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[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them | “Examiner, have you reached any conclusions?”
The holo-video lit up in the center of the laboratory. The face of Preator Endex filled the void in the center of the room.
“Yes. Praetor. The specimen you provided was intact enough to draw a conclusion,” Examiner Zendex replied. “If I may ask, how was such a faultless specimen procured?”
“By accident, Examiner.” Zendex could hear the embarrassment in the Preator’s voice. The Klee were notorious for their ability to plan. To have a complete human specimen simply fall into their possession as an act of luck was an insult to the Praetor’s ability to calculate probable outcomes. Still, it was likely that the additional information to be gleaned from studying a full anatomy could very well prove the turning of the war.
“I see.” Zendex obfuscated his disapproval outwardly, while in actual fact he was enjoying the Praetor’s discomfort. No less than twelve successors to the current Praetor had all tried to turn the tide of the galactic conflict. Over fifty cycles, and none had succeeded. For all his braggadocio, Praetor Endex had proven equally incapable of mastering the necessary variables to overcome this foe. Not that it wasn’t a complex problem….
“Please, state your conclusion, then propose the underlying premises,” the Praetor encouraged.
“Of course,” Zendex paused, wondering if the magnitude of his discoveries would be fully communicated, much less appreciated by the greater Klee protectorate. “The additional information gleaned from this specimen leads to the conclusion that this war will be over in less than two cycles.”
The Praetor bared his mandibles in a sign of satisfaction. “Ah, we have it then. What is your margin of error?”
The Examiner balked. To ask the question of an Examiner of such high esteem was almost an insult. “Within the ninety ninth percentile, Praetor.”
“Then by all means, state your premises.” It was customary in Klee society to state the conclusion of an encounter first, then reveal the necessary background information informing the deduction. To save on the need for pointless interactions, a subordinate would typically accept the conclusions of an Elder. This was given to the Klee’s exceptional ability to calculate probabilities into several dimensions of thinking. To inquire into the basis for a deduction was to show interest, and thus respect, for the proponent of the conclusion. The Praetor was clearly showing great respect for the Examiner’s presentation. Such deference deserved a thorough exhibition.
“I direct your attention to the specimen, Praetor.” The lifeless body of the pale human lay limply on the examining table, its various entrails and organs neatly stacked in a small row next to it. “As you can see from the scorian readout, the Circulatory, Digestive, Endocrine, Exocrine, Muscular and Renal systems of these humans are typical of a class four evolutionary primateon species. Other than the digestive systems ability to vacate a surprising number of toxins, these systems are rather unremarkable...”
The presentation continued, analyzing each biological strength and weakness in turn.
The Praetor patiently listened. The Klee had conquered thousands of species in galactic combat. No race had been able to withstand their superior minds, being able to calculate and adapt to thousands of permutations and possible outcomes. And so it was supposed to be a simple conquest of this backward human world. Their superior numbers and technology obvious, the Klee had offered the humans a dignified surrender almost simultaneously with their invasion.
The Klee war counsel had noted that the humans preferred to rely on diplomacy, which loosely translated basically meant mutual surrender, with neither side a victor. Words were a decent enough tool to fend off aggression in some cases. But without the might to back up those words … the Klee knew better. Despite its 1,000 years of peace with its neighbors, the Klee knew that no diplomacy would be enough to prevent Earth’s capture.
At least, they thought they knew. Despite the analytical approach to the invasion, this unremarkable species had left cataclysmic destruction in its wake. Generally, an intergalactic war took one, maybe two cycles to conclude, especially when victory from one side or the other was all but assured. Once both sides concluded that victory was inevitable, a ceremonial surrender was typical. But the current conflict had lasted over fifty cycles, and the waste of resources had nearly drained the empire into insolvency. It wouldn’t be long until the outer systems calculated weakness…
These humans did not conform to any known parameters. In most conflicts, multiple circumstances could be calculated, reevaluated, predicted. But not humans. In one iteration, humans would behave conservatively, almost to a fault. Giving ground even when obvious advantages could clearly be seized. In other encounters, they displayed a recklessness and ferocity known only among the unevolved. Fifty cycles later and they were just as impossible to predict as the day the Klee invaded Earth.
The Earth invasion was a disaster by any tactical standard. It had been studied, reanalyzed, reinterpreted. But no solid conclusions could be reached. Upon landfall, the humans initially reacted as any other class four primateon. Family units hiding in fear. Communications disrupted. Military responses disorganized.
And then, as if signaled by a Praetorean elite, something changed. The humans responded with the ferociousness and recklessness of an unevolved reptile or arachnid. Forces were marshaled imperfectly, but effectively. Counter offensives with no seeming probability of victory nevertheless succeeded. And once some Klee technology was in the hands of the enemy, the situation went all downsystem.
Native humans with no military training whatsoever were taking up munitions and retaliating with no regard to their own existence. Elite human units advanced TOWARD certain death. By the time the provisional government envoy arrived to impose judicial order, the humans had routed all 36 expeditionary squads, including the capital ships. How in the nexus they even got up to the fleet centers remains a mystery, as human technology simply wasn’t advanced past placing geosynchronous communicators in their own orbit. To add insult, the humans used the captured fleet to commandeer the undefended bureaucratic envoy just after its arrival.
And then? Then they repurposed the envoy to proclaim victory, making the Klee administrative apparatus assume the planet was in conquered status. It wasn’t until a whole cycle had passed until the Klee elite had noticed there wasn’t any tribute. But by then it was too late. The humans had adapted to the technology quickly. Not just to seize and use it, but also perverting Klee technology to suit their own destructive ends.
From there, forty-nine cycles of interstellar destruction and chaos across entire systems. Unlike other space-faring species, the humans seem to have no respect for cosmic order. It is as if they must repurpose the universe itself to match their fleeting lifespan. They damage anything in their path to achieve even minor victories. Anger toward a conqueror was to be expected. But the patterns appeared to demonstrate a malice toward the Klee that could not have been predicted from an evolved species.
Using space folding technology, they used a Klee warp engine to fold out the orbit of a key military installation, shifting it into the path of a black hole, and damaging the habitability of three separate colonies. They strapped fusion reactors onto refueling pylons and sent them back into the prime nexus, haphazardly destroying or crippling thirteen production outposts. In one engagement, a system neighboring a production facility with no military value was completely destroyed, a seemingly pointless act. But worst of all, in every encounter their soldiers and pilots show no regard whatsoever for their own personal safety, at times letting loose fission and fusion weapons of their own design, which spread fallout throughout half the Klee protectorate. It has made the end of the conflict nearly impossible to manage. | The Terrans had built Universities, hospitals, revolutionized inter-stellar commerce. They worked as ambassadors to negotiate peace and trade deals amongst the galactic community. Their few colonies built on out of the way unhospitable worlds. Their fleet was made of trade vessels, science ships, and pleasure yachts. They had a reputation as bringers of peace, knowledge, and healing. Then came the Garanzan incident.
The Garanzan we new to the interstellar community, warlike, domineering, and powerful. Their armada outnumbered the combined forces of the allied races, they conquered whole worlds in a matter of days. When the Garanzan entered Melcap space the Melcap reached out Humanity to help negotiate a peace settlement.
The Terrans send their premier ambassador to an arranged peace conference hosted by the Melcap. The entire Garanzan fleet showed up to the appointed meeting station and murdered the Melcap and Terran diplomats and broadcast the gruesome killings across known space.
Three days later another Terran ambassador was dispatched to to the Garanzan home world with a single message. "Cease all hostilities at once or the United Terran Forces will declare war on the Garanzan." The Garanzan's sent back his head as a declaration of war.
The Garanzan turned their fleets from the Melcap and attacked all known Terran colonies. For six months the Garanzan attacked and butchered humans ill equipped to fight against such military might. But even those fights became brutal battles against insurgencies, suicide attacks, and desperate counter attacks all meant to buy time. While the Allied races stood by and watched they knew Humanities time on the intergalactic stage was up. The Garanzan were too powerful, too numerous, and too blood thirsty to be stopped.
Then came Terran Armada. After half of year of holding actions and watching their people die humanity struck back. The Garanzan were assaulting the human space platform Excalibur, a human outpost built for the Alliance to foster learning, trade and diplomacy. The station was a bastion of learning, commerce, and the best hospital in known space. Excalibur station was a massive installation of over one hundred thousand humans. The Garanzan saw the station as a monument to Terran weakness.
General Gaulfluax recounts that day;
"I ordered targeting on the facilities power generators to bring down their pitiful shields and allow our boarding craft to send reavers onto the station."
"I had lead the campaign on the Ceti 4 colony and knew there would be heavy if ineffectual resistance. The humans were inventive and tenacious, but no match for reavers in full battle armor. I wanted to take the station as intact as possible to plunder it's technology. Humans were weak but their technology was far ahead of ours in terms of medicine and science."
"Just as the shields faltered and I ordered the attack craft away a massive energy surge was reported above my fleet. A full Terran battle group emerged from space fold in perfect attack formation. You laugh now, but we had no clue then what we were up against."
"Admiral McMullen opened hail to my ship and delivered an ultimatum. 'Surrender now or face destruction, you have 3 minutes' and signed off. I laughed, what could a single battle group do against my entire fleet. I stopped laughing after our assault craft were blown out of stars."
"Have you every seen a Saturn Knight tear an assault craft apart? They use quantum energy blasts to take down our shields and then just rip the ships apart with their lances. And they can deploy dozens of them, each so small you can't see them on the scopes, I don't know how they do it."
"Worse is the main cannon's on their assault ships, an energy beam a mile wide and ten miles long that annihilates anything in it's path. My fleet was torn to shreds after the first volley. To think all it took was six months to build such powerful weapons."
General Gaulflaux surrendered after seven and a half minutes of combat. His fleet lost ninety percent of it's ships. The Terran vessels suffered zero losses. After the formal declaration of war Humanity reconstituted it's naval academy and repurposed and expanded the Mars foundries into an orbital ship yard capable of producing the massive warship in under a month. Marines were dispatched to colony worlds knowing they'd never return home to hold back the tides and buy humanity the time it needed to build a fleet capable of taking down the Garanzan.
It happened all across the Garanzan empire. Terran battle groups would spacefold into attack position, demand surrender and open fire if no response was given. The Terran war machine turned out ships and crews at such a rate that their enemies were out numbered in just over two years of war.
Terran Ambassadors now travel on small naval warships and are flanked at diplomatic events by Saturn Knights. The Terran Armada provides security across a thousand systems. And the Garanzan, they are slowly rebuilding their society with the assistance of the Terran Peace Corp. | |
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them | "One Earthling, diplomat. How can you justify this madness on account of one sole Earthling?"
The human stretched its angular limbs and considered the battlefield. Outside the star vessel lay our fleet. In ruins. I could see soldiers floating in the void of space, frozen solid as rock, all with the same expression on their faces: pure horror.
"Don't say we didn't warn you, Xehemultran."
Humans had domesticated themselves, turned themselves into pets; it was common knowledge. That was why they did not want to participate in galactic conflicts, that was why they were considered the ultimate neutral species. Diplomacy and trifles, words and empty gestures. Everyone knew humans did not fight. So how could this have happened?
"This is sheer insanity. You have murdered billions. You have eradicated entire civilizations."
"Yup." The human fidgeted with a finger inside its mouth, cleaning out some gunk.
"All of this for Bella? Do you consider this destruction to be worth it?"
"Oh, absolutely."
I shook my heads. "She was not even a *human*."
"Correct," said the Earthling. He pointed his weapon at me. "She was a *cat*." Expressionless, the human pulled the trigger. | "The war is over," The Custodian said to the gathered council. "We have Victory, and the Humans are pacified. This is what we will tell every member of this Stellar Council's remaining population. How could they refute us, when Human Armadas no longer burn our skies, shatter our mountains, and erase our War Machina?
"If we didn't win, we wouldn't be alive. This is what we will say. Our history books will remember Humanity as a rogue nation. A blip in Stellar history that will be quickly swept aside by Scholars and historians alike.
"They will become as ghosts; spirits of myth given to the fancies of the mad or the infirm. They existed, yes. They warred against us, yes. They do not exist anymore, and will never exist again.
"This is the decree of the Assembly, and one we must dutifully uphold.
He scowled down at the the text on his datascreen, and sighed.
"And now, we must move on to more pressing matters. We must draft our Notice of Victory.
"Gathered representatives, I already have asked you all to commit the gravest sin. I must ask you to falsify, to lie, to cheat, and to erase history. Many of you will not do so, and thus all of our combined efforts will be for nothing.
"If so much as one representative among our number refuses to act in accordance with the Assembly, the entirety of our Stellar Accord will crumble.
"We must omit all mention of Human triumphs, Human victories, and Human mercy missions. We must expunge all trace of their existence, erase their records, delete their datadrives.
"Never again must the Stars buckle under the call of freedom from Human lips.
"Never again must we taste the fruits of a collective species crying out against fate. Never again must we circle images of their fleets, their stations, or their faces.
"We must never hear another defiant speech, watch a last stand, see another Human fight while mortally wounded.
"We must never see their war stations bristling with cannons still firing as their life support fails. We must never again shudder with the mention of how not one single Human army ever surrendered.
"We must never taste their sorrow or bitter curses. We must never hear about how when all the Stars cried for their blood, the neutral among their number still rallied to ships with no banners to help the war-stricken.
"We must never again see the reports of the quality of life they gave to our troops when they were captured. The public may never know that armies under our colours flocked in droves to Humanity when promises were made and kept, of luxuries and lives most could only dream of.
"The feats of human medicine must be erased. Their wonders of technology eradicated. Their massive habitats, orbital cities, steadfast uninhabitable colony domes must all become the stuff of fanciful stories and lies.
"This is a necessity.
"Our civilisations, our cultures, they demand structure and obedience.
"Humans are anathema to that. The very idea of their society is the draught that will be our death-knell."
"So, gathered representatives. The Assembly has decreed we won the war. A military cordon and no-fly zone is to be created in every star system that borders Human space. An obfuscation array established to block their transmissions and data.
"No ship shall enter nor leave their space. We shall send and answer no calls nor treatise. For the greatest danger that Humanity poses to us isn't what happens when they win. It is the grace and beauty in which they *lose.*"
Without any applause or cheering, the Custodian folded the data screen, took a bow, and stepped down from the podium.
And all the Representatives were silent. | |
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them | **Log 1.01 - 6462/55**
Potential major new biodiversity harvest, Arm 4, stellar coordinates \[classified\]. Approximately 9 million identifiable species, DNA-based. Minor indigenous sapience, no world government, hive mind, or cybernetic control. Not even common language.
**1.02 - 6462/56**
Received message from imperial satrap, Council of Entities agrees with assessment, harvest of new world moved to top priority, codename Project Windfall. Biodiversity loss on Zor homeworlds considerably graver than generally leaked to non-Council Entities, new harvests to take priority over inorganic material harvests. Changing course to Windfall.
**2.01 - 6462/87**
Reached Windfall. Harvester ships Ixin, Cath, Roklut expected to arrive by 90-91. Recon drones deployed.
**2.02 - 6462/89**
Recon drones confirm probe drone. Massive biodiversity lode plus abundant liquid water. No organized opposition. Indigenous sapience in form of tribal/social primates, greater native intelligence than any other non-Zor species yet encountered, rudimentary AI capabilities, but most advanced capabilities used to fight other members of same species. Most advanced weapons are fission type, they hesitate to use them on one another only due to threat of retaliation in kind, but still an impressive accomplishment for a species with no guiding central authority.
Memo to Entity Zor'lanque, will set aside additional share of the most bountiful harvest in the last millennium for the Zor if he'll sponsor additional seat on Council of Entities.
**2.03 - 6462/92**
Harvester ships arrived. Commencing harvest of Windfall.
**2.04 - 6462/99**
Native primate technology as expected is no match for ours. Multiple ape social colonies ("cities") razed and harvested. Resistance fierce but ineffective.
**3.01 - 6462/120**
Harvest progressing but slower than expected. Native primates behave in substantially unanticipated ways exposed to new stimuli. No significant trouble expected but we should perhaps pay attention to their social reaction complex as interesting in its own right, not mere biodiversity in a universe in which that always appears to be shrinking.
**3.02 - 6462/160**
Memo to Entity Zor'lanque, harvest can progress as things stand but additional armed escorts would assist. Native primates ("humans," they call themselves) demonstrate substantial adaptive capabilities, particularly with respect to martial capabilities. As you are aware, our weapons cannot be used by nonmembers of our species due to DNA coding that makes all our weapons cease function if held by an entity not of our species. In less than 50 days, these "humans" came up with the barbarous but effective adaptation of making gloves out of our skins, allowing them to hold our weapons and turn them against us.
**3.03 - 6462/161**
Humans merit further study after skin-stealing adaptation. Harvested multiple of their soldiers, of various ages, intact. Placed in stasis for further study.
**3.04 - 6462/197**
Almost all standard harvest protocols for problematic biodiversity surprisingly ineffective with respect to humans. Already considering resorting to Cleanser virus but degradation of the biodiversity haul of Windfall would substantially impair strategic objectives of harvest in the first place.
**3.05 - 6462/249**
Human population ongoing adaptation proving dangerous. Multiple counteroffensives and countermeasures somehow initiated *spontaneously*, imitating coordination with no coordinating authority or intelligence. Spontaneous organization of species-wide resistance including against orbital and ecological attacks. Apologies to the Council of Entities, but we cannot leave them alive. Initiating Cleanser virus, programming human DNA as primary target but DNA similarity of human and other biodiversity on this planet means harvest will be dramatically curtailed.
**3.06 - 6462/259 - URGENT**
Cleanser virus largely successful but significant populations of humans remain alive. Moreover, those left alive appear to have sequenced and adapted it to attack *us*, somehow in the space of ten days.
Expeditionary force and harvesters have withdrawn to ships. Will proceed with battle against humans and harvest Windfall with drone tech alone. Analysis at this point is pessimistic; drone tech alone unlikely to prevail given chaotic but frenetic adaptation of human species so far against Cleanser and other rogue biodiversity countermeasures.
**4.01 - 6262/272 - URGENT**
Developing incident in progress in stasis chamber, unscheduled maintenance mode activations, emergency termination sequence malfunctioning. Human soldier prisoners may be loose onboard.
**4.02 - 6462/272 - URGENT**
They are coming. Initiating self destruct.
**5.01 - July 3, 2077 - YEAH, PROBABLY STILL URGENT**
Cool log. Looks like the self-destruct failed though. That kinda sucks. Sucks that we had to use your harvest ships to harvest the remains of most of our own cities, too, but there wasn't much left of them and at least your little flying factories helped us jumpstart our own fleet with all the metal of our old cities. Gotta live somewhere. And the view of Earth from space is still majestic even if y'all fucked it up on the surface. Oh, also, if you're reading this, just FYI ... we're *still* coming. Got nothing else to do now, and payback's a bitch.
Signed,
Humanity. | "The war is over," The Custodian said to the gathered council. "We have Victory, and the Humans are pacified. This is what we will tell every member of this Stellar Council's remaining population. How could they refute us, when Human Armadas no longer burn our skies, shatter our mountains, and erase our War Machina?
"If we didn't win, we wouldn't be alive. This is what we will say. Our history books will remember Humanity as a rogue nation. A blip in Stellar history that will be quickly swept aside by Scholars and historians alike.
"They will become as ghosts; spirits of myth given to the fancies of the mad or the infirm. They existed, yes. They warred against us, yes. They do not exist anymore, and will never exist again.
"This is the decree of the Assembly, and one we must dutifully uphold.
He scowled down at the the text on his datascreen, and sighed.
"And now, we must move on to more pressing matters. We must draft our Notice of Victory.
"Gathered representatives, I already have asked you all to commit the gravest sin. I must ask you to falsify, to lie, to cheat, and to erase history. Many of you will not do so, and thus all of our combined efforts will be for nothing.
"If so much as one representative among our number refuses to act in accordance with the Assembly, the entirety of our Stellar Accord will crumble.
"We must omit all mention of Human triumphs, Human victories, and Human mercy missions. We must expunge all trace of their existence, erase their records, delete their datadrives.
"Never again must the Stars buckle under the call of freedom from Human lips.
"Never again must we taste the fruits of a collective species crying out against fate. Never again must we circle images of their fleets, their stations, or their faces.
"We must never hear another defiant speech, watch a last stand, see another Human fight while mortally wounded.
"We must never see their war stations bristling with cannons still firing as their life support fails. We must never again shudder with the mention of how not one single Human army ever surrendered.
"We must never taste their sorrow or bitter curses. We must never hear about how when all the Stars cried for their blood, the neutral among their number still rallied to ships with no banners to help the war-stricken.
"We must never again see the reports of the quality of life they gave to our troops when they were captured. The public may never know that armies under our colours flocked in droves to Humanity when promises were made and kept, of luxuries and lives most could only dream of.
"The feats of human medicine must be erased. Their wonders of technology eradicated. Their massive habitats, orbital cities, steadfast uninhabitable colony domes must all become the stuff of fanciful stories and lies.
"This is a necessity.
"Our civilisations, our cultures, they demand structure and obedience.
"Humans are anathema to that. The very idea of their society is the draught that will be our death-knell."
"So, gathered representatives. The Assembly has decreed we won the war. A military cordon and no-fly zone is to be created in every star system that borders Human space. An obfuscation array established to block their transmissions and data.
"No ship shall enter nor leave their space. We shall send and answer no calls nor treatise. For the greatest danger that Humanity poses to us isn't what happens when they win. It is the grace and beauty in which they *lose.*"
Without any applause or cheering, the Custodian folded the data screen, took a bow, and stepped down from the podium.
And all the Representatives were silent. | |
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them | “I still remember the look on Ambassador Ford’s (Betelgeusean Republic’s representative to the former Galactic Councils 300 BT – 5 TA) face when I informed him we had declared war on the pathetic Humans of the Terran Federation. His blue blood drained from his face, leaving a dirty yellow visage which had previously shone a healthy green. The only thing he said was ‘What have you done?’ which I thought wwas just due to Betelgeusean fondness for the cowardly pacifistic species. If only we had known the truth…” – Gragtun’iik’iill, Former Krillnean Ambassador to the Galactic Councils 89 BT – 7 BT
Warfare has changed very little since the first slightly complex multicellular organisms began banding together to fight one another over limited resources. The equation generally comes down to who can out produce the other in manpower, supplies, or weapons. For as terrifying and powerful a new weapon system may be, it can still be outclassed by sheer volume.
At the dawn of the Terran Alliance, a heavily modified version of this calculation was in use to determine the general effectiveness of galactic empires. The weapon system of the day, as for most navies throughout history, was the battleship. Advanced civilizations, such as The Betelgeusean Republic, were capable of building, crewing, and launching these behemoths in only 50 cycles.
In 10 BT the rising Krillnean Empire felt that their armada, while small on the galactic scale, would be well equipped to destroy the peace loving, ever negotiating, Terran Federation. Afterall Terra had only 20 battleships in service, and had not completed a new such vessel in over 150 cycles. Krillnea was able to produce a vessel in as few as 80 cycles, and had a standing navy of over 500 ships.
Additionally, due to the sensitive and specialized nature of the systems on board a starship, let alone a warship, a certain level of training and experience was required. This training and practical experience was extremely costly, and could take dozens of cycles for a Human to acquire, but for the long-lived children of the Krillnean Hives, born to carry out specific tasks, it was simple. The game of numbers, it seemed, was decided.
As war commenced, the humans fought bravely to defend their colonies, but the numbers were against them. The Terran Fleet was destroyed in combat around Proxima Centauri, and colonies fell one after another. The Krillnean Armada advanced methodically, but sustained a far higher rate of losses than initially expected, which while concerning, was overshadowed by the rapid advance to the Human’s home system of Sol.
The Battle of Sol (7 BT) was a turning point in the evolution of warfare. Standard practice had been to harvest asteroid, moons, rocky planetoids, and anything available for raw materials to process into Space Ship components. This took time, capital, and abundant resources. With the main Terran shipyards destroyed, and with access to her colonies cut off, the Terran Federation appeared to be teetering on extinction.
What the Krillnean armada encountered upon entering the Sol system was not a scrambling mass of scared civilians, but a star system that had been entirely strip mined, and a brand new, incredibly massive fleet of “Warships” waiting for them.
The Sol system had always been considered somewhat of an anomaly. It had not one but two asteroid belts surrounding it, one of which harbored several larger planetoids. While these raw materials would have been a boon to most industries, the density of the belts in Sol made harvesting these resources a very laborious and risky endeavor. Even then, those resources would need to be refined methodically, and carefully to ensure no errant debris might strike a vessel or colony, and standard practice was to dump the empty husks of these asteroids into the nearest star, where it may safely be consumed.
The Terran Federation had several larger asteroids in stable orbits near their home planet of Earth, most were completely devoid of usable material and were merely awaiting their turn to be sent sunward. For Humanity they became salvation.
Instead of building a warship from scratch, Terran engineers crawled over these husks, fitting them with reactors, weapons systems, thrusters, and crude life support systems. When manpower turned out to be lacking, regular civilians pitched in to help, many of them having never performed a spacewalk or heavy construction previously. In total, over 600 such “vessels” were created over the span of a single cycle. Numerous other smaller asteroids were converted into unguided missiles, whose mass proved so effective at defeating point defense and shield systems that they are still in use today.
The Krillnean armada of 573 ships and 6-8 million souls was entirely obliterated. While not particularly agile or comfortable, the extremely basic nature of the human warships allowed them to survive attacks from the latest weapons systems, usually with little to no adverse effects. In fact, during the Battle of Sol, the total Terran losses were 237,000 personnel across 7 ships destroyed, and 13 damaged.
The Battle of Sol set the stage for the fall of the Galactic Council. As the Terran Federation reestablished control of her colonies and continued the fight towards the Krillnean home worlds, they continued to refine, improve, and produce their new class of vessels. Long since superseded by newer classes of warship, the Nemesis class battleships are still the most decorated vessels in the history of the Terran Alliance.
The Nemesis, first of her class, is still in use today and has the honor of being not only the ship which fired the first shot at the Battle of Sol, but also the vessel which destroyed the last enemy ship during the War of Unification between the Terran Federation and the Galactic Councils. | "The war is over," The Custodian said to the gathered council. "We have Victory, and the Humans are pacified. This is what we will tell every member of this Stellar Council's remaining population. How could they refute us, when Human Armadas no longer burn our skies, shatter our mountains, and erase our War Machina?
"If we didn't win, we wouldn't be alive. This is what we will say. Our history books will remember Humanity as a rogue nation. A blip in Stellar history that will be quickly swept aside by Scholars and historians alike.
"They will become as ghosts; spirits of myth given to the fancies of the mad or the infirm. They existed, yes. They warred against us, yes. They do not exist anymore, and will never exist again.
"This is the decree of the Assembly, and one we must dutifully uphold.
He scowled down at the the text on his datascreen, and sighed.
"And now, we must move on to more pressing matters. We must draft our Notice of Victory.
"Gathered representatives, I already have asked you all to commit the gravest sin. I must ask you to falsify, to lie, to cheat, and to erase history. Many of you will not do so, and thus all of our combined efforts will be for nothing.
"If so much as one representative among our number refuses to act in accordance with the Assembly, the entirety of our Stellar Accord will crumble.
"We must omit all mention of Human triumphs, Human victories, and Human mercy missions. We must expunge all trace of their existence, erase their records, delete their datadrives.
"Never again must the Stars buckle under the call of freedom from Human lips.
"Never again must we taste the fruits of a collective species crying out against fate. Never again must we circle images of their fleets, their stations, or their faces.
"We must never hear another defiant speech, watch a last stand, see another Human fight while mortally wounded.
"We must never see their war stations bristling with cannons still firing as their life support fails. We must never again shudder with the mention of how not one single Human army ever surrendered.
"We must never taste their sorrow or bitter curses. We must never hear about how when all the Stars cried for their blood, the neutral among their number still rallied to ships with no banners to help the war-stricken.
"We must never again see the reports of the quality of life they gave to our troops when they were captured. The public may never know that armies under our colours flocked in droves to Humanity when promises were made and kept, of luxuries and lives most could only dream of.
"The feats of human medicine must be erased. Their wonders of technology eradicated. Their massive habitats, orbital cities, steadfast uninhabitable colony domes must all become the stuff of fanciful stories and lies.
"This is a necessity.
"Our civilisations, our cultures, they demand structure and obedience.
"Humans are anathema to that. The very idea of their society is the draught that will be our death-knell."
"So, gathered representatives. The Assembly has decreed we won the war. A military cordon and no-fly zone is to be created in every star system that borders Human space. An obfuscation array established to block their transmissions and data.
"No ship shall enter nor leave their space. We shall send and answer no calls nor treatise. For the greatest danger that Humanity poses to us isn't what happens when they win. It is the grace and beauty in which they *lose.*"
Without any applause or cheering, the Custodian folded the data screen, took a bow, and stepped down from the podium.
And all the Representatives were silent. | |
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them | “Examiner, have you reached any conclusions?”
The holo-video lit up in the center of the laboratory. The face of Preator Endex filled the void in the center of the room.
“Yes. Praetor. The specimen you provided was intact enough to draw a conclusion,” Examiner Zendex replied. “If I may ask, how was such a faultless specimen procured?”
“By accident, Examiner.” Zendex could hear the embarrassment in the Preator’s voice. The Klee were notorious for their ability to plan. To have a complete human specimen simply fall into their possession as an act of luck was an insult to the Praetor’s ability to calculate probable outcomes. Still, it was likely that the additional information to be gleaned from studying a full anatomy could very well prove the turning of the war.
“I see.” Zendex obfuscated his disapproval outwardly, while in actual fact he was enjoying the Praetor’s discomfort. No less than twelve successors to the current Praetor had all tried to turn the tide of the galactic conflict. Over fifty cycles, and none had succeeded. For all his braggadocio, Praetor Endex had proven equally incapable of mastering the necessary variables to overcome this foe. Not that it wasn’t a complex problem….
“Please, state your conclusion, then propose the underlying premises,” the Praetor encouraged.
“Of course,” Zendex paused, wondering if the magnitude of his discoveries would be fully communicated, much less appreciated by the greater Klee protectorate. “The additional information gleaned from this specimen leads to the conclusion that this war will be over in less than two cycles.”
The Praetor bared his mandibles in a sign of satisfaction. “Ah, we have it then. What is your margin of error?”
The Examiner balked. To ask the question of an Examiner of such high esteem was almost an insult. “Within the ninety ninth percentile, Praetor.”
“Then by all means, state your premises.” It was customary in Klee society to state the conclusion of an encounter first, then reveal the necessary background information informing the deduction. To save on the need for pointless interactions, a subordinate would typically accept the conclusions of an Elder. This was given to the Klee’s exceptional ability to calculate probabilities into several dimensions of thinking. To inquire into the basis for a deduction was to show interest, and thus respect, for the proponent of the conclusion. The Praetor was clearly showing great respect for the Examiner’s presentation. Such deference deserved a thorough exhibition.
“I direct your attention to the specimen, Praetor.” The lifeless body of the pale human lay limply on the examining table, its various entrails and organs neatly stacked in a small row next to it. “As you can see from the scorian readout, the Circulatory, Digestive, Endocrine, Exocrine, Muscular and Renal systems of these humans are typical of a class four evolutionary primateon species. Other than the digestive systems ability to vacate a surprising number of toxins, these systems are rather unremarkable...”
The presentation continued, analyzing each biological strength and weakness in turn.
The Praetor patiently listened. The Klee had conquered thousands of species in galactic combat. No race had been able to withstand their superior minds, being able to calculate and adapt to thousands of permutations and possible outcomes. And so it was supposed to be a simple conquest of this backward human world. Their superior numbers and technology obvious, the Klee had offered the humans a dignified surrender almost simultaneously with their invasion.
The Klee war counsel had noted that the humans preferred to rely on diplomacy, which loosely translated basically meant mutual surrender, with neither side a victor. Words were a decent enough tool to fend off aggression in some cases. But without the might to back up those words … the Klee knew better. Despite its 1,000 years of peace with its neighbors, the Klee knew that no diplomacy would be enough to prevent Earth’s capture.
At least, they thought they knew. Despite the analytical approach to the invasion, this unremarkable species had left cataclysmic destruction in its wake. Generally, an intergalactic war took one, maybe two cycles to conclude, especially when victory from one side or the other was all but assured. Once both sides concluded that victory was inevitable, a ceremonial surrender was typical. But the current conflict had lasted over fifty cycles, and the waste of resources had nearly drained the empire into insolvency. It wouldn’t be long until the outer systems calculated weakness…
These humans did not conform to any known parameters. In most conflicts, multiple circumstances could be calculated, reevaluated, predicted. But not humans. In one iteration, humans would behave conservatively, almost to a fault. Giving ground even when obvious advantages could clearly be seized. In other encounters, they displayed a recklessness and ferocity known only among the unevolved. Fifty cycles later and they were just as impossible to predict as the day the Klee invaded Earth.
The Earth invasion was a disaster by any tactical standard. It had been studied, reanalyzed, reinterpreted. But no solid conclusions could be reached. Upon landfall, the humans initially reacted as any other class four primateon. Family units hiding in fear. Communications disrupted. Military responses disorganized.
And then, as if signaled by a Praetorean elite, something changed. The humans responded with the ferociousness and recklessness of an unevolved reptile or arachnid. Forces were marshaled imperfectly, but effectively. Counter offensives with no seeming probability of victory nevertheless succeeded. And once some Klee technology was in the hands of the enemy, the situation went all downsystem.
Native humans with no military training whatsoever were taking up munitions and retaliating with no regard to their own existence. Elite human units advanced TOWARD certain death. By the time the provisional government envoy arrived to impose judicial order, the humans had routed all 36 expeditionary squads, including the capital ships. How in the nexus they even got up to the fleet centers remains a mystery, as human technology simply wasn’t advanced past placing geosynchronous communicators in their own orbit. To add insult, the humans used the captured fleet to commandeer the undefended bureaucratic envoy just after its arrival.
And then? Then they repurposed the envoy to proclaim victory, making the Klee administrative apparatus assume the planet was in conquered status. It wasn’t until a whole cycle had passed until the Klee elite had noticed there wasn’t any tribute. But by then it was too late. The humans had adapted to the technology quickly. Not just to seize and use it, but also perverting Klee technology to suit their own destructive ends.
From there, forty-nine cycles of interstellar destruction and chaos across entire systems. Unlike other space-faring species, the humans seem to have no respect for cosmic order. It is as if they must repurpose the universe itself to match their fleeting lifespan. They damage anything in their path to achieve even minor victories. Anger toward a conqueror was to be expected. But the patterns appeared to demonstrate a malice toward the Klee that could not have been predicted from an evolved species.
Using space folding technology, they used a Klee warp engine to fold out the orbit of a key military installation, shifting it into the path of a black hole, and damaging the habitability of three separate colonies. They strapped fusion reactors onto refueling pylons and sent them back into the prime nexus, haphazardly destroying or crippling thirteen production outposts. In one engagement, a system neighboring a production facility with no military value was completely destroyed, a seemingly pointless act. But worst of all, in every encounter their soldiers and pilots show no regard whatsoever for their own personal safety, at times letting loose fission and fusion weapons of their own design, which spread fallout throughout half the Klee protectorate. It has made the end of the conflict nearly impossible to manage. | "The war is over," The Custodian said to the gathered council. "We have Victory, and the Humans are pacified. This is what we will tell every member of this Stellar Council's remaining population. How could they refute us, when Human Armadas no longer burn our skies, shatter our mountains, and erase our War Machina?
"If we didn't win, we wouldn't be alive. This is what we will say. Our history books will remember Humanity as a rogue nation. A blip in Stellar history that will be quickly swept aside by Scholars and historians alike.
"They will become as ghosts; spirits of myth given to the fancies of the mad or the infirm. They existed, yes. They warred against us, yes. They do not exist anymore, and will never exist again.
"This is the decree of the Assembly, and one we must dutifully uphold.
He scowled down at the the text on his datascreen, and sighed.
"And now, we must move on to more pressing matters. We must draft our Notice of Victory.
"Gathered representatives, I already have asked you all to commit the gravest sin. I must ask you to falsify, to lie, to cheat, and to erase history. Many of you will not do so, and thus all of our combined efforts will be for nothing.
"If so much as one representative among our number refuses to act in accordance with the Assembly, the entirety of our Stellar Accord will crumble.
"We must omit all mention of Human triumphs, Human victories, and Human mercy missions. We must expunge all trace of their existence, erase their records, delete their datadrives.
"Never again must the Stars buckle under the call of freedom from Human lips.
"Never again must we taste the fruits of a collective species crying out against fate. Never again must we circle images of their fleets, their stations, or their faces.
"We must never hear another defiant speech, watch a last stand, see another Human fight while mortally wounded.
"We must never see their war stations bristling with cannons still firing as their life support fails. We must never again shudder with the mention of how not one single Human army ever surrendered.
"We must never taste their sorrow or bitter curses. We must never hear about how when all the Stars cried for their blood, the neutral among their number still rallied to ships with no banners to help the war-stricken.
"We must never again see the reports of the quality of life they gave to our troops when they were captured. The public may never know that armies under our colours flocked in droves to Humanity when promises were made and kept, of luxuries and lives most could only dream of.
"The feats of human medicine must be erased. Their wonders of technology eradicated. Their massive habitats, orbital cities, steadfast uninhabitable colony domes must all become the stuff of fanciful stories and lies.
"This is a necessity.
"Our civilisations, our cultures, they demand structure and obedience.
"Humans are anathema to that. The very idea of their society is the draught that will be our death-knell."
"So, gathered representatives. The Assembly has decreed we won the war. A military cordon and no-fly zone is to be created in every star system that borders Human space. An obfuscation array established to block their transmissions and data.
"No ship shall enter nor leave their space. We shall send and answer no calls nor treatise. For the greatest danger that Humanity poses to us isn't what happens when they win. It is the grace and beauty in which they *lose.*"
Without any applause or cheering, the Custodian folded the data screen, took a bow, and stepped down from the podium.
And all the Representatives were silent. | |
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them | "The humans have sent us terms of surrender, and I suggest we accept them." The Ripak Emperor's chief military advisor kept his tone even, knowing what was about to happen.
"Ah, excellent. So they've finally capitulated to our superior strength," replied the Emperor with a smile. "Tell me, what did they request to keep for themselves?"
"No, sir, you misunderstand. They are not offering to surrender to us, they are offering to accept our surrender," replied the advisor, wincing. "And I really do suggest we accept the terms they offered."
"What?!?!?" the Emperor screamed. "I should gut you myself for making such a cowardly statement." The Emperor reached for his blade, but paused when he saw his advisor remain still without making any attempts to take a defensive stance.
"If I may, sir, I would rather die today at your hand than watch our empire burn should we continue to fight them."
That made the Emperor pause. Even if his advisor had turned coward, he never would have gotten his position if he wasn't very intelligent. "Explain. If I don't like your answer, you'll get a coward's burial."
Nodding, the advisor explained. "As you are aware, sir, the humans outnumber us nearly 500-to-1 in total population, even though their estimated military numbers are less than one tenth of ours. What we were not aware of, what nobody was aware of, is that every single member of their civilian population who is able to, is also ready and willing to fight. And every single member, able to fight or not, is willing to turn their entire purpose towards the war effort if needed.
"Already, they have begun the process of converting all civilian manufacturing to military needs. New shipyards are being constructed; not just on major manufacturing planets but everywhere they can. Industries that would normally be seen as irrelevant to the military are finding ways to support the war effort. And this is just the beginning. I was provided with hundreds of hours of historical data showing the Humans' reaction to past conflicts some dating back to before they even left their original planet. Humans are not weak pacifists who avoid war because they are afraid to fight, they try to avoid war because of how easily they *embrace* it. They don't fear *starting* a fight, they fear that *once they start they will never stop!*"
Hearing this last statement caused the Emperor's eyes to go wide, and he suddenly remembered something his late father (and predecessor) had told him as a young man. *Do not try to provoke one who wishes peace, for they will fight the hardest to reclaim it.* It was something he hadn't understood at the time, but now, faced with having done just that, he finally grasped the lesson his father had been trying to teach him.
Closing his eyes, the Emperor asked quietly, "Tell me, will I survive the surrender terms? More importantly, will the Empire?" | "The war is over," The Custodian said to the gathered council. "We have Victory, and the Humans are pacified. This is what we will tell every member of this Stellar Council's remaining population. How could they refute us, when Human Armadas no longer burn our skies, shatter our mountains, and erase our War Machina?
"If we didn't win, we wouldn't be alive. This is what we will say. Our history books will remember Humanity as a rogue nation. A blip in Stellar history that will be quickly swept aside by Scholars and historians alike.
"They will become as ghosts; spirits of myth given to the fancies of the mad or the infirm. They existed, yes. They warred against us, yes. They do not exist anymore, and will never exist again.
"This is the decree of the Assembly, and one we must dutifully uphold.
He scowled down at the the text on his datascreen, and sighed.
"And now, we must move on to more pressing matters. We must draft our Notice of Victory.
"Gathered representatives, I already have asked you all to commit the gravest sin. I must ask you to falsify, to lie, to cheat, and to erase history. Many of you will not do so, and thus all of our combined efforts will be for nothing.
"If so much as one representative among our number refuses to act in accordance with the Assembly, the entirety of our Stellar Accord will crumble.
"We must omit all mention of Human triumphs, Human victories, and Human mercy missions. We must expunge all trace of their existence, erase their records, delete their datadrives.
"Never again must the Stars buckle under the call of freedom from Human lips.
"Never again must we taste the fruits of a collective species crying out against fate. Never again must we circle images of their fleets, their stations, or their faces.
"We must never hear another defiant speech, watch a last stand, see another Human fight while mortally wounded.
"We must never see their war stations bristling with cannons still firing as their life support fails. We must never again shudder with the mention of how not one single Human army ever surrendered.
"We must never taste their sorrow or bitter curses. We must never hear about how when all the Stars cried for their blood, the neutral among their number still rallied to ships with no banners to help the war-stricken.
"We must never again see the reports of the quality of life they gave to our troops when they were captured. The public may never know that armies under our colours flocked in droves to Humanity when promises were made and kept, of luxuries and lives most could only dream of.
"The feats of human medicine must be erased. Their wonders of technology eradicated. Their massive habitats, orbital cities, steadfast uninhabitable colony domes must all become the stuff of fanciful stories and lies.
"This is a necessity.
"Our civilisations, our cultures, they demand structure and obedience.
"Humans are anathema to that. The very idea of their society is the draught that will be our death-knell."
"So, gathered representatives. The Assembly has decreed we won the war. A military cordon and no-fly zone is to be created in every star system that borders Human space. An obfuscation array established to block their transmissions and data.
"No ship shall enter nor leave their space. We shall send and answer no calls nor treatise. For the greatest danger that Humanity poses to us isn't what happens when they win. It is the grace and beauty in which they *lose.*"
Without any applause or cheering, the Custodian folded the data screen, took a bow, and stepped down from the podium.
And all the Representatives were silent. | |
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them | We knew humans were weak.
They'd choose words and diplomacy over conflict, sought peaceful resolutions to disputes, made... *compromises*. All signs of weakness and brittle will. It only made sense that we'd wage war, aim to subjugate and add them to our glorious empire and employ their feeble beings in service to our greatness.
And just like that, they were a peaceful species no more.
They accepted our declaration of war with remarkable calmness; where we expected panic and grovelling, they showed determination and acceptance. We thought little of it at first; come the first taste of combat, they'd kneel. When combat came, we realized our gross miscalculation.
They had barely any army - and what little they had was employed in peacekeeping - yet they had far, far more than any other species in what they called "reserve". Humans who led normal, mundane lives as cooks, teachers, models, accountants; overnight, they all turned into seasoned, prepared warriors with years of training from their past. That they would have such training in war but *not* fight was... unthinkable. A warrior is a warrior, *nothing else*. Or so we thought.
Their fleet comprised of so many trading vessels, luxury liners, medevacs and more soon turned into engines of war lined with slapdash weaponry and haphazard shielding, unsafe for foes and crew alike. Humans, when pushed to the brink, had little concern for safety. This state, this 'Total War' they called it, was an absolute determination to win... or die trying. We've never seen anyone, let alone an entire species, face impossible odds and simply *not care*.
Worse yet, the tactics they employ, the levels they are willing to stoop to, how much of their souls they're willing to give up in the name of victory, it's... *monstrous*.
We thought humans were weak, choosing diplomacy, peace and compromise over war.
We thought they were being cowardly.
They were being kind. | "The war is over," The Custodian said to the gathered council. "We have Victory, and the Humans are pacified. This is what we will tell every member of this Stellar Council's remaining population. How could they refute us, when Human Armadas no longer burn our skies, shatter our mountains, and erase our War Machina?
"If we didn't win, we wouldn't be alive. This is what we will say. Our history books will remember Humanity as a rogue nation. A blip in Stellar history that will be quickly swept aside by Scholars and historians alike.
"They will become as ghosts; spirits of myth given to the fancies of the mad or the infirm. They existed, yes. They warred against us, yes. They do not exist anymore, and will never exist again.
"This is the decree of the Assembly, and one we must dutifully uphold.
He scowled down at the the text on his datascreen, and sighed.
"And now, we must move on to more pressing matters. We must draft our Notice of Victory.
"Gathered representatives, I already have asked you all to commit the gravest sin. I must ask you to falsify, to lie, to cheat, and to erase history. Many of you will not do so, and thus all of our combined efforts will be for nothing.
"If so much as one representative among our number refuses to act in accordance with the Assembly, the entirety of our Stellar Accord will crumble.
"We must omit all mention of Human triumphs, Human victories, and Human mercy missions. We must expunge all trace of their existence, erase their records, delete their datadrives.
"Never again must the Stars buckle under the call of freedom from Human lips.
"Never again must we taste the fruits of a collective species crying out against fate. Never again must we circle images of their fleets, their stations, or their faces.
"We must never hear another defiant speech, watch a last stand, see another Human fight while mortally wounded.
"We must never see their war stations bristling with cannons still firing as their life support fails. We must never again shudder with the mention of how not one single Human army ever surrendered.
"We must never taste their sorrow or bitter curses. We must never hear about how when all the Stars cried for their blood, the neutral among their number still rallied to ships with no banners to help the war-stricken.
"We must never again see the reports of the quality of life they gave to our troops when they were captured. The public may never know that armies under our colours flocked in droves to Humanity when promises were made and kept, of luxuries and lives most could only dream of.
"The feats of human medicine must be erased. Their wonders of technology eradicated. Their massive habitats, orbital cities, steadfast uninhabitable colony domes must all become the stuff of fanciful stories and lies.
"This is a necessity.
"Our civilisations, our cultures, they demand structure and obedience.
"Humans are anathema to that. The very idea of their society is the draught that will be our death-knell."
"So, gathered representatives. The Assembly has decreed we won the war. A military cordon and no-fly zone is to be created in every star system that borders Human space. An obfuscation array established to block their transmissions and data.
"No ship shall enter nor leave their space. We shall send and answer no calls nor treatise. For the greatest danger that Humanity poses to us isn't what happens when they win. It is the grace and beauty in which they *lose.*"
Without any applause or cheering, the Custodian folded the data screen, took a bow, and stepped down from the podium.
And all the Representatives were silent. | |
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them | **Log 1.01 - 6462/55**
Potential major new biodiversity harvest, Arm 4, stellar coordinates \[classified\]. Approximately 9 million identifiable species, DNA-based. Minor indigenous sapience, no world government, hive mind, or cybernetic control. Not even common language.
**1.02 - 6462/56**
Received message from imperial satrap, Council of Entities agrees with assessment, harvest of new world moved to top priority, codename Project Windfall. Biodiversity loss on Zor homeworlds considerably graver than generally leaked to non-Council Entities, new harvests to take priority over inorganic material harvests. Changing course to Windfall.
**2.01 - 6462/87**
Reached Windfall. Harvester ships Ixin, Cath, Roklut expected to arrive by 90-91. Recon drones deployed.
**2.02 - 6462/89**
Recon drones confirm probe drone. Massive biodiversity lode plus abundant liquid water. No organized opposition. Indigenous sapience in form of tribal/social primates, greater native intelligence than any other non-Zor species yet encountered, rudimentary AI capabilities, but most advanced capabilities used to fight other members of same species. Most advanced weapons are fission type, they hesitate to use them on one another only due to threat of retaliation in kind, but still an impressive accomplishment for a species with no guiding central authority.
Memo to Entity Zor'lanque, will set aside additional share of the most bountiful harvest in the last millennium for the Zor if he'll sponsor additional seat on Council of Entities.
**2.03 - 6462/92**
Harvester ships arrived. Commencing harvest of Windfall.
**2.04 - 6462/99**
Native primate technology as expected is no match for ours. Multiple ape social colonies ("cities") razed and harvested. Resistance fierce but ineffective.
**3.01 - 6462/120**
Harvest progressing but slower than expected. Native primates behave in substantially unanticipated ways exposed to new stimuli. No significant trouble expected but we should perhaps pay attention to their social reaction complex as interesting in its own right, not mere biodiversity in a universe in which that always appears to be shrinking.
**3.02 - 6462/160**
Memo to Entity Zor'lanque, harvest can progress as things stand but additional armed escorts would assist. Native primates ("humans," they call themselves) demonstrate substantial adaptive capabilities, particularly with respect to martial capabilities. As you are aware, our weapons cannot be used by nonmembers of our species due to DNA coding that makes all our weapons cease function if held by an entity not of our species. In less than 50 days, these "humans" came up with the barbarous but effective adaptation of making gloves out of our skins, allowing them to hold our weapons and turn them against us.
**3.03 - 6462/161**
Humans merit further study after skin-stealing adaptation. Harvested multiple of their soldiers, of various ages, intact. Placed in stasis for further study.
**3.04 - 6462/197**
Almost all standard harvest protocols for problematic biodiversity surprisingly ineffective with respect to humans. Already considering resorting to Cleanser virus but degradation of the biodiversity haul of Windfall would substantially impair strategic objectives of harvest in the first place.
**3.05 - 6462/249**
Human population ongoing adaptation proving dangerous. Multiple counteroffensives and countermeasures somehow initiated *spontaneously*, imitating coordination with no coordinating authority or intelligence. Spontaneous organization of species-wide resistance including against orbital and ecological attacks. Apologies to the Council of Entities, but we cannot leave them alive. Initiating Cleanser virus, programming human DNA as primary target but DNA similarity of human and other biodiversity on this planet means harvest will be dramatically curtailed.
**3.06 - 6462/259 - URGENT**
Cleanser virus largely successful but significant populations of humans remain alive. Moreover, those left alive appear to have sequenced and adapted it to attack *us*, somehow in the space of ten days.
Expeditionary force and harvesters have withdrawn to ships. Will proceed with battle against humans and harvest Windfall with drone tech alone. Analysis at this point is pessimistic; drone tech alone unlikely to prevail given chaotic but frenetic adaptation of human species so far against Cleanser and other rogue biodiversity countermeasures.
**4.01 - 6262/272 - URGENT**
Developing incident in progress in stasis chamber, unscheduled maintenance mode activations, emergency termination sequence malfunctioning. Human soldier prisoners may be loose onboard.
**4.02 - 6462/272 - URGENT**
They are coming. Initiating self destruct.
**5.01 - July 3, 2077 - YEAH, PROBABLY STILL URGENT**
Cool log. Looks like the self-destruct failed though. That kinda sucks. Sucks that we had to use your harvest ships to harvest the remains of most of our own cities, too, but there wasn't much left of them and at least your little flying factories helped us jumpstart our own fleet with all the metal of our old cities. Gotta live somewhere. And the view of Earth from space is still majestic even if y'all fucked it up on the surface. Oh, also, if you're reading this, just FYI ... we're *still* coming. Got nothing else to do now, and payback's a bitch.
Signed,
Humanity. | "One Earthling, diplomat. How can you justify this madness on account of one sole Earthling?"
The human stretched its angular limbs and considered the battlefield. Outside the star vessel lay our fleet. In ruins. I could see soldiers floating in the void of space, frozen solid as rock, all with the same expression on their faces: pure horror.
"Don't say we didn't warn you, Xehemultran."
Humans had domesticated themselves, turned themselves into pets; it was common knowledge. That was why they did not want to participate in galactic conflicts, that was why they were considered the ultimate neutral species. Diplomacy and trifles, words and empty gestures. Everyone knew humans did not fight. So how could this have happened?
"This is sheer insanity. You have murdered billions. You have eradicated entire civilizations."
"Yup." The human fidgeted with a finger inside its mouth, cleaning out some gunk.
"All of this for Bella? Do you consider this destruction to be worth it?"
"Oh, absolutely."
I shook my heads. "She was not even a *human*."
"Correct," said the Earthling. He pointed his weapon at me. "She was a *cat*." Expressionless, the human pulled the trigger. | |
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them | “I still remember the look on Ambassador Ford’s (Betelgeusean Republic’s representative to the former Galactic Councils 300 BT – 5 TA) face when I informed him we had declared war on the pathetic Humans of the Terran Federation. His blue blood drained from his face, leaving a dirty yellow visage which had previously shone a healthy green. The only thing he said was ‘What have you done?’ which I thought wwas just due to Betelgeusean fondness for the cowardly pacifistic species. If only we had known the truth…” – Gragtun’iik’iill, Former Krillnean Ambassador to the Galactic Councils 89 BT – 7 BT
Warfare has changed very little since the first slightly complex multicellular organisms began banding together to fight one another over limited resources. The equation generally comes down to who can out produce the other in manpower, supplies, or weapons. For as terrifying and powerful a new weapon system may be, it can still be outclassed by sheer volume.
At the dawn of the Terran Alliance, a heavily modified version of this calculation was in use to determine the general effectiveness of galactic empires. The weapon system of the day, as for most navies throughout history, was the battleship. Advanced civilizations, such as The Betelgeusean Republic, were capable of building, crewing, and launching these behemoths in only 50 cycles.
In 10 BT the rising Krillnean Empire felt that their armada, while small on the galactic scale, would be well equipped to destroy the peace loving, ever negotiating, Terran Federation. Afterall Terra had only 20 battleships in service, and had not completed a new such vessel in over 150 cycles. Krillnea was able to produce a vessel in as few as 80 cycles, and had a standing navy of over 500 ships.
Additionally, due to the sensitive and specialized nature of the systems on board a starship, let alone a warship, a certain level of training and experience was required. This training and practical experience was extremely costly, and could take dozens of cycles for a Human to acquire, but for the long-lived children of the Krillnean Hives, born to carry out specific tasks, it was simple. The game of numbers, it seemed, was decided.
As war commenced, the humans fought bravely to defend their colonies, but the numbers were against them. The Terran Fleet was destroyed in combat around Proxima Centauri, and colonies fell one after another. The Krillnean Armada advanced methodically, but sustained a far higher rate of losses than initially expected, which while concerning, was overshadowed by the rapid advance to the Human’s home system of Sol.
The Battle of Sol (7 BT) was a turning point in the evolution of warfare. Standard practice had been to harvest asteroid, moons, rocky planetoids, and anything available for raw materials to process into Space Ship components. This took time, capital, and abundant resources. With the main Terran shipyards destroyed, and with access to her colonies cut off, the Terran Federation appeared to be teetering on extinction.
What the Krillnean armada encountered upon entering the Sol system was not a scrambling mass of scared civilians, but a star system that had been entirely strip mined, and a brand new, incredibly massive fleet of “Warships” waiting for them.
The Sol system had always been considered somewhat of an anomaly. It had not one but two asteroid belts surrounding it, one of which harbored several larger planetoids. While these raw materials would have been a boon to most industries, the density of the belts in Sol made harvesting these resources a very laborious and risky endeavor. Even then, those resources would need to be refined methodically, and carefully to ensure no errant debris might strike a vessel or colony, and standard practice was to dump the empty husks of these asteroids into the nearest star, where it may safely be consumed.
The Terran Federation had several larger asteroids in stable orbits near their home planet of Earth, most were completely devoid of usable material and were merely awaiting their turn to be sent sunward. For Humanity they became salvation.
Instead of building a warship from scratch, Terran engineers crawled over these husks, fitting them with reactors, weapons systems, thrusters, and crude life support systems. When manpower turned out to be lacking, regular civilians pitched in to help, many of them having never performed a spacewalk or heavy construction previously. In total, over 600 such “vessels” were created over the span of a single cycle. Numerous other smaller asteroids were converted into unguided missiles, whose mass proved so effective at defeating point defense and shield systems that they are still in use today.
The Krillnean armada of 573 ships and 6-8 million souls was entirely obliterated. While not particularly agile or comfortable, the extremely basic nature of the human warships allowed them to survive attacks from the latest weapons systems, usually with little to no adverse effects. In fact, during the Battle of Sol, the total Terran losses were 237,000 personnel across 7 ships destroyed, and 13 damaged.
The Battle of Sol set the stage for the fall of the Galactic Council. As the Terran Federation reestablished control of her colonies and continued the fight towards the Krillnean home worlds, they continued to refine, improve, and produce their new class of vessels. Long since superseded by newer classes of warship, the Nemesis class battleships are still the most decorated vessels in the history of the Terran Alliance.
The Nemesis, first of her class, is still in use today and has the honor of being not only the ship which fired the first shot at the Battle of Sol, but also the vessel which destroyed the last enemy ship during the War of Unification between the Terran Federation and the Galactic Councils. | "One Earthling, diplomat. How can you justify this madness on account of one sole Earthling?"
The human stretched its angular limbs and considered the battlefield. Outside the star vessel lay our fleet. In ruins. I could see soldiers floating in the void of space, frozen solid as rock, all with the same expression on their faces: pure horror.
"Don't say we didn't warn you, Xehemultran."
Humans had domesticated themselves, turned themselves into pets; it was common knowledge. That was why they did not want to participate in galactic conflicts, that was why they were considered the ultimate neutral species. Diplomacy and trifles, words and empty gestures. Everyone knew humans did not fight. So how could this have happened?
"This is sheer insanity. You have murdered billions. You have eradicated entire civilizations."
"Yup." The human fidgeted with a finger inside its mouth, cleaning out some gunk.
"All of this for Bella? Do you consider this destruction to be worth it?"
"Oh, absolutely."
I shook my heads. "She was not even a *human*."
"Correct," said the Earthling. He pointed his weapon at me. "She was a *cat*." Expressionless, the human pulled the trigger. | |
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them | “Examiner, have you reached any conclusions?”
The holo-video lit up in the center of the laboratory. The face of Preator Endex filled the void in the center of the room.
“Yes. Praetor. The specimen you provided was intact enough to draw a conclusion,” Examiner Zendex replied. “If I may ask, how was such a faultless specimen procured?”
“By accident, Examiner.” Zendex could hear the embarrassment in the Preator’s voice. The Klee were notorious for their ability to plan. To have a complete human specimen simply fall into their possession as an act of luck was an insult to the Praetor’s ability to calculate probable outcomes. Still, it was likely that the additional information to be gleaned from studying a full anatomy could very well prove the turning of the war.
“I see.” Zendex obfuscated his disapproval outwardly, while in actual fact he was enjoying the Praetor’s discomfort. No less than twelve successors to the current Praetor had all tried to turn the tide of the galactic conflict. Over fifty cycles, and none had succeeded. For all his braggadocio, Praetor Endex had proven equally incapable of mastering the necessary variables to overcome this foe. Not that it wasn’t a complex problem….
“Please, state your conclusion, then propose the underlying premises,” the Praetor encouraged.
“Of course,” Zendex paused, wondering if the magnitude of his discoveries would be fully communicated, much less appreciated by the greater Klee protectorate. “The additional information gleaned from this specimen leads to the conclusion that this war will be over in less than two cycles.”
The Praetor bared his mandibles in a sign of satisfaction. “Ah, we have it then. What is your margin of error?”
The Examiner balked. To ask the question of an Examiner of such high esteem was almost an insult. “Within the ninety ninth percentile, Praetor.”
“Then by all means, state your premises.” It was customary in Klee society to state the conclusion of an encounter first, then reveal the necessary background information informing the deduction. To save on the need for pointless interactions, a subordinate would typically accept the conclusions of an Elder. This was given to the Klee’s exceptional ability to calculate probabilities into several dimensions of thinking. To inquire into the basis for a deduction was to show interest, and thus respect, for the proponent of the conclusion. The Praetor was clearly showing great respect for the Examiner’s presentation. Such deference deserved a thorough exhibition.
“I direct your attention to the specimen, Praetor.” The lifeless body of the pale human lay limply on the examining table, its various entrails and organs neatly stacked in a small row next to it. “As you can see from the scorian readout, the Circulatory, Digestive, Endocrine, Exocrine, Muscular and Renal systems of these humans are typical of a class four evolutionary primateon species. Other than the digestive systems ability to vacate a surprising number of toxins, these systems are rather unremarkable...”
The presentation continued, analyzing each biological strength and weakness in turn.
The Praetor patiently listened. The Klee had conquered thousands of species in galactic combat. No race had been able to withstand their superior minds, being able to calculate and adapt to thousands of permutations and possible outcomes. And so it was supposed to be a simple conquest of this backward human world. Their superior numbers and technology obvious, the Klee had offered the humans a dignified surrender almost simultaneously with their invasion.
The Klee war counsel had noted that the humans preferred to rely on diplomacy, which loosely translated basically meant mutual surrender, with neither side a victor. Words were a decent enough tool to fend off aggression in some cases. But without the might to back up those words … the Klee knew better. Despite its 1,000 years of peace with its neighbors, the Klee knew that no diplomacy would be enough to prevent Earth’s capture.
At least, they thought they knew. Despite the analytical approach to the invasion, this unremarkable species had left cataclysmic destruction in its wake. Generally, an intergalactic war took one, maybe two cycles to conclude, especially when victory from one side or the other was all but assured. Once both sides concluded that victory was inevitable, a ceremonial surrender was typical. But the current conflict had lasted over fifty cycles, and the waste of resources had nearly drained the empire into insolvency. It wouldn’t be long until the outer systems calculated weakness…
These humans did not conform to any known parameters. In most conflicts, multiple circumstances could be calculated, reevaluated, predicted. But not humans. In one iteration, humans would behave conservatively, almost to a fault. Giving ground even when obvious advantages could clearly be seized. In other encounters, they displayed a recklessness and ferocity known only among the unevolved. Fifty cycles later and they were just as impossible to predict as the day the Klee invaded Earth.
The Earth invasion was a disaster by any tactical standard. It had been studied, reanalyzed, reinterpreted. But no solid conclusions could be reached. Upon landfall, the humans initially reacted as any other class four primateon. Family units hiding in fear. Communications disrupted. Military responses disorganized.
And then, as if signaled by a Praetorean elite, something changed. The humans responded with the ferociousness and recklessness of an unevolved reptile or arachnid. Forces were marshaled imperfectly, but effectively. Counter offensives with no seeming probability of victory nevertheless succeeded. And once some Klee technology was in the hands of the enemy, the situation went all downsystem.
Native humans with no military training whatsoever were taking up munitions and retaliating with no regard to their own existence. Elite human units advanced TOWARD certain death. By the time the provisional government envoy arrived to impose judicial order, the humans had routed all 36 expeditionary squads, including the capital ships. How in the nexus they even got up to the fleet centers remains a mystery, as human technology simply wasn’t advanced past placing geosynchronous communicators in their own orbit. To add insult, the humans used the captured fleet to commandeer the undefended bureaucratic envoy just after its arrival.
And then? Then they repurposed the envoy to proclaim victory, making the Klee administrative apparatus assume the planet was in conquered status. It wasn’t until a whole cycle had passed until the Klee elite had noticed there wasn’t any tribute. But by then it was too late. The humans had adapted to the technology quickly. Not just to seize and use it, but also perverting Klee technology to suit their own destructive ends.
From there, forty-nine cycles of interstellar destruction and chaos across entire systems. Unlike other space-faring species, the humans seem to have no respect for cosmic order. It is as if they must repurpose the universe itself to match their fleeting lifespan. They damage anything in their path to achieve even minor victories. Anger toward a conqueror was to be expected. But the patterns appeared to demonstrate a malice toward the Klee that could not have been predicted from an evolved species.
Using space folding technology, they used a Klee warp engine to fold out the orbit of a key military installation, shifting it into the path of a black hole, and damaging the habitability of three separate colonies. They strapped fusion reactors onto refueling pylons and sent them back into the prime nexus, haphazardly destroying or crippling thirteen production outposts. In one engagement, a system neighboring a production facility with no military value was completely destroyed, a seemingly pointless act. But worst of all, in every encounter their soldiers and pilots show no regard whatsoever for their own personal safety, at times letting loose fission and fusion weapons of their own design, which spread fallout throughout half the Klee protectorate. It has made the end of the conflict nearly impossible to manage. | "One Earthling, diplomat. How can you justify this madness on account of one sole Earthling?"
The human stretched its angular limbs and considered the battlefield. Outside the star vessel lay our fleet. In ruins. I could see soldiers floating in the void of space, frozen solid as rock, all with the same expression on their faces: pure horror.
"Don't say we didn't warn you, Xehemultran."
Humans had domesticated themselves, turned themselves into pets; it was common knowledge. That was why they did not want to participate in galactic conflicts, that was why they were considered the ultimate neutral species. Diplomacy and trifles, words and empty gestures. Everyone knew humans did not fight. So how could this have happened?
"This is sheer insanity. You have murdered billions. You have eradicated entire civilizations."
"Yup." The human fidgeted with a finger inside its mouth, cleaning out some gunk.
"All of this for Bella? Do you consider this destruction to be worth it?"
"Oh, absolutely."
I shook my heads. "She was not even a *human*."
"Correct," said the Earthling. He pointed his weapon at me. "She was a *cat*." Expressionless, the human pulled the trigger. | |
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them | “Examiner, have you reached any conclusions?”
The holo-video lit up in the center of the laboratory. The face of Preator Endex filled the void in the center of the room.
“Yes. Praetor. The specimen you provided was intact enough to draw a conclusion,” Examiner Zendex replied. “If I may ask, how was such a faultless specimen procured?”
“By accident, Examiner.” Zendex could hear the embarrassment in the Preator’s voice. The Klee were notorious for their ability to plan. To have a complete human specimen simply fall into their possession as an act of luck was an insult to the Praetor’s ability to calculate probable outcomes. Still, it was likely that the additional information to be gleaned from studying a full anatomy could very well prove the turning of the war.
“I see.” Zendex obfuscated his disapproval outwardly, while in actual fact he was enjoying the Praetor’s discomfort. No less than twelve successors to the current Praetor had all tried to turn the tide of the galactic conflict. Over fifty cycles, and none had succeeded. For all his braggadocio, Praetor Endex had proven equally incapable of mastering the necessary variables to overcome this foe. Not that it wasn’t a complex problem….
“Please, state your conclusion, then propose the underlying premises,” the Praetor encouraged.
“Of course,” Zendex paused, wondering if the magnitude of his discoveries would be fully communicated, much less appreciated by the greater Klee protectorate. “The additional information gleaned from this specimen leads to the conclusion that this war will be over in less than two cycles.”
The Praetor bared his mandibles in a sign of satisfaction. “Ah, we have it then. What is your margin of error?”
The Examiner balked. To ask the question of an Examiner of such high esteem was almost an insult. “Within the ninety ninth percentile, Praetor.”
“Then by all means, state your premises.” It was customary in Klee society to state the conclusion of an encounter first, then reveal the necessary background information informing the deduction. To save on the need for pointless interactions, a subordinate would typically accept the conclusions of an Elder. This was given to the Klee’s exceptional ability to calculate probabilities into several dimensions of thinking. To inquire into the basis for a deduction was to show interest, and thus respect, for the proponent of the conclusion. The Praetor was clearly showing great respect for the Examiner’s presentation. Such deference deserved a thorough exhibition.
“I direct your attention to the specimen, Praetor.” The lifeless body of the pale human lay limply on the examining table, its various entrails and organs neatly stacked in a small row next to it. “As you can see from the scorian readout, the Circulatory, Digestive, Endocrine, Exocrine, Muscular and Renal systems of these humans are typical of a class four evolutionary primateon species. Other than the digestive systems ability to vacate a surprising number of toxins, these systems are rather unremarkable...”
The presentation continued, analyzing each biological strength and weakness in turn.
The Praetor patiently listened. The Klee had conquered thousands of species in galactic combat. No race had been able to withstand their superior minds, being able to calculate and adapt to thousands of permutations and possible outcomes. And so it was supposed to be a simple conquest of this backward human world. Their superior numbers and technology obvious, the Klee had offered the humans a dignified surrender almost simultaneously with their invasion.
The Klee war counsel had noted that the humans preferred to rely on diplomacy, which loosely translated basically meant mutual surrender, with neither side a victor. Words were a decent enough tool to fend off aggression in some cases. But without the might to back up those words … the Klee knew better. Despite its 1,000 years of peace with its neighbors, the Klee knew that no diplomacy would be enough to prevent Earth’s capture.
At least, they thought they knew. Despite the analytical approach to the invasion, this unremarkable species had left cataclysmic destruction in its wake. Generally, an intergalactic war took one, maybe two cycles to conclude, especially when victory from one side or the other was all but assured. Once both sides concluded that victory was inevitable, a ceremonial surrender was typical. But the current conflict had lasted over fifty cycles, and the waste of resources had nearly drained the empire into insolvency. It wouldn’t be long until the outer systems calculated weakness…
These humans did not conform to any known parameters. In most conflicts, multiple circumstances could be calculated, reevaluated, predicted. But not humans. In one iteration, humans would behave conservatively, almost to a fault. Giving ground even when obvious advantages could clearly be seized. In other encounters, they displayed a recklessness and ferocity known only among the unevolved. Fifty cycles later and they were just as impossible to predict as the day the Klee invaded Earth.
The Earth invasion was a disaster by any tactical standard. It had been studied, reanalyzed, reinterpreted. But no solid conclusions could be reached. Upon landfall, the humans initially reacted as any other class four primateon. Family units hiding in fear. Communications disrupted. Military responses disorganized.
And then, as if signaled by a Praetorean elite, something changed. The humans responded with the ferociousness and recklessness of an unevolved reptile or arachnid. Forces were marshaled imperfectly, but effectively. Counter offensives with no seeming probability of victory nevertheless succeeded. And once some Klee technology was in the hands of the enemy, the situation went all downsystem.
Native humans with no military training whatsoever were taking up munitions and retaliating with no regard to their own existence. Elite human units advanced TOWARD certain death. By the time the provisional government envoy arrived to impose judicial order, the humans had routed all 36 expeditionary squads, including the capital ships. How in the nexus they even got up to the fleet centers remains a mystery, as human technology simply wasn’t advanced past placing geosynchronous communicators in their own orbit. To add insult, the humans used the captured fleet to commandeer the undefended bureaucratic envoy just after its arrival.
And then? Then they repurposed the envoy to proclaim victory, making the Klee administrative apparatus assume the planet was in conquered status. It wasn’t until a whole cycle had passed until the Klee elite had noticed there wasn’t any tribute. But by then it was too late. The humans had adapted to the technology quickly. Not just to seize and use it, but also perverting Klee technology to suit their own destructive ends.
From there, forty-nine cycles of interstellar destruction and chaos across entire systems. Unlike other space-faring species, the humans seem to have no respect for cosmic order. It is as if they must repurpose the universe itself to match their fleeting lifespan. They damage anything in their path to achieve even minor victories. Anger toward a conqueror was to be expected. But the patterns appeared to demonstrate a malice toward the Klee that could not have been predicted from an evolved species.
Using space folding technology, they used a Klee warp engine to fold out the orbit of a key military installation, shifting it into the path of a black hole, and damaging the habitability of three separate colonies. They strapped fusion reactors onto refueling pylons and sent them back into the prime nexus, haphazardly destroying or crippling thirteen production outposts. In one engagement, a system neighboring a production facility with no military value was completely destroyed, a seemingly pointless act. But worst of all, in every encounter their soldiers and pilots show no regard whatsoever for their own personal safety, at times letting loose fission and fusion weapons of their own design, which spread fallout throughout half the Klee protectorate. It has made the end of the conflict nearly impossible to manage. | **Log 1.01 - 6462/55**
Potential major new biodiversity harvest, Arm 4, stellar coordinates \[classified\]. Approximately 9 million identifiable species, DNA-based. Minor indigenous sapience, no world government, hive mind, or cybernetic control. Not even common language.
**1.02 - 6462/56**
Received message from imperial satrap, Council of Entities agrees with assessment, harvest of new world moved to top priority, codename Project Windfall. Biodiversity loss on Zor homeworlds considerably graver than generally leaked to non-Council Entities, new harvests to take priority over inorganic material harvests. Changing course to Windfall.
**2.01 - 6462/87**
Reached Windfall. Harvester ships Ixin, Cath, Roklut expected to arrive by 90-91. Recon drones deployed.
**2.02 - 6462/89**
Recon drones confirm probe drone. Massive biodiversity lode plus abundant liquid water. No organized opposition. Indigenous sapience in form of tribal/social primates, greater native intelligence than any other non-Zor species yet encountered, rudimentary AI capabilities, but most advanced capabilities used to fight other members of same species. Most advanced weapons are fission type, they hesitate to use them on one another only due to threat of retaliation in kind, but still an impressive accomplishment for a species with no guiding central authority.
Memo to Entity Zor'lanque, will set aside additional share of the most bountiful harvest in the last millennium for the Zor if he'll sponsor additional seat on Council of Entities.
**2.03 - 6462/92**
Harvester ships arrived. Commencing harvest of Windfall.
**2.04 - 6462/99**
Native primate technology as expected is no match for ours. Multiple ape social colonies ("cities") razed and harvested. Resistance fierce but ineffective.
**3.01 - 6462/120**
Harvest progressing but slower than expected. Native primates behave in substantially unanticipated ways exposed to new stimuli. No significant trouble expected but we should perhaps pay attention to their social reaction complex as interesting in its own right, not mere biodiversity in a universe in which that always appears to be shrinking.
**3.02 - 6462/160**
Memo to Entity Zor'lanque, harvest can progress as things stand but additional armed escorts would assist. Native primates ("humans," they call themselves) demonstrate substantial adaptive capabilities, particularly with respect to martial capabilities. As you are aware, our weapons cannot be used by nonmembers of our species due to DNA coding that makes all our weapons cease function if held by an entity not of our species. In less than 50 days, these "humans" came up with the barbarous but effective adaptation of making gloves out of our skins, allowing them to hold our weapons and turn them against us.
**3.03 - 6462/161**
Humans merit further study after skin-stealing adaptation. Harvested multiple of their soldiers, of various ages, intact. Placed in stasis for further study.
**3.04 - 6462/197**
Almost all standard harvest protocols for problematic biodiversity surprisingly ineffective with respect to humans. Already considering resorting to Cleanser virus but degradation of the biodiversity haul of Windfall would substantially impair strategic objectives of harvest in the first place.
**3.05 - 6462/249**
Human population ongoing adaptation proving dangerous. Multiple counteroffensives and countermeasures somehow initiated *spontaneously*, imitating coordination with no coordinating authority or intelligence. Spontaneous organization of species-wide resistance including against orbital and ecological attacks. Apologies to the Council of Entities, but we cannot leave them alive. Initiating Cleanser virus, programming human DNA as primary target but DNA similarity of human and other biodiversity on this planet means harvest will be dramatically curtailed.
**3.06 - 6462/259 - URGENT**
Cleanser virus largely successful but significant populations of humans remain alive. Moreover, those left alive appear to have sequenced and adapted it to attack *us*, somehow in the space of ten days.
Expeditionary force and harvesters have withdrawn to ships. Will proceed with battle against humans and harvest Windfall with drone tech alone. Analysis at this point is pessimistic; drone tech alone unlikely to prevail given chaotic but frenetic adaptation of human species so far against Cleanser and other rogue biodiversity countermeasures.
**4.01 - 6262/272 - URGENT**
Developing incident in progress in stasis chamber, unscheduled maintenance mode activations, emergency termination sequence malfunctioning. Human soldier prisoners may be loose onboard.
**4.02 - 6462/272 - URGENT**
They are coming. Initiating self destruct.
**5.01 - July 3, 2077 - YEAH, PROBABLY STILL URGENT**
Cool log. Looks like the self-destruct failed though. That kinda sucks. Sucks that we had to use your harvest ships to harvest the remains of most of our own cities, too, but there wasn't much left of them and at least your little flying factories helped us jumpstart our own fleet with all the metal of our old cities. Gotta live somewhere. And the view of Earth from space is still majestic even if y'all fucked it up on the surface. Oh, also, if you're reading this, just FYI ... we're *still* coming. Got nothing else to do now, and payback's a bitch.
Signed,
Humanity. | |
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them | “Examiner, have you reached any conclusions?”
The holo-video lit up in the center of the laboratory. The face of Preator Endex filled the void in the center of the room.
“Yes. Praetor. The specimen you provided was intact enough to draw a conclusion,” Examiner Zendex replied. “If I may ask, how was such a faultless specimen procured?”
“By accident, Examiner.” Zendex could hear the embarrassment in the Preator’s voice. The Klee were notorious for their ability to plan. To have a complete human specimen simply fall into their possession as an act of luck was an insult to the Praetor’s ability to calculate probable outcomes. Still, it was likely that the additional information to be gleaned from studying a full anatomy could very well prove the turning of the war.
“I see.” Zendex obfuscated his disapproval outwardly, while in actual fact he was enjoying the Praetor’s discomfort. No less than twelve successors to the current Praetor had all tried to turn the tide of the galactic conflict. Over fifty cycles, and none had succeeded. For all his braggadocio, Praetor Endex had proven equally incapable of mastering the necessary variables to overcome this foe. Not that it wasn’t a complex problem….
“Please, state your conclusion, then propose the underlying premises,” the Praetor encouraged.
“Of course,” Zendex paused, wondering if the magnitude of his discoveries would be fully communicated, much less appreciated by the greater Klee protectorate. “The additional information gleaned from this specimen leads to the conclusion that this war will be over in less than two cycles.”
The Praetor bared his mandibles in a sign of satisfaction. “Ah, we have it then. What is your margin of error?”
The Examiner balked. To ask the question of an Examiner of such high esteem was almost an insult. “Within the ninety ninth percentile, Praetor.”
“Then by all means, state your premises.” It was customary in Klee society to state the conclusion of an encounter first, then reveal the necessary background information informing the deduction. To save on the need for pointless interactions, a subordinate would typically accept the conclusions of an Elder. This was given to the Klee’s exceptional ability to calculate probabilities into several dimensions of thinking. To inquire into the basis for a deduction was to show interest, and thus respect, for the proponent of the conclusion. The Praetor was clearly showing great respect for the Examiner’s presentation. Such deference deserved a thorough exhibition.
“I direct your attention to the specimen, Praetor.” The lifeless body of the pale human lay limply on the examining table, its various entrails and organs neatly stacked in a small row next to it. “As you can see from the scorian readout, the Circulatory, Digestive, Endocrine, Exocrine, Muscular and Renal systems of these humans are typical of a class four evolutionary primateon species. Other than the digestive systems ability to vacate a surprising number of toxins, these systems are rather unremarkable...”
The presentation continued, analyzing each biological strength and weakness in turn.
The Praetor patiently listened. The Klee had conquered thousands of species in galactic combat. No race had been able to withstand their superior minds, being able to calculate and adapt to thousands of permutations and possible outcomes. And so it was supposed to be a simple conquest of this backward human world. Their superior numbers and technology obvious, the Klee had offered the humans a dignified surrender almost simultaneously with their invasion.
The Klee war counsel had noted that the humans preferred to rely on diplomacy, which loosely translated basically meant mutual surrender, with neither side a victor. Words were a decent enough tool to fend off aggression in some cases. But without the might to back up those words … the Klee knew better. Despite its 1,000 years of peace with its neighbors, the Klee knew that no diplomacy would be enough to prevent Earth’s capture.
At least, they thought they knew. Despite the analytical approach to the invasion, this unremarkable species had left cataclysmic destruction in its wake. Generally, an intergalactic war took one, maybe two cycles to conclude, especially when victory from one side or the other was all but assured. Once both sides concluded that victory was inevitable, a ceremonial surrender was typical. But the current conflict had lasted over fifty cycles, and the waste of resources had nearly drained the empire into insolvency. It wouldn’t be long until the outer systems calculated weakness…
These humans did not conform to any known parameters. In most conflicts, multiple circumstances could be calculated, reevaluated, predicted. But not humans. In one iteration, humans would behave conservatively, almost to a fault. Giving ground even when obvious advantages could clearly be seized. In other encounters, they displayed a recklessness and ferocity known only among the unevolved. Fifty cycles later and they were just as impossible to predict as the day the Klee invaded Earth.
The Earth invasion was a disaster by any tactical standard. It had been studied, reanalyzed, reinterpreted. But no solid conclusions could be reached. Upon landfall, the humans initially reacted as any other class four primateon. Family units hiding in fear. Communications disrupted. Military responses disorganized.
And then, as if signaled by a Praetorean elite, something changed. The humans responded with the ferociousness and recklessness of an unevolved reptile or arachnid. Forces were marshaled imperfectly, but effectively. Counter offensives with no seeming probability of victory nevertheless succeeded. And once some Klee technology was in the hands of the enemy, the situation went all downsystem.
Native humans with no military training whatsoever were taking up munitions and retaliating with no regard to their own existence. Elite human units advanced TOWARD certain death. By the time the provisional government envoy arrived to impose judicial order, the humans had routed all 36 expeditionary squads, including the capital ships. How in the nexus they even got up to the fleet centers remains a mystery, as human technology simply wasn’t advanced past placing geosynchronous communicators in their own orbit. To add insult, the humans used the captured fleet to commandeer the undefended bureaucratic envoy just after its arrival.
And then? Then they repurposed the envoy to proclaim victory, making the Klee administrative apparatus assume the planet was in conquered status. It wasn’t until a whole cycle had passed until the Klee elite had noticed there wasn’t any tribute. But by then it was too late. The humans had adapted to the technology quickly. Not just to seize and use it, but also perverting Klee technology to suit their own destructive ends.
From there, forty-nine cycles of interstellar destruction and chaos across entire systems. Unlike other space-faring species, the humans seem to have no respect for cosmic order. It is as if they must repurpose the universe itself to match their fleeting lifespan. They damage anything in their path to achieve even minor victories. Anger toward a conqueror was to be expected. But the patterns appeared to demonstrate a malice toward the Klee that could not have been predicted from an evolved species.
Using space folding technology, they used a Klee warp engine to fold out the orbit of a key military installation, shifting it into the path of a black hole, and damaging the habitability of three separate colonies. They strapped fusion reactors onto refueling pylons and sent them back into the prime nexus, haphazardly destroying or crippling thirteen production outposts. In one engagement, a system neighboring a production facility with no military value was completely destroyed, a seemingly pointless act. But worst of all, in every encounter their soldiers and pilots show no regard whatsoever for their own personal safety, at times letting loose fission and fusion weapons of their own design, which spread fallout throughout half the Klee protectorate. It has made the end of the conflict nearly impossible to manage. | “I still remember the look on Ambassador Ford’s (Betelgeusean Republic’s representative to the former Galactic Councils 300 BT – 5 TA) face when I informed him we had declared war on the pathetic Humans of the Terran Federation. His blue blood drained from his face, leaving a dirty yellow visage which had previously shone a healthy green. The only thing he said was ‘What have you done?’ which I thought wwas just due to Betelgeusean fondness for the cowardly pacifistic species. If only we had known the truth…” – Gragtun’iik’iill, Former Krillnean Ambassador to the Galactic Councils 89 BT – 7 BT
Warfare has changed very little since the first slightly complex multicellular organisms began banding together to fight one another over limited resources. The equation generally comes down to who can out produce the other in manpower, supplies, or weapons. For as terrifying and powerful a new weapon system may be, it can still be outclassed by sheer volume.
At the dawn of the Terran Alliance, a heavily modified version of this calculation was in use to determine the general effectiveness of galactic empires. The weapon system of the day, as for most navies throughout history, was the battleship. Advanced civilizations, such as The Betelgeusean Republic, were capable of building, crewing, and launching these behemoths in only 50 cycles.
In 10 BT the rising Krillnean Empire felt that their armada, while small on the galactic scale, would be well equipped to destroy the peace loving, ever negotiating, Terran Federation. Afterall Terra had only 20 battleships in service, and had not completed a new such vessel in over 150 cycles. Krillnea was able to produce a vessel in as few as 80 cycles, and had a standing navy of over 500 ships.
Additionally, due to the sensitive and specialized nature of the systems on board a starship, let alone a warship, a certain level of training and experience was required. This training and practical experience was extremely costly, and could take dozens of cycles for a Human to acquire, but for the long-lived children of the Krillnean Hives, born to carry out specific tasks, it was simple. The game of numbers, it seemed, was decided.
As war commenced, the humans fought bravely to defend their colonies, but the numbers were against them. The Terran Fleet was destroyed in combat around Proxima Centauri, and colonies fell one after another. The Krillnean Armada advanced methodically, but sustained a far higher rate of losses than initially expected, which while concerning, was overshadowed by the rapid advance to the Human’s home system of Sol.
The Battle of Sol (7 BT) was a turning point in the evolution of warfare. Standard practice had been to harvest asteroid, moons, rocky planetoids, and anything available for raw materials to process into Space Ship components. This took time, capital, and abundant resources. With the main Terran shipyards destroyed, and with access to her colonies cut off, the Terran Federation appeared to be teetering on extinction.
What the Krillnean armada encountered upon entering the Sol system was not a scrambling mass of scared civilians, but a star system that had been entirely strip mined, and a brand new, incredibly massive fleet of “Warships” waiting for them.
The Sol system had always been considered somewhat of an anomaly. It had not one but two asteroid belts surrounding it, one of which harbored several larger planetoids. While these raw materials would have been a boon to most industries, the density of the belts in Sol made harvesting these resources a very laborious and risky endeavor. Even then, those resources would need to be refined methodically, and carefully to ensure no errant debris might strike a vessel or colony, and standard practice was to dump the empty husks of these asteroids into the nearest star, where it may safely be consumed.
The Terran Federation had several larger asteroids in stable orbits near their home planet of Earth, most were completely devoid of usable material and were merely awaiting their turn to be sent sunward. For Humanity they became salvation.
Instead of building a warship from scratch, Terran engineers crawled over these husks, fitting them with reactors, weapons systems, thrusters, and crude life support systems. When manpower turned out to be lacking, regular civilians pitched in to help, many of them having never performed a spacewalk or heavy construction previously. In total, over 600 such “vessels” were created over the span of a single cycle. Numerous other smaller asteroids were converted into unguided missiles, whose mass proved so effective at defeating point defense and shield systems that they are still in use today.
The Krillnean armada of 573 ships and 6-8 million souls was entirely obliterated. While not particularly agile or comfortable, the extremely basic nature of the human warships allowed them to survive attacks from the latest weapons systems, usually with little to no adverse effects. In fact, during the Battle of Sol, the total Terran losses were 237,000 personnel across 7 ships destroyed, and 13 damaged.
The Battle of Sol set the stage for the fall of the Galactic Council. As the Terran Federation reestablished control of her colonies and continued the fight towards the Krillnean home worlds, they continued to refine, improve, and produce their new class of vessels. Long since superseded by newer classes of warship, the Nemesis class battleships are still the most decorated vessels in the history of the Terran Alliance.
The Nemesis, first of her class, is still in use today and has the honor of being not only the ship which fired the first shot at the Battle of Sol, but also the vessel which destroyed the last enemy ship during the War of Unification between the Terran Federation and the Galactic Councils. | |
[WP] "I don't wanna fight you, low-level bandit." Says the Lv.100 Hero, who killed the embodiment of space-time. "I wouldn't want to fight me, neither." Says the low-level bandit. | Alluin was almost finished with his quest. After five long dark years, he only had one kingdom to clear of the Mad God's Gift. If it weren't in the elvish nation he'd look forward to his last stop, but they were so conceited humans seemed accepting by comparison.
He'd past several eldrem groves, but they were all abandoned. Hopefully they'd gone to the capital because if not he was too late for them. But that left him wondering, why hadn't he seen a patrol or some snob to tell him off?
That all changed on his third day of travels in the ever denser forest. "Roads closed I'm afraid." an elvish man said, he wore a tunic of their hardened silk.
"I am the hero Alluin and I'm here to clear the blight."
"And we appreciate it, we do stranger, but the road's closed." said the man as he walked towards Alluin.
"Then it's a good thing I'm not afraid of running in the woods."
"But the woods are very dangerous, especially with strangers running amok."
Alluin heard the bow string. He heard everything actually, the tension in the man's voice, his rising heatbeat, even the sweat causing his skin to stick ever so slightly. His first instinct was to eliminate the threat, but he resisted. "You don't want to do that my nameless friend. Didn't you hear? I am the hero Alluin. At best you'll scratch my armor, at worst, you'll put a hole in my shirt."
"Piss off."
Alluin could tell his aim was off so he didn't move. The arrow went just over his shoulder, almost piercing his ear. "Did you just miss?"
Elven rangers didn't miss stationary targets, maybe he really was just a bandit. "Last warnin, stay where you are till we lighten your burden or I won't miss again."
Alluin wasn't a guard captain or even an adventurer so he didn't bother with bandits. He was busy enough after all. And he was worried this was actually a ranger, but between missing and the demands. "Shoot me and I'll kill you, I have matters to be about." Alluin said and continued walking into the woods.
It was an excellent shot. The slightest gap between the helm and curiass since it was too hot for the mail coif. Right on the back of the neck; it drew the faintest amount of blood and the poison was immediately purged. A truly impressive archer. Without even looking, Alluin sent a pebble thru the man's head.
The next half day's walk was peaceful, that is, until a small army greeted him at Elsimar. "In the name of the First Diet of the Inner Circle, by the power entrusted to me as the Divine Druid, we banish you from our lands invader. As a representative of the church, your actions can only be seen as a planned act of aggression. You are to deliver this writ and depart. Make sure your betters know to get their dirty f*cking temple out of our forest or we'll raze it to the ground. We don't need your infantile wisdom polluting our people's minds and we don't need your paltry magick to save us. For I am the Divine Druid." Alluin never got a word out, this so called Divine Druid just went on with ever more fervor.
When the speech finally ended, all Alluin could do was laugh. 'The bandit really was a ranger and now I'm done.' If they wanted to rot so be it, his oath had been fulfilled.
r/AurumArgenteus | "I wouldn't want to fight me, neither."
I had heard these words before. Around half of the bandits in Sennod said them when they were about to mug you. In fact, when I left my village and didn't really know the mechanisms of combat yet, it was a very considerate bandit I first learned to fight. He had slowed his swings at the point I should parry. Never understood why he did that, but he had said the same thing.
This time was different, though. Instead of the usual swagger and slick grin I noticed an inner struggle. Not an existential crisis kind of struggle, but a visible "I really don't want to do this, don't make me say it" struggle. The man was terrified, yet still advancing with with knife out. Almost like he was being made to do it.
The man was an idiot. He had just watched as I took down a Werewolf using a sword I had received from the Fae which burned when not in its scabbard. My armour (also from the Fae) was barely touched, and still had a few magical charges left.
As he took his swing I decided to give him a chance to change his mind. I didn't even bother moving, just allowed my armour to use up one charge to disarm him. I figured this would be where he turned and ran.
"Oh like that is it, well you won't hit me again!"
Another common phrase, although this one I hadn't heard in a while. Once I could kill bandits with one hit they usually just went from "I wouldn't want to fight me, neither" to dead.
As he raised his fists, I sighed.
As he took a swing, I twisted away.
As he stumbled forward, I thrust.
As he fell, I lifted my sword into the air, still buried in his stomach.
As he slid down the blade towards the hilt, I watched him catch fire.
As he burned to ash, I started to glow and suddenly thought up a new way use magic.
Smiling to myself, I threw my burning sword into the nearest tree, and laughed out loud when it flew back into my hand. I had been confused when the Werewolf had died and I had not walked away with a new skill.
I headed back towards the old hermit by The Gate. Maybe now I could get through it. | |
[WP] "I don't wanna fight you, low-level bandit." Says the Lv.100 Hero, who killed the embodiment of space-time. "I wouldn't want to fight me, neither." Says the low-level bandit. | **The Hero of Ages laughed.** "You've got a sense of humor, I like that. Okay I'll bite. Why not?"
The bandit played with his knife absently, "You're the slayer of dragons and god killing king. The Savior of Stars, the Hero of Ages, a hundred other noble titles."
The hero nodded triumphantly. It's who he was after all.
"And who am I? I'm nobody. A highwayman on the side of a dirt path with a broken knife. Yet I stand here in front of you. *Why* is that?" He let the knife drop to the floor and sat on his haunches.
The hero laughed again, not as confidently this time. "Because you're an ignoramus?"
"Oh, I am. I'll grant you that. But no, it's because I'm *weak.* You've fought strong enemies all your life. You've made a name for yourself defeating impossible foes. But have you ever fought someone truly weak, helpless, vain, and powerless? I'd wager you haven't. You wouldn't stoop to my level. There was never any need to." He picked up the battered blade by the edge, swinging it back and forth like a pendulum.
"What's the point in all this? Is this a new trick to bore me to death with philosophy?" The Guardian of Justice shifted his hand onto his legendary sword, fingers tapping restlessly. It had been carved from the heart stone of the fallen god.
"**HAHA**, you've got a sense of humor yourself, Frederick Aronia."
The hero frowned. No one called him by that name anymore. It was public knowledge of course; it was impossible to hide your identity when the entire world knew of your feats, but everyone referred to him by one of his titles, save his wife and child.
"**I'm** ***WEAK.*** Don't you see? I *can't* face you. I *can't* hope to match you. I *can never* dream of touching the hem of your coat! And so, I *must* choose other ways to confront you. We *the weak* have our own strengths after all."
"If you've laid a hand on—" Rage billowed from the Hero. Plants withered and the sky darkened.
"Woah woah, hold your reigns there, little Dearonia. You'll what? Slice my head off? Go ahead. I can't stop you." He smiled. "But have fun searching for your *precious dolls.*"
The Hero gripped the hilt of his weapon, hesitating to strike. Was there a loophole in the protective wards? Were the royal guards taken out? His mind raced with a thousand possibilities, each less likely than the previous. But the man's confidence was indisputable. "What have you done?"
"That's the best part! I haven't done anything *yet.*" The bandit stood up and walked within range. "But have you thought about who your little girl's teacher is? Or maybe your wife's grocer? How about the maid that cleans your home during the day or the gardener that trims the hedges?" He pat the Hero on the shoulder.
"What do you want?" If stares could kill, a legion would lay at his feet.
"Nothing much, only the contents of your pouch. I am just a simple highwayman after all." The bandit smiled again showing his friendly grin.
"I want your word that no harm will come to my family." The Savior of Stars slowly handed over his purse.
The bandit waved with his back turned as he walked away, "You have my word. Though I hope you sleep well tonight, Fred."
 
___
A/N - Oops, my bandit is much more eloquent than the prompt suggested.
I should note that, while not obvious, **the bandit is bluffing, he's a conman.** Someone who actually has the ability to hurt the hero's family would have much more means and no reasonable motive to simply take his wallet. He's robbed the greatest hero with nothing but confidence and a few words.
Edit. To whoever downvoted, might I ask *what* didn't you like so I can improve? Perhaps a bandit threatening the hero's family is against the subreddit rules? I am not sure.
Edit2. I asked, it's fine as long as it's not explicit.
/r/Unexpected_Works | "I wouldn't want to fight me, neither."
I had heard these words before. Around half of the bandits in Sennod said them when they were about to mug you. In fact, when I left my village and didn't really know the mechanisms of combat yet, it was a very considerate bandit I first learned to fight. He had slowed his swings at the point I should parry. Never understood why he did that, but he had said the same thing.
This time was different, though. Instead of the usual swagger and slick grin I noticed an inner struggle. Not an existential crisis kind of struggle, but a visible "I really don't want to do this, don't make me say it" struggle. The man was terrified, yet still advancing with with knife out. Almost like he was being made to do it.
The man was an idiot. He had just watched as I took down a Werewolf using a sword I had received from the Fae which burned when not in its scabbard. My armour (also from the Fae) was barely touched, and still had a few magical charges left.
As he took his swing I decided to give him a chance to change his mind. I didn't even bother moving, just allowed my armour to use up one charge to disarm him. I figured this would be where he turned and ran.
"Oh like that is it, well you won't hit me again!"
Another common phrase, although this one I hadn't heard in a while. Once I could kill bandits with one hit they usually just went from "I wouldn't want to fight me, neither" to dead.
As he raised his fists, I sighed.
As he took a swing, I twisted away.
As he stumbled forward, I thrust.
As he fell, I lifted my sword into the air, still buried in his stomach.
As he slid down the blade towards the hilt, I watched him catch fire.
As he burned to ash, I started to glow and suddenly thought up a new way use magic.
Smiling to myself, I threw my burning sword into the nearest tree, and laughed out loud when it flew back into my hand. I had been confused when the Werewolf had died and I had not walked away with a new skill.
I headed back towards the old hermit by The Gate. Maybe now I could get through it. | |
[WP] "I don't wanna fight you, low-level bandit." Says the Lv.100 Hero, who killed the embodiment of space-time. "I wouldn't want to fight me, neither." Says the low-level bandit. | "I don't wanna fight you.". "I wouldn't want to fight me, neither.".
"Why wouldn't..." "Really bud, just ignore me or do your job if you have to; I can't wait to go home talking with an estranger.".
This sentence came with a sad expression, and the Hero noticed it. Was in his mind that maybe something was wrong with the bandit or with himself, like he thought all the times.
"Can I do something for you, then?" "What do you mean, i'm an outlaw. Shouldn't you beat me up, aren't we enemies?"
"Pal, tell me, do I look like an enemy to you?".
He was surprised to hear those words, and was blaming himself for what he said. The hero continues: "We're just sitting on a wall here, with children playing all around and birds singing their joyful songs, i mean... why you were even here? You wanted to kill someone and then rob their corpse?"
"It's not for this reason..." "What then.".
He was trying to hide him his sad expression, due to the pride of a bandit like him, a tough guy: "Why are you even talking with me, please go away and let me be, i've a sister to take care of, so yeah, please...".
Some tears were making it through his barrier of seriousness, and the Hero gladly noticed that he was a person like other: "What happened to your family?" "If you want to help someone, yes follow me and help my sister, afterward I'll explain why i'm a bandit.".
"Ehrm, are you okay?" "Yea, sometimes I cry, i'm human afterall. I don't know if you understand me." "I can say to you that elves cry like everyone with an heart, but perhaps they hide it better, they have a particular etiquette and I can also say you that not all elves follow this lifestyle. I think it so.".
A warm smile appeared on the hero's face, and the bandit felt part of this peaceful day. "We're not so different, are we." "I think it's true." Maybe they had finally found a friend, and someone who could help and side with them for some time. They were thinking this.
"So... you didn't answer me, why are you here?" "Passing by: it's a good place, and it's calm heals my soul." "I understand. So, now you even found a companion, am I right? Did you expect this, didn't you?". He had a good laugh and hugged his new friend with one arm. "So, what are we doing here? Havemxt you got an ill sister? Let's go, then.".
They go.
.
.
.
(Ehm, yes, a post scriptum. So, i'm not english and I don't know it so well, and so maybe i made errors and the dialogues are simple. In italian maybe it could had a better form, but i hope you like it!) | "I wouldn't want to fight me, neither."
I had heard these words before. Around half of the bandits in Sennod said them when they were about to mug you. In fact, when I left my village and didn't really know the mechanisms of combat yet, it was a very considerate bandit I first learned to fight. He had slowed his swings at the point I should parry. Never understood why he did that, but he had said the same thing.
This time was different, though. Instead of the usual swagger and slick grin I noticed an inner struggle. Not an existential crisis kind of struggle, but a visible "I really don't want to do this, don't make me say it" struggle. The man was terrified, yet still advancing with with knife out. Almost like he was being made to do it.
The man was an idiot. He had just watched as I took down a Werewolf using a sword I had received from the Fae which burned when not in its scabbard. My armour (also from the Fae) was barely touched, and still had a few magical charges left.
As he took his swing I decided to give him a chance to change his mind. I didn't even bother moving, just allowed my armour to use up one charge to disarm him. I figured this would be where he turned and ran.
"Oh like that is it, well you won't hit me again!"
Another common phrase, although this one I hadn't heard in a while. Once I could kill bandits with one hit they usually just went from "I wouldn't want to fight me, neither" to dead.
As he raised his fists, I sighed.
As he took a swing, I twisted away.
As he stumbled forward, I thrust.
As he fell, I lifted my sword into the air, still buried in his stomach.
As he slid down the blade towards the hilt, I watched him catch fire.
As he burned to ash, I started to glow and suddenly thought up a new way use magic.
Smiling to myself, I threw my burning sword into the nearest tree, and laughed out loud when it flew back into my hand. I had been confused when the Werewolf had died and I had not walked away with a new skill.
I headed back towards the old hermit by The Gate. Maybe now I could get through it. | |
[WP] "I don't wanna fight you, low-level bandit." Says the Lv.100 Hero, who killed the embodiment of space-time. "I wouldn't want to fight me, neither." Says the low-level bandit. | “I wouldn’t want to fight me neither,” the Bandit said.
The Hero regarded him, the Heads-Up-Display indicating that the Bandit was level 5, placing him just above slimes and goblins. Or in other words, another average, low level NPC. But something was wrong.
The way the Bandit held himself was off. Too relaxed from the energetic, coiled pose that had been beat into the Hero from years of grinding enemies such as he. And the eyes, too wide open and excited to match the pose, as though there was some unspoken joke between the two. If there was, the Hero wasn’t laughing.
“So, you gonna hand over your stuff or have you changed your mind about that fight,” the Bandit queried.
“I suppose if you’re not leaving, I’d rather not see you stab me as I sleep,” came the Hero’s reply. What the hell, why not. This guys at least worth some Xp. Maybe even some pocket change.
The Bandit chuckled.
Hero shifted his feet and brought out his sword, an endgame loot item with all the perks that came with it. Hero’s reaction time was faster than the Bandits by leagues, in one bound he closed the gap and swung. Before the sword had a chance to connect, the Bandit crouched and equipped a different chest piece in the same motion, leather armor switching to chainmail with a dye equipped, bright green.
Hero’s sword phased through the Bandit as if he wasn’t there.
As Hero stared at his blade, unable to process what the *hell* just happened, the Bandit was rapidly crouching and jumping in split second motions when he began to slide part way through the ground. The Bandit reached out from the dirt, and merely touched Hero as he sprang upwards. The simple motion hit Hero like a truck, sending him skyward. He tumbled through the air, eventually landing on the ground with the sickening sound of cracking ribs, an airless chest, and then came the jolting pain through his torso.
What in the *hell* just happened??
The Bandit stood over him, green dyed chainmail a gaudy stain against the blue sky. That look was back in his eye, a terrifying notion of knowing but not revealing, yet now with Hero at his feet the look was stronger. Like a child pulling a prank on a friend, except realizing he might pull one on the world.
He still knew the punchline, and Hero still wasn’t laughing.
“I told ya,” the Bandit mocked as Hero’s consciousness faded to darkness, “I wouldn’t want to fight me neither.”
The last thing Hero felt as his eyes closed and sleep came, was a knife to the gut.
[x2 Lives Remaining] | "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
The bandit held up both hands, palms forwards and fingers extended.
"Count to ten using your fingers."
Feeling curious, the Timeslayer obliged.
"Now do it again, but count to eleven."
The Timeslayer once again obliged, hesitated as he passed ten and mulled over how he would represent it.
He was back to having just the first finger extended, indistinguishable from a...
"Ah."
Indifference was swiftly swept aside as ecstacy washed over him while he finished processing the anomaly before him. For the first time in a long time, he was going to feel the thrill of the unknown.
The Timeslayer threw his wooden prop sword down on the grass, instead summoning and equipping all of his most powerful equipment.
The bandit stripped down to his rags, and picked up the Timeslayer's discarded wooden training sword. History would be about to unfold before the audience's very eyes. | |
[WP] "I don't wanna fight you, low-level bandit." Says the Lv.100 Hero, who killed the embodiment of space-time. "I wouldn't want to fight me, neither." Says the low-level bandit. | “I wouldn’t want to fight me neither,” the Bandit said.
The Hero regarded him, the Heads-Up-Display indicating that the Bandit was level 5, placing him just above slimes and goblins. Or in other words, another average, low level NPC. But something was wrong.
The way the Bandit held himself was off. Too relaxed from the energetic, coiled pose that had been beat into the Hero from years of grinding enemies such as he. And the eyes, too wide open and excited to match the pose, as though there was some unspoken joke between the two. If there was, the Hero wasn’t laughing.
“So, you gonna hand over your stuff or have you changed your mind about that fight,” the Bandit queried.
“I suppose if you’re not leaving, I’d rather not see you stab me as I sleep,” came the Hero’s reply. What the hell, why not. This guys at least worth some Xp. Maybe even some pocket change.
The Bandit chuckled.
Hero shifted his feet and brought out his sword, an endgame loot item with all the perks that came with it. Hero’s reaction time was faster than the Bandits by leagues, in one bound he closed the gap and swung. Before the sword had a chance to connect, the Bandit crouched and equipped a different chest piece in the same motion, leather armor switching to chainmail with a dye equipped, bright green.
Hero’s sword phased through the Bandit as if he wasn’t there.
As Hero stared at his blade, unable to process what the *hell* just happened, the Bandit was rapidly crouching and jumping in split second motions when he began to slide part way through the ground. The Bandit reached out from the dirt, and merely touched Hero as he sprang upwards. The simple motion hit Hero like a truck, sending him skyward. He tumbled through the air, eventually landing on the ground with the sickening sound of cracking ribs, an airless chest, and then came the jolting pain through his torso.
What in the *hell* just happened??
The Bandit stood over him, green dyed chainmail a gaudy stain against the blue sky. That look was back in his eye, a terrifying notion of knowing but not revealing, yet now with Hero at his feet the look was stronger. Like a child pulling a prank on a friend, except realizing he might pull one on the world.
He still knew the punchline, and Hero still wasn’t laughing.
“I told ya,” the Bandit mocked as Hero’s consciousness faded to darkness, “I wouldn’t want to fight me neither.”
The last thing Hero felt as his eyes closed and sleep came, was a knife to the gut.
[x2 Lives Remaining] | "W-what?" the Hero asked, not knowing how to respond to that "What the hell does that even mean!? I could kill you with a gesture, are you not afraid!?"
The bandit looked at her, his eyes gleaming with fear, and something else "Yes, I am *oh* so very afraid, dear 'Hero'." the bandit then unsheathed his blade, it was plain and dull, not much use for killing a god slayer like **Eselia** the boundless. "But that wont stop me, not after what you've *done.*"
"What I've done? I have saved the world more times than I could count? is that what you refer to?" She yelled at the bandit, not seeming to understand what he meant "are you so cruel as to-"
"And even so, you've done more damage than you could possibly understand."
"...I don't-"
"Nela-hai, queen of the Redlands?" the bandit simply said, waiting for a response from the hero. when she didn't respond, and instead looked puzzled, he continued "Al-Nazarax, the king of the Djinns?" again, the hero just looked confused. the bandit called out one more name, this time he let his frustration be known. "**Kalcis**, the God of space and time?"
"I don't see what they have to do with all of this-"
Sighing, and pinching the bridge of his nose, the bandit yelled out at her "Please tell me you at least remembered them! Their names, there faces..." then the bandit stepped closer, ignoring the gestures of **Eselia** to stop. "Their last moments on this plane as you ripped the life from their bodies?"
"... Where are you going with this?"
"No, **Eselia**" he practically spat those words out "Where are ***you*** going with this? where does the madness end, at what point are you going to lay down your arms and stop the bedlam you leave in your wake?"
**Eselia** laughed "That's awfully rich, coming from the likes of you, a bandit!"
"You know what? you're right! I was a bastard, I really was. I killed and robbed and not for a second did I stop to think of the consequences, for me or the others I wronged." He was within a breath of her now, the woman towering over him like a goliath "But three years ago, I saw your devastation first hand. I saw the Redlands, scoured in endless war. I saw the Djinns, wreaking havoc upon the material world as recompense for the murder of their beloved king. I saw the very fabric of the world, torn asunder by **Kalcis'** corpse."
**Eselia** was about to speak, about to defend the many crimes that lay before her, but the bandit didn't let her, and it was at that moment when **Eselia** realised what the other look in his eyes was. It was fury, a holy fury that gripped his very being.
"I don't know if you're stupid, ignorant, or just plain fucking evil. And I don't care, because I will stop you, here and now!"
**Eselia** took a single moment, to ponder what he had just told her. Had she really caused all that?
No, she couldn't have, she was a hero after all. And hero's are good. She smiled, unsheathing her blade, one that could rip through reality itself "And how are you going to stop me, bandit?"
"I can't stop you, not alone anyway."
It was at that moment, when the hero realised that their were figures in the forest around them, ones that began to step out from betwixt the dark oak trees, their forms becoming visible and detailed.
Some were man, some elf or dwarf or a myriad of other races that she had seen from across the world. And they all wore clothing emblazoned with a sigil that she didn't understand the meaning of. She recognised a lot of them, many were those she had met, some were people she even considered friends and... She saw Valas. He was a half elf, and the most talented sorcerer she had ever met.
"Val, why are you here?" She yelled over to him, she had though he was in highkeep, where the lord there had asked him for something or another. She always was a bad listener, especially concerning the ever boring reality of magic.
"Es..." he spoke, his voice strained and hoarse. It sounded like he had been crying. "My dear, i am so, so sorry for this."
"F-for what?" She then noticed the aura radiating from his eyes, it looked like a... "You've been oathed! Who did this to you!"
"Me. I had to make sure i wouldn't stop, there is no turning back."
The bandit spoke again, and **Eselia** he was no longer afraid, not in the slightest. "Three years ago, after i had seen what you did, i decided that enough was enough. I contacted the lords and ladies of the lands from one end of the Earth to the other, and I made them an offer, one that had to be made. We decided, with a unanimous vote, to found an order."
"An- an order?"
"Yes, an order. An order that echoed the ideals that i knew it must adhere to. An order that would be built from every race, every land, and every creed and way of life known to us. An order built to save the world, from people like you."
The hero, tears in her eyes, turned to Valas "Val... Why?"
"I still love you, i just want you to know..."
"Why, damnit!?"
"Because you're a danger to the world, and even i can't ignore that, no matter how much i want to, and believe me, i do."
"Don't worry, hero. We won't be killing you. We can't, you killed everyone that could." The bandit then dropped his sword, before taking a small pyramid shaped device. "But we sure as hell can contain you."
He then, before she could react, triggered it, causing the hero to go completely numb, falling to the ground as Valas caught her. She could no longer speak, only look or blink.
"How long does that last, Valas?"
"Long enough to get her the black vault, herald."
"Good, that's what i like to hear. And don't call me by my title, Valas. we've known each other for long enough now."
Valas shook his head, clearly deep in though as he stared at his beloved. "...Can i visit her, in the black vault."
"...Will the oath prevent you from freeing her?"
Valas nodded quickly "Yes, the spell was designed by thirty independent mages, it has no loopholes i can exploit."
The herald then nodded. "Then yes, you can visit her whenever you'd like."
They, and the rest of the Grey guard, then set off to the black vault, secure in the knowledge that the boundless had been binded forevermore. | |
[WP] "I don't wanna fight you, low-level bandit." Says the Lv.100 Hero, who killed the embodiment of space-time. "I wouldn't want to fight me, neither." Says the low-level bandit. | "I don't want to fight you, bandit," stated Lady Henrietta De Lescaut, slayer of the frostpeak wyvern, hero of the voidsiege, ninth chosen of the Goddess's order. She continued down the path, paying the brigand no more mind.
"I wouldn't want to fight me, neither," retorted the lowly hooded bandit, brandishing his spear.
She stopped, long strands of black hair flowing down from her winged helmet and swaying in the wind as a moment that felt like an eternity for the bandit passed. Sunlight gleamed off her enchanted plate armor. The gravity of his mistake began to dawn on him as he felt naked in his banded leather armor compared to the legendary protection offered by the fabled 'Plates of the Vigilant.' After the moment had passed, she turned to meet his gaze. Between the gleaming gold and silver and glowing runes, he could see a pair of stern and discerning emerald eyes. He felt a jolt of panic that was both terrifying and oddly familiar all at the same time.
Lady Henrietta strode towards the brigand, each step a purposeful and graceful movement as if the ground she walked on was not worthy of her presence. In a flash of steel, she unsheathed her storied greatsword, Hellwinter's Bite, and leveled it less than an inch away from his jugular. Her gaze was intense, focused, and hard. But there was something else, he just couldn't tell what. Her words were like the bells of Highwatch, ringing proudly with honor as they tolled their message of victory. "Remove thy hood, fiend." He stood, frozen, utterly entranced by her presence. She inched the blade ever so slightly closer to his throat. "I will not ask again," pressed the hero. He did as she asked, long locks of red hair flowing out and down the front of his shoulders. As he did, the hardness in her eyes vanished, replaced quickly by shock and recognition. She averted her gaze.
"Goddess' grace. I knew I had heard that foolhardy tone somewhere once before."
She hadn't seen Prince Adelvald Faehlmann since she left him, unconscious and bloodied, lying in the dust circle of the ring of honor during their last year at the Academy of the Order of Her Lady's Grace. She let the tip of her blade fall to the grass between them. She knew that he'd been shamed and disowned by the royal family after he failed, but had he really fallen this far? As if he could read her thoughts, he too averted his gaze, shame overwhelming him.
Adelvald "Redwing" Faehlmann had been Lady De Lescaut's most bitter rival during her time in the academy. He was reckless, arrogant, and had teased her ceaselessly. It weighed heavy on her heart because she'd always looked up to the young prince. She'd heard stories of his valor. He'd managed to draw the attention of half the bards in the hold even though he was only a year her senior. He was the whole reason she'd joined the order, to have a chance to be like him. For three long years, he had become the bane of her existence. That was until it was revealed that she was the long-prophesized ninth chosen, the first chosen in over a century. She remembered that he disappeared for a month. Rumors stated that he had been recalled home by the king following the news. When he returned, he returned with a vengeance. He vowed to beat her in the circle of honor. Something had always bothered her about his state following his return. Every time she saw him at morning spar, his eyes were red. It looked as if he'd been crying, but whenever she’d asked, he snapped back at her. He'd also grown thinner in his final months at the academy. He stopped sitting with his entourage of nobles' sons and beauties in the cafeteria. She used to see him spending most of his free time galavanting across the city of Highwatch, charming maidens and recounting greatly exaggerated battles. After he returned, it was as if he had disappeared from the city altogether.
Their duel was the closest she'd ever come to death, and that was a very high bar. Redwing fought like a madman, devoid of any care for either of their well-beings. His attacks were desperate. He powered through strikes rather than blocking them. They traded blow after blow. In the battle's climax, both of them had awakened their dormant inner power and unleashed it upon each other. The blazing hawk met the sterling lion in a terrific blast of energy. As their gaze met in the moments before the finale, something shifted in Adelvald. Seeing her, the one he had tried so desperately to become so that he could win his family’s praise, standing defiant despite her common birth and his constant bullying, made him realize that which he feared most. She saw it in his eyes. The unmistakable look of soul-crushing sorrow as she felt his power dwindle and the lion consumed him. | "W-what?" the Hero asked, not knowing how to respond to that "What the hell does that even mean!? I could kill you with a gesture, are you not afraid!?"
The bandit looked at her, his eyes gleaming with fear, and something else "Yes, I am *oh* so very afraid, dear 'Hero'." the bandit then unsheathed his blade, it was plain and dull, not much use for killing a god slayer like **Eselia** the boundless. "But that wont stop me, not after what you've *done.*"
"What I've done? I have saved the world more times than I could count? is that what you refer to?" She yelled at the bandit, not seeming to understand what he meant "are you so cruel as to-"
"And even so, you've done more damage than you could possibly understand."
"...I don't-"
"Nela-hai, queen of the Redlands?" the bandit simply said, waiting for a response from the hero. when she didn't respond, and instead looked puzzled, he continued "Al-Nazarax, the king of the Djinns?" again, the hero just looked confused. the bandit called out one more name, this time he let his frustration be known. "**Kalcis**, the God of space and time?"
"I don't see what they have to do with all of this-"
Sighing, and pinching the bridge of his nose, the bandit yelled out at her "Please tell me you at least remembered them! Their names, there faces..." then the bandit stepped closer, ignoring the gestures of **Eselia** to stop. "Their last moments on this plane as you ripped the life from their bodies?"
"... Where are you going with this?"
"No, **Eselia**" he practically spat those words out "Where are ***you*** going with this? where does the madness end, at what point are you going to lay down your arms and stop the bedlam you leave in your wake?"
**Eselia** laughed "That's awfully rich, coming from the likes of you, a bandit!"
"You know what? you're right! I was a bastard, I really was. I killed and robbed and not for a second did I stop to think of the consequences, for me or the others I wronged." He was within a breath of her now, the woman towering over him like a goliath "But three years ago, I saw your devastation first hand. I saw the Redlands, scoured in endless war. I saw the Djinns, wreaking havoc upon the material world as recompense for the murder of their beloved king. I saw the very fabric of the world, torn asunder by **Kalcis'** corpse."
**Eselia** was about to speak, about to defend the many crimes that lay before her, but the bandit didn't let her, and it was at that moment when **Eselia** realised what the other look in his eyes was. It was fury, a holy fury that gripped his very being.
"I don't know if you're stupid, ignorant, or just plain fucking evil. And I don't care, because I will stop you, here and now!"
**Eselia** took a single moment, to ponder what he had just told her. Had she really caused all that?
No, she couldn't have, she was a hero after all. And hero's are good. She smiled, unsheathing her blade, one that could rip through reality itself "And how are you going to stop me, bandit?"
"I can't stop you, not alone anyway."
It was at that moment, when the hero realised that their were figures in the forest around them, ones that began to step out from betwixt the dark oak trees, their forms becoming visible and detailed.
Some were man, some elf or dwarf or a myriad of other races that she had seen from across the world. And they all wore clothing emblazoned with a sigil that she didn't understand the meaning of. She recognised a lot of them, many were those she had met, some were people she even considered friends and... She saw Valas. He was a half elf, and the most talented sorcerer she had ever met.
"Val, why are you here?" She yelled over to him, she had though he was in highkeep, where the lord there had asked him for something or another. She always was a bad listener, especially concerning the ever boring reality of magic.
"Es..." he spoke, his voice strained and hoarse. It sounded like he had been crying. "My dear, i am so, so sorry for this."
"F-for what?" She then noticed the aura radiating from his eyes, it looked like a... "You've been oathed! Who did this to you!"
"Me. I had to make sure i wouldn't stop, there is no turning back."
The bandit spoke again, and **Eselia** he was no longer afraid, not in the slightest. "Three years ago, after i had seen what you did, i decided that enough was enough. I contacted the lords and ladies of the lands from one end of the Earth to the other, and I made them an offer, one that had to be made. We decided, with a unanimous vote, to found an order."
"An- an order?"
"Yes, an order. An order that echoed the ideals that i knew it must adhere to. An order that would be built from every race, every land, and every creed and way of life known to us. An order built to save the world, from people like you."
The hero, tears in her eyes, turned to Valas "Val... Why?"
"I still love you, i just want you to know..."
"Why, damnit!?"
"Because you're a danger to the world, and even i can't ignore that, no matter how much i want to, and believe me, i do."
"Don't worry, hero. We won't be killing you. We can't, you killed everyone that could." The bandit then dropped his sword, before taking a small pyramid shaped device. "But we sure as hell can contain you."
He then, before she could react, triggered it, causing the hero to go completely numb, falling to the ground as Valas caught her. She could no longer speak, only look or blink.
"How long does that last, Valas?"
"Long enough to get her the black vault, herald."
"Good, that's what i like to hear. And don't call me by my title, Valas. we've known each other for long enough now."
Valas shook his head, clearly deep in though as he stared at his beloved. "...Can i visit her, in the black vault."
"...Will the oath prevent you from freeing her?"
Valas nodded quickly "Yes, the spell was designed by thirty independent mages, it has no loopholes i can exploit."
The herald then nodded. "Then yes, you can visit her whenever you'd like."
They, and the rest of the Grey guard, then set off to the black vault, secure in the knowledge that the boundless had been binded forevermore. | |
[WP] "I don't wanna fight you, low-level bandit." Says the Lv.100 Hero, who killed the embodiment of space-time. "I wouldn't want to fight me, neither." Says the low-level bandit. | "I wouldn't want to fight me, neither." I said.
I spat at the so-called hero's feet. The glob of slime I hocked up splattered disgustingly at his feet, and he danced away to avoid getting his shiny shoes dirty. Prissy brat.
"You're so weak, you're nothing to me. I could kill you with one shot."
Oh yes. I was aware. This moron had killed every last one of my demon comrades with that soul-stealing sword of his. My family. The shareholders that *were* helping me hold back the burden of the curse now liquifying my body.
"Do it then," I challenged. I flipped my dagger around in my now translucent hand. It was weird to be moving around with my curse in full effect like this. My reaction times were getting slower, and it was getting harder to keep my fingers from sticking together and going all soft.
"I don't want to! Go away," he pouted.
God, what was this guy, an actual child? I lunged forward and swung my knife up towards the underside of his chin. He dodged, of course, and drew one of his swords. Not the soul stealer, though.
"Nah, buddy," I chuckled, "you're gonna want to use the other one."
I drew my second knife and went for him again. Both of my blades slashed across his upper arm, but I did almost no damage. Papercuts at best. *He*, on the other hand, got me good. Right across my chest, almost all the way through to my spine.
He reeled back like he'd been burned when the slash sealed shut almost instantly.
"How can you do that?" He demanded, "only boss monsters heal from low-level damage that quickly."
"Why don't you f#ck around and find out?" I snarled back at him. This time I went for his eyes, and he stabbed his little toy through my abdomen. I felt almost nothing, and figured I was running out of time. My theory was proven correct when my slime quickly seeped up the blade and began eating away at the metal like acid.
The 'hero' snatched his hands away from the ensnared blade.
"That's it," he barked, and clumsily went for the hilt of his other sword.
"*Finally*" I hissed. I made sure to puff out my chest and act as irritatingly 'big and tough' as I could. In truth, my focus was entirely on that beautiful, terrible sword.
The hero lifted his soul-eater high, and a shattered reflection of a familiar concerned frown glinted down at me.
The same frown that my big sister wore when she figured out that the curse was spreading throughout my body. The same frown she wore when I asked why any of my new adopted family wanted to split my curse and lessen my burden when they didn't have to. The same frown she wore when we found out that the instant-healing that my curse gave to them exhausted me.
I'd been sleeping a lot throughout the past few weeks.
The razor sharp blade came down with a sweet little whistle. I didn't feel it hit. Didn't feel my slimy flesh try and fail to knit itself back together.
I heard tearful voices, far away from the wretched hero, who was now complaining about a dirty sword. As his voice faded away, I felt the faintest ghost of a hug settle around me. One of the giant snuggle-pile hugs the 'demon generals' of big sis' fledgling rebellion used to all gather in for when one of us had a bad day.
Maybe now I'll get some real rest.
With my family. | As we went into the fight sequence, I began to whisper, underneath even his insane perceptions.
"Evasion Up."
The Hero, without me even being able to blink, darted up to stab me, as my body reflexively darted out of the way.
*Miss!*
"Fuck these 95% accurate moves, good lord." The Hero glowered.
"Think You Can Take Me?" I shouted my stock battle line, before taking the hilt of my sword, and bashing him.
"Evasion Up." I whispered.
It didn't matter how much he did now. The Plan was in motion.
"Yeah, just gimme a moment." The Hero glared. "Heaven's Arrow!"
The sky grew bright, as clouds parted and a massive beam of light came down, and phased right through me.
*Miss!*
"Oh, fuck this." The Hero looked legitimately angry now. My Stock Beat attack did literally 10 damage to the man with over 20000 HP, but again, that didn't matter. The fact that his moves were missing was what would make this work.
"Yer Done!" I shouted, firing my flintlock pistol at the pseudo-immortal. Under my breath, I gave another whisper. "Hard Counter"
This was where the plan would go into motion.
"Ugh, fuck this. Fine, let's end this. Holy Guillotine!" he shouted.
Just as all the noobs did.
As I heard the sound of the Angel's Chorus, I knew exactly what would happen. I felt my head get knocked onto the chopping block, and the sound of the blade whooshing downwards onto my head.
*Ping!*
As the blade hit my head, the letters appeared above my head.
\[Hard Counter Activated!\]
My body reanimated, the guillotine completely gone, as I felt my body swing a sword that I previously had back in my inventory, straight into The Hero.
As The Hero faded away, yelling some slur that made me happy I was wearing headphones, I looked down at all the loot he hadn't stored in a Retrieval Chest. As I expected, given how he simply walked around in super-high level loot, it was essentially a motherload.
​
>(Clan) *FartherAhead:* Anyone got any good loot
>
>(Clan) \[Urayan\_Bandit\] *MrRedSkies:* This greenhorn kept all his important stuff in his inventory. Either bought some high level loot or bot the account off of someone else. I'll meet you at Raqura's Aquagardens and I can show you everything this kid dropped.
>
>(Public) *xXImTheHeroXx:* Yo \[Urayan\_Bandit\] you're a hacker I can get you banned lmao.
>
>(Public) *xXImTheHeroXx:* Just gimme my stuff back
>
>(Private) *System:* The Name Tag \[Urayan\_Bandit\] was Unequipped!
>
>(Clan) *MrRedSkies:* LMAO \[*FartherAhead*\] told u he was farming fodder
>
>(Clan) *FartherAhead:* Wait did he actually have any good stuff
>
>(Clan) *FartherAhead*: Also fuck you
>
>(Public) *xXImTheHeroXx*: Seriously dude my dad works at Square I can get u banned.
>
>(Public) *xXImTheHeroXx:* Where is he mods his name was \[Urayan\_Bandit\]
>
>(Clan) *MrRedSkies:* Ever wanted to see a Whipsword with a Pentagon chip on it?
>
>(Public) *420BlazeMeDaddy*: I think he got Tagged.
>
>(Public) *richardgarfieldsucks:* Reporting isn't gonna help unless they stole retrieval boxes somehow but AC should stop that
>
>(Public) *xXImTheHeroXx:* Please that cost me all my allowance money I really don't wanna lose it they stole it from me
>
>(Public) *xxImTheHeroXx:* Who's AC
>
>(Clan) (Chief)*22StonesThrow:* Wait \[*MrRedSkies*\] What holy shit we can sell that for loads.
>
>(Clan) (Chief) *22StonesThrow*: \[*MrRedSkies*\] Meet at base and get in the call.
>
>(Clan) *MrRedSkies*: Sure dude np
>
>(Private) *System:* You have muted the Public Chat.
I flipped off the public chat before scrolling through the TP menu to the Raqura Aquagardens, and fast travelled. My screen turned to black, and with that, my day of playing dress-up was essentially over.
\--------------------------
Wanted to make a bit of a twist on the generic low level bandit trope, like the type of players who act as NPCs to gank new players. Thought it was funny, might make a sequel but don't really know where to take it. | |
[WP] "I don't wanna fight you, low-level bandit." Says the Lv.100 Hero, who killed the embodiment of space-time. "I wouldn't want to fight me, neither." Says the low-level bandit. | "I don't want to fight you." She said. Her voice was even, like she was merely stating a preference for her desired opponent.
"I wouldn't wanna fight me neither." I said, giving this smug bitch no such choice as I swung my axe at her. It swung through the air where she once was as I lost sight of her and tripped.
"Really, I don't want to fight you." She said again, dropping a gold coin on my face, making me flinch thinking it was going to hit me in the eye.
I didn't have a clever retort as I scrabled to my feet, watching her for any opening as she stood there casually.
I took another swing, this one stopped on the bare flesh of her neck. It felt like hitting a tree made of iron and i didnt even leave a scratch. I winced as I adjusted my grip on my axe to account for my newly wounded wrist.
"Feel better? I've kinda got somewhere to be." She said, disinterested as she observed her fingernails for imperfections. As always, there where none.
"I'll feel better when you're dead!" I swung again, slower this time, on account of hurting myself before. She stepped out of the way without even looking at me.
"And why is that?" She asked, giving me a piercing glare.
"You... you killed him!" I shouted, throwing another easily dodged attack at her.
"You're going to need to be a bit more specific." She sighed, reaching not for her sword but a little black book. "Did 'he' have a name?"
I heaved with exhaustion, I didn't have enough energy to argue and fight this woman, so I picked what I swore only last week would be impossible. "Darren. Darren Cove." I said, gripping my axe with frustration.
"D-D-D Derrik? Too far... nope, I don't have a Darren cove, though to be fair i did have to get a new book a couple months back." She admitted "When did we meet?"
"You... YOU DON'T REMEMBER MURDERING MY HUSBAND?" I screamed.
"Ah, a lover, I see now, you're after vengeance, not money." She said, smiling softly like at her deductive reasoning. Before frowning "look, take it from someone who got hers, vengeance doesn't make you feel better, it just leaves you empty."
"What do you know?" I spat, finally dropping my axe, I never could fight while I was crying.
"Geez has it already been a decade? I guess, if malthorock hasn't fucked with my perception of time that much-"
"Just get to the point!"
She sighed "fine. There once was a man, it might have been a decade ago, it might be a decade from now, or it might have been-"
"THE. POINT!"
"Alright, alright, a bandit killed my fiancé, my parents and my brother all in one night. He made me watch, I swore to the gods I'd kill him." She said. "So I trained, and I trained and I trained until I was sure I could wipe his pathetic gang off the face of the earth. And I did. And I spent every red copper I earned doing it at the bar. I drank until I couldn't remember my name. None of it brought them back. None of it made me feel better. None of it helped at all." She explained.
"Then what the hells am I supposed to do with myself?!" I asked, trembling with impotent rage.
"Be who he thought you where." She responded. "I was an adventurer before I met my fiancé. They always insisted I was the best, even as they where treating my wounds from clearing out a cellar full of rats because we couldn't afford a proper healer." She remembered with a smile. "Tell you what, you want a fresh start?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, too tired now to raise my voice anymore.
"It means I'll buy the drinks tonight and we can talk tomorrow about what you want to do with the rest of your life, because I don't want to fight you." She explained, holding her hand out.
I sighed, finally seeing her point. "I guess I wouldn't wanna fight me neither." I said as I followed her to town. | It's finally over.
The final raid on the last dungeon of the game. All the max-level players with the server's one-of-a-kind legendary equipments came together to try to clear the game and end the server at last. We had waited for so long, for the final dungeon held a cruel trick - anyone who died here would have their character data reset. We would be back at level 1 and have to start the server over.
And so many did die. So many tanks found their armor melting before the embodiment of space-time. So many magic-users found their powers reflected back at them. So many mighty berserkers had their legendary weapons break against the thing's tendrils.
I was the only one to survive, and only out of pure cheapness. For of all the strategies in the game, I had pushed speed to its limit. I was at the absolute limit of what the game could render. Any attack with a displayable animation would necessarily be no faster than me. So while everyone else died, I dodged around for hours, hitting the beast with everything I have, enough firepower to kill every other player in the server if I'd wanted to. And finally, it went down.
I was the only one free to enter the final room, the server room itself, to unravel this virtual reality MMORPG that had sucked us in all those years ago, forcing us to play it over and over again in hopes that some distant day we'd be able to unmake it all and go home. Freedom was a button press away.
Well, a button... and a bandit.
It clearly wasn't an NPC, but it made no sense for a player to be here, especially such a weak one. Level 15, the cap of the lowest-tier classes of the game, wearing the basic bandit equipment from the class he'd never promoted our of. He only had 26 HP, while I had hundreds.
"How did you glitch your way here? Did you clip through the wall or something?" I asked, sputtering. "And why haven't you shut down the game, yet? We've all been suffering out there!"
The bandit said nothing, but equipped his axe.
"Wait, please! There's no sense in this. We can go home now. I don't want to fight you!"
This finally elicited a response from him. "I wouldn't wanna fight me neither."
Alas. As confusing as this whole situation was, if he wanted to stand in my way, I had much more important goals than to figure out his motivations. He'd die in a single hit, and wouldn't be able to do anything against me with my speed and defenses even if he had time.
Or... so I thought. As I danced around him, a whirl of blades at the upper limits of the game's processing capabilities, dealing critical strikes capable of bypassing the final boss's armor... every time, the game displayed 0 damage.
I staggered back to a safe distance, bewildered. "That makes no sense! You're only level 15!"
"That's disappointing," the bandit sighed, then pulled up the display with all his other stats. My jaw dropped. 999s across the board, in a game where even a class's best base stats barely went over 200 without legendary items, and rarely eclipsed 500 even with them.
"I don't understand," I managed.
"You're right that I broke the game to get here, but not by clipping through a wall. See, I've been playing this game since the alpha playtest version. Back then, we only had access to the first classes of the game, capped at 15 like they are now. But there were some bugs in that version, too. I exploited one that let me bypass the stat caps of my level and class while using rare drop stat boosters, and then I spent the entire alpha period farming them... Slowly, achingly, my stats went up, one point at a time, over months... until I was able to clear the entire game by myself, even though most of it was meant to be left unaccessible due to the low levels. I killed the final boss, and waited in here as the game was updated to its release version, the door out of the dungeon closing behind me and the access to the real world being shut off. I've been in this room for years, waiting for any kind of entertainment... And thanks to you, I can finally rejoin the game, and see if any of the server players can give me a real challenge."
Then, before I even realized what was happening, my HP were gone. He hadn't even moved, until a second later when his avatar had suddenly teleported to me, his ax embedded in my chest. I had pushed the limits of the game's processing, but with 999 speed, he was breaking them - his animations didn't display until after his actions were already completed.
"Try to be more fun by round 2."
Then I woke up. Back on the ground, surrounded by newly-spawned tutorial NPCs and the other players who had died in the final boss fight. I was level 1 again.
I screamed. | |
[WP] "I don't wanna fight you, low-level bandit." Says the Lv.100 Hero, who killed the embodiment of space-time. "I wouldn't want to fight me, neither." Says the low-level bandit. | "I wouldn't want to fight me, neither." I said.
I spat at the so-called hero's feet. The glob of slime I hocked up splattered disgustingly at his feet, and he danced away to avoid getting his shiny shoes dirty. Prissy brat.
"You're so weak, you're nothing to me. I could kill you with one shot."
Oh yes. I was aware. This moron had killed every last one of my demon comrades with that soul-stealing sword of his. My family. The shareholders that *were* helping me hold back the burden of the curse now liquifying my body.
"Do it then," I challenged. I flipped my dagger around in my now translucent hand. It was weird to be moving around with my curse in full effect like this. My reaction times were getting slower, and it was getting harder to keep my fingers from sticking together and going all soft.
"I don't want to! Go away," he pouted.
God, what was this guy, an actual child? I lunged forward and swung my knife up towards the underside of his chin. He dodged, of course, and drew one of his swords. Not the soul stealer, though.
"Nah, buddy," I chuckled, "you're gonna want to use the other one."
I drew my second knife and went for him again. Both of my blades slashed across his upper arm, but I did almost no damage. Papercuts at best. *He*, on the other hand, got me good. Right across my chest, almost all the way through to my spine.
He reeled back like he'd been burned when the slash sealed shut almost instantly.
"How can you do that?" He demanded, "only boss monsters heal from low-level damage that quickly."
"Why don't you f#ck around and find out?" I snarled back at him. This time I went for his eyes, and he stabbed his little toy through my abdomen. I felt almost nothing, and figured I was running out of time. My theory was proven correct when my slime quickly seeped up the blade and began eating away at the metal like acid.
The 'hero' snatched his hands away from the ensnared blade.
"That's it," he barked, and clumsily went for the hilt of his other sword.
"*Finally*" I hissed. I made sure to puff out my chest and act as irritatingly 'big and tough' as I could. In truth, my focus was entirely on that beautiful, terrible sword.
The hero lifted his soul-eater high, and a shattered reflection of a familiar concerned frown glinted down at me.
The same frown that my big sister wore when she figured out that the curse was spreading throughout my body. The same frown she wore when I asked why any of my new adopted family wanted to split my curse and lessen my burden when they didn't have to. The same frown she wore when we found out that the instant-healing that my curse gave to them exhausted me.
I'd been sleeping a lot throughout the past few weeks.
The razor sharp blade came down with a sweet little whistle. I didn't feel it hit. Didn't feel my slimy flesh try and fail to knit itself back together.
I heard tearful voices, far away from the wretched hero, who was now complaining about a dirty sword. As his voice faded away, I felt the faintest ghost of a hug settle around me. One of the giant snuggle-pile hugs the 'demon generals' of big sis' fledgling rebellion used to all gather in for when one of us had a bad day.
Maybe now I'll get some real rest.
With my family. | It's finally over.
The final raid on the last dungeon of the game. All the max-level players with the server's one-of-a-kind legendary equipments came together to try to clear the game and end the server at last. We had waited for so long, for the final dungeon held a cruel trick - anyone who died here would have their character data reset. We would be back at level 1 and have to start the server over.
And so many did die. So many tanks found their armor melting before the embodiment of space-time. So many magic-users found their powers reflected back at them. So many mighty berserkers had their legendary weapons break against the thing's tendrils.
I was the only one to survive, and only out of pure cheapness. For of all the strategies in the game, I had pushed speed to its limit. I was at the absolute limit of what the game could render. Any attack with a displayable animation would necessarily be no faster than me. So while everyone else died, I dodged around for hours, hitting the beast with everything I have, enough firepower to kill every other player in the server if I'd wanted to. And finally, it went down.
I was the only one free to enter the final room, the server room itself, to unravel this virtual reality MMORPG that had sucked us in all those years ago, forcing us to play it over and over again in hopes that some distant day we'd be able to unmake it all and go home. Freedom was a button press away.
Well, a button... and a bandit.
It clearly wasn't an NPC, but it made no sense for a player to be here, especially such a weak one. Level 15, the cap of the lowest-tier classes of the game, wearing the basic bandit equipment from the class he'd never promoted our of. He only had 26 HP, while I had hundreds.
"How did you glitch your way here? Did you clip through the wall or something?" I asked, sputtering. "And why haven't you shut down the game, yet? We've all been suffering out there!"
The bandit said nothing, but equipped his axe.
"Wait, please! There's no sense in this. We can go home now. I don't want to fight you!"
This finally elicited a response from him. "I wouldn't wanna fight me neither."
Alas. As confusing as this whole situation was, if he wanted to stand in my way, I had much more important goals than to figure out his motivations. He'd die in a single hit, and wouldn't be able to do anything against me with my speed and defenses even if he had time.
Or... so I thought. As I danced around him, a whirl of blades at the upper limits of the game's processing capabilities, dealing critical strikes capable of bypassing the final boss's armor... every time, the game displayed 0 damage.
I staggered back to a safe distance, bewildered. "That makes no sense! You're only level 15!"
"That's disappointing," the bandit sighed, then pulled up the display with all his other stats. My jaw dropped. 999s across the board, in a game where even a class's best base stats barely went over 200 without legendary items, and rarely eclipsed 500 even with them.
"I don't understand," I managed.
"You're right that I broke the game to get here, but not by clipping through a wall. See, I've been playing this game since the alpha playtest version. Back then, we only had access to the first classes of the game, capped at 15 like they are now. But there were some bugs in that version, too. I exploited one that let me bypass the stat caps of my level and class while using rare drop stat boosters, and then I spent the entire alpha period farming them... Slowly, achingly, my stats went up, one point at a time, over months... until I was able to clear the entire game by myself, even though most of it was meant to be left unaccessible due to the low levels. I killed the final boss, and waited in here as the game was updated to its release version, the door out of the dungeon closing behind me and the access to the real world being shut off. I've been in this room for years, waiting for any kind of entertainment... And thanks to you, I can finally rejoin the game, and see if any of the server players can give me a real challenge."
Then, before I even realized what was happening, my HP were gone. He hadn't even moved, until a second later when his avatar had suddenly teleported to me, his ax embedded in my chest. I had pushed the limits of the game's processing, but with 999 speed, he was breaking them - his animations didn't display until after his actions were already completed.
"Try to be more fun by round 2."
Then I woke up. Back on the ground, surrounded by newly-spawned tutorial NPCs and the other players who had died in the final boss fight. I was level 1 again.
I screamed. | |
[WP] "I don't wanna fight you, low-level bandit." Says the Lv.100 Hero, who killed the embodiment of space-time. "I wouldn't want to fight me, neither." Says the low-level bandit. | “Yeah I wouldn’t want to fight me either,” the bandit said, but not full of the usual bravado I came to expect from bandits.
I looked at him puzzled, “and why wouldn’t you want to fight yourself?” I asked condescendingly.
“Because nobody wants anything to do with me!” He spat with a fervor that caught me off guard, “I turned 5 and my parent decided I wasn’t their problem, let me fend for myself and told me they were helping me grow strong. After 2 years of struggling in my families home they threw me to the wolves, not even a metaphor literal wolves!”
“The difficulties peasants face sometimes turns them cold and cruel, but,” I started to only have him cut me off.
“They were nobles! I just wasn’t what THEY wanted. Hell even the wolves didn’t want me. They just snarled sniffed me and left. I had to learn to hunt, steal, and survive overnight, and goddamn it I did it. All while everyone stared through me like I never existed. Hell I tried to join a bandit clan and they told me they didn’t need another deadbeat kid to support and laughed. So here I am at 12, trying to mug a man that is gonna kill me because no one cares I exist.
“You could walk away, and pretend this never happened,” I spoke before I thought.
“Surprise, surprise! Even my killer doesn’t want me,” he paused then through tears muttered, “you really wanna know why I wouldn’t want to fight me? I’m worthless. Just some nobody you ignore on the street. I don’t even register as a side character in this game of life.” He looked down crying, and I could hear his stomach rumble nearly 20 feet away.
“Shall we continue over rabbit stew?” I pulled a fresh caught hare from my pack, “I was going to rest for the night here, and I don’t mind company.”
He glared, “you don’t mean that.”
I threw his sword aside with a spell as I walked closer, watching the rusty metal shatter as it hit the ground. Next went his quiver, and I realized there were a couple crudely carved arrows that would make a goblin think twice. I was going to toss his bow but noticed he had none.
“The bandits took it all when I tried to join,” he muttered as if he knew what I was going to ask, “I was surviving,” he stopped and began crying in earnest, “I just didn’t want to be alone anymore.” With that he collapsed either from hunger or the emotions, and passed out.
For the first time since I was cast aside, nearly 20 years ago, I let my guard down. “Everyone is someone,” I whispered as I picked him up and carried him to the spot I chose to camp earlier. “Someone always matters. And in time I hope I can show you that is true for you as well.” I placed him in my bedroll, fished out my supplies, and started cooking. After a few minutes a branch snapped, and a large bandit stepped out with a few guys behind him.
“You don’t wanna fight me,” he grunted as he drew his sword. Yet, I didn’t care about the blade in his hand, I was more interested in the bow and blade strapped to his side like a trophy.
“Depends,” I snarled, “where did you get those trophies?”
“Oh these? Some dumb punk claiming to be a rejected noble. It was fun watching him cry when we made him leave wearing nothing,” he laughed with his men. Until he noticed me turn a new shade of red.
“You know what,” I said while lifting a log near the fire, “I think I do want to fight you!” | It's finally over.
The final raid on the last dungeon of the game. All the max-level players with the server's one-of-a-kind legendary equipments came together to try to clear the game and end the server at last. We had waited for so long, for the final dungeon held a cruel trick - anyone who died here would have their character data reset. We would be back at level 1 and have to start the server over.
And so many did die. So many tanks found their armor melting before the embodiment of space-time. So many magic-users found their powers reflected back at them. So many mighty berserkers had their legendary weapons break against the thing's tendrils.
I was the only one to survive, and only out of pure cheapness. For of all the strategies in the game, I had pushed speed to its limit. I was at the absolute limit of what the game could render. Any attack with a displayable animation would necessarily be no faster than me. So while everyone else died, I dodged around for hours, hitting the beast with everything I have, enough firepower to kill every other player in the server if I'd wanted to. And finally, it went down.
I was the only one free to enter the final room, the server room itself, to unravel this virtual reality MMORPG that had sucked us in all those years ago, forcing us to play it over and over again in hopes that some distant day we'd be able to unmake it all and go home. Freedom was a button press away.
Well, a button... and a bandit.
It clearly wasn't an NPC, but it made no sense for a player to be here, especially such a weak one. Level 15, the cap of the lowest-tier classes of the game, wearing the basic bandit equipment from the class he'd never promoted our of. He only had 26 HP, while I had hundreds.
"How did you glitch your way here? Did you clip through the wall or something?" I asked, sputtering. "And why haven't you shut down the game, yet? We've all been suffering out there!"
The bandit said nothing, but equipped his axe.
"Wait, please! There's no sense in this. We can go home now. I don't want to fight you!"
This finally elicited a response from him. "I wouldn't wanna fight me neither."
Alas. As confusing as this whole situation was, if he wanted to stand in my way, I had much more important goals than to figure out his motivations. He'd die in a single hit, and wouldn't be able to do anything against me with my speed and defenses even if he had time.
Or... so I thought. As I danced around him, a whirl of blades at the upper limits of the game's processing capabilities, dealing critical strikes capable of bypassing the final boss's armor... every time, the game displayed 0 damage.
I staggered back to a safe distance, bewildered. "That makes no sense! You're only level 15!"
"That's disappointing," the bandit sighed, then pulled up the display with all his other stats. My jaw dropped. 999s across the board, in a game where even a class's best base stats barely went over 200 without legendary items, and rarely eclipsed 500 even with them.
"I don't understand," I managed.
"You're right that I broke the game to get here, but not by clipping through a wall. See, I've been playing this game since the alpha playtest version. Back then, we only had access to the first classes of the game, capped at 15 like they are now. But there were some bugs in that version, too. I exploited one that let me bypass the stat caps of my level and class while using rare drop stat boosters, and then I spent the entire alpha period farming them... Slowly, achingly, my stats went up, one point at a time, over months... until I was able to clear the entire game by myself, even though most of it was meant to be left unaccessible due to the low levels. I killed the final boss, and waited in here as the game was updated to its release version, the door out of the dungeon closing behind me and the access to the real world being shut off. I've been in this room for years, waiting for any kind of entertainment... And thanks to you, I can finally rejoin the game, and see if any of the server players can give me a real challenge."
Then, before I even realized what was happening, my HP were gone. He hadn't even moved, until a second later when his avatar had suddenly teleported to me, his ax embedded in my chest. I had pushed the limits of the game's processing, but with 999 speed, he was breaking them - his animations didn't display until after his actions were already completed.
"Try to be more fun by round 2."
Then I woke up. Back on the ground, surrounded by newly-spawned tutorial NPCs and the other players who had died in the final boss fight. I was level 1 again.
I screamed. | |
[WP] "I don't wanna fight you, low-level bandit." Says the Lv.100 Hero, who killed the embodiment of space-time. "I wouldn't want to fight me, neither." Says the low-level bandit. | "I don't think you understand," the Hero said. "It's not that I'd lose, it's-"
"You'd win, yeah. I know," the bandit said defeatedly. "I mean, of course."
"What do you mean?" asked the mighty hero, vanquisher of all evil.
"I mean come on. You've killed dragons, monsters, gods. Obviously, I know who you are. I just thought, that, maybe if I fought you, it would..." the bandit motioned his hand vaguely, "*mean something*, you know? That ***I*** would mean something. But... no challenge, no glory. No point. I get it."
The Hero stared at the downtrodden man silently.
"Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have bothered you. I really- I really shouldn't have, I'm sorry-"
"Are you alright?" the Hero asked suddenly. The bandit looked up, his face pale and gaunt.
"What? I- I mean, sure. Just tired is all. Look I'm sorry, I'm not even really a bandit, just wanted to-"
"What are you, then?"
The bandit paused for a moment. "Not much of anything, really," he sighed. "I mean I try, I really do try to do different things but it always just... fails. All of it."
The Hero considered the man's words. They were... painfully familiar.
"Would you like to grab a mug of mead and talk? Perhaps about what makes you happy?" the Hero smiled.
"What? No- of course- no, thank you kindly. I'd hate to drag you down," the man said hurriedly and raised his hands.
"Nonsense. Come, it's on me," the Hero said jovially and pushed the man forward. Seemingly distressed but genuinely relieved, the would-be bandit accepted the helping hand and set off alongside the great Hero.
It wasn't a quest. It wasn't glory. It wasn't a promise of riches that motivated the Hero.
It was the right thing to do. | It's finally over.
The final raid on the last dungeon of the game. All the max-level players with the server's one-of-a-kind legendary equipments came together to try to clear the game and end the server at last. We had waited for so long, for the final dungeon held a cruel trick - anyone who died here would have their character data reset. We would be back at level 1 and have to start the server over.
And so many did die. So many tanks found their armor melting before the embodiment of space-time. So many magic-users found their powers reflected back at them. So many mighty berserkers had their legendary weapons break against the thing's tendrils.
I was the only one to survive, and only out of pure cheapness. For of all the strategies in the game, I had pushed speed to its limit. I was at the absolute limit of what the game could render. Any attack with a displayable animation would necessarily be no faster than me. So while everyone else died, I dodged around for hours, hitting the beast with everything I have, enough firepower to kill every other player in the server if I'd wanted to. And finally, it went down.
I was the only one free to enter the final room, the server room itself, to unravel this virtual reality MMORPG that had sucked us in all those years ago, forcing us to play it over and over again in hopes that some distant day we'd be able to unmake it all and go home. Freedom was a button press away.
Well, a button... and a bandit.
It clearly wasn't an NPC, but it made no sense for a player to be here, especially such a weak one. Level 15, the cap of the lowest-tier classes of the game, wearing the basic bandit equipment from the class he'd never promoted our of. He only had 26 HP, while I had hundreds.
"How did you glitch your way here? Did you clip through the wall or something?" I asked, sputtering. "And why haven't you shut down the game, yet? We've all been suffering out there!"
The bandit said nothing, but equipped his axe.
"Wait, please! There's no sense in this. We can go home now. I don't want to fight you!"
This finally elicited a response from him. "I wouldn't wanna fight me neither."
Alas. As confusing as this whole situation was, if he wanted to stand in my way, I had much more important goals than to figure out his motivations. He'd die in a single hit, and wouldn't be able to do anything against me with my speed and defenses even if he had time.
Or... so I thought. As I danced around him, a whirl of blades at the upper limits of the game's processing capabilities, dealing critical strikes capable of bypassing the final boss's armor... every time, the game displayed 0 damage.
I staggered back to a safe distance, bewildered. "That makes no sense! You're only level 15!"
"That's disappointing," the bandit sighed, then pulled up the display with all his other stats. My jaw dropped. 999s across the board, in a game where even a class's best base stats barely went over 200 without legendary items, and rarely eclipsed 500 even with them.
"I don't understand," I managed.
"You're right that I broke the game to get here, but not by clipping through a wall. See, I've been playing this game since the alpha playtest version. Back then, we only had access to the first classes of the game, capped at 15 like they are now. But there were some bugs in that version, too. I exploited one that let me bypass the stat caps of my level and class while using rare drop stat boosters, and then I spent the entire alpha period farming them... Slowly, achingly, my stats went up, one point at a time, over months... until I was able to clear the entire game by myself, even though most of it was meant to be left unaccessible due to the low levels. I killed the final boss, and waited in here as the game was updated to its release version, the door out of the dungeon closing behind me and the access to the real world being shut off. I've been in this room for years, waiting for any kind of entertainment... And thanks to you, I can finally rejoin the game, and see if any of the server players can give me a real challenge."
Then, before I even realized what was happening, my HP were gone. He hadn't even moved, until a second later when his avatar had suddenly teleported to me, his ax embedded in my chest. I had pushed the limits of the game's processing, but with 999 speed, he was breaking them - his animations didn't display until after his actions were already completed.
"Try to be more fun by round 2."
Then I woke up. Back on the ground, surrounded by newly-spawned tutorial NPCs and the other players who had died in the final boss fight. I was level 1 again.
I screamed. | |
[WP] "I don't wanna fight you, low-level bandit." Says the Lv.100 Hero, who killed the embodiment of space-time. "I wouldn't want to fight me, neither." Says the low-level bandit. | "I wouldn't want to fight me, neither." I said.
I spat at the so-called hero's feet. The glob of slime I hocked up splattered disgustingly at his feet, and he danced away to avoid getting his shiny shoes dirty. Prissy brat.
"You're so weak, you're nothing to me. I could kill you with one shot."
Oh yes. I was aware. This moron had killed every last one of my demon comrades with that soul-stealing sword of his. My family. The shareholders that *were* helping me hold back the burden of the curse now liquifying my body.
"Do it then," I challenged. I flipped my dagger around in my now translucent hand. It was weird to be moving around with my curse in full effect like this. My reaction times were getting slower, and it was getting harder to keep my fingers from sticking together and going all soft.
"I don't want to! Go away," he pouted.
God, what was this guy, an actual child? I lunged forward and swung my knife up towards the underside of his chin. He dodged, of course, and drew one of his swords. Not the soul stealer, though.
"Nah, buddy," I chuckled, "you're gonna want to use the other one."
I drew my second knife and went for him again. Both of my blades slashed across his upper arm, but I did almost no damage. Papercuts at best. *He*, on the other hand, got me good. Right across my chest, almost all the way through to my spine.
He reeled back like he'd been burned when the slash sealed shut almost instantly.
"How can you do that?" He demanded, "only boss monsters heal from low-level damage that quickly."
"Why don't you f#ck around and find out?" I snarled back at him. This time I went for his eyes, and he stabbed his little toy through my abdomen. I felt almost nothing, and figured I was running out of time. My theory was proven correct when my slime quickly seeped up the blade and began eating away at the metal like acid.
The 'hero' snatched his hands away from the ensnared blade.
"That's it," he barked, and clumsily went for the hilt of his other sword.
"*Finally*" I hissed. I made sure to puff out my chest and act as irritatingly 'big and tough' as I could. In truth, my focus was entirely on that beautiful, terrible sword.
The hero lifted his soul-eater high, and a shattered reflection of a familiar concerned frown glinted down at me.
The same frown that my big sister wore when she figured out that the curse was spreading throughout my body. The same frown she wore when I asked why any of my new adopted family wanted to split my curse and lessen my burden when they didn't have to. The same frown she wore when we found out that the instant-healing that my curse gave to them exhausted me.
I'd been sleeping a lot throughout the past few weeks.
The razor sharp blade came down with a sweet little whistle. I didn't feel it hit. Didn't feel my slimy flesh try and fail to knit itself back together.
I heard tearful voices, far away from the wretched hero, who was now complaining about a dirty sword. As his voice faded away, I felt the faintest ghost of a hug settle around me. One of the giant snuggle-pile hugs the 'demon generals' of big sis' fledgling rebellion used to all gather in for when one of us had a bad day.
Maybe now I'll get some real rest.
With my family. | "I don't want to fight you." She said. Her voice was even, like she was merely stating a preference for her desired opponent.
"I wouldn't wanna fight me neither." I said, giving this smug bitch no such choice as I swung my axe at her. It swung through the air where she once was as I lost sight of her and tripped.
"Really, I don't want to fight you." She said again, dropping a gold coin on my face, making me flinch thinking it was going to hit me in the eye.
I didn't have a clever retort as I scrabled to my feet, watching her for any opening as she stood there casually.
I took another swing, this one stopped on the bare flesh of her neck. It felt like hitting a tree made of iron and i didnt even leave a scratch. I winced as I adjusted my grip on my axe to account for my newly wounded wrist.
"Feel better? I've kinda got somewhere to be." She said, disinterested as she observed her fingernails for imperfections. As always, there where none.
"I'll feel better when you're dead!" I swung again, slower this time, on account of hurting myself before. She stepped out of the way without even looking at me.
"And why is that?" She asked, giving me a piercing glare.
"You... you killed him!" I shouted, throwing another easily dodged attack at her.
"You're going to need to be a bit more specific." She sighed, reaching not for her sword but a little black book. "Did 'he' have a name?"
I heaved with exhaustion, I didn't have enough energy to argue and fight this woman, so I picked what I swore only last week would be impossible. "Darren. Darren Cove." I said, gripping my axe with frustration.
"D-D-D Derrik? Too far... nope, I don't have a Darren cove, though to be fair i did have to get a new book a couple months back." She admitted "When did we meet?"
"You... YOU DON'T REMEMBER MURDERING MY HUSBAND?" I screamed.
"Ah, a lover, I see now, you're after vengeance, not money." She said, smiling softly like at her deductive reasoning. Before frowning "look, take it from someone who got hers, vengeance doesn't make you feel better, it just leaves you empty."
"What do you know?" I spat, finally dropping my axe, I never could fight while I was crying.
"Geez has it already been a decade? I guess, if malthorock hasn't fucked with my perception of time that much-"
"Just get to the point!"
She sighed "fine. There once was a man, it might have been a decade ago, it might be a decade from now, or it might have been-"
"THE. POINT!"
"Alright, alright, a bandit killed my fiancé, my parents and my brother all in one night. He made me watch, I swore to the gods I'd kill him." She said. "So I trained, and I trained and I trained until I was sure I could wipe his pathetic gang off the face of the earth. And I did. And I spent every red copper I earned doing it at the bar. I drank until I couldn't remember my name. None of it brought them back. None of it made me feel better. None of it helped at all." She explained.
"Then what the hells am I supposed to do with myself?!" I asked, trembling with impotent rage.
"Be who he thought you where." She responded. "I was an adventurer before I met my fiancé. They always insisted I was the best, even as they where treating my wounds from clearing out a cellar full of rats because we couldn't afford a proper healer." She remembered with a smile. "Tell you what, you want a fresh start?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, too tired now to raise my voice anymore.
"It means I'll buy the drinks tonight and we can talk tomorrow about what you want to do with the rest of your life, because I don't want to fight you." She explained, holding her hand out.
I sighed, finally seeing her point. "I guess I wouldn't wanna fight me neither." I said as I followed her to town. | |
[WP] "I don't wanna fight you, low-level bandit." Says the Lv.100 Hero, who killed the embodiment of space-time. "I wouldn't want to fight me, neither." Says the low-level bandit. | “Yeah I wouldn’t want to fight me either,” the bandit said, but not full of the usual bravado I came to expect from bandits.
I looked at him puzzled, “and why wouldn’t you want to fight yourself?” I asked condescendingly.
“Because nobody wants anything to do with me!” He spat with a fervor that caught me off guard, “I turned 5 and my parent decided I wasn’t their problem, let me fend for myself and told me they were helping me grow strong. After 2 years of struggling in my families home they threw me to the wolves, not even a metaphor literal wolves!”
“The difficulties peasants face sometimes turns them cold and cruel, but,” I started to only have him cut me off.
“They were nobles! I just wasn’t what THEY wanted. Hell even the wolves didn’t want me. They just snarled sniffed me and left. I had to learn to hunt, steal, and survive overnight, and goddamn it I did it. All while everyone stared through me like I never existed. Hell I tried to join a bandit clan and they told me they didn’t need another deadbeat kid to support and laughed. So here I am at 12, trying to mug a man that is gonna kill me because no one cares I exist.
“You could walk away, and pretend this never happened,” I spoke before I thought.
“Surprise, surprise! Even my killer doesn’t want me,” he paused then through tears muttered, “you really wanna know why I wouldn’t want to fight me? I’m worthless. Just some nobody you ignore on the street. I don’t even register as a side character in this game of life.” He looked down crying, and I could hear his stomach rumble nearly 20 feet away.
“Shall we continue over rabbit stew?” I pulled a fresh caught hare from my pack, “I was going to rest for the night here, and I don’t mind company.”
He glared, “you don’t mean that.”
I threw his sword aside with a spell as I walked closer, watching the rusty metal shatter as it hit the ground. Next went his quiver, and I realized there were a couple crudely carved arrows that would make a goblin think twice. I was going to toss his bow but noticed he had none.
“The bandits took it all when I tried to join,” he muttered as if he knew what I was going to ask, “I was surviving,” he stopped and began crying in earnest, “I just didn’t want to be alone anymore.” With that he collapsed either from hunger or the emotions, and passed out.
For the first time since I was cast aside, nearly 20 years ago, I let my guard down. “Everyone is someone,” I whispered as I picked him up and carried him to the spot I chose to camp earlier. “Someone always matters. And in time I hope I can show you that is true for you as well.” I placed him in my bedroll, fished out my supplies, and started cooking. After a few minutes a branch snapped, and a large bandit stepped out with a few guys behind him.
“You don’t wanna fight me,” he grunted as he drew his sword. Yet, I didn’t care about the blade in his hand, I was more interested in the bow and blade strapped to his side like a trophy.
“Depends,” I snarled, “where did you get those trophies?”
“Oh these? Some dumb punk claiming to be a rejected noble. It was fun watching him cry when we made him leave wearing nothing,” he laughed with his men. Until he noticed me turn a new shade of red.
“You know what,” I said while lifting a log near the fire, “I think I do want to fight you!” | I sighed at the bandit. He wore simple leather armour, sporting a well used sword. His long brown hair was a wild mop on his head, clearly untended to. His sharp face was set in a determined expression, though I could see a seed of doubt in his mind.
I shifted my balance, ready for him to make his inevitable swing. My comfortable clothes were well worn, going far to hide my identity. As nice as fame was, I enjoyed the quiet life, and so chose to keep much of it on the down low. So the fact this bandit chose me wasn't a huge surprise.
"Now, hand over your goods, and maybe I will let you live."
His tone was probably enough to scare most people I to complying. But having spent time with the Voices, it was just another way of speaking to me. Even in that, I could hear the subtle notes of hope that I would just hand over my bits.
I could guess his type. He was hust trying to prove himself. He probably chose this life in an effort to drown out his self doubt.
"Please, put your sword away. You really don't want to go down this path."
His eyes showed the inner turmoil. He wanted me to just comply. He hated the idea of me making him hurt me. But he had to appear strong. He had to. He had no real choice from what he could see.
I watched his body, seeing muscles tense. As he lunged forwards, I reacted. My body had been trained by purging the vampiric undercity, reflexes beyond that of normal humans. His swing was horribly slow to me, allowing me to catch his arm. I moved into it, rolling him over my shoulders.
He slammed into the ground, his face a mask of confusion. I stepped on his sword, leaning down.
"I told you, I don't want to fight you."
His bravado broke, tears springing to his eyes.
"I-im sorry!"
I looked down on him. He was broken from just one throw. He was too weak to take lives out of cruelty. It would be well within my rights to take him in, or deal with him permanently. But I had killed only for the greater good. This would be nothing like that.
"Hey, stop crying."
He continued, and I smiled. I remembered being like this, back when I was but a young child. The face of my teacher swam into view, a kind, gentle face. I gave a sigh, picking up the sword. It was basic, no enchantment to speak of. With a shrug I stuck it into the dirt, before reaching down to pull up the bandit.
"Listen, this life isn't for you. Trust me, I have seen many bandits in my time. You wouldn't hack it. But you could do more. You seem relatively competent with a sword."
He blinked through his tears. I could see him processing, and I put my arm on his shoulder.
"I don't really want to fight you. If I did, you would be dead. I've had enough of death for a long time. So I'm going to give you a choice. You can turn around, and try to continue this banditry. That will end only in your premature death. Or you can come with me, and I will make you into someone to be proud of."
I released him, taking a couple of steps back. He stood there, looking incredibly lost. To one side was his sword, the life he had lead. To the other, I promised him something more. It was his choice to make. I just hoped he would make the right one. | |
[WP] "I don't wanna fight you, low-level bandit." Says the Lv.100 Hero, who killed the embodiment of space-time. "I wouldn't want to fight me, neither." Says the low-level bandit. | "I don't think you understand," the Hero said. "It's not that I'd lose, it's-"
"You'd win, yeah. I know," the bandit said defeatedly. "I mean, of course."
"What do you mean?" asked the mighty hero, vanquisher of all evil.
"I mean come on. You've killed dragons, monsters, gods. Obviously, I know who you are. I just thought, that, maybe if I fought you, it would..." the bandit motioned his hand vaguely, "*mean something*, you know? That ***I*** would mean something. But... no challenge, no glory. No point. I get it."
The Hero stared at the downtrodden man silently.
"Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have bothered you. I really- I really shouldn't have, I'm sorry-"
"Are you alright?" the Hero asked suddenly. The bandit looked up, his face pale and gaunt.
"What? I- I mean, sure. Just tired is all. Look I'm sorry, I'm not even really a bandit, just wanted to-"
"What are you, then?"
The bandit paused for a moment. "Not much of anything, really," he sighed. "I mean I try, I really do try to do different things but it always just... fails. All of it."
The Hero considered the man's words. They were... painfully familiar.
"Would you like to grab a mug of mead and talk? Perhaps about what makes you happy?" the Hero smiled.
"What? No- of course- no, thank you kindly. I'd hate to drag you down," the man said hurriedly and raised his hands.
"Nonsense. Come, it's on me," the Hero said jovially and pushed the man forward. Seemingly distressed but genuinely relieved, the would-be bandit accepted the helping hand and set off alongside the great Hero.
It wasn't a quest. It wasn't glory. It wasn't a promise of riches that motivated the Hero.
It was the right thing to do. | I sighed at the bandit. He wore simple leather armour, sporting a well used sword. His long brown hair was a wild mop on his head, clearly untended to. His sharp face was set in a determined expression, though I could see a seed of doubt in his mind.
I shifted my balance, ready for him to make his inevitable swing. My comfortable clothes were well worn, going far to hide my identity. As nice as fame was, I enjoyed the quiet life, and so chose to keep much of it on the down low. So the fact this bandit chose me wasn't a huge surprise.
"Now, hand over your goods, and maybe I will let you live."
His tone was probably enough to scare most people I to complying. But having spent time with the Voices, it was just another way of speaking to me. Even in that, I could hear the subtle notes of hope that I would just hand over my bits.
I could guess his type. He was hust trying to prove himself. He probably chose this life in an effort to drown out his self doubt.
"Please, put your sword away. You really don't want to go down this path."
His eyes showed the inner turmoil. He wanted me to just comply. He hated the idea of me making him hurt me. But he had to appear strong. He had to. He had no real choice from what he could see.
I watched his body, seeing muscles tense. As he lunged forwards, I reacted. My body had been trained by purging the vampiric undercity, reflexes beyond that of normal humans. His swing was horribly slow to me, allowing me to catch his arm. I moved into it, rolling him over my shoulders.
He slammed into the ground, his face a mask of confusion. I stepped on his sword, leaning down.
"I told you, I don't want to fight you."
His bravado broke, tears springing to his eyes.
"I-im sorry!"
I looked down on him. He was broken from just one throw. He was too weak to take lives out of cruelty. It would be well within my rights to take him in, or deal with him permanently. But I had killed only for the greater good. This would be nothing like that.
"Hey, stop crying."
He continued, and I smiled. I remembered being like this, back when I was but a young child. The face of my teacher swam into view, a kind, gentle face. I gave a sigh, picking up the sword. It was basic, no enchantment to speak of. With a shrug I stuck it into the dirt, before reaching down to pull up the bandit.
"Listen, this life isn't for you. Trust me, I have seen many bandits in my time. You wouldn't hack it. But you could do more. You seem relatively competent with a sword."
He blinked through his tears. I could see him processing, and I put my arm on his shoulder.
"I don't really want to fight you. If I did, you would be dead. I've had enough of death for a long time. So I'm going to give you a choice. You can turn around, and try to continue this banditry. That will end only in your premature death. Or you can come with me, and I will make you into someone to be proud of."
I released him, taking a couple of steps back. He stood there, looking incredibly lost. To one side was his sword, the life he had lead. To the other, I promised him something more. It was his choice to make. I just hoped he would make the right one. | |
[WP] "I don't wanna fight you, low-level bandit." Says the Lv.100 Hero, who killed the embodiment of space-time. "I wouldn't want to fight me, neither." Says the low-level bandit. | "I don't think you understand," the Hero said. "It's not that I'd lose, it's-"
"You'd win, yeah. I know," the bandit said defeatedly. "I mean, of course."
"What do you mean?" asked the mighty hero, vanquisher of all evil.
"I mean come on. You've killed dragons, monsters, gods. Obviously, I know who you are. I just thought, that, maybe if I fought you, it would..." the bandit motioned his hand vaguely, "*mean something*, you know? That ***I*** would mean something. But... no challenge, no glory. No point. I get it."
The Hero stared at the downtrodden man silently.
"Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have bothered you. I really- I really shouldn't have, I'm sorry-"
"Are you alright?" the Hero asked suddenly. The bandit looked up, his face pale and gaunt.
"What? I- I mean, sure. Just tired is all. Look I'm sorry, I'm not even really a bandit, just wanted to-"
"What are you, then?"
The bandit paused for a moment. "Not much of anything, really," he sighed. "I mean I try, I really do try to do different things but it always just... fails. All of it."
The Hero considered the man's words. They were... painfully familiar.
"Would you like to grab a mug of mead and talk? Perhaps about what makes you happy?" the Hero smiled.
"What? No- of course- no, thank you kindly. I'd hate to drag you down," the man said hurriedly and raised his hands.
"Nonsense. Come, it's on me," the Hero said jovially and pushed the man forward. Seemingly distressed but genuinely relieved, the would-be bandit accepted the helping hand and set off alongside the great Hero.
It wasn't a quest. It wasn't glory. It wasn't a promise of riches that motivated the Hero.
It was the right thing to do. | “Yeah I wouldn’t want to fight me either,” the bandit said, but not full of the usual bravado I came to expect from bandits.
I looked at him puzzled, “and why wouldn’t you want to fight yourself?” I asked condescendingly.
“Because nobody wants anything to do with me!” He spat with a fervor that caught me off guard, “I turned 5 and my parent decided I wasn’t their problem, let me fend for myself and told me they were helping me grow strong. After 2 years of struggling in my families home they threw me to the wolves, not even a metaphor literal wolves!”
“The difficulties peasants face sometimes turns them cold and cruel, but,” I started to only have him cut me off.
“They were nobles! I just wasn’t what THEY wanted. Hell even the wolves didn’t want me. They just snarled sniffed me and left. I had to learn to hunt, steal, and survive overnight, and goddamn it I did it. All while everyone stared through me like I never existed. Hell I tried to join a bandit clan and they told me they didn’t need another deadbeat kid to support and laughed. So here I am at 12, trying to mug a man that is gonna kill me because no one cares I exist.
“You could walk away, and pretend this never happened,” I spoke before I thought.
“Surprise, surprise! Even my killer doesn’t want me,” he paused then through tears muttered, “you really wanna know why I wouldn’t want to fight me? I’m worthless. Just some nobody you ignore on the street. I don’t even register as a side character in this game of life.” He looked down crying, and I could hear his stomach rumble nearly 20 feet away.
“Shall we continue over rabbit stew?” I pulled a fresh caught hare from my pack, “I was going to rest for the night here, and I don’t mind company.”
He glared, “you don’t mean that.”
I threw his sword aside with a spell as I walked closer, watching the rusty metal shatter as it hit the ground. Next went his quiver, and I realized there were a couple crudely carved arrows that would make a goblin think twice. I was going to toss his bow but noticed he had none.
“The bandits took it all when I tried to join,” he muttered as if he knew what I was going to ask, “I was surviving,” he stopped and began crying in earnest, “I just didn’t want to be alone anymore.” With that he collapsed either from hunger or the emotions, and passed out.
For the first time since I was cast aside, nearly 20 years ago, I let my guard down. “Everyone is someone,” I whispered as I picked him up and carried him to the spot I chose to camp earlier. “Someone always matters. And in time I hope I can show you that is true for you as well.” I placed him in my bedroll, fished out my supplies, and started cooking. After a few minutes a branch snapped, and a large bandit stepped out with a few guys behind him.
“You don’t wanna fight me,” he grunted as he drew his sword. Yet, I didn’t care about the blade in his hand, I was more interested in the bow and blade strapped to his side like a trophy.
“Depends,” I snarled, “where did you get those trophies?”
“Oh these? Some dumb punk claiming to be a rejected noble. It was fun watching him cry when we made him leave wearing nothing,” he laughed with his men. Until he noticed me turn a new shade of red.
“You know what,” I said while lifting a log near the fire, “I think I do want to fight you!” | |
[WP] In a universe where war is fought by remotely controlled armies of war machines, War is now more a sport and entertainment for the masses. Until the Humans were invited to compete, resulting in major upsets. No one knew humans were crazy enough to pilot the war machines directly from inside. | 1/4
"They are a species that use their namesake adjective 'Humane' to describe acts of kindness and empathy. We all should have known from the start that something was completely off with this bizarre and reclusive species."
unfortunately for the galactic community the study of the history and cultures of humanity only became a very popular subject AFTER the sleeping giants were goaded into the largest, most swift and bloody conflict in all recorded history. When I say goaded, I of course mean brutally provoked. The united governments of course will never admit to this. It was a money making scheme after all.
What surprised a lot of scholars, and students alike, when the deep dive into earths history began was that humans were in fact predators in their infancy and continued to eat the flesh of other fauna. They actually farmed animals in a way almost identical to horticulture. this turned so many years of evolutionary science on its head and forced us all to reconsider the path to sentience may not be as uniform as it first appeared. a popular musing around the galactic community was that humans really didn't look like predators, so why would we have ever even considered that?
It generally took a newly discovered sentient species a few decades to truly grasp the idea of war. A Saturi historian named Cyril Herod pleaded with the galactic governments to leave the earthlings alone. He insisted that they already know how to fight and have been doing so against each other for thousands of years. The government scoffed at this saying some bickering between local communities is common between all early factions of a fledgling species, and in fact creates a healthy competition amongst the internal cultures. Herod Insisted it was far more than this, the barbarity, the genocides were completely unmatched even in the most intense interplanetary war. I actually met Herod at a conference a about 15 years ago, a few months before the government sealed our fates. He was drinking heavily at a bar in a state of whimsy. He told me about Nanking. He told me about slave trades. He told me about standoffs where each side threatened to destroy the entire planet to win. My hand was shaking and I started to match his pace at drinking. Before he left he turned to me and said "Hey, as long as we don't give them a reason to unite, we have nothing to worry about." unfortunately for every living thing in the galaxy we did just that.
Humanity were not known to be exactly friendly. Their colonies were declared colonies, not of earth but of their factions homeland or countries. To negotiate with a Chinese colony was not to negotiate with a European one. In fact trade disputes erupted constantly between the galactic governments and the chaotic and scattered governments of earth. This is when the galaxy first learned of humanities weapons. They had them everywhere. On trade ships, cruise liners, even convoys were escorted by fast moving fighter ships. War for the galactic community has always been about competition. We find a new world ripe for colonization, and whoever's interested sends their fleet to the planet. What happens next is almost like a bidding war where every party attacks position until they are declared the winner of the bid. Winner takes the planet, every civilization involved in the conflict profits massively from the broadcasting of the war. Each war creates a huge bump in tourism for the new colony after the season or special event has aired. This method of duking it out has kept peace within the galaxy for thousands of years by allowing civilizations to fight for what they desire but also have a semblance of order pertaining to conflicts.
The human governments were invited on many occasions to join the galactic governments. They always denied the invitations, rather adamant to do their own thing. They traded with us and shared in some social engagements, but they very much chose to stay culturally isolated. This frustrated a lot of the higher ups in the galactic governments, as they saw humanity with its excessive weaponry, an untapped resource for their war shows. Invite after invite was sent, and always declined, to participate in a war for a colony. The public of the galaxy really wanted to see them fight as they were untested but looked more than capable. They became a kind of galactic obsession. Every tabloid was talking about them and constantly harassing the earths governments to dip their toes in a colonial dispute. | "What were you thinking?" growled Yrrtp, the Qthqrn representative to the Intergalactic Skirmish Arena and the referee for the match between the Commonwealth of Humankind and the Vkkln Interdependency.
It had been going well for both sides; brigades marched against each other on the massive artificial planetoid constructed as an arena, exchanging fire and maneuvering in the common strategies of counter and counter-counter. The Interdependency's warmechs moved in perfect synchronicity, a display of control and precision. That discipline had been a point of pride; no other Warmech team in the known galaxies had such excellent training.
The humans, however, didn't seem to have a strategy beyond just "winging it", to use the human term (which made little sense; humans didn't have wings): warmechs moved in the heat of combat to places that made little sense, or attempted to rush into contested areas to seize objectives without clearing it out first.
The reason had been revealed when an organic arm poked out of the wreckage. Drones were brought down to investigate, only to find an entire human body in the machine, neurally-linked into it.
The match had been called off immediately, and every war-mech was forced to power down their weapon systems.
The surviving human team was brought into the office of Yrrtp, their jumpsuits stained with sweat and likely other bodily fluids.
"Well--" one of the humans, their team leader, started to say.
Yrrtp waved a dismissive manipulator. "Do you understand what you did? Do you understand how many laws you've broken?"
"Our legal team said it was okay."
"Your 'legal team' consists of three people that are all under some sort of influence when you proposed this. The fact your government didn't catch this is gross negligence of the highest order."
"I'm sorry."
"Are you? Because even if the deceased has a backup, that's still a part of their subjectivity they're never getting back. The pilots of the Interdependency's warmech regiment are completely traumatized. Do you even understand what you've done? This entire league was started to stop senseless loss of sophont life, and here you are, doing the same exact thing, but not for glory, or wealth, or fame, or any of the other flimsy justifications war has been declared in the entire history of mindkind!" its rage was palpable. Sacs of bioluminscent fluid glowed red around its eyes in anger. "There were *children* watching that match! Children!" the fluid was pulled back into its body. "We're going to have to start a massive investigation to see how many beings were bribed or otherwise compromised to allow such reckless behavior. So tell me again: What were you thinking?"
The human's face went pale, blood pooling around their cheeks in embarrassment. They looked young, even for a human. Reluctantly, they admitted:
"We just wanted to pilot giant stompy robots."
​
**P.S. I know it's not exactly following the prompt to the letter, but I figured that using this as an analogy to drug scandals in sports would be an interesting twist. I personally find "Humanity f\*ck yeah" style stories to be rather boring and contrived, so I hope this was an enjoyable and unique take on the prompt.** | |
[WP] In a universe where war is fought by remotely controlled armies of war machines, War is now more a sport and entertainment for the masses. Until the Humans were invited to compete, resulting in major upsets. No one knew humans were crazy enough to pilot the war machines directly from inside. | The Galactic Council in the year 2036 A.E. had officially invited the species known as Humans or as they have been called the Terrans to join the galactic community. Upon entering the space faring community Humanity quickly made a name for themselves.
Being gifted in the arts, music, and cuisine Humanity’s main export was its exotic spices and chocolate. That was until the Sicarins sought to employ them in battle.
No one in the galactic community much less the council could understand the decision. The Humans were barely beginning to make their way off world. Had no experience in battle in the vacuum of space. Many pointed out they could barely keep their Mars colony functioning and that they were always one step away from war with each other.
But the Sicarins knew something the others didn’t. The Sicarins were a small rodent like species that up until recently went unnoticed much in the same way humans were. What they lacked in size they made up for with a prestigious focus on tech and intelligence gathering.
The Sicarins upon learning of the history and psychology of the Human species decided they would make perfect candidates for the ongoing war effort to reclaim one of their worlds.
In the coming months and years the Sicarins were laughed at, and generally deemed fools by other governments for arming the “hairless apes”. A species only good for its food and jokes. They all stopped laughing after the battle of Tyrin III.
The after action reports provided by G.C. News streamed to every audio visual device throughout the galaxy. The carnage and shock that followed gave way to a galaxy that was stunned by what had happened.
The scene that played was the orbit of Tyrin III. A fleet of picket ships, frigates and small troop carriers faced off against a much larger force led by a dreadnaught class ship. The Humans on side and the Tyrins on the other. Many would remark after that the Sicarins had wasted their credits on the Humans services. Until the opening salvo and what happened next.
The Humans upon coming into firing range began bombarding the Tyrins with missiles and kinetic batteries while spreading out and accelerating toward the opposing fleet.
The artillery the Humans used in other century of would have been devastating and awe inspiring. For their enemy and most watching it was laughable. No one in the G.C. had used mass drivers or fielded unshielded ships in battle in centuries. The returning salvo from the Tyrin picket ships shredded more than a quarter of the Human fleet. It wasn’t until the first missile barrage reached the fleet did the Tyrin commanders planet side realize something was wrong.
The missiles that were supposed to be vaporized upon contacting the Dreadnaught and defensive ships had erupted far from their target. What came after was an explosion of dust, powder and aluminum chaff that covered the fleet.
Without warning on the Tyrin side their combat uplinks and central command were completely thrown into disarray. The Tyrin fleet commander urged calm and order the pilots of the fleet to simply move out of the haze in space and reassess their position and to continue their barrage against the human fleet.
The Tyrin commander’s order were sound in any other battle with the odds and advantages being in their favor. But this was no ordinary battle and these were no ordinary enemies.
Upon moving through the sensor chaff and smoke screen the fleet was able to target the human fleet once more. But something was wrong. The fleet had shrunk by over half and the only ships remaining were those that had been destroyed by the initial Tyrin barrage. The commander at Tyrin central command ordered a visual update on the main screen. What they saw next is what initially horrified those who had tuned in to watch.
What lay on screens of trillions galaxy wide and the Tyrin Navy were the countless bodies of dead humans. Torn asunder and scattered amongst their primitive ships. The galactic community was stunned into silence.
It had been over a thousand years since the Galactic Council had formed and signed the Charter which all but eliminated the wars that had plagued the galaxy. Then with the advent of VR, battle uplinks, drone carriers, and space links. It was more common to be killed in space by a rogue asteroid now than in real time battle.
What the humans had done defied all logic. They had sacrificed thousands of lives on a battle against expendable ships and drones. At least that’s what those on the ground of Tyrin III were thinking. Upon further inspection the Tyrin Navy couldn’t prevented what followed. | “THIS IS FUCKING BULLSHIT!” Pilot #34025(it makes sense if you understand Klorfor drug culture and anatomy, promise) shouted after the human fleet managed to slip through their masterful checkmate enclosure. “Of course I can’t beat this fucking scrub when I can’t even install a pseudo-sentient AI to run my fleet’s hivemind. Meanwhile THIS little shit gets to have a fully sentient being with all the pressure of literal ‘do-or-die’ on their side in EVERY FREAKING SHIP! How is that balanced??? Like, just give them the fucking Kessell sector why don’t you? I mean, give me a fucking Zeverflin (it’s kind of like a tetra) school as my hivemind pilot and I’ll wipe the floor with this waste of nitrog…no wait, they breath oxygen because they’re just THAT FUCKING WASTEFUL. But noooooo, we have to adhere to ‘intentionally overly cautious’ ethics, but GOD FOR-FUCKING-BID we tell the species that JUST figured out FTL, and they’re still WELL under 2C BY THE FUCKING WAY, that they can’t put FULLY ORGANIC AND SENTIENT BEINGS into their god damn warships for the sake of a FUCKING WAR GAME that we SPECIFICALLY FUCKING DEVELOPED TO AVOID UNNECESSARY DEATH AND DESTRUCTION. And of course the god damned game runners disabled the communication function so I can’t show this piece of shit how badly they should have lost. CANT MAKE THE HUMANS FEEL BAD ABOUT THEIR WIN FOR FUCK’S SAKE. Game’s been going downhill ever since we heard them out instead of laughing in their face when they explained the asinine invention they called ‘money’.” | |
[WP] In a universe where war is fought by remotely controlled armies of war machines, War is now more a sport and entertainment for the masses. Until the Humans were invited to compete, resulting in major upsets. No one knew humans were crazy enough to pilot the war machines directly from inside. | “Hey Jerome what the hell are the humans doing” Jerome asked his master Jerome of the Jeromeiens.
“I don’t know Jerome, but…” Master Jerome paused and looked at the rule book “Whatever their doing is allowed, let’s wait and see what happens.”
20 minutes later 75% of all the war machines from every civilization where destroyed, except for the humans they had only lost 15% of all their ships, and this didn’t sit well with everyone. Some speculated the humans where the superior race, some thought that the humans had cheated or payed to win but they where all in for a surprise when they learned what actually happened.
Master Jerome cleared his throat and then announced “The reason that the Humans have won the annual war games, and at such a astounding amount too, is because our technology couldn’t keep up with the sheer stupidity of them, the humans chose to pilot their own machines and as such our technology had no idea what to expect so they could not predict the movements and kill them as effectively.” After after this announcement the arena was silent because for the first time in millennia they all felt fear, this was because given the advancement of technology diseases and old age where threats to no one, war where fought automatically without any casualties, and violence was eradicated, for many many years they had not feared death many had forgotten about or just had never known of it but here they sit face to face, shoulder to shoulder with men and women will to die to for their pride, greed, wrath, envy, gluttony, sloth, and lust, they felt fear. The biggest mistake they made that day though was giving humanity the same immortality they all possessed, because the only thing that stops a dedicated human from becoming a god… is death and with death out of the equation who’s to stop them. | "Yeah, you're gonna get that sometimes. It's always the bilaterally symmetrical that are the craziest", said Opener.
Yielding Magnetism focused his awareness on the images from the inside of the wrecked cockpit, then back at Opener. "How can you tell *that* was bilaterally symmetrical?", he asked.
Opener's fields waved signifying she partially granted the point.
"Yeah, right now there's not much way to tell, but I saw this human before", Opener said after a moment.
Yielding Magnetism stared at Opener and then ululated: "You saw it getting into the war vessel and you said nothing?!" Yielding's several pseudopoda manifested his outrage.
Opener's field waved in a calming manner.
"I'm sorry, I sometimes forget the younger species' sensitivity", she said.
"Oh come on, don't you start with that", Yielding thrilled, his pseudopoda manifesting annoyance.
"Again, I'm sorry", said Opener. "What I meant is, I have seen this before, the last time hunter-gatherer-runners joined the galactic community, in fact. And I also saw it the time before that. There's a reason their kind often dies off before making it to interstellar space".
"Well, this is still a mess", Yielding ululated, and then extended his mantle to signal the entire field littered with destroyed human war vessels, all of them seemed to be leaking human stuff.
Opener's field changed colors in agreement.
"The Elder's are not going to react well, they never do", Opener said. "That's what you get from Absolute Empathy. Last time a worldful of them went catatonic with sorrow".
"Damn" Yielding thrilled. "Do we scoop the humans out?"
"I'd recommend against it", Opener said, looking into the cockpit again. It was going to be messy to retrieve all that without just pouring devourer nanos. "Last bilaterals had some pretty particular ideas about what do to with their dead. Got really huffy if someone not their kind tried to help".
"So we just leave it all here?" Yielding ululated again.
Opener's field waved signifying accepting that which you cannot change as silly as it is.
Yielding hovered back, beginning to consider that this may not be his problem.
"So, I guess this means humans are going to be left out of the wargames", thrilled Yielding Magnetism.
Opener's field waved in sudden concerned hilarity.
"Oh no, if these ones are like the other hunter-gatherer-runners, they will not allow themselves be excluded".
Yielding's pseudopoda manifested having a hard time reconciling the possibilities.
"Then what happens?"
Opener's field waved in a way so as to help Yielding make his peace with a difficult prognostication.
"Well, last time around we had to euthanize the hunter-gatherer-runners. They wouldn't move past their self-destructive impulses, and their increasing deaths were really harming the Elders".
Yielding's pseudopoda finally settled into acceptance.
"Damn shame", he said. | |
[WP] In a universe where war is fought by remotely controlled armies of war machines, War is now more a sport and entertainment for the masses. Until the Humans were invited to compete, resulting in major upsets. No one knew humans were crazy enough to pilot the war machines directly from inside. | “What do you mean I can go in manually?”
“Well, you might be too young to know this but, older models like your MW-2 came out during a transitional period where fully automated mecha were only quasi legal. To operate in that grey area, early automated MWs shipped with a minimal cockpit and an analog neural interface. Yours was probably removed by a previous owner, but we have parts enough to rig one up before the next wave”
“So you’re telling me to get into a half century old machine that I’ve never piloted outside of a training model, put my actual life on the line, just to -“
“We need the MW2 in the field if we want more than a zandos chance in Morlock to survive what’s coming. And I haven’t even told you the best part. Those antique neural interfaces, they’re near zero latency. The only limit is your reaction time.”
“. . .” | "Yeah, you're gonna get that sometimes. It's always the bilaterally symmetrical that are the craziest", said Opener.
Yielding Magnetism focused his awareness on the images from the inside of the wrecked cockpit, then back at Opener. "How can you tell *that* was bilaterally symmetrical?", he asked.
Opener's fields waved signifying she partially granted the point.
"Yeah, right now there's not much way to tell, but I saw this human before", Opener said after a moment.
Yielding Magnetism stared at Opener and then ululated: "You saw it getting into the war vessel and you said nothing?!" Yielding's several pseudopoda manifested his outrage.
Opener's field waved in a calming manner.
"I'm sorry, I sometimes forget the younger species' sensitivity", she said.
"Oh come on, don't you start with that", Yielding thrilled, his pseudopoda manifesting annoyance.
"Again, I'm sorry", said Opener. "What I meant is, I have seen this before, the last time hunter-gatherer-runners joined the galactic community, in fact. And I also saw it the time before that. There's a reason their kind often dies off before making it to interstellar space".
"Well, this is still a mess", Yielding ululated, and then extended his mantle to signal the entire field littered with destroyed human war vessels, all of them seemed to be leaking human stuff.
Opener's field changed colors in agreement.
"The Elder's are not going to react well, they never do", Opener said. "That's what you get from Absolute Empathy. Last time a worldful of them went catatonic with sorrow".
"Damn" Yielding thrilled. "Do we scoop the humans out?"
"I'd recommend against it", Opener said, looking into the cockpit again. It was going to be messy to retrieve all that without just pouring devourer nanos. "Last bilaterals had some pretty particular ideas about what do to with their dead. Got really huffy if someone not their kind tried to help".
"So we just leave it all here?" Yielding ululated again.
Opener's field waved signifying accepting that which you cannot change as silly as it is.
Yielding hovered back, beginning to consider that this may not be his problem.
"So, I guess this means humans are going to be left out of the wargames", thrilled Yielding Magnetism.
Opener's field waved in sudden concerned hilarity.
"Oh no, if these ones are like the other hunter-gatherer-runners, they will not allow themselves be excluded".
Yielding's pseudopoda manifested having a hard time reconciling the possibilities.
"Then what happens?"
Opener's field waved in a way so as to help Yielding make his peace with a difficult prognostication.
"Well, last time around we had to euthanize the hunter-gatherer-runners. They wouldn't move past their self-destructive impulses, and their increasing deaths were really harming the Elders".
Yielding's pseudopoda finally settled into acceptance.
"Damn shame", he said. | |
[WP] In a universe where war is fought by remotely controlled armies of war machines, War is now more a sport and entertainment for the masses. Until the Humans were invited to compete, resulting in major upsets. No one knew humans were crazy enough to pilot the war machines directly from inside. | (inspired by u/K-Motorbike-12's response!)
The Gestalt challenged us to war, saying it would be all in good fun. The only thing that would happen is that space fleets would collide and pretty explosions would happen in space for everyone else in the galactic community to watch. We declined, told them that our fleets were still operated by people, and to destroy any of our ships would condemn their civilization to a certain death.
It seems they took it as a joke, because the next day, Gamma-5 fleet, a set of mostly civilian ships, was destroyed. We showed them the casualty list and told them to stop, but they laughed it off as if they were nothing more than engines and hulls we had given names. They had crossed the line, and would know suffering tenfold ours.
In a month, we had conquered their outermost colony world, vassalizing and enslaving it within two days. Everyone told us to stop. Our activities were illegal, they said. We were breaking the rules of war. We laughed it off and told them the Gestalt had broken them first.
Images began to leak and surface across the galactic internet. Bombings on civilian population centers. A child crying as they are taken away from their mother. A human soldier holding up the heart ripped from the chest of a Gestalt. The galaxy was horrified, they condemned our actions, but who were they to stand up to us, when their puny militaries were no stronger than the Gestalt's?
Within four months, the Gestalt species was purged, and became a footnote in our history. We told the galaxy that they were to learn from the Gestalt's mistakes. Within two weeks since our victory, we learned that they had started to develop new weapons technologies, out of fear that we would turn our sights on them next.
A new arms race was beginning, and we were already in the lead. | "Yeah, you're gonna get that sometimes. It's always the bilaterally symmetrical that are the craziest", said Opener.
Yielding Magnetism focused his awareness on the images from the inside of the wrecked cockpit, then back at Opener. "How can you tell *that* was bilaterally symmetrical?", he asked.
Opener's fields waved signifying she partially granted the point.
"Yeah, right now there's not much way to tell, but I saw this human before", Opener said after a moment.
Yielding Magnetism stared at Opener and then ululated: "You saw it getting into the war vessel and you said nothing?!" Yielding's several pseudopoda manifested his outrage.
Opener's field waved in a calming manner.
"I'm sorry, I sometimes forget the younger species' sensitivity", she said.
"Oh come on, don't you start with that", Yielding thrilled, his pseudopoda manifesting annoyance.
"Again, I'm sorry", said Opener. "What I meant is, I have seen this before, the last time hunter-gatherer-runners joined the galactic community, in fact. And I also saw it the time before that. There's a reason their kind often dies off before making it to interstellar space".
"Well, this is still a mess", Yielding ululated, and then extended his mantle to signal the entire field littered with destroyed human war vessels, all of them seemed to be leaking human stuff.
Opener's field changed colors in agreement.
"The Elder's are not going to react well, they never do", Opener said. "That's what you get from Absolute Empathy. Last time a worldful of them went catatonic with sorrow".
"Damn" Yielding thrilled. "Do we scoop the humans out?"
"I'd recommend against it", Opener said, looking into the cockpit again. It was going to be messy to retrieve all that without just pouring devourer nanos. "Last bilaterals had some pretty particular ideas about what do to with their dead. Got really huffy if someone not their kind tried to help".
"So we just leave it all here?" Yielding ululated again.
Opener's field waved signifying accepting that which you cannot change as silly as it is.
Yielding hovered back, beginning to consider that this may not be his problem.
"So, I guess this means humans are going to be left out of the wargames", thrilled Yielding Magnetism.
Opener's field waved in sudden concerned hilarity.
"Oh no, if these ones are like the other hunter-gatherer-runners, they will not allow themselves be excluded".
Yielding's pseudopoda manifested having a hard time reconciling the possibilities.
"Then what happens?"
Opener's field waved in a way so as to help Yielding make his peace with a difficult prognostication.
"Well, last time around we had to euthanize the hunter-gatherer-runners. They wouldn't move past their self-destructive impulses, and their increasing deaths were really harming the Elders".
Yielding's pseudopoda finally settled into acceptance.
"Damn shame", he said. | |
[WP] In a universe where war is fought by remotely controlled armies of war machines, War is now more a sport and entertainment for the masses. Until the Humans were invited to compete, resulting in major upsets. No one knew humans were crazy enough to pilot the war machines directly from inside. | The Galactic Council in the year 2036 A.E. had officially invited the species known as Humans or as they have been called the Terrans to join the galactic community. Upon entering the space faring community Humanity quickly made a name for themselves.
Being gifted in the arts, music, and cuisine Humanity’s main export was its exotic spices and chocolate. That was until the Sicarins sought to employ them in battle.
No one in the galactic community much less the council could understand the decision. The Humans were barely beginning to make their way off world. Had no experience in battle in the vacuum of space. Many pointed out they could barely keep their Mars colony functioning and that they were always one step away from war with each other.
But the Sicarins knew something the others didn’t. The Sicarins were a small rodent like species that up until recently went unnoticed much in the same way humans were. What they lacked in size they made up for with a prestigious focus on tech and intelligence gathering.
The Sicarins upon learning of the history and psychology of the Human species decided they would make perfect candidates for the ongoing war effort to reclaim one of their worlds.
In the coming months and years the Sicarins were laughed at, and generally deemed fools by other governments for arming the “hairless apes”. A species only good for its food and jokes. They all stopped laughing after the battle of Tyrin III.
The after action reports provided by G.C. News streamed to every audio visual device throughout the galaxy. The carnage and shock that followed gave way to a galaxy that was stunned by what had happened.
The scene that played was the orbit of Tyrin III. A fleet of picket ships, frigates and small troop carriers faced off against a much larger force led by a dreadnaught class ship. The Humans on side and the Tyrins on the other. Many would remark after that the Sicarins had wasted their credits on the Humans services. Until the opening salvo and what happened next.
The Humans upon coming into firing range began bombarding the Tyrins with missiles and kinetic batteries while spreading out and accelerating toward the opposing fleet.
The artillery the Humans used in other century of would have been devastating and awe inspiring. For their enemy and most watching it was laughable. No one in the G.C. had used mass drivers or fielded unshielded ships in battle in centuries. The returning salvo from the Tyrin picket ships shredded more than a quarter of the Human fleet. It wasn’t until the first missile barrage reached the fleet did the Tyrin commanders planet side realize something was wrong.
The missiles that were supposed to be vaporized upon contacting the Dreadnaught and defensive ships had erupted far from their target. What came after was an explosion of dust, powder and aluminum chaff that covered the fleet.
Without warning on the Tyrin side their combat uplinks and central command were completely thrown into disarray. The Tyrin fleet commander urged calm and order the pilots of the fleet to simply move out of the haze in space and reassess their position and to continue their barrage against the human fleet.
The Tyrin commander’s order were sound in any other battle with the odds and advantages being in their favor. But this was no ordinary battle and these were no ordinary enemies.
Upon moving through the sensor chaff and smoke screen the fleet was able to target the human fleet once more. But something was wrong. The fleet had shrunk by over half and the only ships remaining were those that had been destroyed by the initial Tyrin barrage. The commander at Tyrin central command ordered a visual update on the main screen. What they saw next is what initially horrified those who had tuned in to watch.
What lay on screens of trillions galaxy wide and the Tyrin Navy were the countless bodies of dead humans. Torn asunder and scattered amongst their primitive ships. The galactic community was stunned into silence.
It had been over a thousand years since the Galactic Council had formed and signed the Charter which all but eliminated the wars that had plagued the galaxy. Then with the advent of VR, battle uplinks, drone carriers, and space links. It was more common to be killed in space by a rogue asteroid now than in real time battle.
What the humans had done defied all logic. They had sacrificed thousands of lives on a battle against expendable ships and drones. At least that’s what those on the ground of Tyrin III were thinking. Upon further inspection the Tyrin Navy couldn’t prevented what followed. | "Yeah, you're gonna get that sometimes. It's always the bilaterally symmetrical that are the craziest", said Opener.
Yielding Magnetism focused his awareness on the images from the inside of the wrecked cockpit, then back at Opener. "How can you tell *that* was bilaterally symmetrical?", he asked.
Opener's fields waved signifying she partially granted the point.
"Yeah, right now there's not much way to tell, but I saw this human before", Opener said after a moment.
Yielding Magnetism stared at Opener and then ululated: "You saw it getting into the war vessel and you said nothing?!" Yielding's several pseudopoda manifested his outrage.
Opener's field waved in a calming manner.
"I'm sorry, I sometimes forget the younger species' sensitivity", she said.
"Oh come on, don't you start with that", Yielding thrilled, his pseudopoda manifesting annoyance.
"Again, I'm sorry", said Opener. "What I meant is, I have seen this before, the last time hunter-gatherer-runners joined the galactic community, in fact. And I also saw it the time before that. There's a reason their kind often dies off before making it to interstellar space".
"Well, this is still a mess", Yielding ululated, and then extended his mantle to signal the entire field littered with destroyed human war vessels, all of them seemed to be leaking human stuff.
Opener's field changed colors in agreement.
"The Elder's are not going to react well, they never do", Opener said. "That's what you get from Absolute Empathy. Last time a worldful of them went catatonic with sorrow".
"Damn" Yielding thrilled. "Do we scoop the humans out?"
"I'd recommend against it", Opener said, looking into the cockpit again. It was going to be messy to retrieve all that without just pouring devourer nanos. "Last bilaterals had some pretty particular ideas about what do to with their dead. Got really huffy if someone not their kind tried to help".
"So we just leave it all here?" Yielding ululated again.
Opener's field waved signifying accepting that which you cannot change as silly as it is.
Yielding hovered back, beginning to consider that this may not be his problem.
"So, I guess this means humans are going to be left out of the wargames", thrilled Yielding Magnetism.
Opener's field waved in sudden concerned hilarity.
"Oh no, if these ones are like the other hunter-gatherer-runners, they will not allow themselves be excluded".
Yielding's pseudopoda manifested having a hard time reconciling the possibilities.
"Then what happens?"
Opener's field waved in a way so as to help Yielding make his peace with a difficult prognostication.
"Well, last time around we had to euthanize the hunter-gatherer-runners. They wouldn't move past their self-destructive impulses, and their increasing deaths were really harming the Elders".
Yielding's pseudopoda finally settled into acceptance.
"Damn shame", he said. | |
[WP] In a universe where war is fought by remotely controlled armies of war machines, War is now more a sport and entertainment for the masses. Until the Humans were invited to compete, resulting in major upsets. No one knew humans were crazy enough to pilot the war machines directly from inside. | The Galactic Council in the year 2036 A.E. had officially invited the species known as Humans or as they have been called the Terrans to join the galactic community. Upon entering the space faring community Humanity quickly made a name for themselves.
Being gifted in the arts, music, and cuisine Humanity’s main export was its exotic spices and chocolate. That was until the Sicarins sought to employ them in battle.
No one in the galactic community much less the council could understand the decision. The Humans were barely beginning to make their way off world. Had no experience in battle in the vacuum of space. Many pointed out they could barely keep their Mars colony functioning and that they were always one step away from war with each other.
But the Sicarins knew something the others didn’t. The Sicarins were a small rodent like species that up until recently went unnoticed much in the same way humans were. What they lacked in size they made up for with a prestigious focus on tech and intelligence gathering.
The Sicarins upon learning of the history and psychology of the Human species decided they would make perfect candidates for the ongoing war effort to reclaim one of their worlds.
In the coming months and years the Sicarins were laughed at, and generally deemed fools by other governments for arming the “hairless apes”. A species only good for its food and jokes. They all stopped laughing after the battle of Tyrin III.
The after action reports provided by G.C. News streamed to every audio visual device throughout the galaxy. The carnage and shock that followed gave way to a galaxy that was stunned by what had happened.
The scene that played was the orbit of Tyrin III. A fleet of picket ships, frigates and small troop carriers faced off against a much larger force led by a dreadnaught class ship. The Humans on side and the Tyrins on the other. Many would remark after that the Sicarins had wasted their credits on the Humans services. Until the opening salvo and what happened next.
The Humans upon coming into firing range began bombarding the Tyrins with missiles and kinetic batteries while spreading out and accelerating toward the opposing fleet.
The artillery the Humans used in other century of would have been devastating and awe inspiring. For their enemy and most watching it was laughable. No one in the G.C. had used mass drivers or fielded unshielded ships in battle in centuries. The returning salvo from the Tyrin picket ships shredded more than a quarter of the Human fleet. It wasn’t until the first missile barrage reached the fleet did the Tyrin commanders planet side realize something was wrong.
The missiles that were supposed to be vaporized upon contacting the Dreadnaught and defensive ships had erupted far from their target. What came after was an explosion of dust, powder and aluminum chaff that covered the fleet.
Without warning on the Tyrin side their combat uplinks and central command were completely thrown into disarray. The Tyrin fleet commander urged calm and order the pilots of the fleet to simply move out of the haze in space and reassess their position and to continue their barrage against the human fleet.
The Tyrin commander’s order were sound in any other battle with the odds and advantages being in their favor. But this was no ordinary battle and these were no ordinary enemies.
Upon moving through the sensor chaff and smoke screen the fleet was able to target the human fleet once more. But something was wrong. The fleet had shrunk by over half and the only ships remaining were those that had been destroyed by the initial Tyrin barrage. The commander at Tyrin central command ordered a visual update on the main screen. What they saw next is what initially horrified those who had tuned in to watch.
What lay on screens of trillions galaxy wide and the Tyrin Navy were the countless bodies of dead humans. Torn asunder and scattered amongst their primitive ships. The galactic community was stunned into silence.
It had been over a thousand years since the Galactic Council had formed and signed the Charter which all but eliminated the wars that had plagued the galaxy. Then with the advent of VR, battle uplinks, drone carriers, and space links. It was more common to be killed in space by a rogue asteroid now than in real time battle.
What the humans had done defied all logic. They had sacrificed thousands of lives on a battle against expendable ships and drones. At least that’s what those on the ground of Tyrin III were thinking. Upon further inspection the Tyrin Navy couldn’t prevented what followed. | “Hey Jerome what the hell are the humans doing” Jerome asked his master Jerome of the Jeromeiens.
“I don’t know Jerome, but…” Master Jerome paused and looked at the rule book “Whatever their doing is allowed, let’s wait and see what happens.”
20 minutes later 75% of all the war machines from every civilization where destroyed, except for the humans they had only lost 15% of all their ships, and this didn’t sit well with everyone. Some speculated the humans where the superior race, some thought that the humans had cheated or payed to win but they where all in for a surprise when they learned what actually happened.
Master Jerome cleared his throat and then announced “The reason that the Humans have won the annual war games, and at such a astounding amount too, is because our technology couldn’t keep up with the sheer stupidity of them, the humans chose to pilot their own machines and as such our technology had no idea what to expect so they could not predict the movements and kill them as effectively.” After after this announcement the arena was silent because for the first time in millennia they all felt fear, this was because given the advancement of technology diseases and old age where threats to no one, war where fought automatically without any casualties, and violence was eradicated, for many many years they had not feared death many had forgotten about or just had never known of it but here they sit face to face, shoulder to shoulder with men and women will to die to for their pride, greed, wrath, envy, gluttony, sloth, and lust, they felt fear. The biggest mistake they made that day though was giving humanity the same immortality they all possessed, because the only thing that stops a dedicated human from becoming a god… is death and with death out of the equation who’s to stop them. | |
[WP] In a universe where war is fought by remotely controlled armies of war machines, War is now more a sport and entertainment for the masses. Until the Humans were invited to compete, resulting in major upsets. No one knew humans were crazy enough to pilot the war machines directly from inside. | (inspired by u/K-Motorbike-12's response!)
The Gestalt challenged us to war, saying it would be all in good fun. The only thing that would happen is that space fleets would collide and pretty explosions would happen in space for everyone else in the galactic community to watch. We declined, told them that our fleets were still operated by people, and to destroy any of our ships would condemn their civilization to a certain death.
It seems they took it as a joke, because the next day, Gamma-5 fleet, a set of mostly civilian ships, was destroyed. We showed them the casualty list and told them to stop, but they laughed it off as if they were nothing more than engines and hulls we had given names. They had crossed the line, and would know suffering tenfold ours.
In a month, we had conquered their outermost colony world, vassalizing and enslaving it within two days. Everyone told us to stop. Our activities were illegal, they said. We were breaking the rules of war. We laughed it off and told them the Gestalt had broken them first.
Images began to leak and surface across the galactic internet. Bombings on civilian population centers. A child crying as they are taken away from their mother. A human soldier holding up the heart ripped from the chest of a Gestalt. The galaxy was horrified, they condemned our actions, but who were they to stand up to us, when their puny militaries were no stronger than the Gestalt's?
Within four months, the Gestalt species was purged, and became a footnote in our history. We told the galaxy that they were to learn from the Gestalt's mistakes. Within two weeks since our victory, we learned that they had started to develop new weapons technologies, out of fear that we would turn our sights on them next.
A new arms race was beginning, and we were already in the lead. | “What do you mean I can go in manually?”
“Well, you might be too young to know this but, older models like your MW-2 came out during a transitional period where fully automated mecha were only quasi legal. To operate in that grey area, early automated MWs shipped with a minimal cockpit and an analog neural interface. Yours was probably removed by a previous owner, but we have parts enough to rig one up before the next wave”
“So you’re telling me to get into a half century old machine that I’ve never piloted outside of a training model, put my actual life on the line, just to -“
“We need the MW2 in the field if we want more than a zandos chance in Morlock to survive what’s coming. And I haven’t even told you the best part. Those antique neural interfaces, they’re near zero latency. The only limit is your reaction time.”
“. . .” | |
[WP] In a universe where war is fought by remotely controlled armies of war machines, War is now more a sport and entertainment for the masses. Until the Humans were invited to compete, resulting in major upsets. No one knew humans were crazy enough to pilot the war machines directly from inside. | The Galactic Council in the year 2036 A.E. had officially invited the species known as Humans or as they have been called the Terrans to join the galactic community. Upon entering the space faring community Humanity quickly made a name for themselves.
Being gifted in the arts, music, and cuisine Humanity’s main export was its exotic spices and chocolate. That was until the Sicarins sought to employ them in battle.
No one in the galactic community much less the council could understand the decision. The Humans were barely beginning to make their way off world. Had no experience in battle in the vacuum of space. Many pointed out they could barely keep their Mars colony functioning and that they were always one step away from war with each other.
But the Sicarins knew something the others didn’t. The Sicarins were a small rodent like species that up until recently went unnoticed much in the same way humans were. What they lacked in size they made up for with a prestigious focus on tech and intelligence gathering.
The Sicarins upon learning of the history and psychology of the Human species decided they would make perfect candidates for the ongoing war effort to reclaim one of their worlds.
In the coming months and years the Sicarins were laughed at, and generally deemed fools by other governments for arming the “hairless apes”. A species only good for its food and jokes. They all stopped laughing after the battle of Tyrin III.
The after action reports provided by G.C. News streamed to every audio visual device throughout the galaxy. The carnage and shock that followed gave way to a galaxy that was stunned by what had happened.
The scene that played was the orbit of Tyrin III. A fleet of picket ships, frigates and small troop carriers faced off against a much larger force led by a dreadnaught class ship. The Humans on side and the Tyrins on the other. Many would remark after that the Sicarins had wasted their credits on the Humans services. Until the opening salvo and what happened next.
The Humans upon coming into firing range began bombarding the Tyrins with missiles and kinetic batteries while spreading out and accelerating toward the opposing fleet.
The artillery the Humans used in other century of would have been devastating and awe inspiring. For their enemy and most watching it was laughable. No one in the G.C. had used mass drivers or fielded unshielded ships in battle in centuries. The returning salvo from the Tyrin picket ships shredded more than a quarter of the Human fleet. It wasn’t until the first missile barrage reached the fleet did the Tyrin commanders planet side realize something was wrong.
The missiles that were supposed to be vaporized upon contacting the Dreadnaught and defensive ships had erupted far from their target. What came after was an explosion of dust, powder and aluminum chaff that covered the fleet.
Without warning on the Tyrin side their combat uplinks and central command were completely thrown into disarray. The Tyrin fleet commander urged calm and order the pilots of the fleet to simply move out of the haze in space and reassess their position and to continue their barrage against the human fleet.
The Tyrin commander’s order were sound in any other battle with the odds and advantages being in their favor. But this was no ordinary battle and these were no ordinary enemies.
Upon moving through the sensor chaff and smoke screen the fleet was able to target the human fleet once more. But something was wrong. The fleet had shrunk by over half and the only ships remaining were those that had been destroyed by the initial Tyrin barrage. The commander at Tyrin central command ordered a visual update on the main screen. What they saw next is what initially horrified those who had tuned in to watch.
What lay on screens of trillions galaxy wide and the Tyrin Navy were the countless bodies of dead humans. Torn asunder and scattered amongst their primitive ships. The galactic community was stunned into silence.
It had been over a thousand years since the Galactic Council had formed and signed the Charter which all but eliminated the wars that had plagued the galaxy. Then with the advent of VR, battle uplinks, drone carriers, and space links. It was more common to be killed in space by a rogue asteroid now than in real time battle.
What the humans had done defied all logic. They had sacrificed thousands of lives on a battle against expendable ships and drones. At least that’s what those on the ground of Tyrin III were thinking. Upon further inspection the Tyrin Navy couldn’t prevented what followed. | “What do you mean I can go in manually?”
“Well, you might be too young to know this but, older models like your MW-2 came out during a transitional period where fully automated mecha were only quasi legal. To operate in that grey area, early automated MWs shipped with a minimal cockpit and an analog neural interface. Yours was probably removed by a previous owner, but we have parts enough to rig one up before the next wave”
“So you’re telling me to get into a half century old machine that I’ve never piloted outside of a training model, put my actual life on the line, just to -“
“We need the MW2 in the field if we want more than a zandos chance in Morlock to survive what’s coming. And I haven’t even told you the best part. Those antique neural interfaces, they’re near zero latency. The only limit is your reaction time.”
“. . .” | |
[WP] In a universe where war is fought by remotely controlled armies of war machines, War is now more a sport and entertainment for the masses. Until the Humans were invited to compete, resulting in major upsets. No one knew humans were crazy enough to pilot the war machines directly from inside. | The Galactic Council in the year 2036 A.E. had officially invited the species known as Humans or as they have been called the Terrans to join the galactic community. Upon entering the space faring community Humanity quickly made a name for themselves.
Being gifted in the arts, music, and cuisine Humanity’s main export was its exotic spices and chocolate. That was until the Sicarins sought to employ them in battle.
No one in the galactic community much less the council could understand the decision. The Humans were barely beginning to make their way off world. Had no experience in battle in the vacuum of space. Many pointed out they could barely keep their Mars colony functioning and that they were always one step away from war with each other.
But the Sicarins knew something the others didn’t. The Sicarins were a small rodent like species that up until recently went unnoticed much in the same way humans were. What they lacked in size they made up for with a prestigious focus on tech and intelligence gathering.
The Sicarins upon learning of the history and psychology of the Human species decided they would make perfect candidates for the ongoing war effort to reclaim one of their worlds.
In the coming months and years the Sicarins were laughed at, and generally deemed fools by other governments for arming the “hairless apes”. A species only good for its food and jokes. They all stopped laughing after the battle of Tyrin III.
The after action reports provided by G.C. News streamed to every audio visual device throughout the galaxy. The carnage and shock that followed gave way to a galaxy that was stunned by what had happened.
The scene that played was the orbit of Tyrin III. A fleet of picket ships, frigates and small troop carriers faced off against a much larger force led by a dreadnaught class ship. The Humans on side and the Tyrins on the other. Many would remark after that the Sicarins had wasted their credits on the Humans services. Until the opening salvo and what happened next.
The Humans upon coming into firing range began bombarding the Tyrins with missiles and kinetic batteries while spreading out and accelerating toward the opposing fleet.
The artillery the Humans used in other century of would have been devastating and awe inspiring. For their enemy and most watching it was laughable. No one in the G.C. had used mass drivers or fielded unshielded ships in battle in centuries. The returning salvo from the Tyrin picket ships shredded more than a quarter of the Human fleet. It wasn’t until the first missile barrage reached the fleet did the Tyrin commanders planet side realize something was wrong.
The missiles that were supposed to be vaporized upon contacting the Dreadnaught and defensive ships had erupted far from their target. What came after was an explosion of dust, powder and aluminum chaff that covered the fleet.
Without warning on the Tyrin side their combat uplinks and central command were completely thrown into disarray. The Tyrin fleet commander urged calm and order the pilots of the fleet to simply move out of the haze in space and reassess their position and to continue their barrage against the human fleet.
The Tyrin commander’s order were sound in any other battle with the odds and advantages being in their favor. But this was no ordinary battle and these were no ordinary enemies.
Upon moving through the sensor chaff and smoke screen the fleet was able to target the human fleet once more. But something was wrong. The fleet had shrunk by over half and the only ships remaining were those that had been destroyed by the initial Tyrin barrage. The commander at Tyrin central command ordered a visual update on the main screen. What they saw next is what initially horrified those who had tuned in to watch.
What lay on screens of trillions galaxy wide and the Tyrin Navy were the countless bodies of dead humans. Torn asunder and scattered amongst their primitive ships. The galactic community was stunned into silence.
It had been over a thousand years since the Galactic Council had formed and signed the Charter which all but eliminated the wars that had plagued the galaxy. Then with the advent of VR, battle uplinks, drone carriers, and space links. It was more common to be killed in space by a rogue asteroid now than in real time battle.
What the humans had done defied all logic. They had sacrificed thousands of lives on a battle against expendable ships and drones. At least that’s what those on the ground of Tyrin III were thinking. Upon further inspection the Tyrin Navy couldn’t prevented what followed. | The Stadium was in shock and awe as the human mechs and jets all tore through the alien technology like butter. When humans were invited to the Mech Destructo Death Ring, we assumed they would simply remote control their guns. But no one expected for them to GET IN THEM AND CONTROL THEM. They mowed through basic controlled robot dogs, droids, jets, bombers, and the like, and performed tricks never thought of inside the mechs. It was a more flexible and resourceful tactic, but VERY dangerous. The crowd longed to see entertaining destruction, and they certainly were not disappointed. Cheering erupted through the crowd as the Makari-12A1 Fighter Plane roared past the crowd and shot like hell was chasing it. The stadium was a mobile stadium, held up in the air by pure Energy beams, and cameras all around. The stadium roars past the middle and follows the jet. The mountain range surrounding the field was the end of the battlefield, and the jet cruiser last some homing droids. The jet flew alongside the mountain, and let the rubble destroy the droids. The crowd boomed in excitement, and dust flew like a flock of birds. After all that was said and done, the humans were heroes among heroes, simply because of their craziness. No one dared try the tactics they did, but it meant no one dominated the War field. Except for them. The heroes of the Stadium were crowned those following 2 months, and it was the Humans. That game changed the way War was played, and has since I observed it, 10 years ago. | |
[WP] In a universe where war is fought by remotely controlled armies of war machines, War is now more a sport and entertainment for the masses. Until the Humans were invited to compete, resulting in major upsets. No one knew humans were crazy enough to pilot the war machines directly from inside. | With all his strength, the pilot punched down on the controls.
The mechanism (of sorts) which jumpstarted the colossal War Machine™ into action began to pulse with a soft light. In the distance was a deafening groan, like some terrible beast writhing in agony. After that, only silence.
“Damnit!”
The pilot sighed. He knew these machines weren’t meant to be operated from inside the unit, but that hadn’t stopped humans from claiming the most galactic combat victories in over six plarcbets - more than the Vwola and the Mosquito-Spider Bananas.
A titan of engineering mastery, the gladiators of the stars known as War Machines™ were so ubiquitous by the present era that their numbers exceeded all known universal life.
For thousands of years, they were the most advanced form of destructive force ever discovered by the Combined Sentient Species Collective - a group known intergalactically simply as '01010100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01000011 01101111 01101101 01100010 01101001 01101110 01100101 01100100 00100000 01010011 01100101 01101110 01110100 01101001 01100101 01101110 01110100 00100000 01010011 01110000 01100101 01100011 01101001 01100101 01110011 00100000 01000011 01101111 01101100 01101100 01100101 01100011 01110100 01101001 01110110 01100101 00100000 01101111 01100110 00100000 01001001 01101110 01110100 01100101 01110010 01100111 01100001 01101100 01100001 01100011 01110100 01101001 01100011 00100000 01010011 01110000 01100001 01100011 01100101 00101100 00100000 01110101 01101110 01100100 01100101 01110010 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01000001 01110101 01110100 01101000 01101111 01110010 01101001 01110100 01111001 00100000 01101111 01100110 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01000101 01101100 01100100 01100101 01110010 00100000 01000111 01101111 01100100 01110011 00101100 00100000 01110101 01101110 01110100 01101001 01101100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01100101 01101110 01100100 00100000 01101111 01100110 00100000 01110100 01101001 01101101 01100101 00101110'.
Once this weapons technology was discovered in the MSGREN system, an arms race across the universe began, driving nearly every civilization into entirely avoidable famine and strife, and a culture of military excess. Each species agreed that the only way forward for their civilization was to embrace these autonomous War Machines™ as The Future©, expending all resources toward building a colossal army of absolute might. For eons, galaxies rose and fell under armies with the might of stars themselves.
Until UW2, the Second Universal War.
Outnumbered and outgunned, the terrestrials had no resources to build War Machine™ armies of their own. Backs against the wall, this primitive species known as humanity devised an impossible strategy to take rudimentary control of their enemies' beasts of burden. Through their unorthodox plot, mankind was able to repel the invading forces of even the most brutal intergalactic armies and cement their position as players in the universal game of war.
Now in the grand theatre of destruction that encircles the universe, humanity alone is the most feared.
Of course, the human’s unique physiology was the secret that led to a feat no other sentient race could achieve. Only humans were small enough to climb under the tentacle-like appendages of the War Machine™. There, at the end of a woefully neglected maintenance tunnel, they could take control of the weapon manually. But more often than not, a human’s joy-ride was a one-way trip for their War Machine™, as a “manual override” seemed to damage the interior of these alien machines irreparably.
"High time to get out of here," the pilot grunted in a southern drawl, as he disengaged his psylink and prepared for total system collapse. The veteran doughfoot turned admiringly from a makeshift control panel he had constructed. Once up, he unstrapped himself from what he had designated as the "interior command center" of the commandeered mech-like unit.
In just seconds the pilot was already sprinting down a soft-walled passageway towards the rear maintenance shaft and hopefully, escape. Rounding the last bend, a spray of viscous acid poured burst through a damaged tear in the passage, narrowly missing his face.
"Not good at all." His drawl seemed more pronounced as his pain increased. Just a small amount of the fluid was already stripping the flesh of his leg down to his bone. Limping and cursing in frustration, the pilot pulled himself to the exit hatch.
Voices.
They were quiet at first, but as the pilot approached the exit his translation unit could just make out a few words.
"Ew, gross, I think another one got up there."
"Seriously, man? Disgusting. Humans are terrifying. Do you think they know that's their ass?" | The Stadium was in shock and awe as the human mechs and jets all tore through the alien technology like butter. When humans were invited to the Mech Destructo Death Ring, we assumed they would simply remote control their guns. But no one expected for them to GET IN THEM AND CONTROL THEM. They mowed through basic controlled robot dogs, droids, jets, bombers, and the like, and performed tricks never thought of inside the mechs. It was a more flexible and resourceful tactic, but VERY dangerous. The crowd longed to see entertaining destruction, and they certainly were not disappointed. Cheering erupted through the crowd as the Makari-12A1 Fighter Plane roared past the crowd and shot like hell was chasing it. The stadium was a mobile stadium, held up in the air by pure Energy beams, and cameras all around. The stadium roars past the middle and follows the jet. The mountain range surrounding the field was the end of the battlefield, and the jet cruiser last some homing droids. The jet flew alongside the mountain, and let the rubble destroy the droids. The crowd boomed in excitement, and dust flew like a flock of birds. After all that was said and done, the humans were heroes among heroes, simply because of their craziness. No one dared try the tactics they did, but it meant no one dominated the War field. Except for them. The heroes of the Stadium were crowned those following 2 months, and it was the Humans. That game changed the way War was played, and has since I observed it, 10 years ago. | |
[WP] In a universe where war is fought by remotely controlled armies of war machines, War is now more a sport and entertainment for the masses. Until the Humans were invited to compete, resulting in major upsets. No one knew humans were crazy enough to pilot the war machines directly from inside. | The Galactic Council in the year 2036 A.E. had officially invited the species known as Humans or as they have been called the Terrans to join the galactic community. Upon entering the space faring community Humanity quickly made a name for themselves.
Being gifted in the arts, music, and cuisine Humanity’s main export was its exotic spices and chocolate. That was until the Sicarins sought to employ them in battle.
No one in the galactic community much less the council could understand the decision. The Humans were barely beginning to make their way off world. Had no experience in battle in the vacuum of space. Many pointed out they could barely keep their Mars colony functioning and that they were always one step away from war with each other.
But the Sicarins knew something the others didn’t. The Sicarins were a small rodent like species that up until recently went unnoticed much in the same way humans were. What they lacked in size they made up for with a prestigious focus on tech and intelligence gathering.
The Sicarins upon learning of the history and psychology of the Human species decided they would make perfect candidates for the ongoing war effort to reclaim one of their worlds.
In the coming months and years the Sicarins were laughed at, and generally deemed fools by other governments for arming the “hairless apes”. A species only good for its food and jokes. They all stopped laughing after the battle of Tyrin III.
The after action reports provided by G.C. News streamed to every audio visual device throughout the galaxy. The carnage and shock that followed gave way to a galaxy that was stunned by what had happened.
The scene that played was the orbit of Tyrin III. A fleet of picket ships, frigates and small troop carriers faced off against a much larger force led by a dreadnaught class ship. The Humans on side and the Tyrins on the other. Many would remark after that the Sicarins had wasted their credits on the Humans services. Until the opening salvo and what happened next.
The Humans upon coming into firing range began bombarding the Tyrins with missiles and kinetic batteries while spreading out and accelerating toward the opposing fleet.
The artillery the Humans used in other century of would have been devastating and awe inspiring. For their enemy and most watching it was laughable. No one in the G.C. had used mass drivers or fielded unshielded ships in battle in centuries. The returning salvo from the Tyrin picket ships shredded more than a quarter of the Human fleet. It wasn’t until the first missile barrage reached the fleet did the Tyrin commanders planet side realize something was wrong.
The missiles that were supposed to be vaporized upon contacting the Dreadnaught and defensive ships had erupted far from their target. What came after was an explosion of dust, powder and aluminum chaff that covered the fleet.
Without warning on the Tyrin side their combat uplinks and central command were completely thrown into disarray. The Tyrin fleet commander urged calm and order the pilots of the fleet to simply move out of the haze in space and reassess their position and to continue their barrage against the human fleet.
The Tyrin commander’s order were sound in any other battle with the odds and advantages being in their favor. But this was no ordinary battle and these were no ordinary enemies.
Upon moving through the sensor chaff and smoke screen the fleet was able to target the human fleet once more. But something was wrong. The fleet had shrunk by over half and the only ships remaining were those that had been destroyed by the initial Tyrin barrage. The commander at Tyrin central command ordered a visual update on the main screen. What they saw next is what initially horrified those who had tuned in to watch.
What lay on screens of trillions galaxy wide and the Tyrin Navy were the countless bodies of dead humans. Torn asunder and scattered amongst their primitive ships. The galactic community was stunned into silence.
It had been over a thousand years since the Galactic Council had formed and signed the Charter which all but eliminated the wars that had plagued the galaxy. Then with the advent of VR, battle uplinks, drone carriers, and space links. It was more common to be killed in space by a rogue asteroid now than in real time battle.
What the humans had done defied all logic. They had sacrificed thousands of lives on a battle against expendable ships and drones. At least that’s what those on the ground of Tyrin III were thinking. Upon further inspection the Tyrin Navy couldn’t prevented what followed. | (inspired by u/K-Motorbike-12's response!)
The Gestalt challenged us to war, saying it would be all in good fun. The only thing that would happen is that space fleets would collide and pretty explosions would happen in space for everyone else in the galactic community to watch. We declined, told them that our fleets were still operated by people, and to destroy any of our ships would condemn their civilization to a certain death.
It seems they took it as a joke, because the next day, Gamma-5 fleet, a set of mostly civilian ships, was destroyed. We showed them the casualty list and told them to stop, but they laughed it off as if they were nothing more than engines and hulls we had given names. They had crossed the line, and would know suffering tenfold ours.
In a month, we had conquered their outermost colony world, vassalizing and enslaving it within two days. Everyone told us to stop. Our activities were illegal, they said. We were breaking the rules of war. We laughed it off and told them the Gestalt had broken them first.
Images began to leak and surface across the galactic internet. Bombings on civilian population centers. A child crying as they are taken away from their mother. A human soldier holding up the heart ripped from the chest of a Gestalt. The galaxy was horrified, they condemned our actions, but who were they to stand up to us, when their puny militaries were no stronger than the Gestalt's?
Within four months, the Gestalt species was purged, and became a footnote in our history. We told the galaxy that they were to learn from the Gestalt's mistakes. Within two weeks since our victory, we learned that they had started to develop new weapons technologies, out of fear that we would turn our sights on them next.
A new arms race was beginning, and we were already in the lead. | |
[WP] "And always remember kids, crime does not pay!" the hero said to the group of children watching the aftermath of a superhero fight. One child raises their hand. "How much do they pay you?" | Damn it, I thought. I’m on the clock and this kid has to hold me back. But being faced by a few dozen cellphones and a gaggle of the media, I had no choice.
“Well kid, for guys like me, it’s not about the money. It’s about putting a smile on your face and keeping you safe!” I gave him my signature Ultiman finger guns once I finished and began to rise into the air.
“But what about when your boy a hero? How do you make money?” At the boys hauled response I was forced to once again hover back to the ground and answer.
“I get paid enough to protect and no more!” My response caused the nearby reports to have a conniption fit. Questions flooded me as a small crowd obscured the children.
One question rang out from the crowd,
“Sir, do you support government funding for the Ultiman initiative?” His concerned face stared me down. I felt the butterflies in my stomach. I kept using the breathing exercises my therapist taught me about.
“Of course! All the better to defend you!” I smiled and waved, but another question popped up in my mind.
“What led you to choose to become just another ultiman you useless piece of trash? Your worse than all of them?” The question filled my brain. It was spoken in a sharper tone and came from within. I couldn’t handle it. Nothing doc had gave me was helping.
“I MATTER!” I scream the words over the crowd of reporters. To my horror, most of them pass out from the sound. No, not to my horror. They deserve it. As they ran and screamed I continued,
“It wasn’t my fault! I never asked for this horrible life! I want to be a real boy! I’m 15! But I’m stuck in this adults body! I’m just a clone! Just worthless! I don’t matter!” I slammed my fist into the ground.
As the collapsed reporters began to bleed from their ears, I felt the arrow land in my right shoulder. As it bounced off I gazed over the ground of dead reporters and high schoolers.
The arrow was from bow master.
Glad I let out some energy, time to fight the next bad guy.
To put a smile on their face. | Well in my case I'm a vigilante so it's more of a hobby really but..." I turn to crash-test as he's putting cuffs on the guy. "Hey crash! How much do they pay you?"
He looks up at me then at the villain then he stare in no particular direction. He's wearing a biker helmet but I can feel his empty eyes pondering his job and existence. I did hear his stomach rumble a few time during the fight.
His head seem to focus again as he stand up. "You kids should probably stay away from heros and villain all together. It works like football, I think, you get paid when you succeed and only then. Else you could try sponsors which I'm really thinking about right now. "
His stomach grumble again and his head looses it's focus once more. I turn back to the kids who for the most seems rightfully concerned about him, and say.
"Well here you go kids. So if you want to be a hero and get some cash you should probably go for doctor, policemen or firefighters. There's also the garbage collectors we don't speak enough of those guys, without them the street would be littered with literal trash. And remember kids, crime don't pay and heroism barely pay." | |
[WP] "And always remember kids, crime does not pay!" the hero said to the group of children watching the aftermath of a superhero fight. One child raises their hand. "How much do they pay you?" | "Um," I say, unsure how to answer. "Well, the pay I get is seeing this city at peace. Seeing the faces of the citizens happy. But physical money, no."
"Then why do you do it? It seems like a lot of work."
"Well, I mean, I have powers. Why not use them, am I wrong?"
"I don't know, " another kid cuts in. "I wouldn't do that. I'd rather use my powers to help me in life, not do something I don't have to."
I fiddle with my mask. How do I explain morals with kids? Most are just thinking for themselves but . . . but . . . "Well, this is what I like to do. And you see, you kids might've been hurt if I wasn't here, right?"
The crowd of them shrug. "You're so nice, Eagleman. You deserve a day off."
I laugh. "There's always crime to fight, kids. Always." With that, I jump and it takes me 500 feet in the air. Landing on a building, I find an area where no one can see me and grab the clothes I planted there earlier. I change into those and stuff my superhero suit into my coat, thinking over what that kid said.
You deserve a day off.
No. No, I can't. There's too much to do, too many to fight, too many to save.
But . . . ugh. I could use a break. I've noticed I'm getting less sleep, and I have to worst back pain. What I have as the Eagleman doesn't affect Edward Olivers positively. Edward Olivers has to be late to work in order for the Eagleman to be there to fight the villain.
Or the occasional bank robber.
It's just so tiring. Maybe . . . maybe I could take a day off. Just one won't hurt anyone right?
I book an appointment on my phone for a massage tomorrow at 3:00 PM and sigh. Everyone depends on me, but I'm just one man. The citizens need to understand that. | Well kiddo most properly licensed heroes make about fifty to seventy five thousand a year with guaranteed raises every few years. Beyond that most of us do actually do licensing and media deals which we can get a percentage from but I tend to give most of mine to local charities and organizations that I like. Nothing big just stuff to help out kids, animals, and average Joes.
After that we usually get mandatory sick and psychiatric leave and a pretty good benefits package. Oh there's 401k matching! The only thing that's rough is if you're in a one hero city or district you're pretty much always on call but that's why teams and sidekicks are so important.
So yeah I think I do pretty well. Most heroes aren't millionaires unless you're a really big name or go all in on the business and media side of the things but enough to live comfortably. | |
[WP] "And always remember kids, crime does not pay!" the hero said to the group of children watching the aftermath of a superhero fight. One child raises their hand. "How much do they pay you?" | There was a long silence.
I was blinking at the question, as I didn't get paid at all. Technically since I used my fortune to repair the city in the name of charity, I paid to be a hero. Not that it was news to me, but it did really bring to light how much I did pay to be a hero.
"Captain Iron?" The young girl seemed worried about my delay. I took a slow breath, Captain Iron, a name I didn't ask for. My suit was made of Unobtainium! I wasn't a Captain either, not even military. Doctor, sure. Really, I was more a Cyborg or an Android than a Captain.
"Making sure that all of you are safe is payment enough," I gave a very tried and true line, and most seemed satisfied.
There was a scoff from another child, a slightly older boy, he looked a bit more worn than the younger girl. Clothes frayed, a little too skinny.
"My dad lost his job when Red Light fought the Patriarch and his entire business was destroyed...how are we safe?"
I was happy they couldn't see my face. Red Light...she was a part of a team of 'mature heroes', they didn't do interviews, and they didn't take responsibility. Red Light's abilities were a problem, and Patriarch was her archnemesis for a reason.
"I am sorry-"
More complaints began to rise from the group, and it was becoming annoying. I had at least two internal injuries, and now I had to deal with these kids. I considered an amnesia gas to erase their memories, but it was just a passing thought.
"Kids...kids!...KIDS!"
I finally silenced the crowd for a moment. I knelt down, looking them in the eye.
"It can be hard, sometimes you never see the light in the dark. I promise you, that I will never stop doing my best...because I did, all of you would feel like..." I gestured to the ragged young boy.
"Chris..."
"Like Chris here. Instead, amongst you is an opportunity to became heroes yourselves! Help your friend, help your schoolmates, help everyone you can, and one day you too can become a Hero just like me!"
With that I blasted off, the kids cheering as I ignited the ASTRO Burners and disappeared in colorful flash.
Once away, I considered for a long moment as I zoomed over the cities below heading up into the upper atmosphere.
"Do I need a career change?"
My HUD flashed with a phone symbol, a red lantern, and I chuckled.
"Then again..." | Well kiddo most properly licensed heroes make about fifty to seventy five thousand a year with guaranteed raises every few years. Beyond that most of us do actually do licensing and media deals which we can get a percentage from but I tend to give most of mine to local charities and organizations that I like. Nothing big just stuff to help out kids, animals, and average Joes.
After that we usually get mandatory sick and psychiatric leave and a pretty good benefits package. Oh there's 401k matching! The only thing that's rough is if you're in a one hero city or district you're pretty much always on call but that's why teams and sidekicks are so important.
So yeah I think I do pretty well. Most heroes aren't millionaires unless you're a really big name or go all in on the business and media side of the things but enough to live comfortably. | |
[WP] "And always remember kids, crime does not pay!" the hero said to the group of children watching the aftermath of a superhero fight. One child raises their hand. "How much do they pay you?" | \[Business: As Usual\]
Restraint took note of the kid; students like him were the reason Restraint gave his talks. He was seated in the school library surrounded by a small crowd. His talk wasn't mandatory for anyone and usually, the only ones that attended were actually interested in being Heroes. But, Restraint wasn't there to recruit heroes. He was there on business. The student that asked the question was lean and athletic with dirty-blonde curls. His group of buddies laughed around him as he voiced the question.
"How much does... who pay me?"
"Uhh...," the teen stalled. Ace did not expect an answer. He meant to imply that Restraint was only there because someone paid him; but, his question put Ace on the spot. He realized that some people were just that nice. An hour or two every month wasn't an unreasonable amount of time to volunteer. "At work...," Ace said. "What do you do? If crime doesn't pay, what will?"
"I work for a company named Sharp Development," Restraint said. "I help manage relations with Supers."
"That sounds important," Ace replied. "How much do you earn?"
"Why?" Restraint grinned at the teen. "Are you considering an application?"
"Not if you're too embarrassed to tell us how much you make," Ace and his buddies laughed. Restraint continued to grin and he pulled a transparent card from his pocket and stood from his seat to show everyone.
"I was given this once I joined the company," he said. After he was sure everyone had a chance to see it, he turned and walked to the vending machine against a nearby wall. There was no food allowed in the library and the machine sold pencils, paper and other school supplies; but, it didn't matter what it sold. "It's called a node and I can use it as a smartphone for calls, texting, and web browsing. But," he pushed the card into the machine's reader, then chose a random number and letter. The machine released a pack of yellow pencils. "..it also works as a credit card."
"So.. that comes out of your check, or what?" Ace asked. He was interested. Restraint shook his head and made a point to hold the card up again.
"I don't get paid a set amount. As long as I'm trying to further the company's goals, I have access to this card."
"So.. you can just buy....anything?" Ace asked. "... Everything?" Restraint nodded.
"Once you have the ability to buy everything you want, you quickly realize you don't want everything. My work for Sharp Development keeps me fulfilled, the rest is just a bonus."
"That's easy for you to say," Ace said. Restraint's grin broadened into a wide smile and he nodded.
"Yeah, it is," he said. "It can be for you too." Ace sat up straighter.
"So, what kind of jobs does your company have for a 14-year-old?" he asked.
"No jobs; but, you're in luck. Sharp Development does have an intern program that you'd be perfect for. Your internship comes with a node," Restraint added.
"Uh.. yeah...," Ace nodded as his friends encouraged him. "..I'm interested. What do I have to do."
"Not a lot," Restraint said. "You'd have to transfer to a new school for one thing; classes start the day after tomorrow." Ace looked around at his group of friends. They'd been a close group since elementary school. But, if Ace had money to take care of his friends and family they would understand. Their smiles and nods told him he was right about that.
"Okay, I can do that," he nodded. "Anything else?" Ace was relieved to see Restraint pull out a clipboard. It was translucent red with several white sheets on it. He was starting to wonder how official Restraint's offer was. He planned to ask for something in writing, or at least a proper application to turn in.
"I just need a signature," Restraint said. He handed the clipboard to Ace.
"That's it?" Ace asked. He looked at the document without reading it. He was in school; he was obviously given some sort of background check before they let him talk to the students. He was sure they wouldn't just let anyone in off the streets.
"That's it," Restraint nodded. "Though, you should know: your signature grants Sharp Development ownership of your soul."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1678 in a row. (Story #232 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It begins on August 22nd and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until May 26th. They are all collected in order at this link. | Looking flabbergasted, the hero looked at the kid. Trying to come up with a response, he just couldn’t. Turning his chiseled face to the bank, all the citizens cheering him on, with the police chief himself tipping his hat, he knew how much the job payed.
*absolutely nothing*
Making a brand new hole in the bank wall, straight into the vault, he snatched two duffel bags full of money and flew off into the distance. With the citizens looking on in shock, one made a dash for the open vault, with others soon following. A celebration soon broke out, hundreds of dollars seemingly raining from the sky. The police tried to contain the riot, but there was nothing they could do. The police chief simply looked on in disappointment, making his own walk into the vault as well. | |
[WP] In dragon society, humans are believed to be mythical creatures who use advanced technology instead of magic. You woke up today with a mild hangover and a human in your bed | Icicles sliced wickedly through Krivual's head as he shifted upon his bed upon his golden hoard and loosed a trickle of coins, each bounce exacting a singular toll upon his tender psyche.
*Ping, ping, plop*!
*Plop?*
That can't be right. The golden dragon, greatest of them all, and also the one with the largest hangover in the last millennium or so, slowly cracked open an eyelid on the side of the offending sound. Off, on the downward slope of the largest pile of coins, lay a two-legged beast of peculiar garb, lolling unconscious in a heap.
Sigh, now he'd really have to awaken- he'd hoped to work off this hangover from magic overuse by sleeping a month or two. His magic muscles still ached from over-exertion, so instead of casting an id spell he just used his nose.
Aaaaannnd... weird. Not even a passing resemblance to similar two-legged- not the earthiness of dwarves, nor the burnt char of orcs, or the airy fern smell or elves. Then a longer drag of air that he let tickle his galdorcraft organ.
Krivual froze. There wasn't anyone there with him, no one *at all*.
His galdorcraft was intensely sensitive to any and all life, it could assemble an accurate and detailed breakdown of any creature in existence, by interpreting the magical character of that life form. And it insisted there wasn't anything larger than a roach in his cave (the which he quickly snapped with his tail into non-existence.)
Said sense disagreed vehemently with his eyes and his mundane olfactory system. There simultaneously was/was not a rotty smelling creature befowling his lair.
His mind and body was fully, tingingly awake. Time to inflict the same on the two-legged.
He Spoke. The cunningly complex rune instantiated at his mental and spoken command, smoky and writhing its intricate forms in green and black patterned flows and rushed towards the unconscious figure- and promptly disappeared into nothingness upon encountering the hairless flesh of the beastie.
The greatest, most magical of them all just about evacuated his bowels. That DID NOT HAPPEN, most especially to him. There was no sign of a counter-spell, no ozone from an anti-enchantment, no glint of a protective charm. The magic just *dissolved*.
The ache at the back of his eyes returned a thousand fold. He wasn't sure if it was a rebound affect from the dissolved bewitchment or sheer panic. Along with the ache came another pang- what was that spell that had drained so much from him in the first place? The raucous feast amongst his peers had devolved into drunken debauch and then a series of escalating magical challenges... which he of course had to triumph in.
Ah yes, after that *sleegie* Turvnia had pulled in the Basilisk and the ensuing panic and petrification counterspelling of the crowd, Krivual had decided to go big- conjuring a mythic Human, master of mundanity who could catapult iron into the stars and destroy their enemies thousands of leagues away at the mere turn of a dial. The terror of all the creatures of fey and the personification of dread. Apparently the massive explosion that had scattered the crowd back to their homes hadn't been the failure all had sincerely hoped for and expected- it had just taken a bit longer to manifest- as this drooling hairless magically neutralizing rot-smell.
Well, the spell didn't work, time to try something mundane with the master of such. He belched, with just a smidge of brimstone- there wasn't a two-legged that didn't find that noxious enough to instantly awake- and start to puke. Which thankfully, proved true once more. This creature wasn't completely frightening as it emptied its guts over his favorite sapphire studded crown.
Greg's stomach slowly calmed down from the terrible wrenching and his eyes slowly cleared from the obscuring tears. This horrid acrid smell of the black smoke was worse than what a nurse had used to pull him from a dead faint when they were cutting off his ingrown toe nail. He had to find whatever was burning in his house, not just to save his life, but to save his throat from the acid threatening to again thrust its way from his small intestines.
But as his sight cleared, he realized he definitely wasn't in Kansas anymore. Piles upon piles of gleaming treasure surrounded him, encased him. He wasn't in his room, he wasn't in his home, he was in freaking Aladdin's cave of treasures. Ooooor... as his gave rose a bit higher- freaking Smaug's cave.
"Erp."
Well, he hadn't been imbibing last night before sleep, he was still wearing his favorite comfy sweatpants and poly-cotton solid blue t-shirt. He was most definitely awake- every hair was standing on end- even his bald pate was having ghost-hair standing on end.
Greg scrambled further down his vomit covered pile as the massive head of Smaugie swung close and examined him with a uninterpretable glower.
Krivual inspected the magic he'd missed upon previous inspection of the creature. He'd missed it because it was HIS magic. It wasn't touching the *human*, it was writhing *around* him, tying him to their reality. It had to surround him, permeate everything around him, since any magic directly touching the human would indeed dissolve. He spoke some minor hexes, warts and runny bowels, two of his favorites, and yes, nothing, negation, nil, as soon as they touched the human.
Krivual fashioned a phonic cypher in the air between them. Spoken communication would be translated in the direction of those receiving the communication. They should be able to converse now without the magic being dissolved.
"Human." He tried to keep any fear from his voice.
"HUMAN!"
Greg flinched- well, better than just firing up the grill and putting him on 'char,' he supposed.
"Uh, yes?"
The barely audible response reassured the dragon.
"Human, what are you called?"
"Greg. And you?"
"Krivual is my eponym. Welcome to my realm."
Realm... that was an interesting *location* type.
"And what realm, exactly, do I currently reside in?"
"You currently inhabit the realms of The Dragon Horde, southern of The Fae Kingdom and north of the Orcish plateau."
Ok, so definitely Tolkien country, or at least Advanced D&D territory.
"And how have I been brought to your here?"
"Ah, my good sir, I must admit that it is by my majiks that you have been brought hither..."
Tiny plumes of smoke distracted Krivual from adding more detail and he trailed off. Various tiny insectoids and small gremlins had been attracted to the novel smells emitted by the human. As each crossed past the swirling spell around the human and contacted his substance, their magic essence would violently combust with their organic material and nullify into a literal puff of smoke. It had been hard to see with his brimstone enhanced smoky belch, but as that cleared the tiny puffs became clear and more frequent as the destruction seemed siren call to other creatures.
After waiting a few beats, Greg responded.
"Ok, Krivual, what is your purpose in pulling me here, and when do I get home?"
Krivual considered- he didn't particularly want to admit two things- one, the drunken contest that had originated this mess, or that he had no clue on how to send the dangerous smelly human home.
"That is a long and winding tale of many tellings and I'm sure you would find that tiresome and without value. But regardless of how we have arrived at this point on the path, I must elucidate on a troubling fact. Note the smoke about you?"
"The vile smelling smoke I presume you inflicted on me?"
"Ah, no, that was a necessity to wake you from your quietude. That smoke cleared minutes ago. All the smoke you have around you now is generated from your annihilation of the tiny life that surrounds you."
"Ah, sounds like pulling me into your universe has created some kind of anti-matter type reaction- though thankfully not at the level of destruction something similar would be in my world- otherwise you, I and the mountain I presume hovers above us would be long gone."
Krivual was thinking fiercely as the human spoke- what in the world could he do? His summoning spell was forestalling the very consequence the human spoke of- but it was eroding quickly. It's edges were also coming into contact with the human, tiny fragment by tiny fragment- his presence was keeping it intact, but sooner or later it would fail, and when it did, the full nullity of the human would come into contact with his surroundings, and indeed he, the human, and the mountain would vanish in a slightly larger puff of smoke than the insectoids.
"Human, I have no way to adhere to your essence. I cannot send you back unless I do. Do your people have any knowledge of majiks? You are now in a realm with majiks, and if you can find a way to pull it to thyself, I mayhaps be able to send you home."
"Well, Krivual, magicians in my world speak magic incantations- I could try that."
"Please, quickly, for we are running out of time." And so they were- the smoke was building quickly and fine ash was starting to settle on the treasure surrounding Greg.
"Ok, I'll give it a shot- Alakazaam and abracadabra!" Greg said as he mystically wove his arms.
Krivual immediately sensed it- the infinitesimal prick of magic attaching to the human's soul. He immediately started crafting the necessary rune in his mind- it was complex and would take a few moments before he could Speak it.
"That will do. In a few moments you will return from whence you came, hopefully never to return."
"Thanks Krivual- its been real."
The smoke was threatening to overpower him and in his blindness he slipped on some of the spew. He tumbled to the hoard and lost a slipper. He heard a Word he couldn't possible comprehend as he grabbed for the it. As he faded from Krivuals sight he was grasping a lamp.
Sigh, he loved that lamp, it was his favorite, what with that funny Jinn. That was his last thought as the slipper detonated his lair, his mountain, and most of the surrounding countryside... | I awoke, my head pounding. For one such as I spirits dont often effect me so. But I often find good company to be... intoxicating. Thankful for the polymorph spell and my ring of everlasting, I sat up, still in my human form. As Cas shifted in the bed beside me I froze, an unfamiliar fear filled me in that moment. I sat there looking at her for what could have been 10 secconds, or 10 hours. I dont know why she has that effect on me.
As much as I would have loved to watch her for longer, Cas began to wake. Her soft groans caught my ears, I couldnt help but softly smile as she looked back at me.
"Morning..." Cas croaked, she winced slightly and rubbed her head.
"Morning." I responded before standing up. Cas shyly turned away, her face bright red. I chuckled.
"Problem?" I asked as I walked around the bed to her. Cas stumbled over her words for a moment. Any redder and she would have matched Asmodeus himself.
"I- ha. Hooooo- You're uh-"
"Naked?"
"Y- yeah..."
"Why so shy darling? Last night-"
"Last night? LAST NIGHT! Oh my gods, I am- fuck I am so fired."
"Don't get so worked up darling. And don't worry about being fired, I will pay your silly little 'Taxes'."
"Taxes? You dont get it! When my boss finds out-"
"Darling, how would your boss find out?"
"When i tell them-"
"Cas." I interrupted, placing a finger over her lips. "They need not know. What happens in this cave, stays in this cave. Unless of course next time you want a more..." I gave her a look and placed a hand on her thigh. "Exciting locale."
"More exciting? More exciting that a dragons cave? Wait. Next... time...?"
"But of course Darling. If you want to of course."
"Well- Its not that I don't- I just life so far-"
"Cas." I interrupted again, placing my hand on her still red and rather warm cheek and turning her to face me. "I am a dragon. I can fly and have magic, long for you is a short fly or a quick teleport spell."
"Oh... right..." Cas deflated somewhat, and averted her gaze.
"I understand if you have reservations, but if you want, and you understand and accept who, and what, I am, then I would love to explore more of this." I gently rubbed her arm. Her skin is so soft. "And you."
Cas turned red again, and shyly looked back at me.
"I- I would like that." | |
[WP] You are a mighty draconian blacksmith for a small village in the mountains. You make unbreakable tools for the villagers in exchange for coin, yet refuse to make weapons. Until… | The warlord entered the smithy and snorted in disgust at what he saw. “I have to admit,” he said, “I expected more.”
The blacksmith set down his hammer, carefully placing a red-hot scythe blade back into the fire before responding. “My lord?”
“Farming tools?” said the warlord, shaking his head in mock dismay. “When they told me who you were, I didn’t want to believe it. A man of your talents is wasted here.”
The blacksmith crossed his arms over his heavy leather apron. “There is honor in making things that people need.”
“Honor!" The warlord smirked. "An interesting choice of words, coming from you.”
The smith frowned. “I am no one of any importance, my lord.”
At this, the other man laughed. “Oh, there’s no need to be modest. I know who you really are. I spent months trying to find you.”
The smith was silent.
“Don’t bother to deny it,” said the warlord, clearly enjoying himself now. “You can take a new name and hide up here in this goat-shit village, but it doesn’t change the facts. You’re him.” He leaned against a nearby beam, looking the blacksmith up and down. “The man who slaughtered half a regiment during the duke’s rebellion. The legendary swordsmith who refused to die. They say it took three days for the duke's men to clear the bodies from that square. That you could barely see the cobblestones for all the blood and gore. They even have a name for you—did you know?”
The blacksmith looked away. “I know it.”
“The Butcher of Blackwell.”
“That man is gone,” said the smith firmly.
The younger man tutted. “A shame. I could have used a man like that.” He straightened, pulling a leather pouch from his belt and tossing it onto the anvil, where it landed with the heavy clink of coin. “But I will settle for one of his famous blades.”
The blacksmith shook his head. “I don’t make weapons, my lord.” He gestured to his smithy, lined with the tools and implements of simple village life. “I serve these people, now. Nothing more.”
The warlord raised an eyebrow. “It wasn’t a request.”
“And yet,” said the smith.
His guest sighed dramatically. “I see. I supposed I should have expected this.” He looked around the smithy again, as if taking stock of the life the older man had built for himself. “This place,” he said eventually. “These people. You care for them?”
“I do.”
The warlord nodded. “Then they will be my price,” he said.
The blacksmith’s face darkened. “Your price?”
“You will make a sword for me. The kind of sword that lets a man do the things you did. And in return…” The warlord made a sweeping gesture. “You can keep your life here. And I won't tell my men outside to have every member of your pathetic little village flayed alive and left to rot.”
For just a moment, the smith’s eyes hardened. The warlord’s lazy smile remained unchanged, but his left hand caressed the hilt at his hip. They stood, unmoving, their eyes locked across the small room.
At last, the blacksmith’s broad shoulders slumped and his gaze fell to the ground. He nodded. “I will need three days,” he said quietly.
“You shall have them."
\***
On the appointed day, the warlord arrived to collect his prize. He entered the smithy to find the craftsman polishing the blade.
“Gods, it’s beautiful. I knew it would be worth the time to find you.”
The blacksmith grimaced. “I wish you hadn’t.
“Oh, come now. This wasn’t so bad, was it? Besides, you’ll still be paid.”
The blacksmith stopped his work, looking down at the sword in his hands. What he saw in its polished surface made him close his eyes in pain.
“You were right,” he said eventually. “I did lie when we first met.”
The warlord scoffed. “About who you are? I know. Fear not, your secret is safe with me." He stepped closer, examining the weapon in the blacksmith's hands more critically. "But now that I’ve seen your work, I may return again with further tasks for you. I assume we have an… understanding?”
The smith tightened his grip on the hilt. The scars of a hundred battles stood out on his gnarled hands like a tapestry of violence. When he opened his eyes again, something in them had died.
“You and your men have searched long and travelled far,” he said, “to find the Butcher of Blackwell.”
He raised his sword, and the warlord saw his death reflected in the blade.
“You have found him now.” | The bar is bursting with lively conversation, laughter, and cheers followed by thuds of wooden mugs filled with cheap beer foaming out of the top. The lights are swaying back and forth with all the buzz, and the bartenders are busily scrubbing, mixing, chatting, and clearing tables. A young man with messy hair sits at the bar front and asks the bartender for a “Qoro Mushroom Bloody Mary.”
“Coming right up, Mista! Double, per usual?”
“Yeah. Double.”
“Be right with ya. Enjoy, Mista.”
“For the thirtieth time, no reason to be so formal. We’ve known each other since we were trainees, man.”
“Bar requirements. That’ll be all, Makari?”
“Yeah, Mike.”
“Great, coming right up.”
Mike walks to make the cocktail, and Makari sits in silence. Suddenly, a man and a woman with one of those large, straw hats that cover the eyes enters. The man’s hat has a chip near the left eye, and the woman wears a black and red cloak. The man wields foreign weapons, a Japanese Katana and Naginata. The Naginata is on a back strap case, and the blade is being faced upwards, towards his right shoulder. A common sign of battle readiness. His katana sheath has the decoration of dancing rose and cherry blossom feathers venturing down the sheath, and the hilt has an open dragons mouth design, with the mouth being at the top of the hilt, towards the Tsuba. The Tsuba itself was a gold colored Tsuba with no other details. That sword is legendary across the galaxy, know by the name, “A Slashers Dream.” His Naginata was also famous, with a black steel handle and a red guard, called Ûto. He was no ill experienced swordsman. But, the mountain air was thin, and he was panting in a cold sweat. So was the woman. She wielded a Kyoketsu Shoge, that was tucked into in a holster near her left pocket. No one in the bar noticed them, they were all having too much of a good time. They sat themselves at a far back table in the corner, and I grew curious. Who is it, and why do they have such legendary weapons with them?
“Here’s your drink, Makari!”, Mike said
“Thanks, Mike. Here’s the money. Keep the change.” He slaps a 20 on the bar counter and gets up
“You’re simply too kind to me, old friend.”
“Don’t mention it. Have a good night.”
I slid through the drunken crowd and looked at the duo. They slink farther in the corner and let down their guard. The man was a very young man, maybe in his early 20’s, as well as the woman. But the man had a kind, gentile face, not fitting if a man wielding what he had. But, he had a huge scar leading from his left eye to his neck. His scar made up for his face. In a profession where men die young, beware of those who wear a smile, and those who are old. The woman was very attractive, and wore a relaxed expression on her face. They started to discuss. The woman says,
“Thank the stars, we’re finally here! That hike was so exhausting!”
The man says, “Well, you didn’t have to carry two weapons, did you?”
“That’s your fault. You made it harder on yourself for being a stubborn jackass and bringing both, Elder Brother.”
“If I’m gonna get my stuff inspected, I may as well bring both weapons. That is, if the legendary blacksmith exists. I don’t think he does, cause there’s no goddamn forge I’ve seen yet.”
“Don’t be so impatient!”, she jokes. “I get weapon maintenance is important, but you’re strangely pissed off.
“Yeah, if we didn’t make six fucking pit stops on the way here cause you were tired, we would have been here hours ago. And I’M the one being impatient.”
She cracks up. He makes a slightly irritated noise, and starts laughing. Not loud enough to be noticed, but loud enough to be heard
“Well if that shifty merchant wasn’t lying, that master blacksmith should be here. He’s a lying bastard, though. I doubt he’s alive.”
These people have peaked my interest. I say in response
“I wouldn’t. I’d know if I was alive if not.”
The woman says,
“Are you him? Donovanus?”
“That was my master. He’s been passed for a while, but I can still help you. For a price, of course.”
Then the man goes,
“For what price? I have several forms of intergalactic mon-“
“SSSSHHHH!!” The woman goes
“Uh, I mean… I can pay. How much?”
He makes an awkward smile, and the woman looks ready to pop.
I stop and think. I have seen this man. He’s Ochiko Kazono. The Intergalactic Outlaw, and leader of the Frostbite Killers.
“Ochiko Kazono, right? I won’t tell. I just want answers. Come to the abandoned shack across the west bridge. Tell no one. You may stay there. The old forge is across the mountain. I will come to the shack and lead you to the forge at 8:30. I want to examine your weapons. Consider it a special interest of mine. Tell no one we met or saw each other. AND KEEP AWAY FROM MAIN STREETS AND THOROUGHFARES.
“Wait-wha?” He chokes out, but I interrupt
“West Bridge. Stay in old shack. 8:30. Stay away from streets.”
I get up and leave the bar. If I’m right, I’m gonna forge weapons for a man who could change the universe. And I’m not missing out on that opportunity. | |
[WP] You are a mighty draconian blacksmith for a small village in the mountains. You make unbreakable tools for the villagers in exchange for coin, yet refuse to make weapons. Until… | In all my years, I've never seen a more broken woman in my life. Jenessa was an adventurer, a very popular, respectful, and powerful one at that. She had taken on many great quests in her time, from destroying an army of the undead, to killing dragons (good riddance. The less of them around, the better). She had a good life as a hero, and then she suddenly retired, 'I want to live a more peaceful life' her reasoning. She moved to the village 15 years ago and started working at the inn, along with her husband. They even had a child together. A very polite and kind young boy who loved animals... no one knew they'd be taken away from her so abruptly... or so violently.
The Knights from the City had been coming here for the past few months, apparently the king did not like her retiring one bit and had sent for them to demand she resume her duties, yet she always told them, "When I was an adventurer, I didn't join a guild, Ididn't join a knights academy, I didn't swear loyalty to any royals. I was a free agent. Emphasis on was. I don't have to answer to him if I don't want to." Then one night, I heard screams.
I ran out of my shop to find the knights holding her husband as he screamed at them to let them go, and I was questioning why, until I saw the Inn of fire, and heard the screams of anguish of a child. That coward with a crown had somehow found out that Jen would be out of town and had sent his lackeys to kill her husband and child, but it was in the way they had done it that had been truly sick. They had dragged them outside and started burning the building before grabbing the child and throwing him in. Once he died, the head knight killed the father and told us to tell Jenessa that this was a warning to those who don't follow the king. I wanted to kill them, we all did, but after what they did, we couldn't dare to. When Jenessa returned, some folks stopped her at the gate, wanting to warn her about what she was about to see, before a knight that had been stationed had come over and bluntly told her himself. She ran towards the wreckage, wanting it to be some sort of sick joke, but alas, she laid her eyes on the charred remains of her home, her livelihood, and her family stuck on pikes, not even listening as the knight told her that king would be expecting her in a couple of days. It took me and our strongest men to hold her back from killing the bastard as he galloped away. Thankfully, although I feel guilty about it, she never blamed any of us for not stopping them, saying she knew they would have harmed us or our loved ones if we did, but underneath that was nothing but sorrow and primal rage. Now, a few days after burying them at the hill, under the tree her son would play at with his friends, she stands before me. I look into her now dead eyes, drained of any joy and happiness she once had, knowing exactly why she was here, "It'll take me a couple of weeks, but I'll be able to make a set for ya." She nodded, a miniscule smile, one I honestly didn't think I'd see for a long while, on her lips as she reached for a coin bag, "No." She looks at me confused, before I continue, "The only payment I want, the only payment I need, is seeing those cowards heads." | "But come on!" Yelled the adventurer Volris "I need a sword to kill the bandit leader nearby, he's been extracting tribute from every village in the region!" his shouts echoed throughout the village, him angrily stomping back and forth, while Joldr calmly continued forging the farming tools that the villagers requested.
"No means no, lad. Didn't your Ma tell you that?" the smith asked, his calm blue eyes only slightly raising up from the forge, before looking back at the draconian scythe he was working on.
"I'll pay with coin" Volris took out a large pouch, presumably filled to the brim with coins of silver and gold make. "Triple your usual rate."
"No. Read my lips, you scrawny brat. Don't you humans have something better to do, like dying before reaching a century?"
"But why wont you help? You haven't given any answer!"
"Because i don't need to, lad. I said no, now run along to another village; i am a very busy man." the draconian said, a scaled hand holding the red-hot blade of the scythe steady, the other hammering it into shape with brutal slams of a hammer.
"I do! you can't just say no, innocents are dyi-"
"You think i don't know that!?" The scaled smith snapped, before cooling down a little. "I know that, i really do. But i can't forge another weapon."
"Another?"
"... Forget i said anything." Joldr spoke, with a whisper "Please."
"No, what the hell did you mean by 'another'?"
"... Seventy years ago, i made a sword for a man names Caethon Aesiran."
"The conqueror of the west? You mean you made-"
"Don't you fucking dare say its name!... Yes, i made the infernal thing, gods i wish i didn't. He forged an empire built on oppression, slavery, and expansionism. And what's the symbol of his real, the thing that thousands fight and die for every war?"
"You told me not to say it's name though-"
"Valasoron, the slayer of the giants! i made a symbol of fear and hatred for the free men of the world... Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?"
"I just want to kill one person, what bad will that do?"
"Caethon said that as well. Before the conquests and the slavery and the realms, we were good friends, and he was just a boy with a dream: to make sure that no other boy would suffer the horrors of banditry he did. So no, i will not build another horrific symbol of tyranny, i don't care how much you give me!"
"... Look, that is a very good reason to not build weapons, and i get why you don't now... but people are dying, and i need your help to stop that. If you want me to bury the sword after using it, then sure. If you want me to slit my own throat after using it, then fine." Volris said, his voice sombre "But plebe do not let the many die because of the tyranny of one."
the smith stood silent for a moment, seeming to be deep in though, before sighting deeply.
"Very well" the draconian removed the scythe blade, placing it with others, before taking out new materials "Give me until noon tomorrow, and don't forget the bury the damn thing when you kill the bastard!" | |
[WP] You are a mighty draconian blacksmith for a small village in the mountains. You make unbreakable tools for the villagers in exchange for coin, yet refuse to make weapons. Until… | The stranger standing before me pulled off his hat and scarf to reveal a face that I've never seen nor heard of before - pale skin tarnished with weather strung over bones, messy short hair and a long nose. What made that face different from other travellers were the deeply seated grayish blue eyes resembling a winter river so deep, you would certainly drown in it.
"How may I help you with my craft? What do you require: horseshoes, hoes, shovels, shears, maybe a hammer and nails?"
The stranger made an expression that I could only guess was a light smile while his eyes measured me head to toe. When he spoke back he had a very weird accent and his words were careful.
"I've come from afar and were told you're the best in your craft far and wide. I have a need for a tool that you've never made, touched or even seen, but I can tell you how to make it."
With those the stranger gave me a number of drawings done with such attention to detail I gasped. Measurements, dimensions, all matching to form a long device made of wood and steel with springs, hinges and screws. Despite a feeling deep down inside my mind I had to know how it worked and was made, the urge was too great to resist.
Many days have passed during the work on the peculiar tool. The stranger showed me smithing techniques I've never seen before, but limited himself to observing and making corrections on the drawings. While I worked on metals, he worked on wood and alchemy foreign even to the wisest I've met.
When the steel was met with wood, hinges with the springs and alchemical coatings were applied the stranger showed me the purpose of the tool and I've fallen to my knees over the vow I broken out of dangerous curiosity.
I've created a weapon worse than anything I've ever made or seen, a terrifying contraption breathing fire and spewing metal, easier to use than a crossbow or a slingshot and with a monstrously better range, speed and accuracy. Empires would be made and destroyed with it, countless lives lost and saved, tyranny and freedom mixed into one.
I couldn't accept his coin, but I accepted his knowledge, knowing that it was rather a curse than a blessing. Watching the drawings burn in the forge fire I knew I could not trust myself to ever again grab a hammer to smith again. | "But come on!" Yelled the adventurer Volris "I need a sword to kill the bandit leader nearby, he's been extracting tribute from every village in the region!" his shouts echoed throughout the village, him angrily stomping back and forth, while Joldr calmly continued forging the farming tools that the villagers requested.
"No means no, lad. Didn't your Ma tell you that?" the smith asked, his calm blue eyes only slightly raising up from the forge, before looking back at the draconian scythe he was working on.
"I'll pay with coin" Volris took out a large pouch, presumably filled to the brim with coins of silver and gold make. "Triple your usual rate."
"No. Read my lips, you scrawny brat. Don't you humans have something better to do, like dying before reaching a century?"
"But why wont you help? You haven't given any answer!"
"Because i don't need to, lad. I said no, now run along to another village; i am a very busy man." the draconian said, a scaled hand holding the red-hot blade of the scythe steady, the other hammering it into shape with brutal slams of a hammer.
"I do! you can't just say no, innocents are dyi-"
"You think i don't know that!?" The scaled smith snapped, before cooling down a little. "I know that, i really do. But i can't forge another weapon."
"Another?"
"... Forget i said anything." Joldr spoke, with a whisper "Please."
"No, what the hell did you mean by 'another'?"
"... Seventy years ago, i made a sword for a man names Caethon Aesiran."
"The conqueror of the west? You mean you made-"
"Don't you fucking dare say its name!... Yes, i made the infernal thing, gods i wish i didn't. He forged an empire built on oppression, slavery, and expansionism. And what's the symbol of his real, the thing that thousands fight and die for every war?"
"You told me not to say it's name though-"
"Valasoron, the slayer of the giants! i made a symbol of fear and hatred for the free men of the world... Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?"
"I just want to kill one person, what bad will that do?"
"Caethon said that as well. Before the conquests and the slavery and the realms, we were good friends, and he was just a boy with a dream: to make sure that no other boy would suffer the horrors of banditry he did. So no, i will not build another horrific symbol of tyranny, i don't care how much you give me!"
"... Look, that is a very good reason to not build weapons, and i get why you don't now... but people are dying, and i need your help to stop that. If you want me to bury the sword after using it, then sure. If you want me to slit my own throat after using it, then fine." Volris said, his voice sombre "But plebe do not let the many die because of the tyranny of one."
the smith stood silent for a moment, seeming to be deep in though, before sighting deeply.
"Very well" the draconian removed the scythe blade, placing it with others, before taking out new materials "Give me until noon tomorrow, and don't forget the bury the damn thing when you kill the bastard!" | |
[WP] You are a mighty draconian blacksmith for a small village in the mountains. You make unbreakable tools for the villagers in exchange for coin, yet refuse to make weapons. Until… | The stranger standing before me pulled off his hat and scarf to reveal a face that I've never seen nor heard of before - pale skin tarnished with weather strung over bones, messy short hair and a long nose. What made that face different from other travellers were the deeply seated grayish blue eyes resembling a winter river so deep, you would certainly drown in it.
"How may I help you with my craft? What do you require: horseshoes, hoes, shovels, shears, maybe a hammer and nails?"
The stranger made an expression that I could only guess was a light smile while his eyes measured me head to toe. When he spoke back he had a very weird accent and his words were careful.
"I've come from afar and were told you're the best in your craft far and wide. I have a need for a tool that you've never made, touched or even seen, but I can tell you how to make it."
With those the stranger gave me a number of drawings done with such attention to detail I gasped. Measurements, dimensions, all matching to form a long device made of wood and steel with springs, hinges and screws. Despite a feeling deep down inside my mind I had to know how it worked and was made, the urge was too great to resist.
Many days have passed during the work on the peculiar tool. The stranger showed me smithing techniques I've never seen before, but limited himself to observing and making corrections on the drawings. While I worked on metals, he worked on wood and alchemy foreign even to the wisest I've met.
When the steel was met with wood, hinges with the springs and alchemical coatings were applied the stranger showed me the purpose of the tool and I've fallen to my knees over the vow I broken out of dangerous curiosity.
I've created a weapon worse than anything I've ever made or seen, a terrifying contraption breathing fire and spewing metal, easier to use than a crossbow or a slingshot and with a monstrously better range, speed and accuracy. Empires would be made and destroyed with it, countless lives lost and saved, tyranny and freedom mixed into one.
I couldn't accept his coin, but I accepted his knowledge, knowing that it was rather a curse than a blessing. Watching the drawings burn in the forge fire I knew I could not trust myself to ever again grab a hammer to smith again. | The blonde woman entered with a slow walk.
I still remember I immediatly understood she was not from the village. Nither from the country.
I supposed she was from the other side of the river. Sure to get to my village it must have been a long walk.
I took off my hat and bowed. I had no fear to show her my long horns. And what surprised me, it's that she did not looked surprised.
"Morning lady. How can I help you?"
"Morning blacksmith. I need a sword."
I put my hat back on. Ome more proof she was not from around.
"I apologize. But I can do anything for you. But not weapons."
"I know. And I know why. It is because of your son, isn't it?"
I almost fainted there. How did she know?
"I don't know what they told you, lady. But I invite you to get out and never came back."
But she didn't.
"So you are not playing along, you really don't recognize me." She said
"I have never seen you before. "
"Well I was three years old when we met last time. At your son and my brother funeral."
I stared at her in silence, feeling like a fool.
"Ajas.... the younger sister."
"Yep. Of Bojor. Your son's best friend. "
I walked closer to her. I could recognize her but still can't Belive my eyes.
"My god! You are... how old are you?"
"Twenty."
"So much has passed."
"And the pain it's still the same. But I have a trace."
"A trace?"
"You always tought your son and my brother were killed because of the swords you gave them. The murderer used arrows and that was all he got from them. Well you were right. I recognized my brother's sorwd in the hands of the new private mercenary of the knig. He also have a second one but did not pulled it out. But it might be...."
"My son sword...."
They were special. Crafted with magic. A birthday present for their entrance into adulthood.
So special that it did make sense someone wanted to steal them.
"To make justice, I need a stronger sword."
"And you will have it." I said tearing as I grabbed my hammer. | |
[WP] Just as human teenagers use satanic imagery to be edgy, so too to demon teenagers use godly imagery to be edgy | College is where many learn to explore their innermost characteristics. Embrace the wild side, so to speak.
And the Institute was no exception to the rule. Humans, monsters, eldritch beings, religious entities. It turns out everyone feels about the same when it comes to being on your own for the first time. Paying bills, meeting deadlines, and confronting their possible alcoholism.
You know. Average life as a student.
Neja wasn't an exception. Yes, she was from the depths. A daughter to one of the foremost generals of hell. Easily as fearsome as any of those before her, capable of dark and mysterious power.
Yet when the door swung open, she still jumped like a frightened cat at the intrusion.
"Hey Naja! Petra grew a whole ounce for us... Uh... What's?"
Leon and Stu were a couple of fast friends she'd made in her first year. Sure, they were humans, but just because they were sworn mortal enemies. It didn't mean you couldn't help each other through things such as the intro to Biochemistry.
That being said, she knew this would be even harder to explain to someone like Petra. And then she walked in.
"You two really have to learn to knock. What in the-"
There was a lot going on. Namely the habit, the crucifix, the earrings, the rosary. And the demon wearing said get up. In the wrong ways of course. Classic Neja. Of course this didn't stop her from rushing past them and slamming the door shut.
"Naja?" Leon asked as he listened. "Is... That Kirk Franklin you're playing?"
Naja quickly shut off the music, by force crushing her wifi speaker. "No?"
"You uh, going to a costume party?"
"Halloween?" Stu began.
"It's, it's February, Stu." Petra reminded him with a pat on the head. A flower grew in his hair, and he flatly brushed it away.
"Are those Jesus fish earrings??" Leon asked again.
"...Yes?" Naja meekly answered.
Leon and Stu began laughing. Lightly at first, but then harder. At a certain point, they had tears in their eyes.
"Ohhh, oh no." Leon cried happily. "I'm on your head. Naja got the fish earrings. She walking on water."
"She..." Stu stammered. "She got a bad habit. Sister Act 2: Electric Boogaloo."
"Aw, no you fucked up. This Sister Act 3. Naja be up at the front with the heels on tryna convert nonbelievers."
Stu inhaled, "What heels? They the Jesus sandals. She got the Easter 11s."
Petra finally cracked, the dryad laughing so hard she couldn't contain her abilities. She walked over and hugged Naja as grass grew in the tiles and flowers grew out of her clothes.
"Y'all are cold blooded." Naja admitted as she brushed the flowers away. "Get off me."
"We're sorry. It's too good." Stu apologized.
"Oh come on." Naja sighed. "I know you dumbasses know people like this. They're usually wearing some pentagrams or doing the whole 'dark arts'. Praying to people I know."
"So you're out here turning up to the bright side?" Leon summarized.
Naja leaned on one leg. "I mean, it's not like I'm doing anything wrong. You never wanted to piss off your folks?"
"I just did regular stuff, like going to house parties. Not the whole 'Ouija boards, and searching for dead crows.' People grew out of that in junior high." Leon contemplated.
"Also, I'm fairly sure my parents aren't managers of any part of the afterlife." Stu interrupted.
"Yeah, that's definitely a dealbreaker for me." Petra admitted as she quickly withdrew the grass from the carpet.
Naja ignored this to ditch the habit, and throw on things that were more conventional. "So I like some historical context. So what?"
"That's some kind of context." Leon reacted. "So we were gonna try this stuff, but we're all gonna go to Frisky's and buy some corn dogs. You in?"
There was a look of mild disdain Naja carried before she tugged the earrings loose. "...Sure, I could eat."
---
I aged them up a bit. The mental image had me rollin though. | Stanley gets up from bed with a jump. He is excited that he got his driver's license today. Demon teenagers get their license at 15 years old, and he got it a few weeks ago. As a gift, his dad handed him money to buy a car. He exited his house and ran down the hills, with fire covering a whole lot of the landscape.
Once he reached the dealership, he slammed his hand on the desk of the car dealer. The dealer was reading a very thick book. His eyes darted away from the pages and into the 15 year old.
"I want to buy a car please."
The car smashed through the windows of the dealership, dashing by without stopping, even as the furious dealer chased after it.
"You piece of sh\*t!", the dealer yelled. "Go to heaven son of Jesus".
He speeds through the traffic, with a bunch of adult demons yelling furiously behind him. He finally arrives at his friend, Silas's house. Silas was sitting by the stairs, waiting for his friend while playing with the tiny sparks of fire around him. He jumps in joy seeing his friend and, for some reason, his wrecked car.
"Yo, wanna ride?"
"Obviously", Silas says. He looks at the damage. "What the hell happened to you car dude. It's your first day, and it looks like it has been through Paradise."
"Ah, nothing much, drove through the windows of the dealership."
Silas nervously laughs at first, but then gets worried. "I'm not gonna get arrested, will I?"
"Why would you get arrested? I'm the one who destroyed it. Hop on, it will be worth it."
Silas opened the door and got in. Stanley speeds through the highway. At first, it goes smoothly, and the two boys laugh and are enjoying their time. Then, the car screeches to a halt and spins around like children playing until it finally stops.
Silas and Stanley looked like they've just seen an Angel.
"Yeah, this was a bad idea", Silas says, panting hard.
"I agree." Stanley looks in the rearview mirror and jumps. "The cops!".
That was all the boys needed to fuel their adrenaline. They got out of their cars and started making a run for it, only to realize they were headed straight towards incoming cars. They both screamed and stopped to turn around, and that is how they came face to face with two police officers.
​
\*\*\*
Stanley is sitting at the dinner table, while his parents are yelling and screaming at him.
"What were you thinking! You could've gotten yourself killed!" His mother yelled.
"Look at the damage on that thing! You were driving like a saint or something. That's it, I ain't buying you another car." His dad gets up and leaves. Stanley looks at the piece of paper that reads: Costs: $12,000. | |
[WP] Just as human teenagers use satanic imagery to be edgy, so too to demon teenagers use godly imagery to be edgy | College is where many learn to explore their innermost characteristics. Embrace the wild side, so to speak.
And the Institute was no exception to the rule. Humans, monsters, eldritch beings, religious entities. It turns out everyone feels about the same when it comes to being on your own for the first time. Paying bills, meeting deadlines, and confronting their possible alcoholism.
You know. Average life as a student.
Neja wasn't an exception. Yes, she was from the depths. A daughter to one of the foremost generals of hell. Easily as fearsome as any of those before her, capable of dark and mysterious power.
Yet when the door swung open, she still jumped like a frightened cat at the intrusion.
"Hey Naja! Petra grew a whole ounce for us... Uh... What's?"
Leon and Stu were a couple of fast friends she'd made in her first year. Sure, they were humans, but just because they were sworn mortal enemies. It didn't mean you couldn't help each other through things such as the intro to Biochemistry.
That being said, she knew this would be even harder to explain to someone like Petra. And then she walked in.
"You two really have to learn to knock. What in the-"
There was a lot going on. Namely the habit, the crucifix, the earrings, the rosary. And the demon wearing said get up. In the wrong ways of course. Classic Neja. Of course this didn't stop her from rushing past them and slamming the door shut.
"Naja?" Leon asked as he listened. "Is... That Kirk Franklin you're playing?"
Naja quickly shut off the music, by force crushing her wifi speaker. "No?"
"You uh, going to a costume party?"
"Halloween?" Stu began.
"It's, it's February, Stu." Petra reminded him with a pat on the head. A flower grew in his hair, and he flatly brushed it away.
"Are those Jesus fish earrings??" Leon asked again.
"...Yes?" Naja meekly answered.
Leon and Stu began laughing. Lightly at first, but then harder. At a certain point, they had tears in their eyes.
"Ohhh, oh no." Leon cried happily. "I'm on your head. Naja got the fish earrings. She walking on water."
"She..." Stu stammered. "She got a bad habit. Sister Act 2: Electric Boogaloo."
"Aw, no you fucked up. This Sister Act 3. Naja be up at the front with the heels on tryna convert nonbelievers."
Stu inhaled, "What heels? They the Jesus sandals. She got the Easter 11s."
Petra finally cracked, the dryad laughing so hard she couldn't contain her abilities. She walked over and hugged Naja as grass grew in the tiles and flowers grew out of her clothes.
"Y'all are cold blooded." Naja admitted as she brushed the flowers away. "Get off me."
"We're sorry. It's too good." Stu apologized.
"Oh come on." Naja sighed. "I know you dumbasses know people like this. They're usually wearing some pentagrams or doing the whole 'dark arts'. Praying to people I know."
"So you're out here turning up to the bright side?" Leon summarized.
Naja leaned on one leg. "I mean, it's not like I'm doing anything wrong. You never wanted to piss off your folks?"
"I just did regular stuff, like going to house parties. Not the whole 'Ouija boards, and searching for dead crows.' People grew out of that in junior high." Leon contemplated.
"Also, I'm fairly sure my parents aren't managers of any part of the afterlife." Stu interrupted.
"Yeah, that's definitely a dealbreaker for me." Petra admitted as she quickly withdrew the grass from the carpet.
Naja ignored this to ditch the habit, and throw on things that were more conventional. "So I like some historical context. So what?"
"That's some kind of context." Leon reacted. "So we were gonna try this stuff, but we're all gonna go to Frisky's and buy some corn dogs. You in?"
There was a look of mild disdain Naja carried before she tugged the earrings loose. "...Sure, I could eat."
---
I aged them up a bit. The mental image had me rollin though. | In the room of a hellion teen in Hell, there are bibles and Christian books strewn out on the tables. Our demon named, Mastema, is a fallen angel who is trying out rosaries in front of a mirror. He picks up a wooden rosary to wear and takes notice of his horns, grabbing a file to shave them down. On the table is a pair of headphones, audibly playing music. Mastema picks up his phone and changes the band to Skillet, grabbing his headphones and heading to school.
The teacher, Asmodeus, is fixed on the new succubuses, not realizing that Mastema was breaking the dress code. Mahammon, another demon, stopped robbing an imp after seeing Mastema trounce into the classroom. His chest puffed high, he's decked out with a white shirt with a dark outline of Jesus Christ, black pants, a rosary, and rose tinted glasses. Mahammon’s jaw drops and his hands drop the imp who scurries on all fours to grab all the coins he dropped.
“What are you wearing?” Mahammon says in an uncomfortable tone.
“Oh this, It’s just a shirt of the Savior.”
“You’re not allowed to wear that. Especially in my territory.” Mahammon’s voice echoed through the room. Icy glares started to give Mastema a chill in this sweltering realm. Asmodeus, frustrated that he had to stop flirting, chewed Mastema out for his attire. He didn’t hear the end of it and was sent to the principal, Beezlebub for further punishment. Mastema refused to listen to the sinners however, skipping class and leaving the school to his hideout. Another day hiding from the others.
His hideout is a makeshift church in an abandoned building. A red rug led to a wooden podium that Mastema snuck out of the school. Wilting plants are struggling for water. He opens one of his backpacks, grabbing a glass of holy water for the plants. Taking a swig, he comments on how spicy it is. After watering, he rests on one of the foldable chairs acting as a pew. He stares at his crude “stained glass artwork” of a cross, made out of soda bottles. He clasps his hands together and asks for guidance on how to survive the school year. The demons will eat him alive this year. For a moment, silence presides in the church, then a holy light brighter than the fires of hell shines through the improv stained glass, a voice calls out to Mastema,
“Hello my son,” the voice said. Mastema jumps up, hearing the Lord for the first time, “thank you for your prolonged faith in me. ”
“Of course my Lord.” Mastema beamed.
“I have a request for thine, only thou can accomplish thee. You must punish the sinners in Hell for worshiping false idols and living as sinners,” Vision of several demons flood through Mastema’s eyes. Mastema can see Mahammon, attempting to bargain with one of the lunch ladies for free food.
“I bestow divine power to you in order to tame the fallen Humans and Demons to return to my realm.” | |
[WP] Just as human teenagers use satanic imagery to be edgy, so too to demon teenagers use godly imagery to be edgy | “It is a total disgrace!” Luther said. “I will not tolerate such blasphemy in my own house!” He was irate. Veins pulsating, face flushing, and a heat wave that could set hell on fire - if it wasn’t already. “I have called this meeting to solve this problem once and for all. I can’t stand little imps whistling ‘Ode to Joy’ or young devils tattooing wings, crosses, and fucking Saint Michael in their lower backs!” He stopped, catching his breath. “I need ideas.”
​
After a few minutes of silence, one of the largest devils said “My Lord, why don’t we ban everything? We ban anyone from wearing white clothes or using a crown of horns. We ban everything that brings joy like music and art.”
​
“Hmmm. But I really liked what that boy Dante made. Well, at least the first part.” Said Luther.
​
“My Salty Lord, why don’t we burn alive anyone that worships the white one?” Suggested one of the oldest members of the council.
​
“Hmmm. But this would bring pleasure to delinquent imps!”
​
"Then why don’t we drown them in holly wat-!”
​
“Hush! This would only make it worse! We need new and bold ideas! Not the same old manual of torture and censorship.”
​
“We…well, I…I have one bu…but I don’t know i...if it is go…od”. Everyone turned their heads to see a small and twiggy figure. One of the newest additions to the council. Still half an imp.
​
He talked with all the fear his little body could bear “Ha..have you all he...ard of someth…ing ne..new called Go..gospel music?”
​
“Hush! I will not hear of anything that comes close to being used in a church!” Said Luther, with sparkling eyes.
​
He talked once again, holding to the only thread of courage he could find “No, no, my Lord. The i..idea would be creating something to spread like a virus. We wo..would have to do the u..usual, offer them fame and riches in exchange for their soul, as we did with Ivan, Vlad, and Catherine.” He paused for a second, taking a sip of sulfur, then continued. “But, if w...we se..select the right ones, dress them in black, make they use your symbols, my Lord, and move like they have been possessed....”
​
“Hmm. That could work. How would will we call that?”
​
“Counter-Gospel” Said the half-imp half-devil with hope - if that exists in hell.
​
"We can work on the name later. "
\---This is my first one and English is not my first language. Looking for advice to improve :) | In the room of a hellion teen in Hell, there are bibles and Christian books strewn out on the tables. Our demon named, Mastema, is a fallen angel who is trying out rosaries in front of a mirror. He picks up a wooden rosary to wear and takes notice of his horns, grabbing a file to shave them down. On the table is a pair of headphones, audibly playing music. Mastema picks up his phone and changes the band to Skillet, grabbing his headphones and heading to school.
The teacher, Asmodeus, is fixed on the new succubuses, not realizing that Mastema was breaking the dress code. Mahammon, another demon, stopped robbing an imp after seeing Mastema trounce into the classroom. His chest puffed high, he's decked out with a white shirt with a dark outline of Jesus Christ, black pants, a rosary, and rose tinted glasses. Mahammon’s jaw drops and his hands drop the imp who scurries on all fours to grab all the coins he dropped.
“What are you wearing?” Mahammon says in an uncomfortable tone.
“Oh this, It’s just a shirt of the Savior.”
“You’re not allowed to wear that. Especially in my territory.” Mahammon’s voice echoed through the room. Icy glares started to give Mastema a chill in this sweltering realm. Asmodeus, frustrated that he had to stop flirting, chewed Mastema out for his attire. He didn’t hear the end of it and was sent to the principal, Beezlebub for further punishment. Mastema refused to listen to the sinners however, skipping class and leaving the school to his hideout. Another day hiding from the others.
His hideout is a makeshift church in an abandoned building. A red rug led to a wooden podium that Mastema snuck out of the school. Wilting plants are struggling for water. He opens one of his backpacks, grabbing a glass of holy water for the plants. Taking a swig, he comments on how spicy it is. After watering, he rests on one of the foldable chairs acting as a pew. He stares at his crude “stained glass artwork” of a cross, made out of soda bottles. He clasps his hands together and asks for guidance on how to survive the school year. The demons will eat him alive this year. For a moment, silence presides in the church, then a holy light brighter than the fires of hell shines through the improv stained glass, a voice calls out to Mastema,
“Hello my son,” the voice said. Mastema jumps up, hearing the Lord for the first time, “thank you for your prolonged faith in me. ”
“Of course my Lord.” Mastema beamed.
“I have a request for thine, only thou can accomplish thee. You must punish the sinners in Hell for worshiping false idols and living as sinners,” Vision of several demons flood through Mastema’s eyes. Mastema can see Mahammon, attempting to bargain with one of the lunch ladies for free food.
“I bestow divine power to you in order to tame the fallen Humans and Demons to return to my realm.” | |
[WP] Pastafarianism was right all along. The great spaghetti has spoken, and it’s followers raptured. | I should have seen the signs.
It began when every beer factory the world over delivered stale shipments. It was quickly described in the news as, “the Great Returns,” as every customer flocked to return their booze. The experts claimed the cause was climate change. Climate change itself would become the last great sign but I’m getting ahead of myself.
The next thing to go were the pirates. Gone were the bandanas sold for 99 cents at every party store and etsy page. Gone were the family cruise workers on crudely-outfitted tour boats made to look like pirate ships. Gone were all the animatronics of Pirates of the Caribbean at Disney World, followed shortly by Johnny Depp and the rest of the Pirates cast (or at least the ones from the first three movies.) Experts claimed it had something to do with the Great Resignation, but even they seemed unsure.
The strippers went next, and that’s when the politicians really got to work. The Let’s Ask People to Dance As Nude Congenial Entertainers Act was signed the next day. This was also explained away as another effect of the Great Resignation.
Then the Night of a Thousand Blades happened, and the explanations stopped.
It was Halloween. The kids were out, bags in hand, hopeful for candy. No one was dressed like a pirate. They were all ninjas. So many ninjas. Like, so many. We all knew the costume was a staple but come on, how many of those kids dressed as Scorpion were allowed to play Mortal Kombat? We all brushed it off as good parents do, but as the kids approached the houses and rang the doorbells with high, squeaky voices calling, “trick or treat!” something happened. Every piece of candy turned into carrots, live groundhogs, and Hare Krishna pamphlets the moment it touched the bag.
The wailing of disappointed children still gives me nightmares. The streets ran with blood as red as marinara that day as every child turned on the nearest adult in sight, brandishing plastic weapons that were no longer plastic. I barely escaped with my life. They still prowl the streets even now, looking for their candy.
But it didn’t stop there. Gravity lessened as we felt the departure of His Noodly Appendages keeping us down. Every stripper made under LAPDANCEA simultaneously caught some type of venereal disease. Colanders vanished from every home, leaving us all with hard pasta shells and crashing the Italian economy.
Finally, with the pirates—His chosen people—gone, the planet began to warm at an exponential rate. The very sea broiled like a bubbling pot, as if the heat would strip us of our very souls, and not in the sexy way.
Which leaves us where we are now—a world full of floating, untethered sinners with heat-stroke drowning our sorrows in stale beer, venereal strippers, and Valtrex.
I pray every day and night that He might spare me, and that one day His thick, girthy noodle and burly meatballs will descend from the clouds and douse us sinners in His holy sauce, so that we may be redeemed. We should have listened. We were wrong.
All hail His Noodly Appendage. RAmen. | [Poem]
*Spaghetti Rapture*
I'm not sure where my mother went.
She was here this morning.
The grocery store is where I was sent
to buy more ravioli.
But when I came back home I was quite disturbed
to find my mother missing.
She wasn't in the living room
or inside the kitchen.
Maybe she went next door to visit Mrs. Tammy Rue?
When I went and checked however, Tammy was missing too.
Tammy's son Tim was there though.
He said he should have listened to that pastor
who counted down the final days
until the spaghetti rapture.
What a hoax! What a scam! Is what we all had said.
The spaghetti God is just a fraud
Religion is surely dead.
Now both our mothers are missing
We both feel so lost.
And all they left us before they left us
was some old spaghetti sauce. | |
[WP]You were destined to defeat the Evil Overlord and bring peace to the world. But the people believed you were too weak and cast you out. However, there was one person who saw your potential and took you in; the Evil Overlord. | *When shadows stretch and encroach upon the sun, the son of man will take up the holy blade and with it, bring about a new age of man.*
"This was a mistake." David whimpered at his master's words, so sore and so exhausted he couldn't even lift his head to look at the man. "You have 10 minutes to leave my dojo."
"But I-" David had to stop to spit out a tooth. His master spoke over him.
"But nothing. You cannot, and never will be able to defeat the demon lord. Either the prophecy is wrong, or the sword is. Now get out. If you're quick you can even make it in time to get your things from your room."
"Guys?" David looked around the room, at his friends who swore to stick with him to the end. None of them would meet his eye. "No..."
"David its just..." Judith trailed off, wiping down the wooden sword she'd just used to knock him down and putting it away. Then she spoke again, "You're not getting better. The Demon army is approaching and- I think we need a different strategy." David could only stare in shock, "And, you know, if you're the chosen hero things will work out anyway right? Its fate." She gave him a look like that was supposed to be comforting.
"So that's how it is." David pushed himself up, only to collapse.
And to fail a second time.
And a third.
Before finally making it to his feet on the fourth.
David staggered his way to the weapons rack and reached for his sword-
Arm!
Stomach!
Back!
Head!
Only to find himself once more on the floor, the master standing over him. "I think not."
"That" David coughed, "That sword is mine."
"That sword is our best hope of defeating the Demon Lord. Letting *you* wander off with it would be foolish."
David couldn't believe it. Especially not when Judith twisted the dagger with that pitying voice and the promise that "It'll come back to you someday, won't it?"
"Fine." David struggled back up to his knees, and it was then that Jason took pity on him and helped him to his feet.
"Goodbye David."
"Good luck man."
David didn't say anything back. He staggered his way to the door, and out into the pouring rain.
\_\_\_
"Found him-"
"Freeze-"
"He's not-"
"By our lord he's like ice-"
"What happened to-"
"Your orders?"
\_\_\_
David groaned. He hurt. Everywhere. Even worse than normal.
"I see you're finally awake." David forced his eyes open and tensed.
The Demon Lord.
David pushed himself up. Or rather, tried to. His arms barely even twitched at his command.
"You need to rest."
"What?" David's voice was a painful croak. The Demon Lord reached to her side and grabbed a cup, which she held in front of David for him to drink. He tried to fight it, and she rolled her eyes.
"Its just water. If I wanted you dead, I would have left you on those streets. And your body is too weak for any potions not strictly necessary. Now drink before I force it down your throat." David stared at her for a moment, but before she could force the issue, he swallowed a few gulps of mercifully cool water. She set the cup down and spoke. "A dislocated shoulder, 5 broken bones, 3 missing teeth, a cracked rib and more bruise than skin. Along with the late stage hypothermia, minor malnutrition, and diseases you got from going to sleep covered in mud in the pouring rain. If I hadn't sensed you leave the master's 'care' you would have been dead by now. What happened?"
"Why should I tell you?"
"Because I saved your life, perhaps? And we are bound by fate after all." David scowled at the word. "I think I've earned it."
"They kicked me out." David spat.
"Oh?"
"The master said the prophecy or the sword was wrong."
"Foolish old man. Where is the blade? My men could not find it."
"He stole it." David muttered. The cup of water, the pitcher beside it, and everything else in the room not nailed down, began to shake.
"That sword is your birthright. To take the sword from the hero is- not even I would attempt such a thing." The Demon Lord took a breath, and the room stilled, "My apologies. Both for my decorum and for that old fool's disrespect."
"Apology accepted." David said automatically. "If the others are right though it doesn't matter. I'll get the sword back somehow."
"Somehow? Somehow?! Do these fools expect the prophecy to just- sort itself out regardless of what they do?"
"Its already written. If I am the hero, doesn't that mean they're right?"
"Prophecy is not something you can foretell and forget!" The Demon Lord cried, "A prophecy no one follows is as pointless as a mad man's ramblings!" She shook her head, "Blasted fools, the lot of them. To throw their hero aside like trash, simply because fate didn't work at the pace they desired."
David said nothing, and let the Demon Lord calm down.
"I will leave you to your rest." She said, "When you feel better I suppose I shall give you supplies and put you somewhere to start anew." The Demon Lord got up, but David stopped her from leaving.
"Wait!" She turned and raised a brow at him, "Do you really think I have the kind of power to match you?"
"It is untrained, but yet. Your spirit alone is immense. Just teaching you to use it for magic instead of survival would make you an incredible foe. Nevermind finding the right swordsmanship and training styles to work with you and the holy blade. The master has always been as simplistic as he is skilled."
"You said the prophecy is inevitable right. So what would happen if I sided with you?"
"Well obviously-" She cut herself off with a haggard gasp, "You wouldn't..."
'If I did?"
"I... I don't know."
"Why don't we find out?" | Destiny. Fate. The Primordial Script.
It’s ungodly just how many twist the vague words of a prophecy into some pride stained image of prosperity. Fate favors none, but hates none. It’s words will be fulfilled, just not in the way you anticipate. This was a truth the Kingdoms learned in blood.
I was just a small boy, even for the children born the winter. My village was a hard farming village, in a land where snow and death are the only things of abundance. With only a single month of true fertility a year, every second of those times must be used with upmost efficiency. I was rather unpopular due to my interest in intellectual subjects, such as books and study.
Survival entirely centered around the single field of enchanted ground, where plants would grow in mere weeks. It had taken the fortune of the entire village to pay the regional wizard to enchant it, and it was still useless in the freezing winters. The only other sources of food was the scarcely populated river, and the occasional roaming beast herds.
It took the part of every individual to work the village. The elders acted as doctors, advisors, and teachers. The children assisted in the fields, or the less laborious chores. It was a harsh yet stable clockwork of survival. That all changed soon.
Contact with the greater mass of humanity was rare, and other races nonexistent. Yet a nearly dead courier finally came out with news of the dark lord. Normally we would have ignored such things, as the lands were of no interest to anyone. Except that my name was on the message, saying I am the Chosen Hero. We found a few dark fragment of metal in his body matching those of the dark lord’s infamous Scream Lances.
Most lands would have taken pride in this, but my home did not.
The elders understood the implications. That meant the dark lord would come here to seek me out. We barely have the men to fight off the extremely rare wolf pack, much less stop the vast hellish legions of the dark lord. The ancient legends told horror stories of what he did to those he captured.
The great hall was in an uproar. Many of the younger adults refused to send a young child to face that monster. While my tribe has done similar things in desperation, they sent out an elder instead. Plus, to face a pack of rabid wolves was a much kinder fate. After a long cacophony of arguing accompanied with the occasional violence, the elders finally convinced the villagers of the reasoning. Looking back, no one, not even the ones who sneered at my weakness, were happy.
It was a horrible experience to take. To be made to leave in the night, so the few dissidents wouldn’t be able to interfere. It was terrifying, to go into the dark maw of the woods. Not a soul could be heard or seen.
Just darkness, death and snow.
Soon, an eerie red light could be seen in the distance, along with the low sound of speech. There I saw him, in terrible dark armor, with a bright red banner behind him. His dark steed was vast, dwarfing any normal horse.
Perhaps I would have run, but my body had hit its limits. The less thing I saw was his dark horse approaching before everything went dark. | |
[WP] Your dying lover jokingly swears that if you sell their precious collection, they’ll come back and haunt you. After their death, you sell it all, hoping they’ll keep their promise. | It has been a month now since I sold Alan's records. Some were quite valuable, and goodness knows I needed help covering funeral costs.
I wasn't using them anyway, I rationalize. I can't listen to them.
It's too painful.
The night I sold them, I lay awake till dawn. Every creak, every shadow had me sitting upright in bed.
The nights after were not much different, except I found myself drifting off.
I work, I come home, I cook, I feed our cats.
Life goes on.
At first I would swear I felt someone watching me, but I'd turn and it would only be Esmerelda, Alan's beloved tabby. She doesn't understand he's gone. She looks at me like she demands an explanation.
I have none.
Sometimes I catch myself browsing the web for a medium or a spiritist. But I don't want to force the issue. What if nothing happens?
What if something does.
Six months now. I'm sleeping through the night. The bed feels entirely too large. But Esmerelda and Jax seem to like the extra space. Waking with them cuddled up to me is one of the few real moments of happiness I know these days. Sometimes the warmth next to me could almost be Alan again. But it's not. It never is.
I need to move on.
A year, to the day. I visit his grave. I haven't been here in a while, and I feel guilty for getting busy. But I've been promoted at work, my best friend just had a baby, a tie rod busted in my car and I just...forgot.
I lay flowers over his grave and brush off snow from the headstone. I kneel in the snow and talk softly to him, telling him about my day. The tears come. It's not like before, the overpowering, choking sadness that blinds me to everything else.
But it still hurts.
Eighteen months. I didn't know I'd been talking to myself out loud until I stopped. Really, I was talking to Alan. As if he could hear me. As if I carry his consciousness with me.
I don't. He's gone.
I sit at the breakfast table, three years from the day he died. I am reading our love letters. Jax jumps up into my lap and begins to purr. The sharp pain in my chest is now a dull ache. I can smile at the memories again, even as tears prick my eyes.
It's my day off, and I put on my boots to run some errands. I'm meeting my friend and her toddler for lunch today, and doing some last minute Christmas shopping. Tonight I'll have a hot bath, a glass of wine, and then I'll put up the Christmas tree in my pajamas and make cocoa. Just like Alan and I used to. I no longer look for signs of him. In fact I stopped looking almost two years ago, almost without realizing.
He'd want me to be happy. He'd want me to move on.
It's New Years, six years after Alan. I'm seeing someone. I think Alan would like her. She's funny and kind and makes me smile when I'm down. I love the way she scrunches her nose when she laughs. She makes me happy.
I still miss Alan.
It's spring at last. We're moving in together, Chelsea and me. She loves Esmerelda. Jax passed on a few months back. I was heartbroken. Chelsea helped me through it.
Last night we went through my and Alan's photos. She listened as I reminisced about him, held me as I cried. She cried too, for my pain and my loss.
I love her so much.
I love her easy way with people. I love how fiery she can be, and how gentle and kind. I love how driven and passionate she is for life.
Because life is for the living. And life does go on. | I sit here, in waiting, in hope.
There are those that would say that I still grieve. That this is a irrational reaction to the death of a loved one. Others would say I'm insane. Or a fool.
Perhaps they are right.
But I *must* try. There is no other option. I must see my love again. I cannot fathom continuing on another moment without seeing their face, without hearing their voice. Even if it is angry screaming about what I have done.
And I have done a great wrong. I expect, should it exist, that I will burn eternally in the pits of Hell, for what I have done. I had taken my beloved's books, their precious library, painstakingly sorted and cared for; and gotten rid of them. Some I sold, some donated, some given away. Some, burned in rage and grief. Priceless pieces, to my beloved, a final reminder to them, a final piece of them upon this Earth. Gone.
And it is with this, I hope, to see them again. To enrage their eternal spirit, or soul, or waken them from the eternal slumber, even if it be in anger. For, in jest, laying dying upon their bed, my beloved had told me that they would return from beyond the grave should I get rid of their collection. They would harass me from the spirit realm, in retaliation. It was a part of my love's charm; their ability to make light of the situation, no matter how dark. Like a torch, ever burning, in the endless night of the world.
A light that has been unfairly snuffed.
So, here I sit, in my sins; in the liminal dissonance of a library without books, in a home without love, in a world without purpose. Here, I sit, waiting; for my beloved, either in sadness and grief, or in anger and wrath.
I do not care which.
Here I sit, waiting.
In hope. | |
[WP] When aliens finally came to Earth it was less of an 'invasion' but more of an 8th grade geography field trip | The aliens from planet Allrock chittered as their silver saucer zoomed towards Planet 238-B.
Inside, one hat-wearing alienhad his hands on what resembled a pogo stick. When he moved the stick left, the saucer moved left. When he jerked the stick right, the saucer lurched right. When he jumped on it and pushed down on its tentacleholds the saucer sank slowly, as it was doing right now.
This alien's name was M'ramurmurmurCHITCHITCHITCHITBREEEEEEEP! He resented it because it was a very common name. For our American readers we will be localizing his name as "Dave"*.
*and will localize the other alien names as well
"Are you sure we want to go down here Tom" asked Dave. "We're not supposed to go down any lower than two thousand anklebones. It's galactic law."
"Look at how excited the kids are." chittered Tom. "This will an important developmental experience."
"The planet is blue! And the planet is green!" said Timothy, as he pointed out the window.
"Wowwww," said the other kids.
"Class, can someone tell me why the planet is green?" asked Tom.
"It's because those are PLANTS!" said Denise."
"Great job Denise! Plants are green and survive only in a few "greenhouse" planets. Does anyone know why Allrock is brown?"
"Because it has lots of rocks and rocks are brown!"
"Right again, Denise." said Tom. "Next time please raise your hand.
"Mr. Smithers, Mr. Smithers," said Timothy. "Why is the planet also blue?"
Denise put her hand straight into the air.
"Well class, in a few minutes you'll all find out!" said Tom, then he walked away from the students and back towards the pilot.
"Dave -" Tom chitter-hissed. "What is the blue smooth part. What is that called? I do not remember."
"I can talk to you about asteroids, and I can talk about piloting." said Dave. "But why would I know about the biomes of a slum planet?"
"Get closer to the blue. Maybe then I will remember."
"Two thousand anklebones is regulation Tom."
"Get closer!"
"It's your funeral."
The spaceship lowered and through the windows students could see a vast, rolling, wavy cerulean.
"That's so cool!" said Timothy. "But what is that?"
"Well Timothy, maybe this would be a great topic to research at home." said Tom.
"Mr. Smithers doesn't know what it is! Mr. Smithers doesn't know what it is!" said Rick.
"He doesn't know?" said Timothy. "Mr. Smithers is lying to us?"
"I can explain what it is if Mr Smithers doesn't know." said Denise. "Mr Smithers, can I be the teacher?"
"No!" Tom chirp-coughed. "No, there is no need to 'be the teacher.' I will explain soon."
Tom crawled back to Dave, not out of humiliation but because it was what aliens from Allrock do.
"Dave, you travel a lot and travel far. Are you sure you do not know what this is? If I do not answer my students may no longer view me as an authority." said Tom.
"I told you I'm a pilot," said Dave "I don't know about planets I just know about flying. I guess if I had to say something about it is that it looks like a great landing spot. Mostly flat and I couldn't miss it."
"Mr. Smithers!" cried Timothy from the back of the ship. "I don't believe you know everything anymore!"
"Timothy," said Tom, "The reason I haven't explained is because I'm going to let the blue speak for itself. We are going to visit the blue."
"Really? Yay!" said Timothy.
"Really?? Fuck!" said Dave.
"Not so loud, Dave," said Tom. "The kids might hear you."
"I don't know Tom. I said that this would make a great, solid, landing space, but putting the saucer down there would be zero anklebones, which you know is just a little less than two thousand a.b." chittered Dave nervously in a lower voice.
"I made these kids a promise. Let's go down there, blow their minds and change their lives."
"Okay," said Dave. "But you're taking me out for a Meat Meal after this."
"Thanks Dave." said Tom "You're a real stand up tentacle monster."
The saucer started descending as Tom turned to the class. "Denise, you can put your hand down now. As I said, while I appreciate that you want to be a teacher there is no need to be one right now.
"But I want to explain," said Denise. "I knowwww what it is."
"It's water!" Denise exclaimed brightly.
The saucer plunged into the ocean with a small splosh. | "There's the Eiffel Tower!" I say to the Utopians. Upon their request, I'm showing some of the Utopians some of Earth's landmarks. Right now, we're in Paris. The Utopians are so excited to learn about us and our planet, they're acting sort of like eighth graders, rather than the polite, sophisticated species I came to know! Amelia is with me, and Clyde came along. Amelia really wanted to visit Paris for the first time in her life, and wherever Amelia goes, her personal guard, Clyde goes. The aliens, as we've recently learned, actually ditched their own language so that they can focus on communication with humans! As a result the Utopians started giving themselves Earth names - my personal guard loved the name 'Edina', so that's what she decided she would be called.
Amelia and I lead the Utopians, as well as a couple other humans that decided to join us, to the Eiffel Tower, and we go up. We go as high as we can, and as I glance at the Utopians, they're amazed at the view. It seems like every time we go up high, the Utopians are awestruck. I guess they can't get views like this on Utopia. As usual, they talk amongst themselves about how fascinating Earth is, and how they want to try to bring some of our culture to their planet. I mean, I swear that they started making plans for afternoon teas immediately after we finished exploring England!
Our visit to Paris ends shortly afterwards, and as usual the Utopians take notes. This time, however, they confer with each other... usually, they make their notes and we move on. They all nod in agreement about something, before turning to me. Edina speaks. "Thank you for taking us around your planet, Max. Earth certainly is a beauty... but we decided that we've gathered enough information. And we feel like we've shared a lot of our culture and knowledge, too. We know for a fact that your planet trusts us a lot more, and we've already made a peace agreement with your government. So we believe it's time we returned to Utopia." She pauses for a moment.
"Amelia. Max. Do you two want to-" Amelia shouts "YES! I WANNA COME BACK WITH YOU!" She literally runs up to Clyde, who grins and attaches a 'leash' to the device Amelia wears. I wear something similar - a head piece which connects to the main part of the body. I learned the hard way, shortly after being made to stay on their home planet, that only the Utopians can remove the device. Edina looks at me. "What about you, Max?" I smile. "I'll be happy to come back with you. I already spoke to my friends and family - if it were just me, the answer would be no, however my best friend, another close friend and a new member of our friend circle all decided they would come back with me. My parents said they still need to raise my sister here, but when I asked my brother, Peter, he said 'so when can we get off this stinking planet?', so he's definitely in."
Edina smiles at me, then turns to her fellow Utopians. "I'm going to need to make a trip to pick up a few humans. I'll take the emergency ship with me. You all go on ahead." After the emergency ship is set up, Edina and I wave goodbye to the other Utopians and Amelia. Edina then attaches a leash to me. "Come on then" she said, as if speaking to a dog. I look at her to see if it was an accident or- nope, she did it on purpose! That huge grin is a dead giveaway! I can't help but grin back. "At least you picked up a sense of humour here!" Edina pretends to whack me on the head, before securing my leash to a spot on the ship. We head off to pick up my friends and brother, before going back to Utopia. I decide to nap.
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This story is a part of my series, [Alien Life.](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x1uytg/alien_life/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) Please check it out! | |
[WP] As the president makes her final statement on the legal status of supers, she comments on how much safer the world will be without them making a mess of things. The white house behind her explodes, out of its flames walks a man with light in his eyes. He says three simple words: "Is. That. So?" | "Yes, it is so, Atomic" the president addressed the man who had probably just killed over a dozen staffers in an instant, just to make a point.
"You really think you don't need us? You think all of us who spent our lives protecting you pathetic normals will just fade into the shadows?"
"Many supers have done a great deal of good for this nation, atomic, and I won't ask them to pretend they haven't. They'll get medals, probably government jobs too, if they'll stay in line. They aren't what this law is about." Reporters in the crowd, still filming from cover, were stunned to silence, both by the atrocity they'd just seen and how a lone, powerless woman was facing it down. "This law is about people like you, Atomic. For every dozen or so decent heroes, we get a police academy washout wannabe vigilante like you, Atomic."
"You bitch!" He roared, eyes flaring for a burst which would surely decapitate a government. Before he could fire, something hit him from the bushes; a black and silver cable, which wrapped around his head, and more importantly, eyes. A full volley of restraints hit next, binding his arms, legs, and torso until he resembled a cocooned fly in a spider's web from the neck down. There was a glow from behind the first cable, but the binding didn't so much as heat up. "This trap... Dr. Demonic?!" he snarled, his mouth still free. First Amendment, and all that.
The President let out a sigh of relief. "Demonic L.L.C. is the newest contractor of the United States Air Force. It's surprising, what people will do when offered a conditionally blank check. Agents, take him away." | I'd been given my powers by a metaphorical dragon in much the same way that a goose is given corn on its journey to become foie gras. It stripped me of my humanity and my physicality, then remade me into the conscious avatar of a concept. More to the point, it conscripted me into a series of petty wars between the first dozen Heavens and the second hundred Hells. My Omnipresence kept me vaguely aware of things on Earth, but it wasn't until I was "graciously allowed to retire" that I was able to really focus on my home planet and see what was going on.
My own mid-sized city of origin was like George and Clive had collaborated on something designed specifically to repel Kevin. Members of a dozen fantastical races walked the streets, the occasional Cape sped through the sky or down a disused bike lane. Some of the truly gross hung out on steam grates, displaying their deformities for tips and sympathy like a western Calcutta. The changed stood out, sure, but there weren't actually that many of them, maybe 5% of the population at most.
My family had forgotten me, of course, so I took a chunk of lower stratosphere, hid it under the Pacific Gyre, and connected it to a painted door in an alley by my old high school. I didn't need a home for myself, but it felt like I should have one, in case of company.. After all, these planetics were actual people, not just cannon fodder souls. If I was going to make a go of it as a human again, I was going to have to start by giving a shit. I spent the rest of the afternoon pulling down plastic and shaping it into slightly salty, very ugly furniture.
That evening, I faded into an empty seat at the only open local restaurant with a name I still remembered, and, as a way of practicing, kept my focus on the restaurant when the speech started. Technically, of course, I was also there seeing it live, but I wanted to remember this right, like a regular person and not some CEO or Officer with special dispensation. I shook my head as the President came to her conclusion, and rolled my eyes at the inevitable attack,
I refocused my attention on the alley, and reached out for the shelf of a west-coast hardware store to grab a can of Krylon. Over the next 15 minutes, I shaded, I drew, I expanded, doing my best to create something better than a cartoon double-door, and failing. When I finally gave up, the door was wide enough for an Ogre, tall enough fro a Minotaur, and double-hinged in case of Gnomes. The little sign by the door read "Tanelorn, open for business"
Hundreds of copies of the door appeared in cities and towns across the country, promising sanctuary to any who got the reference. If I ran out of space for them all under the Gyre, I could always fold a valley in Colorado into existence. | |
[WP] As the president makes her final statement on the legal status of supers, she comments on how much safer the world will be without them making a mess of things. The white house behind her explodes, out of its flames walks a man with light in his eyes. He says three simple words: "Is. That. So?" | "Yes, it is so, Atomic" the president addressed the man who had probably just killed over a dozen staffers in an instant, just to make a point.
"You really think you don't need us? You think all of us who spent our lives protecting you pathetic normals will just fade into the shadows?"
"Many supers have done a great deal of good for this nation, atomic, and I won't ask them to pretend they haven't. They'll get medals, probably government jobs too, if they'll stay in line. They aren't what this law is about." Reporters in the crowd, still filming from cover, were stunned to silence, both by the atrocity they'd just seen and how a lone, powerless woman was facing it down. "This law is about people like you, Atomic. For every dozen or so decent heroes, we get a police academy washout wannabe vigilante like you, Atomic."
"You bitch!" He roared, eyes flaring for a burst which would surely decapitate a government. Before he could fire, something hit him from the bushes; a black and silver cable, which wrapped around his head, and more importantly, eyes. A full volley of restraints hit next, binding his arms, legs, and torso until he resembled a cocooned fly in a spider's web from the neck down. There was a glow from behind the first cable, but the binding didn't so much as heat up. "This trap... Dr. Demonic?!" he snarled, his mouth still free. First Amendment, and all that.
The President let out a sigh of relief. "Demonic L.L.C. is the newest contractor of the United States Air Force. It's surprising, what people will do when offered a conditionally blank check. Agents, take him away." | When super-powered people started appearing five years ago, everyone expected them to fulfill a norm of a hero and a villain, but it didn’t quite work like that.
Being a true hero meant being selfless, and helping everyone equally without any gain. Also, it meant exposing yourself and your family to constant danger. There was no one truly invincible yet, yes, there were some bulletproof people or some that could regenerate deadly wounds but even they could be killed and their loved ones were not bulletproof. In the beginning, there was a guy that could repel bullets, and survive jumps from insane heights, Sensation was his name if I remember correctly. One day he rushed into a burning building to save a dog, a log fell on him and he cooked to death. He was amongst the most popular heroes at the time and the news of his death broke all around the world. That really sobered up a lot of super-powered people.
On the other hand, no one truly wanted to be a villain, there were no people that insane that they wanted to destroy the planet or rule the whole world. Yes, there were some people labeled as villains that “ruled” some smaller cities, but they were no different than your standard crime lords.
A lot of people abused their abilities to gain wealth and fame and that’s all they ever wanted. Some of them even broke into Hollywood, you could do wonders with powered people and their abilities in front or behind the cameras.
When the first “surge” happened, where mostly all powered people got their powers, my friends and I were celebrating my son’s first birthday. Eight of us got powers, four of my friends, three of my wife’s friends, and my cousin. We gathered once again seven days later when we all came to terms with our powers and decided we wouldn’t use them to fight crime, make crime or get the public attention on us. Some of us used our powers discretely to make some easy money but that was it. We wanted to protect our wives, husbands, children, parents, and the rest of the people we cared about. We knew the government would eventually try to do something or some deranged group of people would come after us with a righteous goal in their mind.
And we were somewhat right, the cults formed worshiping super-powered people, some of them even pretended to be their gods. The hate groups were formed that were “protecting” humans against these demons or aliens, or whatever their mantra was, super-powered people.
And the governments were losing their battle for power all over the globe, it was hard to control and contain these powered individuals, and the government hated not being in control.
So that’s why we gathered again in my backyard five years later to watch the Presidents speech tonight.
The barbeque was fired, beers were cooled, kids were entertained and the show was about to come online. The president stepped on the podium in front of the White House and rearranged his papers on live tv. She was a good actor, she knew how to make people listen and how to make them care about the unimportant and forget the important things happening in and outside of our country.
The speech started slowly as always, but there was something there we it could be seen in her eyes, rarely was she this unfocused, and then she said it.
“I believe our country and the world would be a lot safer without the super-powered people, so that’s why from tomorrow every super-powered person will have to be registered in our database. They will all have to check in once a month and they will all have to do the mandatory psychological tests once every three months as well as give us their blood samples so we can further understand their powers. If you know of a super-powered person that has not registered yet, the lines will be open where you will able to call in for 24 hours a day“ The chatter broke on the live tv and the president tried to control the crowd, she wasn’t finished with her speech.
We all looked at each with worried expressions on our faces, not many people knew we had powers, but there were some who knew and some who suspected, this was not good news.
And then it happened on live tv the white house was engulfed in flames, explosions and people screaming could be heard but the live feed didn’t stop.
There was a figure walking out of the flaming building, I knew cocky that walk, it was Inferno, this country’s Voted hero of 2028. He came close and his glowing red eyes were now clearly visible on the tv. He walked toward the President that was frozen in shock and terror and his words echoed across the millions of tv around the world.
“Is that so?” His voice was calm but threatening.
We all looked at each other once again and we all knew what it meant, we were idle for far too long, but we trained all the time, we prepared hoping this moment would never come, but it did.
“It’s time,” Marcus said and we all nodded.
​
[Part 2 up below and on my sub ->](https://www.reddit.com/r/LukasWrites/comments/x6bby8/2_the_super_powered_problem/)
[Part 3 out below and on my sub ->](https://www.reddit.com/r/LukasWrites/comments/x6f40j/3_the_super_powered_problem/) | |
[WP] As the president makes her final statement on the legal status of supers, she comments on how much safer the world will be without them making a mess of things. The white house behind her explodes, out of its flames walks a man with light in his eyes. He says three simple words: "Is. That. So?" | She was expecting this. She knew a stunt of this magnitude would be pulled. There was nothing she could really do about it when it would happen, but still, she stood tall, facing the hovering figure, her long time colleague Striker.
Now was no time to back down. All she could do was stand, waiting for his arrival. As the smoke around his figure passed, his twitching, raging eyes beamed, and his deep grin grew, he drifted towards her amused and enraged.
“Is that so? You don’t need us supers?” Striker raised his arm and slammed the floor down with a gush of wind, the impact forming a makeshift barrier between the President and the people. Her eyes met his, staring unblinkingly. Her disappointment struck her heart, she wanted to be wrong about how her former friends would react. But still, she continued.
“You will be able to live a normal life, I simply say that after much consideration, we believe using such powers should be illegal and sentenced to either life in prison or death.” Her explanation made Striker grow silent, in absolute shock of her calm posture. It fuelled his anger, furious at the pure audacity. He raised his voice louder, his tone condescending and filled with power.
“Do you think anyone will save you? All your ‘super’ friends have left you, nobody can stop our wrath now!” Striker’s laugh echoed through the city, a doomed silence ringing in its path. Civilians stood in fear of the coming chaos, shielding their children in hopes of dying first. The camera man is the first to get on his knees and beg. “Please, don’t hurt us.”, his words drawn out and forced through each sob. The Vice President follows him, begging for mercy. Gradually, the people realised this may be their only way of survival, and fell to the floor crying and sorry, pathetically begging for their lives.
Striker’s face shifts from confusion to joy, a deep need for power finally fulfilled in his dark heart. He looks back at the President, who has shifted their gaze to her people, and she looks back at him. Her face is complicated, forehead crinkled in frustration or confusion, eyes intense because of her near death or fear, Striker couldn’t quite read what it all meant.
All that mattered to him was this moment.
“Do you hear that, Lylie? The fear? The begging? The desperation? This is your downfall, Ly. This is—“
His heart cramped. Perhaps from stress? Or, more likely, because of the President arm deep in him, grasping his heart tightly. At a yank, he collapsed dead on the ground, his heart spasming in her hand. Gasps filled the surrounding crowd, as the President’s body crumbled and cracked and skewed into a enormous spider like body, red web crawled on the back. Her upper body intact, her fanged mouth grew a smile, her eight eyes awakening, glossed over and dark. The President, or whatever she is, turned to the camera, heart still in hand.
“Any high level ranking government authorities have the sole ability to use their given powers. Any civilian to break this law will be pursued and killed on sight. This is your warning. Use it well.” | When super-powered people started appearing five years ago, everyone expected them to fulfill a norm of a hero and a villain, but it didn’t quite work like that.
Being a true hero meant being selfless, and helping everyone equally without any gain. Also, it meant exposing yourself and your family to constant danger. There was no one truly invincible yet, yes, there were some bulletproof people or some that could regenerate deadly wounds but even they could be killed and their loved ones were not bulletproof. In the beginning, there was a guy that could repel bullets, and survive jumps from insane heights, Sensation was his name if I remember correctly. One day he rushed into a burning building to save a dog, a log fell on him and he cooked to death. He was amongst the most popular heroes at the time and the news of his death broke all around the world. That really sobered up a lot of super-powered people.
On the other hand, no one truly wanted to be a villain, there were no people that insane that they wanted to destroy the planet or rule the whole world. Yes, there were some people labeled as villains that “ruled” some smaller cities, but they were no different than your standard crime lords.
A lot of people abused their abilities to gain wealth and fame and that’s all they ever wanted. Some of them even broke into Hollywood, you could do wonders with powered people and their abilities in front or behind the cameras.
When the first “surge” happened, where mostly all powered people got their powers, my friends and I were celebrating my son’s first birthday. Eight of us got powers, four of my friends, three of my wife’s friends, and my cousin. We gathered once again seven days later when we all came to terms with our powers and decided we wouldn’t use them to fight crime, make crime or get the public attention on us. Some of us used our powers discretely to make some easy money but that was it. We wanted to protect our wives, husbands, children, parents, and the rest of the people we cared about. We knew the government would eventually try to do something or some deranged group of people would come after us with a righteous goal in their mind.
And we were somewhat right, the cults formed worshiping super-powered people, some of them even pretended to be their gods. The hate groups were formed that were “protecting” humans against these demons or aliens, or whatever their mantra was, super-powered people.
And the governments were losing their battle for power all over the globe, it was hard to control and contain these powered individuals, and the government hated not being in control.
So that’s why we gathered again in my backyard five years later to watch the Presidents speech tonight.
The barbeque was fired, beers were cooled, kids were entertained and the show was about to come online. The president stepped on the podium in front of the White House and rearranged his papers on live tv. She was a good actor, she knew how to make people listen and how to make them care about the unimportant and forget the important things happening in and outside of our country.
The speech started slowly as always, but there was something there we it could be seen in her eyes, rarely was she this unfocused, and then she said it.
“I believe our country and the world would be a lot safer without the super-powered people, so that’s why from tomorrow every super-powered person will have to be registered in our database. They will all have to check in once a month and they will all have to do the mandatory psychological tests once every three months as well as give us their blood samples so we can further understand their powers. If you know of a super-powered person that has not registered yet, the lines will be open where you will able to call in for 24 hours a day“ The chatter broke on the live tv and the president tried to control the crowd, she wasn’t finished with her speech.
We all looked at each with worried expressions on our faces, not many people knew we had powers, but there were some who knew and some who suspected, this was not good news.
And then it happened on live tv the white house was engulfed in flames, explosions and people screaming could be heard but the live feed didn’t stop.
There was a figure walking out of the flaming building, I knew cocky that walk, it was Inferno, this country’s Voted hero of 2028. He came close and his glowing red eyes were now clearly visible on the tv. He walked toward the President that was frozen in shock and terror and his words echoed across the millions of tv around the world.
“Is that so?” His voice was calm but threatening.
We all looked at each other once again and we all knew what it meant, we were idle for far too long, but we trained all the time, we prepared hoping this moment would never come, but it did.
“It’s time,” Marcus said and we all nodded.
​
[Part 2 up below and on my sub ->](https://www.reddit.com/r/LukasWrites/comments/x6bby8/2_the_super_powered_problem/)
[Part 3 out below and on my sub ->](https://www.reddit.com/r/LukasWrites/comments/x6f40j/3_the_super_powered_problem/) | |
[WP] There's a teenage girl said to be the most beautiful and pure in all the land, many will travel for miles just to gaze at her beauty. When a dragon threatens to destroy her small village, the fair maiden, with no fear, approaches it, to ask what it is that he seeks. | It wasn't so much Kathleen's lack of fear that left the villagers in awe as she approached the beast. Underneath her golden locks, she seemed to frown ever so slightly, as if met with a mild annoyance. Had the mighty beast been invisible, they would have believed she was heading into the field to chase away a mere crow eating the newly spread seeds.
None of them had known her for very long, she only came to the villager three years ago, but she'd quickly become beloved by their small community. She worked as hard as anyone else, always had a smile on her face, and never lacked kind words to say. Knights, nobles, and other people of wealth often journeyed from afar to admire her for her beauty, but it was her personality, her friendship, and the happiness she brought them that the villagers valued most.
Despite all that, in the face of a mighty dragon, they could only watch as she strode forwards toward the beast, seemingly without a care in the world. They had called for reinforcements, but help was still a ways away. Her slender form was the only barrier between them and what seemed like certain death. Yet, she was as casual as ever.
"What do you want?" Kathleen asked, a hint of irritation in her tone.
The dragon snorted, letting out a puff of smoke. His voice boomed, seeming to echo off of nothing, as if it wasn't just one but many dragons speaking in unison.
"I was instructed by your father to check on you, as you must have guessed already."
"Well, as you can see I am alive and well. You should take your leave now." She waved her hand in a shooing motion, trying to urge the dragon away.
The dragon roared into thunderous laughter, causing the villagers to scamper further back.
"Oh, you know very well that is not what I came for. Your father hardly needs to worry for your safety, his Majesty's concerns are over whether or not you would be ready to take the throne when the time comes. He still has many years ahead of him, but he is getting old."
His majesty? The throne? The villagers mumbled in surprise. Dragons weren't known to lie, they preferred brute strength over deception. Not much is known about the royal family this far away in the outskirts of the kingdom, could Kathleen be the princess, heir to the throne? Why would she be out here?
"Is it really my father who is concerned? I do question your motives for coming here. I can think of a few others who have far more urgent reasons to be interested in the matter. In any case, my father need not fear, I am more powerful than he knows."
"Powerful enough for the throne? I think not. You have abandoned your gold, your riches, what power do you have without them? At this rate, any number of your cousins could usurp the throne from you, as is their right if you are unfit to rule. What strength could you possibly muster to defend against them?"
Kathleen sighed, then straightened her pose. Within the blink of an eye, the usually calm, cheerful aura she exuded seemed to melt away like snow in a boiling pot. Her form seemed distorted as if some invisible fire bent the air around her. An undeniable air of royalty and lethality rolled off of her like an avalanche.
"Why don't you come and find out, Gullulir?" She said with a double-ring to her voice that matched the dragon's. Unbelievably, she held out her hand and beckoned, urging the dragon to make the first move. "I'd always known the cousins were eyeing the throne, but I have *never* been afraid."
The dragon, Gullulir apparently being his name, opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the sound of galloping hooves coming near.
"Fear not, fair maiden, I, Sir Einberg of Cottondale, have come to save you!" The villagers cheered as a knight approached, dressed in a full suit of plate armour.
"He's here to save us!" "Kathleen is safe!" The villagers could be heard cheering joyously as Sir Einberg charged at the dragon, lance in hand. This joy and hope quickly returned to even greater despair when with a flap of his wings, the dragon flicked the knight off of his horse, sending him flying through the air until he landed on top of some bales of hay leftover from the winter.
"Cottondale, huh? Your attacks are as soft as your title." Gullulir huffed.
Shaking her head, Kathleen walked to the knight, picked him up with only one hand, and laid him across the back of his horse, then shooed it away. "Stay back, this is *my* fight."
And with that, Gullulir charged.
There was no time to react, no warning any of the villagers could shout before his enormous body seemed to slam into Kathleen, but then, everything was still. Not even any loud sound of collision, as Gullulir suddenly found his snout under Kathleen's foot, unable to move.
She spoke again, this time, it was as if the entire world became her voice as each word echoed over itself many thousand times over. Yet, it was still her voice, the one that had sung children to bed when their mothers couldn't, the one that always spoke kind words of encouragement when times became tough, the voice of wisdom that even the elders hardly found reason to disagree with. The voice that the villagers know and trust.
"You see, the power of a dragon depends upon her wealth. The greater her hoard, the greater her strength. Most dragons choose gold, silver, or some other material of universal value, but that isn't the most valuable possession one can have. With a hoard of gold, one could only get so powerful before the materialistic value reaches a limit.
"You could buy a castle with all the gold you have, sure, but after that, what else? Another castle? And more after that? Where does it end? At some point, any further material wealth ceases to have additional value. Rather than empowering you, your hoard limits you, holding you back. I refuse to be so constrained."
And then she took off.
In a shower of golden light, Kathleen soared into the air, transforming into a majestic golden dragon, every bit as enormous as Gullulir.
"The greatest wealth in the world, Gullulir, isn't physical." she roared, "I, Kyflaert, first daughter and rightful heir to Zukuneonth, King of the Dragons, have found a new path. A new wealth that is far more valuable, and infinite in potential."
"This wealth is friendship, is companionship, is love, and all the beauties of not being alone, aloof, and guarded like us dragons have forced ourselves to be for millennia to protect what we thought to be valuable. This is a wealth that can be gained with no one else having to lose. This wealth is one that can be shared. This is a wealth that does not have diminishing returns. It is with this power that I defend the throne, when it becomes mine."
Kathleen, no, Kyflaert, swooped down. Like a thunderclap, she collided with Gullulir, same as he had done to her, but he was not as unyielding. The impact tore a wide trench through the ground, and Gullulir let out a painful roar as Kyflaert held him down, pinned by his wings.
She lowered her head and spoke softly into his ear. "Now do you understand, *cousin*?" | Part 1
Carolina gazed out the window of her small room, dreaming of being anywhere else. In the road below a small crowd had gathered, staring back at her. They called to her. Some asked her to bestow blessings upon them. Others requested her hand in marriage. Many placed coins in a dish that had been set in front of the house, in hopes Carolina may respond to their requests.
Carolina had no way of actually granting blessings, of course, but the power of the people's belief was strong, and her stepmother did all she could to keep the believers coming.
Carolina's stomach growled, and she stepped away from the window in hopes to find some food, but when she reached the door she found it locked. She could hear the crowd growing restless outside.
"Come back bitch!" a voice called, "I have not yet recieved my blessing!"
Carolina heard the hurried steps of her stepmother making her way to her room. There was the sound of the key in the door, and there was her stepmother, frowning.
"Why are you away from your window?" the other woman demanded. "There are no coins left if you are not there."
"I'm hungry."
Stepmother sighed. "Very well, back to your window, and I will bring you something."
Knowing she had no other choice, Carolina returned to the window. The crowd cheered. When her stepmother returned with a piece of toast with jam, she whispered a reminder in Carolina's ear to toss the napkin to the crowd when finished - they would believe it to grant the greatest of luck. She left, locking Carolina in once more.
Thus was Carolina's life, trapped in a room from sunrise to sunset, except for Sundays when she was expected to sit primly in the front pew of the South Kingdom's cathedral, a picture of purity. On the rare occasion she was allowed out of the home in the evenings, she rarely got to enjoy it. Many would approach her, demanding she touch their
imperfections, that she converse with them, that she smile. If she did not, they were quick to anger. Others would not ask, their hands grabbing greedily at her hair, desperate to pull a few strands from her head. And then there were the voices that called out of the darkness, demanding wretched things. It made Carolina wonder if her daily prison was a better arrangement.
Carolina was two bites into the toast when a shout carried down the street. "Dragon! A dragon coming in from the East!"
The crowd murmured, looked up. Someone screamed. Then they all ran. Carolina craned her head out the window and saw in the distance - but rapidly approaching - the form of a great winged beast.
Withdrawing from the window, Carolina pulled at the door, only to find it still locked. She knocked at it, calling out to her stepmother without a response. After an hour, the door at last opened. Her stepmother was not alone. In the door stood a general in the king's army.
"Great beauty, " the general said, "Your king demands your assistance. A terrible beast of a dragon sits outside the gates. Already he had eaten two watchman. He has sworn to destroy one of the four kingdoms, but has promised to spare the three kingdoms that shows him the most beautiful things."
"Surely that would be a painting, or perhaps gold?" Carolina said.
"The North Kingdom's artists are renowned for their paintings, and the mines of the East Kingdom produce the purist gold. Our art and coins could not outshine them, but you could."
"I would be brought outside the gates?" Carolina asked.
"Yes, to where the dragon waits."
Carolina nodded. "Then I will go."
At the request of her stepmother and the general, Carolina recieved a few minutes alone to prepare. She ran a brush through her hair, and added a slight bit of color to her lips. As she freshened up, she caught a part of the conversation outside the room.
"Should she save the kingdom and survive, the king's second son will request her hand in marriage. Should she save the kingdom and perish, you will be greatly compensated for your loss. Should she fail, God save us all," the general was saying to her stepmother.
"I would be honored to give the prince Carolina," her Stepmother replied, "he has the strength to keep her in line and stop her foolish fantasies. But should my dear Carolina perish, I trust the king will be true to his word"
Carolina opened the door. "I'm ready. " | |
[WP] There's a teenage girl said to be the most beautiful and pure in all the land, many will travel for miles just to gaze at her beauty. When a dragon threatens to destroy her small village, the fair maiden, with no fear, approaches it, to ask what it is that he seeks. | When morning broke, all was silent and silence was bad. In Terranya, the land is never silent. Birds sing, wolves howl, deer bellow, and bears snarl. Where one animal ceases to speak, another takes their place to continue the chorus. This was not a tradition or a ritual. It was a fact of life in the realm of Terranya. Thus the arrival of a silent morning could only be an omen of dark times.
Such a notion was only slightly inaccurate. For high above the clouds and beyond the Aether, where stars once so far away would now be close neighbors, there was a dragon. Dragons in Terranya are vastly different than those of other realms. In some lands they are but mere beasts, no different from a lion or a hippo. In others they are wise and strong guardians, who devote their wisdom and talent to the betterment of their homeland. In a rare few lands Dragons are no different from any other race be it human, elf, dwarf, or others. Simple people living simple lives and nothing more.
Dragons in Terranya are none of those things. They don't even look like dragons at first. When one first sees them flying across the sky, it's easy to mistake them for the striking green lights that illuminate the skies of the Northern tundras every year. But then they get closer, and then you see them for what they really are.
When a dragon comes, gods and goddesses run and hide. Animals stampede in swarms ranging in the billions, with the common goal of escape obliterating fickle distinctions like Predator or Prey. Mankind is smart to follow them, while other races foolishly build walls or sharpen blades. In the end those who chose to run are now long gone, those who chose to hide now watch in fear of what's to come, and those who chose to fight now gather in the fields watching the skies above as they ready their blades.
For precisely three days the dragon has been circling above a small village. The shining of its scales hides all the details, but the general shape is always there. An arrow shaped head, adorned by two wings large enough to shroud a mountain. Then a flat ribbon-like body stretching hundreds of miles across the sky, with the dragon's light barely able to hide the thousands upon thousands of grasping claws that undulate along it's length like a centipede walking on air. The original inhabitants had long fled but the village found new company in the millions of warriors who blanket the land around it. Warriors who knew for sure that they were about to die. Moreso, they knew for sure that their deaths may not be glorious or even dignified. Afterall, this whole thing started with a girl.
A single, petite lady of commoner blood. No different from any other peasant girl. Well, aside from the fact that she was the most beautiful girl in the entire land. Half-nymph, half-elf, and blessed with the best of both species. But her beauty was not the only anomaly. It was long observed that children of two different races came deformed, crippled, and dead within hours of birth if not months before. No amount of fairy tails or true love could change simple genetics. Hybrid children were impossible. Each race was simply too different from the other.
So of course the one time a hybrid child manages to live more than two hours after birth they grow up to be so beautiful that knights, nobles, kings, emperors, and now a world-ending dragon have come for her hand in marriage. It was ridiculous. It was so ridiculous that every warrior standing in the fields around the small village below the biblically gargantuan dragon collectively agreed through a wave of side-glances, thumbs-ups, slight coughs, and other subliminal gestures that whether this first meeting leads to a wedding or the destruction of Terranya as they knew it, this day will forever go down in infamy as the day a statistically improbable girl was chaperoned by seven military armies to go on a date with a dragon. | Part 1
Carolina gazed out the window of her small room, dreaming of being anywhere else. In the road below a small crowd had gathered, staring back at her. They called to her. Some asked her to bestow blessings upon them. Others requested her hand in marriage. Many placed coins in a dish that had been set in front of the house, in hopes Carolina may respond to their requests.
Carolina had no way of actually granting blessings, of course, but the power of the people's belief was strong, and her stepmother did all she could to keep the believers coming.
Carolina's stomach growled, and she stepped away from the window in hopes to find some food, but when she reached the door she found it locked. She could hear the crowd growing restless outside.
"Come back bitch!" a voice called, "I have not yet recieved my blessing!"
Carolina heard the hurried steps of her stepmother making her way to her room. There was the sound of the key in the door, and there was her stepmother, frowning.
"Why are you away from your window?" the other woman demanded. "There are no coins left if you are not there."
"I'm hungry."
Stepmother sighed. "Very well, back to your window, and I will bring you something."
Knowing she had no other choice, Carolina returned to the window. The crowd cheered. When her stepmother returned with a piece of toast with jam, she whispered a reminder in Carolina's ear to toss the napkin to the crowd when finished - they would believe it to grant the greatest of luck. She left, locking Carolina in once more.
Thus was Carolina's life, trapped in a room from sunrise to sunset, except for Sundays when she was expected to sit primly in the front pew of the South Kingdom's cathedral, a picture of purity. On the rare occasion she was allowed out of the home in the evenings, she rarely got to enjoy it. Many would approach her, demanding she touch their
imperfections, that she converse with them, that she smile. If she did not, they were quick to anger. Others would not ask, their hands grabbing greedily at her hair, desperate to pull a few strands from her head. And then there were the voices that called out of the darkness, demanding wretched things. It made Carolina wonder if her daily prison was a better arrangement.
Carolina was two bites into the toast when a shout carried down the street. "Dragon! A dragon coming in from the East!"
The crowd murmured, looked up. Someone screamed. Then they all ran. Carolina craned her head out the window and saw in the distance - but rapidly approaching - the form of a great winged beast.
Withdrawing from the window, Carolina pulled at the door, only to find it still locked. She knocked at it, calling out to her stepmother without a response. After an hour, the door at last opened. Her stepmother was not alone. In the door stood a general in the king's army.
"Great beauty, " the general said, "Your king demands your assistance. A terrible beast of a dragon sits outside the gates. Already he had eaten two watchman. He has sworn to destroy one of the four kingdoms, but has promised to spare the three kingdoms that shows him the most beautiful things."
"Surely that would be a painting, or perhaps gold?" Carolina said.
"The North Kingdom's artists are renowned for their paintings, and the mines of the East Kingdom produce the purist gold. Our art and coins could not outshine them, but you could."
"I would be brought outside the gates?" Carolina asked.
"Yes, to where the dragon waits."
Carolina nodded. "Then I will go."
At the request of her stepmother and the general, Carolina recieved a few minutes alone to prepare. She ran a brush through her hair, and added a slight bit of color to her lips. As she freshened up, she caught a part of the conversation outside the room.
"Should she save the kingdom and survive, the king's second son will request her hand in marriage. Should she save the kingdom and perish, you will be greatly compensated for your loss. Should she fail, God save us all," the general was saying to her stepmother.
"I would be honored to give the prince Carolina," her Stepmother replied, "he has the strength to keep her in line and stop her foolish fantasies. But should my dear Carolina perish, I trust the king will be true to his word"
Carolina opened the door. "I'm ready. " | |
[WP] There's a teenage girl said to be the most beautiful and pure in all the land, many will travel for miles just to gaze at her beauty. When a dragon threatens to destroy her small village, the fair maiden, with no fear, approaches it, to ask what it is that he seeks. | When morning broke, all was silent and silence was bad. In Terranya, the land is never silent. Birds sing, wolves howl, deer bellow, and bears snarl. Where one animal ceases to speak, another takes their place to continue the chorus. This was not a tradition or a ritual. It was a fact of life in the realm of Terranya. Thus the arrival of a silent morning could only be an omen of dark times.
Such a notion was only slightly inaccurate. For high above the clouds and beyond the Aether, where stars once so far away would now be close neighbors, there was a dragon. Dragons in Terranya are vastly different than those of other realms. In some lands they are but mere beasts, no different from a lion or a hippo. In others they are wise and strong guardians, who devote their wisdom and talent to the betterment of their homeland. In a rare few lands Dragons are no different from any other race be it human, elf, dwarf, or others. Simple people living simple lives and nothing more.
Dragons in Terranya are none of those things. They don't even look like dragons at first. When one first sees them flying across the sky, it's easy to mistake them for the striking green lights that illuminate the skies of the Northern tundras every year. But then they get closer, and then you see them for what they really are.
When a dragon comes, gods and goddesses run and hide. Animals stampede in swarms ranging in the billions, with the common goal of escape obliterating fickle distinctions like Predator or Prey. Mankind is smart to follow them, while other races foolishly build walls or sharpen blades. In the end those who chose to run are now long gone, those who chose to hide now watch in fear of what's to come, and those who chose to fight now gather in the fields watching the skies above as they ready their blades.
For precisely three days the dragon has been circling above a small village. The shining of its scales hides all the details, but the general shape is always there. An arrow shaped head, adorned by two wings large enough to shroud a mountain. Then a flat ribbon-like body stretching hundreds of miles across the sky, with the dragon's light barely able to hide the thousands upon thousands of grasping claws that undulate along it's length like a centipede walking on air. The original inhabitants had long fled but the village found new company in the millions of warriors who blanket the land around it. Warriors who knew for sure that they were about to die. Moreso, they knew for sure that their deaths may not be glorious or even dignified. Afterall, this whole thing started with a girl.
A single, petite lady of commoner blood. No different from any other peasant girl. Well, aside from the fact that she was the most beautiful girl in the entire land. Half-nymph, half-elf, and blessed with the best of both species. But her beauty was not the only anomaly. It was long observed that children of two different races came deformed, crippled, and dead within hours of birth if not months before. No amount of fairy tails or true love could change simple genetics. Hybrid children were impossible. Each race was simply too different from the other.
So of course the one time a hybrid child manages to live more than two hours after birth they grow up to be so beautiful that knights, nobles, kings, emperors, and now a world-ending dragon have come for her hand in marriage. It was ridiculous. It was so ridiculous that every warrior standing in the fields around the small village below the biblically gargantuan dragon collectively agreed through a wave of side-glances, thumbs-ups, slight coughs, and other subliminal gestures that whether this first meeting leads to a wedding or the destruction of Terranya as they knew it, this day will forever go down in infamy as the day a statistically improbable girl was chaperoned by seven military armies to go on a date with a dragon. | Burnt skin, and a charred corpse. Not a single shred of hair was left over. Thousands stared at the body, admiring the cracks along the skin, and the few remnants of non-boiled blood that seeped onto the floor. The dragon had taken one thing, her eyes, for as bright as they had been, and full of determined arrogance.
It was horrifying, to watch, as men, women, and children alike, all walked up to the corpse, and seemed to stare at it in blind hypnosis, as if they knew not how to look away. All the while, the dragon laughed, flying high up into the sky.
I had been making the trek, to see the woman who supposedly held more beauty than any other. If I'm honest, my plan had been to murder her, simply because I knew such a thing to be a curse. Beauty is not something that comes without a price, especially not in a land like ours. If someone were to ever have a beauty similar to the legends told of her, it would inevitably lead to evils such as this. Where your corpse would be looked upon by eyes desperate to take cuts of your meat, just so they can hang it up on a wall.
Silently, I slid my knife back into its holster, and watched as the townsfolk grabbed at a burnt corpse, throwing pieces of bloodied meat into their mouth, desperate to attain even the slightest similarities to a woman now dead on the floor. | |
[WP] There's a teenage girl said to be the most beautiful and pure in all the land, many will travel for miles just to gaze at her beauty. When a dragon threatens to destroy her small village, the fair maiden, with no fear, approaches it, to ask what it is that he seeks. | The hulking green monstrosity came to a stop in the smoking wreckage of a house. A girl stood in its path, arms outstretched, a look of pleading on her young face. An angry shout issued from deep inside the great green form, then repeated.
“Why are we stopped? Ivan, what do you see? Contact? Markov, swivel this turret!”
The gun turret atop the T-72 tank turned, making an alarming sound. The girl standing in front of the machine winced at the sound, but stood her ground.
“No Commander,” Ivan said. “There is a girl.”
The Commander muttered a series of curses then opened the hatch at the top of the tank. The air that greeted him was choked with smoke and dust. He looked around, confirming there were no enemy combatants. The tank was vulnerable while stopped here, particularly with the restricted sight lines caused by the houses. They’d been forced off route and had detoured through a residential area to get back on course. Less than an hour ago, they’d been ambushed. The unholy creatures had set a trap and managed to destroy half their unit. The creatures that looked human, but the commander knew better. His gaze fell on the girl standing in the way. She was one of them. The soulless.
“Ivan,” the Commander said, trying to keep his voice calm and give Ivan the benefit of the doubt. “She is not strapped with explosives. Do you believe she is standing on a mine?”
“No Commander,” said Ivan. “No danger present—”
“Then why are we stopped? Drive forward! Every second we spend here is a second closer to death!”
The driver’s hatch slid open and Ivan poked his head out. He turned to look up at the commander, pointing at the girl. “Please, I know this girl.”
The Commander looked at the girl, incredulous. They were deep in soulless territory. Ivan was a true-born serving in the holy cause. How could he know her? Ivan was barely more than a boy himself, who by his own admission, had never been out of the homeland. The girl was waving her arms and shouting something, but it was impossible to hear her over the tank. The headsets they wore were the only reason the commander could hear Ivan. His gaze slid back to his driver. They didn’t have time for this, but perhaps he had not understood Ivan. The Commander decided to ask for clarification before he let himself get angry.
“Be quick, how do you know her?”
Ivan tapped his pocket, “She’s famous. I follow her. She has millions of followers. She’s always posting inspirational stuff.”
The Commander stared at Ivan. The boy had just admitted to a severe breach of protocol. A protocol which was in place to prevent the very situation they were now in. The lies the soulless told were insidious. They were presented as truth and got stuck in your head, twisting you up. He would have no choice but to punish Ivan later, but he could mitigate the punishment if the boy would cooperate with him now.
“Close hatch soldier! Drive forward!”
Ivan shook his head. “Commander, please! You must listen! This girl is not soulless, and… and I’m in love with her.”
Ivan began to climb out of the tank. The Commander tried to shout him down, but the man had a resolute look on his face, and ignored his commands. The Commander drew his sidearm and shot the girl. She crumpled like a marionette that’d had its strings cut. Ivan froze, one leg still in the hatch, staring at her lifeless body.
“Do you see?” The Commander gestured at the dead shell of a girl in front of the tank. “She was soulless!” His tone softened as he remembered how young Ivan was. They’d all lost friends that day, and were tired. “She infected your mind, Ivan. If you had gone to her, she would have taken your soul.”
Ivan turned a look of fury on the Commander, reaching for his own sidearm, “YOU BASTARD!”
Before he completed the draw, the Commander shot Ivan between the eyes. He fell forward, his body spilling slowly off the front of the tank in the boneless manner of death.
The Commander heaved a deep sigh. He would need to skip sleep that night to pray for Ivan’s soul. He’d lost count of how many sleepless nights of prayer he’d spent. War was hell, but good men did what they had to do. If they didn’t, evil would win. | Burnt skin, and a charred corpse. Not a single shred of hair was left over. Thousands stared at the body, admiring the cracks along the skin, and the few remnants of non-boiled blood that seeped onto the floor. The dragon had taken one thing, her eyes, for as bright as they had been, and full of determined arrogance.
It was horrifying, to watch, as men, women, and children alike, all walked up to the corpse, and seemed to stare at it in blind hypnosis, as if they knew not how to look away. All the while, the dragon laughed, flying high up into the sky.
I had been making the trek, to see the woman who supposedly held more beauty than any other. If I'm honest, my plan had been to murder her, simply because I knew such a thing to be a curse. Beauty is not something that comes without a price, especially not in a land like ours. If someone were to ever have a beauty similar to the legends told of her, it would inevitably lead to evils such as this. Where your corpse would be looked upon by eyes desperate to take cuts of your meat, just so they can hang it up on a wall.
Silently, I slid my knife back into its holster, and watched as the townsfolk grabbed at a burnt corpse, throwing pieces of bloodied meat into their mouth, desperate to attain even the slightest similarities to a woman now dead on the floor. | |
[WP] There's a teenage girl said to be the most beautiful and pure in all the land, many will travel for miles just to gaze at her beauty. When a dragon threatens to destroy her small village, the fair maiden, with no fear, approaches it, to ask what it is that he seeks. | The village waited with hushed breath, watching as their trophy, their pearl, their triumph, walked towards the monster.
She had managed to slip away while they were scrambling to bring everyone inside the walls, preparing the repel the dread creature that was approaching them. The vile dragon, larger than their village put together, their whole livestock would be little more than a mid-afternoon snack for the creature, and so they had retreated with sharpened, fire-hardened sticks behind hillocks of dirt to await their doom and give a final cry of defiance.
Yet she had somehow slipped through their ranks, evaded her parents, and was now making her way in a too-brightly bleached linen dress towards the creature, her eyes fixed on it's.
The villagers speculated, but never heard the exchange that went on between their gemstone and the monster. And she would not speak of it after, not that any had the nerve to ask. The two parties met, far enough from the village that the poisonous fumes from its breaths did little more than cause some dry throats, though how she survived them none knew (and again, none would dare ask).
The conversation between the two took hours, each party impassioned and brilliant, and those watching wincing and cowering, or almost cheering with defiance, based purely on what they could see of it.
Until the end of course. Then, they watched as the monster reared up, the fumed from its snout turning to flickering flame, it's mouth widening with great, filthy fangs ready to devour the only source of perfect beauty they had ever known.
Not one in the village could bring themselves to watch, and so every one averted their eyes as the sinuous neck curled, the mouth widened, poised over their perfect one. Every single person in the village looked away, except for one, a child, who after that day would never speak, and never again could look upon anything beautiful without devolving into screams.
As everyone looked away, there was a roar of flame, and an almighty crunch.
And the beauty walked back to the village, delicately wiping her lips. | Burnt skin, and a charred corpse. Not a single shred of hair was left over. Thousands stared at the body, admiring the cracks along the skin, and the few remnants of non-boiled blood that seeped onto the floor. The dragon had taken one thing, her eyes, for as bright as they had been, and full of determined arrogance.
It was horrifying, to watch, as men, women, and children alike, all walked up to the corpse, and seemed to stare at it in blind hypnosis, as if they knew not how to look away. All the while, the dragon laughed, flying high up into the sky.
I had been making the trek, to see the woman who supposedly held more beauty than any other. If I'm honest, my plan had been to murder her, simply because I knew such a thing to be a curse. Beauty is not something that comes without a price, especially not in a land like ours. If someone were to ever have a beauty similar to the legends told of her, it would inevitably lead to evils such as this. Where your corpse would be looked upon by eyes desperate to take cuts of your meat, just so they can hang it up on a wall.
Silently, I slid my knife back into its holster, and watched as the townsfolk grabbed at a burnt corpse, throwing pieces of bloodied meat into their mouth, desperate to attain even the slightest similarities to a woman now dead on the floor. | |
[WP] There's a teenage girl said to be the most beautiful and pure in all the land, many will travel for miles just to gaze at her beauty. When a dragon threatens to destroy her small village, the fair maiden, with no fear, approaches it, to ask what it is that he seeks. | "Mighty dragon, what is it you seek?"
Her voice rang out, strong and brave. The Treasure of Hilla Village was dwarfed by the black beast before her, yet she had no fear.
The dragon looked at her, surprised and amused. It was used to humans fleeing in terror. It had seen hunting parties shake at its sight, even as they tried to claim its heart for their own. But it had never seen one without fear.
"Where is your fear?"
It's voice was low, shaking the very ground with each word. The villagers gasped at it, the weight of centuries of age and power behind every letter. Yet the girl did not falter, standing like a tree in a storm. She clasped her hands before her, her tone calm and level.
"I do fear you, but not right now. I fear the potential you have to change, and choose to destroy us. But a simple conversation should not be held in terror."
It gave a laugh, each breath blowing her dress around.
"Such wisdom in one so young and small. I came here out if interest, to see what if this place was worth destroying or not. You, you intrigue me little human."
It lowered its head down to the ground, mere inches infront of the girl. She held out a hand, resting it on the dragons snout. It huffed out, a faint smell of smoke filling the air.
"I would ask you do not destroy my home, if I may."
It huffed again.
"I am impressed."
It withdrew its head, standing up to its full height.
"Very well, I will leave your place in peace. But I will return, and I expect you to be here."
She gave a beautiful smile, bowing her head.
"I will be."
With that it took to the air, soaring into the sky. The fair maiden returned to her village, dress wrinkled, hair a mess, and dust on her features. But to them, her beauty had only grown, having protected them from a creature beyond any they had seen before. | Burnt skin, and a charred corpse. Not a single shred of hair was left over. Thousands stared at the body, admiring the cracks along the skin, and the few remnants of non-boiled blood that seeped onto the floor. The dragon had taken one thing, her eyes, for as bright as they had been, and full of determined arrogance.
It was horrifying, to watch, as men, women, and children alike, all walked up to the corpse, and seemed to stare at it in blind hypnosis, as if they knew not how to look away. All the while, the dragon laughed, flying high up into the sky.
I had been making the trek, to see the woman who supposedly held more beauty than any other. If I'm honest, my plan had been to murder her, simply because I knew such a thing to be a curse. Beauty is not something that comes without a price, especially not in a land like ours. If someone were to ever have a beauty similar to the legends told of her, it would inevitably lead to evils such as this. Where your corpse would be looked upon by eyes desperate to take cuts of your meat, just so they can hang it up on a wall.
Silently, I slid my knife back into its holster, and watched as the townsfolk grabbed at a burnt corpse, throwing pieces of bloodied meat into their mouth, desperate to attain even the slightest similarities to a woman now dead on the floor. | |
[WP] There's a teenage girl said to be the most beautiful and pure in all the land, many will travel for miles just to gaze at her beauty. When a dragon threatens to destroy her small village, the fair maiden, with no fear, approaches it, to ask what it is that he seeks. | The village waited with hushed breath, watching as their trophy, their pearl, their triumph, walked towards the monster.
She had managed to slip away while they were scrambling to bring everyone inside the walls, preparing the repel the dread creature that was approaching them. The vile dragon, larger than their village put together, their whole livestock would be little more than a mid-afternoon snack for the creature, and so they had retreated with sharpened, fire-hardened sticks behind hillocks of dirt to await their doom and give a final cry of defiance.
Yet she had somehow slipped through their ranks, evaded her parents, and was now making her way in a too-brightly bleached linen dress towards the creature, her eyes fixed on it's.
The villagers speculated, but never heard the exchange that went on between their gemstone and the monster. And she would not speak of it after, not that any had the nerve to ask. The two parties met, far enough from the village that the poisonous fumes from its breaths did little more than cause some dry throats, though how she survived them none knew (and again, none would dare ask).
The conversation between the two took hours, each party impassioned and brilliant, and those watching wincing and cowering, or almost cheering with defiance, based purely on what they could see of it.
Until the end of course. Then, they watched as the monster reared up, the fumed from its snout turning to flickering flame, it's mouth widening with great, filthy fangs ready to devour the only source of perfect beauty they had ever known.
Not one in the village could bring themselves to watch, and so every one averted their eyes as the sinuous neck curled, the mouth widened, poised over their perfect one. Every single person in the village looked away, except for one, a child, who after that day would never speak, and never again could look upon anything beautiful without devolving into screams.
As everyone looked away, there was a roar of flame, and an almighty crunch.
And the beauty walked back to the village, delicately wiping her lips. | The hulking green monstrosity came to a stop in the smoking wreckage of a house. A girl stood in its path, arms outstretched, a look of pleading on her young face. An angry shout issued from deep inside the great green form, then repeated.
“Why are we stopped? Ivan, what do you see? Contact? Markov, swivel this turret!”
The gun turret atop the T-72 tank turned, making an alarming sound. The girl standing in front of the machine winced at the sound, but stood her ground.
“No Commander,” Ivan said. “There is a girl.”
The Commander muttered a series of curses then opened the hatch at the top of the tank. The air that greeted him was choked with smoke and dust. He looked around, confirming there were no enemy combatants. The tank was vulnerable while stopped here, particularly with the restricted sight lines caused by the houses. They’d been forced off route and had detoured through a residential area to get back on course. Less than an hour ago, they’d been ambushed. The unholy creatures had set a trap and managed to destroy half their unit. The creatures that looked human, but the commander knew better. His gaze fell on the girl standing in the way. She was one of them. The soulless.
“Ivan,” the Commander said, trying to keep his voice calm and give Ivan the benefit of the doubt. “She is not strapped with explosives. Do you believe she is standing on a mine?”
“No Commander,” said Ivan. “No danger present—”
“Then why are we stopped? Drive forward! Every second we spend here is a second closer to death!”
The driver’s hatch slid open and Ivan poked his head out. He turned to look up at the commander, pointing at the girl. “Please, I know this girl.”
The Commander looked at the girl, incredulous. They were deep in soulless territory. Ivan was a true-born serving in the holy cause. How could he know her? Ivan was barely more than a boy himself, who by his own admission, had never been out of the homeland. The girl was waving her arms and shouting something, but it was impossible to hear her over the tank. The headsets they wore were the only reason the commander could hear Ivan. His gaze slid back to his driver. They didn’t have time for this, but perhaps he had not understood Ivan. The Commander decided to ask for clarification before he let himself get angry.
“Be quick, how do you know her?”
Ivan tapped his pocket, “She’s famous. I follow her. She has millions of followers. She’s always posting inspirational stuff.”
The Commander stared at Ivan. The boy had just admitted to a severe breach of protocol. A protocol which was in place to prevent the very situation they were now in. The lies the soulless told were insidious. They were presented as truth and got stuck in your head, twisting you up. He would have no choice but to punish Ivan later, but he could mitigate the punishment if the boy would cooperate with him now.
“Close hatch soldier! Drive forward!”
Ivan shook his head. “Commander, please! You must listen! This girl is not soulless, and… and I’m in love with her.”
Ivan began to climb out of the tank. The Commander tried to shout him down, but the man had a resolute look on his face, and ignored his commands. The Commander drew his sidearm and shot the girl. She crumpled like a marionette that’d had its strings cut. Ivan froze, one leg still in the hatch, staring at her lifeless body.
“Do you see?” The Commander gestured at the dead shell of a girl in front of the tank. “She was soulless!” His tone softened as he remembered how young Ivan was. They’d all lost friends that day, and were tired. “She infected your mind, Ivan. If you had gone to her, she would have taken your soul.”
Ivan turned a look of fury on the Commander, reaching for his own sidearm, “YOU BASTARD!”
Before he completed the draw, the Commander shot Ivan between the eyes. He fell forward, his body spilling slowly off the front of the tank in the boneless manner of death.
The Commander heaved a deep sigh. He would need to skip sleep that night to pray for Ivan’s soul. He’d lost count of how many sleepless nights of prayer he’d spent. War was hell, but good men did what they had to do. If they didn’t, evil would win. | |
[WP] There's a teenage girl said to be the most beautiful and pure in all the land, many will travel for miles just to gaze at her beauty. When a dragon threatens to destroy her small village, the fair maiden, with no fear, approaches it, to ask what it is that he seeks. | "Mighty dragon, what is it you seek?"
Her voice rang out, strong and brave. The Treasure of Hilla Village was dwarfed by the black beast before her, yet she had no fear.
The dragon looked at her, surprised and amused. It was used to humans fleeing in terror. It had seen hunting parties shake at its sight, even as they tried to claim its heart for their own. But it had never seen one without fear.
"Where is your fear?"
It's voice was low, shaking the very ground with each word. The villagers gasped at it, the weight of centuries of age and power behind every letter. Yet the girl did not falter, standing like a tree in a storm. She clasped her hands before her, her tone calm and level.
"I do fear you, but not right now. I fear the potential you have to change, and choose to destroy us. But a simple conversation should not be held in terror."
It gave a laugh, each breath blowing her dress around.
"Such wisdom in one so young and small. I came here out if interest, to see what if this place was worth destroying or not. You, you intrigue me little human."
It lowered its head down to the ground, mere inches infront of the girl. She held out a hand, resting it on the dragons snout. It huffed out, a faint smell of smoke filling the air.
"I would ask you do not destroy my home, if I may."
It huffed again.
"I am impressed."
It withdrew its head, standing up to its full height.
"Very well, I will leave your place in peace. But I will return, and I expect you to be here."
She gave a beautiful smile, bowing her head.
"I will be."
With that it took to the air, soaring into the sky. The fair maiden returned to her village, dress wrinkled, hair a mess, and dust on her features. But to them, her beauty had only grown, having protected them from a creature beyond any they had seen before. | The hulking green monstrosity came to a stop in the smoking wreckage of a house. A girl stood in its path, arms outstretched, a look of pleading on her young face. An angry shout issued from deep inside the great green form, then repeated.
“Why are we stopped? Ivan, what do you see? Contact? Markov, swivel this turret!”
The gun turret atop the T-72 tank turned, making an alarming sound. The girl standing in front of the machine winced at the sound, but stood her ground.
“No Commander,” Ivan said. “There is a girl.”
The Commander muttered a series of curses then opened the hatch at the top of the tank. The air that greeted him was choked with smoke and dust. He looked around, confirming there were no enemy combatants. The tank was vulnerable while stopped here, particularly with the restricted sight lines caused by the houses. They’d been forced off route and had detoured through a residential area to get back on course. Less than an hour ago, they’d been ambushed. The unholy creatures had set a trap and managed to destroy half their unit. The creatures that looked human, but the commander knew better. His gaze fell on the girl standing in the way. She was one of them. The soulless.
“Ivan,” the Commander said, trying to keep his voice calm and give Ivan the benefit of the doubt. “She is not strapped with explosives. Do you believe she is standing on a mine?”
“No Commander,” said Ivan. “No danger present—”
“Then why are we stopped? Drive forward! Every second we spend here is a second closer to death!”
The driver’s hatch slid open and Ivan poked his head out. He turned to look up at the commander, pointing at the girl. “Please, I know this girl.”
The Commander looked at the girl, incredulous. They were deep in soulless territory. Ivan was a true-born serving in the holy cause. How could he know her? Ivan was barely more than a boy himself, who by his own admission, had never been out of the homeland. The girl was waving her arms and shouting something, but it was impossible to hear her over the tank. The headsets they wore were the only reason the commander could hear Ivan. His gaze slid back to his driver. They didn’t have time for this, but perhaps he had not understood Ivan. The Commander decided to ask for clarification before he let himself get angry.
“Be quick, how do you know her?”
Ivan tapped his pocket, “She’s famous. I follow her. She has millions of followers. She’s always posting inspirational stuff.”
The Commander stared at Ivan. The boy had just admitted to a severe breach of protocol. A protocol which was in place to prevent the very situation they were now in. The lies the soulless told were insidious. They were presented as truth and got stuck in your head, twisting you up. He would have no choice but to punish Ivan later, but he could mitigate the punishment if the boy would cooperate with him now.
“Close hatch soldier! Drive forward!”
Ivan shook his head. “Commander, please! You must listen! This girl is not soulless, and… and I’m in love with her.”
Ivan began to climb out of the tank. The Commander tried to shout him down, but the man had a resolute look on his face, and ignored his commands. The Commander drew his sidearm and shot the girl. She crumpled like a marionette that’d had its strings cut. Ivan froze, one leg still in the hatch, staring at her lifeless body.
“Do you see?” The Commander gestured at the dead shell of a girl in front of the tank. “She was soulless!” His tone softened as he remembered how young Ivan was. They’d all lost friends that day, and were tired. “She infected your mind, Ivan. If you had gone to her, she would have taken your soul.”
Ivan turned a look of fury on the Commander, reaching for his own sidearm, “YOU BASTARD!”
Before he completed the draw, the Commander shot Ivan between the eyes. He fell forward, his body spilling slowly off the front of the tank in the boneless manner of death.
The Commander heaved a deep sigh. He would need to skip sleep that night to pray for Ivan’s soul. He’d lost count of how many sleepless nights of prayer he’d spent. War was hell, but good men did what they had to do. If they didn’t, evil would win. | |
[WP] The woman looked at her at her blind date and said, "I told Tammy that I wanted old and rich...not eldritch." | “Oh, so Cthulhu not good enough for you?”
“That’s not what I meant… um-” Em blinked. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of her, well, ‘date.’ The one thing she knew was that Tammy had a lot of explaining to do.
“Cthulhu devour one or two reality, spend three lifetime of universe in prison, only get out and be treated with such… No. NO! Is Cthulhu not deserving of love? Cthulhu may do unspeakable horror one time, two time, three time. But Cthulhu is new man, changed man. Cthulhu try do better, Cthulhu try. Cthulhu open heart for all humanity, give all humanity love. No. I leave now-”
“Cthulhu wait!” Em said, reaching for one of his tentacles. It had an indescribable texture to it. Not quite cold, and not quite damp. Something in between time and space. It had a fluid like, ethereal nature that could not be perceived through touch alone.
Cthulhu made a face. Em got the feeling it was a disapproving sort of face. She didn’t know why. Just the vibe she got. His head was a mass of tendrils. Like a squid on a somewhat human shaped torso. He didn’t so much as speak as his words manifested in her mind. Em got the sense that there was more to Cthulhu’s presence than her eyes could comprehend.
“I’m sorry if I offended you,” Em said, glancing away momentarily. “I just don’t know very much about… your kind. But I’d like to learn more, if you’d let me.”
Cthulhu sat back down at the table. “Fine. Cthulhu give you one more chance.”
“Are you ready for your order?” The waiter asked.
“Cthulhu wil have, how you say? Soul of damned, grilled on black hole event horizon roasted in quazar. ”
“I’m sorry sir, our - uh - quasar oven is broken at the moment. We will only be serving what is on the menu tonight..”
“In that case, Cthulhu will try chicken milanese.”
“And I will have the mushroom ravioli,” Em added.
“I’ll bring your order shortly,” the waiter nodded. “Can I get you anything to drink in the meantime?”
“Water good.” Cthulhu said. “Water good for Em too.”
Em lowered her brow. What did he know about what she wanted? Water was fine, but not because he said so! “I’ll have a red wine,” she said, handing the waiter her menu.
“Cthulhu laugh, Cthulhu laugh very hard.” His tentacles writhed. “Cthulhu be omniscient, but not always omniscient, as they say.”
“So,” Em said. “Where are you from?”
“Cthulhu is from realm beyond time and space. Human would require many lifetime of study to understand.”
Em smiled. She had a thing for foreign guys. “What’s it like there?”
“Cthulhu had many trial and tribulation, had reckoning with most fundamental force of reality. Cthulhu not want talk about.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. If I cross any boundaries, just let me know and I will respect them.”
“Cthulhu thank you.”
Em still had trouble reading his expressions. He seemed like the sensitive type, but there was no indication of how he felt on the outside. He was so mysterious. It was honestly intoxicating. Hard on the outside, but with unfathomable emotional depth. Em did have to give Tammy some credit there. He was just her type.
“What do you do exactly?” Em asked.
“Cthulhu is between jobs at moment.”
Em squinted at him. “So you’re unemployed?”
Cthulhu’s tentacles squirmed. “Cthulhu certain something will come up. Has been foreseen. Cthulhu has extensive resume. Currently, Cthulhu volunteering repair space time continuity in Manhattan. Should fix in hour or two.”
“You say that like you're already there, fixing it right now?”
“Yes, Cthulhu in many place across cosmo. Cthulhu even on other date too.” Cthulhu dipped his head. “Oh no, Cthulhu forgot mention.”
“Oh, that’s totally okay. I don’t know if Tammy told you, but I am actually polyamorous.”
“Cthulhu is pleased hear. How you say? Cut from same cloth?”
“You could say that,” Em said with a big smile.
“What about you?” Cthulhu asked “What you do?”
“I’m an elementary school teacher,” Em answered.
“You enjoy?”
“Yeah, I think so. I like being an important part of my students' development. Do you like kids?”
“Cuthulhu has no concept of offspring. Cthulhu is own father and son. Cthulhu existence implies itself.”
Em nodded. She didn’t quite follow. It was kind of like when her brother talked about how the engine of his motorcycle worked. Em wasn’t interested in the details, but she was glad that it meant something to him.
“What subject do Em teach?”
“I teach english,” Em said, leaning forward over the table. “Also, I noticed. You don’t seem to use plurals. I could give you an English lesson, if you want?”
“Cthulhu is aware of plural. Cthulhu disagree with premise.”
He leaned in close, so that their faces almost touched.
Em laughed. “You say the strangest things, you know that?”
“Cthulhu know.”
Em went in for a kiss. It was an experience unlike any other. | "That's not very nice of you, young lady." said the old man sitting on the other end of the table.
"Don't call me 'young lady' you fifty-year old fossil! I'm just ten years younger than you for fuck's sake! And you're not even that rich!"
"And I specifically asked for a nice younger woman, preferably early in her thirties, to keep me company, not some forty-year fucker who doesn't even disguise her intentions!" The man took a deep breath, downing the entire glass of that restaurant's most expensive wine. "Look," he started in a calmer tone. "We both know what we're after when we went into this date and it's clear that you've got no intention to play ball so let's make it quick and clear."
The girl followed suit, though she took two glasses before calming down. "Fine," she said. "And I admit, that's not really nice of me to say. Sorry for that."
"Okay. So... I can pay you for your time tonight if you want, if only so neither of us would have wasted time and effort coming here."
"I don't think I can take you on that offer," she said, glaring at him head to toe.
"That's fair." The man nodded even though he's visibly hurt by the comment. "Let's just finish our dinner, then."
There were no more incident between them afterwards, though the two remained quiet all throughout the meal. They parted ways after, never seeing each other again. The waiter, however, picked up quite the insult for his family next time they meet. As he went back to his shift, he wondered if he should visit Dunwich if he's got the time. | |
[WP] The woman looked at her at her blind date and said, "I told Tammy that I wanted old and rich...not eldritch." | Lady Cthylla sits across from me, studying her menu. I told Tammy I wanted old and rich...not eldritch. This is the last time I let her talk me into a blind date.
We've already burned through all the standard first-date small talk. Where do you live? Me: Brooklyn. Her: beneath the flooded fishing town of Oakmont, not too far from Innsmouth. What do you do for a living? Me: freelance copywriting and improv comedy. Her: waiting to give birth to her own father in the distant future and selling jewelry on Etsy.
"What sort of jewelry?" I ask, steering the conversation away from kids. Cthylla is weird, even by Tammy's standards, but she's far from the worst date I've been on recently. So far she hasn't tried to recruit me into a cult or anything.
"Amulets, mostly," she says, slightly wheezing. Was she a smoker?
"That's pretty cool. Must be a lot of fun making jewelry."
"It passes the time." She seems to deflate, shoulders sinking. "It's not like they'll let me do much of anything else."
The server comes around to take our orders. Cthylla orders paella and asks if the bread is free. When the server confirms, she orders another basket for the table. Hiding my smile, I go with the steak, medium rare. Tammy always warns to avoid the meat sweats during a first date — as if *that's* my biggest problem.
"Your parents pretty strict?" I ask.
"My father, the Great Cthulhu, named me his future vessel." She looks down, pale hands clenched into fists. "When the King in Yellow raises his Sine, my father will perish in the resulting conflict. This has been foretold."
"Foretold? Eh. I don't really buy into psychics and stuff."
"It is none of your concern," Cthylla sighs. "Their duel is not scheduled for another twenty-thousand years."
"Twenty thousand?"
"That is not dead which can eternal lie."
The server arrives with our food. I spent most of the date glancing away from Cthylla to other tables, fighting not to stare too long. But now, I can't not stare at her. She's not magazine hot; she's Tim-Burton-designed-a-mermaid hot. Her eyes are the purest sea-foam green I've ever seen and her lips and nail polish match her eyes exactly. What I can see of her hair, under the seashell headpiece she's wearing, is so dark it almost looks blue in the dining room light. She seems tired and bored and utterly alone. My eyes won't look away, and I stop trying to make them.
When I was in the fifth grade, a new girl transferred into my school from another state. A week later I found her crying in the gym alone. It wasn't like I had many friends, being the only brown kid in school, but at least I knew the people who gave me the cold shoulder. This girl had no one. Somehow, it was like I could feel the loneliness growing around her, cold, like a wall of ice. I couldn't explain it more than that, but I didn't need to. I let her explain it to me after we started hanging out. Tammy and I are still friends to this day.
Whether or not Cthylla is legit certifiable or part of some sort of mermaid collective, I'm going to show this bored, lonely babe a night on the town.
Over coffee and custards, I tell her my weirdest improv show story. My team and I showed up to perform in the basement of a bar on a Tuesday night. The only people there were a middle-aged couple sitting right up front, drunk and loud. The couple kept fighting and ordering more drinks, shouting over our performance the entire time. An hour later, at the end of the show, the husband straightened his tie and handed me a business card before leaving the venue with his wife as if nothing had happened.
"What was on the card?" she asks, head tilted in interest.
"The guy's name. Art Lieberman, an agent at Three Arts—this big talent agency that books people on TV shows and movies and stuff. There was a cell phone number on the card too."
"Did you call?"
"I did. But the number connected to a Chinese restaurant in my neighborhood. The Beef Lo Mein was pretty good."
Cthylla's lips curl into a smile. "You lie."
"No, it's true, except the Chinese restaurant part. The cell number was out of service." Still, the Beef Lo Mein at No. 1 Chinese Restaurant *was* exceptional.
"Can I walk you to the subway?" I ask once we finished signing our respective receipts. She shakes her head.
"It is not a far walk."
"I could use a walk. Got all this steak inside me."
\*\*\*
\[Part 2 Below\] | "That's not very nice of you, young lady." said the old man sitting on the other end of the table.
"Don't call me 'young lady' you fifty-year old fossil! I'm just ten years younger than you for fuck's sake! And you're not even that rich!"
"And I specifically asked for a nice younger woman, preferably early in her thirties, to keep me company, not some forty-year fucker who doesn't even disguise her intentions!" The man took a deep breath, downing the entire glass of that restaurant's most expensive wine. "Look," he started in a calmer tone. "We both know what we're after when we went into this date and it's clear that you've got no intention to play ball so let's make it quick and clear."
The girl followed suit, though she took two glasses before calming down. "Fine," she said. "And I admit, that's not really nice of me to say. Sorry for that."
"Okay. So... I can pay you for your time tonight if you want, if only so neither of us would have wasted time and effort coming here."
"I don't think I can take you on that offer," she said, glaring at him head to toe.
"That's fair." The man nodded even though he's visibly hurt by the comment. "Let's just finish our dinner, then."
There were no more incident between them afterwards, though the two remained quiet all throughout the meal. They parted ways after, never seeing each other again. The waiter, however, picked up quite the insult for his family next time they meet. As he went back to his shift, he wondered if he should visit Dunwich if he's got the time. | |
[WP] The woman looked at her at her blind date and said, "I told Tammy that I wanted old and rich...not eldritch." | Blind dates are ideal. The sightless don't go insane upon meeting us. We admit there was some confusion among us about the term on our first date. Tammy should have been more clear, or perhaps the onus was on us to clarify. But, it was only a brief encounter. A few months in a pleasure dimension will probably straighten him out.
Tonight's date is better. Tammy promised. They walk in using a stick and ask to be directed to our table. We do not allow the waitstaff's minds to acknowledge our existence, but they bring our date to the correct table anyways. We rise noisily to greet them.
"Hello, you are the one of which Tammy told us. The being known as Julia?" We flex reality in a formal bow. Julia does not react to the sight. This is good. We are pretty sure they are female.
"Yes. And you must be Golbux." She mispronounced our name, but that is forgivable for a being with only one tongue. "It's nice to meet you, Tammy told me so much about you."
"Hopefully the information imparted left a positive impression. Tammy also provided much information about you. It was all very acceptable. Please sit. Appetizers have already been requested. If they are not acceptable, additional requests can be made." We squelch back into our chair.
"Oh, I'll eat anything on a first date, if you're lucky." Julia makes a facial contortion with one of her blind eyes. We do not understand, but desire to be 'cool', so decide to agree.
"Yes, we also consume all things. Our worshippers say that it is our best trait." We worry that that was a weird thing to say. This is perhaps not going well. But Julia laughs and smiles.
"Oh, you're funny. I like that. I can't place your accent, though. Is it German?" She slides a hand across the table towards us. We form a flesh hand to match.
"No." We consumed the mind of a German once. He deserved it. He wanted us to help them in a war. Even we thought he was a bad person. "It is... Austrian."
"You sound like you belong in some giant castle. Tammy said you were old money." Julia's hand grips ours and a connection forms. We sense the depths of her existence.
Her past is tragic.
Her present is the calm of the ocean before a storm.
Her future is endless. She will accept us.
"Money is not important. But we are rich in time."
\[More writing at r/c_avery_m\] | "That's not very nice of you, young lady." said the old man sitting on the other end of the table.
"Don't call me 'young lady' you fifty-year old fossil! I'm just ten years younger than you for fuck's sake! And you're not even that rich!"
"And I specifically asked for a nice younger woman, preferably early in her thirties, to keep me company, not some forty-year fucker who doesn't even disguise her intentions!" The man took a deep breath, downing the entire glass of that restaurant's most expensive wine. "Look," he started in a calmer tone. "We both know what we're after when we went into this date and it's clear that you've got no intention to play ball so let's make it quick and clear."
The girl followed suit, though she took two glasses before calming down. "Fine," she said. "And I admit, that's not really nice of me to say. Sorry for that."
"Okay. So... I can pay you for your time tonight if you want, if only so neither of us would have wasted time and effort coming here."
"I don't think I can take you on that offer," she said, glaring at him head to toe.
"That's fair." The man nodded even though he's visibly hurt by the comment. "Let's just finish our dinner, then."
There were no more incident between them afterwards, though the two remained quiet all throughout the meal. They parted ways after, never seeing each other again. The waiter, however, picked up quite the insult for his family next time they meet. As he went back to his shift, he wondered if he should visit Dunwich if he's got the time. | |
[WP] Far into the future, scientists have figured out a way to simulate the creation of the universe. They speed up the simulation and let it sit. The next day, the researchers see themselves pacing back and forth on the screen. | “Where the heck are you, Prof. Kumar?”, muttered Catherine under her breath as she knocked for the fifth time on her PhD advisor’s office door. She knew a sixth knock wouldn’t magically make him appear inside his office, but she tried anyway, waited a few seconds, sighed and then stormed off to the graduate student office down the hall.
As she walked back, she started going over the startup parameters in her head that they had set for the universe simulation launched yesterday. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Yet, the bizarre end result she was seeing this morning made her question if she even understood how Large Scale Astrophysical Quantum Field Simulations worked at all. She entered the empty office, sat down in her chair and stared dejectedly at the screen of her terminal. How will she ever complete her thesis on time now?
“What have we got here, eh? Spying on the grad students, are we?” Catherine’s thoughts were interrupted by her fellow PhD student, Pedro, who had just come in and was staring at the screen of her terminal. The screen showed a view of an office with multiple terminals arranged in cubicles. The office only had two people, a man and a woman, who were both staring at a screen. Pedro raised his hand and waved. Soon enough, the man on the screen also waved.
“So, where’s the camera?” Pedro asked as he searched the back wall and ceiling of the office with an amused look in his eyes.
“That”, Catherine said gesturing with her hands towards the screen, “ is the result of the simulation we started yesterday.”
“No way! You’re joking!”
“I wish I was.”
Pedro went up to the terminal and issued some commands.The view on the screen zoomed out to show their department building now. Pedro zoomed out further to see the whole University campus and the city, its skyline and the flying cars cutting across the Sun. He zoomed out even further to see the whole of the planet Earth, the moon, the Solar System, the Oort cloud, the Milky Way galaxy, the Virgo supercluster. He then zoomed quickly back into Earth, into their city, into a floating restaurant over the University campus, zoomed into the kitchen and saw his partner, the head chef, making preparations for the lunch crowd. He immediately let go of the terminal and sat down quietly on the floor with both his hands over his head.
“How?”
“I don’t know”
Both of them sat in silence, thinking.
The silence was broken by a familiar jingling of keys as Prof. Kumar struggled to unlock his office door up the hallway. It usually took him three attempts to find the right key. Catherine and Pedro had already run up to him by the end of his second attempt. They brought him back to their office and showed him the universe they had created. He was completely silent as he issued multiple commands over the terminal and poured over the results and initial startup scripts for several minutes. In the end, he came back to the view in the simulation that showed the same room they were in. Their simulated counterparts were in the exact same positions as them on the screen.
“Interesting”, Prof. Kumar said. Both Pedro and Catherine knew it was rare for Prof. Kumar to describe something as “interesting”. Very few things surprised an expert of his caliber. “What do you guys think is going on?” he asked his students.
“We have simulated universes so many times before. We have observed the evolution of multiple celestial bodies, planets and simulated life forms. All of them have been random. But why is this simulation so close to our own universe? Statistically, this should be impossible.” mused Pedro.
“Somehow the simulated universe has become linked to our universe. Some kind of entanglement has forced the simulated universe to converge to our own universe. But what is the source and nature of this entanglement?” asked Catherine.
“I remember reading a while ago that some entanglement effects were a major engineering pain when multi-core quantum processors were invented in the late 22nd century” said Pedro “But I thought modern atomic shielding had practically eliminated this issue. Unless…”
“Solar flares!” exclaimed Catherine.
“Yup, there was a big one that hit us yesterday around the time we started the simulation.” she said after looking it up on her terminal “Atomic shielding becomes useless momentarily in presence of high speed Helium and HZE ions.”
“That is indeed the most probable cause for this entanglement among our universes.” agreed Prof. Kumar. He felt proud of both of them for coming to his own conclusion so quickly.
“But answer me this”, he continued “the quantum processor count and frequency we are using for our universe simulations mean that every second in our universe should equal about 140,000 years in the simulated universe. Correct?”
Catherine and Pedro nodded.
“Why then is the simulated universe now running at the same speed as our own and not 140,000 years in 1 second? Why is it still at the exact same moment in time as our own universe?”
“It probably started in its entangled state and evolved from there at 140,000 years in 1 second. It reached the current moment in our universe in about a day. And if it were to continue at this rate, it would show us the future!” answered Pedro.
“And why can’t this entangled universe show us our future?”
“Because it hasn’t happened yet?” asked Catherine “It feels like if it did, it would violate some sort of fundamental universal law.”
“Well, not just any law.” said Prof. Kumar “A law I proposed in my PhD dissertation thesis with my advisor at the time. We described a very similar situation to what we are seeing here today, the law essentially states that if the simulated entangled universe were to run ahead of the original universe, it would violate the second law of thermodynamics. I’ll send you the relevant journal paper.”
”But I never thought I would have the chance to see it in action,” he said after a brief pause. “We should definitely write a paper to report these findings.”
“Oh man, and here I thought I was close to completing my thesis,” said Catherine ruefully.
Prof. Kumar smiled and started towards the door to leave.
“Umm, one last question, Professor,” said Pedro.
“Yeah?” Prof. Kumar said as he stopped and turned.
“Our counterparts in the simulated universe,” said Pedro pointing at the screen “What are they looking at on their screen?”
Prof. Kumar shrugged, “Who knows? I would like to think they are looking at us.” | Everyone celebrated in the background, I make a call,
"Hello"
"Hello? I thought I told you not to call me again?"
Confused I replied "Sorry, whats wrong?"
\*tone dial\*
"Thats strange" as I lay back in my chair and doze off with a bottle of scotch in hand.
My alarm starts ringing, "5:30? Already? Half an hour until I have to get to work...that's fine, yesterday was beyond successful, 15 minutes won't do any harm."
​
"Sh\*t! I'm late!"
As I scrub my eyes and look around shaking off the hangover, there she is and yet, that was her, that was her maybe 5 or was it 8 years ago. At this point I couldn't remember. For how angry she had been waking up she just sat there and smiled at me. As I hug her I notice my hand, there is no ring.
​
"Hey Henry! Henry!"
Shaken awake, back in the lab, had I dreamt that? It felt so vivid, I could have sworn I was there, the stench of garlic on my work clothes, the scents of things I never knew how to pronounce or to spell from her various essence and oils.
"Yeah what is it?" I ask, fucking Anthony, always the 'life of the party' at least thats how he saw himself.
"Come over here, look at this!" He stumbles across the room tapping the keyboard to a monitor. The screen was black as I stared at him.
"Very interesti-ING!" I yell as the picture of Samara coming out of the well pops up on screen. By this time it was 2 in the morning, we all had to be back at work by 6...wait, we had to be back at work by 6. I made my way towards the balcony to smoke a cigarette. The moonlight is so pretty, if only it rained. From behind me I hear Candace approaching. As she extends her hand out towards me and then black.
"There is no way I'm this drunk" I think as I fade.
​
She sits there crying as I say nothing. Half of me is excited the other half is heart broken. I don't remember this at all, this wasn't like last time. What did it do?
"Next time be nice" she says, what does she mean by that? In all the years we had been together it wasn't completely pleasant but how did we get to this part? This part hadn't happened yet? Had it, I didn't think it ever would foolish of me to think so but confident I was! I no longer had the feeling of excitement, now I just felt despair and confusion. "Next time be nicer? what did that mean?"
​
Eventually I wake up, everyone is still celebrating
\*20 missed phone calls from her\*
"Hello" | |
[WP] throughout your life you have always donated regularly to blood banks. One day a demon appears to claim a contract you didnt sign... | "**Well... This is awkward.**" The hulking, fiery mass of sin and evil says, rubbing the back of his head, "**By all laws of heaven and hell, I should be ripping your left arm off your body as the contract dictates but-**"
"It wasn't me!" I shout, stomping the ground in indignation, "I don't even know where to start when it comes to summoning a demon!" I was infuriated. My Friday night was ruined because I decided to be a good person. I guess that shows me.
"**I know, I know**" The demon placates me, "**But we honestly have no other way to find the true dealer without their blood. And trust me, I'll probably be punished with the sheer amount of paperwork I'll have to fill out.**"
"I'd much rather choose some paperwork rather than have my arm ripped off!" I argue, ignoring the fact that the giant in front of me could wipe out a city block in a blink of an eye, "For god's sake, I'm a chef! I need all my arms! Have you ever heard of a chef with one arm?"
The demon rubs his brow in annoyance, "**Dude, at least it'll be painless. I was originally going to be ripping it off slowly to make sure you savour the pain**"
"Bloody hell," I sigh, "Can you tell me what the guy asked for?"
The demon snapped his fingers, creating a book out of nowhere, seemingly made from human skin, "**Hmm... Says here in the charter that Anton Faust signed a contract where he promised his left hand in exchange for... a larger sexual appendage.**"
At this point, I was seeing red, "Are you telling me, that I have to lose my arm because some PRICK WANTED A BIGGER DICK!?!?" I scream, punching the drywall next to me, before coming to a realisation, "Wait a minute... Anton Faust. I know that name!"
The demon looked down at me in surprise, "**Bullshit. How?!**"
I grin, "Come with me, Demon Guy."
​
​
​
Two hours later, in the popular restaurant known as the 'Silver Spoon', a weasely looking man, wearing a white apron enters through the back door, into the kitchen. "Uhm... Boss?" He calls out to the dark kitchen. Suddenly a single light turns on, revealing a man sitting down, with a single table in front of him and another chair.
"Well, well. If it isn't my favourite Sous Chef! Anton, take a seat." Anton didn't know what, but something was off. Usually, he wasn't called to come back to the restaurant so late in the night. He takes his seat, still confused. "Now Anton, I'm sure you can guess why I called you here."
Anton pulls on his collar, sweating a bit, "A pay raise?" He asked hopefully.
The man lets out a hearty chuckle, making Anton worry even more. Something about the air made him sick. The room felt very hot.
"It's so funny." The man says, a cruel smile on his face.
"What is, sir?" Anton asks, twiddling his thumbs.
"It's funny how you think you can BULLSHIT ME IN FRONT OF MY FACE!" With that, the man swiftly pulls out a cleaver and brings it upon Anton, who was too stunned to move. In almost a second, the cleaver had gone right through Anton's shoulder, as if they had attacked people with cleavers before.
It was then that Anton noticed that his arm was separated from his body, and then the pain caught up to him. Anton screamed like he never had before, as blood gushed from his wound.
The man grabs Anton's chopped-off arm and says, "Baalth'zar of the Sixth Circle, I call to you for your just reward." It was then, that Anton knew he was fucked. His boss, who he was hoping to have lost their arm, was now calling the name of the demon he had contracted.
The severed arm went up in flames, leaving behind an unpleasant scent of burnt flesh. "Well, I guess that's settled," Anton's boss says, before turning to Anton. "Now, I suppose I can't have you run off to the police, can I?" Anton's boss runs his tongue across the cleaver, licking Anton's blood, "Perhaps a new special is in need for tomorrow? Maybe you can help me with it, Anton."
And for the last time in his life, Anton cursed all the decisions he had ever made. | "If I had a nickel for every time someone used another person's blood to sign a demonic contract in bad faith, I'd have 2 nickels," the demon said, "which isn't a lot but its weird that it happened twice."
"Ok," I said, "so you aren't gonna claim my soul on their behalf?"
"Ha, I still get to claim that guys soul," the demon said with a smile, "The fun part is that souls claimed under contract get afforded certain protection. This contract signed in bad faith granted a man limitless wealth and power. Now, without the guarantee of payment it becomes power and wealth stolen from me. I get claim on their soul, without any sort of clause for protecting it."
And with that the demon disappeared in a red mist. I wondered who it was that signed a contract in my name and was glad that hell had so many rules. | |
[WP] You are a famous hero, recognized far and wide. You stand before a locked door with an altar reading "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed". You stand naked with all your belongings stacked on altar. The door doesn't budge. Your party is getting impatient. | Standing before the alter, completely naked I looked down, before slowly redressing. The party behind me tilting their heads.
I looked up at them before slowly lowering my head again. “No treasure beyond that door is worth it, and whatever evil there is would only use everything against me.”
The elf yelled at me swearing “You mean to tell me you brought us here for nothing?!” He ran up before punching me and knocking me to the ground, I fell down rather hard hitting my head, a weak smile on my face. “I can’t give up you guys, so Im sorry.”
The elf paused looking at me with caution as he backed up. “Im sorry, I was out of line”
I giggled softly “its alright friend, but the door will open for you and the others.”
The elf looked at me puzzled before getting a pained expression of realization, but before he could do anything I grabbed my dagger stabbing myself in the chest.
I felt pain and warmth seep from my chest, but the door slowly opened. Then suddenly the alter glowed and my wounds started to heal.
The party had turned away from what looked like my dead body crying and hugging each other, the elf had started to walk away as I slowly went to stand.
As I stood they all noticed me, but none of them approached, I looked at them confused. “Whats wrong friends?”
The dwarf looked down solemnly. “You are no longer you, you will never be you again, this isn’t real, you have been here before”
Suddenly my party vanished, skeletons left behind, I looked down wearing a similar outfit but my features were different. Something changed that night, and this was not my first time being reborn.
It had been over a thousand years since my first death, everyone remembers the first me as a great hero who died for her party, but in reality I was selfless, I knew entrance would cost all my friends, so I paid the price for them.
I return once every time I am reborn, to go and pay homage to my fallen friends, they won the battle and returned to die together once their journey ended.
I wish I had gotten to see them one last time, but I know fate has other plans. A elf boy around 18 ran down hugging me. “Come on Luci! We gotta get back! Dad said it wasn’t safe for people like us to be here at night!”
I smiled faintly “of course Azeal, lets return home, father would be worried” I looked one last time before making a small spell on the area, small flowers grew from all the skeletons returning them to the ground.
A garden for those who deserved the praise I received, and the hope for new beginnings once again. | (Written on mobile, kinda short but lmk what yall think :3)
I take a step back for a moment. Reading over the inscription in my mind over and over. I eventually relay the translation to the rest of my crew, who all nod and respond now knowing what must be done.
“Well go on, do it.” Said Seth, an impatient prince who was only there for the success of the party, doing nothing and taking all the credit. He only joined after our first mission to rid the Norfol of its giant snake problem was a success.
“Well what do we do now?” Said Jenn, a beautiful elf with wit and determination. She was strong and had a strong bond with nature. She’s loved me ever since we joined in marriage some 8 years ago, fighting off whatever evil came our way. “Do we all have to do that?”
“If we do then I don’t know what I even hold most dear, probably this family heirloom, or perhaps my rune.” Stated the prince. He looked distraught, not wanting to part with his precious riches for even a moment.
“I’m sure it’s only one of us, besides I already somehow managed to be stripped and all my stuff is on that podium. I don’t know how you didn’t notice.” I jeered.
“I thought you knew I don’t like noticing the poor…”
I had stood for a few moments again wondering what I held most dear. I took one of my favorite drawings from my little sister I kept with me for years to honor and remember her after she died. I tossed it into the fire beside the door and it bursted into a large green flame. I teared up but after the picture was crisp ash at the bottom of the fire which seemed to have no source the door still did not budge.
I was lost and now without a precious token i had cherished for many years. I then looked over my things and tried a small stone my father had given me at a young age. On it was an inscription which meant “great pride”. He said he gave it to me because I gave him much pride in his family. I dropped it on the flames and it to burnt to a crisp in moments, and the fire glowed a striking green. Again the door did not budge.
At this point i was completely lost, I loved both of those things so dearly and thought they were my most prized possessions I have ever held. I thought over the instruction again and thought “I hold nothing else as dear”. I then looked over to the prince, my wife, and some of the other party members, some of which had also tried their dearest possessions. I then waited a moment and tears began to well in my eyes.
I sat along the wall and began to stammer, I refused to entertain the thought. I looked over to my beloved wife for what seemed like an eternity and began to cry.
“Jenn, you are what I hold most dear.” | |
[WP] You are a famous hero, recognized far and wide. You stand before a locked door with an altar reading "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed". You stand naked with all your belongings stacked on altar. The door doesn't budge. Your party is getting impatient. | Huffing and puffing, I arrive at the room with the altar. The quest is getting closer and closer to its end. And the end will be glorious. We've all dreamed of it since childhood. It is the highest glory. And soon it is to be glory shared by us, the Seven Sorcerers. That is the alliterating name we gave our team - Dorothy (best potion-maker in the world), Thomas (expert on magical creatures), Grace (can conjure any spirit with a pentagram, also my childhood neighbor), Simon (can turn lead into gold), Catherine (world-class flying carpet racer), Philip (expert archer, also my beloved boyfriend), and Emily (myself!)
Out of thousands, no, out of millions, after many grueling written exams from age 5 to age 21, we seven were selected by the High Council for the quest of the millenium, whose completion would earn us a lifetime of honor and also bring bountiful prosperity to our community. The quest to retrieve the Holy Pail.
The Holy Pail is tucked deep in the interior of Mt. Patterhorn, set there a thousand years ago by a powerful fairy. Only in the past few decades did magicians finally deduce an overview of the intricate maze inside, although many mysteries still remain for us to solve.
So here I am, now on day six of the journey. After we handled the golden spiders, we climbed up 1000 steps on a spiral staircase to our next location. Well, the others already reached and probably passed it quite a while ago. I tend to climb slower (I guess I am a bit out of shape, haha) so I only arrive now. It is a peculiar room, austere, rectangular with grey stone walls, on one of which is a majestic magic silver door, visibly locked with a complicated shining contraption. In the middle is a huge wooden altar. On top is an illuminated parchment banner. It says "Sacrifice that which you hold most dear to unlock the door that is here".
In my satchel is the Goblet of Wire. I set on the altar. Nothing happens. I try the Unicorn Horn, it's quite dear to me, an amulet my great grandfather gave when I was a 13 year old getting bullied. Again, nothing. This is harder than I thought. I find a tiny Scarab Talisman in my jacket pocket. Is this it? No, it isn't. I place literally everything, including my clothes (no one else is watching, haha), on the altar. It's got to be in here somewhere. Nope. The door doesn't budge.
Now I'm a bit worried, audibly groaning.
"Emily, that you?" I hear Catherine's voice from behind the wall.
"Oh, you're still here?" I am surprised.
"Yeah all of us are waiting for you!" explains Dorothy. "Come on, hurry!"
"Oh, wow, thanks!" I am grateful they waited. Must've been 20-30 minutes. "So, not to pry, but what did y'all put on the altar? I'm unable to get it to work?"
"Oh, huh, did any of us even use the altar?" I hear Simon ask.
"No," said Grace. "I was the first to arrive here, none of us did"
Now I'm intrigued. "Then how?"
"Remember Master Hoogstraaten's quote in the 13th century text *Pelicanius*?" says Thomas.
"Of course, 'Windows are an eye to the soul', it's 14th century not the 13th, but what's your point?" I prepare to introspect on my life.
"Oh Thomas is joking, it's nothing deep really, we just used the window on the left, that's all," explains Philip, chuckling. Oh, how I adore his angelic voice. Sure enough, there is a window, a rectangular opening in the stone wall. Most medieval rooms have some sort of window like that. Conveniently there's also a stool under it. Easy. No altar magic needed.
But as I look at the medieval window, a pang of angst hits me. "Emily, the hero recognized far and wide", the epithet echoes in my head. It was an epithet that followed me all my teenage years. Ever since I won the international wizarding cup. I look down at myself. "Emily, the hero recognized far and wide". Still unclothed, my belly extends far out. It's partly obscuring my view of my wide thighs and hips. "Emily, the hero recognized far and wide". I look at the window. Is the window wide enough for "Emily, the hero recognized far and wide."?
This wall is pure igneous rock. It has elemental fire and absolutely cannot be magically deformed. Magic silver, like magic copper and magic gold, cannot deform or even melt after it's fashioned into an object. I know how altar locks work; the only way to open them is to do what they say, this is also proven mathematically. And you can't teleport sentient beings.
I walk to the window. Near the window it's obvious that no, I will not fit. "Emily, the hero recognized far and wide." A lump forms in my throat. Sometimes kids anonymously wrote this on the blackboard. They'd make their 'r' looks sort of like a 't'.
"Hey Emily, my hero", the euphonic voice of my boyfriend makes me jolt. "Come on, what's taking so long?"
"Oh, uh, coming, sorry," I say, flustered. I am near the window. I can hear some whispering.
"Wait Philip," Grace whispers, sounding concerned. "Do you think, uh, Emily can, er, you know, fit through the window?"
I sprint away from the window urgently, my face turning red and my flesh bouncing. I don't want to hear my loved one answer the question. I already know the answer. I don't want to hear my beautiful, perfect Philip explain to Grace, "no, there is no way her disgusting rotundity can pass through". They cannot relate. Grace herself weighs all of 95 pounds. Dorothy and Catherine are tall, lithe, slender, so are Thomas and Simon. And Philip, he is the epitome of handomeness, sleek, athletic, not even the slightest protrusion of pudge, perfection, probably now wondering why he ever wanted to date me, let alone go on an adventure quest with me. They all slip through windows just fine, it's just me holding everything up, indefinitely. "Emily, the hero recognized far and wide"
I remember I was wearing some compression garments. Maybe it will help? Desparately clinging onto this hope, I lie down on the altar, pick up the constricting shapewear, and slowly squeeze myself into them like my dreams and survival depend on it, which they do (There is no way out of Mt. Patterhorn except picking up the Holy Pail and getting levitated by it up out of the summit). I go back to window. The clothes rein me in somewhat. I stand on the stool, which creaks under my weight, and begin crawling into the window.
I choke back tears. "I ... can't ... fit" I say. I'm still too immense. You can't magically change body shape, and I know, I tried. "Emily, the hero recognized far and wide". I push myself back and tumble onto the floor of the altar room, just in time before the tears stream down. The tears blurred my vision. I didn't even get to see what lay on the other side. Let alone any chance to ever see the Holy Pail. It is my fault. I should have listened. When elves at the state-level wizarding cup mistook me for a troll instead of a contestant. When Professor Pumbledore jabbed his finger into my side during high school lunch and told me to lay off on the unicorn-meat cheeseburgers. When my mom told me to change my ways because my single thigh is now bigger than her waist. Philip was clearly sarcastic when he said "no" to my "Do I look too fat in this robe." Ah, Philip. I'm sure he'll abandon me right now in a heartbeat.
" 'S-Six Sorcerers' sounds j-just as g-good of a t-team name" I say, lying on the cold floor accepting my fate. No Holy Pail for me. No future for me. "W-we d-don't need s-seven".
"You're right, we don't." It is Philip. I knew he wanted to get rid of me, it's necessary. It just stung to hear it out loud.
Then I hear a thwack, loud screams, and mechanical gears turning. The majestic silver door slowly and steady slides open. It reveals a vast heavily ornamented room. All the way in the back is a huge purple pillow with golden tassles, on which rests the Holy Pail underneath a glorious vertical column of light extending to the mountain's summit. Dorothy, Catherine, Grace, Thomas and Simon are sitting on the floor closer to me. And in the middle of them is Philip, lying down, his arm clutching the shaft of a bloody arrow piercing all the way through his chest. He sees me for a moment, smiles, and then his eyes close. | (Written on mobile, kinda short but lmk what yall think :3)
I take a step back for a moment. Reading over the inscription in my mind over and over. I eventually relay the translation to the rest of my crew, who all nod and respond now knowing what must be done.
“Well go on, do it.” Said Seth, an impatient prince who was only there for the success of the party, doing nothing and taking all the credit. He only joined after our first mission to rid the Norfol of its giant snake problem was a success.
“Well what do we do now?” Said Jenn, a beautiful elf with wit and determination. She was strong and had a strong bond with nature. She’s loved me ever since we joined in marriage some 8 years ago, fighting off whatever evil came our way. “Do we all have to do that?”
“If we do then I don’t know what I even hold most dear, probably this family heirloom, or perhaps my rune.” Stated the prince. He looked distraught, not wanting to part with his precious riches for even a moment.
“I’m sure it’s only one of us, besides I already somehow managed to be stripped and all my stuff is on that podium. I don’t know how you didn’t notice.” I jeered.
“I thought you knew I don’t like noticing the poor…”
I had stood for a few moments again wondering what I held most dear. I took one of my favorite drawings from my little sister I kept with me for years to honor and remember her after she died. I tossed it into the fire beside the door and it bursted into a large green flame. I teared up but after the picture was crisp ash at the bottom of the fire which seemed to have no source the door still did not budge.
I was lost and now without a precious token i had cherished for many years. I then looked over my things and tried a small stone my father had given me at a young age. On it was an inscription which meant “great pride”. He said he gave it to me because I gave him much pride in his family. I dropped it on the flames and it to burnt to a crisp in moments, and the fire glowed a striking green. Again the door did not budge.
At this point i was completely lost, I loved both of those things so dearly and thought they were my most prized possessions I have ever held. I thought over the instruction again and thought “I hold nothing else as dear”. I then looked over to the prince, my wife, and some of the other party members, some of which had also tried their dearest possessions. I then waited a moment and tears began to well in my eyes.
I sat along the wall and began to stammer, I refused to entertain the thought. I looked over to my beloved wife for what seemed like an eternity and began to cry.
“Jenn, you are what I hold most dear.” | |
[WP] You are a famous hero, recognized far and wide. You stand before a locked door with an altar reading "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed". You stand naked with all your belongings stacked on altar. The door doesn't budge. Your party is getting impatient. | After all these years, he is finally facing the door to the evil wizard who massacred his family. Yet as a wizard, he has placed an extremely evil altar to protect his front door. In front of the altar are countless dead bodies, treasures of extreme value, full of clothes and possessions of multiple adventurers, it was a gruesome sight.
The hero has sacrificed everything that he can to get to the gates, only one door stands between him and the party. He is fully naked from the head to the toe. His party members are getting impatient, looking at him nervously, fearing that they have to give up more.
“No… That can’t be it, you can’t possibly think of sacrificing us to the altar don’t you…” The cleric stuttered nervously. The hero looked at them quizzically and retorted “All of you are merely tools for me to get to this place, your lives have no absolute value to me.”
The rest of the party upon hearing that, now slowly walk away and are starting to retrace their steps, walking away from the hero who had fallen so far in his quest for vengeance.
“Finally, I can finally admit to myself after they are gone. The only thing that is dear to me now is my vengeance towards you.”
He puts on his gear slowly, carefully. Taking the items from the altar and using them to his own benefit.
“It may be hard to give up on that, to make this my own personal mission. Instead of seeing how you have hurt others in the same way.”
He points his sword at the door and laughs in the face of possible death.
“It has taken me a while but it is time for me to fight for the people again.”
A loud voice bellows from the altar.
“YOU HAVE GIVEN UP YOUR OBSESSION WITH THE WIZARD, THE DRIVING FORCE THAT BROUGHT YOU HERE. WITH THAT THE DOOR SHALL OPEN.”
The door behind slowly opens into the wizard’s chamber. | (Written on mobile, kinda short but lmk what yall think :3)
I take a step back for a moment. Reading over the inscription in my mind over and over. I eventually relay the translation to the rest of my crew, who all nod and respond now knowing what must be done.
“Well go on, do it.” Said Seth, an impatient prince who was only there for the success of the party, doing nothing and taking all the credit. He only joined after our first mission to rid the Norfol of its giant snake problem was a success.
“Well what do we do now?” Said Jenn, a beautiful elf with wit and determination. She was strong and had a strong bond with nature. She’s loved me ever since we joined in marriage some 8 years ago, fighting off whatever evil came our way. “Do we all have to do that?”
“If we do then I don’t know what I even hold most dear, probably this family heirloom, or perhaps my rune.” Stated the prince. He looked distraught, not wanting to part with his precious riches for even a moment.
“I’m sure it’s only one of us, besides I already somehow managed to be stripped and all my stuff is on that podium. I don’t know how you didn’t notice.” I jeered.
“I thought you knew I don’t like noticing the poor…”
I had stood for a few moments again wondering what I held most dear. I took one of my favorite drawings from my little sister I kept with me for years to honor and remember her after she died. I tossed it into the fire beside the door and it bursted into a large green flame. I teared up but after the picture was crisp ash at the bottom of the fire which seemed to have no source the door still did not budge.
I was lost and now without a precious token i had cherished for many years. I then looked over my things and tried a small stone my father had given me at a young age. On it was an inscription which meant “great pride”. He said he gave it to me because I gave him much pride in his family. I dropped it on the flames and it to burnt to a crisp in moments, and the fire glowed a striking green. Again the door did not budge.
At this point i was completely lost, I loved both of those things so dearly and thought they were my most prized possessions I have ever held. I thought over the instruction again and thought “I hold nothing else as dear”. I then looked over to the prince, my wife, and some of the other party members, some of which had also tried their dearest possessions. I then waited a moment and tears began to well in my eyes.
I sat along the wall and began to stammer, I refused to entertain the thought. I looked over to my beloved wife for what seemed like an eternity and began to cry.
“Jenn, you are what I hold most dear.” | |
[WP] You are a famous hero, recognized far and wide. You stand before a locked door with an altar reading "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed". You stand naked with all your belongings stacked on altar. The door doesn't budge. Your party is getting impatient. | Standing before the alter, completely naked I looked down, before slowly redressing. The party behind me tilting their heads.
I looked up at them before slowly lowering my head again. “No treasure beyond that door is worth it, and whatever evil there is would only use everything against me.”
The elf yelled at me swearing “You mean to tell me you brought us here for nothing?!” He ran up before punching me and knocking me to the ground, I fell down rather hard hitting my head, a weak smile on my face. “I can’t give up you guys, so Im sorry.”
The elf paused looking at me with caution as he backed up. “Im sorry, I was out of line”
I giggled softly “its alright friend, but the door will open for you and the others.”
The elf looked at me puzzled before getting a pained expression of realization, but before he could do anything I grabbed my dagger stabbing myself in the chest.
I felt pain and warmth seep from my chest, but the door slowly opened. Then suddenly the alter glowed and my wounds started to heal.
The party had turned away from what looked like my dead body crying and hugging each other, the elf had started to walk away as I slowly went to stand.
As I stood they all noticed me, but none of them approached, I looked at them confused. “Whats wrong friends?”
The dwarf looked down solemnly. “You are no longer you, you will never be you again, this isn’t real, you have been here before”
Suddenly my party vanished, skeletons left behind, I looked down wearing a similar outfit but my features were different. Something changed that night, and this was not my first time being reborn.
It had been over a thousand years since my first death, everyone remembers the first me as a great hero who died for her party, but in reality I was selfless, I knew entrance would cost all my friends, so I paid the price for them.
I return once every time I am reborn, to go and pay homage to my fallen friends, they won the battle and returned to die together once their journey ended.
I wish I had gotten to see them one last time, but I know fate has other plans. A elf boy around 18 ran down hugging me. “Come on Luci! We gotta get back! Dad said it wasn’t safe for people like us to be here at night!”
I smiled faintly “of course Azeal, lets return home, father would be worried” I looked one last time before making a small spell on the area, small flowers grew from all the skeletons returning them to the ground.
A garden for those who deserved the praise I received, and the hope for new beginnings once again. | This IS the right altar right? The inscription is right on the door behind it, shimmering in a mockingly merry rainbow of light.
"Sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed".
Ancient wizards had insane security.
It's all on the altar. The Sword of Palidron, the enchanted armor, the Cloak of Whispers. My shoes. All my clothes. My jewelry. The magical backpack I store my money in.
Well not everything. I carefully work the ring my brother gave me years ago off my pinky and put it down, feeling a bit heartsick.
Nothing happens. That wasn't it either. And now I'm naked. The massive slab of black crystal does nothing. The door does nothing. I look foolish. It's chilly in this cave and I'm very much aware that everyone else is staring at me.
Observer pats me gently on the shoulder. As gently as an eight foot tall clockwork monster-man can, making odd clicking noises deep inside himself all the while. I hear a high pitched grumble I know comes from Clork, who never had patience for riddles. It's the silent one behind me I feel most judged by. Baenan and I never really got along.
I start as something smacks my ass and then Clork steps around in front of me, staring up to meet my gaze as I glance down. The goblin woman's razor sharp teeth flash at me in what might be a smile. She's groin height and standing far too close to my most sensitive areas but doesn't seem to notice.
"Maybe you need to kill yourself? People value their lives."
I open my mouth to respond but Baenan cuts me off.
"That won't work. Fools like her never value their own lives enough."
"Maybe if she sits on it."
Clork steps back and gestures to the altar. I doubt it will do anything but I awkwardly clamber onto it anyways.
"Um...if this does work and takes my goodness or my ability to love or anything...."
Baenan nods. "I'll kill you if you turn dangerous."
"But if you just lose your mind we will care for you." Observer can't emote but I suspect from his head turning back that he is trying to glare at Baenan.
I feel relief despite his grim tone that Baenan would put me down if I was a monster. Any of us would die for each other, despite our differences. But Baenan would kill us if he had to. Sometimes you need someone to do the ugly work.
if I was a monster. Any of us would die for each other, despite our differences. But Baenan would kill me if he had to. Sometimes you need someone to do the ugly work.
But right now? Nothing. Still nothing. My ass is getting colder. I pick up the cloak and pull it to my chest. It can preserve a little of my dignity. My pride however not so much. This isn't working. I wait another ten minutes until I start to shiver.
"I could piss on the altar for you? Show it who the boss it." Clork sounds hopeful.
"No thank you. Guys, just head back to camp. I'll...try to figure out something else and join you when I get it open."
They exchange glances before they leave. I'm not doing a good job of hiding that I'm upset. But they leave me to my work.
I try to cleave the altar. I drink a potion of strength and try to smash it. I attack the door. It takes a while to tire me out. I climb back up on the cold black stone, exhausted but unsatisfied.
I'm shivering with cold but also something deeper. I think it might be anger. I can feel my breath coming in ragged shudders. I'm not used to this. I can kill anything. And I would die to save the world. I would be unhappy about it but I know I can.
What do I hold most dear? Not the tools I use to save people. Not my life. My companions? Could I hurt them to get through? Behind the door is said to lie the Spellbreaker Spear. Once it killed gods. Now we need it to kill a sorcerer king. Baenan would kill us all to get it to free his people but I doubt he holds us most dear. I don't know if I could do it. To save the world?
I feel myself curl up into a little ball on the altar. I would kill them all to save the world. And then myself as soon as it was done. I allow myself some tears.
I don't recall falling asleep but I'm aware of being shaken awake.
"Stupid lass. You could have froze to death."
It's Baenan who has come to rouse me. He helps me sit up and throws a blanket from our camp over my shoulders. The kindness is unexpected. It's past my limit. I feel myself sobing now, ugly, loud.
"Baenan I...I...love all of you. Even you, you ass. I can't be the one to open this door. I cant do it."
I once got burned by dragon fire. This hurts more. A perfect hero would know that the lives of the world outweighs three friends. Simple math. And I DO know that. But I'm not strong enough now, with him in front of me. He annoys me. We disagree. We've fought. Come to blows in the past. I could snatch up my sword and end him now in his moment of kindness. He would laugh as he died and tell me he was right about the world.
But I don't. I can't. He helps me off the altar onto numb shaking legs. Behind me I hear the rumbling of the door. Rainbow light blooms as it dissolves into glowing motes.
Baenan tilts his head, considering, and his dark eyes meet mine.
"Whatever you gave up it looks like it hurt. I won't pry. Let's just grab the spear and get back. Clork is getting anxious and is starting to gnaw things." | |
[WP] You are a famous hero, recognized far and wide. You stand before a locked door with an altar reading "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed". You stand naked with all your belongings stacked on altar. The door doesn't budge. Your party is getting impatient. | King Oliver, the slayer of dragons, and his loyal knights stood at the last obstacle to his quest. An unearthly plague has broken out in his lands, having traced its origin to this very spot here, the king was convinced the solution lied behind these massive doors.
"But the bloody thing won't budge" shouted Sir Henry, his most trusted knight.
"We have been at it for hours. There is no point in continuing"
King Oliver would have none of it. Going back is not an option when there is no other hope against the plague. 'There must be another way' the king thought.
Strange engravings marked the doors entrance. They seem to be of a strange language, but he is somehow able to understand what it means. "He who enters, must sacrifice what he holds most dear."
The moment he finished reading, a bright light nearly blinded him. Everything around him was gone, there was white ground and sky for as long as the eye can see. He reached for his sword to fight whatever beast that has sprung this trap, only to find that was gone too. Infact, he stood there as he came into this world, naked to the skin. Around him laid everything he ever owned.
It didn't take him long to understand what he has to do. "I must sacrifice what I hold most dear to put a stop to this plague", The king thought to himself.
But what must he choose. He glanced at his Dragon blades. The same sword that struck down the mighty dragon that ravaged his lands. He had had it since he was young, still training.
His eyes fell upon the scepter of divinity. A gift from the monks of Hastuf mountains for putting an end to the giants that roamed those lands.
His exploits were numerous and myriad things which he valued dearly stood in front. The king's eyes darted between all his belongings as if deciding what he valued the most, but he already knew what he has to do.
Olivers eyes opened and so did the door. He was back where he stood. A breeze blew through, and he knew that the plague was gone. "What must we do now?" He said as he turned to Sir Henry to join them in their celebrations.
"And who must you be?" A confused Sir Henry asked.
"I am King Oliver, Slayer of dragons" he replied proud as ever.
"We never had a king in over 100 years. You surely must be jesting about the dragons too. No man has ever matched against a dragon and came out victorious". Sir Henry replied almost amused.
A hero went through the gates and a hero came out, but Oliver would no longer be remembered as a king nor a slayer of dragons. His exploits long forgotten. He did save his people, but no glory or fame awaited him. | There, in the temple, in the back corner, I finally see it.
The door. The legendary portal. I have spent decades unpicking puzzles, plumbing the depths of the Earth, and mounting the vaults of the sky. Always another trick, always another talisman.
I need only turn my head to see the place I started. Right there in the nave. The place where I first saw the writing. I couldn't read it at the time, but I knew it was important. I carefully sketched it down and began my search.
It took me years just to decipher that first script. It was in the lost language. The script of angels, the cipher of the gods. It was a simple message, all that you need lies here.
Each time I have left the temple I have returned. Wiser. Stronger. And better equipped. And each time. I have found another clue and gone out again.
Almost as a side effect I have wrought great great deeds. I have ended wars and laid the hardships of kingdoms to rest.
I have been given many titles. The fated. The chosen. The hierophant.
I have lived several lifetimes as the magics of the church has reinvigorated me with each success.
I have worked with the church, and against it. I have been known as the hands of the gods or else the deceiver in turn.
Always the words have been my guide and always have I solved the words and thought my task is complete. Again and again I have returned here to the temple only to find not an answer but another riddle.
I know I have done both well and good. This world and her people are better for my efforts.
And now this puzzle, this gateway. I know this temple. I have seen it built, fall, and be built again. I see the symbols and glyphs that scant few others can see. The temple flows in my sight. And one thing I know for a fact is that behind that wall there is nothing bit a village green.
There have been others. Apprentices and rivals. Some Walt the world even now, just starting the path. They have seen the words and traveled this path. Only I have spent more than a few decades and not faltered. Others have tried, only to find a less challenging, simpler life, or they have met their deaths.
And here, for the first time, there is no riddle. this is a challenge. It is said that the angelic verse can not lie. There is a door. In this wall, and this door will only yield if I make a supreme sacrifice.
The thing I value most.
Deep in my gut I know what's being asked of me. Nothing so crass is my life blood or my tools. No firstborn son, he has long been in his grave.
There is only one thing. It is the only thing that matters to me any more.
The words demand.
I whisper something I've suspected for some time. Something I have shied away from giving voice.
I whisper "There is no fate. There are no gods. Everything I've done, every life I've taken, every answer and every task... I, I alone, am responsible for my actions."
I hear a chime, no it is only in my mind, but I hear it anyway.
I look around and the wires are fading. No, that's not it. The church is fading.
I stand alone on the village green. There is a path leading straight away but I know it to be false. I see distant lights moving, others on the path. But they don't matter now.
I reach out and close my fists. The world tears like water stains on rice paper.
Whatever it is that am, it is time that I be born. | |
[WP] You are a famous hero, recognized far and wide. You stand before a locked door with an altar reading "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed". You stand naked with all your belongings stacked on altar. The door doesn't budge. Your party is getting impatient. | Huffing and puffing, I arrive at the room with the altar. The quest is getting closer and closer to its end. And the end will be glorious. We've all dreamed of it since childhood. It is the highest glory. And soon it is to be glory shared by us, the Seven Sorcerers. That is the alliterating name we gave our team - Dorothy (best potion-maker in the world), Thomas (expert on magical creatures), Grace (can conjure any spirit with a pentagram, also my childhood neighbor), Simon (can turn lead into gold), Catherine (world-class flying carpet racer), Philip (expert archer, also my beloved boyfriend), and Emily (myself!)
Out of thousands, no, out of millions, after many grueling written exams from age 5 to age 21, we seven were selected by the High Council for the quest of the millenium, whose completion would earn us a lifetime of honor and also bring bountiful prosperity to our community. The quest to retrieve the Holy Pail.
The Holy Pail is tucked deep in the interior of Mt. Patterhorn, set there a thousand years ago by a powerful fairy. Only in the past few decades did magicians finally deduce an overview of the intricate maze inside, although many mysteries still remain for us to solve.
So here I am, now on day six of the journey. After we handled the golden spiders, we climbed up 1000 steps on a spiral staircase to our next location. Well, the others already reached and probably passed it quite a while ago. I tend to climb slower (I guess I am a bit out of shape, haha) so I only arrive now. It is a peculiar room, austere, rectangular with grey stone walls, on one of which is a majestic magic silver door, visibly locked with a complicated shining contraption. In the middle is a huge wooden altar. On top is an illuminated parchment banner. It says "Sacrifice that which you hold most dear to unlock the door that is here".
In my satchel is the Goblet of Wire. I set on the altar. Nothing happens. I try the Unicorn Horn, it's quite dear to me, an amulet my great grandfather gave when I was a 13 year old getting bullied. Again, nothing. This is harder than I thought. I find a tiny Scarab Talisman in my jacket pocket. Is this it? No, it isn't. I place literally everything, including my clothes (no one else is watching, haha), on the altar. It's got to be in here somewhere. Nope. The door doesn't budge.
Now I'm a bit worried, audibly groaning.
"Emily, that you?" I hear Catherine's voice from behind the wall.
"Oh, you're still here?" I am surprised.
"Yeah all of us are waiting for you!" explains Dorothy. "Come on, hurry!"
"Oh, wow, thanks!" I am grateful they waited. Must've been 20-30 minutes. "So, not to pry, but what did y'all put on the altar? I'm unable to get it to work?"
"Oh, huh, did any of us even use the altar?" I hear Simon ask.
"No," said Grace. "I was the first to arrive here, none of us did"
Now I'm intrigued. "Then how?"
"Remember Master Hoogstraaten's quote in the 13th century text *Pelicanius*?" says Thomas.
"Of course, 'Windows are an eye to the soul', it's 14th century not the 13th, but what's your point?" I prepare to introspect on my life.
"Oh Thomas is joking, it's nothing deep really, we just used the window on the left, that's all," explains Philip, chuckling. Oh, how I adore his angelic voice. Sure enough, there is a window, a rectangular opening in the stone wall. Most medieval rooms have some sort of window like that. Conveniently there's also a stool under it. Easy. No altar magic needed.
But as I look at the medieval window, a pang of angst hits me. "Emily, the hero recognized far and wide", the epithet echoes in my head. It was an epithet that followed me all my teenage years. Ever since I won the international wizarding cup. I look down at myself. "Emily, the hero recognized far and wide". Still unclothed, my belly extends far out. It's partly obscuring my view of my wide thighs and hips. "Emily, the hero recognized far and wide". I look at the window. Is the window wide enough for "Emily, the hero recognized far and wide."?
This wall is pure igneous rock. It has elemental fire and absolutely cannot be magically deformed. Magic silver, like magic copper and magic gold, cannot deform or even melt after it's fashioned into an object. I know how altar locks work; the only way to open them is to do what they say, this is also proven mathematically. And you can't teleport sentient beings.
I walk to the window. Near the window it's obvious that no, I will not fit. "Emily, the hero recognized far and wide." A lump forms in my throat. Sometimes kids anonymously wrote this on the blackboard. They'd make their 'r' looks sort of like a 't'.
"Hey Emily, my hero", the euphonic voice of my boyfriend makes me jolt. "Come on, what's taking so long?"
"Oh, uh, coming, sorry," I say, flustered. I am near the window. I can hear some whispering.
"Wait Philip," Grace whispers, sounding concerned. "Do you think, uh, Emily can, er, you know, fit through the window?"
I sprint away from the window urgently, my face turning red and my flesh bouncing. I don't want to hear my loved one answer the question. I already know the answer. I don't want to hear my beautiful, perfect Philip explain to Grace, "no, there is no way her disgusting rotundity can pass through". They cannot relate. Grace herself weighs all of 95 pounds. Dorothy and Catherine are tall, lithe, slender, so are Thomas and Simon. And Philip, he is the epitome of handomeness, sleek, athletic, not even the slightest protrusion of pudge, perfection, probably now wondering why he ever wanted to date me, let alone go on an adventure quest with me. They all slip through windows just fine, it's just me holding everything up, indefinitely. "Emily, the hero recognized far and wide"
I remember I was wearing some compression garments. Maybe it will help? Desparately clinging onto this hope, I lie down on the altar, pick up the constricting shapewear, and slowly squeeze myself into them like my dreams and survival depend on it, which they do (There is no way out of Mt. Patterhorn except picking up the Holy Pail and getting levitated by it up out of the summit). I go back to window. The clothes rein me in somewhat. I stand on the stool, which creaks under my weight, and begin crawling into the window.
I choke back tears. "I ... can't ... fit" I say. I'm still too immense. You can't magically change body shape, and I know, I tried. "Emily, the hero recognized far and wide". I push myself back and tumble onto the floor of the altar room, just in time before the tears stream down. The tears blurred my vision. I didn't even get to see what lay on the other side. Let alone any chance to ever see the Holy Pail. It is my fault. I should have listened. When elves at the state-level wizarding cup mistook me for a troll instead of a contestant. When Professor Pumbledore jabbed his finger into my side during high school lunch and told me to lay off on the unicorn-meat cheeseburgers. When my mom told me to change my ways because my single thigh is now bigger than her waist. Philip was clearly sarcastic when he said "no" to my "Do I look too fat in this robe." Ah, Philip. I'm sure he'll abandon me right now in a heartbeat.
" 'S-Six Sorcerers' sounds j-just as g-good of a t-team name" I say, lying on the cold floor accepting my fate. No Holy Pail for me. No future for me. "W-we d-don't need s-seven".
"You're right, we don't." It is Philip. I knew he wanted to get rid of me, it's necessary. It just stung to hear it out loud.
Then I hear a thwack, loud screams, and mechanical gears turning. The majestic silver door slowly and steady slides open. It reveals a vast heavily ornamented room. All the way in the back is a huge purple pillow with golden tassles, on which rests the Holy Pail underneath a glorious vertical column of light extending to the mountain's summit. Dorothy, Catherine, Grace, Thomas and Simon are sitting on the floor closer to me. And in the middle of them is Philip, lying down, his arm clutching the shaft of a bloody arrow piercing all the way through his chest. He sees me for a moment, smiles, and then his eyes close. | There, in the temple, in the back corner, I finally see it.
The door. The legendary portal. I have spent decades unpicking puzzles, plumbing the depths of the Earth, and mounting the vaults of the sky. Always another trick, always another talisman.
I need only turn my head to see the place I started. Right there in the nave. The place where I first saw the writing. I couldn't read it at the time, but I knew it was important. I carefully sketched it down and began my search.
It took me years just to decipher that first script. It was in the lost language. The script of angels, the cipher of the gods. It was a simple message, all that you need lies here.
Each time I have left the temple I have returned. Wiser. Stronger. And better equipped. And each time. I have found another clue and gone out again.
Almost as a side effect I have wrought great great deeds. I have ended wars and laid the hardships of kingdoms to rest.
I have been given many titles. The fated. The chosen. The hierophant.
I have lived several lifetimes as the magics of the church has reinvigorated me with each success.
I have worked with the church, and against it. I have been known as the hands of the gods or else the deceiver in turn.
Always the words have been my guide and always have I solved the words and thought my task is complete. Again and again I have returned here to the temple only to find not an answer but another riddle.
I know I have done both well and good. This world and her people are better for my efforts.
And now this puzzle, this gateway. I know this temple. I have seen it built, fall, and be built again. I see the symbols and glyphs that scant few others can see. The temple flows in my sight. And one thing I know for a fact is that behind that wall there is nothing bit a village green.
There have been others. Apprentices and rivals. Some Walt the world even now, just starting the path. They have seen the words and traveled this path. Only I have spent more than a few decades and not faltered. Others have tried, only to find a less challenging, simpler life, or they have met their deaths.
And here, for the first time, there is no riddle. this is a challenge. It is said that the angelic verse can not lie. There is a door. In this wall, and this door will only yield if I make a supreme sacrifice.
The thing I value most.
Deep in my gut I know what's being asked of me. Nothing so crass is my life blood or my tools. No firstborn son, he has long been in his grave.
There is only one thing. It is the only thing that matters to me any more.
The words demand.
I whisper something I've suspected for some time. Something I have shied away from giving voice.
I whisper "There is no fate. There are no gods. Everything I've done, every life I've taken, every answer and every task... I, I alone, am responsible for my actions."
I hear a chime, no it is only in my mind, but I hear it anyway.
I look around and the wires are fading. No, that's not it. The church is fading.
I stand alone on the village green. There is a path leading straight away but I know it to be false. I see distant lights moving, others on the path. But they don't matter now.
I reach out and close my fists. The world tears like water stains on rice paper.
Whatever it is that am, it is time that I be born. | |
[WP] You are a famous hero, recognized far and wide. You stand before a locked door with an altar reading "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed". You stand naked with all your belongings stacked on altar. The door doesn't budge. Your party is getting impatient. | After all these years, he is finally facing the door to the evil wizard who massacred his family. Yet as a wizard, he has placed an extremely evil altar to protect his front door. In front of the altar are countless dead bodies, treasures of extreme value, full of clothes and possessions of multiple adventurers, it was a gruesome sight.
The hero has sacrificed everything that he can to get to the gates, only one door stands between him and the party. He is fully naked from the head to the toe. His party members are getting impatient, looking at him nervously, fearing that they have to give up more.
“No… That can’t be it, you can’t possibly think of sacrificing us to the altar don’t you…” The cleric stuttered nervously. The hero looked at them quizzically and retorted “All of you are merely tools for me to get to this place, your lives have no absolute value to me.”
The rest of the party upon hearing that, now slowly walk away and are starting to retrace their steps, walking away from the hero who had fallen so far in his quest for vengeance.
“Finally, I can finally admit to myself after they are gone. The only thing that is dear to me now is my vengeance towards you.”
He puts on his gear slowly, carefully. Taking the items from the altar and using them to his own benefit.
“It may be hard to give up on that, to make this my own personal mission. Instead of seeing how you have hurt others in the same way.”
He points his sword at the door and laughs in the face of possible death.
“It has taken me a while but it is time for me to fight for the people again.”
A loud voice bellows from the altar.
“YOU HAVE GIVEN UP YOUR OBSESSION WITH THE WIZARD, THE DRIVING FORCE THAT BROUGHT YOU HERE. WITH THAT THE DOOR SHALL OPEN.”
The door behind slowly opens into the wizard’s chamber. | There, in the temple, in the back corner, I finally see it.
The door. The legendary portal. I have spent decades unpicking puzzles, plumbing the depths of the Earth, and mounting the vaults of the sky. Always another trick, always another talisman.
I need only turn my head to see the place I started. Right there in the nave. The place where I first saw the writing. I couldn't read it at the time, but I knew it was important. I carefully sketched it down and began my search.
It took me years just to decipher that first script. It was in the lost language. The script of angels, the cipher of the gods. It was a simple message, all that you need lies here.
Each time I have left the temple I have returned. Wiser. Stronger. And better equipped. And each time. I have found another clue and gone out again.
Almost as a side effect I have wrought great great deeds. I have ended wars and laid the hardships of kingdoms to rest.
I have been given many titles. The fated. The chosen. The hierophant.
I have lived several lifetimes as the magics of the church has reinvigorated me with each success.
I have worked with the church, and against it. I have been known as the hands of the gods or else the deceiver in turn.
Always the words have been my guide and always have I solved the words and thought my task is complete. Again and again I have returned here to the temple only to find not an answer but another riddle.
I know I have done both well and good. This world and her people are better for my efforts.
And now this puzzle, this gateway. I know this temple. I have seen it built, fall, and be built again. I see the symbols and glyphs that scant few others can see. The temple flows in my sight. And one thing I know for a fact is that behind that wall there is nothing bit a village green.
There have been others. Apprentices and rivals. Some Walt the world even now, just starting the path. They have seen the words and traveled this path. Only I have spent more than a few decades and not faltered. Others have tried, only to find a less challenging, simpler life, or they have met their deaths.
And here, for the first time, there is no riddle. this is a challenge. It is said that the angelic verse can not lie. There is a door. In this wall, and this door will only yield if I make a supreme sacrifice.
The thing I value most.
Deep in my gut I know what's being asked of me. Nothing so crass is my life blood or my tools. No firstborn son, he has long been in his grave.
There is only one thing. It is the only thing that matters to me any more.
The words demand.
I whisper something I've suspected for some time. Something I have shied away from giving voice.
I whisper "There is no fate. There are no gods. Everything I've done, every life I've taken, every answer and every task... I, I alone, am responsible for my actions."
I hear a chime, no it is only in my mind, but I hear it anyway.
I look around and the wires are fading. No, that's not it. The church is fading.
I stand alone on the village green. There is a path leading straight away but I know it to be false. I see distant lights moving, others on the path. But they don't matter now.
I reach out and close my fists. The world tears like water stains on rice paper.
Whatever it is that am, it is time that I be born. | |
[WP] You are a famous hero, recognized far and wide. You stand before a locked door with an altar reading "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed". You stand naked with all your belongings stacked on altar. The door doesn't budge. Your party is getting impatient. | After all these years, he is finally facing the door to the evil wizard who massacred his family. Yet as a wizard, he has placed an extremely evil altar to protect his front door. In front of the altar are countless dead bodies, treasures of extreme value, full of clothes and possessions of multiple adventurers, it was a gruesome sight.
The hero has sacrificed everything that he can to get to the gates, only one door stands between him and the party. He is fully naked from the head to the toe. His party members are getting impatient, looking at him nervously, fearing that they have to give up more.
“No… That can’t be it, you can’t possibly think of sacrificing us to the altar don’t you…” The cleric stuttered nervously. The hero looked at them quizzically and retorted “All of you are merely tools for me to get to this place, your lives have no absolute value to me.”
The rest of the party upon hearing that, now slowly walk away and are starting to retrace their steps, walking away from the hero who had fallen so far in his quest for vengeance.
“Finally, I can finally admit to myself after they are gone. The only thing that is dear to me now is my vengeance towards you.”
He puts on his gear slowly, carefully. Taking the items from the altar and using them to his own benefit.
“It may be hard to give up on that, to make this my own personal mission. Instead of seeing how you have hurt others in the same way.”
He points his sword at the door and laughs in the face of possible death.
“It has taken me a while but it is time for me to fight for the people again.”
A loud voice bellows from the altar.
“YOU HAVE GIVEN UP YOUR OBSESSION WITH THE WIZARD, THE DRIVING FORCE THAT BROUGHT YOU HERE. WITH THAT THE DOOR SHALL OPEN.”
The door behind slowly opens into the wizard’s chamber. | King Oliver, the slayer of dragons, and his loyal knights stood at the last obstacle to his quest. An unearthly plague has broken out in his lands, having traced its origin to this very spot here, the king was convinced the solution lied behind these massive doors.
"But the bloody thing won't budge" shouted Sir Henry, his most trusted knight.
"We have been at it for hours. There is no point in continuing"
King Oliver would have none of it. Going back is not an option when there is no other hope against the plague. 'There must be another way' the king thought.
Strange engravings marked the doors entrance. They seem to be of a strange language, but he is somehow able to understand what it means. "He who enters, must sacrifice what he holds most dear."
The moment he finished reading, a bright light nearly blinded him. Everything around him was gone, there was white ground and sky for as long as the eye can see. He reached for his sword to fight whatever beast that has sprung this trap, only to find that was gone too. Infact, he stood there as he came into this world, naked to the skin. Around him laid everything he ever owned.
It didn't take him long to understand what he has to do. "I must sacrifice what I hold most dear to put a stop to this plague", The king thought to himself.
But what must he choose. He glanced at his Dragon blades. The same sword that struck down the mighty dragon that ravaged his lands. He had had it since he was young, still training.
His eyes fell upon the scepter of divinity. A gift from the monks of Hastuf mountains for putting an end to the giants that roamed those lands.
His exploits were numerous and myriad things which he valued dearly stood in front. The king's eyes darted between all his belongings as if deciding what he valued the most, but he already knew what he has to do.
Olivers eyes opened and so did the door. He was back where he stood. A breeze blew through, and he knew that the plague was gone. "What must we do now?" He said as he turned to Sir Henry to join them in their celebrations.
"And who must you be?" A confused Sir Henry asked.
"I am King Oliver, Slayer of dragons" he replied proud as ever.
"We never had a king in over 100 years. You surely must be jesting about the dragons too. No man has ever matched against a dragon and came out victorious". Sir Henry replied almost amused.
A hero went through the gates and a hero came out, but Oliver would no longer be remembered as a king nor a slayer of dragons. His exploits long forgotten. He did save his people, but no glory or fame awaited him. | |
[WP] You are a famous hero, recognized far and wide. You stand before a locked door with an altar reading "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed". You stand naked with all your belongings stacked on altar. The door doesn't budge. Your party is getting impatient. | After all these years, he is finally facing the door to the evil wizard who massacred his family. Yet as a wizard, he has placed an extremely evil altar to protect his front door. In front of the altar are countless dead bodies, treasures of extreme value, full of clothes and possessions of multiple adventurers, it was a gruesome sight.
The hero has sacrificed everything that he can to get to the gates, only one door stands between him and the party. He is fully naked from the head to the toe. His party members are getting impatient, looking at him nervously, fearing that they have to give up more.
“No… That can’t be it, you can’t possibly think of sacrificing us to the altar don’t you…” The cleric stuttered nervously. The hero looked at them quizzically and retorted “All of you are merely tools for me to get to this place, your lives have no absolute value to me.”
The rest of the party upon hearing that, now slowly walk away and are starting to retrace their steps, walking away from the hero who had fallen so far in his quest for vengeance.
“Finally, I can finally admit to myself after they are gone. The only thing that is dear to me now is my vengeance towards you.”
He puts on his gear slowly, carefully. Taking the items from the altar and using them to his own benefit.
“It may be hard to give up on that, to make this my own personal mission. Instead of seeing how you have hurt others in the same way.”
He points his sword at the door and laughs in the face of possible death.
“It has taken me a while but it is time for me to fight for the people again.”
A loud voice bellows from the altar.
“YOU HAVE GIVEN UP YOUR OBSESSION WITH THE WIZARD, THE DRIVING FORCE THAT BROUGHT YOU HERE. WITH THAT THE DOOR SHALL OPEN.”
The door behind slowly opens into the wizard’s chamber. | The hero looked back at his party of fellow adventurers. "What else can I put?" He said, sighing.
"It's based on you, so how are we supposed to know?" Replied the medic of the group, Davion, shielding his eyes from the hero's nude, and presumably chiseled figure.
*"What I hold dear... What I hold- Oh no!"* The hero thought sadly, *"They aren't going to like this, but it needs to be done"*. He touched his curly red strands of hair that he shared with his beloved grandfather. The only thing he had left of him on this adventure. "I can't." He said to himself more than them with defeat dripping from his voice.
Octavia stepped up to the hero, pulling a knife out of one of her holsters. "Stand still." She commanded.
The hero followed her order, looking up at her, he sighed. He knew she would do this, she was second in command after all. The strands of hair that he used to form the pieces of fabric that he was known for, that had saved lives, was cut from his head, the silky snippets sailing and waving through the air as they fell.
Behind this door was the cure to his grandfather's, and many other's disease. That was what the quest was for. This had to be done, it had to happen.
Knowing this, the hero grabbed a blade from his shoe as he bent down to mourn his loss. Just as Octavia turned around...
*Swquelchhkk.* Octavia crumpled to the concrete, coughing and convulsing. Davion rushed to her side.
"Back!" The hero yelled, pointing the blood-stained knife at Davion as Octavia's blood began flowing unnaturally toward the door. Her body went still.
When the blood reached the door, it pooled and seeped though the concrete. The door opened, its contents obscured by the large, naked hero who stood facing his party.
Cries of questions pelted the hero's ears. "We need to get the cure. We can talk later." The hero said interrupting his party.
Shouts of disapproval followed him as he turned on his heel and stepped into the room. | |
[WP] You are a famous hero, recognized far and wide. You stand before a locked door with an altar reading "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed". You stand naked with all your belongings stacked on altar. The door doesn't budge. Your party is getting impatient. | I exhaled heavily and hung my head. I had tried everything I owned. None of my great weapons and equipment, artifacts, keepsakes or personal items had opened the door. My party members, great adventurers and friends that they were, had already offered themselves to no avail. Even my clothes were in the pile on the altar, leaving me naked in front of my party. I tossed my coin pouch on top, already knowing it wouldn't work but trying anyway. As expected, nothing happened. The last bit of hope fled me. It wasn't that I didn't know what was required, I did, but I had been hoping something else would suffice.
"Well, it's a shame, but if you've tried everything, then we'll just have to leave," the druid said. "We can come back another time, after you've done some soul searching and found 'that which you hold most dear.'" I didn't respond, and the party turned to leave.
"No," I whispered hoarsely, staring at the ground. "I know what I need to sacrifice." They looked at me.
"Oh good! Why'd you make us wait? Hurry up and throw it on the altar!" the rogue exclaimed.
I looked up silently at the altar. I had to do this. If I backed out here, I would be ridiculed by everyone. The "greatest adventurer" defeated by a sacrificial door. That would not happen.
With that thought fixed in my mind, I steeled my heart and picked up my dagger from the altar, shoving aside all my other posessions. I stepped up to the edge of the altar, completely naked, and with a thrust of my hips flung that which I held most dear onto the stone. It landed with a meaty thunk. I was proud of it. Everyone always said that it wasn't the size of the wave but the flow of the tide, but my wave was, by all accounts, magnificent. I had always been an insecure person by nature, but this was the one thing that made me feel proud of myself. Yes, I knew it was superficial and not really important, but that didn't change the way I felt. And now it was time for me to be rid of it.
The party was dead silent behind me. They watched with horror.
Keeping my mind blank so I wouldn't dissuade myself at the last second, I held the tip of the dagger still on the stone and raised the handle, then pushed it down with the full force of my forearm and wrist, just like I was cutting a sausage.
Blood spurted over the altar and I fell back, pain burning through me. The party's healer rushed to my side and cast a quiet spell, stopping the bleeding. She helped me up and I looked broken heartedly at my sacrifice. Black flames sprang from the altar, engulfing it. A voice came from the heretofore sealed door:
"The sacrifice of your blood is accepted." And the door swung open.
Wait. My eyes widened in horror. The voice said my sacrifice was my blood. Just blood. It didn't say anything about flesh. Could I then have simply spilled a few drops of blood from a shallow wound and have accomplished the same thing?
But I couldn't think about that now. My unneccesary loss would drive me mad if I didn't go on. I had to see what my sacrifice had earned me. The thought of a reward proportional to the loss was all that pushed me through the door.
I stumbled into a dark room, completely empty. A large rectangle of light appeared on the far wall, despite no apparent windows. I stepped closer to the rectangle, and saw-
[the end!](https://youtu.be/dQw4w9WgXcQ) | “What by the beard of Santa Dwarf could you possibly be holding onto?” The Dwarf called Little Rock exclaimed, hammering the wall with his level 59 war-hammer.
The Elf Ranger Zigaloas was tapping his foot. “I agree with the dwarf. We are taking too long and my wife is all ready for me and every minute we waste makes her less like to take me to her bed when I finally show up.”
“That’s why I hate parties filled with men,” the Human Sorceress, Purple Hair said. “I put a locket with my mothers hair on there, and it accepts it right away. But men always have to make it so difficult.”
I didn’t need this pressure. I scowled at the altar and looked at the pile. My robes of the Great Empire, pure gold and sparkle in the sun. My belt, made from the hair of a unicorn. My helmet, raided from the tomb of the great warrior king Frodogorn. The twin swords, Sweepy and Creepy, taken from Mount Peekaboo during the Great Raiding Campaign of Six Sessions Ago.
I loved all my possessions equally. Each had a story behind them. Those Level 99 Boots? I’d won them by killing a massive mountain troll. Or the chain mail shirt which I’d won against a dozen drunken pirates. Surely _one_ of them had to be the one that I held most dear.
Unless? No, surely it couldn’t be. Yes, I loved it, but more of what it could do for all the tavern wenches and the princesses. The Empress of the Giladon Empire? Every time she saw and used it, she would give me an entire province of her empire.
I squeezed my eyes shut. We couldn’t go forward and to go back would take us days. I bit my lower lip, hoping that it would bring something else to mind. Yet it couldn’t.
“Purple Hair?”
“What?” she asked.
“We can’t reclaim anything we leave here right?” I asked, hoping I had misunderstood.
“Shriveled Balls of Midas!” Purple Hair let out an exasperated sigh, magical sparks flying from her nostrils. “You are stupid! I just told Mimbo the Elf….”
“Zigaloas,” the Elf corrected but the Sorceress held up a warning finger and he shut right up.
“I just told him we can’t do that because this is an Altar of No Returns Sacrifices,” she continued. _”It’s in the Dragon Pee name!”_
I shake my head. Fine, if I have to, I have to. Luckily, I knew a few really big….. _landed_ ….. witches who would be more than willing to help out once this raid was over. I turn to face Little Rock and cleared my throat.
“Little Rock,” I said, “Do you still have the Level 300 Scissors of All Cutting?”
“The ones I can’t use and can’t sell because we can’t find a merchant to buy them, by my Mothers Beard?” Little Rock asked.
“That’s the ones,” I nod my head. “I need them.”
Little Rock shrugged and reaching in the massive inventory bag that hung from his side, soon withdrew it. He tossed them across and asked, “I’m happy to help Human warrior but….by Santa’s Beard!”
Zigaloas’ eyes rolled back in his head and he fainted right away. Purple Hair screamed and started running around the room, her fingers clawing at her face. All while screaming, “I’m too gay for that! I’m too gay for that!”
I held my greatest pride and joy in my hands, blood flowing down my thighs. I gritted my teeth against the pain as I threw the now severed appendage onto the Altar and I fell to my knees. I quickly dug into my own inventory bag and pulled out a small vial. A quick flick of the thumb, we’ll, would have if my fingers were trembling so badly, I tipped it up and poured the liquid which immediately brought relief to my groin. I looked up expecting the door to swing open, feeling the pain of loss and actual pain from knowing I could no longer gain any more provinces.
And the door didn’t budge. | |
[WP] You are a famous hero, recognized far and wide. You stand before a locked door with an altar reading "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed". You stand naked with all your belongings stacked on altar. The door doesn't budge. Your party is getting impatient. | So I'm naked. I have nothing more to give.
So I think, "Something abstract? My pride?" And say a loud "Im too afraid of germs to use a public bathroom".
Nothing.
My darkest secret? "I'm usually so constipated I have to use a stick"
It's my superhero diet. All protien. Nothing.
My greatest Joy? "I'll never have sex with a woman again"
Nothing.
"Or an animal"
"Or ... a man"
"Or that vibrating toy I just got!"
Nothing.
Silence. Thinking.
I touch the altar with a finger. The altar shivers.
"What, a pound of flesh?" oh no, I think.
Steeling myself I put my left hand on the altar and squeeze my eyes closed.
The altar trembles. Then stops.
So I start swearing at it while I try my right hand, my right foot, both feet, both legs and the altar just rumbles.
"It really is my prize possession," I think, "and my worst shame and darkest secret. If I fail in this Labor I am washed up as a hero. So what will I have to live for? "
Through my gritted teeth I say "fuck you, Monkeys paw" and place my Package on the altar. The meat, the balls, all of it.
Chomp! | “What by the beard of Santa Dwarf could you possibly be holding onto?” The Dwarf called Little Rock exclaimed, hammering the wall with his level 59 war-hammer.
The Elf Ranger Zigaloas was tapping his foot. “I agree with the dwarf. We are taking too long and my wife is all ready for me and every minute we waste makes her less like to take me to her bed when I finally show up.”
“That’s why I hate parties filled with men,” the Human Sorceress, Purple Hair said. “I put a locket with my mothers hair on there, and it accepts it right away. But men always have to make it so difficult.”
I didn’t need this pressure. I scowled at the altar and looked at the pile. My robes of the Great Empire, pure gold and sparkle in the sun. My belt, made from the hair of a unicorn. My helmet, raided from the tomb of the great warrior king Frodogorn. The twin swords, Sweepy and Creepy, taken from Mount Peekaboo during the Great Raiding Campaign of Six Sessions Ago.
I loved all my possessions equally. Each had a story behind them. Those Level 99 Boots? I’d won them by killing a massive mountain troll. Or the chain mail shirt which I’d won against a dozen drunken pirates. Surely _one_ of them had to be the one that I held most dear.
Unless? No, surely it couldn’t be. Yes, I loved it, but more of what it could do for all the tavern wenches and the princesses. The Empress of the Giladon Empire? Every time she saw and used it, she would give me an entire province of her empire.
I squeezed my eyes shut. We couldn’t go forward and to go back would take us days. I bit my lower lip, hoping that it would bring something else to mind. Yet it couldn’t.
“Purple Hair?”
“What?” she asked.
“We can’t reclaim anything we leave here right?” I asked, hoping I had misunderstood.
“Shriveled Balls of Midas!” Purple Hair let out an exasperated sigh, magical sparks flying from her nostrils. “You are stupid! I just told Mimbo the Elf….”
“Zigaloas,” the Elf corrected but the Sorceress held up a warning finger and he shut right up.
“I just told him we can’t do that because this is an Altar of No Returns Sacrifices,” she continued. _”It’s in the Dragon Pee name!”_
I shake my head. Fine, if I have to, I have to. Luckily, I knew a few really big….. _landed_ ….. witches who would be more than willing to help out once this raid was over. I turn to face Little Rock and cleared my throat.
“Little Rock,” I said, “Do you still have the Level 300 Scissors of All Cutting?”
“The ones I can’t use and can’t sell because we can’t find a merchant to buy them, by my Mothers Beard?” Little Rock asked.
“That’s the ones,” I nod my head. “I need them.”
Little Rock shrugged and reaching in the massive inventory bag that hung from his side, soon withdrew it. He tossed them across and asked, “I’m happy to help Human warrior but….by Santa’s Beard!”
Zigaloas’ eyes rolled back in his head and he fainted right away. Purple Hair screamed and started running around the room, her fingers clawing at her face. All while screaming, “I’m too gay for that! I’m too gay for that!”
I held my greatest pride and joy in my hands, blood flowing down my thighs. I gritted my teeth against the pain as I threw the now severed appendage onto the Altar and I fell to my knees. I quickly dug into my own inventory bag and pulled out a small vial. A quick flick of the thumb, we’ll, would have if my fingers were trembling so badly, I tipped it up and poured the liquid which immediately brought relief to my groin. I looked up expecting the door to swing open, feeling the pain of loss and actual pain from knowing I could no longer gain any more provinces.
And the door didn’t budge. | |
[WP] You are a famous hero, recognized far and wide. You stand before a locked door with an altar reading "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed". You stand naked with all your belongings stacked on altar. The door doesn't budge. Your party is getting impatient. | After all these years, he is finally facing the door to the evil wizard who massacred his family. Yet as a wizard, he has placed an extremely evil altar to protect his front door. In front of the altar are countless dead bodies, treasures of extreme value, full of clothes and possessions of multiple adventurers, it was a gruesome sight.
The hero has sacrificed everything that he can to get to the gates, only one door stands between him and the party. He is fully naked from the head to the toe. His party members are getting impatient, looking at him nervously, fearing that they have to give up more.
“No… That can’t be it, you can’t possibly think of sacrificing us to the altar don’t you…” The cleric stuttered nervously. The hero looked at them quizzically and retorted “All of you are merely tools for me to get to this place, your lives have no absolute value to me.”
The rest of the party upon hearing that, now slowly walk away and are starting to retrace their steps, walking away from the hero who had fallen so far in his quest for vengeance.
“Finally, I can finally admit to myself after they are gone. The only thing that is dear to me now is my vengeance towards you.”
He puts on his gear slowly, carefully. Taking the items from the altar and using them to his own benefit.
“It may be hard to give up on that, to make this my own personal mission. Instead of seeing how you have hurt others in the same way.”
He points his sword at the door and laughs in the face of possible death.
“It has taken me a while but it is time for me to fight for the people again.”
A loud voice bellows from the altar.
“YOU HAVE GIVEN UP YOUR OBSESSION WITH THE WIZARD, THE DRIVING FORCE THAT BROUGHT YOU HERE. WITH THAT THE DOOR SHALL OPEN.”
The door behind slowly opens into the wizard’s chamber. | “What by the beard of Santa Dwarf could you possibly be holding onto?” The Dwarf called Little Rock exclaimed, hammering the wall with his level 59 war-hammer.
The Elf Ranger Zigaloas was tapping his foot. “I agree with the dwarf. We are taking too long and my wife is all ready for me and every minute we waste makes her less like to take me to her bed when I finally show up.”
“That’s why I hate parties filled with men,” the Human Sorceress, Purple Hair said. “I put a locket with my mothers hair on there, and it accepts it right away. But men always have to make it so difficult.”
I didn’t need this pressure. I scowled at the altar and looked at the pile. My robes of the Great Empire, pure gold and sparkle in the sun. My belt, made from the hair of a unicorn. My helmet, raided from the tomb of the great warrior king Frodogorn. The twin swords, Sweepy and Creepy, taken from Mount Peekaboo during the Great Raiding Campaign of Six Sessions Ago.
I loved all my possessions equally. Each had a story behind them. Those Level 99 Boots? I’d won them by killing a massive mountain troll. Or the chain mail shirt which I’d won against a dozen drunken pirates. Surely _one_ of them had to be the one that I held most dear.
Unless? No, surely it couldn’t be. Yes, I loved it, but more of what it could do for all the tavern wenches and the princesses. The Empress of the Giladon Empire? Every time she saw and used it, she would give me an entire province of her empire.
I squeezed my eyes shut. We couldn’t go forward and to go back would take us days. I bit my lower lip, hoping that it would bring something else to mind. Yet it couldn’t.
“Purple Hair?”
“What?” she asked.
“We can’t reclaim anything we leave here right?” I asked, hoping I had misunderstood.
“Shriveled Balls of Midas!” Purple Hair let out an exasperated sigh, magical sparks flying from her nostrils. “You are stupid! I just told Mimbo the Elf….”
“Zigaloas,” the Elf corrected but the Sorceress held up a warning finger and he shut right up.
“I just told him we can’t do that because this is an Altar of No Returns Sacrifices,” she continued. _”It’s in the Dragon Pee name!”_
I shake my head. Fine, if I have to, I have to. Luckily, I knew a few really big….. _landed_ ….. witches who would be more than willing to help out once this raid was over. I turn to face Little Rock and cleared my throat.
“Little Rock,” I said, “Do you still have the Level 300 Scissors of All Cutting?”
“The ones I can’t use and can’t sell because we can’t find a merchant to buy them, by my Mothers Beard?” Little Rock asked.
“That’s the ones,” I nod my head. “I need them.”
Little Rock shrugged and reaching in the massive inventory bag that hung from his side, soon withdrew it. He tossed them across and asked, “I’m happy to help Human warrior but….by Santa’s Beard!”
Zigaloas’ eyes rolled back in his head and he fainted right away. Purple Hair screamed and started running around the room, her fingers clawing at her face. All while screaming, “I’m too gay for that! I’m too gay for that!”
I held my greatest pride and joy in my hands, blood flowing down my thighs. I gritted my teeth against the pain as I threw the now severed appendage onto the Altar and I fell to my knees. I quickly dug into my own inventory bag and pulled out a small vial. A quick flick of the thumb, we’ll, would have if my fingers were trembling so badly, I tipped it up and poured the liquid which immediately brought relief to my groin. I looked up expecting the door to swing open, feeling the pain of loss and actual pain from knowing I could no longer gain any more provinces.
And the door didn’t budge. | |
[WP] You are a famous hero, recognized far and wide. You stand before a locked door with an altar reading "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed". You stand naked with all your belongings stacked on altar. The door doesn't budge. Your party is getting impatient. | The famous hero stands before the final gates. The final judgement. "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed"
The hero stacks all of their belongings upon the altar, even stripping down all of their clothes and places them on the altar. "That is it, I have nothing else of value" the hero whimpers toward the gate.
But the gate held still.
"Unless" the hero says, hand hovering above the altar. "Do you think I am that selfish? That the thing that I most hold dear is myself?" The hero shouts angrily at the gate.
As if to make a point the hero steps onto the altar, standing beside their belongings. "I would do ANYTHING to pass!"
But the gate held still.
The hero sat on the altar, eyes wide in confusion. "This is all that I have, and I give it freely. Why won't you open?" They wondered, perhaps the altar was a ruse, a red herring? But that couldn't be, not in this place. There was no reason for it. No the test was true, it had to be. The hero sat for hours, giving the only thing they still felt they had left. Time.
But the gate held still.
The hero had fought dragons, stopped forest fires, helped the homeless. They had given everything they had every day of their life, and it felt like a trivial matter to do so again at the gate.
But the gate held still.
"I lost my family." The hero mumbled, but as they spoke their voice grew shrill and angry. I lost my wife, my children." The hero punched the door, tears running down their face as they shouted. "I have lost more than I could possibly place on this altar! Compared to what I have already sacrificed to get here I have NOTHING"
But the gate held still.
The hero fell against the gate, and slid to a sitting position. They saw the faces of everyone they held dear in the fog. They saw those who had been saved, and those who they had failed to save. "I have nothing left." the hero muttered over and over, occasionally testing the door 'just in case'.
The gate held still.
Finally, the hero stood. Crying. There was one last thing they had of value. Something they had forgotten about. Taking a sheet of parchment and pen from their belongings, the hero began writing. They wrote for hours, accounting for every detail of their life, every person saved and every dark hour.
The gate held still, but the hero knew it was waiting.
Finally the hero finished their life story. Except for one final detail. To punctuate the hero's autobiography the hero spilled the one secret that undermined everything that they had ever done. The one secret the hero had kept so close, that even they had forgotten for a time.
"I write here my life story, but not because it has value. I write my life story here so every item of the ledger is accounted for. I may have forgotten some, I have lived a long life, but it truly is all that I can list. This story has been stolen. It was never mine to tell, nor mine to live. "
The gate shuddered as if to confirm that this was what it wanted.
"I stole this life. I wanted to know what it was like to live a mortal life. I must admit it was no mistake that I chose the life of a hero. The quests I undertook were meant for a mortal to undertake. The lives I saved were meant for another, even the wife and children I had lost were meant for another. But I stole all of it. The hero was never born, because I stole their skin. I did not win against the odds. Every moment of this story has been stolen, and can never be returned." | “What by the beard of Santa Dwarf could you possibly be holding onto?” The Dwarf called Little Rock exclaimed, hammering the wall with his level 59 war-hammer.
The Elf Ranger Zigaloas was tapping his foot. “I agree with the dwarf. We are taking too long and my wife is all ready for me and every minute we waste makes her less like to take me to her bed when I finally show up.”
“That’s why I hate parties filled with men,” the Human Sorceress, Purple Hair said. “I put a locket with my mothers hair on there, and it accepts it right away. But men always have to make it so difficult.”
I didn’t need this pressure. I scowled at the altar and looked at the pile. My robes of the Great Empire, pure gold and sparkle in the sun. My belt, made from the hair of a unicorn. My helmet, raided from the tomb of the great warrior king Frodogorn. The twin swords, Sweepy and Creepy, taken from Mount Peekaboo during the Great Raiding Campaign of Six Sessions Ago.
I loved all my possessions equally. Each had a story behind them. Those Level 99 Boots? I’d won them by killing a massive mountain troll. Or the chain mail shirt which I’d won against a dozen drunken pirates. Surely _one_ of them had to be the one that I held most dear.
Unless? No, surely it couldn’t be. Yes, I loved it, but more of what it could do for all the tavern wenches and the princesses. The Empress of the Giladon Empire? Every time she saw and used it, she would give me an entire province of her empire.
I squeezed my eyes shut. We couldn’t go forward and to go back would take us days. I bit my lower lip, hoping that it would bring something else to mind. Yet it couldn’t.
“Purple Hair?”
“What?” she asked.
“We can’t reclaim anything we leave here right?” I asked, hoping I had misunderstood.
“Shriveled Balls of Midas!” Purple Hair let out an exasperated sigh, magical sparks flying from her nostrils. “You are stupid! I just told Mimbo the Elf….”
“Zigaloas,” the Elf corrected but the Sorceress held up a warning finger and he shut right up.
“I just told him we can’t do that because this is an Altar of No Returns Sacrifices,” she continued. _”It’s in the Dragon Pee name!”_
I shake my head. Fine, if I have to, I have to. Luckily, I knew a few really big….. _landed_ ….. witches who would be more than willing to help out once this raid was over. I turn to face Little Rock and cleared my throat.
“Little Rock,” I said, “Do you still have the Level 300 Scissors of All Cutting?”
“The ones I can’t use and can’t sell because we can’t find a merchant to buy them, by my Mothers Beard?” Little Rock asked.
“That’s the ones,” I nod my head. “I need them.”
Little Rock shrugged and reaching in the massive inventory bag that hung from his side, soon withdrew it. He tossed them across and asked, “I’m happy to help Human warrior but….by Santa’s Beard!”
Zigaloas’ eyes rolled back in his head and he fainted right away. Purple Hair screamed and started running around the room, her fingers clawing at her face. All while screaming, “I’m too gay for that! I’m too gay for that!”
I held my greatest pride and joy in my hands, blood flowing down my thighs. I gritted my teeth against the pain as I threw the now severed appendage onto the Altar and I fell to my knees. I quickly dug into my own inventory bag and pulled out a small vial. A quick flick of the thumb, we’ll, would have if my fingers were trembling so badly, I tipped it up and poured the liquid which immediately brought relief to my groin. I looked up expecting the door to swing open, feeling the pain of loss and actual pain from knowing I could no longer gain any more provinces.
And the door didn’t budge. | |
[WP] You are a famous hero, recognized far and wide. You stand before a locked door with an altar reading "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed". You stand naked with all your belongings stacked on altar. The door doesn't budge. Your party is getting impatient. | So I'm naked. I have nothing more to give.
So I think, "Something abstract? My pride?" And say a loud "Im too afraid of germs to use a public bathroom".
Nothing.
My darkest secret? "I'm usually so constipated I have to use a stick"
It's my superhero diet. All protien. Nothing.
My greatest Joy? "I'll never have sex with a woman again"
Nothing.
"Or an animal"
"Or ... a man"
"Or that vibrating toy I just got!"
Nothing.
Silence. Thinking.
I touch the altar with a finger. The altar shivers.
"What, a pound of flesh?" oh no, I think.
Steeling myself I put my left hand on the altar and squeeze my eyes closed.
The altar trembles. Then stops.
So I start swearing at it while I try my right hand, my right foot, both feet, both legs and the altar just rumbles.
"It really is my prize possession," I think, "and my worst shame and darkest secret. If I fail in this Labor I am washed up as a hero. So what will I have to live for? "
Through my gritted teeth I say "fuck you, Monkeys paw" and place my Package on the altar. The meat, the balls, all of it.
Chomp! | I exhaled heavily and hung my head. I had tried everything I owned. None of my great weapons and equipment, artifacts, keepsakes or personal items had opened the door. My party members, great adventurers and friends that they were, had already offered themselves to no avail. Even my clothes were in the pile on the altar, leaving me naked in front of my party. I tossed my coin pouch on top, already knowing it wouldn't work but trying anyway. As expected, nothing happened. The last bit of hope fled me. It wasn't that I didn't know what was required, I did, but I had been hoping something else would suffice.
"Well, it's a shame, but if you've tried everything, then we'll just have to leave," the druid said. "We can come back another time, after you've done some soul searching and found 'that which you hold most dear.'" I didn't respond, and the party turned to leave.
"No," I whispered hoarsely, staring at the ground. "I know what I need to sacrifice." They looked at me.
"Oh good! Why'd you make us wait? Hurry up and throw it on the altar!" the rogue exclaimed.
I looked up silently at the altar. I had to do this. If I backed out here, I would be ridiculed by everyone. The "greatest adventurer" defeated by a sacrificial door. That would not happen.
With that thought fixed in my mind, I steeled my heart and picked up my dagger from the altar, shoving aside all my other posessions. I stepped up to the edge of the altar, completely naked, and with a thrust of my hips flung that which I held most dear onto the stone. It landed with a meaty thunk. I was proud of it. Everyone always said that it wasn't the size of the wave but the flow of the tide, but my wave was, by all accounts, magnificent. I had always been an insecure person by nature, but this was the one thing that made me feel proud of myself. Yes, I knew it was superficial and not really important, but that didn't change the way I felt. And now it was time for me to be rid of it.
The party was dead silent behind me. They watched with horror.
Keeping my mind blank so I wouldn't dissuade myself at the last second, I held the tip of the dagger still on the stone and raised the handle, then pushed it down with the full force of my forearm and wrist, just like I was cutting a sausage.
Blood spurted over the altar and I fell back, pain burning through me. The party's healer rushed to my side and cast a quiet spell, stopping the bleeding. She helped me up and I looked broken heartedly at my sacrifice. Black flames sprang from the altar, engulfing it. A voice came from the heretofore sealed door:
"The sacrifice of your blood is accepted." And the door swung open.
Wait. My eyes widened in horror. The voice said my sacrifice was my blood. Just blood. It didn't say anything about flesh. Could I then have simply spilled a few drops of blood from a shallow wound and have accomplished the same thing?
But I couldn't think about that now. My unneccesary loss would drive me mad if I didn't go on. I had to see what my sacrifice had earned me. The thought of a reward proportional to the loss was all that pushed me through the door.
I stumbled into a dark room, completely empty. A large rectangle of light appeared on the far wall, despite no apparent windows. I stepped closer to the rectangle, and saw-
[the end!](https://youtu.be/dQw4w9WgXcQ) | |
[WP] You are a famous hero, recognized far and wide. You stand before a locked door with an altar reading "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed". You stand naked with all your belongings stacked on altar. The door doesn't budge. Your party is getting impatient. | After all these years, he is finally facing the door to the evil wizard who massacred his family. Yet as a wizard, he has placed an extremely evil altar to protect his front door. In front of the altar are countless dead bodies, treasures of extreme value, full of clothes and possessions of multiple adventurers, it was a gruesome sight.
The hero has sacrificed everything that he can to get to the gates, only one door stands between him and the party. He is fully naked from the head to the toe. His party members are getting impatient, looking at him nervously, fearing that they have to give up more.
“No… That can’t be it, you can’t possibly think of sacrificing us to the altar don’t you…” The cleric stuttered nervously. The hero looked at them quizzically and retorted “All of you are merely tools for me to get to this place, your lives have no absolute value to me.”
The rest of the party upon hearing that, now slowly walk away and are starting to retrace their steps, walking away from the hero who had fallen so far in his quest for vengeance.
“Finally, I can finally admit to myself after they are gone. The only thing that is dear to me now is my vengeance towards you.”
He puts on his gear slowly, carefully. Taking the items from the altar and using them to his own benefit.
“It may be hard to give up on that, to make this my own personal mission. Instead of seeing how you have hurt others in the same way.”
He points his sword at the door and laughs in the face of possible death.
“It has taken me a while but it is time for me to fight for the people again.”
A loud voice bellows from the altar.
“YOU HAVE GIVEN UP YOUR OBSESSION WITH THE WIZARD, THE DRIVING FORCE THAT BROUGHT YOU HERE. WITH THAT THE DOOR SHALL OPEN.”
The door behind slowly opens into the wizard’s chamber. | I exhaled heavily and hung my head. I had tried everything I owned. None of my great weapons and equipment, artifacts, keepsakes or personal items had opened the door. My party members, great adventurers and friends that they were, had already offered themselves to no avail. Even my clothes were in the pile on the altar, leaving me naked in front of my party. I tossed my coin pouch on top, already knowing it wouldn't work but trying anyway. As expected, nothing happened. The last bit of hope fled me. It wasn't that I didn't know what was required, I did, but I had been hoping something else would suffice.
"Well, it's a shame, but if you've tried everything, then we'll just have to leave," the druid said. "We can come back another time, after you've done some soul searching and found 'that which you hold most dear.'" I didn't respond, and the party turned to leave.
"No," I whispered hoarsely, staring at the ground. "I know what I need to sacrifice." They looked at me.
"Oh good! Why'd you make us wait? Hurry up and throw it on the altar!" the rogue exclaimed.
I looked up silently at the altar. I had to do this. If I backed out here, I would be ridiculed by everyone. The "greatest adventurer" defeated by a sacrificial door. That would not happen.
With that thought fixed in my mind, I steeled my heart and picked up my dagger from the altar, shoving aside all my other posessions. I stepped up to the edge of the altar, completely naked, and with a thrust of my hips flung that which I held most dear onto the stone. It landed with a meaty thunk. I was proud of it. Everyone always said that it wasn't the size of the wave but the flow of the tide, but my wave was, by all accounts, magnificent. I had always been an insecure person by nature, but this was the one thing that made me feel proud of myself. Yes, I knew it was superficial and not really important, but that didn't change the way I felt. And now it was time for me to be rid of it.
The party was dead silent behind me. They watched with horror.
Keeping my mind blank so I wouldn't dissuade myself at the last second, I held the tip of the dagger still on the stone and raised the handle, then pushed it down with the full force of my forearm and wrist, just like I was cutting a sausage.
Blood spurted over the altar and I fell back, pain burning through me. The party's healer rushed to my side and cast a quiet spell, stopping the bleeding. She helped me up and I looked broken heartedly at my sacrifice. Black flames sprang from the altar, engulfing it. A voice came from the heretofore sealed door:
"The sacrifice of your blood is accepted." And the door swung open.
Wait. My eyes widened in horror. The voice said my sacrifice was my blood. Just blood. It didn't say anything about flesh. Could I then have simply spilled a few drops of blood from a shallow wound and have accomplished the same thing?
But I couldn't think about that now. My unneccesary loss would drive me mad if I didn't go on. I had to see what my sacrifice had earned me. The thought of a reward proportional to the loss was all that pushed me through the door.
I stumbled into a dark room, completely empty. A large rectangle of light appeared on the far wall, despite no apparent windows. I stepped closer to the rectangle, and saw-
[the end!](https://youtu.be/dQw4w9WgXcQ) | |
[WP] You are a famous hero, recognized far and wide. You stand before a locked door with an altar reading "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed". You stand naked with all your belongings stacked on altar. The door doesn't budge. Your party is getting impatient. | The famous hero stands before the final gates. The final judgement. "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed"
The hero stacks all of their belongings upon the altar, even stripping down all of their clothes and places them on the altar. "That is it, I have nothing else of value" the hero whimpers toward the gate.
But the gate held still.
"Unless" the hero says, hand hovering above the altar. "Do you think I am that selfish? That the thing that I most hold dear is myself?" The hero shouts angrily at the gate.
As if to make a point the hero steps onto the altar, standing beside their belongings. "I would do ANYTHING to pass!"
But the gate held still.
The hero sat on the altar, eyes wide in confusion. "This is all that I have, and I give it freely. Why won't you open?" They wondered, perhaps the altar was a ruse, a red herring? But that couldn't be, not in this place. There was no reason for it. No the test was true, it had to be. The hero sat for hours, giving the only thing they still felt they had left. Time.
But the gate held still.
The hero had fought dragons, stopped forest fires, helped the homeless. They had given everything they had every day of their life, and it felt like a trivial matter to do so again at the gate.
But the gate held still.
"I lost my family." The hero mumbled, but as they spoke their voice grew shrill and angry. I lost my wife, my children." The hero punched the door, tears running down their face as they shouted. "I have lost more than I could possibly place on this altar! Compared to what I have already sacrificed to get here I have NOTHING"
But the gate held still.
The hero fell against the gate, and slid to a sitting position. They saw the faces of everyone they held dear in the fog. They saw those who had been saved, and those who they had failed to save. "I have nothing left." the hero muttered over and over, occasionally testing the door 'just in case'.
The gate held still.
Finally, the hero stood. Crying. There was one last thing they had of value. Something they had forgotten about. Taking a sheet of parchment and pen from their belongings, the hero began writing. They wrote for hours, accounting for every detail of their life, every person saved and every dark hour.
The gate held still, but the hero knew it was waiting.
Finally the hero finished their life story. Except for one final detail. To punctuate the hero's autobiography the hero spilled the one secret that undermined everything that they had ever done. The one secret the hero had kept so close, that even they had forgotten for a time.
"I write here my life story, but not because it has value. I write my life story here so every item of the ledger is accounted for. I may have forgotten some, I have lived a long life, but it truly is all that I can list. This story has been stolen. It was never mine to tell, nor mine to live. "
The gate shuddered as if to confirm that this was what it wanted.
"I stole this life. I wanted to know what it was like to live a mortal life. I must admit it was no mistake that I chose the life of a hero. The quests I undertook were meant for a mortal to undertake. The lives I saved were meant for another, even the wife and children I had lost were meant for another. But I stole all of it. The hero was never born, because I stole their skin. I did not win against the odds. Every moment of this story has been stolen, and can never be returned." | I exhaled heavily and hung my head. I had tried everything I owned. None of my great weapons and equipment, artifacts, keepsakes or personal items had opened the door. My party members, great adventurers and friends that they were, had already offered themselves to no avail. Even my clothes were in the pile on the altar, leaving me naked in front of my party. I tossed my coin pouch on top, already knowing it wouldn't work but trying anyway. As expected, nothing happened. The last bit of hope fled me. It wasn't that I didn't know what was required, I did, but I had been hoping something else would suffice.
"Well, it's a shame, but if you've tried everything, then we'll just have to leave," the druid said. "We can come back another time, after you've done some soul searching and found 'that which you hold most dear.'" I didn't respond, and the party turned to leave.
"No," I whispered hoarsely, staring at the ground. "I know what I need to sacrifice." They looked at me.
"Oh good! Why'd you make us wait? Hurry up and throw it on the altar!" the rogue exclaimed.
I looked up silently at the altar. I had to do this. If I backed out here, I would be ridiculed by everyone. The "greatest adventurer" defeated by a sacrificial door. That would not happen.
With that thought fixed in my mind, I steeled my heart and picked up my dagger from the altar, shoving aside all my other posessions. I stepped up to the edge of the altar, completely naked, and with a thrust of my hips flung that which I held most dear onto the stone. It landed with a meaty thunk. I was proud of it. Everyone always said that it wasn't the size of the wave but the flow of the tide, but my wave was, by all accounts, magnificent. I had always been an insecure person by nature, but this was the one thing that made me feel proud of myself. Yes, I knew it was superficial and not really important, but that didn't change the way I felt. And now it was time for me to be rid of it.
The party was dead silent behind me. They watched with horror.
Keeping my mind blank so I wouldn't dissuade myself at the last second, I held the tip of the dagger still on the stone and raised the handle, then pushed it down with the full force of my forearm and wrist, just like I was cutting a sausage.
Blood spurted over the altar and I fell back, pain burning through me. The party's healer rushed to my side and cast a quiet spell, stopping the bleeding. She helped me up and I looked broken heartedly at my sacrifice. Black flames sprang from the altar, engulfing it. A voice came from the heretofore sealed door:
"The sacrifice of your blood is accepted." And the door swung open.
Wait. My eyes widened in horror. The voice said my sacrifice was my blood. Just blood. It didn't say anything about flesh. Could I then have simply spilled a few drops of blood from a shallow wound and have accomplished the same thing?
But I couldn't think about that now. My unneccesary loss would drive me mad if I didn't go on. I had to see what my sacrifice had earned me. The thought of a reward proportional to the loss was all that pushed me through the door.
I stumbled into a dark room, completely empty. A large rectangle of light appeared on the far wall, despite no apparent windows. I stepped closer to the rectangle, and saw-
[the end!](https://youtu.be/dQw4w9WgXcQ) | |
[WP] You are a famous hero, recognized far and wide. You stand before a locked door with an altar reading "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed". You stand naked with all your belongings stacked on altar. The door doesn't budge. Your party is getting impatient. | After all these years, he is finally facing the door to the evil wizard who massacred his family. Yet as a wizard, he has placed an extremely evil altar to protect his front door. In front of the altar are countless dead bodies, treasures of extreme value, full of clothes and possessions of multiple adventurers, it was a gruesome sight.
The hero has sacrificed everything that he can to get to the gates, only one door stands between him and the party. He is fully naked from the head to the toe. His party members are getting impatient, looking at him nervously, fearing that they have to give up more.
“No… That can’t be it, you can’t possibly think of sacrificing us to the altar don’t you…” The cleric stuttered nervously. The hero looked at them quizzically and retorted “All of you are merely tools for me to get to this place, your lives have no absolute value to me.”
The rest of the party upon hearing that, now slowly walk away and are starting to retrace their steps, walking away from the hero who had fallen so far in his quest for vengeance.
“Finally, I can finally admit to myself after they are gone. The only thing that is dear to me now is my vengeance towards you.”
He puts on his gear slowly, carefully. Taking the items from the altar and using them to his own benefit.
“It may be hard to give up on that, to make this my own personal mission. Instead of seeing how you have hurt others in the same way.”
He points his sword at the door and laughs in the face of possible death.
“It has taken me a while but it is time for me to fight for the people again.”
A loud voice bellows from the altar.
“YOU HAVE GIVEN UP YOUR OBSESSION WITH THE WIZARD, THE DRIVING FORCE THAT BROUGHT YOU HERE. WITH THAT THE DOOR SHALL OPEN.”
The door behind slowly opens into the wizard’s chamber. | So I'm naked. I have nothing more to give.
So I think, "Something abstract? My pride?" And say a loud "Im too afraid of germs to use a public bathroom".
Nothing.
My darkest secret? "I'm usually so constipated I have to use a stick"
It's my superhero diet. All protien. Nothing.
My greatest Joy? "I'll never have sex with a woman again"
Nothing.
"Or an animal"
"Or ... a man"
"Or that vibrating toy I just got!"
Nothing.
Silence. Thinking.
I touch the altar with a finger. The altar shivers.
"What, a pound of flesh?" oh no, I think.
Steeling myself I put my left hand on the altar and squeeze my eyes closed.
The altar trembles. Then stops.
So I start swearing at it while I try my right hand, my right foot, both feet, both legs and the altar just rumbles.
"It really is my prize possession," I think, "and my worst shame and darkest secret. If I fail in this Labor I am washed up as a hero. So what will I have to live for? "
Through my gritted teeth I say "fuck you, Monkeys paw" and place my Package on the altar. The meat, the balls, all of it.
Chomp! | |
[WP] You are a famous hero, recognized far and wide. You stand before a locked door with an altar reading "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed". You stand naked with all your belongings stacked on altar. The door doesn't budge. Your party is getting impatient. | I stared at the door. It was a beautiful door, intricately carved, but it was locked and I didn't have the key. I had been told that this was the way to the temple, but I didn't know what lay beyond the door. I didn't know what I was supposed to do.
I looked back at my party. I thought of the sacrifices they had made for me. The time they had spent in my service. They were waiting for me to lead them. They trusted me.
I thought of the people I had fought with, the ones I had left behind. They were counting on me. I couldn't let them down.
On the cold stone wall, my shadow stretched before me, reaching for the door.
I stared at the door. I could feel the power emanating from it, like a living thing. I could sense the altar on the other side, waiting for me.
I studied the altar again. It was a tall, wooden structure. It was dark wood, stained a deep red by the blood of sacrifices past. The altar had a platform, about two feet off the ground, with a book sitting open on it. The book was old, yellowing pages bound in leather. A single candle sat in the center of the book and cast flickering light over the altar.
I knelt down on the platform and placed my hand on the book. I could feel the power throbbing through it, pulsing into my hand. I could feel the life force of all those who had come before me, all those who had sacrificed themselves.
I could feel the weight of responsibility on my shoulders. This was my duty. This was my destiny.
I thought of all the people who had come before me. They had all sacrificed something they loved. Their families, their friends, their own lives.
I thought of my life. I had dedicated myself to my work. To being a hero. To making the world a better place.
I didn't have anyone close to me. No family, no friends, no one. I kept people at arm's length. I had nothing to lose and nothing to sacrifice.
As I stared at the door, I realized that there was something I cared about more than anything else. My need to be the best, to be the hero. To be loved and admired.
I shuttered. This was the way. The only way. Ignominy.
With a deep breath, I closed my eyes and got up. My party began to mumble confused as I gathered my things. They stared at me with confusion. Some with sympathy, others with pity. I felt their hands on my back, my shoulder, my hand. I heard their pleading, heard the worry in their voices, felt the fear.
"I give up," I said. "You must go on without me."
My party stared at me, speechless as I began to walk away. I heard my party call out, but I didn't stop. There were no goodbyes. I just was nobody now.
The door wouldn't open until I was gone, until no one would see the connection. My sacrifice would forever be a secret.
Outside the night is still. Banks of fog roll gently down the mountainside.
***
For more stories check out r/greypuffin | "Theres no way im doing this", i muttered to the altar. "If its not the gold, the jewels, every stitch i own and i stand here naked....theres....theres just no waaay!"
I looked down, then back up, "some sacrifice is too great, you and me mr.altar are just gonna have to stay here, stuck with eachother, forever"
A long silence, nothing happens.
"We've been together all my life, we've never been separated, ever"
Silence...
"It's not as if I'd EVER be the same! I do half my thinking with THAT head, no way, just no way im doing it. Look can we move this along, its cold in here. " | |
[WP] You are a famous hero, recognized far and wide. You stand before a locked door with an altar reading "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed". You stand naked with all your belongings stacked on altar. The door doesn't budge. Your party is getting impatient. | It always rains in Trenshorn, buckets and jars overflow by habit, and that is why the fishlings chose it as their place of settlement. Only, it doesn't rain today. The sun scorches us from overhead and everywhere there is a smell of dried cod.
"Let's just head back, Banaroth. That door won't budge."
Our spellcaster picks up a handful of soil and inspects it closely. "Yes. I can see it clearly. We're not getting in."
They are a timid bunch dressed in leather rags pilfered, I suspect, from villagers even more timid than the members of my party. "Ghuzanne! Pelori! What is this I hear? Do you not have faith in your leader?"
Wenneth the archer gulps. "It is not that we don't have faith, Banny—I mean Banaroth—it's just that ..."
"It's just that we've been standing here for an hour," says Ghuzanne. Her arms are folded and she's looking mighty strict though she's standing before the legendary hero of Arncast: Banaroth the Intrepid.
"Also there's a festival in town. We don't want to miss it." Perlori snacks on her soil.
At the altar in front of us lies my Saber of Valor, Staff of Obedience, Ring of Fortune, Ring of Fortitude, the Elk-Ranger Talisman, some coins, my shoes, my armor, and all my clothes and items. All of it. It sits in a great pile. *Sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed* reads the inscription on the door but I haven't got anything left to sacrifice.
"Well, perhaps we should head back before the rain."
Ghuzanne looks around. "I don't think there's going to be rain. The sky's all clear."
"It always rains in Trenshorn."
"But it's not raining right now, is it?" says Wenneth and rage rushes through my rivers of blood.
These younglins have no respect for sayings. My mother told me when I was but a child that it always rains in Trenshorn and I believed her. It was the truth. When I arrived for the very first time in the town it didn't rain and as it happens I can't recall ever having been here when it rained. But those are exceptions that prove the rule. It always rains in Trenshorn.
"Just because it doesn't rain right now," I tell him, "that doesn't mean it doesn't always rain. You, Wenneth, always have something clever to say. Not that I've ever heard you say something clever. But that doesn't mean it's not true."
Wenneth loads his bow with a sullen look. "Maybe your life is what you hold most dear? Would make sense, wouldn't it?"
"W-What?"
"Oh! That must be the answer to the riddle," Pelori says and she claps her hands. Soil flies everywhere.
"Or maybe it's that snail between your legs," says Ghuzanne.
"Snail! What, I ... You can't even see it from where you're standing."
"I don't think I'd be able to see it no matter where I was standing."
They all laugh and the humiliation is complete. I release a deep sigh of resignation. "Okay. Fine. Let's head back. Let's just forget all about questing and exploration and adventure and let's just enjoy ourselves at the festival."
The goblins *cheer*.
"I'm so excited for the food!" screams Pelori.
"... You eat mud," I grumble, "why are you excited about the food?"
"Whoa whoah. Pelori eats soil for her divination. She gets her intel from the worms." Ghuzanne turns her hear towards Pelori. "That's right, isn't it?"
Pelori nods. She's chewing on something. I bet it's mud. She's not even prophesying anything. She's just eating it. I want to make a comment but I doubt they'll take my side.
I walk over to the altar to retrieve my belongings. I consider their combined value and I reflect on the memories they represent. I was a young man back when I got most of them. Like Wenneth. They all represent danger and hope and the importance of facing your fears no matter the odds—well except for my clothes because those are just my clothes. It's not like my socks mean anything.
There was a reason why I wanted to bring them here, to Trenshorn, where it always rains. This was where it all began. Where I met him. My mentor. I joined a party and we traveled all over the realm fighting monsters and crawling through dungeons and taking on whatever job happened to be available. And we did it all together. I wonder what those guys are doing now. Those who remain, I mean.
I've never seen a fishling. My mother used to tell me stories, about how they'd be caught in fishermen's nets, about their great plight from the ocean to the town of Trenshorn. I thought I'd found one once but turned out it was only a merman. He hadn't even been to Trenshorn.
"Uh, Banaroth? Are you alright?"
Wenneth clears his throat. "I think he's having a senior moment," he says in a hushed voice.
I ignore them and I lean down to pick up the Staff of Obediance. Perhaps I can just give it a little swing to teach them some respect for their elders. No, they'd only end up mocking me for it later.
As I reach down I feel a pain in my back. "Oh!" I shout as I fall down on the altar, hitting my head on the Elk-Ranger Talisman. "Ow ..."
"Wait, that's ..."
"Huh?"
"It's ... It's not even the size of a snail!"
They laugh and none of them ask me if I'm alright after that nasty fall. A lone tear escapes my eye and I hurry to wipe it off so that they won't see. But wait. There's movement. The alter lights up, green and fluorescent.
"The door! The door is opening!" shouts Ghuzanne.
Pelori opens her mouth wide and soil drips down her chin.
It opened? But how?
Slowly the insides are revealed; walls covered in gold and jewels poking out from the ground, glittering. It is the greatest treasure trove I have ever laid my weary eyes on.
Someone clears their throat. "Greetings, Banaroth the Intrepid. You have sacrificed that which you hold most dear and now you shall receive your rightful reward."
There's someone standing in the entrance. He looks like a man, though somewhat sickly. His skin is grey, his eyes bulging out from their sockets, and his gills are slimy and—wait. Gills? "Y-You are a fishling?"
"Oh," says the man. "Yes. That's right."
There are oohs and awws coming from my party. They can't believe it. And neither can I.
"But what did I sacrifice exactly?" I ask the fishling. A fishling! My mother's stories were all true! I knew it all along of course. I never doubted them for a second.
The fishling makes a gesture with his webbed hands. "What you sacrificed, Banaroth the Intrepid, was nothing short of your pride. It was your greatest treasure. Now it is no more."
Oh. That's right. They saw my snail. I mean, my—
"T-This is incredible," says Ghuzanne.
"Great work, Banny!"
"Very clever, boss. You intentionally made us ridicule you so that you could elegantly collapse on the altar, deprived of your precious pride." Wenneth nods sagely.
"Oh ... Intentionally. Yes. Of course."
The fishling smiles. "You best get dressed. And you should all come inside: it always rains in Trenshorn."
My heart swells but if this feeling in my chest is not pride, what then? I cast a glance back at my pile of rubble and my party. They're cheering and running around in ecstasy. Of course. This is not pride.
This feeling is that of gratitude. | "Theres no way im doing this", i muttered to the altar. "If its not the gold, the jewels, every stitch i own and i stand here naked....theres....theres just no waaay!"
I looked down, then back up, "some sacrifice is too great, you and me mr.altar are just gonna have to stay here, stuck with eachother, forever"
A long silence, nothing happens.
"We've been together all my life, we've never been separated, ever"
Silence...
"It's not as if I'd EVER be the same! I do half my thinking with THAT head, no way, just no way im doing it. Look can we move this along, its cold in here. " | |
[WP] You are a famous hero, recognized far and wide. You stand before a locked door with an altar reading "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed". You stand naked with all your belongings stacked on altar. The door doesn't budge. Your party is getting impatient. | The famous hero stands before the final gates. The final judgement. "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed"
The hero stacks all of their belongings upon the altar, even stripping down all of their clothes and places them on the altar. "That is it, I have nothing else of value" the hero whimpers toward the gate.
But the gate held still.
"Unless" the hero says, hand hovering above the altar. "Do you think I am that selfish? That the thing that I most hold dear is myself?" The hero shouts angrily at the gate.
As if to make a point the hero steps onto the altar, standing beside their belongings. "I would do ANYTHING to pass!"
But the gate held still.
The hero sat on the altar, eyes wide in confusion. "This is all that I have, and I give it freely. Why won't you open?" They wondered, perhaps the altar was a ruse, a red herring? But that couldn't be, not in this place. There was no reason for it. No the test was true, it had to be. The hero sat for hours, giving the only thing they still felt they had left. Time.
But the gate held still.
The hero had fought dragons, stopped forest fires, helped the homeless. They had given everything they had every day of their life, and it felt like a trivial matter to do so again at the gate.
But the gate held still.
"I lost my family." The hero mumbled, but as they spoke their voice grew shrill and angry. I lost my wife, my children." The hero punched the door, tears running down their face as they shouted. "I have lost more than I could possibly place on this altar! Compared to what I have already sacrificed to get here I have NOTHING"
But the gate held still.
The hero fell against the gate, and slid to a sitting position. They saw the faces of everyone they held dear in the fog. They saw those who had been saved, and those who they had failed to save. "I have nothing left." the hero muttered over and over, occasionally testing the door 'just in case'.
The gate held still.
Finally, the hero stood. Crying. There was one last thing they had of value. Something they had forgotten about. Taking a sheet of parchment and pen from their belongings, the hero began writing. They wrote for hours, accounting for every detail of their life, every person saved and every dark hour.
The gate held still, but the hero knew it was waiting.
Finally the hero finished their life story. Except for one final detail. To punctuate the hero's autobiography the hero spilled the one secret that undermined everything that they had ever done. The one secret the hero had kept so close, that even they had forgotten for a time.
"I write here my life story, but not because it has value. I write my life story here so every item of the ledger is accounted for. I may have forgotten some, I have lived a long life, but it truly is all that I can list. This story has been stolen. It was never mine to tell, nor mine to live. "
The gate shuddered as if to confirm that this was what it wanted.
"I stole this life. I wanted to know what it was like to live a mortal life. I must admit it was no mistake that I chose the life of a hero. The quests I undertook were meant for a mortal to undertake. The lives I saved were meant for another, even the wife and children I had lost were meant for another. But I stole all of it. The hero was never born, because I stole their skin. I did not win against the odds. Every moment of this story has been stolen, and can never be returned." | "Theres no way im doing this", i muttered to the altar. "If its not the gold, the jewels, every stitch i own and i stand here naked....theres....theres just no waaay!"
I looked down, then back up, "some sacrifice is too great, you and me mr.altar are just gonna have to stay here, stuck with eachother, forever"
A long silence, nothing happens.
"We've been together all my life, we've never been separated, ever"
Silence...
"It's not as if I'd EVER be the same! I do half my thinking with THAT head, no way, just no way im doing it. Look can we move this along, its cold in here. " | |
[WP] You are a famous hero, recognized far and wide. You stand before a locked door with an altar reading "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed". You stand naked with all your belongings stacked on altar. The door doesn't budge. Your party is getting impatient. | The famous hero stands before the final gates. The final judgement. "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed"
The hero stacks all of their belongings upon the altar, even stripping down all of their clothes and places them on the altar. "That is it, I have nothing else of value" the hero whimpers toward the gate.
But the gate held still.
"Unless" the hero says, hand hovering above the altar. "Do you think I am that selfish? That the thing that I most hold dear is myself?" The hero shouts angrily at the gate.
As if to make a point the hero steps onto the altar, standing beside their belongings. "I would do ANYTHING to pass!"
But the gate held still.
The hero sat on the altar, eyes wide in confusion. "This is all that I have, and I give it freely. Why won't you open?" They wondered, perhaps the altar was a ruse, a red herring? But that couldn't be, not in this place. There was no reason for it. No the test was true, it had to be. The hero sat for hours, giving the only thing they still felt they had left. Time.
But the gate held still.
The hero had fought dragons, stopped forest fires, helped the homeless. They had given everything they had every day of their life, and it felt like a trivial matter to do so again at the gate.
But the gate held still.
"I lost my family." The hero mumbled, but as they spoke their voice grew shrill and angry. I lost my wife, my children." The hero punched the door, tears running down their face as they shouted. "I have lost more than I could possibly place on this altar! Compared to what I have already sacrificed to get here I have NOTHING"
But the gate held still.
The hero fell against the gate, and slid to a sitting position. They saw the faces of everyone they held dear in the fog. They saw those who had been saved, and those who they had failed to save. "I have nothing left." the hero muttered over and over, occasionally testing the door 'just in case'.
The gate held still.
Finally, the hero stood. Crying. There was one last thing they had of value. Something they had forgotten about. Taking a sheet of parchment and pen from their belongings, the hero began writing. They wrote for hours, accounting for every detail of their life, every person saved and every dark hour.
The gate held still, but the hero knew it was waiting.
Finally the hero finished their life story. Except for one final detail. To punctuate the hero's autobiography the hero spilled the one secret that undermined everything that they had ever done. The one secret the hero had kept so close, that even they had forgotten for a time.
"I write here my life story, but not because it has value. I write my life story here so every item of the ledger is accounted for. I may have forgotten some, I have lived a long life, but it truly is all that I can list. This story has been stolen. It was never mine to tell, nor mine to live. "
The gate shuddered as if to confirm that this was what it wanted.
"I stole this life. I wanted to know what it was like to live a mortal life. I must admit it was no mistake that I chose the life of a hero. The quests I undertook were meant for a mortal to undertake. The lives I saved were meant for another, even the wife and children I had lost were meant for another. But I stole all of it. The hero was never born, because I stole their skin. I did not win against the odds. Every moment of this story has been stolen, and can never be returned." | I stared at the door. It was a beautiful door, intricately carved, but it was locked and I didn't have the key. I had been told that this was the way to the temple, but I didn't know what lay beyond the door. I didn't know what I was supposed to do.
I looked back at my party. I thought of the sacrifices they had made for me. The time they had spent in my service. They were waiting for me to lead them. They trusted me.
I thought of the people I had fought with, the ones I had left behind. They were counting on me. I couldn't let them down.
On the cold stone wall, my shadow stretched before me, reaching for the door.
I stared at the door. I could feel the power emanating from it, like a living thing. I could sense the altar on the other side, waiting for me.
I studied the altar again. It was a tall, wooden structure. It was dark wood, stained a deep red by the blood of sacrifices past. The altar had a platform, about two feet off the ground, with a book sitting open on it. The book was old, yellowing pages bound in leather. A single candle sat in the center of the book and cast flickering light over the altar.
I knelt down on the platform and placed my hand on the book. I could feel the power throbbing through it, pulsing into my hand. I could feel the life force of all those who had come before me, all those who had sacrificed themselves.
I could feel the weight of responsibility on my shoulders. This was my duty. This was my destiny.
I thought of all the people who had come before me. They had all sacrificed something they loved. Their families, their friends, their own lives.
I thought of my life. I had dedicated myself to my work. To being a hero. To making the world a better place.
I didn't have anyone close to me. No family, no friends, no one. I kept people at arm's length. I had nothing to lose and nothing to sacrifice.
As I stared at the door, I realized that there was something I cared about more than anything else. My need to be the best, to be the hero. To be loved and admired.
I shuttered. This was the way. The only way. Ignominy.
With a deep breath, I closed my eyes and got up. My party began to mumble confused as I gathered my things. They stared at me with confusion. Some with sympathy, others with pity. I felt their hands on my back, my shoulder, my hand. I heard their pleading, heard the worry in their voices, felt the fear.
"I give up," I said. "You must go on without me."
My party stared at me, speechless as I began to walk away. I heard my party call out, but I didn't stop. There were no goodbyes. I just was nobody now.
The door wouldn't open until I was gone, until no one would see the connection. My sacrifice would forever be a secret.
Outside the night is still. Banks of fog roll gently down the mountainside.
***
For more stories check out r/greypuffin | |
[WP] You are a famous hero, recognized far and wide. You stand before a locked door with an altar reading "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed". You stand naked with all your belongings stacked on altar. The door doesn't budge. Your party is getting impatient. | The famous hero stands before the final gates. The final judgement. "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed"
The hero stacks all of their belongings upon the altar, even stripping down all of their clothes and places them on the altar. "That is it, I have nothing else of value" the hero whimpers toward the gate.
But the gate held still.
"Unless" the hero says, hand hovering above the altar. "Do you think I am that selfish? That the thing that I most hold dear is myself?" The hero shouts angrily at the gate.
As if to make a point the hero steps onto the altar, standing beside their belongings. "I would do ANYTHING to pass!"
But the gate held still.
The hero sat on the altar, eyes wide in confusion. "This is all that I have, and I give it freely. Why won't you open?" They wondered, perhaps the altar was a ruse, a red herring? But that couldn't be, not in this place. There was no reason for it. No the test was true, it had to be. The hero sat for hours, giving the only thing they still felt they had left. Time.
But the gate held still.
The hero had fought dragons, stopped forest fires, helped the homeless. They had given everything they had every day of their life, and it felt like a trivial matter to do so again at the gate.
But the gate held still.
"I lost my family." The hero mumbled, but as they spoke their voice grew shrill and angry. I lost my wife, my children." The hero punched the door, tears running down their face as they shouted. "I have lost more than I could possibly place on this altar! Compared to what I have already sacrificed to get here I have NOTHING"
But the gate held still.
The hero fell against the gate, and slid to a sitting position. They saw the faces of everyone they held dear in the fog. They saw those who had been saved, and those who they had failed to save. "I have nothing left." the hero muttered over and over, occasionally testing the door 'just in case'.
The gate held still.
Finally, the hero stood. Crying. There was one last thing they had of value. Something they had forgotten about. Taking a sheet of parchment and pen from their belongings, the hero began writing. They wrote for hours, accounting for every detail of their life, every person saved and every dark hour.
The gate held still, but the hero knew it was waiting.
Finally the hero finished their life story. Except for one final detail. To punctuate the hero's autobiography the hero spilled the one secret that undermined everything that they had ever done. The one secret the hero had kept so close, that even they had forgotten for a time.
"I write here my life story, but not because it has value. I write my life story here so every item of the ledger is accounted for. I may have forgotten some, I have lived a long life, but it truly is all that I can list. This story has been stolen. It was never mine to tell, nor mine to live. "
The gate shuddered as if to confirm that this was what it wanted.
"I stole this life. I wanted to know what it was like to live a mortal life. I must admit it was no mistake that I chose the life of a hero. The quests I undertook were meant for a mortal to undertake. The lives I saved were meant for another, even the wife and children I had lost were meant for another. But I stole all of it. The hero was never born, because I stole their skin. I did not win against the odds. Every moment of this story has been stolen, and can never be returned." | It always rains in Trenshorn, buckets and jars overflow by habit, and that is why the fishlings chose it as their place of settlement. Only, it doesn't rain today. The sun scorches us from overhead and everywhere there is a smell of dried cod.
"Let's just head back, Banaroth. That door won't budge."
Our spellcaster picks up a handful of soil and inspects it closely. "Yes. I can see it clearly. We're not getting in."
They are a timid bunch dressed in leather rags pilfered, I suspect, from villagers even more timid than the members of my party. "Ghuzanne! Pelori! What is this I hear? Do you not have faith in your leader?"
Wenneth the archer gulps. "It is not that we don't have faith, Banny—I mean Banaroth—it's just that ..."
"It's just that we've been standing here for an hour," says Ghuzanne. Her arms are folded and she's looking mighty strict though she's standing before the legendary hero of Arncast: Banaroth the Intrepid.
"Also there's a festival in town. We don't want to miss it." Perlori snacks on her soil.
At the altar in front of us lies my Saber of Valor, Staff of Obedience, Ring of Fortune, Ring of Fortitude, the Elk-Ranger Talisman, some coins, my shoes, my armor, and all my clothes and items. All of it. It sits in a great pile. *Sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed* reads the inscription on the door but I haven't got anything left to sacrifice.
"Well, perhaps we should head back before the rain."
Ghuzanne looks around. "I don't think there's going to be rain. The sky's all clear."
"It always rains in Trenshorn."
"But it's not raining right now, is it?" says Wenneth and rage rushes through my rivers of blood.
These younglins have no respect for sayings. My mother told me when I was but a child that it always rains in Trenshorn and I believed her. It was the truth. When I arrived for the very first time in the town it didn't rain and as it happens I can't recall ever having been here when it rained. But those are exceptions that prove the rule. It always rains in Trenshorn.
"Just because it doesn't rain right now," I tell him, "that doesn't mean it doesn't always rain. You, Wenneth, always have something clever to say. Not that I've ever heard you say something clever. But that doesn't mean it's not true."
Wenneth loads his bow with a sullen look. "Maybe your life is what you hold most dear? Would make sense, wouldn't it?"
"W-What?"
"Oh! That must be the answer to the riddle," Pelori says and she claps her hands. Soil flies everywhere.
"Or maybe it's that snail between your legs," says Ghuzanne.
"Snail! What, I ... You can't even see it from where you're standing."
"I don't think I'd be able to see it no matter where I was standing."
They all laugh and the humiliation is complete. I release a deep sigh of resignation. "Okay. Fine. Let's head back. Let's just forget all about questing and exploration and adventure and let's just enjoy ourselves at the festival."
The goblins *cheer*.
"I'm so excited for the food!" screams Pelori.
"... You eat mud," I grumble, "why are you excited about the food?"
"Whoa whoah. Pelori eats soil for her divination. She gets her intel from the worms." Ghuzanne turns her hear towards Pelori. "That's right, isn't it?"
Pelori nods. She's chewing on something. I bet it's mud. She's not even prophesying anything. She's just eating it. I want to make a comment but I doubt they'll take my side.
I walk over to the altar to retrieve my belongings. I consider their combined value and I reflect on the memories they represent. I was a young man back when I got most of them. Like Wenneth. They all represent danger and hope and the importance of facing your fears no matter the odds—well except for my clothes because those are just my clothes. It's not like my socks mean anything.
There was a reason why I wanted to bring them here, to Trenshorn, where it always rains. This was where it all began. Where I met him. My mentor. I joined a party and we traveled all over the realm fighting monsters and crawling through dungeons and taking on whatever job happened to be available. And we did it all together. I wonder what those guys are doing now. Those who remain, I mean.
I've never seen a fishling. My mother used to tell me stories, about how they'd be caught in fishermen's nets, about their great plight from the ocean to the town of Trenshorn. I thought I'd found one once but turned out it was only a merman. He hadn't even been to Trenshorn.
"Uh, Banaroth? Are you alright?"
Wenneth clears his throat. "I think he's having a senior moment," he says in a hushed voice.
I ignore them and I lean down to pick up the Staff of Obediance. Perhaps I can just give it a little swing to teach them some respect for their elders. No, they'd only end up mocking me for it later.
As I reach down I feel a pain in my back. "Oh!" I shout as I fall down on the altar, hitting my head on the Elk-Ranger Talisman. "Ow ..."
"Wait, that's ..."
"Huh?"
"It's ... It's not even the size of a snail!"
They laugh and none of them ask me if I'm alright after that nasty fall. A lone tear escapes my eye and I hurry to wipe it off so that they won't see. But wait. There's movement. The alter lights up, green and fluorescent.
"The door! The door is opening!" shouts Ghuzanne.
Pelori opens her mouth wide and soil drips down her chin.
It opened? But how?
Slowly the insides are revealed; walls covered in gold and jewels poking out from the ground, glittering. It is the greatest treasure trove I have ever laid my weary eyes on.
Someone clears their throat. "Greetings, Banaroth the Intrepid. You have sacrificed that which you hold most dear and now you shall receive your rightful reward."
There's someone standing in the entrance. He looks like a man, though somewhat sickly. His skin is grey, his eyes bulging out from their sockets, and his gills are slimy and—wait. Gills? "Y-You are a fishling?"
"Oh," says the man. "Yes. That's right."
There are oohs and awws coming from my party. They can't believe it. And neither can I.
"But what did I sacrifice exactly?" I ask the fishling. A fishling! My mother's stories were all true! I knew it all along of course. I never doubted them for a second.
The fishling makes a gesture with his webbed hands. "What you sacrificed, Banaroth the Intrepid, was nothing short of your pride. It was your greatest treasure. Now it is no more."
Oh. That's right. They saw my snail. I mean, my—
"T-This is incredible," says Ghuzanne.
"Great work, Banny!"
"Very clever, boss. You intentionally made us ridicule you so that you could elegantly collapse on the altar, deprived of your precious pride." Wenneth nods sagely.
"Oh ... Intentionally. Yes. Of course."
The fishling smiles. "You best get dressed. And you should all come inside: it always rains in Trenshorn."
My heart swells but if this feeling in my chest is not pride, what then? I cast a glance back at my pile of rubble and my party. They're cheering and running around in ecstasy. Of course. This is not pride.
This feeling is that of gratitude. | |
[WP] You are a famous hero, recognized far and wide. You stand before a locked door with an altar reading "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed". You stand naked with all your belongings stacked on altar. The door doesn't budge. Your party is getting impatient. | The famous hero stands before the final gates. The final judgement. "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed"
The hero stacks all of their belongings upon the altar, even stripping down all of their clothes and places them on the altar. "That is it, I have nothing else of value" the hero whimpers toward the gate.
But the gate held still.
"Unless" the hero says, hand hovering above the altar. "Do you think I am that selfish? That the thing that I most hold dear is myself?" The hero shouts angrily at the gate.
As if to make a point the hero steps onto the altar, standing beside their belongings. "I would do ANYTHING to pass!"
But the gate held still.
The hero sat on the altar, eyes wide in confusion. "This is all that I have, and I give it freely. Why won't you open?" They wondered, perhaps the altar was a ruse, a red herring? But that couldn't be, not in this place. There was no reason for it. No the test was true, it had to be. The hero sat for hours, giving the only thing they still felt they had left. Time.
But the gate held still.
The hero had fought dragons, stopped forest fires, helped the homeless. They had given everything they had every day of their life, and it felt like a trivial matter to do so again at the gate.
But the gate held still.
"I lost my family." The hero mumbled, but as they spoke their voice grew shrill and angry. I lost my wife, my children." The hero punched the door, tears running down their face as they shouted. "I have lost more than I could possibly place on this altar! Compared to what I have already sacrificed to get here I have NOTHING"
But the gate held still.
The hero fell against the gate, and slid to a sitting position. They saw the faces of everyone they held dear in the fog. They saw those who had been saved, and those who they had failed to save. "I have nothing left." the hero muttered over and over, occasionally testing the door 'just in case'.
The gate held still.
Finally, the hero stood. Crying. There was one last thing they had of value. Something they had forgotten about. Taking a sheet of parchment and pen from their belongings, the hero began writing. They wrote for hours, accounting for every detail of their life, every person saved and every dark hour.
The gate held still, but the hero knew it was waiting.
Finally the hero finished their life story. Except for one final detail. To punctuate the hero's autobiography the hero spilled the one secret that undermined everything that they had ever done. The one secret the hero had kept so close, that even they had forgotten for a time.
"I write here my life story, but not because it has value. I write my life story here so every item of the ledger is accounted for. I may have forgotten some, I have lived a long life, but it truly is all that I can list. This story has been stolen. It was never mine to tell, nor mine to live. "
The gate shuddered as if to confirm that this was what it wanted.
"I stole this life. I wanted to know what it was like to live a mortal life. I must admit it was no mistake that I chose the life of a hero. The quests I undertook were meant for a mortal to undertake. The lives I saved were meant for another, even the wife and children I had lost were meant for another. But I stole all of it. The hero was never born, because I stole their skin. I did not win against the odds. Every moment of this story has been stolen, and can never be returned." | I thought a lot on the matter. Here I was- butt ass naked with all my shit on the altar. The doors won’t open. Which means we’re fucked. I can hear the shoes tapping impatiently on the stone floor. I thought for a moment and realized my mistake. “Ah,” I turned my head. “Prepare a revival spell just in case. If not-then ah well.” I told him. I looked at my sword. ‘Should have done this years ago, but so many things came up.’ I unsheathed it. “Uh, Jack- what are you doing?” Mike the Paladin asked. “What I need to do. Go on without me, alright?” I smiled at them while pointing the blade at my chest. *3,2,1-Go!* i impaled myself on the altar as the party screamed for me to stop. I fell forward. The doors opened for them as my consciousness faded. *’Time to go.’* I thought as I felt warmth cover my face. | |
[WP] You are a famous hero, recognized far and wide. You stand before a locked door with an altar reading "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed". You stand naked with all your belongings stacked on altar. The door doesn't budge. Your party is getting impatient. | I looked the altar up and down. It knew who I was. Like everyone else in the world. But it also knew more. I snatched my dignity back up, put on my underclothes. Considered my weapons, and secret stash of sugars. Ran a tongue over my gums, and picked up the false set of teeth, too. That was the kind of thing people didn't talk about when it came to hero-work. You needed a lot of dental work with it. Thirty-five with dentures. Man.
​
"You gonna let us in or not?"
My partner, my right hand in everything. My friends were behind the first altar door-thing. The one that said only one could proceed. Naturally I'd stepped forward first. It was what I was known for. I'd protect them above everything else. I ran a hand over my head. At least the hair was still mine. Miraculous, I didn't even need to comb over spots made bald by scars. My partner got to tease me over teeth. I got to tease over toupees. I put my teeth back in. "Yeah, yeah, just a moment. I, uh...Had a wardrobe malfunction."
"Wet your pants? Is it that bad? Just let us in already!"
​
"Yeah, yeah---" I frowned at the altar and asked it the question I'd said first of all. "How does one sacrifice what's most important if only one is allowed in?"
It answered with the same stubborn silence as before, and I answered the silence with the same whispered curses, but without the complaints as I did the opposite as before. I stacked the items all to one side. "Fine, fine, take me, but I swear if it's not the sacrifice you need to get the through, I'm coming after you with hauntings so ghastly it'll put the demons to shame." I was proud at the steadiness of my voice, if a little ashamed at how loud it turned out to be.
"What are you talking about? Golavan, knock this door down!"
But the doors - both of them - opened without protest. My partner and companions walked in without so much squeak or piece of falling dust to welcome them. They blinked at me with wary uncertainty.
"Who are you, young man?"
"Nobody." I whispered and scurried back into the shadows - testing the extent of the sacrifice.
"Hey, look at this drop of articles. They look recent, too. Where do you suppose they came from?"
"I don't know."
My partner wasn't a fool, had the best memory out of all of us even with those head injuries. Those words told me all I needed to know of this curse. Out of sight, out of mind. I'd never be remembered again.
At least the altar door was open, and they had my gear to take. I could run on ahead like always, see to it that the way was cleared before they came.
No. What was the point if no one remembered? I slammed the altar door closed. They could make their own sacrifices. | I thought a lot on the matter. Here I was- butt ass naked with all my shit on the altar. The doors won’t open. Which means we’re fucked. I can hear the shoes tapping impatiently on the stone floor. I thought for a moment and realized my mistake. “Ah,” I turned my head. “Prepare a revival spell just in case. If not-then ah well.” I told him. I looked at my sword. ‘Should have done this years ago, but so many things came up.’ I unsheathed it. “Uh, Jack- what are you doing?” Mike the Paladin asked. “What I need to do. Go on without me, alright?” I smiled at them while pointing the blade at my chest. *3,2,1-Go!* i impaled myself on the altar as the party screamed for me to stop. I fell forward. The doors opened for them as my consciousness faded. *’Time to go.’* I thought as I felt warmth cover my face. | |
[WP] You are a famous hero, recognized far and wide. You stand before a locked door with an altar reading "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed". You stand naked with all your belongings stacked on altar. The door doesn't budge. Your party is getting impatient. | The famous adventurer stood in front of the altar in the long lost temple. She was naked, with all her belongings stacked in a neat pile on top of the altar. All in accordance with the plaque reading "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed". But nothing happened. The door behind the altar remained vexingly closed.
"Mother", her son suddenly said, "you know what must be done." The son stood proudly with his bow in hand, showing the scars from the battles on their journey here. Of course she loved her son very much. But she knew, in her heart of hearts, that he was not the most dear thing to her. She shook her head. As realization hit her son, it was as if all the light of the world had been stolen from his face.
"My dearest wife", spoke her husband. He stepped boldly forward, prepared with a knife to gut himself on top of the altar. But she grabbed his arm as he passed her. "No", she said. The husband was not as bright as the son and needed things explained to him. "I still love you", he finished weakly.
"Give me the knife", the most famous adventurer of this age demanded. She yanked it out of the hand of her husband and before anyone could stop her positioned herself on top of the altar. It was no mere feat, with all the other crap still on there. "Please no!" yelled the son. "Don't do it!" screamed the husband.
There was a discrete cough from the group's official Thinker. Everyone froze. The Thinker, a person with no particular skills other than that of puzzle solving and general wit, was a new role that had been integrated into most adventurer groups over the last century. Their purpose was to think outside the box when faced with situations much like this.
"I don't mean to interrupt", they said, "but before you go killing yourself on the altar to prove what an egocentric person you are, thereby disproving what an egocentric person you are, may I perhaps offer up an alternative?" The Thinker waited patiently while the rest of the group's members parsed that last sentence. If this were a game of characteristics their intelligence would definitely be considered below average. "Go on", said the most famous adventurer after a while.
"We've passed monsters and traps, ruins and treasures to get here. All seemingly placed in the lost temple to stall us or prevent us from proceeding. Given that the purpose of the altar may be similar, what can we infer from its cryptic plaque?" The other members looked stupefied. They looked at each other, then they looked at their feet, trying not to be the one called out in front of the class. Suddenly the son perked up. "We shouldn't trust the plaque?" he tried.
"What possible reason would we have to trust the plaque?" said the Thinker. The others nodded as if the answer was obvious, once it had been pointed out. "If I were to hazard a guess, I would say that this altar and the locked door behind it is a 'hail mary', if you will. A last chance to stop the intrepid adventurers before reaching the heart of the temple."
"Think about it, if you will." The others nodded sagely, now that the Thinker was getting embroiled in their thought process. "Given that all the powers of those that built the temple had failed after everything they threw at us, what would be a clever, last-ditch effort in order to prevent the adventurers from adventuring forth?"
"Mere moments ago, you were all willing to kill yourself on the altar to proceed. You all literally thought dying was preferable to not going through that locked door. You were so convinced by a simple altar and a plaque with a vague reference to sacrificing that 'which you hold most dear'. Obviously, you tried everything, and nothing seemed to work. I think most if not all adventurers would reach that same conclusion - it must be to sacrifice yourself. The altar is a trick meant to make you destroy your gear or kill yourself before breaching the door."
"But the door really is locked", said the most famous adventurer. "We tried lockpicking, we tried bashing it down, we even tried magic. None of it worked." "The door seems impenetrable, I'll give you that. But I think no matter what we sacrifice on the altar, the door will remain closed", said the Thinker. "Hand me your mace", they asked from the husband. The husband shrugged and did so.
It was a heavy mace and the Thinker had to struggle for a bit to bring it up above their head. But they managed it, and even managed to strike an impressive pose doing it. They brought the hammer down on top of the altar, smashing it to bits. Nothing happened. The door, after examination, was as impenetrable as before.
The Thinker grabbed the mace with two hands and took up the impressive pose again, right in front of the locked gate. "It's a waste of time", the rest of the group mumbled together. Then the thinker took three steps to the left, and facing the wall next to the gate, smashed it as hard as they could with the mace. A huge chunk of debris fell away from the wall, exposing part of the cogwheels operating the door.
The Thinker, exhausted from two mighty swings, turned towards the group. "The door may be impenetrable, but I think the wall supporting it is not. And there certainly doesn't seem to be any magical connection to the altar requiring a sacrifice. I'm sure this way is preferable to literally killing yourself?"
The others shared a look, then grabbed their various tools and started vigorously dismantling the wall. The Thinker sat back and enjoyed the show. An honest day's work in the life of a Thinker. Keeping the famous, less-than-clever adventurer alive. | I thought a lot on the matter. Here I was- butt ass naked with all my shit on the altar. The doors won’t open. Which means we’re fucked. I can hear the shoes tapping impatiently on the stone floor. I thought for a moment and realized my mistake. “Ah,” I turned my head. “Prepare a revival spell just in case. If not-then ah well.” I told him. I looked at my sword. ‘Should have done this years ago, but so many things came up.’ I unsheathed it. “Uh, Jack- what are you doing?” Mike the Paladin asked. “What I need to do. Go on without me, alright?” I smiled at them while pointing the blade at my chest. *3,2,1-Go!* i impaled myself on the altar as the party screamed for me to stop. I fell forward. The doors opened for them as my consciousness faded. *’Time to go.’* I thought as I felt warmth cover my face. | |
[WP] You are a famous hero, recognized far and wide. You stand before a locked door with an altar reading "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed". You stand naked with all your belongings stacked on altar. The door doesn't budge. Your party is getting impatient. | The famous adventurer stood in front of the altar in the long lost temple. She was naked, with all her belongings stacked in a neat pile on top of the altar. All in accordance with the plaque reading "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed". But nothing happened. The door behind the altar remained vexingly closed.
"Mother", her son suddenly said, "you know what must be done." The son stood proudly with his bow in hand, showing the scars from the battles on their journey here. Of course she loved her son very much. But she knew, in her heart of hearts, that he was not the most dear thing to her. She shook her head. As realization hit her son, it was as if all the light of the world had been stolen from his face.
"My dearest wife", spoke her husband. He stepped boldly forward, prepared with a knife to gut himself on top of the altar. But she grabbed his arm as he passed her. "No", she said. The husband was not as bright as the son and needed things explained to him. "I still love you", he finished weakly.
"Give me the knife", the most famous adventurer of this age demanded. She yanked it out of the hand of her husband and before anyone could stop her positioned herself on top of the altar. It was no mere feat, with all the other crap still on there. "Please no!" yelled the son. "Don't do it!" screamed the husband.
There was a discrete cough from the group's official Thinker. Everyone froze. The Thinker, a person with no particular skills other than that of puzzle solving and general wit, was a new role that had been integrated into most adventurer groups over the last century. Their purpose was to think outside the box when faced with situations much like this.
"I don't mean to interrupt", they said, "but before you go killing yourself on the altar to prove what an egocentric person you are, thereby disproving what an egocentric person you are, may I perhaps offer up an alternative?" The Thinker waited patiently while the rest of the group's members parsed that last sentence. If this were a game of characteristics their intelligence would definitely be considered below average. "Go on", said the most famous adventurer after a while.
"We've passed monsters and traps, ruins and treasures to get here. All seemingly placed in the lost temple to stall us or prevent us from proceeding. Given that the purpose of the altar may be similar, what can we infer from its cryptic plaque?" The other members looked stupefied. They looked at each other, then they looked at their feet, trying not to be the one called out in front of the class. Suddenly the son perked up. "We shouldn't trust the plaque?" he tried.
"What possible reason would we have to trust the plaque?" said the Thinker. The others nodded as if the answer was obvious, once it had been pointed out. "If I were to hazard a guess, I would say that this altar and the locked door behind it is a 'hail mary', if you will. A last chance to stop the intrepid adventurers before reaching the heart of the temple."
"Think about it, if you will." The others nodded sagely, now that the Thinker was getting embroiled in their thought process. "Given that all the powers of those that built the temple had failed after everything they threw at us, what would be a clever, last-ditch effort in order to prevent the adventurers from adventuring forth?"
"Mere moments ago, you were all willing to kill yourself on the altar to proceed. You all literally thought dying was preferable to not going through that locked door. You were so convinced by a simple altar and a plaque with a vague reference to sacrificing that 'which you hold most dear'. Obviously, you tried everything, and nothing seemed to work. I think most if not all adventurers would reach that same conclusion - it must be to sacrifice yourself. The altar is a trick meant to make you destroy your gear or kill yourself before breaching the door."
"But the door really is locked", said the most famous adventurer. "We tried lockpicking, we tried bashing it down, we even tried magic. None of it worked." "The door seems impenetrable, I'll give you that. But I think no matter what we sacrifice on the altar, the door will remain closed", said the Thinker. "Hand me your mace", they asked from the husband. The husband shrugged and did so.
It was a heavy mace and the Thinker had to struggle for a bit to bring it up above their head. But they managed it, and even managed to strike an impressive pose doing it. They brought the hammer down on top of the altar, smashing it to bits. Nothing happened. The door, after examination, was as impenetrable as before.
The Thinker grabbed the mace with two hands and took up the impressive pose again, right in front of the locked gate. "It's a waste of time", the rest of the group mumbled together. Then the thinker took three steps to the left, and facing the wall next to the gate, smashed it as hard as they could with the mace. A huge chunk of debris fell away from the wall, exposing part of the cogwheels operating the door.
The Thinker, exhausted from two mighty swings, turned towards the group. "The door may be impenetrable, but I think the wall supporting it is not. And there certainly doesn't seem to be any magical connection to the altar requiring a sacrifice. I'm sure this way is preferable to literally killing yourself?"
The others shared a look, then grabbed their various tools and started vigorously dismantling the wall. The Thinker sat back and enjoyed the show. An honest day's work in the life of a Thinker. Keeping the famous, less-than-clever adventurer alive. | I looked the altar up and down. It knew who I was. Like everyone else in the world. But it also knew more. I snatched my dignity back up, put on my underclothes. Considered my weapons, and secret stash of sugars. Ran a tongue over my gums, and picked up the false set of teeth, too. That was the kind of thing people didn't talk about when it came to hero-work. You needed a lot of dental work with it. Thirty-five with dentures. Man.
​
"You gonna let us in or not?"
My partner, my right hand in everything. My friends were behind the first altar door-thing. The one that said only one could proceed. Naturally I'd stepped forward first. It was what I was known for. I'd protect them above everything else. I ran a hand over my head. At least the hair was still mine. Miraculous, I didn't even need to comb over spots made bald by scars. My partner got to tease me over teeth. I got to tease over toupees. I put my teeth back in. "Yeah, yeah, just a moment. I, uh...Had a wardrobe malfunction."
"Wet your pants? Is it that bad? Just let us in already!"
​
"Yeah, yeah---" I frowned at the altar and asked it the question I'd said first of all. "How does one sacrifice what's most important if only one is allowed in?"
It answered with the same stubborn silence as before, and I answered the silence with the same whispered curses, but without the complaints as I did the opposite as before. I stacked the items all to one side. "Fine, fine, take me, but I swear if it's not the sacrifice you need to get the through, I'm coming after you with hauntings so ghastly it'll put the demons to shame." I was proud at the steadiness of my voice, if a little ashamed at how loud it turned out to be.
"What are you talking about? Golavan, knock this door down!"
But the doors - both of them - opened without protest. My partner and companions walked in without so much squeak or piece of falling dust to welcome them. They blinked at me with wary uncertainty.
"Who are you, young man?"
"Nobody." I whispered and scurried back into the shadows - testing the extent of the sacrifice.
"Hey, look at this drop of articles. They look recent, too. Where do you suppose they came from?"
"I don't know."
My partner wasn't a fool, had the best memory out of all of us even with those head injuries. Those words told me all I needed to know of this curse. Out of sight, out of mind. I'd never be remembered again.
At least the altar door was open, and they had my gear to take. I could run on ahead like always, see to it that the way was cleared before they came.
No. What was the point if no one remembered? I slammed the altar door closed. They could make their own sacrifices. | |
[WP] “…and that class is why Humans are considered the most peaceful species in the universe.” The only three humans in class looked at each other horrified. All the facts about humans that the aliens had were wrong. One student slowly raises their hand. | “…and that class is why Humans are considered the most peaceful species in the universe.”
Michael slipped two fingers under his clamp, Resettling it around his neck. This is going to be tricky. Then he raised his hand.
Now most species wore some kind of implants or translation devices, it was the only practical way to deal with the polyglot of modern society.
But that was by no means the full purpose of Michael's clamp. Michael liked to wear his clamp in a configuration that induced calm and chemical balance mixed with a little bit of social fortitude.
Some say the clamp was invented to control criminals or suppress social dissent. And it may well have been. But that was no longer its actual function. Every human being was in charge of their own clamp. Able to tweak it for different emotional and intellectual states of being.
The lecturer indicated Michael should speak. Leslie shook her head slightly when he made eye contact with her, and Rosario whispered. "Don't do it dude."
The Integrated UI of the clamp let Michael check his social credit balance. He'd been saving up for a trip to the playground, but this seemed more important.
"Gentle beings, I submit that the scenario described is not precisely accurate. Human beings have chosen peace. That's the easiest possible alternative available givn our nature. It is, however not a fundamental ground state for our people. It's actually one of several. We are not inherently peaceful. We simply find it the most convenient form of interaction outside of specific activities."
"Ah. I believe you are referring to the 'playground' recreational activity. That will be covered in the section on species comparative entertainment."
"Yes, and no Good sir. May I demonstrate?"
The lecturer had no idea what kind of demonstration would be possible. Leslie and Rosario made several disapproving noises.
The lecturer said "please proceed."
Michael set his clamp to his favorite "playtime" mix and headed down the incline to the lecture pit while the chemical tides of his brain and limbic system began to shift.
Michael spent a few moments at the podium downloading some demonstration aids. By the time he finished, there was a devilish grin on his face that none of the aliens could comprehend fully. In their systems It was translated as "joy".
The demonstration synthesizers spun up in a moment then a section of the wall opened revealing two human simulacra in a contrived setting.
"Oh!" The lecturer was positively beaming. "I believe we're about to receive a cultural demonstration of 'playtime'. This is very rare class. Do pay for attention."
Michael's grin was much bigger. He walked into the center of the demonstration area, and announced "this is a street encounter, Western continent, 2218."
Rosario and Leslie jump to their feet.
[The remainder of this record is redacted, subject to academic clearance. Please see records administration or security office for access.]
[Ancillary medical reports can be found in attachment B] | In the year 2347, Humanity was doing pretty well for itself. However, to understand that vague statement, we need to take a look backwards, first. Having discovered the secrets to Alcubierre Drive Technology in the year 2204, humans were quick to start expanding beyond the reach of the local systems. The Great Expansion, as it had come to be known, was a golden age of Human exploration, and a welcome return to form for the adventurous spirits of Humanity. It barely took decades for people to take advantage of the new opportunities that lay on the distant horizons beneath new stars, and soon Humanity’s reach and activity was unfathomable. However, the thing that REALLY threw humanity for a loop was the package they received from a distant star system relatively close to the Galactic Core, from an impossible source: Aliens.
Freaking Aliens, man. Their message was vast, and soon enough it was decided by the brightest minds as something of a first contact package. Well, it was actually a Video dictionary, if you’d believe it, but it did the trick. As soon as the files were decoded, our best linguists and programmers were quick to translate it into human terms, and soon after that, we were able to learn their purpose: the Aliens wanted to meet us.
We were thrilled, but tentative as should be expected. War with an Alien Species was something that no person wanted to fathom, even if we had the technology to escape any reasonable efforts to track us down and make a new home for ourselves elsewhere. So, we spent a good long time figuring out our game plan, policies and approach to first contact, before we sent an ambassadorial convoy to meet them at long last. They had almost given up hope, but were eager to meet with us once we sent them back their probe, complete with an updated translational dictionary.
After that, our two species started to cooperate, and life became so much more exciting! It took a century, but finally, things were seeming fairly stable between us.
Back to my original statement, however, you might see how I’d think that things were looking up for us. By now, Humans and the Aliens - we’d taken to calling them the Voracians - had finally become close enough for us to start engaging in cultural exchanges, so that leads to this: Me, and two others, were formally accepted to study at The Voracian Institute for Vocational Instruction, or VIVI-U, as we liked to call it.
It was a mere two weeks before me and my compatriots were thrown for a loop, however, when the Lecturer for the day sat all of us down and started explaining our next topic for learning.
The Voracian Lecturer, Kraath Ifnloib, standing at a paltry 6’7 and weighing a mere 347 pounds, was quick to clap his meaty paws and bring us to a silent murmur as he cleared his throat and opened his maw, to begin with:
“Salutations, my eager pupils! Today is a very important day for us all here at the, ‘Vee-Vee-Yew’! For the first time since our introduction to Humanity a century past, we will be learning about Solar History alongside three of Humanity’s most promising and agreeable intellects! Might I declare, it’s a thrilling prospect for me, personally, to be given this rare opportunity!”
Humans were long-familiar with the quirks of translational ethics, so his odd speech patterns were mostly ignored by us. However, we couldn’t help the awkward laugh we gave as a unit, especially considering our circumstances.
It… was never openly discussed, but… the Voracians were, essentially, giant, sentient Teddy Bears, to us. Not LITERALLY, of course, but - the resemblance was uncanny. Shockingly lightweight, considering their frames. Soft, fluffy, short fur. Warm brown tones. Cute, button-like eyes. Most had the personality to match, too. Or, at least we thought they did. The vast majority of us could hardly take them seriously - which is why our group was chosen: we were the ones who were mostly resistant to the Teddy Charm, as the Extranet Lurkers would likely call it.
However, even the most resilient minds would flinch at the prospect of discussing such sordid things with the cuddly besties we just found. It’s like discussing your exes on a first date. Of course, if it was your PARTNER discussing your exes, what the hell are you supposed to do, but simply smile and nod?
The Lecturer, unfortunately, was pretty quick to take our awkward rebuttal as eagerness, so he started his… lecture.
The first minute was just confusing. The Voracian students were excellent, however, and didn’t notice our confused glances. However, by the time he had finished discussing our specie’s immediate and smooth societal amelioration of the first millennium, we finally understood… and we couldn’t help but notice how pale we had all gotten.
“… Of course, this time of wonderful medical research and negotiation leads us to one of the most romantic periods of human history! The Renaissance! I remember, my favourite Human Colleague, Doctor Amanda Sykes, was more than pleased to tell me all about the wondrous works of art and the mechanical engineering work that was done, and based on how she was talking about their fascination with Human Anatomy, I could only assume that they had figured out MRI scanning technologies, too! The Vitruvian Man series was so wonderfully detailed! An excellent combination of Medical Technology and Artistry!” | |
[WP] “…and that class is why Humans are considered the most peaceful species in the universe.” The only three humans in class looked at each other horrified. All the facts about humans that the aliens had were wrong. One student slowly raises their hand. | “Ah, professor? I don’t really think humans are all that peaceful.”
“Have you used nuclear weapons on each other?”
“Twice.”
“Have you used chemical weapons on each other?”
“More times than could be recorded?”
“Practiced biological warfare?”
“For hundreds of years.”
“Torture?”
“Thousands of years.”
“Slavery?”
“For all of recorded history.”
“Matricide? Fratricide? Infanticide? Genocide?”
“Four-for-four, yeah.”
“Thermonuclear weapons?”
“Tested, I think. Never used.”
“Hydrogen bombs?”
“Same.”
“Laser evisceration?”
“Technically yes, but only in surgical settings.”
“Cerebral neuron critical stimulation?”
“No?”
“Nightmare agony?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Solar malfeasance?”
“I do not know what that is.”
“See? Y’all aren’t so bad. You should read the next chapter, the one about your neighbors. Mars was a shitshow.”
“Mars? Really?”
“Venus might’ve been worse. But at least there’s still an atmosphere.” | In the year 2347, Humanity was doing pretty well for itself. However, to understand that vague statement, we need to take a look backwards, first. Having discovered the secrets to Alcubierre Drive Technology in the year 2204, humans were quick to start expanding beyond the reach of the local systems. The Great Expansion, as it had come to be known, was a golden age of Human exploration, and a welcome return to form for the adventurous spirits of Humanity. It barely took decades for people to take advantage of the new opportunities that lay on the distant horizons beneath new stars, and soon Humanity’s reach and activity was unfathomable. However, the thing that REALLY threw humanity for a loop was the package they received from a distant star system relatively close to the Galactic Core, from an impossible source: Aliens.
Freaking Aliens, man. Their message was vast, and soon enough it was decided by the brightest minds as something of a first contact package. Well, it was actually a Video dictionary, if you’d believe it, but it did the trick. As soon as the files were decoded, our best linguists and programmers were quick to translate it into human terms, and soon after that, we were able to learn their purpose: the Aliens wanted to meet us.
We were thrilled, but tentative as should be expected. War with an Alien Species was something that no person wanted to fathom, even if we had the technology to escape any reasonable efforts to track us down and make a new home for ourselves elsewhere. So, we spent a good long time figuring out our game plan, policies and approach to first contact, before we sent an ambassadorial convoy to meet them at long last. They had almost given up hope, but were eager to meet with us once we sent them back their probe, complete with an updated translational dictionary.
After that, our two species started to cooperate, and life became so much more exciting! It took a century, but finally, things were seeming fairly stable between us.
Back to my original statement, however, you might see how I’d think that things were looking up for us. By now, Humans and the Aliens - we’d taken to calling them the Voracians - had finally become close enough for us to start engaging in cultural exchanges, so that leads to this: Me, and two others, were formally accepted to study at The Voracian Institute for Vocational Instruction, or VIVI-U, as we liked to call it.
It was a mere two weeks before me and my compatriots were thrown for a loop, however, when the Lecturer for the day sat all of us down and started explaining our next topic for learning.
The Voracian Lecturer, Kraath Ifnloib, standing at a paltry 6’7 and weighing a mere 347 pounds, was quick to clap his meaty paws and bring us to a silent murmur as he cleared his throat and opened his maw, to begin with:
“Salutations, my eager pupils! Today is a very important day for us all here at the, ‘Vee-Vee-Yew’! For the first time since our introduction to Humanity a century past, we will be learning about Solar History alongside three of Humanity’s most promising and agreeable intellects! Might I declare, it’s a thrilling prospect for me, personally, to be given this rare opportunity!”
Humans were long-familiar with the quirks of translational ethics, so his odd speech patterns were mostly ignored by us. However, we couldn’t help the awkward laugh we gave as a unit, especially considering our circumstances.
It… was never openly discussed, but… the Voracians were, essentially, giant, sentient Teddy Bears, to us. Not LITERALLY, of course, but - the resemblance was uncanny. Shockingly lightweight, considering their frames. Soft, fluffy, short fur. Warm brown tones. Cute, button-like eyes. Most had the personality to match, too. Or, at least we thought they did. The vast majority of us could hardly take them seriously - which is why our group was chosen: we were the ones who were mostly resistant to the Teddy Charm, as the Extranet Lurkers would likely call it.
However, even the most resilient minds would flinch at the prospect of discussing such sordid things with the cuddly besties we just found. It’s like discussing your exes on a first date. Of course, if it was your PARTNER discussing your exes, what the hell are you supposed to do, but simply smile and nod?
The Lecturer, unfortunately, was pretty quick to take our awkward rebuttal as eagerness, so he started his… lecture.
The first minute was just confusing. The Voracian students were excellent, however, and didn’t notice our confused glances. However, by the time he had finished discussing our specie’s immediate and smooth societal amelioration of the first millennium, we finally understood… and we couldn’t help but notice how pale we had all gotten.
“… Of course, this time of wonderful medical research and negotiation leads us to one of the most romantic periods of human history! The Renaissance! I remember, my favourite Human Colleague, Doctor Amanda Sykes, was more than pleased to tell me all about the wondrous works of art and the mechanical engineering work that was done, and based on how she was talking about their fascination with Human Anatomy, I could only assume that they had figured out MRI scanning technologies, too! The Vitruvian Man series was so wonderfully detailed! An excellent combination of Medical Technology and Artistry!” | |
[WP] “…and that class is why Humans are considered the most peaceful species in the universe.” The only three humans in class looked at each other horrified. All the facts about humans that the aliens had were wrong. One student slowly raises their hand. | "Ummmm, Professor"
"Yes Rickie, what do you have to add to the conversation?"
Looking at the others 2 humans in the class, he shrugs his shoulders and turns back to Professor G'lat. "I think your research is a bit... incorrect. Humans were never peaceful. Not even close. Those examples you gave were the exception not the rule."
Leaning against the desk, Prof G'lat looked over the group and sighed. "Rickie. Just because you are human doesn't make you the expert in human history. Before the Glok'nar invasion of Earth, all the sources show you were a peaceful people and your current aggressive natures are the result of Earth being destroyed and fighting for your species survival. The 2 major video graphic records that remain of pre-invasion Earth show that you were a peaceful people interesting in art, science and inclusivity. The tribal and xenophobia tendencies are only a few hundred years old."
Opening this mouth to say something, G'lat interrupted him again. "Rickie, I know you disagree with me but you are simply wrong. The refugee Terrans were full of myths of genocides, wars, tribalism and savagery. We simply can not find any supporting evidence of that being true."
Sighing a bit "Prof G'lat. All of that is true. Those myths were real. We had a number of wars, people killing people because they had different political ideas or skin color. People would attack people over the slightest transgressions. Humans have always been agressive and warlike. If it wasn't for the invasion, it is a really good chance we would have taken over this section of space and forced all the races to kneel that were left."
G'lat let out a squak that was his race's version of a laugh and stood tall. "So Rickie, you are telling me that Fred Rogers, Bob Ross and Bill Nye are exceptions to the rule of humans being peaceful? I find that hard to believe. Now be quiet."
Rickie and the other humans rolled their eyes and sighed heavily. | "Yes, Human Dave?"
"I wouldn't say that what you presented us is false, but the truth is far broader than your, dare I say, well doctored material shows."
The class murmured. Some looked at each other nervously, other began to whisper to each other as the facial structure of the professor expressed internal conflict.
"If it isn't false how can it be doctored? I didn't miss anything in alien-available materials and databases!"
Human Dave frowned and stroked his hair.
"Well, I do not mean to insult your data gathering methods, but because you used only alien-available resources without consulting with any human historian there's a rather monstrous hole in your theory, which as a human I am happy to fill. If you do not mind I'd like to assume your role for a moment to show you and the class some material regarding humans coming from a human database."
After more murmuring from the class and a moment of thought the professor agreed. Human Dave approached the main console, plugged his omni and put a video file on screen.
"Before I start I'd like the class to understand that life evolved on Earth based on efficiency, adaptability, but above all else competition. The faster, stronger, smarter and more durable organism pushed the less fortune ones into extinction or servitude. Even after the evolution was slowed to a grinding halt because humans started using tools stronger ruled the weaker and smarter exploited the dumber. The following video file is a fictional representation of real historical events accompanied with a song, released together as a music video in Earth's year of 1998 A.C. After the video I'll explain the shown events and take questions. Be advised, the material presented is explicit and may trigger strong, psychological reactions. Discretion is advised"
Human Dave proceeded to show the class the video file (for convenience also located here: ["Pearl Jam - Do the Evolution"](https://youtu.be/aDaOgu2CQtI) ), explained the shown events and answered questions of those who had stomached the file and explanations.
Professor was not one of those. |
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