RE: Book of War (Full Version)

All Forums >> [Gaming Community] >> [Legends and Lore] >> Writers of Lore >> [The Bookshelves] >> Collaborations



Message


Eukara Vox -> RE: Book of War (6/10/2010 2:56:02)

Rise of the Magi
by Baronpraxis350

There were shadows along the horizon, but no one paid them any attention.

“Is the spell ready?” hissed a mysterious voice.

“No, my lord,” spoke another voice.

“Well, hurry it up; the others will be here momentarily.”

“Yes, my lord.”

***


The land of Garthos had been a quiet, peaceful place where the only major trouble was theft, but that was before the Magi united. Many years ago, there had been a war among the Magi which separated them, but now a mysterious force had united them for reasons unknown. Now the matter with the Magi was out of control, and the nobles of the land had assembled in the capitol of Thedas to discuss the matter.

“Order, order; this court of war is now in session. Now, I believe you know why we have gathered here.” The king did not wait for an answer. “The situation involving the Magi has grown out of control. I fear they may be building an army.”

“Ha!” laughed Voldrin. “The Magi building an army! The most they could do is get a group of two to attack. What makes you think they could unite long enough to amass an army?”

“I understand your doubt, Voldrin, but our scouts have reported that the Magi have united under a leader. Whatever or whoever this leader is does not matter, but we must take action.”

“I agree!” shouted Sir Varos. “We should’ve taken them out when we had the chance.”

“So… It is agreed then?” asked King Calenhad. “Shall we declare war upon the mage alliance?”

“Aye!” yelled the nobles.

“Then I shall gather the Templars and make them aware of their mission. This court of war is adjourned; you are all dismissed."

It took many weeks to gather the Templar army, but now they were ready to perform an Exalted March on the magi. After months of searching the Templars found the Magi's base of operations in an abandoned imperial tower.

After days of careful strategy the Templars were ready to attack.

“Men,” said Commander Mortis. “It is time to assault the tower and be rid of the Magi forever!”

“Yaaaaaa!” yelled the soldiers, as they charged down the hill towards the tower.

***

“My lords, human soldiers are charging at the tower.”

“Release the Ogres and gather the archers!” commanded the mage lords.

“Yes, my lords,” said the servant as he backed out of the room.

“Fools!” spoke one of the Magi. “They have doomed themselves.”

***


The battle was short and brutal; the Templars were massacred. Only a lone scout survived to inform the king.

“Huh!” sighed the king. “This worries me; not only have the Magi united, but they control ogres and demons, as well. What is there for us to do now?”

“I have a suggestion, my liege,” said the king’s adviser. “We may have to call in the services of the Crimson Legion.”

“Their numbers are low. How can they be of any help?”

“They still have the right of conscription: they can recruit anyone to join them.”

“Of course. Tell their commander to gather recruits right away.”

“Yes, my liege.”
***

Our tale really begins on a farm just outside of Thedas, where the life of the farmer’s son will change forever. While in the fields, Farmer Kristoff heard the sound of a galloping horse.

“Are you the father of Kor Theris?” asked the messenger.

“Yes,” answered Kristoff. “Why?”

“I have come to take him to the Vigil.”

“The what?”

“He has been conscripted into the Crimson Legion. Tell him to gather his belongings and come into town.”

“Of course. Have a good day.” Kristoff returned from the fields to the farmhouse where Kor was chopping firewood. “Kor!” Kristoff yelled.

“Yes, father?” answered Kor.

“Gather your belongings,” the man instructed.

“Why, what is wrong?”

“A messenger came and told me that you have been conscripted into the Crimson Legion.”

“Yes, father. I will gather my things shortly." Kor turned and obediently left to gather his things.

That afternoon, Kristoff and Kor said their farewells, but before Kor left there was one thing Kristoff had to do. “Son, I want you to have this.”

“You're giving me grandfather’s arms and armor?”

“Yes, my son, wear it with pride and do your family proud.”

“I will, my father, goodbye.”

“Goodbye, son.”

And so at that point Kor’s destiny was chosen. He was to become a Crimson Legionnaire: one of the most secretive elite fighting forces in Garthos. Within the evening Kor arrived at the Vigil, the castle controlled by the Legion.

“Ah, so the final recruit has arrived; welcome to Thedas. I hope you were not troubled by the messenger.”

“Not at all, sir," Kor spoke respectfully. "Not to be rude, but, who are you?”

“Ah yes. I am Commander Darren, Leader of the Legion in Garthos, and you must be Kor, the farmer’s son.”

“Yes, I am. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. Ah, I recognize that armor. I fought many battles with your grandfather. I hope the battles I share with you are equally honorable. But, enough of petty conversation! Let us continue on to the joining ceremony.”

The ceremony was simple: each recruit was infused with small traces of mana to allow them to harm the Magi. After the ceremony concluded, the new recruits spoke with one another. Most of them being of noble blood, Kor felt out of place among them, until one recruit came and spoke to him.

“Hello, I’m Shale. What’s your name?”

“I’m Kor.”

“Nice to meet you, Kor. Where are you from?”

“I lived on a farm right outside the town.”

Shale nodded. “Oh. I come from the Amari coasts, on the south part of Garthos.”

Kor twitched his nose. “That’s far away.”

“Yeah, it is, but it is my duty to protect my nation," Shale nodded, matter-of-fact. "So, I did what I must.”

“You have a noble cause. May we be friends?”

“Yes, that would be nice—”

Commander Darren addressed the recruits. “Gentlemen, attention if you will, we will soon be departing for the magi’s tower. Please gather your things and meet me and the senior legionnaires at the stables to be given a horse.”

The recruits then gathered their belongings and set off on the long journey to the mages' tower. Their journey on foot would take the Templars months to complete, but on the specially bred Legionnaire steeds the journey should take about a week.

***

“My Lords, the army is prepared to march.”

“Tell the army to settle itself within the walls of the building. We now fear another band of travelers is marching on our tower.”

“Why would they send another group to be massacred like the others, my lords?”

“We do not know, but make sure that the army is ready for anything.”

“Yes, my lords.”

***


The journey to the tower finally ended and now the Legion prepared their strategies.

“Alright, men,” said Darren, “the time has come to bring justice to the magi for their various crimes against humanity. I want the archers to be positioned on the hill here, and the rest of us will assault the main gate. Oh, yes, Kor and Shale, you will come with me after the gates have fallen to sneak in the tower to defeat the magi, understood?”

“Yes, sir!” shouted the soldiers.

“If you are all ready, CHARGE!!”

Shortly after the charge the gates quickly fell but the courtyard was held in a stalemate between the mages' forces and the legion, but this did cause enough of a distraction for Darren, Kor, and Shale to enter the tower.

“Shh, shh, stay quiet. We need to sneak to the antechamber as quietly as possible.”

The two then nodded in fear of being discovered. The three made it to the chamber quickly with no incidents and entered without alerting the magi inside.

“Before we attack them, I want to know what they are up to,” said Darren as one of the mages began to speak.

“The time has come, my brethren. We must cast the spell now.”

The magi then stood up in the center of the chamber and chanted strange phrases.

“Shouldn’t we stop them?” asked Shale.

“Wait, wait,” said commanded Darren

“These soldiers have come in vain—it is our time to ascend to the skies and rain fire upon the world! Then, we shall rebuild it in our own image!” yelled the Magi.

As the Magi said this, Kor rose from the hiding spot and rushed towards the mages.

“Kor, wait!” shouted the two.

“Servant, stop the mortal immediately!”

“As you wish it.”

The servant placed himself in the way long enough for the magi to complete their spell.

“NO!” yelled Kor angrily as he threw the servant out of the tower.

“Your world is doomed, mortals. Run while you can. You will not escape the coming fire,” spoke the fading voices of the Magi.

And so the world fell to the Magis' fire, but there are still few groups of survivors from Thedas who fled underground to regroup with their dwarven allies, but the outcome of the upcoming rebellion from their mage oppressors is another tale for another day.




Eukara Vox -> RE: Book of War (6/10/2010 3:10:44)

Revolutionary Struggles
by The Extinguisher


We are the revolution
We will make history
We are the one solution
To end this tyranny
We'll fight through your delusions
We will bring your freedom
We are the revolution
there's nowhere left to run

brothers in arms
take up the fight
and light the place up high
and burn it down
remember the pain
cast off the chains
and beat them down again
just to be found

We are the revolution
We will make history
We are the one solution
To end this tyranny
We'll fight through your delusions
We will bring your freedom
We are the revolution
there's nowhere left to run

soldiers of war
make no mistake
we do this all for you
and for your lives
please, just ignore
your dignity
was only placed on hold
for just this night

We are the revolution
We will make history
We are the one solution
To end this tyranny
We'll fight through your delusions
We will bring your freedom
We are the revolution
there's nowhere left to run

and run away you cowards
from the world that we fought for
we stood up for yourselves
so why don't you sit down
and let us run the show
we know whats best for you
best for us
we are the revolution
for a new tyranny
and you can't control
what happens now

we were the revolution
we did make history
we were the one solution
to end that tyranny
we'll create your delusions
and stifle your freedom
we are the tyrannism
there's nowhere left to run




Fleur Du Mal -> RE: Book of War (6/10/2010 16:13:38)

Call to Arms
by Reaper0001


“Hey, Aron!” Cyrus yelled. “How’s the crop this year?”

“Springing up like dandelions,” the farmer yelled back from the field of wheat.

“That mean we’ll be getting honey cakes soon?”

Aron chuckled loudly. “Anna’s gathering honey right now. She’ll be back with a few jars by sundown.”

Cyrus smiled. He gently nudged his horse, Greymane. He complied, trotting forwards.

Cyrus was a brown-haired young man in his early twenties that always had a smile on his face. But his kind exterior belied a troubled past.

As a young boy, he and his brother, Orion, lost their parents to wild wolves while on a picnic in the forest. Their father, a skilled hunter, fought off the wolves with his dagger while he and Orion, their mother already dead, ran for help. When they reached their village, they told what had happened. A search party went to see if his father survived, only to find his parents’ bloodied corpses. Only two things had been spared: the hunting dagger Cyrus’ father used, stained with wolf blood, and a ring his mother wore. Orion was given the dagger, and Cyrus wore the ring on a chain around his neck.

Ever since that day, they lived by themselves, with no relatives to care for them. Cyrus became a woodcutter, while his brother became a hunter.

Cyrus’ stomach growled, reminding him that it was close to dinner. He nudged Greymane again, eager to get home. The thought of steak and bread entered his mind, making his mouth water.

***

As Cyrus approached the village, he found a crowd gathered in the streets. Voices drifted in the air, and he caught several words of the conversation.

“Who is he?” one asked. “What’s he talking about?”

“Forget that!” another said. “Look at him! We need to get this man to the healer.”

Cyrus dismounted and made his way to the front of the throng. Lying on the ground, in a small pool of blood, was a man. He wore thick, steel armor and a helm made in the likeness of an eagle. On the center of the breastplate, the emblem of a griffin coiled around an hourglass was embellished in golden metal.

The symbol of Eralin, Land of the East.

The knight slowly rolled his head towards Cyrus. His face reminded of his father, so much that he wanted to look away. But he mustered his strength and kept his emotions in check. He knelt by the man’s side, his hand reaching out to touch the insignia on his armor.

Suddenly, the man grabbed hold of Cyrus’ arm. He tried to pull away, but the soldier spoke in a loud, commanding voice.

“Hold!”

Immediately, Cyrus froze. The authority the man had ordered him with told him that this was no regular knight.

“Why have you not taken up arms?” the knight asked him sternly, though with an effort. “All Eralinin males that are of age must go to war. Why do you not fight?”

Cyrus jerked his arm free from the man’s grasp. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not Eralinin. And why is Eralin calling men to the army anyways?”

“Fool!” the man yelled with such ferocity that Cyrus stepped back a pace. “Only the deaf or blind do not know what is happening. War is upon us. War between Eralin and Aranc. War between the East and the West.”

The crown gasped. Many of the villagers began to talk amongst themselves again, panicking.

“War in the East and the West? Impossible! Too many lives were taken from the last war, the royal families know better!”

“We’re going to die! The armies will battle all across the lands, even in the North and South! They will even battle here!”

“You’re all idiots!” a particularly irritable villager screamed.

“Enough!” Cyrus hollered. A hush fell over the crowd. All were focused on him as he spoke.

“We aren’t going to die. Eralin and Aranc have warred ever since they were founded. The Third Great War even founded this village, when refugees from both countries came to hide from the armies. We are far north, away from their reaches. We’ve lived unaffected by the Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth Great Wars, though the Seventh sent a few more refugees into the village. We’ll be fine.”

“Did you not hear me?” the knight questioned, getting to his feet. He stumbled, and Cyrus caught him as he fell.

All of Eralin has been rallied,” he hissed. “Our army is now millions strong, as is Aranc’s. This is not simply another Great War. This is the Great War. The Eighth; the one that shall destroy the West or the East.”

Suddenly, the soldier clutched his side, stifling a cry.

“What do you mean?” Cyrus asked him. “The West and the East have stood for thousands of years. Neither can be destroyed!”

The man did not answer. The young woodcutter checked for a pulse. He let out a sigh of relief as he felt a heartbeat. Slow, but beating.

“Get this man to the healer,” he said to a nearby villager. “I must go to the council.”

***

One of the counselors slammed his fist on the wooden table.

“Preposterous!” he shouted. “This man is clearly delusional. We cannot trust anything he says!”

“I object,” another council member protested. “The man came in full armor, with a wound from a blade. We cannot ignore this; we must prepare the men to protect the village.”

“No!” another one of the council said. “War or not, this village was made by those who wanted to flee the war. We cannot join this fight.”

Soon, the entire council was shouting and arguing. Cyrus became irritated, not liking politics. No one ever agreed on anything. And, as the hours passed, his disdain was growing more and more. Finally, he could not take any more.

“Be quiet!” he bellowed. As the villagers did, the council stopped talking and turned its attention to him.

“Don’t you see?” he asked them. “We are wasting precious time. If what this knight said is true, then all of the lands are in trouble. We may be in the north, but we are still in Eralin. And with Aranc’s border so close, their army will undoubtedly come here, maybe faster than Eralin‘s will. We need to protect the village.”

He would have said more, but he knew that time was too precious to waste. The council sat in silence, making Cyrus feel embarrassed. But he knew what he said was right, and stood his ground. But the silence continued, and the council said nothing. Their eyes bored into him, hammering away at his willpower.

At last, one of the council members spoke up. Counselor Edmund, head of the council.

“Cyrus, son of Aldous,” he stated, and Cyrus winced at hearing his father’s name. He hadn’t heard it for more than a decade. “You have no right to interrupt a meeting of the council…but I fear you are right. As much as I do not want to believe it, I know that nothing lasts forever. The village must be protected, even if it means war.”

He turned his attention to the six other men sitting at the table.

“Council of the village of Albon. This young man, Cyrus, is right. We cannot ignore such irrefutable evidence. For a soldier to come so far north means that a great war will come. Perhaps the greatest war of our time; of any time. Therefore, I beseech you to issue a call to arms.”

The council sat in silence. But the tension in the air was overwhelming, and the dead silence made it worse. The men sat in deep thought, carefully considering Counselor Edmund’s words.

Finally, one of the counselors stood up.

“I second the High Counselor’s request for a call to arms,” he stated.

“And I,” another said, standing up from his chair, too.

The rest of the council began to rise to their feet and declare their decisions. Soon, all of the council was standing; the decision was unanimous.

The High Counselor nodded. “Then it is decided. Send for the messengers, all of Albon shall be rallied to fight. We will stand our ground against the West and the East.

Cyrus bowed his head. War had been declared for the first time in the village.

***

Legions of messengers rode out, carrying the message of the council to all of the village. The call to arms.

As the sun began its descent, men had already begun to march to the council building. In one hour’s time, one hundred men had come. In another hour, another hundred came. By sunset, the army was almost one thousand strong, and more poured in. As they came, Cyrus watched them. Not only men, but women and boys barely of age, were among the ranks.

Despite its size, the legions of peasants were not very intimidating. Most were dressed in scraps of armor, and many wielded pitchforks and wood axes. Only the hunters looked ready for battle, with bows and daggers. Cyrus shook his head. He knew none of them were ready to fight.

“Not like watching people prepare for their doom, do you?” a voice said.

He turned to see who it was. Behind him stood a middle-aged man with brown hair and green eyes. His face was stern, and bore a small scar on his left cheek. Cyrus looked at the man for a moment, not knowing who he was. Then, he realized that it was the knight.

“Do you think you can win?” the man asked. “Stand against an army of millions with some village folk that don’t even know how to wield a sword?”

Cyrus turned away. He was right, they had no chance of winning. But there was no escape from this, they would have to fight to protect their land. Or die trying.

“What is your name?” questioned the young man.

“Lewis Aldebourne,” the soldier answered. “Son of Aldeous.”

“Your father’s name is the same as mine’s,” Cyrus remarked.

“My father’s dead,” Aldebourne said blandly.

“As is mine.”

The two men were silent for a long time. Cyrus did not look at him, but he could feel the man’s eyes on him. But the woodcutter had other things to think about. These people were going to die, and he didn’t know what to do.

“You want me to teach them,” Aldebourne stated, apparently reading Cyrus’ mind. The younger man turned his head a bit, and nodded.

“I’ll do it,” the knight said, resting a hand on the pommel of his sword. “However, only on one condition. You will find me who, with all their heart, believes that you can hold out against the armies of the West or East.”

“I do,” a third voice said.

Both men turned to see the speaker. Behind them stood a tall, young man, with dark hair slightly covered with dirt. His build was strong, and his face was handsome, though intimidating. But despite his looks, the one feature that stood out was his eyes, nearly radiant blue, in sharp contrast with his black hair.

“Orion,” Cyrus said. “What are you doing here? Have you been listening to us the whole time?”

“I came because I received the call to arms,” his brother replied. “And I only heard about half of it, though I heard enough.”

The hunter turned to face Aldebourne, who stood a bit taller to try and match Orion’s level. He was still three inches shorter than the younger man.

“So, you think you can fight off the most powerful nations on the continent with a bunch of ragtag villagers?”

Orion did not answer, instead stepping out to face the militia.

“People of Albon, these are dark times,” he said, his deep voice filling the air. “The storm of war is coming, and with it rides Death himself. Even as we speak, entire armies so vast that they would fill up the Great Ocean march to the borders. We are in the eye of the tempest, but that eye is closing around us.

But it is those who fight for freedom, those who fight for life, it is those who will always prevail. These great armies fight for bloodshed and Death. But we will fight to protect our way of life, to protect our families. We will fight for peace! From beneath the darkness, the anger, and the violence of war, we will rise up in victory!

I would die before I see this village taken and destroyed. Will you fight with me, my brothers and sisters?”

The villagers roared in approval, announcing Orion as the one to lead them.

“We shall have peace in life or in Death!”

***

To Ms. Eukara Vox, the Librarian,

The document above is a narrative, written by my master, none other than Death himself. I am his apprentice, the Chronicler of Death. This is one part of the story, as I was too busy to send the other two. This is my contribution to your Library, as I doubt that many of my master’s documents reside there. I do wish, however, to deliver the second part of the story in person. With your permission, of course.

This letter must be short. As Chronicler of Death, I have many duties to attend to. My master does like to write, and I am the one to file all of them. I’m sure you know the feeling.


The Seven Hundredth Twenty-Second Keeper of the Chronicles




Fleur Du Mal -> RE: Book of War (6/10/2010 16:24:21)

Plague of War
by Ilø¤IMPERIAL¤ølI


In the waste,
of lost souls ‘n distribution
a foul smell arose.

That floats high o’er vales
and hills, across
the prairies -- ‘n through the woods.

Spread’ in -- spread’ in,
spread’ in!

Over brown water of
creeks and ponds,
it strolled.

Creeping - crawling,
making its way.
Stopped, halting
upon a li’l village.

Moving like a pestilence,
quietly and cautiously.
Bodies began
to sway back -- collapsed.

Infants cried,
toddlers struggled,
and ’vivors disgusted.

In the wasteland,
mesmerized by the dead bodies,
pain 'n sorrow ensued.

Old hags --
’vivors -- of the gas,
merciful ’nuff adopt toddlers.

The men -- ’vivors --
of the miasma,
carefully tend the fallen.

Hypovolemia.
Red water stains.

Life steady, as
the feebless fall.
Darwen's tale has been declared.
But, yet, the aroma continues.

Spread’ in -- spread’ in,
’n spread’ in!

That climbed the rungs
of tall mountains,
That runs thru turbines
of feral cyclones.

Walkin ’n walkin
‘n walkin, till, it halted
upon ’lil villages.




Footnotes to consider:
1. o’er vales: over valleys
2. li’l: little
3. ’vivors: survivors
4. ’nuff:enough




Fleur Du Mal -> RE: Book of War (6/10/2010 16:34:34)

CodeCode Talker
by alexmacf


Ya’at’eeh. Tsi’naajínii nishlí. Tachii'nii báshíshchíín. Todích'íi'nii (Red Forehead Clan) dashichei doo Ta'néézahnii dashinálí.

Hello, I am Nascha Todichiny. I am born to the Tsi’naajínii clan and born for the Tachii'nii clan. My maternal grandfather is of the Todích'íi'nii clan, and my paternal grandfather is of the Ta'néézahnii. My English name is Blair Todichiny. This is my story.

When I was young, I was taken away to a boarding school, where they gave me a name and taught me English, math, and other subjects. They Americanized me, tried to make me white. Those were some truly awful years. Though I was not allowed to speak Navajo at school, I spoke it fluently and whenever the teachers weren't around. I held onto my heritage, despite what they wanted me to do. That came in handy for them, when I was sixteen years old.

When I was fourteen, the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. The US went to war, as you well know. I'd always had a low voice, and I spent the next year making it lower, as low as I possibly could. I wanted to go for the military, you see. Though I didn't like the white people, I took deep offense at the attack on the country in which I lived. Who cares if the white people live here, while the Navajo are at risk from this foreign enemy? Better the devil you know than the one you don't. When I was fifteen, I forged myself a birth certificate saying that I was a boy. It wasn't as if the military officials would know Nascha is a girls' name; none of them speak a word of Navajo. Just in case, I began referring to myself not only as Blair, but also as Nastas. I started to turn a deaf ear to the name Nascha. I was extremely grateful for having A-cup breasts, barely noticeable once bound. By my sixteenth birthday, I was not only ready to pass myself off as an 18-year-old boy, but I was also in good physical condition, good enough that they'd let me in and boot camp wouldn't be too difficult.

They let me in, miracle of miracles, though they cut my hair. I was an extremely feminine-looking boy, but I was still a lad as far as they were concerned. The other Navajos they let in had all gone to boarding school with me. I recognized them, even if they didn't recognize me. We six were separated from the rest of the boot camp, and told we were now Navajo Code Talkers. We spent the next several months learning the code. The prerequisites for being a Code Talker were to speak fluent Navajo and English – no big deal for any Navajo who went to a boarding school near his or her home. The code was complex. It took quite a while to learn, but once we learned it, it was easy.

I became close to my fellow Code Talkers-in-training: Nicolas Tsosie, Cody Chinschili, Drew Begay, Harold Begay, and John Yazzie. I had a crush on John when I was twelve; somehow, I didn't think he needed to know that, especially because I wasn't about to let my secret go. I never saw these other six men again, though, until after the war was over.

At sixteen, you feel immortal. Bad things happen to other people, never to you. You can't die. By the time the war ended, when I was nineteen, I had seen my share of heartbreaking deaths of fellow soldiers, as young as I was. I no longer hated the white people, and they no longer hated the Dine people after I'd served with them. “If you prick us, do we not bleed?” When I first heard it, I thought it was funny that a white man had said that. Now, now I think that not nearly enough people realize that everyone bleeds, and all our blood is red. I can't even bring myself to resent the Japanese people, who killed so many of us, though of course when I was on the battlefield I hated them. They were fighting for what they believed in – their emperor, and his sovereign right to rule the world. Their beliefs were wrong, but they really and truly believed it. That's what sets them on the same stand as me, and hundreds of other soldiers fighting in the Pacific, in Europe, in Africa.

I saw my share of death and destruction. I used more than my share of the Code, trying to get backup, trying to find soldiers gone MIA. I almost made it to the end of the war. I was in the Battle of Okinawa, and barely escaped with my life. I was no longer in the military when Nagasaki and Hiroshima were bombed in August – I had nothing to do with that, to my dismay at the time.

Okinawa was 82 days of intense warfare, casualties on our side of more than 50,000 brave men. The air smelled intensely of gunpowder, of the dying. You could barely think but for the banging of guns, the explosions of grenades. It's not a memory I like to recall. We took the island, killing thousands upon thousands of Japanese soldiers, and a quarter of the civilians on the island. It wasn't as if they weren't trying to kill us though, the civilians – they were fighting for the same reason the soldiers were.

They tried to take me alive, the Japanese. They were absolutely desperate to break the Code. I wouldn't let them. I ducked out of their way, killing several of them in crossfire. I was killed by Private Henry Johnson, friendly fire. It was better than being taken by the Japanese and tortured for the Code. That was the day after Okinawa was officially over. I had barely escaped the battle with my life, but I never made it off that island alive.

I don't know why I was left here, the only ghost in the cemetery. I hope that, after writing this down, I might finally find eternal rest. God bless the USA, and may you all find the everlasting peace that has eluded me for so long. With this, I end the narrative. Hágoónee'. (Goodbye.)




Gianna Glow -> RE: Book of War (6/16/2010 20:05:52)

Guns, Poison and Fun
by Goldstein

“We’re getting mortared again,” muttered Commandant Irene as he shuffled past, coffee in one hand, rolled-up newspaper in the other. He looked quite undignified in pink fuzzy slippers and the stubble on his chin.

Zavid Killran simply grunted in response. He was playing the Xbox, and he could care less.

Aleksandra Yemtss chuckled at Zavid’s lack of interest. “Hostiles bomb our base with artillery and you hardly bat a lash. But when someone noob-tubes you on Call of Duty, you’re furious.”

Zavid shrugged. “Priorities, I suppose. Just because mine are more healthy than yours doesn’t mean you should berate me. Really.”

Aleks stuck her tongue out and said, “Take off that stupid hat and stay awhile, eh?”

Self-conscious, Zavid snatched off the red beret and stuffed it into his pocket.

“What the heck is going on?” asked a bewildered Demetri Greene, the team’s accountant. You could tell his position by his frumpy suit and green and black pinstripe vest underneath. His hair was rather unruly and his spectacles hung from a thin wire. “The base is shaking! Are they nuking us?”

“Shut up and go play with your calculator, Greene,” muttered Zavid, not even bothering to turn around.

Greene snorted. “Zavid, you’re an idiot. That was a horrible insult.”

“Cut it out, you two,” said Irene, bored. He sipped his black coffee and then snapped his newspaper open.

Greene scoffed and sat down beside Irene. He opened the milk jug nearby, and poured himself a bowl of Lucky Charms.

“You know, I bet Call of Duty actually heightens my reflexes in battle,” stated Zavid as he dodged a RPG and threw a grenade over by the flag he was trying to capture.

“You’re a tactician, Zave. You get a pistol, a master-communication link, and a grenade. You’re not the biggest asset in a battle,” said Aleks, not looking up from her text.

Zavid leered at her because he knew she was right. “But, but…it’s a machine pistol!"

Aleks shrugged. “Sorry, but the truth hurts.”

Irene snapped his newspaper again. “Zavid is a highly-trained KGB agent and is always a huge asset in any battle by his coordinating attacks and laying down support fire while someone reloads,” he said from behind his newspaper. It sounded painfully rehearsed. Greene stifled a laugh at the obvious lack of sincerity.

“Red-Alpha Team, come in!” Everyone paused for a moment, looking at the TV monitor that hung above a small fireplace. A second passed, then Zavid’s game flashed, gone. The face of a burly man with a thick mustache and heavy brow, tailored by dark, slicked back hair took it’s place. “Come in, for God’s sakes!”

“Oh, hey, Colonel,” said Irene dismissively. “I have been meaning to ask you, can we change our name? Red-Alpha Team isn’t very original, you know?”

“COLONEL?! Gah, I was about to get a sentry gun! Geez!” cried out Zavid, indignant.

“Shut up, Zavid,” muttered Aleks. She slid her phone shut and stood up. “What be your business, Colonel?” she asked, saluting.

“Are you aware that hostiles are bombarding your base with heavy ordnance?” snarled Colonel, his eyebrows high. As soon as he said that, the room shook a little from a mortar overhead.

“Only vaguely, sir,” Greene said, looking down at his cereal.

Colonel stared at Greene for a second, then barked, “You are the only man I know who still eats Lucky Charms and is enlisted in an elite covert force!”

“So?” asked Greene through a mouthful.

Colonel rolled his eyes, then turned to Irene. “Martial your forces and return fire on those hostiles! …where is Smirnoff?”

“Dead,” said Irene. “He got wasted on poison and died from the stuff. So, yeah.”

“The heck?! Why was I not informed?” yelled Colonel. He quickly waved away any responses. “Whatever. Look, just take Greene and return fire for a bit, alright?” And with that, the monitor went blank.

Irene sighed and grabbed a fistful of Lucky Charms. He shoved it into his mouth, then watered it down with some nearby poison. He swallowed it all without chewing, sighed, and said, “Suit up everyone. You too, Greene. Let’s go kick some butt in the name of the Motherland.”

“Yah!” cried Zavid, jumping up from the couch.

“Okay,” Aleks said.

Greene fiddled with his spectacles, then hastily took another bite and got up to follow everyone else to their stalls.

Zavid took out his red beret and planted it firmly on his head. He slid a clip into his PP2000, and put his master-communication link into his ear. “Testing, testing, can you hear me?”

“Of course,” Aleks said. She walked out of her stall, zipping her black turtleneck up to her chin. She screwed a silencer onto her P90 and tucked it behind her. She looked at Zavid, who has staring at her. “You okay?” she asked, a little uncomfortable.

“Uh huh. Anyone ever tell you look really sexy putting your silencer on?” Zavid asked, mumbling.

“Wow, Zave. Just wow,” admonished Irene mildly. “That’s pretty pathetic.” He slung a bandoleer of Squad Automatic Weapon ammo over his shoulder and turned to straighten his commandant hat.

“Is this okay?” asked Greene as he stumbled out. He had a Javelin under one arm and a Stinger under the other. A MP5K and an AK-47 were strapped to his belt.

Aleks stepped forward and unlatched the two guns. “You need to travel lightly. Use a Mini-Uzi, and, uh, a Desert Eagle. Trust me, I’m the weapons expert.”

Greene cautiously hugged the Javelin. “Can I at least keep this, please?”

Aleks chuckled and patted Greene on the shoulder. “Okay, buddy. Just don’t complain if that thing gets too heavy to carry around, ’kay?”

Zavid chuckled. “It will. Believe me.”

Irene snorted, uninterested. “Alright, let’s go. I’m not gonna die without a Medal of Valour.”

Just as Greene and his comrades emerged from the underground Russian base, a bullet whizzed by his head. He threw himself to the ground and yelled, “I’m hit!”

“Shut up, Greene, and get your butt over here,” snarled Zavid, throwing his back to the trench wall. Bullets flew and ricocheted overhead.

“How many are there?” asked Aleks as she ran next to him, loading the MP5K.

“God knows! It seems that they’ve got us pinned down with M16 fire! And no, we’re not lucky enough for it to be the burst-action rifle…” Zavid growled as he blindly fired the PP2000 overhead.

“How many bullets do you have left?” Irene asked as he pulled out a bit of the ammo belt from his SAW.

“Forty, I think. That’s forty dead. Don’t worry, I’ll try to see if I can get two,” Zavid said grimly as he slid bullets into the chamber.

“How?” stuttered Greene as he fumbled to push a magazine into the mini-Uzi.

Zavid chuckled. “By shooting at them when they’re in a line.” He slid another clip in, and peeked over the wall of the trench. He fired a few shots, and a hail of bullets responded. He quickly ducked, but not before his beret was shot up. Instantly his demeanor changed. He tenderly took up the beret, tears welling in his eyes, holding the hat to his chest. “My hat! Why, why? My hat…” he moaned as he inspected the damage.

“Grow a pair and turn on your master-communication link, Zave! Christ!” snarled Irene as he readied his SAW.

Zavid nodded hard, and put the beret carefully back on. “That was a gift from home…” he said as he flicked on his link. Then he continued, in a more steady voice, “Alright, Aleks, go man the MRLS and mini-gun. Irene, cover her and keep me updated, alright?” Aleks and Irene nodded and ran off to the left.

“What will we do?” asked Greene, nervous. He was shaking.

Zavid chuckled. “You, my friend, will be manning the Paladin.”

Greene tilted his head, a little confused. “Paladin? What, what is…?”

“Howitzer, you know? Giant cannon thingy on a tank?”

Greene nodded. “Okay, cool…what, I’m going to be manning the Paladin? I’m an accountant! You can’t expect me to do something like that—I’m not trained!”

Zavid shrugged and said as he reloaded his pistol, “So? You can balance a checkbook and set up a budget all while trading wits with me. So you can lay down and return heavy ordnance.”

“Alright, Aleks, get on that MRLS,” muttered Irene as he threw open the door.

“I thought you needed a three-team crew for that!” Aleks said as she climbed into the big vehicle.

“Only if you want a driver to get you out of the way of counter-strikes,” Irene said mildly. And before Aleks could protest, he slammed the door on her. He quickly spun around and opened fire into the distance, his bullets flying over a battered no-man’s land, full of barb wire and scorch marks. He stood by the MRLS door, unflinching, even when a bullet whipped through his hat.

“That Irene, that old good-for nothing...” Aleks growled as she manned the controls.

“We can hear you. You know, over the links,” came Irene’s voice over Aleks’ communication link.

Aleks’ face reddened, and she cursed under her breath. She lazily plugged in some coordinates and silently watched the machine’s monitor. Explosions soon bloomed over enemy lines, with little figures being flung in every which direction. That brings me to, what, seventy-eight, seventy-nine. How many more… She quickly cleared her head. She didn’t like to dwell on things she couldn’t change. “Shut up,” she muttered to voice in the back of her head.

“What?” asked Irene from the link, sounding irked.

“Nothing,” Aleks said quickly.

Irene watched the explosions, a little satisfied. He was old and grizzled, and his opinions were rooted in tradition and old customs. Even so, he knew, and admitted, that Aleks was a fine and upstanding soldier. One of the best…and most likable he had met in his forty years of service. Without warning, Irene noticed a small black figure, outlined in front of the explosions. “Is…he holding an RPG?” muttered Irene, straining his eyes. The figure jerked back a little, and a small object suddenly shot forward. “Oh, crap...”

Irene threw open the door to the MRLS and pulled Aleks out of the vehicle quickly. “What the heck are you doing?” she demanded angrily.

“Get down!” yelled Irene, throwing Aleks and himself to the ground about five yards from the rocket launcher. The RPG was true to its mark, and the MRLS exploded in a fireball that sucked away the oxygen around it.

Shrapnel ran down on Irene’s and Aleks’ back. “Everything okay? Guys, guys! For Christ’s sake, come in!” yelled Zavid into his link.

Coughing, Irene asked, looking at Aleks’ dirt-smeared face, “Are you alright?”

Aleks wiped the muck off her forehead. “Our suppliers are going to be pissed we blew up their stuff, aren’t they?"

Irene looked at her for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Better them than the enemy, right?”

“Is everything okay?” Greene asked Zavid meekly, clutching the Uzi close to his chest.

Zavid rolled his eyes at the exchange over the link. “Yeah, those two idiots are fine. You know, for almost being killed, you’d think they discuss something other than…ah, never mind. Now go on, get in there!”

Greene nervously fiddled with his spectacles which were perched on the bridge of his nose. “But, but…I’m nervous!” he whined.

Zavid sighed heavily and rubbed his brow. “Alright. Turn around, okay?”

Greene suspiciously looked Zavid over. “Why?”

Zavid shrugged. “So this won't hurt so much.” Before he could react, Zavid kicked Greene in the area between the thighs. Greene toppled backwards into the hatch. He fell with an almost comical *thud*. Zavid climbed down and pulled the hatch closed, bullets ricocheting off the top.

“Alright, Greene, man the cannon; I’ll stand guard,” Zavid said, pointing at the controls.

“Okay,” Greene said in a noticeably higher voice and hobbled over to the controls, doubled over. Zavid quietly laughed.

Greene plugged in some coordinates and the tank jerked from the recoil of the gun. “Direct hit!” Greene squealed happily.

“Whoopie-doo,” Zavid said, pointing his pistol up at the hatch. Pinging noises could be heard from the other side.

Greene stuck his tongue out at Zavid, adjusted his spectacles, then fired a few more shots off. He happily watched the explosions blossom over enemy lines on the tank’s little monitor.

The hatch suddenly opened, and a small green thing fell down. Greene whipped around, saw it, and shrieked, “GRENADE!”

Zavid bent down and picked it up. “I know. Idiots forgot to cook it.” Zavid quickly threw the thing back up the hatch and closed it once the grenade cleared it. A muffled explosion accompanied with screaming could be heard. Greene blanched and swiveled back around.

Zavid snapped a new clip into the PP2000. “No need to overreact next time we see a grenade, alright? And I swear to God, if you start yelling at me to look down my sights, I’ll kill you, understand?”

Greene looked over his shoulder, a quizzical look on his face. “What?”

Before Zavid could answer, the hatch flew open again. Zavid fired a volley of shots, and a hostile fell through the hole. The hatch was quickly shut from the outside. Greene spun around and gagged at the dead body. “Christ…gah…Zave, we’re out of ballistics!”

“Crap,” muttered Zavid.

“Zavid! We’re out of mini-gun ammo! We’ve got a mass of hostiles making their way towards us! We need assistance, now!” came Aleks’ voice over the link.

Zavid cursed and yanked the master link out of his ear. “Come on Greene,” he said, reloading his gun, “let’s go kick some butt.”

Zavid quickly threw open the hatch. An enemy on it screamed as he fell off the tank. Zavid quickly shot two other hostiles climbing up towards them. He spun around and fired on the man who had fallen.

“Is it safe?” asked Greene meekly from the interior of the tank.

Zavid ignored him and scanned the battleground. A group of ten tangos were making their way to Aleksandra and Irene’s position. Aleks occasionally would pop up and squeeze a few shots off. But fire was quickly returned, and she had to duck back down before she could get any more shots off. “Darn it,” muttered Zavid angrily. “Darn, darn, darn, darn!” he swore.

Greene stared up at his cussing comrade above him. The feeling of helplessness that had seized him moments before faded away, replaced with agitation. “Forget this,” Greene growled, anger suddenly filling him. He grabbed his Javelin, and shoved Zavid out of the way.

“Hey!” Zavid yelled indignantly.

“Shut up, tactician,” barked Greene. He loaded the weapon, then held it up to his face. The machine beeped cheerfully. “Lock acquired.” Greene squeezed the trigger, the missile shot into the air. It popped, then exploded upwards.

Greene and Zavid wordlessly watched as the missile arched into the air. “Higher, higher, higher…” Zavid chanted dramatically.

“Be quiet, Zave,” muttered Greene as he watched the projectile.

Its aim was true. It hit the ground squarely in front of the group of hostiles. Bodies were lifted into the air, and Greene and Zavid could hear their shouts of surprise and pain from the Paladin.

Irene and Aleks snapped their heads over to the tank. Greene had dropped his Javelin, staring dumbfounded at the spot where the mass of enemies had been. Zavid was twisting his master link back into his ear.

“Can you hear me, Zavid?” Irene asked gruffly.

“Yeah,” came Zavid’s voice. It was unusually shaky.

“You give Greene a slap on the back and tell him that he did a bang-up good job. Or I’ll give your Xbox a red ring. Aye?”

Zavid looked at Irene’s thin, tall figure, towering over the spent mini-gun. He turned to Greene. “Way to go, man! That was awesome!” Zavid said enthusiastically, clapping his hand on Greene’s shoulder. Greene continued to stare straight ahead, shocked.

Irene and Aleks quietly chuckled, still a little uneasy.

Zavid coughed into his fist, a little bashful, and briskly said, “Alright everyone, let’s get the back to the base before one of us gets picked off by a sniper. We don’t want Irene to be buzzkill.”

Irene stopped laughing.

“I did pretty good out there, right? I fired the Paladin, and I got at least ten K.I.A.’s! How awesome is that!” Greene asked gleefully as the steel door to the base slowly slid shut behind them and the four were plunged into darkness.

Panel lights on the walls flickered along the ramp down to the base, and Greene took the lead.

“Indeed, I did a fine job out there. Especially since I’m just an accountant! Amazing!” Greene said.

Zavid rubbed his eyes. “You’re not going to be one of those guys who does one thing right and then gets all stuck-up and arrogant about it, are you?”

Greene grinned. “You know it.”

Aleks burst out laughing, and Irene silently chuckled.

As soon as the four made it back to the main room, a monitor flickered on, and the face of Colonel flashed on. “How’d you do?" he asked eagerly.

Zavid flopped down on the couch and said in a scorching tone, “We nearly all died out there. Alright?”

Colonel narrowed his eyes at Zavid. “How?” he barked angrily.

“Well, Aleks nearly got blown up by an RPG while she was in the MRLS, then we ran out of mini-gun ammo,” Irene growled as he twisted the top off a bottle of water.

“And someone threw a grenade down into the Paladin while me and Greene were in in there,” Zavid muttered.

“I got ten K.I.A.’s!” cried Greene proudly.

Colonel leered at Greene for a moment, then announced, “Well, I think you deserve a Medal of Valour, eh?”

Greene gaped with awe, while Irene took a long gulp of water before saying, “You know, I saved a comrade from almost certain death. I think I deserve one too.”

Colonel looked Irene over from the TV monitor. “You also cost our allies 2.3 million dollars. But I guess that could be considered a plus…”

Irene took another swig of water and quietly watched Colonel.

“…almost certain death?” asked Colonel slowly.

“Pretty much,” piped up Aleks.

“…nah. Keep trying, eh?” And before Irene could protest, Colonel disappeared.

Irene angrily threw the bottle down, screwed open the poison bottle, and took a long draught from it. “Ah well,” he murmured coolly, “I guess I should just keep trying, right? What a… a ugh.”

“For an old man, you use modern terminology pretty well,” commented Zavid. He got up and turned on the Xbox. “Come on, play some Call of Duty with me. That always cheers you up, right?”

Irene glowered at the controller Zavid was presenting him. “I hate that insipid little game of yours.”

Aleks got up and clapped her hand on Irene’s shoulder. “How about we have some hard lemonade? Some poison, some lemonade, some poison…”

Irene sighed and smiled a little. “Now that, that I would like.”

“As would I,” came a throaty voice. A stooped figure walked out from behind a corner, his hands in the pockets of his long black jacket.

Colonel quickly reappeared on the monitor and hastily said “Yeah, meet your team’s new sniper, Vladius Unoff. He’ll take Smirnoff’s place,” before disappearing again.

“Charmed,” Vladius said in a monotone, his eyes droopy and dull-looking.

Greene walked over and thrust out his hand. “Demetri Greene, team accountant. I also killed ten guys with a single Javelin, so…” he stuffed his hands in his pockets and puffed his chest up a bit. “Yeah,” Greene finished, sounding impressed with himself.

Vladius looked at Greene for a moment, then walked to Irene. “Where’s my room?” he asked in that same tone.

Irene glared down at the newcomer, then mumbled, “Third down on the right, by the potted plant and armory. Zavid Killran here will show you to your room.”

Zavid groaned, threw down his controller and jumped up. “Right this way,” he said. Vladius just stared at him. Zavid, uncomfortable, took the lead.

Zavid reached the door, then turned. Vladius was right behind him. He was still staring. Zavid stared right back. After about six seconds of silence, the tactician murmured, “You have the deadest, creepiest eyes. Do you know that? Because now you do. Okay?”

Vladius stared at him, then quietly slipped into his room.

Zavid shuddered. “Holy crap, I work with some weirdos.” He took off his beret and smiled at it. “Don’t I? I know, these guys are seriously messed up.” He replaced his hat, and sighed, “But I guess I’m stuck with them.”




Gianna Glow -> RE: Book of War (6/16/2010 20:15:08)

The Laws and Customs of War

by xplayer


A dusty road wound towards the horizon, a snake swimming through an ocean of sand. Occasional dust storms were the only travelers on the road; no person who loved his life would dare to venture on it. Besides, the towns and cities through which it traveled were not exactly premier tourist attractions. People would ask, “Was the road always this way or was its present condition caused by the war?” The simple answer to that question is a plain, “I don’t know. This country has always had war and always will have war. It’s a part of the culture.”

Dorian mused over these things as he stared down the road through the scope of his assault rifle. Boredom does strange things to people. A soldier is not supposed to aim his weapon until he is ready to fire. Yet, Dorian used his scope like a pair of binoculars to observe the desolate scenery.

“Still nothing,” Dorian sighed. “I thought this place was supposed to be crawling with terrorists; that’s what they say on the news. People get blown up every other day, right?”

Joe smiled. “That only happens in the inhabited part of the country. Ha!”

Some members of the Third Regime of the Regent's army argued that there were no two soldiers who acted as a better team than Dorian and Joe. Both had won metals for their valor and bravery, and they always seemed to know what the other was thinking. Childhood friends who were next door neighbors, attended the same schools their entire lives, and were placed in the same army division tend to have this brotherly bond. They even looked somewhat alike, both with army crew cuts and white skin that screamed, “Look at me, I’m a Sophistan!”

“I remember,” Dorian said, “the times at the beginning of the war. We were true soldiers then, always raiding terrorist hideouts and killing a bunch of people in one day. Where have those days gone? Now we’re some sort of idiotic peacekeeping force out in the MIDDLE OF NOWHERE!” He shouted the last phrase towards the mountains and heard it reverberate across the hills for the next five seconds.

“I could sure go for a cigar right now,” Joe said. He leaned up against an abandoned brick home on the dirt street that they were supposed to be guarding.

“Ah,” Dorian exclaimed, “you’re in luck. I have just the thing for a boring occasion like this.” He pulled two cigars out of his pocket.

Joe was astonished. “How the hell did you sneak those in? You could get in big trouble, you know.”

“That’s only if you’re a normal run-of-the-mill soldier, but not if you’re Dorian A. Flagstaf,” Dorian said proudly. “Don’t worry, I have connections.”

He walked across the street and handed Joe one of his precious cigars. Joe took it gratefully, but then stared at Dorian quizzically and asked, “How do you suppose we’re supposed to light these?”

Dorian slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. “God, I can’t believe I forgot the lighter.”

“You suppose we could just shoot ’em?”

“Nope, tried that before. It failed miserably.”

“You sure you don’t have a lighter, a match, nothing?”

“I thought you would have one.”

The two soldiers stood at the corner of the two main roads of the town with an unpronounceable name in Isurana. They were soon rolling on the ground, laughing at their dilemma. The heat does strange things to people.

Joe got up first. “Dorian, I’ve got an idea.” He whipped a magnifying glass out of his pocket. “We’ll use this. Once one of them is lit, we’ll use it to light the other one.”

Dorian laughed, “Have you ever used a magnifying glass to light anything before, Joe? It takes a really long time.”

Joe shook his head. “My cousin burned clean through a dried autumn leaf in about a half an hour. Besides, it’ll pass the time, right?”

So the two soldiers knelt there on the dusty ground with a cigar lying in the dirt. It was high noon, so Joe didn’t have to worry about the shadows cast by the buildings around them. He lined the beam of focused light at the tip of the cigar.

“And now we wait.”

They didn’t talk for a while. The silence between them was awkward, but understandable. Two run-of-the-mill soldiers should remain silent at their posts as not to attract attention, but there’s no better way to attract attention than standing on the side of the road while attempting to light a cigar with a magnifying glass. It’s certainly something you don’t see everyday.

After about five minutes of waiting, the silence was broken by the crying of a child. The soldiers had heard crying children before, but this cry was fairly unusual. It wasn’t a cry of pain, and it wasn’t a cry for help. It was something in-between, something that tears at the listener’s soul each second he hears it.

Dorian stood up. “Keep that glass on those cigars. I’ll be right back.” He readied his rifle and set off in the direction of the mysterious crying.

When he turned the corner, he saw an Isuranan child, no more than ten years old, crying on his front doorstep. Tears welled up in the child’s eyes, but they seemed incapable of flowing down his cheek. They just kept growing until they plopped on the ground like big fat raindrops.

Dorian stooped down to the child’s eye level. He wiped the child’s tears away and said affectionately, “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay. What’s wrong?”

The child began to shake his head vigorously. Before Dorian found out why, there was an explosion.

Boom.

A split second before the blast of dust, body fluids, and shrapnel flew into the sky, Dorian thought that he saw himself comforting the child, an out-of-body experience perhaps. He couldn’t help thinking, “Oh my God! It’s a trap!” By the time he realized his mistake, it was too late.

*****


When Dorian came to, he was in the medical tent. He didn’t feel any pain—or anything else for that matter. He couldn’t move; his limbs wouldn’t respond. His head was in a brace, one he had seen in first aid to prevent further neck injury. His surroundings were blurry and indistinct. Sound and images blended together, repeating over and over. He heard someone repeat like a canon, “He’s coming around… He’s coming around…”

Dorian’s eyes drifted down to his legs and saw what remained of them. Where his right leg had been, a stub of a thigh remained. Most of his left leg remained intact, except for his left foot which looked as if it had been amputated. Then the pain hit. Suddenly, Dorian was screaming with the pain of a thousand incisions over every square inch of his body. The world was thrown into spiraling chaos. Dorian felt a needle slip under his skin and he drifted back into an artificially induced sleep.

When he regained consciousness the second time, the pain was mostly gone. Now, soreness took hold of every muscle in his body, soreness that he was sure would last for years. Dorian found that he could move his arms, but the rest of his body was strapped down to the medical bed, probably due to his outburst earlier. His vision was slowly clearing, and he was able to decipher the figure of Joe sitting at the end of the bed. He twirled an unlit cigar between his fingers.

“So you finally woke up,” Joe said with a smile.

“Those terrorist animals.”

“Do you want to know how many pieces of shrapnel they had to remove from you?”

“Not really.”

“When you get out and about with a new pair of legs, I’ll give you your cigar back. Then we can smoke it together.”

Dorian managed a weak laugh. “No way man! I owe you my cigar and a lot more. Thanks for saving my life.”

Joe grasped Dorian’s hand. “We’re blood brothers, Dorian. A good soldier never leaves a man behind.”

War does strange things to people.




Gianna Glow -> RE: Book of War (6/16/2010 20:38:41)

Visions of Tragedy
by superjars


He looked out upon the battlefield, strewn with bodies as far as the eye could see. They were long dead, but with no one left to bury them, they sat out in the open air. Carrion birds soared overhead, the stench of death and decay pungent to any who came near. It had been at least a year since this battle had occurred, and the bodies remained, almost unidentifiable now, but still easily recognized as human. The war had been a tragedy for both sides, and this field sat between the two opposing countries as a testament of that. Neither young nor old had been spared in the war, all conscripted, armed and sent to clash against the enemy over and over, until only a handful of people remained on either side. No conflict was worth the loss of life that this field represented.

Each of the bodies had their own stories: the reasons they fought, who they were fighting for, how they died. He began to walk silently through the bodies, taking great care to avoid stepping on any of them. As he walked, he threw his gaze left and right, looking from body to body. It was obvious to any onlooker that he was searching for something. But what he could be looking for in this barren, desiccated land was anybody's guess. Regardless of what he was looking for, he moved forward with measured, confident steps, each one carrying him deeper into the carnage that now surrounded him on all sides. The bodies grew closer together as he moved further in and he was forced to move slower, to take smaller steps, to watch each step before he took it.

This man could be anything.

A scavenger, searching the dead for precious metals and trinkets, perhaps a few unspent bullets or knives. The scavengers had been the first group to breach this battlefield several months after the war had ended, coming to profit from what they found on the dead, sold to the highest bidder. But the man's clothes were clean and pressed, hanging lightly from his form with an air of importance and command.

A scientist then, searching for the mysteries of the human body and mind. After scavengers had picked the battlefield clean, these men and women had come in droves, setting up equipment and conducting experiments. But none could answer the most basic questions of why this tragedy had happened and slowly, one by one they left, taking their experiments back to those still living. But the man had no equipment with him, and if he were running some kind of experiment here, it was not evident what he searched for.

A businessman perhaps, hoping to find some way to reuse or profit upon the pain and suffering of those who had died. Many had come with ideas to pave this place and build upon it, or to create a path through here to connect the two countries, but no one had given them any money for the projects and they soon grew tired of trying and went to build elsewhere. But he was not searching for a path through, or checking to see where it would be smart to build.

A pilgrim likely, coming to find peace with the fact that he was alive while so many were dead. Perhaps there was some loved one that he was searching for, some friend or parent who had perished in the war. More likely, he just sought to be amongst the dead, to feel their pain, to mourn their loss and occasionally to join their ranks. Many found that they could not comprehend the devastation which had befallen mankind because of this war, nor could they live with the new world that they were presented with. Their struggle ended, alone and in tears, amongst those who went before them. But this man did not carry any weapon, nor did he shed a tear.

He stopped walking at this point, moving to push a shaking hand through his slicked-back hair. He stared down at one of the bodies, lines of pain etched all over his face. Upon closer examination, the tracks of past tears could be seen coursing over his face, but there were no tears in his eyes today. His grief was coming to an end and this place would be like healing balm. He reached his left hand into the pocket of his pants and his right into the inside of his jacket. He pulled both out and looked down to stare at the only objects he had left in the world. In his left hand, nestled within the long creases of his palm, sat a small silver ring, polished bright as the day it was formed. He looked over to his other hand and held there was a single red rose, red as the blood shed on this field, standing bright and opposing against the gray background of his surroundings.

He looked down at the body which lay mangled beneath him, pressed between other bodies as if they protected it from those laid around it. He bent down slowly, careful not to touch any of the other bodies, until he was kneeling in front of the body. He took the rose first, pushing the stem of it into the dead soil beside the body. It sunk deep, standing before the body in stalwart glory. It grew roots, which searched deep into the earth, finally finding a spot to latch on to and get its needed sustenance. Next, he took the ring from his left and pressed it into the ground in front of the rose, leaving it as a memorial for all to see who might follow in his footsteps.

Now that both hands were empty, the man had only one task left to complete. He moved his hands forward, inching them around the other bodies and placed them on the side of the body. He felt a rush, energy pouring out of his body and into the corpse before him. He closed his eyes slowly, but instead of growing dark, his vision expanded. The stillness and silence which had surrounded him before now was replaced with a loud roar of sounds. Where before he had smelt only death and decay, now there was the smells of flowers and sweat.

She looked out upon the field that surrounded her, white flowers in full bloom, an army to her back and another facing her from across the way. The sounds of people yelling and horses braying nearby told her that her men and women were ready to go. She strode confidently and brashly out to meet with the opposing general making his way from the other side. To her probing eye, he did not appear confident in the least; in fact, he seemed quite the opposite, timorous and afraid. She came to meet him, speaking in hushed tones, giving the opportunity to surrender. She saw nervous glances shoot from the young general, and several dark, heavy heads shaking in the distance. The enemy was refusing to give up, against the wishes of this young general. She smirked to herself slowly, reveling in the coming combat. She turned quickly on her heels and marched back to her army, nodding to them as she approached. The men knew exactly what to do.

A gasp flew from the man's lungs as he stumbled back to reality, his hands releasing their grasp and rising from the corpse. This was the one he had been looking for, the confident woman so bent on destruction; the woman that he had, at first glance, fallen in love with. His hands trembled before him, his mind raced with the images he had seen, images from what seemed like another life. He could still feel her emotions: the thrill of imminent battle, the energy which bubbled up in her with ferocity and ire. And a deeper emotion, a budding respect for her opponent, who saw the battle opening before him and knew he could not win, but following orders to the end. He closed his eyes tightly, pushing away the strangeness of this event, once again reaching out to place his hands on the corpse.

She was rushing towards the enemy, running with the grace of a hundred horses. Her first lines followed directly behind her, knowing not to surpass the huntress when she smelt her prey. A feral grin spread over her face, her eyes narrowing and body coiling as she sprinted ahead towards the charging line of her foe. She stared past the line, taking note of the faces who had been shaking before, all lined up in the back of their force, “safe” from the battle. She marked each one for a dishonorable death in her mind, cowards that they were. One face was missing from the assembled men, however. She searched up through the army, searching for the face of the young general who had met her in the midst of the middle of the field. And then he was there, in front of the opposing force, charging directly towards her. The grin on her face became wider as she marked this man for an honorable death, in the midst of battle.

As he transitioned back to reality, the silence around him was even more intense than before. He was panting for breath, flooded with conflicting emotions, torn apart by the memories of the woman who now lay before him, only a shell of who she once was. The ferocity of her charge, the feelings of being truly alive, truly in the moment; all of these were more than he had ever felt before. He clenched his teeth tightly, the tremors of his hands now moving throughout his entire body. And yet he could see, clearer than ever before, that he needed to complete this journey, to know the truth. He reached out again, bracing himself for the end.

She clashed with the young general, steel ringing off of steel, bodies flailing past each other. She circled him again and again, not giving up an inch of her position. Around her, the rest of the soldiers pushed back and forth, bodies falling to the ground with mortal wounds, never to rise again. Her adrenaline pumped through her body and blood lust rose in her breast. The battle with this young man was evenly matched and as they continued fighting with one another, the respect she felt for the young man began to transform inside of her into a love for him. He was brave, intelligent and a fearsome fighter, but there was something else within him. He had determination, a bright light within him that would not be extinguished, even if he was killed.

She fought with him for an eternity and then an opening presented itself: he caught his foot on the edge of a buckler lying near his feet and with a few quick motions, she had relieved him of his weapon. The man simply grinned back at her, as if he had no care in the world. He was relaxed and poised, the nervousness from before disappearing in the heat of battle. She hesitated. Only for a moment, a second of indecision, but it was more than she could afford. A woman ran up, young and inexperienced, and as she stood there, frozen in place and staring into the eyes of the young general, the woman stabbed her in the side, puncturing her lung. As if in slow motion, she sank to her knees and began to fall backwards. And suddenly, the man was there, holding her in his arms, whispering some nonsensical words in her ears, silent tears streaming down his face. She looked up at him, the feral grin spreading over her face, her hand reaching up to gently caress his face before falling lifeless to the ground.

He wrenched away, entire body slick with sweat, hands trembling at his sides. He had found the truth, the reality of a love that was stripped away because of a war he had never wanted to fight. That battle had gone on long after this incident and he had been one of only a few who had survived the slaughter. Neither side came away with a win that day, and it was shortly after that the rival countries had come to the table of peace and stopped the war with a treaty. Shaking with fury, the man bent his head down, placing his forehead against the decaying flesh of the woman who had meant the world to him, the woman he had only known for a few moments. The woman who had been taken from him by war's fateful hand. As his forehead pressed against her flesh, he felt a spark of energy: his eyes fell closed, his breathing slowed and stopped, and he slumped down on top of her. Now they could be together.




Gianna Glow -> RE: Book of War (6/16/2010 20:50:14)

Transforming the Battlefront
by Frenetic Raptor


Jenny remained within her room, oblivious to what she had gotten herself into. Am I really doing the right thing? She barely considered the matter before an enormous, earth-shattering explosion sounded. The shock waves that followed violently shook the inn and everything inside as she struggled to stay on the bed. Even with such disastrous events lurking outside, she let loose a chuckle of laughter directed towards an amusing and unexpected thought of hers. Did I really just think of that? And of all times. I am so going to be dead.

Her childish moment was over, for she received the most devastating headache in the world. Endless screeching originated from beyond the inn's walls, screeching that would drive one's mind mad, immobilizing its victim before finally sending them into oblivion. Experiencing this inner explosion of her brain was unappealing and absolutely grotesque, imprinting itself as a memory in her mind forever. Nothing ever seems to change no matter how much I attempt to get away from it. I am once again being slowly dragged against my own will by an emerging chaotic presence.

She smirked at the reality of it, knowing she thought the same way of herself. This was all too familiar, the predictable screaming and the ugliness of her own darkness; unwilling at the beginning, yet prevalent in the end. I am not going to let it consume me and I am certainly not going to let something else do the same. The odds were always going to be stacked against her, but without such frightening stimuli giving her the will to live she would have perished long ago. These fragile memories drove her motivation to fight on to new heights. I would love to know who or what had done this and show them what I could do. As if a sinister wish had been granted, something large approached her from the skies.

The wind began to swirl outside, accompanied only by a reverberating howl. This was her one and only warning, for what came next was a threat to her own life. The walls of the inn began to buckle under the pressure, the devastating sounds of splintering followed every weakening wooden board. With little time to react, an instinctual decision was all she could muster. Sitting on the bed, Jenny crouched and covered her head and body, riding on what hope remained. The glass from every window shattered, sending the remaining shards flying through the air, unrelenting. With no choice but to endure, she held her position against the elements.

Almost as if from a tornado itself, the roof above began separating from the rest of the inn, its entire detachment evident. The violent moans and groans of the rafters gave way, foreboding the roof's swift demise. Everything caught in its fury flew through the skies, never to be found in its previous state; lifeless, crippled, and broken, every piece would remain. Her protection against the wind's brutality was gone. The wind, without resistance, raced against her body before easing as the low flying beast from above moved onward.

She was finally physically capable of seeing the destruction for herself, even without the initial desire to take a peek. What in the world just happened to the ceiling? She didn't necessarily want to look into the darkened sky above her, but her compulsions would not be so kind, eventually forcing her to have a look. Jenny sighed, realizing there was far more going on than what she had originally believed. How ignorant she was and completely vulnerable. They were enormous and in quite the number; these devastating predators of the sky.

She couldn't quite figure out what to make of these aviols. Are these dragons? They are large enough in size, that's for sure. They even have the scales, the wings, and the recognizable head. She shook her head in disbelief, sensing something wasn't quite right with this picture and it disturbed her. That is when the thought hit her. They aren't just dragons, but manta rays of sorts. Wait a minute, flying manta rays? That doesn't make any sense. Aren't they supposed to be creatures of the sea? She could only stare in wonder while her mind was lost in their miraculous beauty. No, Jenny, get a hold of yourself. They are dangerous beings and you are their prey. Just look at what they did to this inn.

From what she could gather by the screams and the sounds from the battlefield around her, she was expected to fight. That brought on the question of where to begin. What should I do first? Is it possible to tangle with a creature of the skies and do the impossible or is there something else I should be doing? With little desire to venture into the skies with these aviols, she took a few steps to one of the damaged windows and caught a glimpse of what her other possible alternatives were. Within her sights, there were another creatures wreaking havoc on the city, on the streets.

These foul beasts were not the same as above, but something more sinister. Just staring into those fiery eyes from behind crumbled walls caused fright to arise from within her soul. That's just great, those aren't much better. How can I possibly defeat those berserker things? These diabolic valefors had enough muscle to take down a building, snapping a stable foundation like a toothpick. I can only imagine what would happen if my own body were snapped in such a brutal way. Just the thought of such a gruesome demise made her cringe.

I have no other options, I must defeat one of these sinister barbarians. She still feared for her life, but she couldn't leave this city to fall into ruins. She made a promise and she wouldn't let a request for help die in vain. Hesitantly, she walked out of her her room, attempting to regain her composure, before deciding to sprint outside to locate her target. There this darkened being was, all eight feet of him, if not maybe more. She stared into the beast's menacing eyes and decided it was time to do her thing. Was she prepared? Probably not. Did she care? Not really. No one would stand in her way and certainly not her other half. She learned to accept change and not refuse it like so many times before.

"Here goes nothing." She breathed in and exhaled all of her tension before she focused in preparation for another transformation. Letting the animal instincts within her mind to arise from the abyss from where it thrived, she craved for that insatiable hunger for a fight. It had begun, her target selected and her killer instincts kicked in. She was ready for freedom.

Her once alluring blue eyes were the first to mutate into those vile eyes of yellow, displaying her violent tendencies. This sparked the change in her facial appearance, no longer that of the sweet and carefree Jenny that many knew. Her once elegant hair, reduced to fur. Her ears grew from the top of her head, each one ending in a familiar point. The new appearing hair thickened around her cheeks, appearing longer than that on her head. Her face distorted to that of a closer resemblance of a bat, yet retaining her natural human skin texture and color.

What once were ordinary human feet were covered in fur, holding no footwear as she had already kicked them off. With the fur continuing halfway up her lower leg, the deadly truth of her violent nature became more evident. What used to be harmless nails, were talons. Four in front and one large one just beneath the heel of each foot. With the most crucial part of her transformation remaining, she could sense the danger lurking right in front of her very eyes. This valefor was aware of her and immediately took notice. She hoped it would take its time, she was almost there.

With her focus drawn back to herself, she released all the fury left to be unleashed. Her arms sprouted fur and new forming wings pulled at her skin, stretching to impossible proportions while two additional bones protruded from her arms, for wing support. One right before each wrist and one below each elbow. With the shape of the wings formed, the pale white coloration changed to that of a dark brown with the same fur coating reemerging. Her once slender hands and fingers extended outward, giving her hands the effect of looking twice their normal size. At the end of each fingertip was a razor sharp claw, armed and ready to shred her victim apart. Her hands, like most other exterior portions of her body became dark and grew a layer of fur.

Jenny finished her transformation for all but one thing. Where are my fangs? I am not complete without those. Caught up between her transformation, she almost forgot about a certain somebody. This brute that was charging right for her. She could feel it, her fangs were growing and right on time. She took off into flight just before the beast lashed out at her with its lethal claws, leaving it empty-handed. The animal instincts within her were in full control, adrenaline fueling her quickening reflexes.

She burst out in laughter at the exhilaration of her near miss. "Oh, what fun." She could see it now, the look on the enraged beast's face. She had gotten away in the nick of time. What should I do next? I could go for a head on approach, though it might not be for the best. With the beast's back still turned towards her, she needed to think quickly. Jenny continued to hover, watching her altitude, not wanting to grab the unwanted attention from higher above. If she caught the attention of one of these aviols, she would have a major problem.

I might as well give my signature attack a try. She decided to launch an ice blast towards the being. She flipped through the air and curled into a protective ball, her wings covering her body. She concentrated on creating a massive ice sphere, hoping that it would be powerful enough to hurt the beast. Of course, there was one problem with her plan. This valefor was not going to sit there and take it. The fiend was already preparing itself, for it felt the energy from behind. Knowing nothing of how prepared the valefor was, she stopped and prepared to hurl this undersized mass of ice, far to small for her liking. This is going to have to do, I don't have the time to make it any bigger.

Jenny grabbed the magical globe of ice with her hands and held tight, still within her own protective ball. She opened her wings and stretched them open, displaying her entire wingspan. She flipped in the air once more and hurled the ball of ice towards the brute while she hoped for the best. She hovered in the air with an anxious look, seeing her attack reach the giant beast. The valefor successfully defended itself with its shield-like wings. The ice shattered into pieces upon impact and did little damage, if any at all.

"Oh, come on!" She displayed her full displeasure with the result of her pitiful excuse for an attack. "Not even a scratch." She shook her head, knowing exactly how much that disappointed. She didn't even have the time to add any sort of effect to her attack and there was no chance of freezing her opponent. Her only opportunity was gone, ending up in another failure.

Might as well try stunning this relentless monster instead. Jenny readied herself and let loose, releasing a deafening pulsar wave of sound directed at the valefor who's only response was to follow suit. All other sounds around them were drowned out by this shrieking wall of misery. With nothing being accomplished but a bunch of noise pollution between the two, someone's nerves were just about to be shot.


* * * * *


After overhearing such obnoxious behavior from outside and having had all she was willing to endure, a young woman armed with a bow and sword emerged from a house just beside the inn. An escalating agitation flowed through her body. "That's it, I've just about had it with all the noise! If no one else can shut them up, I will do it myself!" she shouted in complete outrage. She was tired of this splitting headache that all but snapped every stable nerve in her body just aching for a fight.

She took off her quiver, containing her arrows and set it down with her bow. She went for her first weapon of choice and pulled out her gladius from its sheath. Without doubt, she sprinted towards her target and lunged at the beast hoping to hit anything critical. She wouldn't mind if she sliced right through its throat for some silence. Wearing nothing but a red dress and giving little concern for her safety, she struck the beast, only to be disappointed in the outcome. Her attack proved futile, grazing only the surface of the beast's hardened flesh.

At least the valefor had stopped its screeching, though the fiend was now focused on Shariana, who had yet to back away. The valefor turned around and struck her, sending her flying back towards the entrance of the inn. It wasn't a knockout blow, but she wasn't getting up anytime soon. There she was, on the ground, struggling to catch her fleeting breath. How stupid could I have been, being so reckless. She was frustrated in herself and angry at everything else. She would not be defeated and she would fight on.

Catching the sight of another fighter, Jenny glanced down from above, witnessing this stranger's failed attack and stopping her own unrelenting noise. Accomplishing nothing and unable to defend the woman, she could only watch in devastation as she knew what was coming. She turned her head away just as the valefor struck the woman, the sound of the impact frightful to the ears. She gathered enough courage to look upon the evidence of such carnal behavior, finding the woman in red slouched against what remained of the destroyed inn. Please be alright. Whether luck or faith would play any part in this woman's fate, she didn't want to see another fragile life perish.

While Jenny watched in concern for this woman, something else was eying her, hungry for flesh. A curious aviol had caught sight of the events below and was barreling down on her location. If it weren't for the sheer size of the flying creature, she wouldn't have noticed. She took a glance above her. "No, not now!" Why do these unfortunate things always happen to me? She flapped her wings harder than she had ever before, knowing if she could not out-fly this aviol, she would be dead, no questions asked. She struggled to gather any momentum, driven by panic alone. Given a few moments she really didn't have, she recovered control of her bodily functions and took off into full flight. She could feel the aviol in hot pursuit. She would not let this cat catch her, for she was an intelligent little mouse.

While Jenny was wearing herself out, flying with a growing fatigue, Shariana had to contend with this valefor who was still approaching her. What is it going to take for this beast to give up on me? Maybe if I was dead and my corpse lay mutilated, entirely exposed for an aviol to consume. There was one last idea that might save her life. She sure hoped that other being would come back, the one busy with an aviol. If not, she would surely be done for.

She slid her body over and reached for her quiver, pulling it to her by the strap. She managed to tip it over, sending one of the arrows falling out. Instead of grabbing the entire quiver, she grasped just this single arrow, tipped with an onyx gemstone. With an individual arrow in hand, she needed her bow which was just a bit closer than her quiver had been. In excruciating pain, she extended her arm out and pushed her body closer along the ground, towards her bow. She spread out her reluctant fingers and hesitantly closed each one around the wooden frame, bringing the bow towards her body.

"Yes, at last." Her words held a sense of accomplishment. That was the easy part, now she needed the aviol to come back and regain the composure necessary to shoot the arrow. Would the gods give her the strength to accomplish this feat? If not, it would be game over. There she waited impatiently and still in pain. She never did find out how bad her wounds were, though her dress was obviously a disaster.

Jenny braced herself for one final push as she circled around the sky with the aviol. The creature grew agitated, for it was ready to launch a destructive beam of magic right at her. If it was going to fry her, it was going to do it right, along with anything else in its path. She could feel the energy collecting from within its enormous mouth, the energy field of this growing mass completely unstable. She would have to make one sharp turn for her to escape without death or even injury. "Let's see how accurate your aim really is," she spoke with an unbreakable confidence.

Just like the eruption of a volcano, the beam of magic thrust from the aviol, shooting forth from its voracious, gaping mouth. Jenny darted to the left and barrel rolled towards the ground. She had done it and without injury. That is what she thought. It wasn't until she felt a slight burning sensation along her lower extremities did she realize she had been lightly scathed by the outer edge of the beam. Nothing like a sunburn in the middle of the night. She forced a smile in pain. "I am so going to be hurting in the morning." Provided I live to see the next sunrise. She continued her path towards the inn where Shariana was located.

That was it, what Shariana had hoped. "About time you all showed up!" she shouted with vengeance on her mind. Even a fiery glint of payback swirled in her eyes. Jenny was approaching, and rather quickly. With a painful hesitance, she readied her bow in unsteady hands and watched as the valefor, Jenny, and the aviol still hot on her tail, all came to her. She wasn't aiming for the valefor, that would take care of itself. She was not going for winged woman as she appeared to be an ally, though it wasn't for certain. Her target was the aviol.

She closed her eyes and prayed to the gods with the desire to be saved from death. The onyx gemstone glowed black, giving off an ever-growing aura of despair. She opened her radiant blue eyes in sincere determination and let the arrow fly through the air. The arrow flew right past Jenny and shot through the open passageway that was the mouth of the aviol and followed the route deep within its bodily corridors.

That is where the infection begins. The blinding darkness that seeps through its blood, invading its way through the heart, weakening it with despair. The heart will begin to deteriorate and sabotage the brain, crippling it with pure terror. From there, the body will be its own downfall, succumbing to the chaos within and will finally become completely dead to the world.

Shariana recited those agonizingly familiar phrases within her mind. That was it; she had done it. She released a smile of accomplishment and let go of her bow. The rest would fall into place as it may.

Jenny sensed the arrow that flew by by her, knowing nothing of where it originated from. It didn't deter her from her course of action or flight. She flew straight towards the ground, turned around just above the valefor and flew upwards into the sky with one last ditch attempt to make her great escape.

The aviol continued to plummet towards the ground with its mouth wide open and prepared for its final meal. It snatched the valefor into its mouth and swallowed the unsuspecting beast whole, ending the conflict with Shariana and saving her life. The aviol couldn't pull itself up completely and instead clipped the edge of a nearby building before crashing to the ground, crushing whatever may have been beneath it. The flying beast was nothing but a lifeless zombie and would die in minutes.

Curious to see if the woman in red was still alive, Jenny looked down towards the inn and noticed something peculiar. The woman was certainly still alive, but with a bow resting by her side. Was that one arrow from her? Did it actually taken down both creatures? She pondered the thoughts of the kind of power this woman held. She wasn't certain, but she had to give her thanks for saving her life or at the very least to see if she would make it through. She swooped down, landing just beside Shariana and knelt down on one knee. She took a few deep breaths before speaking to her.

"Did you do that?" She was anxious as ever to find out if it was true, completely forgetting about any other concerns she may have had.

Shariana looked at Jenny, surprised that she had taken notice of her. "Yes, I guess you could say that."

Not quite the response I was going for. Maybe I should have been a bit clearer. "I know you did it, but was it all part of your plan?"

Shariana shook her head. "No, I'd say that it was a coincidence that both of them were taken care of in one shot." She squinted her weary eyes, attempting to get a better glimpse of this peculiar winged woman.

"Are you alright?" Jenny's concern for the woman had grown too much to keep her silence. She needed to know that she would be fine. From what she could see, Shariana was in quite a bit of pain from her injuries.

"Yes, I think I am. At least I am still alive. I was a bit worried that the brute that attacked me would still be alive. I can thank you and that enormous flying creature's appetite for saving me." She couldn't hide her weakened state of mind as her exhausted words didn't hold that confidence she once had.

Jenny remained in silence as she watched over Shariana, wondering who else was fighting against these creatures and who else had been chosen. She had seen the dead, the wounded, and the valiant warriors fighting even now. Would they make it through or would this be their final resting place, within the graveyard of the fallen? She took a glance at the battlefield in front of her, curious as to what she was going to do next and what was yet to come. She didn't want to see this fight as a lost cause. Even if this doesn't turn out to be a lost cause, would all of this fighting have been worth it in the end?




Gianna Glow -> RE: Book of War (6/16/2010 21:47:20)

Untitled
by Timhortanz

Sun crept over the tall mountains
Like a spotlight on rising curtains
Through the air flew flocks of crows
Like they had heard about the show

Over one large hill
Thousands of soldiers came
All trained to kill
Hoping for victory, and fame

Most wielded long swords
Others, archers on horseback
They let out a fierce call
And were ready to attack

As they marched on, archers and all
The other army came to start the brawl
They were not fantasy, but army, they were real
No swords or spears, they wielded the real deal

Powerful cannons, large guns
All gleaming in the sun
No doubt, this wouldn’t be fun
And so it commenced, a war to be shunned

Two armies clash
Metal sparks flash
Clean cuts, blood shed
Body detached from head

A constant bloodbath, the battle raged on for weeks
All the strong survived, and death came for the weak
Archers and swordsmen, tossed astray
All shot down in the constant fray

Though their chances were grim
Give up, they did not.
Grasping to their last whim
Leaving dead bodies to rot

Their numbers thinned, though their spirits stayed strong
Even though their time before death wasn’t too long
Bullets echoed off ground and flesh
Some bodies rotting, others fresh

The army left standing, let out a cheer
Their emblem waving high, held at the rear
The war was over, and they were the winners
Though was it worth the win, to become sinners?

You have seen the horrors of war
And I hope to god it will stop someday
But military continues to want more
Even after witnessing what went down today.




Gianna Glow -> RE: Book of War (6/16/2010 21:56:43)

Why War is Necessary for Heroes in Adventures
by Ultrapowerpie


“Grim, I’m booooooorrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeddddddddddddddd,” Necro complained as he and The Grim Reaper sat across from each other at the Grand Hall’s center table.

“What do you want me to do? You should be off gallivanting around since it’s your day off,” Grim stated.

“You KNOW I can't leave the base cause Charis is sick. It’s been, what, five years since we first met and we’re STILL having that infernal issue? I mean, don’t get me wrong, the bond isn’t a BAD thing by any means, but having to pair up for missions is rather troublesome at times. There are times I just want to hang with the rest of the dudes, but we can’t go all wacky and crazy cause Charis has to tag along…” Necro sighed.

“Now that we have the convenient summary of your problems out of the way…” Grim said sarcastically. “I can’t really help you out there. We already have the Reaper of Life out searching for the necessary remedies to cure her, and since she’s the team healer, it’s best to leave things to her.”

“I know, but sitting around and watching you do, whatever it is you do around here, is boring,” Necro complained again.

“Good golly, man, you’re 24 years old now by your planet’s reckoning! Surely you can amuse yourself!! You’re the Reaper of Death for crying out loud! Go make some of the plants around the base wither or something… raise some undead, we still have loads of them somewhere…”

“Grim, I can’t even go above ground to raise an undead army to fight against each other! That is actually somewhat amusing if I play against Jenkins, my undead Sentinel, as he’s a brilliant tactician. Ah, I love war…”

“Provided it's fake war and not real war, right?” Grim asked, giving him a look that looked like he would have one eyebrow raised, if a skeleton had eyebrows.

“That’s a matter of opinion. On the one hand, my human nature says it’s a vile, detestable thing akin to hell itself. On the other hand, since the Death Element thrives on… well, death, I’m all for it. You can see the conflict of interests, right?”

“Oh, I agree. Remember, I used to be in your position before my… promotion, if you will. But enough about history; you’re still bored, aren’t you?” Grim grinned mischievously.

“Do you want to perform hilarious shenanigans that will entertain the masses and more importantly ourselves?” Necro asked out of nowhere.

“Uhhh… no” Grim said, slightly taken aback at his dark-robed compatriot. “I was thinking a virtual simulation of combat and…”

“TO THE OVERLYCOMPLICATEDLY NAMED HOLODECK SIMULATION ROOM THAT I AM FAR TOO LAZY TO SAY THE REAL NAME OF!!!” Necro shouted with glee, rushing over to the place that was just previously mentioned.

“Do you have to be that loud?” Grim asked, sticking his fingers where his ears would have been if he wasn’t a skeleton, in an effort to dampen the shouting as he walked down to the simulation room.

By the time Grim got to the room, it was already fully ready to go, decked out on a simple American Civil War landscape of a flat wheat field surrounded by a forest, with the field slowly being engulfed by the forest on one side and a farmhouse on the other side.

On this field was Necro in the Confederacy colors of grey and a rather large undead army dressed similarly as him were on one side of the field, while on the other side the undead were dressed in Union dark blue, waving at Grim.

“What is this?” Grim asked, perplexed.

“American Civil War, circa… 1863 AD. It’s not really based on a particular battle, I just thought it’d be fun if we squared off against each other on a field that you haven’t mastered yet,” Necro teased.

“Damn guns, the one type of warfare I never got used to… I’m assuming no magic?” Grim growled. “Furthermore, why are they all undead skeletons and why do I have three times as many men as you do?”

“Five times, actually, and yes, no magic allowed. I figured humans killing humans would be too brutal and whatnot for a simulation, so I used undead since no one really cares if they die or not cause hey, they were already dead to begin with, right? As for the numbers, everyone knows that the real reason the Union beat the Confederacy was because they had overwhelming numbers in terms of supplies and manpower. The Confederacy had all the great Generals with them, and that was one of the reasons they held out for five years against such odds… well, at least that’s one way of looking at it. But enough about that, just note that you’re not fighting a regular Confederacy unit, you’re fighting one of the mercenary bands,” Necro smiled evilly.

“I don’t see what the difference is… but I don’t even know how to fight like a Union General…”

Necro quickly tossed Grim a book called “Conventional American Civil War Tactics and Weapons” to allow him to brush up while Necro explained the scenario.

“Now, the Union is in need of reinforcements to the front lines for… some important battle. As you can see, there is a trail through this forest that will allow you to get to the front in roughly three days, but the Confederacy knows about your movement plans and are preparing an ambush for you. You could go around, but it would take you a fortnight to get to the front, and the battle could be over by then. So, you have no choice but to fight the ambush. You do know that enemy forces are roughly a fifth of your own contingency, so you should be able to outpower them… at least, that’s your initial reckoning, but a gut feeling… if you had a gut… tells you that this ambush could be disastrous if you just charge ahead… that’s all!”

And so the epic clash began! And it was so epic that this narrator/author could not possibly describe it in detail at all given the confines of this short story, so it is up to the reader to actually use their imagination instead of having everything served to you on a fanciful silver plate, you lazy people with your TV and computers and iPods and whatnot. Back in MY day, we had…

I’m terribly sorry, I rambled again, didn’t I? Please forgive me! That was completely unlike me. Actually, that’s a lie, it is like me, I tend to do that a lot. People who read my stories know that my rambling happens quite often, actually and… I’m doing it again. Let’s just move on with the story.

“That was SO cheating and YOU know it!!” Grim roared at Necro, poking him in the chest with his bone fingers.

“Look, it’s right here in this book,” Necro said, showing Grim another book.

“What the… ‘UNconventional tactics and weapons of the American Civil War??!!!’ Why didn’t I get this book??!!”

“You never asked for it. I figured you just wanted to use the archaic Napoleonic tactics that most Civil War commanders used, but ultimately got their men killed because of rapid fire mechanisms?” Necro asked smugly.

“That’s another thing! What the heck did you do to mow down my men!”

“Look up what a Gatling gun is, and keep in mind that I modified it with a swivel place…” Necro grinned.

“WHAT??!!! Rapid fire mechanism!!! This is… that would explain the quick slaughter of my troops… This was rigged from the start, wasn’t it?

“Yup!”

“I should slaughter you right now…” Grim growled.

“Think of this as a history lesson! Imagine how much better off things would have been if Napoleonic tactics weren’t used? Of course the war may have gone on longer, but still I think things would have better… maybe…”

“I really think that this is just a lame attempt by the author/narrator to get something done to give some bonus material of the aftermath of what we do now that things have calmed down…”

“Like it’s OUR fault that things are boring because there’re no wars? Let’s face it, things are super boring for protectors of a planet. I mean, without wars, what good is it for heroes anyways?”

“So true, without an evil villain trying to destroy/take over something, heroes just leave peaceful lives without having to really excel at anything,” Grim sighed.

“And who wants that? I mean, it’s like living on a farm or something… which isn’t to demean the jobs, but they’re just boring when it comes to slaying epic monsters and battling alongside others in battles and…”

“You know what, I think we’re out of material here, don’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah… fine, let’s just call things done.”

“That’s all folks! Hope you liked this very random mini-episode. How long it really was is up to you!” Grim concluded, making the scene fade to black.




Gianna Glow -> RE: Book of War (6/16/2010 22:33:53)

Tales of the Scales
by Dragonnightwolf


Act 1. The Awakening


The darkness clings across the skies like the dreariest gray days that have seen little to no sunshine. The winds start to blow strongly across the vast desert. In the far North of that area, humans dig to a tune stuck in their heads, tirelessly searching for the charmed one. The sounds of picks, axes, wagons, horses, and men fill the air. The winds whisper through the desert about the coming days, days that will soon dye the rivers with red.


(Cue music and instruments. The sounds are slow and steady like trudging feet.)


A male slave sings with a frail, weak voice: “Many tireless hours we've spent under the hot sun and yet we dig. We pound the rocks with all our might, for we are strong and yet we dig.”

A female slave sings this with a sharp edge to her voice: “We break these boulders down to rubble wishing for our homes. Waiting for the charmed one to be found before we’re nothing but bones.”

Another male slave sings, with a crack in the middle of his words: “We dig all day; we dig all night, trying to locate the one. The one who will save us all or destroy the sun.”

“Stop that singing!” guard Fre’nook yells at one of the slaves, swinging a whip out to snap at his back. The lash catches the man square in the shoulder and though the slave winces, the work continues.

Suddenly, one man strikes past a heavy rock, baring glimmers of black. “I…it is the charmed one!” The man lets out a scream of terror as something foul, twisted and sinister invades his mind. The body of the man vanishes in an instant, and a large, black statue, looking as if made of onyx, stands in his place. The statue hums with increasing volume. One after another cry of surprise echoes as humans begin to vanish, drawn into its power. Cracks rake the surface of the statue. Energy and heat begin to rise as pieces of it crumble away. A loud roar echoes into the air as it shatters apart, releasing the charmed one.


(Cue music and instruments. An upbeat tempo indicates a climatic eruption of stone and rock breaking apart.)


“I’m free!”

A dragon cries out with extreme joy as stone bits fly off of its wings.

“Yes, I’m free, how about this world that is going to fall before me? Wings spread across the sky, time to tell everyone goodbye, I’m free!”

The dragon rises upward into the sky, shaking his head and sending pieces of stone raining down.

“Nobody could stop me for a hundred thousand years. The fools didn’t lock me away nearly long enough, so I’m back to create a bit of havoc!” the dragon sings with a tone of evil developing in his voice. “Dreams will shatter to the ground as I stand up. Screams will run aloud as I stand before the fates.”


(End music.)


News of the charmed one, a beast now named Zios, spreads like wildfire across the plains. Everywhere he arrives, the villages burn under the haunting sounds of battle, and shields thrust forward against great sheets of flame and acid. Smoke blinds those on the ground, choking, and causing dizziness and nausea combined. The cities of Qor’ thee’ alin and Ter’mosa spire fall before the might of Zios. Those he doesn’t kill, he corrupts by his twisted powers.

Deep in the Far South, Endoras and Zekele, twin brothers of the dragons of the sun hear tales of the release of the charmed one. The council of Dragons is summoned to discuss what to do about this terrible menace plaguing the North.

“We should hunt it!” states Warshall, a silver dragon.

“We should defeat it,” growls out Mortoria, a brass dragon.


(Cue music and instruments, soft and steady to rise in crescendo, illustrating the preparation and the alarm the dragon council feels.)


“We should hunt it down before it gets the chance to kill us all. Fight and win to save the opened light upon this darkened day,” Trea, the dragon of iron, sings with a note of worry in her voice.

“We should close our eyes, concentrate, and see what we can find. We should close the doors that are leaking from time,” Goraval, the green dragon, sings with an edge of concern and frailty in his voice.

“But oh, we go, whoa. Yes, we go, whoa. Head above the clouds now. Hold tight to what you can see, anyhow,” Altoria, the female dragon of copper sings with high tension and intensity in her voice.


(End music.)


Meanwhile, Ladestrom Pass Fortress are preparing for the oncoming threat that they expect in roughly four hours' time. The day is getting cloudy and the winds are blowing at 34 miles per hour. The fortress is sturdy with double main gates made of solid oak. A war chant is going around, too.


(Cue music and instruments, a steady war marching song with the feel of approaching battle.)


“She told me get ready for the oncoming stage. A siege is coming, a war is brewing, prepare the cage,” Jim Millers sings as he picks a heavy bow up in both arms, his voice revealing that he’s getting psyched for battle.

“Hand in hand we will fight together, sword to sword.,” Charlene the knight sings, polishing her sword. Her voice gives strength to her singing.

The blacksmith Trevor and his son Darren sing together as they pound away at the forgings of steel in metal grips that they hold: “Armor and catapults rolling, ready for the war, who, war, why, war, what, war.”

The entire assembly of warriors sings together in harmony, hope in their voices: “I got a lot to deal with, pass the oil, pass the flames. But don’t let the kids near it, as we prepare the final stage.”


(End music.)


Act 2. Taking Chances

The sky clouds over as Zios arrives, staring at the fortress before him. “Magic. I can smell it here,” he says. Intensely gazing at the fortress, he spots several mages, a few Arch-mages, two druids and even a necromancer. A legion of paladins sits on horseback, prepared with swords and long lances. Below Zios, 1200 warriors of darkness march forward: Black Elves, Pitch Knights, Angorious Veil spiders, creatures from the murky swamps.

War horns erupt with warnings of the approaching monsters. Warriors on steeds quickly move into their formations, calling out orders and preparing to counter and suppress the invading forces. Pitch Knights, the dreaded knights that wear Onyx armor and have skills with not only swords, but also bows, magic and even catapults, grow eager for the battle to begin.

“Minions of the dark,” Zios calls out, staring at his troops. “We are gathered here at the great fortress of the earth. We will take it all!” The yells and screams of approval meet the ears of the charmed one.


(Cue music and instruments, the song is slow at first but picks up speed to indicate the battle at hand.)


“This is war, this is what I live for; oh, oh, oh,” a creature of the murky swamp sings as he trudges along, his voice watery and deep.

“This is war; this is what I was made for; oh, oh, oh,” a troll sings with a voice of a hundred horses strong.

“I am the charmed one, a master of disguise. I will rip these doors apart and let my forces inside. ROAR!” Zios sings with fury. He shoots a bout of flames at the doors of the fortress. Archers return fire, but their arrows bounce helplessly back as the dragon raises a shield of protection around himself.

“This is war, this is what I’ve come for; oh, oh, oh. I love the smell; oh, oh, oh. Heavy are my heart strings as these fools fall apart,” Zios ends the song by tearing down a section of wall.


(End music.)


Act 3. Fallen Fortress and the River Snake

That night those who managed to escape the fortress with their lives, come back to find the walls destroyed and the towers burned to the ground, their mighty spires melted and broken. The stench of acrid, choking smoke and charred flesh linger in the air, victims lie scattered, torn and broken, never to rise.

Away from the fallen fortress, on the Western shores of Endorimeer slides the Serpent, snake god of the fabled “yinca tawanai” tribes.


(Cue music and instruments, the song rises and falls in confusion followed by realization and searching.)


The snake god sings in sudden awareness: “What’s this smell I sense? I’m awakening. Darkness sings to me of all I can eat. Hold yourself, prepare for me. Blood shall rain with misery. Look alive; see inside. For twelve hundred years I’ve been locked away, sleeping the sleep of a endless day. Look up- the sky begins to boil, the land begins to roll as I arise. Shattered dreams of broken sleep awakened me to this time. Now I will seek the one who woke me and I will find him at all costs.”

The snake god follows the senses given to it in birth. Every human that crosses its path is swallowed alive or turned to stone. The creature rarely sleeps, heading steadily North towards Zios. Silence fills his path. Etched on the walls of cities he passes he leaves these words, marked in an ancient language: “Doom to all who dare cross my path.”


Act 4. The Eastern Dragons' Involvement

Silvos, Charsle and Moracal fly up into the air, spying on the coming darkness. All three are dressed in specialized armor forged for them. Silvos is a silver dragon, Charsle a copper dragon and Moracal a mixed breed of blue and white dragons.

“We must stop this evil at once, my friends,” Silvos says, letting the air currents take her along.


(Cue music and instruments at the fast pace of a upcoming battle)


“You will go down; we will stop you here. You will fall to the ground; we will stop you here.,” all three dragons sing together with a sound of vengeance to their voices.

Zios merely chuckles and sings: “You fools cannot stop what you cannot understand. Deep inside this darkness, is the one who commands all. Prepare yourselves, for doom is upon you.”

Charsle sings: “We will find a way, to put you down today.”


(End music.)


The three Eastern dragons breathe in and then send their acid, fire and lightning breath at Zios. Zios raises a claw and catches the three breaths in a swirl. The force of his power starts to grow. He lets out an angry yell as an explosion of power erupts from the claw, sending everything into darkness. When light returns at last, three dragon skeletons, smoldered and burned, are all that remains. The charmed one heads onwards to the base of the shadow mountains.


Act 5. The Dragon Council Invaded

In the council of dragons, all the participants are confused. They don’t know why they have been summoned but they believe it to be very important, so they have come. It is the middle of the morning, and no one expected Zios, who now strolls out from the Elder’s cave, to appear.

“What the-?” a guy with an eye-patch starts off. He has a terrified look in his eye, and an old voice; he is actually a red dragon in human form.

“It’s Zios!” Chatter continues until the charmed one raises his claws.

“Quiet. My brothers, my sisters. I have come home,” he says.

Cordnia yells out: “This is no longer your home, we are no longer family!”

The whole council erupts into one big fight, fires dim. From time to time screams, cries and yells of battle echo around. But Zios moves faster than the others. He leaves late in the afternoon, his only injuries a tear in the wing and a damaged eye.

The twins, who had gone to investigate the rumors of the demise of the Eastern dragons, come back to report their findings, and are stricken with terrible grief as they see what has happened. As they begin their ceremonial goodbyes for the council members they sing together.


(Cue music and instruments, slow and tunes filled with sadness)


“Oh, the fires burn. Oh, the worlds shall shudder. Oh, the mountains shall crumble to the sea; oh, follow me. I guess we must get it over with.”

Tears fall from their eyes as they continue their song: “I guess we must prepare. For all the reasons, all the sadness as you are buried there.”

Their voices go higher and stronger, and their faces fill with grief and pain as they sing: “Good-bye, old friends. Good-bye, old friends from whom we'll never part; you are a part of our hearts. "

"So, good-bye,” they finish off with a final bow to the buried council members.


(End music.)


Act 6. The Taming of Tom.

“Tom! I, I, I can’t believe you! How could you steal Celentra’s gold?” asks Tina.

The thief starts to laugh until a claw picks the young boy up. His face widens with surprise and terror.

“M..M..Madame Celentra!” he says in shock.

The dragon gazes at the bag of gold in the boy's hands, her eyes slowly narrowing.

“You dare to steal from me, young squire?” she asks.

“N..No Ma’am! I was going to polish it for you, honest!” Tom gulps softly.

“Now you lie to me as well? I know what to do with you, Tom Treggermore!” She swoops up in the air and carries the boy off to her home.

At her home, on a hidden mountainside, she places Tom in a cage and hangs it by a waterfall. Tom stares at her with fear.

“You shouldn’t steal, Tom; it isn’t nice,” the dragon smiles at him. “You know what I’m going to do, Tom? I’m going to train you.” The boy still stares, confused. “Yes, Tom, I’m going to train you to be a Dragon Warrior. I need one, you see, and since you volunteered yourself by stealing my gold, I feel it’s only fair that you will learn to ride and fight with me.” She leaves Tom to think about that, while she flies off to hunt for her dinner.


(Cue music and instruments, slow and steady as Tom comes to a sad realization.)


“Here I am, locked away. Here I am, like some prey.” Tom’s voice fills with sadness and he gets this downcast look on his face. “I guess I must have made the gods mad somehow. I guess I must have angered the world somehow.” '

He gazes at the sky above with a look of concern, his voice shaking a tiny bit: “Here I am, stuck like this. Here I am, go ahead and kiss.” Frustrated, he kicks a rock, sending it flying off and to the ground far below him, his voice taking on a tone of fear. “Locked away like some animal, like some caged beast.” His face draws with intensity as he stares back at the inner rooms of the dragon's hideout.

“Here I am, miserable, 'cause I don’t know what I could do and I can’t think.” Tom ends the song by sitting right on the ground with a huff.

(End music.)


Act 7. The Twins Meet Celentra.

“He did what?” Celentra puffs with stunned disbelief.

“Wiped them all out, every last one, gone.” Both sets of eyes look down sadly.

“Oh, my heavens, this is terrible.” Celentra’s eyes narrow. “Okay, you leave him to me,” she says. The twins argue with her.

Finally they agree to go into battle together. Tom, meanwhile, is learning more and more from Celentra. The closer Zios gets to the town, the harder Tom works and the faster he learns. Celentra watches him and remembers an old tune.

(Cue instruments and music, lively and lifting, as the joyful the memories being recalled.)

“Here I am, a fairly fine young lady. Here I am, a fine example of life leaving. For I must now survive my home must thrive and I shall live,” Celentra sings as she observes Tom, remembering her younger years. A smile crosses her face. “Live for the moment of the day, when we slip away, yay. Here I must try, to chase the clouds in the night.” Celentra dips her wings down, making herself bow before she yawns in between her verses. “And say good-night.”

(End music.)


Act 8. The Final Battle

It is dark and gray and the winds blow cold with the sounds of evil and war. The tolling bells of those who have perished ring in every ear. The twins and Celentra, along with Tom, stare at the gathering armies of evil. Zios has arrived.


(Cue music and instruments, strong and powerful like the great battle about to commence)


“War, war, war. War, war, war. Prepare yourselves for our team,” the entire town sings, each voice filled with determination and strength.

“A world that has never been seen. A terror that we set alive by our feet,” the dragons sing while they prepare themselves.

“We shall rise, we shall defeat you. We shall kill, we shall crush you now.” All the dragons stomp their left feet on the ground to indicate the supposed crushing as their voices fill with mirth before such an image.


(End music.)


The town fights bravely, swords and steel clash and scrape. The dark army takes numerous casualties. Zios battles with the twins and Celentra. The twins go down one by one, their wings broken and their screams of pain echoing around their downward spiral as darkness overtakes them both.

Celentra and Tom gaze at the snake god approaching fast. Zios turns just in time to strike the snake god. But it manages to hit a terrible bite to his wing. Zios roars in anger as he drops to the ground. Celentra and Tom land to finish Zios off.

The ground quakes and the charmed one lets out a terrible scream.

The power held in both his claws is released. Tom lets out a terrified cry and Celentra screams in agony. Both the rider and the Dragon fall down, dead. But so does the charmed one.


Act 9. The Final Song.

(Cue music and instruments to a steady lifting song at the end of an adventure)


“Head in the sky, time to say good-bye to you, oh to you,” everyone in the town who is still alive sings. They search through the broken rubble and hold close their loved ones and friends.

“High up above, we fall in love and say good-bye to you. God help us to find the simple things in mind.”

The blacksmith holds his son and sees the blood on the drained boy's face. His son is dead.

“Looking down from up above. War is full of pain and mighty bravery. War is full of sadness and a little bit of gladness, too.”

A little girl calls out for her mom, but isn’t sure if she is alive or not. She sings but her voice starts to hold concern and worry: “Heavy are our hearts, high are our spirits as we go, as we march along.”

The knights all bow their heads in respect as they sing with solemnity: “As we march along. As we march along.”

(End music.)




Gianna Glow -> RE: Book of War (6/16/2010 22:42:19)

The Lion and the Unicorn
by Eukara Vox

Green and red standards hung limply on gilded poles. Below each camp, the grassland spread as far as the eye could see. As ants swam over a dead carcass, so did the uniformed soldiers over the field.

The sounds of battle overwhelmed any other sound, provided anything desired to be heard in this God-forsaken area. Men and women met in the chaos, brandishing weapons, snarling, screaming profanities. High above the battlefield, carrion vultures swarmed, waiting for nightfall to feed on the fallen while the living licked their wounds.

Clumps of soldiers scattered on both sides as boulders the size of a small out-kitchen fell upon them. The initial collision caused an explosion, hurling dirt, rocks and bodies unfeeling into the air. The boulder bounced and rolled through the enemy, the crunch of bone echoing loudly among the clang of metal. The boulder killed ally and enemy both as it rolled to a stop; the path littered with the broken and the dead. Its blood-slicked exterior gleamed in the light of the setting sun as its weight slowly crushed a young man in green beneath it.

A dragonfly, desperate to find its way off the dry, depressing battlefield wove through the soldiers. It ducked under sharpened blades and flew over mangled bodies. The downward slice of a sickle brought the creature to an abrupt halt. She hovered and came face to face with a blood-smeared farmhand.

His terrified eyes betrayed a kind of insanity only a boy of tender years would have amidst such death and destruction. The tattered green smock stuck to his body by day old mud and gore hung on his gaunt body, ripped and threadbare. Wildly, the boy swung his sickle, who just three days before had used the very weapon to bring in the summer wheat. A warrior in red met each wild strike with a claymore of steel.

Though the red clad warrior was more than the farmhand could possibly handle, the young man continued to wield his common weapon. As if harvesting grain, he pulled his sickle downward at an angle - the only motion he knew. Sidestepping and hopping, the warrior awarded each stroke and died a little inside as he recognized the precise rhythm of harvest in the boy's attack.

Doing his best to avoid the sickle's sharp edge, the warrior blocked and parried each strike. Undaunted, the boy's unblinking eyes followed the weapon, stroke by stroke. The warrior, in his heartache, wept with each attempted strike, suddenly seeing his own son in the farmhand before him. As if his prayers were answered, it was not him who stuck the deathblow, but a comrade from behind, sparing him the sight of the fleeting life dulling the boy's eyes.

Shaken, the dragonfly flew, only to stop short of a battle axe and broadsword crossed in locked embrace. Both soldiers strained against the other, bodies shaking with fatigue and determination. Then, as if a silent signal was given, they retreated, simultaneously stepped back. Taking a deep breath, the green-clad swordsman gripped his weapon and lunged for his enemy. Swinging his axe, the red warrior intercepted the sword, trapping the blade beneath the hooked head of his weapon. He spun his weapon forcefully, disarming the green swordsman. He swung his axe, raking the blade across the soldier's chest.

Swordless, the green warrior fell to the ground, clutching his chest. His chain mail was old and weak, unable to stop the axe completely. Blood poured over his hand and a tear ran down his cheek. Before he laid down, weak and drained, he saw his daughter's face, newly born and ready for the world. The axeman stood above him in satisfaction until death set in, and turned to find another victim.

Pumping her wings as fast as possible, the dragonfly fled the scene, only to come between one of the most disturbing fight she had seen yet. An older man, in a green, ragged uniform slowly stepped back from his adversary. He kept his weapon to his side, his face, contorted in fear and grief shook adamantly. The dragonfly flew behind him to look at the scene from his perspective and finally saw what he did.

A child, not older than ten turns, stood before the older man, a short sword in his hands. Pointing it at the soldier, the child was screaming and crying. She backed up with the soldier, the man obviously not wanting to engage the child. In a blink of an eye, the child lunged and impaled the older man with the short sword. The soldier gripped the hilt, his hands folding over the child's. He murmured something as death took his soul and the child wailed, curling up in a ball.

Shaken, the dragonfly rose from the din of the battle, wanting desperately to leave the sadness, slaughter and death. In the distance, across the field behind the line of red fighters, stood a large tent. She headed for that sanctuary, that island of sanity and swooped into the opened flap.

A king, in thick robes and glittering crown stood above a table that looked much like the war-torn fields outside. She perched on a halberd leaning against the cloth wall and examined the scene set up. Figures in green and red littered the make-believe field, holding weapons, charging, fighting. More laid on the ground than fought.

"I don't care what you think! It's a slaughter out there." The king leaned on his hands as they gripped the edge on the table.

"But... My Lord, we thought--"

"I don't care what you thought, General, I care what is actually happening out there!" He looked up at the decorated soldier standing before him. "When was the last time you checked, I mean really checked on our people?"

"I... I made my rounds just this morning. Rallied those who were still capable of fighting. I visited those who could no longer fight. I sent out my officers throughout the day. I know the reports!" The general took a deep breath, trying to control himself before his king.

"And these reports? Do they tell of all those who fight? Do they report, General, that there are boys who have yet to get their beard spilling their blood for me?" He slammed his hands onto the table and bowed his head.

"We had no choice! Every able-bodied man and boy was conscripted, Sire."

The king looked up at his General, eyes tired and bloodshot. "This was not the way it was supposed to be!" Anger, frustration, sadness and grief overwhelmed the king, sending him sprawling across the table. His arms sought after the figures, blindly. Suddenly, he stood up and swept his arms across the tabletop, sending the figures spraying in all directions.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this!" He upended the table and sunk to his knees. "It was never supposed to be like this."

The king covered his face with his hands and wept as his general looked on unsure of what to do.

*** ***


The horse shied away from the standard as it snapped beside them. Hovering for a few minutes, the dragonfly landed on the standard and looked over a different camp. The horse's chocolate brown coat was marred and dulled by mud and blood. His stomach was caked in the mix, his once golden reigns were dull. His rider sat atop him, slouched and pale. She wore a simple silver circlet upon her brow, the only real indication she was more than a simple commoner.

Her armor was ragged from overuse, the chain mail peeking through in places. A sword laid across her lap, blood stained the blade and hilt. She looked over the field from her hilltop camp, sighing. She saw the young and old fighting, battling to save what semblance of life they wished for, wanted to return to.

"I should be down there."

"My Queen, you can't. Your injuries are grave; going back out there will be the end of you." A man in dark green stood next to the woman, his hand on the horse's neck. "Your people need you, they need to see you are alive and well."

"My people, Commander, need me out there with them! They need to see that I still fight for what we believe. They need--" She stopped short, knowing what she wanted to voice would only make her commander upset.

"My Queen, they know you are injured. They know that you are there in heart and spirit. No one doubts you."

"It isn't right. If I am going to ask them to fight, I should be there with them!" She growled, causing the commander to smile slightly.

"Queen Syksa, that you have fought beside them already gives them heart. What regent in the world would leave their tents to fight beside their people. My Lady," he waved over the camp. "Where is your tent? Where is your bed?"

"Where it should be... My home."

"Aye, and they know that." The commander rocked on his heels, satisfied.

"Yes, Commander, my bed is at my home... Where we all should be." The Queen wiped her face, trying to get rid of the tears that fell. "We should be home, loving our spouses, playing with our children, bringing in our crops... Yet, we are here. What is wrong with that picture?"

The commander glanced up at his queen, wishing he could dry her tears.

*** ***


Four horses from each side struck out, stepping over the fallen bodies, trying to remain sure-footed in the mire and blood. The king, sitting upon his white stallion, led three other riders. One held the king's standard, another held the white flag. The third held a book, desperately trying to remain on his horse. He approached the agreed-upon site and waited.

The dragonfly, still perched on the queen's standard, rode out with her troupe. Queen Syksa rode beside her companions, holding the white flag herself. Her standard bearer sat to her right, her commander to her left, where the gravest of wounds were. The fourth individual was a young woman, resembling the queen.

They met, face to face, upon the fields of war, death's hold and stench around them. It clawed at their standards, though a breeze flowed around then, the standards hung limp. The queen, especially, felt the cold hands of death on her.

The king spoke first, not waiting for anyone to declare proper protocol. "It has been weeks, Syksa. When are you going to call this off?"

Syksa paused a few minutes before answering. She watched the king squirm in his saddle amidst the filth. He was so unaware. "Call this off? It is not I who traipses about the land, bullying others, claiming their lands, people, services, stealing lives. It is you who needs to withdraw and go home. This is my land, my people... You have no right to them, and I will stand in your way until either I die or you back down."

The queen's people sat up straighter, faces more resolute. Even her daughter took on the same fierce look in her eyes as her mother. It was a message. Kill my mother... Deal with me.

The king leaned over to his general, whispering. He shook his head, yet relented eventually. "If you are so determined to die, then throw your life away if you must. But we are both losing people, people vital to the survival of our ...kingdoms." His pause before saying kingdom drew a slight growl from the queen. "I am offering you the chance to save your people. Give up."

Syksa shook her head. "You offer me nothing. Yes, we are losing people vital to our existence. But, you seem to be overlooking a detail. You are losing fighters at the same rate as me. As I see it, you are in as much trouble as me. How about you surrender to me. I promise that your people will be well taken care of."

The king chuckled, the sound of his laughter carrying over the field in a sick wave of inappropriateness. "You... No wonder they follow you so whole-heartedly. You fight with them, you exude confidence, you make them feel as if they, too, ruled your kingdom. You are naïve. I will not submit myself to you. You have condemned them all to death."

The king scowled and turned his horse to ride away. The other three riders followed suit. "You walk away from any negotiation? You sit in your tent behind children fighting for a man who will not wield his own sword for their sake. Do they even think you care... Wait, do you care? You eat fine foods, you bathe, you remain safe... Do your people actually think you care about them?"

The queen yelled out the last question, hoping it carried on the breeze that wound through the fields. The king stopped his horse, pausing. The general pulled his sword, the sound of steel on steel sliding pierced the silence. "Remember your place."

"I do, King Slayth. I understand exactly where my place is. It is you who forget yours." She smiled. "I have a proposal."

*** ***


The dragonfly sat on the shoulder of the young princess, watching over the people who gathered to watch. Bodies were removed, taken out of site for what was about to occur. She was still in awe at what her mother had summoned. Only in her dreams did such a creature live.

Ebony, sleek and majestic, the unicorn stood there, as if his presence was enough to keep them all safe. His silver horn was a light in the darkness, a darkness that had been consuming them all for so long. Queen Syksa's people looked upon the unicorn with hope, some even with love. The unicorn had been a part of their standard, a part of their identity. And now, he was there to help them.

Across the field, a lion of palest gold laid before the king, who sat upon his horse with a smug look on his face. The lion yawned, a subtle roar escaping his great maw. The king smiled down at his summon, prideful. His people, though, could not look their king in the eye. Many shied away from the lion, though he was meant to be their saviour.

When the sun rose to its zenith, the unicorn and lion took their places in the middle of the field. As if some silent horn blew, both creatures took several steps back, eyes on each other. It was the unicorn who charged first. His neigh penetrated the depths of everyone there, into the recesses of their minds and souls.

The lion reared up and lashed out, extending horrible claws in an effort to land the first blow. Snorting, the unicorn danced to the side, avoiding the lion's counterattack. Gazing at the lion through silvery eyes, the unicorn looked at the way he moved, the way he attacked. He stepped sideways, backed up, surged forward, studying the moves and strategies of the lion.

As the unicorn did this, the lion roared in frustration. He scowled at the crowd, stomped his paws in an effort to incite the unicorn to action. But the unicorn continued to watch and study. Impatient, the lion attacked, mouth open and claws bared. He swiped at his adversary, looking to dig his claws deep into the black hide. On the third attempt, he connected, claws sinking into the unicorn's flank. He pulled the dark creature to his knees, climbing onto the unicorn's back. The lion roared into the air, the call of victory echoing back from the distant mountains the wrapped his massive jaws around the unicorn's neck, biting down with all his strength.

The queen and her people rallied behind the unicorn, calling to him and encouraging the creature to fight. Soldier held onto soldier, drawing strength from each other as they watched the scene before them. As if strengthened by their united front, the unicorn tried to stand. Syksa's people, eyes lit up, stood, waving their weapons in the air. They cried out in joy and hope; some danced to silent music. The unicorn shook his great dark body, bucking with all his might, throwing the lion from him.

At first, there were no real signs of injury, though everyone saw the lion's attacks. But slowly, his ebony coat took on a sheen around the areas the lion was successful. Syksa watched in silent dismay, sitting up straight and tall in her saddle. The people could not see her slouch or show disappointment. The unicorn came; he came to them. That meant something, she knew it.

Angered, the lion lunged for the unicorn, prepared to rip into him. But the unicorn, anticipating the move, sidestepped and reared up, forelegs kicking into the air. Unbalanced and outsmarted the lion fell, unable to right himself. The unicorn pushed all his weight forward as his forelegs fell towards the earth, impacting the lion's side. The lion roared in agony as the pointed hooves gored into him, piecing one of his lungs.

The armies were silent as they watched the battle. Both honour-bound fighters tore into each other, ripping flesh and piercing bone. The longer they fought, the bloodier and more ragged both became. Yet, neither relented, neither called a halt to what was happening. They continued to battle each other, even when they were so weak that their movements were slow and faulty.

It was Queen Syksa that began to understand. Tears flowed down her cheeks, cleaning the dirt and sweat from her fair face. She cried out for them to call a truce. She rode her horse forward, closer to the battle, demanding that peace be worked out between them. But, they continued to fight, each one trying so desperately to kill the other. Her daughter joined her, pleading with the creatures to end the struggle and suffering. But it was to no avail.

Syksa's people stepped forward, following their queen's example. Some understood, other's trusted their queen to know what to do. The king's camp rustled, confused. What were they doing, those people who once was a part of them and now wasn't? Why was the queen trying to end the battle? Surely, the outcome was what was important?

The king stayed behind his guard, watching eagerly for the outcome. He chuckled to himself as he watched Syksa try to stop the fight. "Weakling. And she thinks she has what it takes to lead people. She can't even stomach watching these two fight to the death."

The general looked at his king, dismayed. Wasn't it she that led her people in battle, she who is covered with the filth of the battlefield? His brow furrowed as he tried to find one out-of-place hair on his king's head, one smudge of dirt on his clothing. From his king to the enemy's queen, his eyes flickered and something sparked in his head. Suddenly, the fight disgusted him.

The weakened representatives made one more lunge, one more forward attack on each other. The lion's great paws wrapped around the unicorn's neck, claws digging and ripping at the bloodied flesh, ripping through the last bits of skin and muscle, exposing the throat as blood flowed over his fur. The unicorn's horn, though, pierced the lion's chest as he wrapped those huge legs around the neck, stabbing the great beast through the heart.

It was in that moment that everyone on that field bared witness to the oncoming darkness. Light fled, death laughed and the wind died. Both regal, majestic beasts laid in the middle of the field in an eternal death grip, bloodied and nothing like their original selves. Gone was the life, the pride and the continuity of life. Gone was the hope that laid upon each beast's shoulders.

Though the light of the lion's eyes had faded, the unicorn's had but the smallest illumination. He looked upon the queen in sadness, upon her people in grief. He tried to stand, but could not, as the lion's great form weighed him down. He blinked once, a tear falling slowly until it hit the ground. Syksa dismounted and ran to the unicorn, dropping to her knees and throwing her arms around the spirit that tried to set them free.

Her people followed, gathering close together, mourning. The general looked at his king, scoffing at the display, and shook his head in disgust. He laid down his weapon at the king's feet and began walking. He walked, knowing that an arrow could be trained on his back. But he cared not. He knew what happened here. He knew what this epic battle had been about.

God help his king if the man was too blind to see it.




Gianna Glow -> RE: Book of War (6/16/2010 22:47:57)

The Bond of Brothers
By: Feoras ToxArch

It was a relatively quiet mid-spring day in Greenguard Forest. The young fledglings had just begun to learn the songs of their parents and filled the woods with a melody no Bard could ever hope to best. The buzz of insects and the occasional chirp of a squirrel or mammal intertwined with the songbird's chorus, as if everyone was trying to catch up on time missed from the silent months of winter. All life, in the union of song and song alone, stretched far and thin while encompassing every bit of fauna and flora with a harmonious backdrop of serenity.

But as with all songs, a tempo needed to be kept. Some days, the wind would keep a beat as it plucked through each and every leafed tree and shrub like a cello's string. When the wind was silent, the bugs would pick up on the absence naturally and the melody would continue unabashed. Even if the bugs fell silent and no wind rustled the mighty trees, the grass crumpled beneath the feet of the mammals would fill still the void.

Unlike an orchestra with a set amount of musicians and instruments, the songs created by nature had no physical limit as each organism contributed in a different way every day. Knowing this, one could sit in those woods for their entire life and never hear the same song twice. It is through the simple and sheer beauty of life which these songs go undisturbed, showing that nature was created to be at peace with itself. But when intruded upon, all of those simple songs and melodies can be halted with a single, snapped twig upon the forest floor. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Kovas...” The hulking decayed mass of robe and bone uttered as it's pale purple orbs for eyes scanned each tree. Not noticing the broken twig beneath its bony foot or that all of the life around it had fell silent, the Lich grunted once again. 'Kovas, where are you?”

As its unnatural voice echoed against the tree-trunks, Laurent shuddered once the call of the Lich had reached the hiding spot of him and his younger brother. “Damn, the first day I get off from Swordhaven General, and it's spent trying to kill an Undead.”

“I told you I can handle it myself.” His younger brother shrugged while peering past the boulder they were behind to get a better look. “But somebody wouldn't listen to me, like always.”

“I'd listen to you if you would give the same respect to me, Feo.” Laurent tapped his brother on the shoulder. Getting his attention, he pulled out a small mirror from his white doctor coat and held it up to his brother's face. “The last thing you want to show Mum when we get back is a fresh gash on your face.”

“Well, she'll have bigger things to worry about if that Lich reaches town.” Feoras fixed his bent glasses in the mirror before tossing it back to Laurent. “Besides, it's barely a scratch... Hey!”

“Barely a scratch, huh?” Laurent smirked, while taking a finger and dragging it across his brother's cheek. Holding it up in the same manner as the mirror, he watched as the blood began to drip down it. “The amount of blood-loss and the discoloration of your cheek says otherwise, my brother.”

“Alright, Doctor Uptight, give me a bandage, then, if you're going to keep complaining.” Feoras held his hand out back as he continued to study the Lich's movements. Once he felt something placed in his hand, he wiped the remaining blood away with his shoulder before slapping the bandage on without looking at it once. “Better?”

“Much.” Laurent sighed slightly, knowing that he wouldn't take the time to look at the bandage. While Feo kept his eyes on the Lich, Laurent watched the blood trickle down the insignia of a black shield with gold trimming on his brother's shoulder. “Don't you think for something like this, you should call in your Defender friends for some help?”

“Nah, most of them are too far away to do us any good,” he muttered back, shuffling behind the boulder once again. “Besides, if that Lich is who I think it is, then I'd rather take care of it without anyone's help.”

“Kovas...” The Lich's call echoed to them through the silent woods once again, halting their conversation. “I know you're out there somewhere, my old friend.”

“We went over this a couple times already, that Lich is not the Necromancer which Papa fought almost half a century ago.” Laurent waited for the Lich's voice to die down before starting once again. “For a Lich to be summoned, one would need to offer part of the victim's original body as a means for the resurrection. Papa said that when Adderson was killed, they destroyed his body completely.”

“You've never had a Necromancer for a friend, have you?” He shrugged as he fumbled with a small scroll in one of his pouches.

“Nope, and look where it's gotten you, Dummkopf,” Laurent snapped back as they both felt the wind begin to pick up around them.

“There you are, Kovas!” the Lich shouted as its head quickly snapped towards the large boulder and launched what looked like a stream of black and purple fire towards it. Quickly darting away from it, the two watched as the black and purple flames caught the bolder on fire and turned it to nothing but ash.

“The Hell is that?” Laurent asked as he stood behind a nearby tree, taking the occasional glance to look back at the Lich.

“Papa once told me that was a special ability of Adderson's,” Feoras mumbled back the whiles he unfurled the scroll across his knees and started to study the strange runes. “They said he called it the Shadow Ether, a special combination of Pyromancy and Necromancy.”

“Shadow Ether, huh? Stuff sounds dangerous,” Laurent remarked, as he took in the fact that it had turned a large boulder into a pile of ash.

“Told you it was Adderson.” Feoras smirked, clearly enjoying that he was right for a change before going back to the scroll. “But yeah, Papa used to call the stuff unholy fire.... he said that it would burn everything inorganic it touches to ash. Everything else, from people to plants, would burn as if it was a normal fire.”

“So it sounds like you've fought things like this before then?” Laurent quizzically looked down to see what his brother was so intent on looking through. “I doubt Mum would like to hear that.”

“What she doesn't know won't hurt 'er.” The response he gave was nothing short of a shrug. “Now give me some cover until I can get the sealing spell ready.”

“Sealing spell?” Laurent asked, trying to check if the Lich had found them yet. “How'd you get your hands on on something normally reserved for Paladins and Monks only?”

“We have connections...” He smirked as he pulled out a small book from another pouch. “And we also have Papa's journal from that time, which detailed exactly how they made the sealing spell the first time around. After that, finding the ingredients and reagents was the only hard part.”

“So why the Hell didn't you use it before?” Laurent replied in a ticked sort of tone, to which the wind around them kicked up once more.

“You can run, but you cannot hide, Kovas!” The Lich turned towards the location of the sudden burst of Mana and sprayed the area with purple and black firebombs which tore the nearby trees apart.

Panting, both brothers crouched behind a smaller boulder now a few feet from where the farthest firebomb impacted.

“You have to control yourself, bro,” Feoras said in between breaths. “Since they don't have eyes, ears, or a nose to sense stuff with, Liches can detect Mana fluctuations around them... and since you like to blow off some Mana in a gust when your mad, that allows it to see find us.”

“But why didn't you use that sealing thing before when we first encountered it?” Laurent gave a quick shrug, slapping his brother on the head.

“Because it needs time to charge up, which is why I asked you to make a distraction.”

“Fine; how much more time do you need to charge it up?”

“It's just about ready,” Feoras nodded, beginning to wrap the glowing scroll around his right arm.

“So if it's ready, why do I need to make a distraction?”

“The spell Papa used requires physical contact with the Lich, and since it's shooting fire in every direction I can't get close to it. All I need to disrupt its flow of Mana is to strike it where it's most concentrated, then it should turn back into the pile of bones that it is.”

“So how the Hell am I supposed to do that?”

“GRAH, Kovas!” The Lich roared, forcing both brothers to turn and take a look. Still in the small clearing they had created from their first engagement, the entire right side of the Lich's body was trapped by rocks which had sprung out from the ground beneath it. “What trickery is this, Kovas? I know you're hiding out there, somewhere.”

“That wasn't you, was it?” Laurent asked his younger brother without taking his eyes off of the now struggling Lich, which was now being hit by fireballs launched from somewhere to their left.

“No; Earth and Fire aren't my specialities, but we both know whose they are,” Feoras shrugged, immediately back tracking to where he saw the fireballs come from.

~***~


As the Lich continued to struggle free for the moment, both Laurent and Feoras stood above their younger brothers, who had launched an attack of their own. The twelve year old Razlo, who had made the Earthen spikes, and nine year old Harrison, who had launched the fireballs, had both bottoms planted on the ground. Each was rubbing his head slightly after Laurent had cracked them for being here.

“You guys were supposed to stay home.” Feoras shrugged slightly, wishing that they had come to them first instead of attacking by themselves. Now that the Lich had sensed all four of their attacks, he felt it was only a matter of time until it went on the offensive again.

”You guys aren't supposed to be here, either. Bah, you and Laurent always get to have all the fun,” Razlo remarked in a mocking tone, and was about to continue before a raised hand from Laurent silenced him.

“Yeah, we can help you guys take this thing out. No problem!” Harrison agreed with a nod. But he stopped talking as well once Laurent's hand loomed over the both of them like a menacing specter.

“No problem... no problem?” Laurent began with a sigh before starting his long-winded rant on how dangerous rant on why this was no safe place for children at the moment. Of course, Feo knew he was completely right, but they had succeeded in what he wanted Laurent to do. The Lich was immobilized for the time being, the spell was ready, but Laurent wouldn't let him go knowing he needed to set an example for their two youngest brothers. Being both a soldier and a brother at the same time was hard, so Feo knew what was needed to be done before the Lich decided that break time was over.

“Yoi...” He yawned slightly, which he knew was one of Laurent's pet peeves when he was talking to someone. “I need a drink.” Placing both hands on the back of his head, Feoras turned slightly as if he wasn't paying attention and waited for the crack Laurent was about to give him.

“What?” Feoras asked after his brother smacked him on the back of the head and set a glare towards him that could melt the hardest ice he would muster. “They both know I drink tea.” After another crack, he smirked. “Okay, so maybe it's not all tea... I know there's some water in there, as well.” By the third crack, Feoras knew he had said enough, as both Razlo and Harrison were snickering up a storm at his expense.

“Alright, alright; settle down and get quiet.” He laughed after Laurent had calmed down enough to realize he was joking again. “Now look... here's what we're going to do.” Feoras started, as soon as he didn't hear a single sound out of any of them.

However, after a few seconds passed, Razlo and Harrison gave their older brother a quizzical look as he remained silent. After a few more seconds, Laurent tapped his brother on the shoulder to see what was wrong, but he simply waved him off.

As cliche as it sounds, the forest was deathly still. No birds were singing, no insects were chirping, and most importantly the sound of the Lich grunting in the distance had stopped as well. A quick swivel of the head proved that just to be fact; the Lich was gone. Having fought Necromancers many times before, he remembered how they loved to give their victims a false sense of security. Regardless of the time period they lived in, it was a trait that nearly all of them shared.

But when fighting an opponent who cannot see, hear, feel or smell you, it leaves an oppening for those who can. Then all it takes to give away one's position in a silent, battle-torn forest is as slight as a single snapped twig.

“Down!” Feoras shouted as he heard one snap behind them. Spinning around, the Lich had spent the time creeping as close as it could to them.

“Burn and die, Kovas!” The Lich roared as a black and purple stream of fire hurdled towards them. In an instant, the flames formed a swirling vortex around them, blocking out all of the light and leaving them in pitch darkness. But once the flames ceased, they were still completely surrounded by a black dome.

“Why didn't the flames get us?” Harrison asked over the vice like grip Laurent had over the both of them.

“You just let me worry about that.” Feoras panted as he slowly lifted his left palm off of the ground. As he slowly began to stand up, the barrier started to flake apart and evaporate into the air. “No problem.”

“An Ice shield? My my, you sure have learned some tricks in our time apart, Kovas.” The Lich started to chuckle, which sounded like bones grinding together.

“Laurent?” Feoras asked between breaths.

“Yeah?” This was the reply he got as he lifted both young boys to their feet.

“Get Harry and Razzie out of here now. I'll take care of the Lich.”

Although it was only a few seconds, the silence that followed seemed like an eternity to both brothers. “You sure about that?”

“Go on and leave, young ones,” the Lich interrupted as its pale purple orbs seemingly starred straight through Feoras. “This matter does not concern you, so leave before I change my mind.”

“You still sure about that, Feo?” Laurent asked a final time while holding onto each of their younger brother's shoulders.

“If he wants to fight a Kovas, then so be it.” Feoras shrugged, giving them the thumbs up sign with his right arm. The scroll, which still glowed with the strange runes from before, was still tightly wrapped around his arm and ready to go.

“Alright then, you take care of yourself.” Laurent replied, pushing the two of them back towards town.

“Not a problem.” Feoras heard his voice echo as their footsteps slowly began to get softer until the forest was dead still again.

“So, Kovas...” The Lich mused, slowly moving closing the thirty or so foot gap between them. “Are you ready to die at my hand now?”

“If you're referring to Joseph Kovas, then I'm sorry to inform you that he passed on a few years ago.” Feoras replied, wiping the dried blood away from the bandage on his cheek.

“Hah, playing mind games like always. You haven't changed at all, Kovas.” It laughed once again, disturbing the silence of the forest with another spine-tingling chuckle. “Which will make it all the more fun to finally kill you.”

“You're a Lich, if you haven't already figured that out, Adderson.” The young man sighed, knowing that what he was saying was most likely just a waste of breath. “You died nearly half a century ago and were revived as a Lich only a few hours ago.”

“Don't waste your breath with those games, Kovas; they won't work on me this time.” The Lich raised its arm as if to wipe a smirk off of its non-existent face. Not moving a single foot more, it planted its feet firmly into the ground and gave a stare towards Feoras as if his pale orbs were ripping him apart, muscle by muscle. “I know those green eyes all too well, and the glasses are a dead give-away.”

“Yeah, my mum said that Papa and I look a lot alike. In retrospect, I probably did deserve the nickname 'Pops' back in my Academy days.” Feoras shrugged, while drawing his blade from the sheath strapped to his back.

As if not hearing a single word, the Lich continued. “You stole the love of my life from me, Kovas, and I'll make you pay for it.”

“What, you mean Mama Elaine?”

Without as much as a warning, the Lich hurled a firebomb right towards its opponent. “I've had enough of your mind games, Kovas; we shall end this once and for all today. You... killed her right before my very eyes.”

Holding his left arm in front of his body, the Ice shield quickly wrapped around Feoras' arm in case he needed it again. “Oh, you mean that Miss Blanche who tried to poison our town's water supply.” Scratching his head in acknowledgment, he nodded slightly. “That's why you were so amped to kill Papa. Well, so much for diplomacy I suppose.”

“I'll rip this entire forest apart just to have my revenge, Kovas. So yes, diplomacy is out of the question now.” The Lich raised both of its hands and created a large black and purple orb between them. “This will be the end for one of us, so I hope you have a will written out already.”

“Yeah, already got that covered, so let's cut to the chase.” He replied while charging the Lich, hopefully to catch it off guard.

~***~


After some amount of time, the explosions and echos of firebombs finally subsided in this part of Greenguard Forest. In due time, the sounds of nature resumed and the melody picked up exactly from where it left off, acting as if the battle had never even happened.

Lying his back against one of the remaining trees in the small clearing, Feoras took the time to enjoy the serenity of the forest before everyone came looking for him. At the time, he strained with his neck to see if their battle had caused this section of the woods any permanent damage. However, the blood smeared across his glasses prevented him from seeing very far. To make things worse, the previous gash on his cheek which his brother chided him about had reopened again, and he knew he was going to get an earful once they got here. Along with the various other cuts and bruises, nothing was too serious that he couldn't make a full recovery from but it would definitely put him in a bed for the rest of the week, let alone today.

But no matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn't muster the will to be angry at the day's events. Maybe it was the soothing effects the melody of the woods had on him or it easily could have been from the blood-loss as well. At this point, however, it really didn't matter, as the only thoughts he had at the moment were of how Papa used to take them on long walks through the woods when he and Laurent first learned how to walk. Over the years, he had come to hold the same amount of respect for the woods as his grandfather and he was pretty certain that spending a day in the woods was the perfect way to spend this day.

“Happy Remembrance Day, Papa.” This was the last thought that crossed his mind as he heard people shouting his name in the distance. Knowing that he was in good hands, he closed his eyes and decided to spend the rest of the day resting... or at least he did until he heard a familiar voice.

“Yoi, dummkopf.” Laurent laughed, seeing that his brother tried to fall unconscious before he could get to him. “Some things never change, do they?” Bending down to pick up the bandage which had slid off his cheek, Laurent held it up for his brother to inspect.

“Heh, it's a good thing that I bled enough for it to slide off.” Feoras smirked, realizing that he had fought a Lich with a large pink bunny bandage stuck to his cheek.

“Don't worry, I won't tell any of your Defender buddies about it.” Laurent waved to the others before bending down and holding him up underneath the shoulder. “After all, what are brothers for?”

“Eh, besides being a pain in the neck most of the time, I guess it's nice to help each other once in awhile.” Feoras retorted and the two laughed about it until everyone else was there.




Eukara Vox -> RE: Book of War (6/23/2010 1:20:02)

It is done...
by Eukara Vox and Gianna Glow

"I summon thee, children of light and hope. I hath need of your aid in this time of dire need. There is much at stake. Please listen to my call and come hither. Come to fight against the rampant and needless destruction.

"I summon thee, children of air and dreams. I hath need of your aid in this time of dire need. There is much at stake. Please listen to my call and come hither. Come to fight against the rampant and needless destruction.

"I summon thee, children of darkness and mystery. I hath need of your aid in this time of dire need. There is much at stake. Please listen to my call and come hither. Come to fight against the rampant and needless destruction.

"I summon thee, children of water and peace. I hath need of your aid in this time of dire need. There is much at stake. Please listen to my call and come hither. Come to fight against the rampant and needless destruction.

"I summon thee, children of fire and purity. I hath need of your aid in this time of dire need. There is much at stake. Please listen to my call and come hither. Come to fight against the rampant and needless destruction.

"I summon thee, children of earth and strength. I hath need of your aid in this time of dire need. There is much at stake. Please listen to my call and come hither. Come to fight against the rampant and needless destruction.

"I summon thee, children of ice and time. I hath need of your aid in this time of dire need. There is much at stake. Please listen to my call and come hither. Come to fight against the rampant and needless destruction.

"I summon thee, children of energy and spirit. I hath need of your aid in this time of dire need. There is much at stake. Please listen to my call and come hither. Come to fight against the rampant and needless destruction.

I, Gianna Glow, Queen of the Fairies and Member of the High Fey Council dost summon thee to end the rampage of one Gorse the Redcap. He hath refused to heed my words and hath set himself in opposition to all. He hath insulted his fellow fey and attempted to destroy The Library. To end this, I call upon the universe. I call you, the elements! I call upon light and darkness, earth and air, water and energy, fire and ice. Join together with the hopes and dreams of people everywhere for the common good and end this once and for all!"

A circle that seemed never-ending started etching itself on the floor as Gianna finished her spell. It slowly curled out, parts of it disappearing under the bookshelves, temporarily causing the bookshelves with their contents to disappear. Eukara couldn't feel them anywhere. To the best of her knowledge the library had been emptied in an instant. The lines within the circle writhed in many colors, glowing hypnotically and casting shadows on the farthest reaches of The Library. In the center of this spell stood the unfortunate Gorse.

Eukara stood wide-eyed as Gianna pronounced the summoning. Only once in her life had she ever heard such a command and that was during a war on a distant planet where Magic predominated all fighting. She shivered, not only in reaction to the expanse of the summoning, but also the sheer power Gianna wielded at that moment. She knew her own magic was very limited, limited by creativity and would never have such vast application.

Gorse stood also, and with each call Gianna sent out, his stance grew more stooped, as if fear had begun to trickle into his mind and body.

It seems that this abomination can feel fear.

Startled by the voice in her head, she looked down and smiled in relief. Slash sat on her feet, tail curled up around both her ankles and Slash's body. She licked a paw in indifference. "Glad to see you are okay, my dear. I was trying to figure out what I would do when Alex arrived to get you and you weren't as he left you."

Slash laughed mentally. He would just assume I got myself into more trouble than it is worth; you would not be admonished. But, 'tis the life of a familiar. I will admit this to you, and only you. That commander and the magic that saturated him was strange, and it was harder to deal with than I expected. You say he is from... Terra? I will need to have Alex go there sometime for a thorough investigation.

Bending down, Eukara scooped up Slash, not caring if the creature cared and held her in her arms as they both watched the show. If Slash had any objections, they were never made as Eukara stroked the familiar's dark fur.

Meanwhile, out of the ever-spiraling lines that grew increasingly complex, nine forms began to shape around Gorse. One was illuminated so brightly with such a pure light that even thoughts of evil were banished from the minds of those who had ever beheld this being. Feather wings spread out as an angel showed itself amidst the light. A gleaming golden sword was in his hand. He raised up the golden sword and pointed it straight upright toward the sky.

Gorse shielded his eyes, shrinking away from the divine light that radiated from the angel. He scowled at Gianna, narrowing his eyes. "So what... an Angel. Ooooooh, I am so scared. One creature, one power." Slash hissed and shook her head. Eukara watched him carefully, noting that his words were braver than his body language indicated.

Suddenly, a figure formed out of a large puff of wind next to the angel, showing itself to be a beautiful young woman with wings that shifted with the wind itself. It was rare for one of her kind to show themselves in human form for she was a sylph. Winds buffeted all around her, causing the angel's hair to fly around. She held one hand out in front of her and a wand appeared in it. She raised this weapon toward the sky as well.

Gorse swallowed. First an Angel, then a Sylph. His knees knocked slightly, realizing that the summoning was actually legitimate. Eukara looked on with a hint of satisfaction and he snarled at her. "Don't get your hopes up. I still have your precious books."

Another shape came into being across from the angel and as it was forming: it showed itself to be a demon made entirely of darkness and constantly shifting shadows. Its darkness spread out and met the angel's light in the middle. This demon carried no weapon, but held both his hands out toward the sky.

Although Gorse himself was a creature of the darkness, he fell to his knees as the Demon solidified. Yes, his kind were feared, but nothing and no one was more fearsome than a demon. His face drained of all its colour, his eyes fading. "How can you control this?!"

Gianna didn't answer, merely watched as her summoning continued to be fulfilled. On the other side of the angel, an elemental was slower in forming, as if reluctant. A little muttering was heard amidst the crackling of the spell's energy. Finally a Mermaid emerged, sending some water flying. She looked around, saw who it was who had summoned her, and raised her trident toward the sky with a feral grin at Gorse, who was shrinking by the moment.

Gorse shook, eying the mermaid in fear. He hated water. Absolutely hated it. "This is enough, fairy. I think you've proven your point!"

Gianna still said nothing, just turning her head to where she expected the next figure to show up. A bright burst of flame erupted next to the Mermaid, which momentarily blinded everyone as a phoenix rose up out of the ashes on the ground. The phoenix raised its beak and wings toward the sky.

"Now a Phoenix? You dared to summon this creature... what kind of authority do you have here, anyway?" Gorse could not hide the panicking feeling welling up in his stomach and spreading throughout his chest.

Just as the phoenix raised its beak up, dirt began to show up next to it as a Gnome popped into view amidst the stones and plants that made up earth. He held up a hammer and raised it toward the sky.

"How could you, brother?" Gorse spat, now on his knees. "How could you betray those who call you family?"

The Gnome shook his head. "I am no brother of yours. We may be from the same places, tend some of the same things, but you and I... we are nothing alike. I have no issue with helping to deal with your insolence."

A small earthquake rushed toward the middle meeting a tornado issued from the Sylph. Across from the phoenix, a large iceberg rose out of the lines, showing Sedna, a woman who looked almost like a mermaid, but with a seal bottom half instead of a fish half. She raised her pike toward the sky as ice rushed to meet fire in the middle.

"Ice! That is worse than water... so cold, unfeeling. Enough, already, please, I beg of you," Gorse yelled out over the din of the gathering of power.

The eighth figure came into being between the shadow demon and Sedna. The figure resembled a bird, but lightning began to issue from it. As soon as it raised its beak and wings to the sky, the lightning rushed out from under it to meet the tidal wave coming at it from the opposite side. Africa's finest in terms of a Lightning Bird screamed out its challenge and nodded its head to both Gianna and Eukara.

At this point, Gorse was a trembling, sputtering mess. Not only had the summoning brought forth creatures of renown... but some of the most powerful of each of the elements.

Gianna looked up above Gorse to see a light pink color start to form above him. A woman with a long, flowing dress emerged at the center of the clashing elements, but she was far above the elements. She looked down on them, her lavender eyes sparkling softly. Her long brown hair elegantly framed her gentle face and flowed down to her waist. Her dress seemed to dissolve into nothing. She looked sadly on the trembling Redcap.

"If I turned back now, young Gorse, you would return to your ways. You have insulted Gianna. You have insulted Eukara. You have kidnapped Slash. You have insulted the universe. Most importantly, you have insulted me. I am Hope. I can see within you to your heart. If Gianna called off this spell now, I wouldn't let her. I know that if she took pity on you, you might respect her, but you wouldn't respect those more powerful than you. You wouldn't learn anything from this. I hope the finishing of this spell will allow you to learn and have a better future, even if you must rebuild it."

This was the final straw. Gorse's body shivered and he fell over, unconscious, finally unable to handle all that was thrown at him. All the power, all the might, all the unity thrown against him was too much for his body and mind to handle.

Hope turned to each of the summoned creatures, acknowledging their weapons. She raised her hands up and a glowing ball of pink light began to grow. When it filled her hands and seemed to spill out of them, she dropped the glowing ball of pure elemental hope into the maelstrom of clashing elements. For an instant, all was calm. The lines all began to disappear into the large elemental orb formed by the outline of the summoned creatures. Then out of the elements, a glowing cage began to form all around Gorse, imprisoning and immobilizing him. He would only be able to talk. Each character turned toward Gianna and Eukara and bowed. They then faded away slowly, leaving the vast hall absolutely empty save for Hope. Hope lingered behind, coming to float in front of Eukara and Gianna. When she was closer, Eukara could see that faint wings that resembled a fairy's wings that were made simply from her aura of glowing pink energy.

"Gianna, my child. It is good to see you again. I wish it had been under better circumstances. How are you, my dear? I understand you have been busy."

"I have, my lady. As always, I am appreciative of your gifts to me and my people. I do my best to do good with them as always. Recently I have been helping the new Librarian, Eukara Vox, with giving her more documents from all over time that I thought she would appreciate along with my usual royal duties. Thanks to your more recent gift though, I have plenty of time."

"Of course. Now Eukara, you are very gifted and very creative. If you ever have need of anything, just call on me. I see your heart is pure and you will not abuse this gift. Gianna, I leave young Gorse in your capable hands."

Eukara bowed low, acknowledging Hope and all that she encompassed. "I give you my word, Hope, that should I need you, I will call."

Gianna curtsied to Hope as she was disappearing and turned to Gorse, who was sitting up, shaking his head, trying to clear it.

"I do hope you have learned your lesson." Gorse jumped at Gianna's voice and looked around frantically. "This is a small taste of the power of Hope and a child's dreams. See, children dream and come up with fantastic ideas that seem impossible to adults. However, they still hope those ideas exist. As a result, they do. Even when they become adults, those hopes stay. Every dream and hope made adds to our power. Every being that hopes and dreams adds to our power. I am going to leave you in Eukara's capable hands since you invaded her Library. Oh!"

Gianna suddenly looked up at all the missing books.

"Oops, forgot to put those back. Here you go, Eukara! One returned Library in original condition and one imprisoned Gorse. I must go. If you need any help, call on me. I'm here as always, Ms. Vox!"

Eukara Vox smiled at Gianna and watched her disappear. She turned to Gorse, her face stony. "What to do with you..."

Slash purred and nuzzled Eukara. Perhaps, Mistress Eukara, Alex can have him for a bit? I am sure he can find some use of this troublemaker.

Eukara scritched Slash behind the ears and smiled. "Yes, Slash, I believe you have the right idea."

The Redcap, formerly known as Commander Gorse, burst into tears.




Page: <<   < prev  1 [2]

Valid CSS!




Forum Software © ASPPlayground.NET Advanced Edition
0.34375