to be bombs. I told him.”

Sullivan put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and squeezed. He could feel the prickles of hot tears at the corner of his eyes. But he did not let them out. There was nothing he could say or do that would make it better, but at least, he would remain strong.

“My mam’s going to kill me,” the boy whispered. “Why didn’t I tell him to stay at school? It’s all my fault.” And he put his face on little Billy’s chest and sobbed.

He’d have died anyway, son, there was nothing you could have done. But Sullivan didn’t say anything.

They buried Billy in a scorched park. There was no rubble there, and the ground was softer, so it was easier to dig. They scrounged food and lived as they could in the ruined city until relief forces passed through, looking for survivors. They came in the nick of time, perhaps, because both of them were close to starving, and Sullivan was ill. He didn’t know what he had caught or where he had got it from. Probably the rotten food they were forced to eat.

The doctors did what they could with Sullivan, but he would be stuck in a wheelchair all his life. He didn’t complain. He was alive. The boy, young as he was, quickly recovered and gained strength. He went off to be a soldier and fight his own personal war against the people who took Billy and his mam, and eventually took a bullet to the head.




Cow Face -> RE: Book of War (6/3/2010 13:02:27)

Turning the Tides of War
by superjars

Prologue

Grant, O Muse, the words to your humble servant
to describe these terrible events, these great wars
which plague mankind and force from them
every ounce of strength and resolve. If only I
may express to all the pain of this event, then
we may one day be freed from this bondage
to hate and anger, which so darkens our souls.

The betrayal of the great knight, Balmath, was
the turning point of the entire affair. It was not
long after this event that Balmath was transformed
from the noble man, who was champion for good, to
fury incarnate, the loyal servant to The Great Cataclysm.

And this, O Muse, is where I begin my tale.
Grant that the lessons learned that fateful day
may reach a thousand ears,
be spoken upon a thousand lips,
and change a thousand lives
by their powerful example.

Betrayal

"Men, upon my word, there be nothing else more satisfying
than returning from a great battle, victorious,
with friends by your side and good drink and food
to feast upon to celebrate the day of your return."

The words of Mighty Balmath, champion of the King,
echoed through the hall, reaching to the ear of all
who gathered to feast the victory over the armies
of evil, of The Great Cataclysm.

A cheer went up, men and women all, excited and proud
that their young women and men had returned
with victory on their lips and blood on their swords;
with pride in their hearts and a lilt in their step.
The wounded, they carried, through the doors of the keep,
giving them to the nurses and doctors who would tend
to their wounds.

"Less than last time we went out! Pray, I tell you the truth,
while the enemy fought harder than ever they have before,
your sons and daughters fought even harder still.
We drove them back, 'til they turned in fear and ran
and while they may be back on the morrow or perhaps
the day after that, they have seen our power, our poise,
our valor and our skill, and the fear in their hearts will be their defeat."

Mighty Balmath, champion of the King, with these words still fresh
in his mouth, sat down to eat and drink with his men, making sure
that all from greatest to least, shared in the bounty and had their fill.
The brave knight Garsten, his second in command.
Sir Ganst, the slayer of dragons.
His brother, Garmol, a fierce warrior in his own right.
Pafsian the Valorous, Knight of the Holy Order.
Garth the Large, lover of food and fighting.
Faccio, an ex-assassin and mercenary-for-hire.
Squire Fastio, who bore Mighty Balmath's shield.
And Squire Suall, son of the King himself, apprenticing with mighty Balmath.

These men, fierce warriors and brothers, one to another
sat and ate, late into the night, telling tales of battles
old and new. As the last of the day turned into night, still the drink
and food came, men gorging their appetites until they were full.

Late at night, the men were finally snoring away,
pleasant dreams filling their minds from the victory
that they had won that day. But there was one
who was not asleep; one who had not drunk until
his senses were dull and Sleep took him into her hold.

The fingers of Sleep spread over those gathered in the
hall, easing their minds and carrying their dreams in her
hair. She pulled the small baubles that held the dreams
and broke them upon the men, a faint, sweet smell
sifting through the hall, pleasing and soothing.

But when she came upon Garsten, the brave knight,
there were no baubles for her to grab or break.
She could not lay a finger on him, nor even approach
him at all. Tears formed in her eyes and she began to shake,
baubles falling around her, and breaking on the floor,
sending up clouds of foul-smelling gas, pulling those asleep
into nightmares and horrors.

For in the man's eyes, the glimpse straight into his soul,
she saw a malevolence not seen for a long time, one she
had encountered several times before. The malevolence
which streamed from The Great Cataclysm, who rejected
Sleep many years ago, and was never visited by her again.
Sleep fled from that place, leaving a trail of corrupted
and broken dreams in her wake, baubles falling and breaking
all around her as she did.

Garsten, the second in command, brave knight and beloved friend,
slowly got up from the hall that night, taking special care that he
not awake his brothers in arms, and stole out of the keep.
The plan was in motion and the trap had been laid, all to bring
the destruction of Mighty Balmath, champion of the King.

Discovery

The sun rose slowly, the chariot of the sky riding out before the
clouds, lighting the hall and rousting the fierce warriors from
their troubled sleep. As they arose, sleep pushed from eyes,
armor gathered and donned, weapons sharpened and stored,
the men noticed that their leader, Mighty Balmath, champion
of the King, was nowhere to be found. They searched throughout
the keep, but no one knew where he was. The men assembled,
coming together to find out what to do next, but even Garsten,
the second in command, was not to be found.

"Gentlemen, worry not. I am sure that we will hear from our
leaders soon enough, either from a messenger, or their very
mouths. Perhaps they have left to do some early morning
training, before returning to take us into battle. Let us also
prepare to meet them with some training of our own!"

The men gave a mighty cry, and broke into groups, training their
bodies for the coming battles, without full knowledge of what was
happening only leagues from where they stood.

A messenger had come in the last moments of twilight, before
any of the men had risen with the sun. "Ho, Mighty Balmath,
champion of the King, I come bearing sad news. Garsten, the
brave knight, has been seen heading towards the enemy in the
deep of the night, when all others were sleeping. He was seen
only an hour ago, and I was dispatched with all speed to come
and inform you of this treachery."

Without a word, Mighty Balmath rose to his feet, forsaking his
armor and taking hold of Devastation, his mighty axe, and ran
from the hall, moving in the direction that the messenger had
indicated. He ran and ran through the predawn light, limbs
set afire from the strain, body flowing over the landscape as he
pursued his friend, to find out where his treachery came from.

He came crashing through the underbrush and out into the sun,
faced with a most horrendous sight: his second in command,
grinning madly down at him, standing to the side of his worst
enemy, The Great Cataclysm.

"What is this, Garsten? Do you ally yourself with our hated enemy,
the scourge of all that we hold dear in this world? How can you
join her, after all we have seen? After all of the devastation she
has caused during this war, the people she has killed, the lives
she has destroyed? Explain yourself, my friend!"

"Can't you see, Balmath, or are you blind as well? As hard as
we have fought, she perseveres still. We cannot win this war.
The Queen of the Everlasting, The Great Cataclysm, she will
not be deterred from her goal; she will never give up. And if we
serve her, we can live for all time, just as she does."

The words haunted Mighty Balmath's mind, feeling wrong in
some way, weak words from a strong man, empty words from
a man so full of feeling. He knew that it was not him who spoke,
but the spawn of the devil who accompanied him.

"Lo, Queen of Nothing, do you seek to defeat the grand army of
Ravenshreich with naught but lies and ill-gotten servants. I know
you control Garsten's mind and make him to speak as he does.
The words he says are not his own, but only your foul spittle
dripping from his mouth. Release him, you evil cur, and prepare
to bring your armies to bear, as we will crush the spirit from
your men and leave you with nothing!"

"Ah, you fool. If only it were that easy. He is mine now, in body
and mind, and the only way I will release him is if I have another
to replace him. You, perhaps." The woman's face twisted into a grin
of evil glee, her face dark and haunting.

"I will never become your slave! Instead, I will destroy you and free
my friend from your evil grip!" Mighty Balmath, champion of the King,
fool that he was, hoisted his axe to his shoulder and rushed at the pair,
a loud, bellowing cry ripping from his lungs. He swung his axe hard,
bringing it around at the Queen, but bit into nothing but air. He had
been aiming a killing blow, to sever the woman in half, but when he
arrived with the strike there was nothing to hit. The Queen had laid
her trap and he had walked straight into it.

But the power of his strike carried it onwards. It swung past where
the evil woman had stood and towards Garsten, who moved not an
inch at its approach. The axe bit deep into his side, cleaving him
open from side to side. Mighty Balmath fought with his blade to halt
its course, but nothing swayed it from its intended path. After shearing
straight through, the blade's momentum ceased, hanging lifelessly
in Balmath's mighty hands.

Garsten fell over backwards, life pouring out of him. Blood gurgled
from his lips, words struggling to surface, his face etched with pain
and agony, yet serene at the same time. "Balmath, old friend,
thank you for releasing me from that evil witch. You were right.
Those were not my words, but hers that came from my mouth.
Defeat her. Destroy her. Finish this war for all who have perished.
For all who have fal--"

Desecration

Garsten's words fell upon deaf ears. Crushed by the twins,
Sorrow and Despair, who attacked him as his friend lay dying,
Balmath didn't even see the figure creeping up on him, reaching
out to lay a hand upon his shoulder. Dark energy coursed into
his body, pain spreading from the point of contact out towards
his extremities. Mighty Balmath struggled, but Sorrow and Despair,
allies of the witch, held him fast, their crushing weight more than
enough to keep him there.

Black tendrils began to spread into his skin, threading in and out,
creeping from his shoulders down to his spine. There they fused
and began growing outward, threading through the skin, in and out,
until they started weaving into Sorrow and Despair. Both cried in panic,
but were quickly hushed by the threads, which transformed them into
weapons, Sorrow a sword and Despair an axe, linked together with
Mighty Balmath for all time.

The transformation continued on, with the Queen watching intently.
Covered in black, from his head to his toe, barely recognizable as
Balmath any more, he rises to his feet, hefting Sorrow and Despair
on each of his shoulders, speechless and brooding, standing tall,
towering over the witch standing before him.

"Come, my new pet, and let us bring sorrow and despair to all of
our enemies. We shall rain down destruction upon their heads,
blood shall run over the earth and I shall be Queen of Everything!"
The witch cackled with glee and strode off, poor Balmath stumbling
slowly behind her, defeated and drained, with no will of his own
with which to fight. Off they walked to gather the armies of the
witch and march on Ravenshreich, to defeat their foes.

Epilogue

O Muse, I thank you for the words to tell this hurtful tale,
to show how brash actions and betrayal can topple the
strongest of adversaries. This was a turning point in the
war; one which extended it for many more years before
it was able to be turned back. But that is a story for another
time and another place. So now I leave you, with these visions
of war and slaughter and the reminder of the cost all of those
things have on the human heart.

A cost that may never be paid.




Cow Face -> RE: Book of War (6/3/2010 13:07:26)

The News
by Fleur Du Mal


47th Day of Spring, 6th (and Last) Year of the High Rule of Arangas

Dear Diary,

As you must undoubtedly have noticed, my pen has been silent for a week now. With pain I've opened you now, to tell you why.

It's been a month since we last heard directly from Mother. Indirectly, we have heard of her, since the news of the Desert Bloodbath have been all over town for a week now. Especially since then, Father's really tried to be brave for us, but I've seen his shoulders and how they tremble each time he has to turn away from me and my baby brother. I used to feel safe on his shoulders, when I was much younger and he took me for piggyback rides. Now, I look at them and wonder when did they turn from broad and strong to something so fragile and narrow. And our evening hugs and good nights have turned into some morbid ritual of weeping.

Hare was playing with his stick soldiers in the backyard when I got up this morning. As you may recall, Father and I made those for him two Winters ago, when he turned five. All one hundred of them: little stick figures with stick spears, swords, and bent sticks for bows. He used to sit on my lap, eyes bright, and tell us glorious stories with him as an archer, fighting by Mother against any invaders thirsting for our water resources on these arid lowlands. So, we made him a whole toy army to command. He and Mother played together with them on many a dark nights in front of the kitchen fire. Since she was called to war last Winter, he hadn't touched his stick army. Not until this morning.

Dear Diary, I wrote he played with them, but I'm not sure if what my little brother was engaged with could be really called by that. He sat on the dry grass, wind blowing up the late-Spring dust in the air around him, and kept on snapping the legs and arms and bodies of the stick soldiers in two. When he lifted up his face, covered in dirt and tears gushing forth so violently he couldn't see me, I ran to him. I pulled his skinny body into my arms and held him close, but he just kept on breaking the soldiers. ”Crack, crack,” they went, and by the Depths of Abandon, I've never heard such a horrible noise. I tried to make him stop by rocking him in my arms, by stroking his hair, by whispering, ”It'll be alright,” to him, but he wouldn't stop until the last one of the soldiers lay scattered in pieces. Only then he pressed his dirty face tighter against my chest and started pounding my arms and sides with his little fists.

”I'll never be a soldier, I hate them, I hate them, I hate them! Moon, I want my Mom back!” he shouted, until his words choked lifeless under his sobbing. From then on, he just quivered like a leaf in my arms for what couldn't possibly have been more than an hour, but for what felt like an eternity.

And I cried. For there was nothing I could say to comfort him. Since the messengers came to deliver the news, every single bit of comfort has been a lie.

In three days, I am to be seventeen. Preparing for that day, a week ago, I pulled my Mother's yellow summer dress from the chest my parents keep their old stuff in and tried it on. To my wonder, it fit like a glove. I was standing and gazing at my image in the bedroom mirror, enjoying the feel of my palms rubbing the soft cotton against my skin when Father came rushing to the room. With heavy breath and covered in sweat he blurted that the Watchers had seen a cloud of dust in the horizon and were waiting for the royal messengers to arrive in town any minute now. My heart jumped to my throat. I grabbed his hand, and barefooted, with my Mother's dress still on, I ran with him to the town square.

Dear Diary, imagine a space designed to hold one hundred people. Now, imagine one thousand people pouring into that space, all anxious, speaking to everyone and to no one particular at the same time. That's how chaotic the town square felt when the messengers rode in, with hurried beat of hooves echoing off the stone walls and suffocating clouds of dust billowing around their dirty and tired steeds. As soon as the crowd managed to silence the worst of their coughing, one of the three messengers in total finished cleaning his face and stood up on his saddle, and delivered the news of the Bloodbath.

I saw black. I counted my heartbeats while the rush of blood covered my ears with the screams of my own internal demons. As I got to twenty, I could finally see again. The Spring wind around the people had turned hot, as if to illustrate the words of the messenger while he washed us all with visions of rotting flesh under the far Sun. All our own. All hewn in pieces and dead. Arms, legs, and bodies broken. Like those of my brother's stick soldiers would be later on.

I heard our neighbors weeping and cursing at the same time and I heard the raspy voice of the stone carver joining in their choir.

”We've lost the war.”

”King Arangas has sent in negotiators to try and save what can be saved by surrendering.”

”They'll claim our water...”

”Are there any survivors? Any at all?”

Father's question silenced everyone else. The dust and the heat of the Sun beating down on us started to blur my senses. All the people around us felt like one inseparable mass, breathing in unison and extending their toes and ears to hear the notes and hues of the messenger's voice when he would finally open his mouth. The horses neighed. Father's hand squeezed mine so hard it must have hurt, yet I felt nothing except the pieces of my heart that tore apart when the messenger stared back at my Father and said,

”We found none.”

Silence swept back over, only the wind cried. Father's hand fell limp to his side, freeing mine, now marked with red half-moons where his fingernails had dug into my skin. I looked down at my hand, eyes unfocused and staring into nothing, my brain trying to decipher the plain truth. On the edges of my vision, I saw the hem of Mother's yellow dress fluttering around my bare legs in the wind, billowing its way into my memory, forever together with the soft and heavy sound of Father collapsing on the ground.




Eukara Vox -> RE: Book of War (6/10/2010 1:42:10)

The Unidentified Sword
by Sw33t0rdi3


After the great Sepulchure was destroyed, initially, every evil being lost their hope, but as everyone knows, Gravelyn took over the throne to take revenge on her father's killer. This revenge made her so powerful that she made her own army, bigger than the original undead army of her father. With this, the heroes and villains joined forces for a war that was going to be legendary.

Drakath's Lords of Chaos were falling because of the unity of heroes, villains and commoners. He became angry and thought that he might lose against the good and evil combined, so he created a new elemental to help chaos. He used his maximum power to create a big chaotic field from the void. Not completely aware of what he was doing, Drakath created a new elemental lord.

The new elemental lord - the war elemental - was immense and powerful. It was envious of everything around it because it was something that never should have existed. It had huge arms, its armour was made from the sun itself, and the helmet was constructed of 25,000 dragon heads.

Drakath spoke to his creation, "Rise, my unidentified elemental! You have been enhanced by my power and made to control every elemental including chaos. Defeat the heroes and give me their power so that no one can stop me!"

Some of King Alteon's spies heard him and reported every thing that was done by him to the king. The king then sent word to the ShadowScythe Queen, Gravelyn, regarding what his spies had heard. Word spread all over the Lore and the people started to create the army with King Alteon and Queen Gravelyn at the head.

The king and queen summoned a brave hero, Sweetordie, to aid them. Sweetordie had many allies and they all came to join the army to help him save Lore. Every monster, including unicorns, phoenixes, elemental lords, gryphons, and many others moved to join Sweetordie in his effort to aid Lore.

Everyone thought the war would be easy because the war elemental didn't have any minions. What most people overlooked was his endurance, mana supply, and the fact that the creature could kill any normal person or monster with just one blow.

As soon as the battle had started, Artix found the legendary sword, Blade of Awe. He gave it to Sweetordie so he could use it for good and to protect the whole of Lore. But when everyone went to attack the war elemental, they found it was much greater than before. They also noticed that before it had appeared red, but now it was blue.

The creature shouted, "Ha! Were you able to collect only a pitiful million people for me to kill? Well, no worries; I will not kill you, but my chaos orbs will!"

Suddenly, a huge portal opened and swallowed up 500,000 monster and people in one gulp. Sweetordie charged the creature and stunned it as he struck forth with the Blade of Awe. As soon as he got the chance, the hero summoned the guardian dragon to burn the beast. The war elemental saw the summoning and got angry.

It picked up Sweetordie and threw him to the ground in Battleon. Sweetordie was badly injured, and he was fast losing his life. Before he died, he spoke to Warlic. "Take this, Warlic, it is the Blade of Awe. Please give it to Yulgar and tell him to build a weapon incredibly strong, enhancing it with your power to make the Unidentified Heavenly Blade. Only give it to the one who can lift it."

Warlic agreed and did as requested, but no one was able to lift it. But one day there came a lich. He was thought to be a shadow lich, but he used his powers for good. He concentrated all his energy and lifted the sword. Then a magical voice was heard-

"Though you are a lich, you do good and support what is right. Those who do good shall be rewarded with only one thing that is might. My power shall be used by you, but remember I shall only be used and defused."

The lich understood the words of the Unidentified Heavenly Blade. He then went to battle the great war elemental. The fight was fierce: the monsters of the forests helped - the unicorns stunned the creature, the phoenixes lit it on fire, and elemental lords showered their power on it, but still it wasn't enough. The war elemental attacked everyone and froze them. The lich survived, but the war elemental saw him beaten on the ground and used its hands to break him.

Suddenly the Unidentified Blade arose before the creature and spoke. "They have paid for your work, but you are defeated and have been lost. This will happen when I smite you with my power: you will suffer forever."

The Blade glowed brightly. It swung down, splitting the creature into two halves. Though the war elemental was defeated, sadly the good lich died along with it. Thus this war was remembered forever, because of the number of people killed- and also because Drakath was captured!

~~~~~~The End~~~~~




Eukara Vox -> RE: Book of War (6/10/2010 2:28:12)

War
by FC

Blood, slaughter and death. All faces of war. Humanity’s dark side.

”They are at it again!”

Eh, this war has continued for so long nobody remembers...

“Looks like they are bringing heavy soldiers this time!”

Why was it started, I don't remember. Even I, King Icarus of Dinamia, the one who launched it, does not remember. Back then I was a mortal: foolish, made of flesh, one that could die. I enjoyed life back then. I enjoyed drawing every breath mother nature gave me, I enjoyed my kingship. I enjoyed all the wealth and fame my title brought. How did I become what I am now? What am I now? Some kind of abomination. I'm not living yet not dead. I have no flesh, yet still I walk the earth. A ghost? You could say that. Cursed by my own people for being a stupid king.

“Seems like they want to end it with this one!”

Greed, money, fame... maybe those were my motives. After studying the human race for all these eons, I have come to the conclusion that those are the motives of every human. Hunger for land and hunger to be remembered. At least one of those came true for me... well, kind of. I was seeking to become Icarus the Conqueror, not Icarus the Stupid. Still...

“Oh-ho! Here they come!”

Even more death. Now I stand at the border of my kingdom, watching the onslaught of the Zarllans. Seeing my men, or should I not call them that anymore, getting killed.

“Look out! No!”

“Please spare me!”

Death: Quick, silent, dark, and cold.

Ah, I wish it would come for me.

“Run for it!”

“Redolas is done for!”

The sound of swords piercing the reptilian skin of the Zarllans, the Southeners. They are giant lizard-like creatures who are invading the kingdom that once invaded theirs. They slice and rip to shreds the petty humans. This town is going to fall. The border is going to fall. But the war will continue. War will exist, as long as humans exist. That is a sad realization I have gained from all my life. I feel tired, I’m going to take a nap. Goodbye.




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