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 Posted: Wed Apr 13, 2005 1:24 pm Post subject: Sol's Revenge |
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Well this story isn't the best and I don't think it will win against some of these other amazing ones but here's mine. GUYS WITH CONFUSING NAMES FOREVER! 
“Marx, report to the main tower immediately.” Despite the static’s attempt Marx recognized the voice, he had known it too long not to.
Marx rose from the chair in his office and headed immediately for the door, it would be important, it always was. The soft blood red carpet muffled the sound of his footsteps as he walked down the long hallways. His highly polished shoes were always so loud against common tile or wood that it was nice not to be bothered by it. Turning left he continued on towards the heart of the structure.
Occasionally he would pass others in the halls and acknowledge them with a greeting or nod. There were so many people he didn’t care to try and learn many names, though they all knew his. A security officer asked for I.D. at the door, and let him pass. The next area he enjoyed the most, it provided relief from the cramped hallways he was forced to travel through.
The corridor he was in had one long window along each side, allowing an unobstructed view to either side. As he gazed out at the sprawling city around him, he thought about his lovely wife and two children safely at home. The city was enormous, providing everything people needed. Most of all though Marx gazed out towards the enormous glass dome encompassing the entire area.
It was kept clean to allow everyone to look out at the surrounding world, to help hide the fact that they could never leave. Not that anyone cared to leave, they had all chose to come of their own free will. The great city was free of the pollution that choked everything around it. Their was never any need to open any part of the dome, the forest to the east of the city provided air.
Though it was slightly less effective the construction and production of power was done completely without pollution of any kind. It truly was a paradise in the world of strife and chaos they were forced to live in. Abruptly his view and daydreaming was cut off as the window ended and he was snapped back to the reality of what he was doing.
Slowly the interior changed to the architecture of the Middle Ages, which Marx found annoying, but he seemed to enjoy it. Maybe it was finally time, time to put the plan into action, they had waited all those years. Patience had been crucial, but time was running out, they would have to act before long.
At the last security checkpoint before the tower, he had to prove who he was with voice and finger print confirmation in front of the heavily armed guards stationed around the tower. The tower was the only building that penetrated the dome, but that was all a part of their plan. After several minutes of checking and evaluation he was allowed through. There he was greeted by the man who owned all of it, the city, the building, everything, his friend and partner, Sol.
His blonde hair was far different from Marx’s dark brown and the casual clothes he wore compared to Marx’s formal attire. No one would ever guess he was one of the world’s most powerful men. Of course, he wanted it that way.
“Marx, it’s finally time, everything is ready, and the plan can be set into motion,” Sol spoke excitedly, he was impatient to begin.
“You’re sure everything is ready Sol? We can’t afford any mistakes now,” Marx answered warily.
“Yes yes, everything has been accounted for, I’m sure we can finally proceed and fix everything that has been done wrong.”
Sol turned crisply and walked towards the elevator, motioning for Marx to follow. As soon as Marx stepped aboard the elevator rocketed upwards, towards the top of the enormous tower. In no more than ten seconds they had ascended over 100 stories to the tip. Sol exited the elevator with Marx on his heels.
The room was nearly bare aside from a structure in the center that appeared to be nothing more than a glass bubble hooked into the floor. It contained several computer terminals inside and had large metal cords running up the sides to connect to a red object on the top. Marx had never seen it before, true he had seen the blueprints for it but not in person. He was shocked at how simple yet complex it appeared.
“This is it Marx, this is how we take revenge on the world, how everything will be done in one fantastic moment. Everything we’ve planned, after all the work we’ve gone through, is it not thrilling to finally be at the end? It is complete, all that is needed to take revenge on humanity and what it has done to the world is here, in this small device.” Sol ran a hand along the side as he spoke.
“You know what to do after this is activated Marx, we’ve gone through it a hundred times. Everything needed to rebuild humanity in the right direction is here, in the city. The DNA of everything else that will be destroyed is still in the labs, waiting to be activated. Marx, do your best to aid humanity in living with the world, not against it.”
“What are you talking about Sol, we will both be here to see to it that everything works just as it needs to afterwards. You’re speaking as if you won’t be there to see it yourself,” Marx said worriedly.
Sol continued on as if he hadn’t heard him speak, and entered the machine. “All that is needed to complete this, and set everything right, is the life of one man.”
Marx understood now, and moved to stop him, he couldn’t let him sacrifice himself. He was too important to everything, he had done it all himself, Sol was the one who couldn’t die.
“No Marx, as my last request, allow me to do this, allow me to set everything right. This is my final task on this Earth, and I ask that you let me fulfill it.” As he spoke the entrance to the bubble closed, and Sol touched the panels inside with his hands.
The machine was lifted as the floor it was attached to moved steadily upward, toward the very roof of the tower. The tower’s upper floor split open from the top, and the machine the blonde man was in rose with it. Energy spiked through the metal cords as they passed the great dome, and continued in a steady stream as the red object glowed brightly.
Sol collapsed to the floor of the bubble as pure energy washed outward from the red piece on top of the cords of metal. It spread outward rapidly, ignoring the glass dome and the city within it the energy spread outward, destroying everything in its path. Marx turned back towards the elevator, there was work to do now that everything was done.
With one last look at the glass bubble, he spoke. “Goodbye Sol.”
As the energy spread outward towards the surrounding cities, screams were heard as people attempted to run from the powerful force approaching them. As they died, one last thought echoed through their minds that was not their own. It said one word, one terrible, defining word, that meant everything, and nothing. One final word for everything that had been done. Revenge.
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ethereal_fauna
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| Posted: Wed Apr 13, 2005 2:01 pm Post subject: |
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Very chilling- a revenge on all the wrongs mankind has inflicted on the environment. Good story.
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The maker of a sentence launches out into the infinite and builds a road into Chaos and old Night, and is followed by those who hear him with something of wild, creative delight. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
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Muaddib
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| Posted: Thu Apr 14, 2005 7:10 am Post subject: |
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Alright folks!!!!!!!Here's mine!!!!!!!
Sol peered through his spanking new binoculars, at Don's pad. It was nothing short of fabulous. It was pretty clear how the Don man had risen through the ranks of the 'congloromate, and reached such a powerful position in such a short time. His house and its location clearly demonstrated his wealth.
Sol was hidden behind a large oak tree. He clearly saw three sentries patrolling the perimeter of Don's house. Now was not the time to strike. He would have to wait. Not that he minded, he had all day to finish what he had come here to do.
He settled down on the freshly mowed grass and rested his back against the wood. His thoughts raced back to that very afternoon, when, during pouring rain, he had been humiliated in front of his posse, by this very Don. In one hour of terrible defeat, his throne at the top of the heirachy, one that he had held for five uncontested years, had not only been rocked, but had been forced into a tremendous collapse.
He let tears of pain wash his ragged face. He tried to stem the tide of tears, but failed to do so. His hands went up to his face automatically and hid the silent flood that had begun. These shows of weakness only stiffened his resolve to take the war to the Don himself.
After half an hour, he got his chance to penetrate the perimeter of the magnificient house. Running fast but silently, he crossed the wide green lawns and before the sentries were back in place, he was already safely hidden inside the estate.
The secret layer of the house was easy to find. Unlike Sol, the Don was overconfident and made no efforts to hide his most important hideout.
Sol climbed the ladder lithely, and took stock of the hideout. He was pleased to find that the layer was completely devoid of people. He felt like rampaging through the place, but just managed to control himself.
His mouth opened in bewilderment as he scanned the Don's most precious items. There were wads of the golden and shiny currency which were so important to the men of Sol's calibre. He saw a fresh pile of cash lying on a table.This had been Sol's money just a few hours back.
Sol was furious. He couldn't steal his money back, that would break the sacred honour code, but he could create havoc.
"I'm bringing the war to you, you filth,"he shouted as he tore up the money and crushed the exotic food.
But all this paled in comparison to what he found next. It was Don's most precious item. The legendary weapon with which he had defeated Sol. In righteous anger, Sol crushed the offending piece...
Some time later, a nine year old boy, Don Hughes, entered his tree house and let out a shrill scream. His wads of Pokemon cards had been shredded and his gumballs crushed, but worst of all, his precious Playstation controller had been broken.
"The war has begun Sol!"he cried.
Last edited by Muaddib on Fri Apr 15, 2005 7:15 am; edited 1 time in total
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| Posted: Thu Apr 14, 2005 8:38 am Post subject: |
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i love that one Muadibb! sort of on the same lines as fauna's, yet original. dammit, now i don't know which one to vote for!
i don't think i am going to have time to enter this one - my story wasn't very good anyways.
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ethereal_fauna
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| Posted: Thu Apr 14, 2005 9:20 am Post subject: |
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I liked it as well. Very foreboding until the end, where the whole revenge theme lightens up. There are several good entries this month.
_________________
The maker of a sentence launches out into the infinite and builds a road into Chaos and old Night, and is followed by those who hear him with something of wild, creative delight. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
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| Posted: Thu Apr 14, 2005 12:19 pm Post subject: |
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I wonder which one will win? My money is on fauna or Muadibb - i just love the idea of kids making everything larger than life.
("posse"? oh please  )
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Muaddib
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| Posted: Thu Apr 14, 2005 10:09 pm Post subject: |
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| I hope mine doesnt resemble fauna's too much, cuz honestly i havent read hers yet.
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ethereal_fauna
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| Posted: Fri Apr 15, 2005 3:24 am Post subject: |
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| Muaddib wrote: | | I hope mine doesnt resemble fauna's too much, cuz honestly i havent read hers yet. |
Ours both depict Sol as a child, and his revenge as a prank. That's about as far as the resemblance goes.
My version, you know Sol is a child through the whole story, and he seeks revenge on a girl who refuses him as a paramour. In your story you don't realize he is a child until the ending, and it's more of a rivalry between peers.
Right now I'm partial to Phang's story. There are several good entries, but hers just grabs my attention.
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The maker of a sentence launches out into the infinite and builds a road into Chaos and old Night, and is followed by those who hear him with something of wild, creative delight. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
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Smee
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| Posted: Fri Apr 15, 2005 8:41 am Post subject: |
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WOW - I leave for a week and suddenly there is 3 new stories.
Phang - nice and evil as expected,
My Self - A very good story, with a unique storyline.
Mauddib - Also great, and well told. As yours is the last one I read I remember it a little better and noticed this:
| Quote: | | pleased to find that the layer was completely devoid |
I think you meant 'lair'.
My Self - I did notice some errors in yours as well, and I think there is a rule on the number of errors, so you better have a quick read through - don't want a disqualification for such a good story.
With so many good stories I don't think I can justify voting for my own story now.  (although don't think you can't :wink: )
Who said we needed to advertise this more - it's much easier with only 3 stories to compete with.
With so many stories we may have to try and collate them all together somehow for the vote.
Well done everybody.
_________________
The path of my life is strewn with cowpats from the Devil's own Satanic Herd!
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| Posted: Fri Apr 15, 2005 6:24 pm Post subject: |
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| Really, I honestly can't find it any outright errors although I suck at proofreading my own work. If anyone cares to point them out I would be very greatful.
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Smee
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| Posted: Fri Apr 15, 2005 11:53 pm Post subject: |
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My mistake - another read through and I can't spot anything so I guess I must have been half asleep the first time. 
But now I have your attention - when do we get some more of The Last War?
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The path of my life is strewn with cowpats from the Devil's own Satanic Herd!
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| Posted: Sat Apr 16, 2005 12:45 pm Post subject: |
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| Smee, I have you hooked, it's like a drug isn't it Smee? MUAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!! Seriously though, it should be soon, maybe even tomorrow.
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| Posted: Wed Apr 20, 2005 3:34 pm Post subject: |
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I'm with ethereal on the lets/let's question. Let's does mean "let us" and that's probably what your stupid spell checker thinks you mean. Try rearranging the words to "lets his revenge fly" and see if it doesn't pass it. There are too many apostrophes in the world!
Also "oesophagus" is an old-fashioned way to spell esophagus, not a real error.
- Mother Goose
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Mother Goose
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| Posted: Thu Apr 21, 2005 8:59 am Post subject: |
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| Weird, now I can't find what I was replying to! Did I get into the wrong thread? Oh well.
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ethereal_fauna
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| Posted: Thu Apr 21, 2005 10:28 am Post subject: |
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| Mother Goose wrote: | | Weird, now I can't find what I was replying to! Did I get into the wrong thread? Oh well. |
ROFL Mother Goose is as bad as I am. 
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The maker of a sentence launches out into the infinite and builds a road into Chaos and old Night, and is followed by those who hear him with something of wild, creative delight. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
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kenshin himura
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| Posted: Fri Apr 22, 2005 7:22 am Post subject: |
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some times that happens as a hidden mystery.
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(a hunchback does not see his own hunch. -folk saying)
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Smee
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| Posted: Wed May 11, 2005 1:18 am Post subject: |
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Time for a new month's competition:
You will have about 3 weeks to write a short story, edit it, and post it for consideration.
Proof readers will take your story, break it down, make sure it fits the word limit, grammar, spelling, plot, character development, etc. are all present and correct.
You can make changes to your story all the way up to the final posting date. After that, the stories that have not passed the critique will be disqualified. Those that are left will be put up for a vote for anyone to vote on.
If you win, you get to brag for a whole month.
This will be run like a professional writing contest. Your story will be edited, picked apart, and thoroughly looked at. If you exceed more than ten spelling or grammar errors, your story will be given back to you to rewrite. So check your work.
If your work goes over the word limit it will be given back to shorten. If it remains the same length it will be disqualified.
If your story does not follow the topic and genre, it will be given back to you to rewrite.
Things that must be right vs. artistic freedom- There are things like plot, and flow that might be your intent. That is totally cool. A proof reader might suggest that you pick up the pace or add more detail here and there. That is your choice to do or not. If you feel the story can stand on its own without change that is fine. Spelling, grammar, genre, word count, etc. are expected to be correct, no exceptions.
If you are proofreading- Look for spelling and grammar mistakes first. Word count comes next. Then answer the following questions for the story.
Did it stay within the genre?
Did it follow the topic?
Did it have a beginning, middle, and an end?
After you have done this feel free to comment on the story as you see fit. Bear in mind that anything beyond what is listed above is pretty much considered opinion. This can be taken or left by the author.
The genre and topic for this month:
1500 words on...
a Horror story involving a crossbow, a horse and a hat.
The rest of the details are up to you. How the three items are used is completely up to you. So long as they are involved in some way.
Deadline = 4th June 2005
Happy Writing.
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The path of my life is strewn with cowpats from the Devil's own Satanic Herd!
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| Posted: Wed May 11, 2005 3:57 am Post subject: |
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| I don't know if I can do a horror story so I'm probably out for this month. I'm currently working on my newest chapter just to let Smee know.
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Muaddib
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| Posted: Wed May 11, 2005 9:19 am Post subject: |
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| Did you have to mention the 4th June deadline, I have two exams on that day and it left me a nervous wreck. Thanks a lot Smee
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Smee
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| Posted: Wed May 11, 2005 12:41 pm Post subject: |
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Come on MySelf - Horror will be a unique experience for me as well. Give it your best shot.
Like the last one, I'm sure there can be a few days leniency so don't worry Muaddib. Get the exams sorted first, and then worry about the story. Either that or just do a little bit during revision breaks.
Happy Writing. 
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The path of my life is strewn with cowpats from the Devil's own Satanic Herd!
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Muaddib
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| Posted: Wed May 11, 2005 6:04 pm Post subject: |
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| I think you misunderstood me, smee, when I said I was a nervous wreck it was cuz i had forgotten bout my exams and then you reminded me, I might not even enter this month's cmp. since I suck at horror.
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Cowofdoom666
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| Posted: Mon May 16, 2005 11:18 am Post subject: |
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| BStheGreat wrote: | | Finally Smee has gotten his share of corrections beaten into his skull. Finally the dictionary boy has been taken to school. OH YEAH!! I only wish i could have corrected him myself. Well, this cuban aint going to be wasted. Ahh... thats good. |
Ah yes. There's nothing sweeter than revenge. Well, maybe a cake. *Munch*
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| Posted: Mon May 16, 2005 4:54 pm Post subject: |
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If I have time...I'll go for it....
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 Chapter 5: The Rendezvous 
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| Posted: Fri May 20, 2005 10:52 am Post subject: |
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I'll be taking a swing at this now that life has calmed down so much. New job is awesome and I have more free time than I thought. YAY!
Now that the new chapter for Pirates, Vampires, and Ninjas, Oh My! is posted (not advertising mind you ) I can start working on this month's entry. But talk about your style shifts... horror to comedy... heheh.
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| Posted: Mon May 23, 2005 12:35 pm Post subject: |
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| This sounds fun - I'll give it a go if I have time!
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The Powers That Be
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| Posted: Thu May 26, 2005 12:38 am Post subject: |
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| Araex wrote: | | This sounds fun - I'll give it a go if I have time! |
My sentiments exactly. And as it happens, we're running a 1500-hour system demo at work that has to be monitored 24/7, so I'm going to be pulling a lot of midnight-8am shifts (over and above regular hours, of course). So it looks like I will, in fact, have the time.
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Smee
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| Posted: Thu May 26, 2005 1:40 am Post subject: |
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Excellent - you certainly are a good explorer, hunting out these threads. I look forward to your entry.
*wanders off clutching belt to himself - I'm so going to lose it this month.*
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tobias_stump
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| Posted: Fri May 27, 2005 9:45 am Post subject: i'll take a shot at it. |
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Normally i write way over any decent word count (see opening the doors, my sci-fi book, if you don't know what i'm talking about), so i guess i should try a shortish-story format. i'll only have a few days to work on this... two days? brutal time limit. o well, i'm not expecting to win.
hm... a crossbow, a horse,... and a hat? you had to throw in the hat!
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tobias_stump
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| Posted: Fri May 27, 2005 12:58 pm Post subject: |
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ok, here's my story. surprisingly, i had extra space left.
“Come on, Marley, put your back into it! We need this field plowed by Monday, else Baron Gerald will be comin’ for ye, and ye don’t want that, now do ye?”
Marley snorted in reply. The horse wasn’t interested in doing another row hitched to the plow, and it decided that fertilizing the fields was a better option.
“Ah, you’re a cursed useless beast!” Jonathan said, unhitching the plow from Marley. “But I can’t get rid of you, else Ma would have my hide.”
After stabling Marley with the livestock, Jonathan went inside the farmhouse to see what his wife, Rose, had cooked up for dinner. Lately, dinner had started consisting of empty bellies, thanks to Baron Gerald’s tax.
“What’s for dinner, Darlin’?”
Rose sighed. “Half a tater each, and some news. Gerald’s taxmen, Rojer, went through our larder today. In exchange for our latest crop, he told us about Gerald’s collapsed leech pit. He’ll pay some lucky man to dig a new one for ‘im.”
“I knew Rojer was alright,” Jonathan said. “A bit of paying work will keep us fed for a bit longer. Funny, isn’t it, how Gerald takes our food and gives it back.” At this Rose looked around cautiously, checking for inspectors.
“You’d better watch your tongue, Jon.”
They ate their “supper” silently and went to bed.
* * *
That morning, Jonathan took his spade and went to Rojer, asking about the work.
“Ah, the new leech pit,” Rojer said sagely. “Well, you’re not the only one askin’ for it. How will you convince me that you deserve the work?” This was a cue for a bribe, and Jonathan handed over the last half-pail of berries that had been left on the berry bushes outside his cottage. With his conscience thus lubricated, Rojer told Samson where to start digging. It was a patch of bare earth, stained and odd brownish-red in several places.
“That’s the place. The pit needs to be fifteen cubits around, and twelve deep. Get yerself goin’.”
* * *
Gerald watched as his peasant dug up the grave. Soon, he’d come across the remains, and spring the curse. Then the Specter would be satisfied long enough to relinquish its hold on the chest.
A flash of movement caught Gerald’s eye. Someone, that new tax collector probably, was watching the peasant dig. The Baron wanted no witnesses. He yelled for his page to collect his crossbow. If the man lingered there at the time of the incident, he would be taken care of. Nothing must interfere.
* * *
Well, ain’t that strange, thought Jonathan as a flash of red caught his eye. Uncovering the object a bit more, he saw that it was the rotted remains of a noble’s hat.
He picked it up off the pit’s floor, and immediately a horrible stench of death, akin to the rotting intestines of a slaughtered pig, rose from under it. Jonathan choked and waved the hat to ward off the smell. A chill wind started up, which helped.
“Re……… Relea…….. Release………”
“Er, excuse me?” Jonathan asked. “Who spoke?”
When nobody replied, Jonathan shrugged and continued digging. It was hard work, he seemed to have hit a rock. He dug around it, excavating on the sides of it. Odd, the rock seemed moldy. Grey wisps covered the top of it. It almost looked like hair. And those lumps, almost like ears….
Jonathan realized that it was a man.
“Fr…… Free…… Re……”
“Oh, Sir, I’m so sorry! How did you end up in there? I’ll free you, right away!”
“Re…… RE……!”
“Yes, yes, I’ll release you, I’ll dig you out!”
“STOP!”
Jonathan thrust his spade into the ground in front of the poor sod’s head and turned to the voice. Standing on the pit’s edge was Rojer.
“Don’t release the Wraith! If you value your life, don’t uncover the Wraith’s eyes!” he yelled.
“What the hell are you talkin’ about, man?” Jonathan yelled back at Rojer.
“The pit! It’s the former Baron’s grave! He put a curse—“ Rojer abruptly stopped talking.
“What’s this about a curse?” Jonathan asked, starting to get scared.
Instead of answering, Rojer fell forward and landed, face-first, in the mud at Jonathan’s feet. A crossbow quarrel was buried halfway up its length in his skull.
Looking up the path that the shot must have taken, Jonathan saw the Baron himself franticly reloading a crossbow. Panicking, Jonathon pulled out his spade, kicking up a large clod of earth in front of the skull, and clambered out of the hole. As soon as he was free from the pit, he ran as fast as he could towards the manor gate. The cold wind blew in his face with such a force that he was bent almost double.
“Free…… freedom……Reve…. REVEN…. REVENGE!”
A whistling sound, then a fire exploded in Jonathon’s right knee. He fell heavily, and looked at his mangled leg. The crossbow bolt had gone through at a slant, from the back of his knee to the front. Splintered bits of white bone stuck out of the exit hole where the point of the bolt was visible. Blood fountained, and Jonathan gagged.
The rotting-guts smell intensified, adding to Jonathan’s gag reflex. He looked back to the pit, and saw earth exploding upwards out of it. A black fog poured forth from the wounded ground; and where it spread across the grass it left rotting patches of vegetation. Looking back at the window where the Baron had shot him from, Jonathan saw no one.
A shrieking sound drew his attention to the pit. A redness illuminated the black fog, a hellish firelight. Out of the hole he had dug came a blackened, rotting hand, and then its twin. The hands were followed by a head and shoulders as rotten and stained as the hands. From the cadaverous skull’s eye sockets blazed an intolerably bright red light, expressing fury and hatred beyond any human emotion.
“REVENGE!”
With a renewed shriek, the Wraith catapulted itself out of the pit and towards Jonathan. The thing caught him in its stare, hypnotizing him in place. He was helpless. One of the horrible, decayed hands seized his throat and lofted him high. Opening it’s grinning jaws, the Wraith gasped inwards, and Jonathan felt something inside him let go. He was sliding into its mouth…. He was surrendering to its will…. He let his soul be consumed.
* * *
Gerald smiled as the Wraith finished feeding and fell down, sated. He should have guessed that Rojer was one of them. Had he kept his composure, the undead hunter could have kept his allegiance secret. But pity had betrayed him. Such a thing had never happened to Gerald.
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BStheGreat
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| Posted: Fri May 27, 2005 4:02 pm Post subject: |
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A crossbow, a horse, and a hat? Hmm...sounds easy enough to write, and since its not June 4th yet I think Ill "Give it a go" as you british people say 8)
_________________
Ubi sunt qui ante nos fuerunt?
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tobias_stump
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| Posted: Tue May 31, 2005 7:28 am Post subject: |
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i noticed a few errors in the first draft, and i thought it ended a bit... unfinished, so i corrected some things, explained some more, tweaked this and that, and here's the new version.
by the way, do you count the character's accent as spelling mistakes? if someone in the story says "git yer stupid horse movin'!" does all that bad english count against the author? just wondering.
“Come on, Marley, put your back into it! We need this field plowed by Monday, ‘else Baron Gerald will be comin’ for ye, and ye don’t want that, now do ye?”
Marley snorted in reply. The horse wasn’t interested in doing another row hitched to the plow, and it decided that fertilizing the fields was a better option.
“Ah, you’re a cursed useless beast!” Jonathan said, unhitching the plow from Marley. “But I can’t get rid of you, else Ma would have my hide.”
After stabling Marley with the livestock, Jonathan went inside the farmhouse to see what his wife, Rose, had cooked up for dinner. Lately, dinner had started consisting of empty bellies, thanks to Baron Gerald’s tax.
“What’s for dinner, Darlin’?”
Rose sighed. “Half a tater each, and some news. Gerald’s taxmen, Rojer, went through our larder today. Lucky for us he didn’t notice our berry bushes. In exchange for our latest crop, he told us about Gerald’s collapsed latrine pit. He’ll pay some lucky man to dig a new one for ‘im.”
“I knew Rojer was alright,” Jonathan said. “A bit of paying work will keep us fed for a bit longer. Funny, isn’t it, how Gerald takes our food and gives it back.” At this Rose looked around cautiously, checking for inspectors.
“You’d better watch your tongue, Jon.”
They ate their “supper” silently and went to bed.
* * *
That morning, Jonathan took his spade and went to Rojer, asking about the work.
“Ah, the new latrine pit,” Rojer said sagely. “Well, you’re not the only one askin’ for it. How will you convince me that you deserve the work?” This was a cue for a bribe, and Jonathan handed over the last half-pail of berries that had been left on the berry bushes outside his cottage. With his conscience thus lubricated, Rojer told Jonathan where to start digging. It was a patch of bare earth, stained and odd brownish-red in several places.
“That’s the place. The pit needs to be fifteen cubits around, and twelve deep. Get yerself goin’.”
* * *
Gerald watched as his peasant dug up the grave. Soon, he’d come across the remains, and spring the curse. Then the Specter would be satisfied long enough to relinquish its hold on the inheritance.
A flash of movement caught Gerald’s eye. Someone, that new tax collector probably, was watching the peasant dig. The Baron wanted no witnesses. He yelled for his page to collect his crossbow. If the man lingered there at the time of the incident, he would be taken care of. Nothing must interfere, and the inheritance must pass to Gerald.
* * *
Well, ain’t that strange, thought Jonathan as a flash of red caught his eye. Uncovering the object a bit more, he saw that it was the rotted remains of a noble’s hat.
He picked it up off the pit’s floor, and immediately a horrible stench of death, akin to the rotting intestines of a slaughtered pig, rose from under it. Jonathan choked and waved the hat to ward off the smell. A chill wind started up, which helped.
“Re……… Relea…….. Release………”
“Er, excuse me?” Jonathan asked. “Who spoke?”
When nobody replied, Jonathan shrugged and continued digging. It was hard work, he seemed to have hit a rock. He dug around it, excavating to the sides. Odd, the rock seemed moldy. Grey wisps covered the top of it. It almost looked like hair. And those lumps, almost like ears….
Jonathan realized that it was a man.
“Fr…… Free…… Re……”
“Oh, Sir, I’m so sorry! How did you end up in there? I’ll free you, right away!”
“Re…… RE……!”
“Yes, yes, I’ll release you, I’ll dig you out!”
“STOP!”
Jonathan thrust his spade into the ground in front of the poor sod’s head and turned to the voice. Standing on the pit’s edge was Rojer.
“Don’t release the Wraith! If you value your life, don’t uncover the Wraith’s eyes!” he yelled.
“What the hell are you talkin’ about, man?” Jonathan yelled back at Rojer.
“The pit! It’s the former Baron’s grave! He put a curse—“ Rojer abruptly stopped talking.
“What’s this about a curse?” Jonathan asked, starting to get scared.
Instead of answering, Rojer fell forward and landed, face-first, in the mud at Jonathan’s feet. A crossbow quarrel was buried halfway up its length in his skull.
Looking up the path that the shot must have taken, Jonathan saw the Baron himself franticly reloading a crossbow. Panicking, Jonathon pulled out his spade, kicking up a large clod of earth in front of the skull, and clambered out of the hole. As soon as he was free from the pit, he ran as fast as he could towards the manor gate. The cold wind blew in his face with such a force that he was bent almost double.
“Free…… freedom……Reve…. REVEN…. REVENGE!”
A whistling sound, then a fire exploded in Jonathon’s right knee. He fell heavily, and looked at his mangled leg. The crossbow bolt had gone through at a slant, from the back of his knee to the front. Splintered bits of white bone stuck out of the exit hole where the point of the bolt was visible. Blood fountained, and Jonathan gagged.
The rotting-guts smell intensified, adding to Jonathan’s gag reflex. He looked back to the pit, and saw earth exploding upwards out of it. A black fog poured forth from the wounded ground; and where it spread across the grass it left rotting patches of vegetation. Looking back at the window where the Baron had shot him from, Jonathan saw no one.
A shrieking sound drew his attention to the pit. A redness illuminated the black fog, a hellish firelight. Out of the hole he had dug came a blackened, rotting hand, and then its twin. The hands were followed by a head and shoulders as rotten and stained as the hands. From the cadaverous skull’s eye sockets blazed an intolerably bright red light, expressing fury and hatred beyond any human emotion.
“REVENGE!”
With a renewed shriek, the Wraith catapulted itself out of the pit and towards Jonathan. The thing caught him in its stare, hypnotizing him in place. He was helpless. One of the horrible, decayed hands seized his throat and lofted him high. Opening it’s grinning jaws, the Wraith gasped inwards, and Jonathan felt something inside him let go. He was sliding into its mouth…. He was surrendering to its will…. He let his soul be consumed.
* * *
Gerald smiled as the Wraith finished feeding and fell down, sated. He ran down to the sprawled corpses of Rojer and the peasant. Something was different about Rojer’s face…. Gerald did a double-take. It was the face of his brother. He must have been under a magical glamour of some sort, those fell off with the death of the caster. So he had been pursuing the inheritance as well. Pity had betrayed him, though. In trying to help the peasant he revealed himself. Such a mistake would never occur to Gerald.
The Baron jumped down into the pit, picking up the shovel the peasant had dropped. He began digging again, hurrying to finish before the wraith awoke.
The shovel struck something hard and round. Gerald dug faster, uncovering a crystal of delicate blue. Bending over, he drew it from the earth. Triumphantly, he turned and jumped out of the pit.
And found himself looking into the eyes of the Wraith.
“REVENGE!!”
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| Posted: Tue May 31, 2005 7:30 am Post subject: |
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i noticed a few errors in the first draft, and i thought it ended a bit... unfinished, so i corrected some things, explained some more, tweaked this and that, and here's the new version.
by the way, do you count the character's accent as spelling mistakes? if someone in the story says "git yer stupid horse movin'!" does all that bad english count against the author? just wondering.
“Come on, Marley, put your back into it! We need this field plowed by Monday, ‘else Baron Gerald will be comin’ for ye, and ye don’t want that, now do ye?”
Marley snorted in reply. The horse wasn’t interested in doing another row hitched to the plow, and it decided that fertilizing the fields was a better option.
“Ah, you’re a cursed useless beast!” Jonathan said, unhitching the plow from Marley. “But I can’t get rid of you, else Ma would have my hide.”
After stabling Marley with the livestock, Jonathan went inside the farmhouse to see what his wife, Rose, had cooked up for dinner. Lately, dinner had started consisting of empty bellies, thanks to Baron Gerald’s tax.
“What’s for dinner, Darlin’?”
Rose sighed. “Half a tater each, and some news. Gerald’s taxmen, Rojer, went through our larder today. Lucky for us he didn’t notice our berry bushes. In exchange for our latest crop, he told us about Gerald’s collapsed latrine pit. He’ll pay some lucky man to dig a new one for ‘im.”
“I knew Rojer was alright,” Jonathan said. “A bit of paying work will keep us fed for a bit longer. Funny, isn’t it, how Gerald takes our food and gives it back.” At this Rose looked around cautiously, checking for inspectors.
“You’d better watch your tongue, Jon.”
They ate their “supper” silently and went to bed.
* * *
That morning, Jonathan took his spade and went to Rojer, asking about the work.
“Ah, the new latrine pit,” Rojer said sagely. “Well, you’re not the only one askin’ for it. How will you convince me that you deserve the work?” This was a cue for a bribe, and Jonathan handed over the last half-pail of berries that had been left on the berry bushes outside his cottage. With his conscience thus lubricated, Rojer told Jonathan where to start digging. It was a patch of bare earth, stained and odd brownish-red in several places.
“That’s the place. The pit needs to be fifteen cubits around, and twelve deep. Get yerself goin’.”
* * *
Gerald watched as his peasant dug up the grave. Soon, he’d come across the remains, and spring the curse. Then the Specter would be satisfied long enough to relinquish its hold on the inheritance.
A flash of movement caught Gerald’s eye. Someone, that new tax collector probably, was watching the peasant dig. The Baron wanted no witnesses. He yelled for his page to collect his crossbow. If the man lingered there at the time of the incident, he would be taken care of. Nothing must interfere, and the inheritance must pass to Gerald.
* * *
Well, ain’t that strange, thought Jonathan as a flash of red caught his eye. Uncovering the object a bit more, he saw that it was the rotted remains of a noble’s hat.
He picked it up off the pit’s floor, and immediately a horrible stench of death, akin to the rotting intestines of a slaughtered pig, rose from under it. Jonathan choked and waved the hat to ward off the smell. A chill wind started up, which helped.
“Re……… Relea…….. Release………”
“Er, excuse me?” Jonathan asked. “Who spoke?”
When nobody replied, Jonathan shrugged and continued digging. It was hard work, he seemed to have hit a rock. He dug around it, excavating to the sides. Odd, the rock seemed moldy. Grey wisps covered the top of it. It almost looked like hair. And those lumps, almost like ears….
Jonathan realized that it was a man.
“Fr…… Free…… Re……”
“Oh, Sir, I’m so sorry! How did you end up in there? I’ll free you, right away!”
“Re…… RE……!”
“Yes, yes, I’ll release you, I’ll dig you out!”
“STOP!”
Jonathan thrust his spade into the ground in front of the poor sod’s head and turned to the voice. Standing on the pit’s edge was Rojer.
“Don’t release the Wraith! If you value your life, don’t uncover the Wraith’s eyes!” he yelled.
“What the hell are you talkin’ about, man?” Jonathan yelled back at Rojer.
“The pit! It’s the former Baron’s grave! He put a curse—“ Rojer abruptly stopped talking.
“What’s this about a curse?” Jonathan asked, starting to get scared.
Instead of answering, Rojer fell forward and landed, face-first, in the mud at Jonathan’s feet. A crossbow quarrel was buried halfway up its length in his skull.
Looking up the path that the shot must have taken, Jonathan saw the Baron himself franticly reloading a crossbow. Panicking, Jonathon pulled out his spade, kicking up a large clod of earth in front of the skull, and clambered out of the hole. As soon as he was free from the pit, he ran as fast as he could towards the manor gate. The cold wind blew in his face with such a force that he was bent almost double.
“Free…… freedom……Reve…. REVEN…. REVENGE!”
A whistling sound, then a fire exploded in Jonathon’s right knee. He fell heavily, and looked at his mangled leg. The crossbow bolt had gone through at a slant, from the back of his knee to the front. Splintered bits of white bone stuck out of the exit hole where the point of the bolt was visible. Blood fountained, and Jonathan gagged.
The rotting-guts smell intensified, adding to Jonathan’s gag reflex. He looked back to the pit, and saw earth exploding upwards out of it. A black fog poured forth from the wounded ground; and where it spread across the grass it left rotting patches of vegetation. Looking back at the window where the Baron had shot him from, Jonathan saw no one.
A shrieking sound drew his attention to the pit. A redness illuminated the black fog, a hellish firelight. Out of the hole he had dug came a blackened, rotting hand, and then its twin. The hands were followed by a head and shoulders as rotten and stained as the hands. From the cadaverous skull’s eye sockets blazed an intolerably bright red light, expressing fury and hatred beyond any human emotion.
“REVENGE!”
With a renewed shriek, the Wraith catapulted itself out of the pit and towards Jonathan. The thing caught him in its stare, hypnotizing him in place. He was helpless. One of the horrible, decayed hands seized his throat and lofted him high. Opening it’s grinning jaws, the Wraith gasped inwards, and Jonathan felt something inside him let go. He was sliding into its mouth…. He was surrendering to its will…. He let his soul be consumed.
* * *
Gerald smiled as the Wraith finished feeding and fell down, sated. He ran down to the sprawled corpses of Rojer and the peasant. Something was different about Rojer’s face…. Gerald did a double-take. It was the face of his brother. He must have been under a magical glamour of some sort, those fell off with the death of the caster. So he had been pursuing the inheritance as well. Pity had betrayed him, though. In trying to help the peasant he revealed himself. Such a mistake would never occur to Gerald.
The Baron jumped down into the pit, picking up the shovel the peasant had dropped. He began digging again, hurrying to finish before the wraith awoke.
The shovel struck something hard and round. Gerald dug faster, uncovering a crystal of delicate blue. Bending over, he drew it from the earth. Triumphantly, he turned and jumped out of the pit.
And found himself looking into the eyes of the Wraith.
“REVENGE!!”
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tobias_stump
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| Posted: Tue May 31, 2005 7:31 am Post subject: |
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| whoops. i posted that twice, didn't i?
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Smee
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Joined: 16 Oct 2004
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| Posted: Tue May 31, 2005 2:44 pm Post subject: |
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Hey Tobias,
You can just edit your original post to correct errors, rather than re-posting.
A good entry - I'll post a comment soon,
Happy Writing,
_________________
The path of my life is strewn with cowpats from the Devil's own Satanic Herd!
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my self
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| Posted: Tue May 31, 2005 6:23 pm Post subject: |
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| OMG I actually have an idea for a story, now I just gotta make it scary :p.
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ethereal_fauna
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| Posted: Fri Jun 03, 2005 12:56 pm Post subject: |
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The Bobcat
On the fourteenth of February 1130, Gregory Papareschi by virtue of the papal ascension became the 164th Pope. He served the Lord God and the Catholic church as pope for thirteen years and seven months under the title Pope Innocent II, during which time he condemned the crossbowman’s skill as “a deadly art, hated by God.”
The passage of time beheld the fabrication of even deadlier weapons whereby one man could end the life of another, and the crossbow fell into disfavor. Ages transformed the obsolete weapon into a hunters bow, taken up for sport and not war, and the target of the shooter shifted from his fellow man to the beasts of the hunt.
Would the same God who made the Christians deny creation of the beasts? Should the deadly art only be hated by God when the crossbowmen turn their skills upon each other? Marla Kune doesn’t consider these questions as she slips on her hat and mounts her sorrel mare, and then rides from her solitary cabin and into the wooded hills.
An only child, Marla became the substitute son her father wanted but didn’t have. She spent many long nights chasing quarry through the brush, and honed her skill with the crossbow as she bonded with her father. Her modern hunting crossbow was engineered to launch 400+ grain bolts at initial velocities in excess of 200 fps. With a draw weight of about 150 pounds, she achieved ample kinetic energy for game hunting with a far lower draw weight than would have been the case with a crossbow of similar power in Pope Innocent’s time. A longer power stroke coupled with a less massive fiberglass lath made the difference.
For hunting purposes her maximum effective range was close to forty-five yards. Too much energy bled off the arrow past that point. Without sufficient energy, her bolt most likely would lodge in the game without inflicting immediate death, and be carried away in the subsequent flight, lost along with the doomed prey. Her intended quarry today was merely a pleasure hunt. She sought the bobcat that she often heard crying in the long hours of the night, for no other reason than to have conquered its wild freedom.
After hours of riding, she finally halted her mare and dismounted, pushing her hat further back on her head. She patted the soft red horse, and wearily sighed a lament.
“I don’t think she’s going to confront us today, girl,” she whispered to the mare, before surveying the sun’s steady ascent into the sky. The cat would soon seek its shelter, to sleep through the afternoon. A chill wind prompted Marla to pull the hat back down over her head.
An almost surreal spirit captivated the surrounding trees, and Marla felt a peculiar fright unlike any she had ever experienced in her life. In the queer calm following the chilling gust, Marla spotted the bobcat, its whiskered face peering at her from the cover of a bush. Her breath caught in her chest, overwhelmed momentarily by the lucent beauty of those feral eyes, before the urge to claim and conquer the cat asserted its demands over both awe and unease. Slowly she slid her bow into position, afraid to move too quickly, or to gain a more advantageous distance for firing, lest she startle the cat and lose her opportunity.
The bolt flew towards the target, and with an agonized scream the cat launched into the air, turning in pain to scurry into the woods. Marla cursed aloud, for although her aim was as true as ever, the shaft had penetrated the cat’s gut and lodged there, allowing the animal to hastily flee.
She mounted again and tracked the path of blood, but as the day wore on she finally conceded victory to the wily cat, and with a heavy heart headed back to the cabin. She felt unusually ill, a queasiness gripping her stomach and causing her to dismount and vomit before reaching the comfort of her home.
The cat padded softly to the cover of the bush, motivated by an angry spirit that she could not resist. The compelling voice of the land called her to a sacrifice, and she peered in disgust at the vile monster standing beside the red horse.
The wilderness whispered into her furred ears, “It seeks you, that abomination, and it destroys with wanton lust.”
The cat tried to grasp the concept of killing for pleasure. She studied the monster with casual curiosity, and accepted the burden of the angry spirit. She sat in pristine honor as the hunter shot the bolt into her side, and then with anguish fled into the grateful shelter of the trees.
Marla slept fitfully, waking often with the searing pain gripping her insides. She finally abandoned her efforts at sleep and paced restlessly about the cabin. She peered out her open door into the frightful night, a blowing snow now blanketing the landscape in ever deepening drifts. She should have left before the snowfall, and with a mental kick chided herself for being stranded and sick, alone in the hills.
Making a strong tea, she settled into a chair and moaned at the unexplained agony. Her insides felt swollen and twisted, and she smelled her own fear at this cruel pain. The night slipped away as day broke, little brighter with the blight of the falling snow, but Marla failed to notice the passage of time.
An ill fever now wracked her body, and she alternated between hot sweats and violent shivers. At times she felt incapable of coherent thought, and hunger gnawed at her in episodic waves, only to have nausea replace it soon thereafter. In this manner she passed the next two days.
The cat lapped at the cold water in the stream, ice forming as the snow began to fall. She had finally stopped running, and with horror she had tried to dislodge the arrow protruding from her side. The shaft penetrated deeply, entering below her ribcage and angling towards her rear legs. The tip parted the hair as it exited the other side of her loin, rubbing a raw wound onto her hind leg as she moved.
She gingerly made her way to her den, sheltering from the snow, and cried out her pain in a low rumbling growl. She gnawed at the shaft, feeling the buried arrow twisting at her insides. She smelled her own fear at this cruel pain. She tried to rest, she tried to ignore her pain and her hunger, she tried to rid herself of this slow death. In this manner she passed the next two days.
Marla no longer had memories of anything but pain, and she pondered at the inexplicable wound rubbed onto her thigh. She chewed at her own skin, her teeth shredding her fingernails and the exposed nail bed below, and the salty taste of her own blood sickened her further. This troublesome gnawing proved a compulsion she could not control.
The stabbing pain in her abdomen had settled to a steady, dull ache, but this offered her little comfort. The skin burned hotly with internal fever, and an angry blue bruise darkened her entire midriff. Any movement resulted in a grisly twisting, as if something turned in her guts. She accepted death, but in her arrogance she still wondered why such a cruel demise had befallen her.
The cat slipped into shock, the pain receding into a numbed sensation providing a welcomed relief. Blood clung to her whiskers and the soft tawny fur framing her muzzle. She accepted death, and with comfort stepped from her battered body, greeted by a shining warmth that she joyfully followed like a kitten.
Marla stubbornly clung to life, although she longed for death. Her fevered mind conjured haunting visions, but surprisingly she managed one last fitful sleep. She jerked awake with a feeling of oppression, and a creeping unease that she was no longer alone in her cabin. She grimaced in pain as she sat upright in her chair, and her eyes strained in the dark for the intruder.
A darker blackness advanced upon her, an inky figure slipping through the murky atmosphere of the cabin, a sinister blackness upon blackness. Marla opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out.
_________________
The maker of a sentence launches out into the infinite and builds a road into Chaos and old Night, and is followed by those who hear him with something of wild, creative delight. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
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Smee
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| Posted: Fri Jun 03, 2005 3:52 pm Post subject: |
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Very good Fauna.
I didn't spot any problems, and it was a good story. Kinda creepy.
It appears I've set a story that is proving tricky, and I have no inspiration for this one either. I guess I won't be holding on to the belt for another month.
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The path of my life is strewn with cowpats from the Devil's own Satanic Herd!
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D-Lotus
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| Posted: Fri Jun 03, 2005 5:45 pm Post subject: |
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And here I offer you a completely different story I made in ten minutes....
El Conde du Corvaiss
The hat, the horse, and the crossbow, a simple challenge...thought El Conde de Corvaiss. It required only two elements to dechipher, one being common sense, the other being the smallest amount of intelligence.
"The hat, the horse, and the crossbow, Mr. Corvaiss." beamed a figure near him.
The Duke smiled.
"Ah, yes, very easy...the hat, the horse...yes, well..."answered the Duke.
"Well?" said his friend expectantly.
"The hat fit on the crossbows horse shadow light." the Duke said, sure of himself.
There was a pause in his friends voice, before it cracked with excitement.
"Excellent! My dear Corvaiss, you are excellent!"
The Duke smiled again.
"I have to admit that I had my qualms about it, but since I doubted the length of hair the horse would matter to you, I guessed the other option."
"Splendidly done, Conde, splendid." said the figure of his friend, who was dressed in black.
"One of your best puzzles yet, my friend."
"Thank you, I truly tried to surprise you this week. But tell me, how did you find the key to solving the problem." said the Duke's friend.
"The key?...wait, what are you talking about, this puzzle did not need a key..."
The man looked around disconcerted.
"Ah, well, yes, of course...stupid of me..." said the sallow faced man.
"That's strange, why did you come here on Monday, instead of Tuesday, like we regularly do."
"Well, I don't know, I guess I couldn't keep my, uh, excitement..." said the bulky man near the duke.
The Duke stood up.
"What is this, who are you? How did you get in my house?"
"By your own invitation, Conde...I am your friend..." said the man who mysteriously concealed his face in his clothes.
"You are not, I know my friend, get out immediately. I did not even give you permission to come in!"
The presence menacing man stood up.
"Listen, Corvaiss, I..."
"No! Get out. Butler!Phillip! Oh God, what have you done to my servants?"
"I haven't done anything!" said the hulking assailer.
The Duke stepped backwards.
"Yes you have, you must have, I know you have...and now you're coming for me!"
"Duke, I-"
"Murderer, muderer!"
The man smiled grimly.
"Yes, it's true, but nothing can save you now." said the murderer.
"No, no!" shouted the Duke of Corvaiss.
_________________________________________
The cries of terror resounded in the man's head as they slowly recessed into nothing but a faint memory.
"Well, what is the report?" said the man in front of him, who was comfortably sitting in a big leather chair. The light was dim, and the man in black looked carefully at his boss. He could barely distinguish him. From his point of view, he could only see the dark and foreboding lips that had condemmed so many. The man in black cleared his throat nervously and began reading from a set of papers.
"Patient B-104, sir. He's completely crazy. He is under the belief he is the Duke of Corvaiss."
The man shrugged. He turned on his lamp, revealing the face of the asylum manager.
"Did he answer the question right?"
"Oh, you mean: make a sentence out of The horse, the hat, and the crossbow? I'm afraid not sir. He gave me some crazy answer."
"Well, then it's safe to say that he's crazy?"
"Yes."
"Sterilize him."
"Yes, sir....moving on...Patient C-208, sir..."
THE END
_________________
Chapter 5: The Rendezvous
Last edited by D-Lotus on Fri Jun 03, 2005 5:56 pm; edited 1 time in total
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ethereal_fauna
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| Posted: Fri Jun 03, 2005 5:55 pm Post subject: |
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Pretty entertaining for a ten-minute story. I haven't tried any error checks or word counts, but I enjoyed the story. Crazy is horrific, just ask someone with experience.
*looks around for plausible deniability*
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The maker of a sentence launches out into the infinite and builds a road into Chaos and old Night, and is followed by those who hear him with something of wild, creative delight. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
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D-Lotus
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| Posted: Fri Jun 03, 2005 6:05 pm Post subject: |
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Too bad it's so short... ...but the point was to spent the least time possible and at the same time offer some diversity and entertain....
well, I hope it makes it in the limits...
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Chapter 5: The Rendezvous
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