55555's: (I went over the limit by about 4 minutes)
The sounds of the depth charges reverberated through the narrow halls of
the USS O'Kane. Our strike had not been unsuccessful, now to survive
the wrath of the destroyers. Our torpedoes had struck the Japanese craft
accurately and well, sinking five transports, two destroyers and an
aircraft carrier.
Now, all of our weaponry exhausted, we seek to return to to base to
replenish are failed supply. Then, once more unto the breach... !
I heard the click of the detonator, and braced myself for the explosion,
startlingly close. One of the pressure pipes inside the hull sprayed
its contents, and a crewman leapt to cut off the flow.
I had a good crew, that's how we'd gotten this far. The war has been
going on for twenty years now, my father died in it, I expect to follow
him, but I hope my son and his sons will be spared this ordeal.
The technology of both sides has been increasing. Year after year the
Axis improves its weapons, vehicles, and even men. Each year the Allies
struggle to match and exceed their enemies.
But we were losing on that front. Through luck or brilliance the Axis
powers had discovered some new super weapon. I use the term "weapon"
loosely, in truth it is a fuel.
The next depth charge detonation reminded me that this substance, known
to us as Neo-Gas, had an other purpose. It was an extremely powerful
explosive. This was part of the reason the Allies had had so much
trouble recovering a sample of the Neo-Gas. It is highly unstable, and
our enemies knew well we desired it. Wherever it was used they installed
various booby-traps and detonators, so that one without very precise
knowledge could never retrieve a sample, but would instead be blown to
kingdom come, by the very fuel he sought.
The explosions slowly became fainter, as we drew nearer and nearer the ocean floor, our fathometer ticking away the depth.
Then I heard another click, the click that always precluded the thunder of the depth charges.
But there was no explosion, only silence. I glanced at the fathometer,
an idea forming in my mind. Yes, we were very near the floor. We have
diving equipment and a water lock.
One side of my mouth turned up in a slight smile.
Maybe the Allies would get Neo-Gas after all.
Evan's:
http://ashardofdream.wordpress.com/2012/05/25/disposal/
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Sunday, May 20, 2012
Threshold
55555's:
There's some Shakespeare quote about greatness. How one can achieve it, something I forget, or it can be thrust upon one. The first and second options are not relevant to this tale.
I was going for a walk one ordinary day. My dog padded along slightly in front of me and I felt the sun shining on my back. I went this way often. This time was no different from a thousand others, until it was. You rarely know when events are about to deviate from their normal trend, when something unusual will occur, when something will be thrust upon one.
My guard dog was an amazing animal, not just from training, he had an inborn sense of what was safe and what was dangerous, how to respond to the unusual in a logical manner. He had guided me well through many excursions. It helped that I could read his mind of course, but sometimes it seemed extraneous considering his abilities.
I never saw the gateway, as I have never seen the sun, the ocean, or a human face. Nonetheless I understood it, and these other things, remarkably well through my dog's perceptions. The threshold was not necessarily a dangerous thing, nor was it exactly safe. It was an unknown, an unpredictable factor. My dog paused, awaiting orders. Did I want to go through the portal, or to avoid it? To embrace the random (that's from a song), or to continue on my standard path, without this possibly undesirable deviation? Where did it lead? It was not of this world.
I spoke to my dog, and we stepped through.
55555's sister's:
There's some Shakespeare quote about greatness. How one can achieve it, something I forget, or it can be thrust upon one. The first and second options are not relevant to this tale.
I was going for a walk one ordinary day. My dog padded along slightly in front of me and I felt the sun shining on my back. I went this way often. This time was no different from a thousand others, until it was. You rarely know when events are about to deviate from their normal trend, when something unusual will occur, when something will be thrust upon one.
My guard dog was an amazing animal, not just from training, he had an inborn sense of what was safe and what was dangerous, how to respond to the unusual in a logical manner. He had guided me well through many excursions. It helped that I could read his mind of course, but sometimes it seemed extraneous considering his abilities.
I never saw the gateway, as I have never seen the sun, the ocean, or a human face. Nonetheless I understood it, and these other things, remarkably well through my dog's perceptions. The threshold was not necessarily a dangerous thing, nor was it exactly safe. It was an unknown, an unpredictable factor. My dog paused, awaiting orders. Did I want to go through the portal, or to avoid it? To embrace the random (that's from a song), or to continue on my standard path, without this possibly undesirable deviation? Where did it lead? It was not of this world.
I spoke to my dog, and we stepped through.
55555's sister's:
She stood on the threshold.
A week ago, she had been a normal
person. Then the voices came. They had told her strange things about
herself, about her family and her world. She had wondered, “Am I
crazy? Hallucinating? And if they are real... are they true?”
But this morning she had been working
at her job, and a man had come up to the counter. She had never seen
him before - but she recognized his voice immediately. And her
co-worker evidently saw him.
Her doubts of her sanity were finally
laid to rest. Did that mean what he had said to her was true?
The vast conspiracy... her family's
ignorant complicity in it... her own, strange, responsibilities...
all these he had assured her of, with the others.
She had stared at him in fear, and he
had smiled. “There's nothing to fear, Ruth,” his
voice had said. “I have come to bring you to your new
brethren, if you are willing.”
And as she still
looked at him, irresolute, suddenly the world around them had
changed. Instead of a grocery store, she seemed to be on a garden
path...or was it in a building? The Voice stood by her side, and
before her was a marble wall, with an archway in it. Beyond it, Ruth
saw, though she could not tell how, all the things she had been told
of, the things she had dreamed of when she was younger – adventure,
power, a mystic brotherhood of good. She knew if she stepped through,
she would find the cloistered halls of a secret and a magical band.
She was on the
threshold of it all.
Evan's:
http://ashardofdream.wordpress.com/2012/05/20/what-is-love/
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Shore
John:
A helmeted head rose from the surf into the still night air. A crescent moon shone overhead, with clouds intermittently dulling its light.
Lights played along the shore. Some moving to and fro, small beacons searching and pacing away the late hours. Spotlights played back and forth, making circles of brilliance on the sand and the stones.
The helmet sank once more into the salty tide, a small stream of bubbles silently sought the surface. Dark flippers cut through the black water, the tide and the swimmer's exertion brought him swiftly and undetectably to shore. He had a job to do.
He ran his hand over the equipment on his belt, checking by feel what he couldn't confirm by sight. Knife, explosives, grenades, gun case, all present and accounted for.
A figure crept out of the waves, crawling on his stomach. He paused behind a jutting rock, assembling something from a waterproof box. After a moment of silence and a slight click, he peered out at the fortress he must infiltrate. A guard was passing nearby, his flashlight beam scouring the rocks and the water.
The light passed on, and a figure flitted swiftly in pursuit. The bearer of the beam staggered and fell without a sound, his beam barely bobbed in its course. The infiltrator had completed his first objective.
He now looked less covertly at the further security he must breach. Sentries, machine guns, barbed wire, gates and passwords. It would be a long night. He prayed he'd see the dawn.
(One of my best I think. Hooray for imagery!)
Evan's:
http://ashardofdream.wordpress.com/2012/05/20/beaches/
Kakaru's:
http://supergoggles.wordpress.com/2012/05/20/study/
Velox's:
http://midnightvoltage.wordpress.com/2012/05/19/shore/
Grant's:
A helmeted head rose from the surf into the still night air. A crescent moon shone overhead, with clouds intermittently dulling its light.
Lights played along the shore. Some moving to and fro, small beacons searching and pacing away the late hours. Spotlights played back and forth, making circles of brilliance on the sand and the stones.
The helmet sank once more into the salty tide, a small stream of bubbles silently sought the surface. Dark flippers cut through the black water, the tide and the swimmer's exertion brought him swiftly and undetectably to shore. He had a job to do.
He ran his hand over the equipment on his belt, checking by feel what he couldn't confirm by sight. Knife, explosives, grenades, gun case, all present and accounted for.
A figure crept out of the waves, crawling on his stomach. He paused behind a jutting rock, assembling something from a waterproof box. After a moment of silence and a slight click, he peered out at the fortress he must infiltrate. A guard was passing nearby, his flashlight beam scouring the rocks and the water.
The light passed on, and a figure flitted swiftly in pursuit. The bearer of the beam staggered and fell without a sound, his beam barely bobbed in its course. The infiltrator had completed his first objective.
He now looked less covertly at the further security he must breach. Sentries, machine guns, barbed wire, gates and passwords. It would be a long night. He prayed he'd see the dawn.
(One of my best I think. Hooray for imagery!)
Evan's:
http://ashardofdream.wordpress.com/2012/05/20/beaches/
Kakaru's:
http://supergoggles.wordpress.com/2012/05/20/study/
Velox's:
http://midnightvoltage.wordpress.com/2012/05/19/shore/
Grant's:
Peaceful Shores
As far as he could see on this dark night, Dominic Wood
watched the coastline of the beach. He took it in, seeing its grandeur for the
first time and just … stared. A minute went by, and the gusts of wind forced
against his face, blowing and messing up his hair. A constant pull and push of
the waves, reforming the sand of its imperfections over and over, glistened and
erupted with foam as it rode into the shore.
Dominic looked upward, his eyes squinting as a new blast of
wind hit him. It was partly cloudy with a decently lit moon. He could see the
beach stretch out for miles, but he could see no end.
Taking in a deep breath of air, filling his lungs with that
air, mixed in with a hint of salt and mist, he slowly exhaled with his lips
pressed and formed together as though he was whistling.
He started to walk, pressing his light jacket closer to him.
It was the middle of spring, and he was visiting this part
of the coast, never having seen its … no words could really describe it but he
would say, unspeakable brilliance, at night. It was slightly chilly, the summer
not having neared the spring yet, but his chest felt warm and he smiled.
The man couldn’t … what could…. To be able to walk out on
the far reaches of this beach, the sand pressing against his shoes as he took
each step. He had time to think. Out
here? He could just, forget. Just for an hour as he took his walk. This shore
was where he could let go of his anxiety of the world, and reflect on what made
him, well who he was.
He felt guilt suddenly, for every person who couldn’t experience
this stroll on the shore.
But he could, and he swore, this wouldn’t be the last time
he did this.
Smiling, Dominic, who kept his hands in his pockets to keep
them from getting cold, watched out on to the ocean, having gotten his fill. He
watched the water again, and felt like he was seeing something no other place
in the universe had. The ocean was unique, something powerful, protective and
majestic.
Maybe next time, when he did come out tomorrow night too, he’d
change his pace and sit down on the sand. Yeah, and he’d bring someone out here
with him, his brother or his friend … and share what he was seeing.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Robot
55555's:
The day was cloudy, and red flashes lit the clouds on the horizon. It would be here soon. A man with a laser spike stood beside a small spacecraft, carving these words into a metal obelisk. He looked up from his work to check the horizon once or twice, and returned to his task calmer, and writing more clearly.
"The scientists, the wizards of machinery, electronics, physics, and the other answers to the riddles of reality, created this. On their shoulders lie the burden of this event, it is their hands that this blood stains. The only possible excuse for these sad men is that of total lack of understanding. Perhaps they din not know what, or the scale of what they were creating. So many lives have been lost.
"The Robot is impervious to all weaponry that we have turned against it. They thought the larger nnuke would work, but it marched out of the destruction, thinking only that we had done its job for it, leveling the city and decimating its inhabitants.
"I see the future of mankind clearly before me. Our home guarded against us by a device of our own making, forced to live in the airless void of space and the barren rocks of Luna and Mars, raiding our home world for air or materials when our need is greater than the threat of death. We will return like a master fallen to robbing his old estate, slinking into the place he once owned, stealing what had once been his.
"If you see this marker know well that it searches for you and desires your death."
The man looked once more the the western horizon, and leapt into his vessel, rapidly pulling levers and snapping switches. The cables detached and the craft soared spaceward.
A strange silhouette reared to the west, but his life was safe this day.
Kakaru's:
The day was cloudy, and red flashes lit the clouds on the horizon. It would be here soon. A man with a laser spike stood beside a small spacecraft, carving these words into a metal obelisk. He looked up from his work to check the horizon once or twice, and returned to his task calmer, and writing more clearly.
"The scientists, the wizards of machinery, electronics, physics, and the other answers to the riddles of reality, created this. On their shoulders lie the burden of this event, it is their hands that this blood stains. The only possible excuse for these sad men is that of total lack of understanding. Perhaps they din not know what, or the scale of what they were creating. So many lives have been lost.
"The Robot is impervious to all weaponry that we have turned against it. They thought the larger nnuke would work, but it marched out of the destruction, thinking only that we had done its job for it, leveling the city and decimating its inhabitants.
"I see the future of mankind clearly before me. Our home guarded against us by a device of our own making, forced to live in the airless void of space and the barren rocks of Luna and Mars, raiding our home world for air or materials when our need is greater than the threat of death. We will return like a master fallen to robbing his old estate, slinking into the place he once owned, stealing what had once been his.
"If you see this marker know well that it searches for you and desires your death."
The man looked once more the the western horizon, and leapt into his vessel, rapidly pulling levers and snapping switches. The cables detached and the craft soared spaceward.
A strange silhouette reared to the west, but his life was safe this day.
Kakaru's:
Sleep
Micah's:
Endless flights of stairs still circle my vision as I step onto ground level, the blank steel walls encasing me like a cage. I know that far above me the fresh air still blows gunsmoke across the flaming trees and across the hair of fallen soldiers. I know nhat over the iron bulkhead sits the plaque commemorating the bunker: Henrik Memorial. I hear grim jokes of Humanity's Memory as well and I know that they may be right. Even now as we're directed to our living quarters I can feel the earth around me shake, uprooting ancient boulders, causing devastating avalanches across the mountain range far above.
I touch the walls and sense nothing but claustrophobia. There's no touch of home, no friendly quirks to familiarize myself with. Just empty military precision. I should be happy, I know, but as I climb into the stasis pod visions rush through my head, visions of the nuclear fires razing my home far away. I pray that this is all a bad dream, that humanity's treachery and greed hadn't led to the destruction of all that we know by the fires of Hell itself, but I'm forced to accept deep in my gut that it's too late.
I place the precautionary gasmask over my face and take in a deep breath, feeling the chilled oxygen soothe my lungs and my pounding heart. I'm assured that the process will be fast, painless, and that we will soon awake when the radiation has lowered to a life-sustaining level and we can begin our lives anew.
I close my eyes and feel my muscles go limp as the frost creeps across my bare skin. I wonder what the new world will be like. Will there still be war? Will we have banners and victory parades? Will all our efforts yield a better world?
So many questions dance across my mind, and I can only hope the answers will come tomorrow.
55555's:
The darkness seemed to lighten, a gray that would have seemed black had I not known total darkness for so long. A faint red glow shown through my eyelids, I tried to open them, to no avail. I moved my finger slightly and touched the wall of my enclosure, the cool, smooth surface felt foreign to my long numbed hands. I am awaking.
Somehow I never believed it would actually work, deep down. "Sit in a tube until the Great War passes over and the Earth renews itself." Works great in theory, seen at least five sci-fi films with that premise, but in practiceI had my doubts. Man was not meant to sleep for so long, Man was not meant to survive, to see new worlds, to try again.
I raised my hand slowly to my face, and pushed up one eyelid with my forefinger. A dull light shone in through the plexi-glass, I blinked repeatedly. Then I smiled.
It had worked! All the effort had paid off, all the hopes and dreams had been fulfilled. Here, hidden deep in this remote, mountain bunker, human hearts still beat. The wrath of the War had scarred the planet, burnt the structures erected by Man and by God, but this combination of mortal and Immortal handiwork had survived the storm.
I pushed the exit button and stepped out of my casket, and ran down the aisles of similar devices. I found my wife and opened the door, she fell into my arms.
A few minutes later we strode into the sunlit day, the plateau of the Henrik Memorial formed a natural balcony from which to see our new, old home.
Strange bird calls rang across the plateau, strange insects buzzed through the firmament. Life went on.
Velox's:
http://midnightvoltage.wordpress.com/2012/05/17/sleep/
Evan's:
http://ashardofdream.wordpress.com/2012/05/17/sealed-in/
Endless flights of stairs still circle my vision as I step onto ground level, the blank steel walls encasing me like a cage. I know that far above me the fresh air still blows gunsmoke across the flaming trees and across the hair of fallen soldiers. I know nhat over the iron bulkhead sits the plaque commemorating the bunker: Henrik Memorial. I hear grim jokes of Humanity's Memory as well and I know that they may be right. Even now as we're directed to our living quarters I can feel the earth around me shake, uprooting ancient boulders, causing devastating avalanches across the mountain range far above.
I touch the walls and sense nothing but claustrophobia. There's no touch of home, no friendly quirks to familiarize myself with. Just empty military precision. I should be happy, I know, but as I climb into the stasis pod visions rush through my head, visions of the nuclear fires razing my home far away. I pray that this is all a bad dream, that humanity's treachery and greed hadn't led to the destruction of all that we know by the fires of Hell itself, but I'm forced to accept deep in my gut that it's too late.
I place the precautionary gasmask over my face and take in a deep breath, feeling the chilled oxygen soothe my lungs and my pounding heart. I'm assured that the process will be fast, painless, and that we will soon awake when the radiation has lowered to a life-sustaining level and we can begin our lives anew.
I close my eyes and feel my muscles go limp as the frost creeps across my bare skin. I wonder what the new world will be like. Will there still be war? Will we have banners and victory parades? Will all our efforts yield a better world?
So many questions dance across my mind, and I can only hope the answers will come tomorrow.
55555's:
The darkness seemed to lighten, a gray that would have seemed black had I not known total darkness for so long. A faint red glow shown through my eyelids, I tried to open them, to no avail. I moved my finger slightly and touched the wall of my enclosure, the cool, smooth surface felt foreign to my long numbed hands. I am awaking.
Somehow I never believed it would actually work, deep down. "Sit in a tube until the Great War passes over and the Earth renews itself." Works great in theory, seen at least five sci-fi films with that premise, but in practiceI had my doubts. Man was not meant to sleep for so long, Man was not meant to survive, to see new worlds, to try again.
I raised my hand slowly to my face, and pushed up one eyelid with my forefinger. A dull light shone in through the plexi-glass, I blinked repeatedly. Then I smiled.
It had worked! All the effort had paid off, all the hopes and dreams had been fulfilled. Here, hidden deep in this remote, mountain bunker, human hearts still beat. The wrath of the War had scarred the planet, burnt the structures erected by Man and by God, but this combination of mortal and Immortal handiwork had survived the storm.
I pushed the exit button and stepped out of my casket, and ran down the aisles of similar devices. I found my wife and opened the door, she fell into my arms.
A few minutes later we strode into the sunlit day, the plateau of the Henrik Memorial formed a natural balcony from which to see our new, old home.
Strange bird calls rang across the plateau, strange insects buzzed through the firmament. Life went on.
Velox's:
http://midnightvoltage.wordpress.com/2012/05/17/sleep/
Evan's:
http://ashardofdream.wordpress.com/2012/05/17/sealed-in/
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Rain
Rain & Glasses By 55555:
I pulled off my glasses for the umpteenth time, wiping them with my undershirt. It didn't do much beyond rid it of the standing water drops, but I could see a bit better afterwards. I tried to shield my glasses with my hand as the rain poured down. Lightning shattered the night and thunder interrupted the steady drone of the rain drops like an impatient child. My shoes, such as they are, make squelching sounds in the mud, my feet are almost numb from cold.
I marched on, my legs were well used to the rhythm and the long hours. I knew better than to throw away my shoes, or the pack I was wearing, and I knew from experience. This was not my first long journey.
I should have been better prepared for this weather, but I had not planned on crossing the Storm Belt, but tidings had come, and they had driven me too greater speed, greater urgency.
I took off my glasses again, rendering myself virtually blind in the night. I found a spot on my shirt that was fairly dry, and wiped the lenses on it. I had to keep an eye out for the markers in the night. I spotted one, far away and bit to my left, and headed for it.
I must be with the people of the Wastes when their fate fell upon them. Perhaps with my help the worst of the crises could be averted, the Enemy vanquished, though I could not hope for light losses in such a conflict. If time remains when I emerged into the Sunlit Steppes I will, I must, advise evacuation.
The Creature is coming. It will destroy and slay, it will poison and make barren. I have gotten word from one there, their Seer, but she says that the people of her land will not believe her. They would believe me.
I stumbled over a root of one of the sodden, foul trees of this land. My foot pained me, but I increased my pace. The urgency of my mission and my missive demanded the greatest speed at my disposal.
By Evan:
http://ashardofdream.wordpress.com/2012/05/16/inverted-rain/
By Kakaru:
http://supergoggles.wordpress.com/2012/05/15/light/
By Velox:
http://midnightvoltage.wordpress.com/2012/05/15/rain/
I pulled off my glasses for the umpteenth time, wiping them with my undershirt. It didn't do much beyond rid it of the standing water drops, but I could see a bit better afterwards. I tried to shield my glasses with my hand as the rain poured down. Lightning shattered the night and thunder interrupted the steady drone of the rain drops like an impatient child. My shoes, such as they are, make squelching sounds in the mud, my feet are almost numb from cold.
I marched on, my legs were well used to the rhythm and the long hours. I knew better than to throw away my shoes, or the pack I was wearing, and I knew from experience. This was not my first long journey.
I should have been better prepared for this weather, but I had not planned on crossing the Storm Belt, but tidings had come, and they had driven me too greater speed, greater urgency.
I took off my glasses again, rendering myself virtually blind in the night. I found a spot on my shirt that was fairly dry, and wiped the lenses on it. I had to keep an eye out for the markers in the night. I spotted one, far away and bit to my left, and headed for it.
I must be with the people of the Wastes when their fate fell upon them. Perhaps with my help the worst of the crises could be averted, the Enemy vanquished, though I could not hope for light losses in such a conflict. If time remains when I emerged into the Sunlit Steppes I will, I must, advise evacuation.
The Creature is coming. It will destroy and slay, it will poison and make barren. I have gotten word from one there, their Seer, but she says that the people of her land will not believe her. They would believe me.
I stumbled over a root of one of the sodden, foul trees of this land. My foot pained me, but I increased my pace. The urgency of my mission and my missive demanded the greatest speed at my disposal.
By Evan:
http://ashardofdream.wordpress.com/2012/05/16/inverted-rain/
By Kakaru:
http://supergoggles.wordpress.com/2012/05/15/light/
By Velox:
http://midnightvoltage.wordpress.com/2012/05/15/rain/
Sunday, May 13, 2012
The Tower
55555's:
The day was bright, the cheery weather belied the desperation of this hour. From all sides the red armies marched, encircling the tower in a seething mass of red, ragged pennants rising over the hoard. The Generals sat in a circle on the peak of the Tower, they faced outwards, lining the ramparts, watching in all direction, their faces troubled but not afraid. A single man sat in the center of the ring. They gave him reports and suggestions for action, but truly the situation was a simple one. The garrison of the Tower was strong, as it always had been, but these enemies outnumbered it by a vast margin. The General in the center did not respond to their information an advice, though he obviously heard all. He rose, the others quickly stumbled to their feet, some almost to old too stand, all worn by time and war. He spoke, "Fathers, Brothers, Sons, today is a fell day. But as this may bring great disaster it may bring great honor. We must use our Secret Powers, even drain them if we must, for all mortal options are unequal to this challenge."
He looked around at the faces of the warriors with whom he had plotted and planned so many times before. At his words a light shone in their eyes, for never before had the Secret Powers been tapped, always their wit had saved them. They were eager for the coming battle, their wit was now only useful for discerning it was useless. The time had come for the ultimate battle, and it would be of a simple nature.
Kakaru's:
http://supergoggles.wordpress.com/2012/05/13/abyss/
Velox's:
http://midnightvoltage.wordpress.com/2012/05/13/the-tower/
Evan's:
http://ashardofdream.wordpress.com/2012/05/14/tower-bound/
EW (AKA RENE)'s:
http://www.bzpower.com/board/index.php?app=blog&module=display§ion=blog&blogid=398&showentry=115442
Lloyd's:
The Chantry's Tower
The Chantry Tower was the Chantry’s headquarters. It housed the largest garrison of Adepts in the entire world, and was the hub of a communication network so vast and efficient that it had news of every happening on the continent within a week. So it was no surprise that the news of the far-off nation of Akkad had attacked the local Chantry garrison would reach the Tower quickly.
Arthur Churchill, the Tower’s Steward (and thus the head of the Chantry), was not worried by this news. Part of the reason was the also-included news that the attack had been successfully repelled, but the other part was because Akkad, in the grand scheme of things, was not a very active player, nor very large. It was certainly large enough to tip the balance of power in any nation’s favor in times of political unrest or war, but the concerns of great kings upon their gilt thrones was of no concern to the Chantry. The Chantry hunted more foul beasts, though some wondered if the demons and heretics they slew were really as dangerous as the scheming men they ignored.
Regardless, Akkad’s failed strike at the Chantry’s power did not register at the highest levels of the Tower. But within the great halls of the Chantry’s libraries, three Sages met.
“The report claims that Marduk has been killed.” One said. “Do you know if this is true?”
“I know as much as you do on the matter.” Another replied. “If this is true, then the only link between us and Akkad’s rebellion will have been severed.”
“Good. I am tired of living in constant fear of discovery.” The third said.
“You need not worry, Brother.” The first said. “You are barely a party to this.”
“Barely a party is more than no party at all.” The third replied. “And I cannot be convicted of something I did not do. You know that the Trials do not lie as much as I do.”
“Regardless, we are now safe from all suspicion.” The second intervened. “Put these fears from your mind and there will be no suspicion cast upon you. The only thing that can betray us is our own words, and if we guard those carefully, the Chantry will be in control of Akkad by the end of the month, with no one the wiser.”
“I will take what you have said into account.” The third said. “Still, I cannot shake the feeling we are forgetting something.”
“That is why you are here, Brother.” The first said. “You excel at finding loopholes, errors, mistakes, and the like. If we have missed something, you will find it, I have no doubt.”
“Your trust in me is reassuring.” The third said, somewhat deadpan. “Permit me to retire, that I might re-examine our plans.”
“Of course.”
With that, one of the Sages stepped away from the other two and departed into the stacks, his feet casting phantasmal echoes across the floors. The other two turned to each other.
“Can we trust him?” The second asked. “His nerves seem to be ready to fail.”
“He believes that he will be punished should his complicity in this become evident.” The first said. “He will not tell a soul.”
The day was bright, the cheery weather belied the desperation of this hour. From all sides the red armies marched, encircling the tower in a seething mass of red, ragged pennants rising over the hoard. The Generals sat in a circle on the peak of the Tower, they faced outwards, lining the ramparts, watching in all direction, their faces troubled but not afraid. A single man sat in the center of the ring. They gave him reports and suggestions for action, but truly the situation was a simple one. The garrison of the Tower was strong, as it always had been, but these enemies outnumbered it by a vast margin. The General in the center did not respond to their information an advice, though he obviously heard all. He rose, the others quickly stumbled to their feet, some almost to old too stand, all worn by time and war. He spoke, "Fathers, Brothers, Sons, today is a fell day. But as this may bring great disaster it may bring great honor. We must use our Secret Powers, even drain them if we must, for all mortal options are unequal to this challenge."
He looked around at the faces of the warriors with whom he had plotted and planned so many times before. At his words a light shone in their eyes, for never before had the Secret Powers been tapped, always their wit had saved them. They were eager for the coming battle, their wit was now only useful for discerning it was useless. The time had come for the ultimate battle, and it would be of a simple nature.
Kakaru's:
http://supergoggles.wordpress.com/2012/05/13/abyss/
Velox's:
http://midnightvoltage.wordpress.com/2012/05/13/the-tower/
Evan's:
http://ashardofdream.wordpress.com/2012/05/14/tower-bound/
EW (AKA RENE)'s:
http://www.bzpower.com/board/index.php?app=blog&module=display§ion=blog&blogid=398&showentry=115442
Lloyd's:
The Chantry's Tower
The Chantry Tower was the Chantry’s headquarters. It housed the largest garrison of Adepts in the entire world, and was the hub of a communication network so vast and efficient that it had news of every happening on the continent within a week. So it was no surprise that the news of the far-off nation of Akkad had attacked the local Chantry garrison would reach the Tower quickly.
Arthur Churchill, the Tower’s Steward (and thus the head of the Chantry), was not worried by this news. Part of the reason was the also-included news that the attack had been successfully repelled, but the other part was because Akkad, in the grand scheme of things, was not a very active player, nor very large. It was certainly large enough to tip the balance of power in any nation’s favor in times of political unrest or war, but the concerns of great kings upon their gilt thrones was of no concern to the Chantry. The Chantry hunted more foul beasts, though some wondered if the demons and heretics they slew were really as dangerous as the scheming men they ignored.
Regardless, Akkad’s failed strike at the Chantry’s power did not register at the highest levels of the Tower. But within the great halls of the Chantry’s libraries, three Sages met.
“The report claims that Marduk has been killed.” One said. “Do you know if this is true?”
“I know as much as you do on the matter.” Another replied. “If this is true, then the only link between us and Akkad’s rebellion will have been severed.”
“Good. I am tired of living in constant fear of discovery.” The third said.
“You need not worry, Brother.” The first said. “You are barely a party to this.”
“Barely a party is more than no party at all.” The third replied. “And I cannot be convicted of something I did not do. You know that the Trials do not lie as much as I do.”
“Regardless, we are now safe from all suspicion.” The second intervened. “Put these fears from your mind and there will be no suspicion cast upon you. The only thing that can betray us is our own words, and if we guard those carefully, the Chantry will be in control of Akkad by the end of the month, with no one the wiser.”
“I will take what you have said into account.” The third said. “Still, I cannot shake the feeling we are forgetting something.”
“That is why you are here, Brother.” The first said. “You excel at finding loopholes, errors, mistakes, and the like. If we have missed something, you will find it, I have no doubt.”
“Your trust in me is reassuring.” The third said, somewhat deadpan. “Permit me to retire, that I might re-examine our plans.”
“Of course.”
With that, one of the Sages stepped away from the other two and departed into the stacks, his feet casting phantasmal echoes across the floors. The other two turned to each other.
“Can we trust him?” The second asked. “His nerves seem to be ready to fail.”
“He believes that he will be punished should his complicity in this become evident.” The first said. “He will not tell a soul.”
Friday, May 11, 2012
Inscription
EmperorWhenua's:
http://www.bzpower.com/board/index.php?app=blog&module=display§ion=blog&blogid=398&showentry=115380
55555's:
Isaac Sullivan dusted off the tablet with a soft brush, clearing the engraved characters of the sand that clung to them. He had been digging and using various radar systems to scan for ancient, forgotten objects, here in the Sahara desert for years before he had found what he now held. The hours were long, the sun was warm, the air was still and stifling. But he'd come out here by choice, hoping to find a tablet like the one his grandfather had given him long ago. The old man said that he had found it in the desert, when he was wandering the wastes, rationing his water and praying for an oasis.
The letters were strange, it was impossible to discern which way was up and which was down, whether one was meant to read from left to right or right to left, or perhaps it wasn't real writing at all.
The carbon dating results placed it before 10,000 BC, long before any writing as sophisticated as this had been known to exist. His colleagues had cited the unreliability of the carbon dating systems, but he had know better. Extraterrestrial, or perhaps of an ancient and unknown people.
He strode into his tent, and seized his grandfather's tablet in his hand. He stood, holding them side by side. The characters were of the same types, the stone matched, this was of the same people, perhaps of the same long dead hand.
He gazed at them, his eyes turned from one to the other, seeking some meaning, some clue to a meaning.
Then he saw a pattern, a system, a logic to the characters. Their order, their make, their spacing slowly assembled itself in his mind. He understood.
Velox's:
http://midnightvoltage.wordpress.com/2012/05/11/inscription/
Grant's:
Felix's:
Fluffles was a playful type: always jumping or running around and provoking 'daww's from people in general. But what they didn't know was that she had a secret... a secret so dark that poor little Fluffles would have to kill whoever knew it. But of course we're exempt from that rule, because technically Fluffles won't ever know that we know that she is actually a poet.
Fluffles hates poetry. In fact, Fluffles is only a poet because the story needed a surprise ending. This is stupid.
http://www.bzpower.com/board/index.php?app=blog&module=display§ion=blog&blogid=398&showentry=115380
55555's:
Isaac Sullivan dusted off the tablet with a soft brush, clearing the engraved characters of the sand that clung to them. He had been digging and using various radar systems to scan for ancient, forgotten objects, here in the Sahara desert for years before he had found what he now held. The hours were long, the sun was warm, the air was still and stifling. But he'd come out here by choice, hoping to find a tablet like the one his grandfather had given him long ago. The old man said that he had found it in the desert, when he was wandering the wastes, rationing his water and praying for an oasis.
The letters were strange, it was impossible to discern which way was up and which was down, whether one was meant to read from left to right or right to left, or perhaps it wasn't real writing at all.
The carbon dating results placed it before 10,000 BC, long before any writing as sophisticated as this had been known to exist. His colleagues had cited the unreliability of the carbon dating systems, but he had know better. Extraterrestrial, or perhaps of an ancient and unknown people.
He strode into his tent, and seized his grandfather's tablet in his hand. He stood, holding them side by side. The characters were of the same types, the stone matched, this was of the same people, perhaps of the same long dead hand.
He gazed at them, his eyes turned from one to the other, seeking some meaning, some clue to a meaning.
Then he saw a pattern, a system, a logic to the characters. Their order, their make, their spacing slowly assembled itself in his mind. He understood.
Velox's:
http://midnightvoltage.wordpress.com/2012/05/11/inscription/
Grant's:
At Times, Words Can’t Express Enough
To my dearest companion:
Jen.
It’s been too long since
we’ve last seen one another, and I fear the separation we’ve experienced has
not only caused us to drift apart, but to lose sight of one another completely.
I can’t recall what the shade of your eye color reminds me of, and the remembrance
of the way your hair flowed whenever a gust of air caught it only leaves me
with empty feelings. Has it truly been over five years now? Time has escaped
both of us it seems.
Enough of my sentimental
emotions however, for I write this letter in great hopes that you will receive it
with joy. I am doing well, and the new accommodations of my newest living
quarters as described in my last letter, have greatly improved. I recall your
words on how the way I described it previously and in two words you summed up
my new room as, “dreadfully lacking”. Hopefully I haven’t instilled in you too
great a fear, or I seemed too negative as the room has grown to my liking.
And you, I hope you are
doing well. It pains me to think of what you wrote of your gracious daughter,
fallen ill at the worst of times. I pray to our Father above that she recovers
swiftly. She’s always been spirited and her resolve to get well, I sure will be
the most powerful medicine.
My friend, I hope to see
you soon. Though we live so far apart now, I feel like our friendship is worth
saving and these small links that connect us together are our only ones. Do
know, that I wait for your next one, longing to know how you are, and where you
want to go with your life next. I will always ask for your opinion about mine.
There is so much to do and so little time, but please do spend just a moment of
it to respond.
With as much love as I
can pour onto a paper, your childhood friend:
Lee.
Felix's:
Fluffles was a playful type: always jumping or running around and provoking 'daww's from people in general. But what they didn't know was that she had a secret... a secret so dark that poor little Fluffles would have to kill whoever knew it. But of course we're exempt from that rule, because technically Fluffles won't ever know that we know that she is actually a poet.
Fluffles hates poetry. In fact, Fluffles is only a poet because the story needed a surprise ending. This is stupid.
Exchange
55555's: NOTE: Older story, reposted because I did a quick drawing based on it. http://www.majhost.com/gallery/kanoka94/Speedpainting/speedpaint0012.png
So many hours, so many days, so many months had led up to this moment, and yet all was not yet set in stone. it has never ceased to amaze me that despite years of preparation, all can be undone in mere moments. The weather, a disease, a misheard digit, or a careless gesture can bring down years of labor and planning.
The night was nearly silent in this part of the city, flickering streetlights lit and my headlights revealed what would naturally have been concealed. Few lights shown in the dirty windows. A light snow was falling.
I swung my SUV carefully to a stop parallel to the curb. This was the time, the place, the plan.
I looked at the Merchandise stowed in the back seat of the car. I smiled. All would go well, what was I worrying about?
The shots shattered everything. The first one or two must have bounced of the windshield, but there were many more than two. The car, the plan, my body were totaled from the merciless barrage.
Somehow I retained consciousness, I could still see out of one eye. I knew what I had to do, the Merchandise could not be lost with no reward. In my ankle holster...
The car doors had unlocked automatically when I came to a stop. A figure loomed through the shattered, bloodied windshield, silhouetted against the yellow streetlights.
I sat up slightly, I knew I had not long to live, whether this figure furthered that cause or not. I clutched the automatic in my hand, thanking Glock mentally for the brilliance of the trigger safety. The door opened, the masked figure pulled me out onto the sidewalk, he put a foot on my chest and levelled his firearm at me.
Then he pulled off his balaclava, it was my boss.
"You broke the plan", I said.
"This was the plan."
I shot him in the face.
So many hours, so many days, so many months had led up to this moment, and yet all was not yet set in stone. it has never ceased to amaze me that despite years of preparation, all can be undone in mere moments. The weather, a disease, a misheard digit, or a careless gesture can bring down years of labor and planning.
The night was nearly silent in this part of the city, flickering streetlights lit and my headlights revealed what would naturally have been concealed. Few lights shown in the dirty windows. A light snow was falling.
I swung my SUV carefully to a stop parallel to the curb. This was the time, the place, the plan.
I looked at the Merchandise stowed in the back seat of the car. I smiled. All would go well, what was I worrying about?
The shots shattered everything. The first one or two must have bounced of the windshield, but there were many more than two. The car, the plan, my body were totaled from the merciless barrage.
Somehow I retained consciousness, I could still see out of one eye. I knew what I had to do, the Merchandise could not be lost with no reward. In my ankle holster...
The car doors had unlocked automatically when I came to a stop. A figure loomed through the shattered, bloodied windshield, silhouetted against the yellow streetlights.
I sat up slightly, I knew I had not long to live, whether this figure furthered that cause or not. I clutched the automatic in my hand, thanking Glock mentally for the brilliance of the trigger safety. The door opened, the masked figure pulled me out onto the sidewalk, he put a foot on my chest and levelled his firearm at me.
Then he pulled off his balaclava, it was my boss.
"You broke the plan", I said.
"This was the plan."
I shot him in the face.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Spike
55555's:
More than ten million spikes, each pounded 6.4 inches into the hull of the craft, each carefully spaced 14 inches from the last, shone in the setting sun. Many workers, skilled and trustworthy, had been hired wit the sole purpose of forging and pounding these spikes into the Daniel Boone's prow accurately and well. In a spaceship, especially such a complex and massive craft as a colonizing vessel, all parts are important. Yes, the motherboard of the main computer, the fuel tanks, and the atmospheric systems are vital, but so was every one of these nails. A single spike being loose or poorly made could cause a chain reaction that would jeopardize the pressure of the ship.
Too large for any hanger, the USS Daniel Boone had been constructed in the open air of the wide deserts of Arizona, USA. The first of it's kind, it was destined for Earth II, the only planet ever discovered that was similar to Earth. Today it would soar into the sky, the fury of it's ascent being spent on the barren desert floor. From there it would loop over the sun (relative to the plane of the solar system), and fire it's main thrusters, lighting the route that had been checked and rechecked time after time by the greatest astro-physcist the country had to offer.
Unless something goes wrong. My operatives have sabotaged one of these spikjes. It will seem like and accident, another tragedy to be penned in history next to the Titanic and the Hindenberg.
Evan's:
http://ashardofdream.wordpress.com/2012/05/10/workin-on-the-railroad/
Kakaru's:
http://supergoggles.wordpress.com/2012/05/10/shark/
More than ten million spikes, each pounded 6.4 inches into the hull of the craft, each carefully spaced 14 inches from the last, shone in the setting sun. Many workers, skilled and trustworthy, had been hired wit the sole purpose of forging and pounding these spikes into the Daniel Boone's prow accurately and well. In a spaceship, especially such a complex and massive craft as a colonizing vessel, all parts are important. Yes, the motherboard of the main computer, the fuel tanks, and the atmospheric systems are vital, but so was every one of these nails. A single spike being loose or poorly made could cause a chain reaction that would jeopardize the pressure of the ship.
Too large for any hanger, the USS Daniel Boone had been constructed in the open air of the wide deserts of Arizona, USA. The first of it's kind, it was destined for Earth II, the only planet ever discovered that was similar to Earth. Today it would soar into the sky, the fury of it's ascent being spent on the barren desert floor. From there it would loop over the sun (relative to the plane of the solar system), and fire it's main thrusters, lighting the route that had been checked and rechecked time after time by the greatest astro-physcist the country had to offer.
Unless something goes wrong. My operatives have sabotaged one of these spikjes. It will seem like and accident, another tragedy to be penned in history next to the Titanic and the Hindenberg.
Evan's:
http://ashardofdream.wordpress.com/2012/05/10/workin-on-the-railroad/
Kakaru's:
http://supergoggles.wordpress.com/2012/05/10/shark/
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Go
55555's:
Go, go, go. These were the urges of my unbalanced mind. The mine was collapsing, but I couldn't leave her down here. We're both going to die, might as well die together. I've heard it's best as a group activity.
I have to find her. I slap my torch, the electrical connections have been getting gradually worse. The beam flickered on, yellow light shining on the floating particles of dust. I couldn't see far with this thing, but it was far, far better than nothing. Is that a quote from Sidney Carton? I suppose I should be thinking of other things.
Right. She's out there in the dark somewhere, the mine is collapsing, we're either going to die quickly or slowly. But then again that's kind of standard I suppose.
I sprinted through the darkness, my torch making a cone of light, and shining on the rough walls I knew so well. Something large and heavy hit the ground and crumbled into dust behind me, the wave of particles making beathing even more difficult. More and more rumbling fills my ears, I feel the vibrations of impacting earth. I slipped my green bandanna (black with the dust) over my mouth, not pausing in my run. A support ahead of me shifted dangerously, I increased my speed, trying to make it through before the ceiling gave way.
I got to a steep slope and threw myself into a controlled slide, churning up the dust, from behind me came the largest rumble yet. My flashlight went out but I kept my hold of it.
I hit the bottom and rolled into a side passage, rocks bombarding where I had just been. I waited, panting until the sound died away. I was still alive.
Then I heard a sound. A cry in the darkness! I fumbled with my torch, slapping it, trying to make it shine once more. Nothing.
But it was her! She's still alive! A companion might make all the difference down here. Theoretically we could still survive.
I stumbled blindly through the tunnels, yelling as loud as I could. We would find eachother, then everything would be alright.
Kakaru's:
http://supergoggles.wordpress.com/2012/05/09/walking/
Evan's:
http://ashardofdream.wordpress.com/2012/05/09/diners/
Lloyd's:
The Mission's Go
The Chantry Adepts did not approach Akkad head-on. They did not know whether the city would welcome them or put them to the torch, and as far as they knew, its guard complement was still well-manned. The Adepts were trained to work in groups, whether as a formation on a field or in small groups like the one they found themselves in now. The ability of small teams of Adepts to devastate large numbers of enemies was legendary, and most feared to face them. But the most important part of any small unit maneuver is the plan.
“We need to get in undetected.” Kent stated the premise of the mission first. “To do that, we’ll need access to the gates. We will need to sneak two men in during the day, disguised as peasants.”
“Sir, why don’t we all just go in like that?” Ephraim asked.
“Five men will gather attention. Two will not.” Kent replied. “We will also need to bring our horses in to stable them, and horses attract attention. We will need to bring them in during the night. I’ll need two volunteers to go in during the day. Their job will be to neutralize the guards, preferably without leaving any traces.”
“I can do that,” another one of the Adepts said, “A good drink, that late at night, and they’ll be asleep like rocks.”
“Good.” Kent said. “Anyone else?” Ephraim was silent for a moment, then nervously nodded.
“I’ll go.” He said.
“Good.” Kent affirmed. “Once you’ve taken out the guards, open the needle.” He was referring to the small door used to let in travelers who arrived late at night. It was small, but the frequency of wealthy men arriving in the city had necessitated it be capable of letting in at least something the size of a horse. “Signal us with a sprite and wait until we’re in.” The sprite was an easy cantrip used to convey small messages to another person, typically over short distances. “If something goes south, send the sprite immediately and tell us what’s happened. We will arrive as soon as we can.”
Ephraim and the other Adept nodded, memorizing their orders.
“Everyone not going in during the day will wait just down the road, where the caravans usually camp. Everyone understand the plan?” Nods all around. “Alright. Go.”
Velox's:
http://midnightvoltage.wordpress.com/2012/05/08/go/
Grants: (Note: He started just about when we finished and kept the fifteen minute limit)
Go, go, go. These were the urges of my unbalanced mind. The mine was collapsing, but I couldn't leave her down here. We're both going to die, might as well die together. I've heard it's best as a group activity.
I have to find her. I slap my torch, the electrical connections have been getting gradually worse. The beam flickered on, yellow light shining on the floating particles of dust. I couldn't see far with this thing, but it was far, far better than nothing. Is that a quote from Sidney Carton? I suppose I should be thinking of other things.
Right. She's out there in the dark somewhere, the mine is collapsing, we're either going to die quickly or slowly. But then again that's kind of standard I suppose.
I sprinted through the darkness, my torch making a cone of light, and shining on the rough walls I knew so well. Something large and heavy hit the ground and crumbled into dust behind me, the wave of particles making beathing even more difficult. More and more rumbling fills my ears, I feel the vibrations of impacting earth. I slipped my green bandanna (black with the dust) over my mouth, not pausing in my run. A support ahead of me shifted dangerously, I increased my speed, trying to make it through before the ceiling gave way.
I got to a steep slope and threw myself into a controlled slide, churning up the dust, from behind me came the largest rumble yet. My flashlight went out but I kept my hold of it.
I hit the bottom and rolled into a side passage, rocks bombarding where I had just been. I waited, panting until the sound died away. I was still alive.
Then I heard a sound. A cry in the darkness! I fumbled with my torch, slapping it, trying to make it shine once more. Nothing.
But it was her! She's still alive! A companion might make all the difference down here. Theoretically we could still survive.
I stumbled blindly through the tunnels, yelling as loud as I could. We would find eachother, then everything would be alright.
Kakaru's:
http://supergoggles.wordpress.com/2012/05/09/walking/
Evan's:
http://ashardofdream.wordpress.com/2012/05/09/diners/
Lloyd's:
The Mission's Go
The Chantry Adepts did not approach Akkad head-on. They did not know whether the city would welcome them or put them to the torch, and as far as they knew, its guard complement was still well-manned. The Adepts were trained to work in groups, whether as a formation on a field or in small groups like the one they found themselves in now. The ability of small teams of Adepts to devastate large numbers of enemies was legendary, and most feared to face them. But the most important part of any small unit maneuver is the plan.
“We need to get in undetected.” Kent stated the premise of the mission first. “To do that, we’ll need access to the gates. We will need to sneak two men in during the day, disguised as peasants.”
“Sir, why don’t we all just go in like that?” Ephraim asked.
“Five men will gather attention. Two will not.” Kent replied. “We will also need to bring our horses in to stable them, and horses attract attention. We will need to bring them in during the night. I’ll need two volunteers to go in during the day. Their job will be to neutralize the guards, preferably without leaving any traces.”
“I can do that,” another one of the Adepts said, “A good drink, that late at night, and they’ll be asleep like rocks.”
“Good.” Kent said. “Anyone else?” Ephraim was silent for a moment, then nervously nodded.
“I’ll go.” He said.
“Good.” Kent affirmed. “Once you’ve taken out the guards, open the needle.” He was referring to the small door used to let in travelers who arrived late at night. It was small, but the frequency of wealthy men arriving in the city had necessitated it be capable of letting in at least something the size of a horse. “Signal us with a sprite and wait until we’re in.” The sprite was an easy cantrip used to convey small messages to another person, typically over short distances. “If something goes south, send the sprite immediately and tell us what’s happened. We will arrive as soon as we can.”
Ephraim and the other Adept nodded, memorizing their orders.
“Everyone not going in during the day will wait just down the road, where the caravans usually camp. Everyone understand the plan?” Nods all around. “Alright. Go.”
Velox's:
http://midnightvoltage.wordpress.com/2012/05/08/go/
Grants: (Note: He started just about when we finished and kept the fifteen minute limit)
Don’t Rush
I have about fifteen minutes to conjure up some idea to
present to the entire team. We’re working heavily on our project and I can’t
begin to describe the trials and errors we’ve gone through to get it done. The
designing has been endless and customization of what we’re planning I just can
seem grasp half the time. Really, it’s everyone efforts that have made this a
reality.
And we’ve all worked incredibly hard on it.
The problem though, is that we’re about to present it, and
I’ve found a fatal flaw. There’s a bug, a glitch, and knot in our rope. I can
see it, crystal clear as though it’s been waving a sign at me for hours and
I’ve finally decided to look at it. Was it the excitement? Was it because we
were so nervous or naïve to believe this could work out?
I’m looking at this schematic - if that’s what you want to
call it, I refer to it differently - up and down, left and right, sideways and
all.
This won’t work, my
thoughts scream again. Why couldn’t we have foreseen this?
My companions are right in the next room, they’ll be coming
with our superior soon and they’ll present him this wonderfully looking plan
that contains this unseen and small yet unmistakable flaw. I had decided to
look over it, once more, to feel filled with the achievement of pride from what
we have built here.
But now I feel disillusionment.
Raising a hand to my hair and pulling it back in
frustration, only seven minutes left… or is it even that? I probably have less.
I could add in this feature here… carry that over. But no,
that would ruin the entire structure! Agh! Why was this so hard? We should have
seen this, should have looked this over more than we did. What are we supposed
to do, what should I tell them?
Taking a deep breath, and turn away from our creation and
just stop looking at it.
I can’t undo this, and my time is nearly up. I hadn’t had
enough of an opportunity to get my thinking straight. I have no more ideas, and
when they come in and see my sad pitiful state, I wonder what they’ll see in
me.
I guess I’ll know by what I see in them. After all, they
worked so hard, why couldn’t they have seen that all you needed to repair the
problem was…
I feel like the lights in my mind turn on. The solution…
I laugh at how simple it is. The stress having left me, I
turn and rethink a few things, studying it once more. Chuckling, I add in
another variable to this formula and it all becomes clear.
Sighing in relief, I realize I’ve made it right on the mark.
Time almost got away from me, but the adjustment has been made, and my work is
now done. I can hear the door opening, and I turn with the cup of joe in my
hand.
No sweat.
Monday, May 7, 2012
The Ambassador
55555's:
The First Ambassador of Earth fastened his sash over his shoulder. He gazed out the window as he did so, there was no mirror in his room. It was a clear night, the stars shone overhead. He gazed at them and named each one in his mind, he knew so many of them, for he had traveled many lightyears in his long career. His hair was graying at the temples, the only reason he still lived was due to the relativistic effects of his journeys. Traveling a hardly quantifiable degree less than that of light, one does not age as the Earth-bound do.
Every time he had returned from a mission, usually a successful one, he had found Earth different from what he had remembered. Different technology, different people, different cultures, yes. But also different wars, different problems, different effects of past decisions, his own and others. Some that he had advised had given poor result, some he had advised against had achieved things beyond his imagination.
But no more.
it had taken centuries, many lives of men, but at last he had seen what separated the good decisions from the bad, foolishness from brilliance.
He kissed his sword and fastened it around his waist, the scabbard shone in the moonlight.
The Summit On the Future of The Galaxy was to be held today, and he would see to it he was the keynote speaker. Of the races of the Milky Way, Man is not as a race endowed with any unusual longevity, but this man has seen more years pass than any other sentient being. His eyes had beheld important faces from the ages before any of the others were born. Their knowledge of the old days, of the decisions made, were from text books and minutes of long ago meetings. Not so for him.
Tonight he would tell them of these things. And tonight, he would submit his name for the Election for the Master of the Galaxy.
Evan's:
http://ashardofdream.wordpress.com/2012/05/08/affairs/
Kakaru's:
http://supergoggles.wordpress.com/2012/05/07/affairs/
The First Ambassador of Earth fastened his sash over his shoulder. He gazed out the window as he did so, there was no mirror in his room. It was a clear night, the stars shone overhead. He gazed at them and named each one in his mind, he knew so many of them, for he had traveled many lightyears in his long career. His hair was graying at the temples, the only reason he still lived was due to the relativistic effects of his journeys. Traveling a hardly quantifiable degree less than that of light, one does not age as the Earth-bound do.
Every time he had returned from a mission, usually a successful one, he had found Earth different from what he had remembered. Different technology, different people, different cultures, yes. But also different wars, different problems, different effects of past decisions, his own and others. Some that he had advised had given poor result, some he had advised against had achieved things beyond his imagination.
But no more.
it had taken centuries, many lives of men, but at last he had seen what separated the good decisions from the bad, foolishness from brilliance.
He kissed his sword and fastened it around his waist, the scabbard shone in the moonlight.
The Summit On the Future of The Galaxy was to be held today, and he would see to it he was the keynote speaker. Of the races of the Milky Way, Man is not as a race endowed with any unusual longevity, but this man has seen more years pass than any other sentient being. His eyes had beheld important faces from the ages before any of the others were born. Their knowledge of the old days, of the decisions made, were from text books and minutes of long ago meetings. Not so for him.
Tonight he would tell them of these things. And tonight, he would submit his name for the Election for the Master of the Galaxy.
Evan's:
http://ashardofdream.wordpress.com/2012/05/08/affairs/
Kakaru's:
http://supergoggles.wordpress.com/2012/05/07/affairs/
Watch
The Watch by 55555
It was a thing of beauty, and a joy to behold. The faceplate and back were scrolled and engraved in elaborate patterns. It kept perfect time, ticking steadily away, hour after hour, year after year, as long as there was a hand to wind it. The inner workings were as decorated and polished as the exterior, the shining gears moved in perfect harmony.
And it is, alas, no more.
"Son, take care of this watch. There is more to it than meets the eye. Not only does it keep perfect time, but it keeps time perfect."
Then again, my dad is not entirely sane. How could this object ticking in my hand have something to do with the great mechanisms of the universe? And what did he mean anyway?
Nevertheless I resolved to keep is as safe as I feasibly could. I kept it well, winding it every morning, stowing it in a drawer at night, keeping it in my pocket by day.
But youth does not keep such resolutions well. I went swimming with some friends of mine in the river, and left it on the bank. I was swimming around, not too far out, when suddenly something changed.
It was as though the even beat of time passing had suddenly become slightly irregular. As though instead of a pendulum swinging rhythmically from left to right, second ticking after second, some person had started counting them off, judging the time himself.
One second would seem slow, the next too fast. I swam to the bank, knowing already what I would find there.
The watch lay in pieces, it's shining mechanisms scattered in the dirt, it's lens shattered.
Since that day time has flowed irregularly, this hour seeming long, this hour short. A world without a watch, the universe is late and early.
Kakaru's:
http://supergoggles.wordpress.com/2012/05/07/security/
Evan's:
http://ashardofdream.wordpress.com/2012/05/07/pocketwatch/
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Treasure
55555's:
I am a treasure hunter. My team and I search the land, and the oceans, searching for that that was lost and left unfound. Moldering in the dust of centuries, often untouched by the passing of the ages, save being covered or uncovered be the movements of the earth and the sea, treasure lies hid.
A map, a clue, an old tale, these are the foundations of my trade. A sail my airship, The Keyturner from country to country. We've been to Landramine, Esterranon, Orallava, and many more distant shores. These islands were once plagued by sea pirates, later air pirates, many of whom ravage to this day. We are but a small vessel, tossed by the winds and the storms, handled by only five men. This is our tale, whether of victory or ultimate defeat you will soon learn.
I had heard long ago from an old sailor of the skies of the Fall of Captain Quent's infamous Albatross, who haunted the skies for decades before I was born. There was a fierce and long battle between two of Her Majesties Sky Frigates, who had been sailing disguised as merchantmen, a trap for Captain Quent. It is likely that the intrepid and cruel Captain Quent knew well enough of their nature, but he had never let an opportunity of gaining treasure and slaves go unpursued.
The battle was well fought, one of the ships of the Crown dropping from the sky early in the encounter, and later, the other of her Majesty's vessels staying miraculously rammed The Albatross.
Where they lie now, no man knows. Save myself.
The treasures of this Earth mean nothing to me
I find them for the fun of it, so sue me
Kakaru's:
http://supergoggles.wordpress.com/2012/05/06/suicide/
Evan's:
http://ashardofdream.wordpress.com/2012/05/06/bone-dragon/
Velox's: (He got carried away, half an hour or more of writing time.
http://midnightvoltage.wordpress.com/2012/05/05/attic-treasure/
I am a treasure hunter. My team and I search the land, and the oceans, searching for that that was lost and left unfound. Moldering in the dust of centuries, often untouched by the passing of the ages, save being covered or uncovered be the movements of the earth and the sea, treasure lies hid.
A map, a clue, an old tale, these are the foundations of my trade. A sail my airship, The Keyturner from country to country. We've been to Landramine, Esterranon, Orallava, and many more distant shores. These islands were once plagued by sea pirates, later air pirates, many of whom ravage to this day. We are but a small vessel, tossed by the winds and the storms, handled by only five men. This is our tale, whether of victory or ultimate defeat you will soon learn.
I had heard long ago from an old sailor of the skies of the Fall of Captain Quent's infamous Albatross, who haunted the skies for decades before I was born. There was a fierce and long battle between two of Her Majesties Sky Frigates, who had been sailing disguised as merchantmen, a trap for Captain Quent. It is likely that the intrepid and cruel Captain Quent knew well enough of their nature, but he had never let an opportunity of gaining treasure and slaves go unpursued.
The battle was well fought, one of the ships of the Crown dropping from the sky early in the encounter, and later, the other of her Majesty's vessels staying miraculously rammed The Albatross.
Where they lie now, no man knows. Save myself.
The treasures of this Earth mean nothing to me
I find them for the fun of it, so sue me
Kakaru's:
http://supergoggles.wordpress.com/2012/05/06/suicide/
Evan's:
http://ashardofdream.wordpress.com/2012/05/06/bone-dragon/
Velox's: (He got carried away, half an hour or more of writing time.
http://midnightvoltage.wordpress.com/2012/05/05/attic-treasure/
Friday, May 4, 2012
Water
Velox's:
http://midnightvoltage.wordpress.com/2012/05/04/water/
Evan's:
The small black door rolls open grudgingly, groaning about being awoken from its rust encompassed sleep.
I trip over the lip of the low doorway and crash into the cell, landing facedown in a pile of greasy work uniforms. The guard smirks at my miraculous landing and heaves the door closed.
“Sleep tight, don’t let the Wire-crawlers bite.”
I take in my surrounding more thoroughly, there’s a puddle of water in one corner of the dingy room, a pile of abandoned orange jumpsuits, and a small black cube bolted to the wall that appears to be vibrating slightly. A sudden jolt of force throws me against the wall. Outside, I can hear the roar of the thrusters going at full power.
I pick myself off the floor for a second time and survey my choices for sleeping. Four metal corners and some dirty clothes. Brilliant. I think I’ll go for the dirty clothes, I’ll take dirt over pain any day.
I settle myself into the uniforms and curl up, quickly dropping into a deep sleep.
I’m jogging over the rooftop, splashing through puddles, dodging rusted bits of forgotten machinery and the occasional sleeping homeless person.
I slow my jog to a quick walk and peer over the edge of the building, expecting a long drop to a certain death. To my surprise, a fire escape is loosely attached to the crumbling brick building, a brief spot of good luck.
I flinch as a Quad-rotor screams by flashing searchlights and occasionally bouncing off of targets that it’s sight sensor can’t pick up.
I can just make out the white shape of the stencil on it’s weathered side.
SHADE Corp.
I wait until the drone is gone and lower myself onto the fire escape, only putting my full weight on it when I know it can hold me. A light rain begins to fall, quickly turning into a torrential downpour. Soaking me to the skin and making me even more cautious when placing my footing.
A drop of water hangs on one of my eyelashes, refracting the lights of the slums around me.
I blow it off and track it as it falls to the ground, some forty feet below. I track it until it splashes off the staring lens of the Synth-head’s targeting device.
I follow the drop as it runs off the lens and onto his finger, just in time to see him pull the trigger. My world is alight with fireworks. I’m falling through the rain, downwards, watching the rain keep pace with me.
I wake up, gasping for breath and drenched in sweat.
I mutter to myself, “It was only a dream. Only a dream….”
Caleb's: (Note: Based on a true story)
I clutched the stone pillar at the edge of the pier, letting another wave smash into me. The water was freezing. Well, okay, if that were true, it'd be ice, wouldn’t it? I guess that's January at midnight, huh? I looked back at the town behind me. We were separated by a half mile of stone pier. Considering it was about twenty degrees out and the waves were monstrous in size, that wasn't a good distance.
"You guys!?" I screamed to my nearby companions. They probably didn't hear. The wind was so strong, I could barely hear it myself.
On the other side of the pillar, I could hear my best friend Nick and my brother Tyler running toward my position. When I saw them, I wanted to laugh. I couldn't laugh because my face was too numb and I was starting to lose feeling in my legs. Their hair had been flash frozen by a mixture of waves and the wind.
"We need to make a run for it!" I yelled.
"I'll take point!" Nick yelled back. "Nick will follow me and you'll be behind him!"
We turned to face the town. We had done this before. Once a wave came along the pier, we'd run right behind it, trying to keep up with it before another one came up to pull us over the edge. This was dangerous, senseless, and stupid. We loved it. A big wave came and splashed over the pillar, freezing us all over again. The wave took off down the pier and we hurried after it, staying in the agreed upon order. I always chose the back, and yet, I was the lightest of us. Probably not the brightest decision.
As we ran for our lives, pretty much literally, I glanced over my shoulder and felt my heart sink. Another wave was screaming down the pier at us. It didn't look like it was going to lose power before hitting us either.
"Run!" I screamed. "This is not the time to slow down!" They didn't need any motivating, but I think it felt better to talk. Even if the wind drowned most of it out. Fully concentrating on the wave behind me was a poor option.
Despite the countless times we had done this, despite all our seasoned adventures tackling the massive waves on the pier at midnight, I felt the wave tackle me. I lost my footing immediately, stumbling in my boots. I clutched to the stone of the pier, nothing to really hold on to. I was really just trying to keep myself from going over. As the wave had me in its grip, I felt myself slipping.
"Damn it!" I growled, trying to hold on. "Damn it, not now!"
The wave passed and fell back into the rest of the water, harmless to me now. I looked to my right. I was inches from the edge. I got to my feet and started again, staying ahead of the waves this time. Nick and Tyler were far ahead. I wasn't sure if they trusted me to stay safe or if they had really abandoned me, but I had to find out. Another wave came from my left, soaking me again. I wasn't toppled, but I was cold. So cold it actually hurt. When I finally caught up to the others, they patted my shoulder.
"You all right? We saw you slow down and the wave caught you!" Nick explained. The wind had died down now that we were away from the pier.
"I'm fine," I assured him and my silent, but noticeably concerned brother. "Just wet."
As we walked back to Nick's car that night, covered in water from head to toe, we took one last glance back at the monster that was the lake.
"We'll have to go back next week," I laughed. "I'm not letting that lake push me around twice."
"Sounds good to me," Tyler grinned.
We had survived another journey into the volatile, frozen water. It wouldn't be our last.
Lloyd's:
The Road's Water
Kent’s team of five Adepts rode alongside a gurgling stream, as they took the beaten track toward Akkad. The track itself had naturally developed beside the stream, as a source of water was necessary for travelers and they were often reluctant to leave it. This was the case for the Adepts as well, and as the sun reached its zenith, Kent called a halt and dismounted, his Adepts following his example. They led their horses to the stream’s bank, careful to ensure that the eroded slope did not give way under them. As five of them sat to drink and refill their canteens, Kent spoke. “Ephraim, it’s your turn for the watch.”
“Of course, Brother-Lieutenant.” Ephraim saluted and returned to the roadside, keeping his eyes peeled for any who might approach. It was mostly a formality, as few would dare attack a group of Chantry Adepts and the odds of them meeting someone out in the middle of nowhere was slim, but the Chantry’s soldiers had not become as skilled and experienced as they were by taking chances.
The water was crystal clear, and while that was not an indicator of its cleanliness, this water was as clean as a stream got, simply because one of the local lords had taken it upon himself to ensure that travelers through his land wouldn’t die of water poisoning. He wouldn’t get tariff revenue if merchants died travelling through his land, after all. For this reason his soldiers (he’d managed to avoid lessening the road patrols through some martial trickery when the King had called for his lords’ troops to be marshaled) patrolled the road and would remove anything that risked contaminating the water, the most commonly cited example being dead animals. This also made it much more difficult for highwaymen to ply their trade, which was also a bonus for everyone involved.
While it was no well, the stream provided all that the Adepts found they needed for the moment. They poured the water that they’d kept in their canteens into the stream and refilled them, replacing water which had been warming in the hot sun for hours with the relatively cooler water of a running stream, borne from the cool places beneath the earth. On Kent’s instruction, one of the other Adepts went to replace Ephraim as the watchman and allowed him to renew his water supply as well.
The Adepts allowed the horses to drink to their hearts’ content, as it was even more important for horses to stay hydrated than for humans. Once the horses indicated no more interest in the stream, they set out again.
55555's: (Note: I went five minutes over the limit. Oops.)
Mr. Bissington entered, he appeared to be in a highly agitated state, though he was attempting to conceal the fact.
I knew Benjamin Bissington only by reputation, but he had quite a reputation. He'd been treading the fine line between unethical and illegal business practices for decades. He is a master in his field.
He hasn't said a word and I'm already interested in what his scheme is. Few people come to my penthouse unless they are on business, and something big.
"What can I do for you, Mr Bissington?," I said, one corner of my mouth twitching upward.
He sat down on the other side of the desk, his briefcase in his lap. For a moment I wondered how much the various pieces of information in that briefcase was worth, to him, or (though they would call it evidence) to the authorities.
"Mr. Owens, I have a proposition to make."
I gestured, signaling him to proceed.
"This is of a highly sensitive nature. Are there any recorders or secretaries within earshot?"
I shook my head. This was getting better and better.
He looked a bit uneasy, but he continued, "Before I tel you my plan, I would like to know if you have the capital to be of use to the syndicate I am assembling, Mr. Owens."
I raised an eyebrow. He named a sum.
"What?!" I knocked my chair over as I shot out of it. I was a rich man, an exceedingly rich man, but this figure would strain my accounts to the very limit. I'd have to sell my stocks (low), possibly one or two of my homes (houses).
It was his turn to smile. "To judge the cost without hearing the rewards is a woman's game, Mr. Owens. I wouldn't have expected it of you. Allow me finish."
I righted my chair but I declined to sit down. I stood with one hand on th back of the chair, looking down at this smiling crook, a medley of emotions on my face. Astonishment, anger, but also curiosity, and the beginnings of wonder.
"What I propose is essentially a monopolizing scheme. A ridiculously legal, beautifully simple, insanely far reaching, monopoly scheme."
"Have you ever though how much the world would be willing to pay, if you bought all the water on Earth?"
I may have passed out.
---
I blinked repeatedly.
"All the water on Earth?"
He nodded.
"Every drop?"
"Yes Mr. Owens. I have the necessary purchases here. The world's supplies of water are held in surprisingly few hands, Mr Owens. A few large purchases, a couple dozen mid level purchases, and another few dozen geologically significant ones, and the profits would just pour in."
"Put my name down, for the sum you named."
---
I looked out over a reservoir, the sun glinting down on the small waves, one of the many owned by my conglomerate. I reflected on our operation, its immediate success, and the projections of the profits to come.
Then one of my interns ran up to me.
"What's happened?"
"Sir, our capital seems to be evaporating."
http://midnightvoltage.wordpress.com/2012/05/04/water/
Evan's:
The small black door rolls open grudgingly, groaning about being awoken from its rust encompassed sleep.
I trip over the lip of the low doorway and crash into the cell, landing facedown in a pile of greasy work uniforms. The guard smirks at my miraculous landing and heaves the door closed.
“Sleep tight, don’t let the Wire-crawlers bite.”
I take in my surrounding more thoroughly, there’s a puddle of water in one corner of the dingy room, a pile of abandoned orange jumpsuits, and a small black cube bolted to the wall that appears to be vibrating slightly. A sudden jolt of force throws me against the wall. Outside, I can hear the roar of the thrusters going at full power.
I pick myself off the floor for a second time and survey my choices for sleeping. Four metal corners and some dirty clothes. Brilliant. I think I’ll go for the dirty clothes, I’ll take dirt over pain any day.
I settle myself into the uniforms and curl up, quickly dropping into a deep sleep.
I’m jogging over the rooftop, splashing through puddles, dodging rusted bits of forgotten machinery and the occasional sleeping homeless person.
I slow my jog to a quick walk and peer over the edge of the building, expecting a long drop to a certain death. To my surprise, a fire escape is loosely attached to the crumbling brick building, a brief spot of good luck.
I flinch as a Quad-rotor screams by flashing searchlights and occasionally bouncing off of targets that it’s sight sensor can’t pick up.
I can just make out the white shape of the stencil on it’s weathered side.
SHADE Corp.
I wait until the drone is gone and lower myself onto the fire escape, only putting my full weight on it when I know it can hold me. A light rain begins to fall, quickly turning into a torrential downpour. Soaking me to the skin and making me even more cautious when placing my footing.
A drop of water hangs on one of my eyelashes, refracting the lights of the slums around me.
I blow it off and track it as it falls to the ground, some forty feet below. I track it until it splashes off the staring lens of the Synth-head’s targeting device.
I follow the drop as it runs off the lens and onto his finger, just in time to see him pull the trigger. My world is alight with fireworks. I’m falling through the rain, downwards, watching the rain keep pace with me.
I wake up, gasping for breath and drenched in sweat.
I mutter to myself, “It was only a dream. Only a dream….”
Caleb's: (Note: Based on a true story)
I clutched the stone pillar at the edge of the pier, letting another wave smash into me. The water was freezing. Well, okay, if that were true, it'd be ice, wouldn’t it? I guess that's January at midnight, huh? I looked back at the town behind me. We were separated by a half mile of stone pier. Considering it was about twenty degrees out and the waves were monstrous in size, that wasn't a good distance.
"You guys!?" I screamed to my nearby companions. They probably didn't hear. The wind was so strong, I could barely hear it myself.
On the other side of the pillar, I could hear my best friend Nick and my brother Tyler running toward my position. When I saw them, I wanted to laugh. I couldn't laugh because my face was too numb and I was starting to lose feeling in my legs. Their hair had been flash frozen by a mixture of waves and the wind.
"We need to make a run for it!" I yelled.
"I'll take point!" Nick yelled back. "Nick will follow me and you'll be behind him!"
We turned to face the town. We had done this before. Once a wave came along the pier, we'd run right behind it, trying to keep up with it before another one came up to pull us over the edge. This was dangerous, senseless, and stupid. We loved it. A big wave came and splashed over the pillar, freezing us all over again. The wave took off down the pier and we hurried after it, staying in the agreed upon order. I always chose the back, and yet, I was the lightest of us. Probably not the brightest decision.
As we ran for our lives, pretty much literally, I glanced over my shoulder and felt my heart sink. Another wave was screaming down the pier at us. It didn't look like it was going to lose power before hitting us either.
"Run!" I screamed. "This is not the time to slow down!" They didn't need any motivating, but I think it felt better to talk. Even if the wind drowned most of it out. Fully concentrating on the wave behind me was a poor option.
Despite the countless times we had done this, despite all our seasoned adventures tackling the massive waves on the pier at midnight, I felt the wave tackle me. I lost my footing immediately, stumbling in my boots. I clutched to the stone of the pier, nothing to really hold on to. I was really just trying to keep myself from going over. As the wave had me in its grip, I felt myself slipping.
"Damn it!" I growled, trying to hold on. "Damn it, not now!"
The wave passed and fell back into the rest of the water, harmless to me now. I looked to my right. I was inches from the edge. I got to my feet and started again, staying ahead of the waves this time. Nick and Tyler were far ahead. I wasn't sure if they trusted me to stay safe or if they had really abandoned me, but I had to find out. Another wave came from my left, soaking me again. I wasn't toppled, but I was cold. So cold it actually hurt. When I finally caught up to the others, they patted my shoulder.
"You all right? We saw you slow down and the wave caught you!" Nick explained. The wind had died down now that we were away from the pier.
"I'm fine," I assured him and my silent, but noticeably concerned brother. "Just wet."
As we walked back to Nick's car that night, covered in water from head to toe, we took one last glance back at the monster that was the lake.
"We'll have to go back next week," I laughed. "I'm not letting that lake push me around twice."
"Sounds good to me," Tyler grinned.
We had survived another journey into the volatile, frozen water. It wouldn't be our last.
Lloyd's:
The Road's Water
Kent’s team of five Adepts rode alongside a gurgling stream, as they took the beaten track toward Akkad. The track itself had naturally developed beside the stream, as a source of water was necessary for travelers and they were often reluctant to leave it. This was the case for the Adepts as well, and as the sun reached its zenith, Kent called a halt and dismounted, his Adepts following his example. They led their horses to the stream’s bank, careful to ensure that the eroded slope did not give way under them. As five of them sat to drink and refill their canteens, Kent spoke. “Ephraim, it’s your turn for the watch.”
“Of course, Brother-Lieutenant.” Ephraim saluted and returned to the roadside, keeping his eyes peeled for any who might approach. It was mostly a formality, as few would dare attack a group of Chantry Adepts and the odds of them meeting someone out in the middle of nowhere was slim, but the Chantry’s soldiers had not become as skilled and experienced as they were by taking chances.
The water was crystal clear, and while that was not an indicator of its cleanliness, this water was as clean as a stream got, simply because one of the local lords had taken it upon himself to ensure that travelers through his land wouldn’t die of water poisoning. He wouldn’t get tariff revenue if merchants died travelling through his land, after all. For this reason his soldiers (he’d managed to avoid lessening the road patrols through some martial trickery when the King had called for his lords’ troops to be marshaled) patrolled the road and would remove anything that risked contaminating the water, the most commonly cited example being dead animals. This also made it much more difficult for highwaymen to ply their trade, which was also a bonus for everyone involved.
While it was no well, the stream provided all that the Adepts found they needed for the moment. They poured the water that they’d kept in their canteens into the stream and refilled them, replacing water which had been warming in the hot sun for hours with the relatively cooler water of a running stream, borne from the cool places beneath the earth. On Kent’s instruction, one of the other Adepts went to replace Ephraim as the watchman and allowed him to renew his water supply as well.
The Adepts allowed the horses to drink to their hearts’ content, as it was even more important for horses to stay hydrated than for humans. Once the horses indicated no more interest in the stream, they set out again.
55555's: (Note: I went five minutes over the limit. Oops.)
Mr. Bissington entered, he appeared to be in a highly agitated state, though he was attempting to conceal the fact.
I knew Benjamin Bissington only by reputation, but he had quite a reputation. He'd been treading the fine line between unethical and illegal business practices for decades. He is a master in his field.
He hasn't said a word and I'm already interested in what his scheme is. Few people come to my penthouse unless they are on business, and something big.
"What can I do for you, Mr Bissington?," I said, one corner of my mouth twitching upward.
He sat down on the other side of the desk, his briefcase in his lap. For a moment I wondered how much the various pieces of information in that briefcase was worth, to him, or (though they would call it evidence) to the authorities.
"Mr. Owens, I have a proposition to make."
I gestured, signaling him to proceed.
"This is of a highly sensitive nature. Are there any recorders or secretaries within earshot?"
I shook my head. This was getting better and better.
He looked a bit uneasy, but he continued, "Before I tel you my plan, I would like to know if you have the capital to be of use to the syndicate I am assembling, Mr. Owens."
I raised an eyebrow. He named a sum.
"What?!" I knocked my chair over as I shot out of it. I was a rich man, an exceedingly rich man, but this figure would strain my accounts to the very limit. I'd have to sell my stocks (low), possibly one or two of my homes (houses).
It was his turn to smile. "To judge the cost without hearing the rewards is a woman's game, Mr. Owens. I wouldn't have expected it of you. Allow me finish."
I righted my chair but I declined to sit down. I stood with one hand on th back of the chair, looking down at this smiling crook, a medley of emotions on my face. Astonishment, anger, but also curiosity, and the beginnings of wonder.
"What I propose is essentially a monopolizing scheme. A ridiculously legal, beautifully simple, insanely far reaching, monopoly scheme."
"Have you ever though how much the world would be willing to pay, if you bought all the water on Earth?"
I may have passed out.
---
I blinked repeatedly.
"All the water on Earth?"
He nodded.
"Every drop?"
"Yes Mr. Owens. I have the necessary purchases here. The world's supplies of water are held in surprisingly few hands, Mr Owens. A few large purchases, a couple dozen mid level purchases, and another few dozen geologically significant ones, and the profits would just pour in."
"Put my name down, for the sum you named."
---
I looked out over a reservoir, the sun glinting down on the small waves, one of the many owned by my conglomerate. I reflected on our operation, its immediate success, and the projections of the profits to come.
Then one of my interns ran up to me.
"What's happened?"
"Sir, our capital seems to be evaporating."
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Respite
Rene's:
http://www.bzpower.com/board/index.php?app=blog&module=display§ion=blog&blogid=398&showentry=115078
Lloyd's:
Katar groaned, placing his head in both hands. He was screwed, and he knew it. This was merely the calm before the storm. According to the survivors of the battle, the Chantry forces (as per their reputation) had obliterated the host sent against them. They would be out for blood now, Katar knew, and their eyes would be squarely set of Akkad itself—and with the King dead, he was now responsible for its defense. He looked down at the reports from the armory and laid his head down on his desk. The vast majority of the weapons that had been in the city armory had been taken to equip the King’s army, and those were now scattered across the carrion-birds’ feast. His manpower was hardly better, only a hundred men. Maybe enough to hold off a besieging army until the King returned, but neither the King nor any of his men would be returning now. He really only had one option to avoid the utter destruction of the city, and that was to surrender. Politically, that would have unpleasant consequences, but alive and out of a job was better than employed and dead.
He stood up, looking out at the starry sky above. Meteors flashed across the sky, and Katar could not help but imagine some Chantry Adept calling down such fire from the skies to burn Katar’s home to ashes. He grimaced and decided it’d become far too late for him to do any reasonable work. He pinched the wick of the candle, killing the flame which danced there, and departed.
He arrived at his personal quarters shortly thereafter. For a Captain of the Akkadian Guard, his room was noticeably sparse, with the exception of a tapestry hung next to the door. The figures of a man and his wife, as well as three children, were embroidered there. The man carried the youngest boy on one arm, and on the whole it was clear that the family was content and happy. The tapestry itself was clearly old, with small signs of home-done repair around the edges. The colors had begun to fade, preserved only by the eternal shade of the indoors. Katar allowed his mind to go back to more pleasant days.
Just think…Once I’m dead no one will even remember their names. The grim thought came unbidden to his mind, reminding him of the looming fate which awaited him. He tried to banish it from his mind, but it would not leave. I wonder who will do the deed? The Chantry, for being a retainer of the King? Or the court, for surrendering to the Chantry?
He shifted to lay facedown on the straw mattress, the sheet doing little to ease his discomfort. There was no respite here, not for him.
Evan's:
http://ashardofdream.wordpress.com/2012/05/04/respite-from-pain/
Grant's:
Too Many Steps
55555's:
Phil walked up to the bed and closed his small suitcase, clicking both the locks into place. He left out his Glock, he didn't plan on needing it.
He was going on a holiday. He needed a break after all he'd been through, some time to relax and recover from the toils and worries of his work.
"We haven't had a vacation in a long time, eh Rocky?" he said aloud, speaking to his Great Bernard. He didn't have any family anymore, and no one in his line for work could think of stating one, his dog had to fill that gap.
He smiled as he recalled the conversation he;'d had with his secretary.
"What are you going to do on your vacation, Lieutenant?"
"Nothing Marcie, absolutely nothing."
Phil was just going to relax, get some sun, and read some books he hadn't had time for. If that.
An hour later he was at the airport, boarding a plane for Elsewhere, Preferably-With-A-Beach, England.
The flight was smooth, smoother than many he'd been on, though those were for other reasons.
Phil stepped off the bottom step, silently happy at arriving on these foreign shores. This was out of his jurisdiction, he'd have no choice but to get some rest. He wondered where he could go to retrieve Rock. The wind swept the runway, the clouds were breaking up, and the sun was beginning to shine through.
And suddenly, he realized something was wrong.
He had been looking past the stewardess at the entrance to the terminal, and she had suddenly stiffened. He watched her face closely, slowly realizing what was behind him.
A voice spoke. A hammer cocked.
"You won't leave this country alive, Lieutenant White."
http://www.bzpower.com/board/index.php?app=blog&module=display§ion=blog&blogid=398&showentry=115078
Lloyd's:
Katar groaned, placing his head in both hands. He was screwed, and he knew it. This was merely the calm before the storm. According to the survivors of the battle, the Chantry forces (as per their reputation) had obliterated the host sent against them. They would be out for blood now, Katar knew, and their eyes would be squarely set of Akkad itself—and with the King dead, he was now responsible for its defense. He looked down at the reports from the armory and laid his head down on his desk. The vast majority of the weapons that had been in the city armory had been taken to equip the King’s army, and those were now scattered across the carrion-birds’ feast. His manpower was hardly better, only a hundred men. Maybe enough to hold off a besieging army until the King returned, but neither the King nor any of his men would be returning now. He really only had one option to avoid the utter destruction of the city, and that was to surrender. Politically, that would have unpleasant consequences, but alive and out of a job was better than employed and dead.
He stood up, looking out at the starry sky above. Meteors flashed across the sky, and Katar could not help but imagine some Chantry Adept calling down such fire from the skies to burn Katar’s home to ashes. He grimaced and decided it’d become far too late for him to do any reasonable work. He pinched the wick of the candle, killing the flame which danced there, and departed.
He arrived at his personal quarters shortly thereafter. For a Captain of the Akkadian Guard, his room was noticeably sparse, with the exception of a tapestry hung next to the door. The figures of a man and his wife, as well as three children, were embroidered there. The man carried the youngest boy on one arm, and on the whole it was clear that the family was content and happy. The tapestry itself was clearly old, with small signs of home-done repair around the edges. The colors had begun to fade, preserved only by the eternal shade of the indoors. Katar allowed his mind to go back to more pleasant days.
Just think…Once I’m dead no one will even remember their names. The grim thought came unbidden to his mind, reminding him of the looming fate which awaited him. He tried to banish it from his mind, but it would not leave. I wonder who will do the deed? The Chantry, for being a retainer of the King? Or the court, for surrendering to the Chantry?
He shifted to lay facedown on the straw mattress, the sheet doing little to ease his discomfort. There was no respite here, not for him.
Evan's:
http://ashardofdream.wordpress.com/2012/05/04/respite-from-pain/
Grant's:
Too Many Steps
Having been on the chase for so long, the small feline
patters his footsteps into the nearest pipeline. His fur is wet and soggy, and
he’s been running for too long without food. Very hungry, the small cat
cautiously sticks its head out from the hole. The rain is pouring down on his
head, but he checks and sees the tall scaffolding around him, the fence that
encloses the construction site … and the stray dog that’s taking steps though
the mud.
The dog’s eyes look evil, and narrow. It’s just as hungry,
the cat knows.
Breathing in and out, he retreats back into the small steel
pipe and curls up into a ball right near the center of its length.
Slowly shutting its eyes, and tightly, it listens for more
than the constant downpour of rain, drumming a repeated echo and rhythm as it
hits the metal.
Slosh…
The cat reopens its eyes, hearing something unnatural in the
rain, beyond his small sanctuary.
Slosh…
And right outside, he sees the feet of the Dog as it walks
by, one leg soaking wet with muddy fur, the other bare with bite marks. For a
moment the cat doesn’t breathe, just watches with its yellow eyes, still as
stone.
The canine moves on.
And when all the cat can hear is the rain pattering, it
slowly recloses its eyes and begins to breathe again. He thinks about how dry
it is here, and safe. There aren’t too many places like that. So for the
moment, he decides to rest. Maybe he’ll even sleep, for as long as he can.
Velox's:
The campanile struck midnight. Six hours left. Six hours until I would
be killed, executed. Executed because I had done what only others
dreamed of doing; killing all those annoying politicians who thought
that they were always right, that they were above everyone else.
I showed them they weren't. I struck out against them, laying a powerful blow to the political system of California before I was caught by that lowlife detective.
Just thinking of his name, the friend caused a burning rage to fuel inside my being. One mistake. That was it, just one ###### mistake. I allowed myself to enjoy my work a little too much. Decided to go further than just simply killing them.
And it had cost me. Cost me my life, my work. I knew it was my obligation to rid the world of those corrupt beings, but he stopped me. I hated him for that. He was just too stupid to understand the importance in what I did. The necessity of my actions.
Of course it didn't change that much. I had followers, many, and they excitedly took up what I had left behind. Riots were started, more people killed, and most importantly: the world understood that something could be done against the politicians.
But I needed more time. More time to work with my successor: a young man who had visited me several weeks before. After only five minutes I knew he was the one. The one to continue my legacy.
So I bashed my head against the wall of my cell repeatedly. Those morons, needing their prisoners to be in perfect health before they were able to be killed. So I continued until there was a large gash in my skull, the wound bleeding profusely. Now I had a little more time before my execution. To prepare my disciple for his future work.
I showed them they weren't. I struck out against them, laying a powerful blow to the political system of California before I was caught by that lowlife detective.
Just thinking of his name, the friend caused a burning rage to fuel inside my being. One mistake. That was it, just one ###### mistake. I allowed myself to enjoy my work a little too much. Decided to go further than just simply killing them.
And it had cost me. Cost me my life, my work. I knew it was my obligation to rid the world of those corrupt beings, but he stopped me. I hated him for that. He was just too stupid to understand the importance in what I did. The necessity of my actions.
Of course it didn't change that much. I had followers, many, and they excitedly took up what I had left behind. Riots were started, more people killed, and most importantly: the world understood that something could be done against the politicians.
But I needed more time. More time to work with my successor: a young man who had visited me several weeks before. After only five minutes I knew he was the one. The one to continue my legacy.
So I bashed my head against the wall of my cell repeatedly. Those morons, needing their prisoners to be in perfect health before they were able to be killed. So I continued until there was a large gash in my skull, the wound bleeding profusely. Now I had a little more time before my execution. To prepare my disciple for his future work.
55555's:
Phil walked up to the bed and closed his small suitcase, clicking both the locks into place. He left out his Glock, he didn't plan on needing it.
He was going on a holiday. He needed a break after all he'd been through, some time to relax and recover from the toils and worries of his work.
"We haven't had a vacation in a long time, eh Rocky?" he said aloud, speaking to his Great Bernard. He didn't have any family anymore, and no one in his line for work could think of stating one, his dog had to fill that gap.
He smiled as he recalled the conversation he;'d had with his secretary.
"What are you going to do on your vacation, Lieutenant?"
"Nothing Marcie, absolutely nothing."
Phil was just going to relax, get some sun, and read some books he hadn't had time for. If that.
An hour later he was at the airport, boarding a plane for Elsewhere, Preferably-With-A-Beach, England.
The flight was smooth, smoother than many he'd been on, though those were for other reasons.
Phil stepped off the bottom step, silently happy at arriving on these foreign shores. This was out of his jurisdiction, he'd have no choice but to get some rest. He wondered where he could go to retrieve Rock. The wind swept the runway, the clouds were breaking up, and the sun was beginning to shine through.
And suddenly, he realized something was wrong.
He had been looking past the stewardess at the entrance to the terminal, and she had suddenly stiffened. He watched her face closely, slowly realizing what was behind him.
A voice spoke. A hammer cocked.
"You won't leave this country alive, Lieutenant White."
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Stars
55555's:
I pushed the lever to the off position, another star mined. I'm a space mineral gatherer, we still go by the archaic moniker of miners here in the Far Arm of Andromeda.
Long ago all the stars anywhere remotely near Earth-Home were mined for their energy and materials, their lights extinguished as they joined the nothingness of the void. Polaris, Alpha Centauri, Betelgeuse even, and many, many more. Indeed, the whole Milky Way Galaxy is devoid of any significant stars, stripped of its gems like a stolen crown. The heat and the matter, the light and the atoms. Now that we're getting farther and farther from base our profit margins have been getting lower and lower. Our over-speed engines are of course super-luminal, but the energy needed to get from Point A to Point B is almost as much as we get from a load of stars.
After the sun was consumed by our harvester, I set the coordinates back to Earth-Home. This got tedious, but it was worth our while to ride the beam of each star back to earth, consuming the light that was en route while delivering our load.
I hit a few well chosen button, selecting and beginning the seemingly short journey to the next of God's beacons. I looked down at the energy meter, we had to use the power derived from the last sun. We made a bit of a profit, but we'd have to darken many more before the shift was over.
I sighed as we slowed and wrapped our slaying limbs around the latest sun. It was only numbered, no real name, but who knows how many times it has been seen from Earth-Home, bringing its faint light of the lightyears. The beams spilled through the gaps in the sun's encasement, flickering, thrashing, and dying.
Lloyd's:
Kakaru's:
http://supergoggles.wordpress.com/2012/05/02/needless/
Evan's:
http://ashardofdream.wordpress.com/2012/05/03/557/
I pushed the lever to the off position, another star mined. I'm a space mineral gatherer, we still go by the archaic moniker of miners here in the Far Arm of Andromeda.
Long ago all the stars anywhere remotely near Earth-Home were mined for their energy and materials, their lights extinguished as they joined the nothingness of the void. Polaris, Alpha Centauri, Betelgeuse even, and many, many more. Indeed, the whole Milky Way Galaxy is devoid of any significant stars, stripped of its gems like a stolen crown. The heat and the matter, the light and the atoms. Now that we're getting farther and farther from base our profit margins have been getting lower and lower. Our over-speed engines are of course super-luminal, but the energy needed to get from Point A to Point B is almost as much as we get from a load of stars.
After the sun was consumed by our harvester, I set the coordinates back to Earth-Home. This got tedious, but it was worth our while to ride the beam of each star back to earth, consuming the light that was en route while delivering our load.
I hit a few well chosen button, selecting and beginning the seemingly short journey to the next of God's beacons. I looked down at the energy meter, we had to use the power derived from the last sun. We made a bit of a profit, but we'd have to darken many more before the shift was over.
I sighed as we slowed and wrapped our slaying limbs around the latest sun. It was only numbered, no real name, but who knows how many times it has been seen from Earth-Home, bringing its faint light of the lightyears. The beams spilled through the gaps in the sun's encasement, flickering, thrashing, and dying.
Lloyd's:
Kakaru's:
http://supergoggles.wordpress.com/2012/05/02/needless/
Evan's:
http://ashardofdream.wordpress.com/2012/05/03/557/
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