Feel free to mock...This is something I did for a game I GM'd long ago...

The Barrens flowed and ebbed with rich dark blood, torn and broken bodies littered across the once green Ma'Jol into the horizon as far as the eye could see. Not that any eye did see. Surrounded by the bodies of their comrades the Heros of the Realms, a band now barely numbering a patrol, waited with a fatique that had passed beyond exhaustion long ago. With arms stiff and weighty as lead, once brilliant green and golden leathers dulled to a dirty grey, they leaned on splittered spears, chipped and pitted swords, and each other knowing they would die with the next onslaught. Shadows stretched across the battlefield as the setting sun, a huge ball of ruddy red like dirty blood, slowly sank below the dying ground of thousands of heros. Despair fell as the darkening land shrank from the evil taint of the demon lords. Tall and fair, the deep smiles painted across their handsome features could well have been in hearty welcome or the grin at a good joke rather the smiles of ShadowLords in triumph over the host of the Heros. Adorned in flaring scarlet and amber gold silk, a long silken cloak of gleaming white streaming out behind, the greatest of the Lords took in the pitiful remains of the army once arrayed against him with a clear hazel gaze.

"Serve us, worship us, and you will be spared."

"We will never serve you." Indurin replied wearily, "Let us bring this to its end."

"As you wish."

The legenday war of the Ma'Jol is never concluded in any tale known to the slaves of the Anduil Shadowlords or that of their enemies...giving them hope that they might one day throw off the rule of the ShadowLords...

Feel free to do what you will with this topic...post your own story ideas, run with this one...whatever

((This is an old one that i wrote a while back, part of a story based on the fictional adventures of my warlock, Vorshendaar.))


The visit to Neru had been a meaningless one...the wretch did not speak to him, nor acknowledge his presence, he simply stared past him, as if he was an empty shell.

Vorshendaar's darkened gaze rolled across the corpse of a recently vivacious troll warrior, his great strength now sapped, his life energy extinguished, but his soul remaining a prisoner in a small crystal within Vorshendaar's curled fist. He overheard voices from below the rise he currently rested upon, and upon a vague survey of the lands, he located two trolls, a male and female, embraced in love...It was sickening...Love...

He had known love once...

Another cool night was taking hold of Durotar, but Vorshendaar was secreted away under the warm embrace of his bed's sheets, fresh returned from the mental entrapments of lovemaking...But all was not well on this night, as it had been so many nights before. Vilwyn, his wife, had gone outside for a moment to fetch water from their well, near the long empty field where Vorshendaar would practice his demonic rituals whilst his wife was away. It had been nearly half an hour since she had gone, and he worried, so he threw away the covers and dressed with some haste, as he exited the small hut, gazing around to find his beloved, he was unable to do so. The crack of a rake's handle caught his attention, and he turned towards the sound, his vision locking to a small..creature, It was, undead, perhaps a forsaken? no, it did not speak to him or bear any good will towards him...it was Scourge, But it's foul cry was not the worst sound to be heard at the time, it was the sharp wail of pain, and the rending of flesh that ensnared his senses, and pulled him to the small mill near the edge of their property. As he drew closer, a single entity stood, smirking at the warlock as he drew nearer, his large plated bone armor clinking as he moved.
"You should go inside now, peasent, i wouldn't want to overfeed my pets...they get so irritated when i allow them to overeat." spoke the armored man, drawing his minions close with a spiral of his wrist, a literal bakers dozen of imp-like scourge drawing inwards.
Vorshendaar's gaze shot downwards, a sharp pain running through him like a blade as he saw his beautiful wife on the ground, grasping her throat, several long claw gashes along her neck, arms, and torso. Hatred...that's what brought the warlock to act, pure and glorious hatred. A cloud of flame burst forth from the warlock's body, expulsing the impish undead, their forms laying on the hardened clay soil, charring.
"Kirr Resh, Nok Tarr Lin Zuth!" spoke the armored man, his arms rising as he drew forth from the ground a great infernal, commanding it to surge forward and crush the warlock...But the beastial demon did not listen, instead it turned, bringing a great rain of blows upon it's summoner, it's body moving under Vorshendaar's imposed commands. As the armored warlock fell, the infernal was extinguished, and banished from the living plane.

As he sat brooding over his wife's form, he cried, and his tears seemed to sear his flesh, her bloody hand gripped his shoulder, and she smiled up at him, her eyes beginning to glass over...It was in that moment that he placed his hands over her, and began to chant his ever memorized ritual... A mortal's love can fade, it can be lessened, but it cannot ever be killed entirely, memories will always linger, old feelings laying dormant...But when you imprison a soul that loved so much, so passionately at the moment of death, that love will burn, for eternity, and turn to lust, and Lust was what kept Vilwyn at Vorshendaar's side...for her spirit had once manifested as he remembered her, but had now degraded into something else.

As he turned his vision from the young couple, and back to the tall, gorgeous succubus at his side, he smiled. "Shall we be off...My Love." he cackled sharply, lifting himself from the ground and trudging deeper into the troll ruins

Behold, my wondrous sci-fi story, the cliches alone will eat your soul

Esmar looked out the side of his transport. He gazed out upon the fleets of refugee ships fleeing the besieged world. Wanderer ships had been raiding and marauding for centuries but it was as if now they had decided to launch organized attacks upon the League. The crude ships launched massive projectiles at the orbital platforms. Suddenly the ship was rocked as several boarding craft plunged into the hull. “Gods above!” Esmar yelled, “Those damn barbarians have breached our shields!” Racing through the crowd, Esmar drew his pistol and fired into a cluster of Wanderer boarders. The mutants fired back with a barrage of crude heavy-bore rounds and incendiaries. He ducked as a round burst a refugee’s skull. The ship’s security systems went online and vented toxic fumes into the room. Diving between the closing doors, he smashed the ‘lockdown’ button on the security panel. Even if it meant trapping dozens of refugees with the fumes and mutants, Esmar wasn’t going to die on this ship.

Now Esmar wasn’t necessarily evil, he just didn’t want to meet his end on this rickety old freighter. And if that means killing a few, then its still better than a grizzly death at the hands of a mutant. Still running off of an adrenaline surge, he raced through the narrow corridors of the ship. Why would they come to this world? This world is barely more than a ghost town, its glory days long since passed. There’s got to be some sort of reason for this attack, I mean, the Wanderers clearly could have had a shot at any other planet in the system, and they still chose this one. Esmar had no time to think as another boarding craft ripped through the hull twenty yards ahead of him. “Aww SHIT!” he thought. “Looks like they saved the biggest ones for me.”

Esmar slammed a fresh clip in and took the face off one of the beasts. Its bullets still caught his shoulder as it slumped to the floor and died. The rest of the team poured hot lead down the corridor and Esmar ducked behind a bulkhead as they let out a guttural cry. Taking a chance he dove across the hall and opened fire on them. Two bullets struck the largest mutant in the chest and it barely flinched. Esmar fired off two more rounds and struck one in the knee and brought it to the floor. With two more between him and the door, Esmar ran towards one of the corpses and pulled the pin on one of the grenades. He dashed past them and sealed the door behind him. The damn mutants probably didn’t even know what happened as they were sucked out into the vacuum by the ruptured plates.

Taking a quick glance at the data-map he scavenged off a maintenance officer, Esmar figured he was two levels below the savior pods. “Damn these standard designs!” he thought, “If the mutants know anything about our defenses its that any survivors will be gathering near the top!” he was going to have to fashion his own means of escape. He disabled the security systems on the bottom levels, if Esmar was going down there, the last thing he needed was toxic gas pouring in.

Twenty minutes later Esmar found himself gazing out at the hangar bay. Only problem was that he wasn’t the only one who had figured out where to go. Apparently the self-preservation instincts of the ship’s captain had gotten the better of him. Esmar saw him and the bodies of a few more passengers in the hangar. “Crap, the bastard must have killed them as he tried to make his escape. Well, there’s only one ship left and he sure as hell isn’t getting it.” Esmar activated the maintenance arms and pinned the turncoat captain to the ceiling and raced down the stairway and leapt into the ship. Activating the machine intelligence, he broke free of the supporting arms and flew out of that damned ship.

Hmmm... Syder and Ythara, I like your stories. You too Grubz... but have you ever watched Firefly? Your mutants sound kinda like Reavers...

Anyway, I too have a mediocre contribution to make. A long time ago, i came up with a story where... well heck, read it if you want to...

Around 2050 A.D., scientists found a way to convert organic materials into digital encoding. This technology was used to actually place people’s bodies onto the Internet. At first, only a few sites were wired to receive ‘slotted’ people, but gradually, more and more began to add the required upgrades. Soon, the Internet became much more than the mere bits of data it had been before: it had become a thriving electronic metropolis.
Soon, all money was digitized, eliminating the need for cash altogether. Small, disposable accounts were set up and filled with one, five, ten, twenty, etc. units of currency. These accounts, called ‘ats’ could be accessed offline anywhere through plastic cards keyed to their specific number. As a bonus, money no longer needed to be converted back and forth between countries since everyone now used ats.
So, society became digitized. Money was saved up merely so people could spend more time online, talking, fighting, making money, anything.
However, with this new world came new vices. Special electronic programs, nicknamed ‘screenshots’, took the place of many physical drugs. The effects they created were longer lasting and created extremely heavy dependencies. Though illegal, their use was widespread and generally couldn’t be traced.
Of course, an online police force was formed. This paved the way for organizations like the Mob, the Yakuza, and other criminal rings to also move their efforts online. Theft, murder, even rape could now be performed without even leaving the criminal’s home. The digital paradise envisioned by naïve humans began to decay and crumble, abandoned by the casual people and populated only by corrupt police, vicious criminals and helpless ferries, those unfortunate souls whose job it was to move money and resources across cyberspace. Viruses and counter viruses ran rampant, bringing about decay and order in equal portions.
The digital city had become a slum, a place where there seemed to be no good, only evil, no light, even in a world run by the sparks of copper wire. It’s really not to surprising that, eventually, things grew so utterly twisted that evil turned its back and became good.

New Tokyo, The Sea of Japan, Offline

The nightclub had never had a name; it probably couldn’t afford one. People who went there regularly never referred to it if they could help it, and if you weren’t a regular, you had no business going in. Nevertheless, this young man was clearly out of place.
He didn’t look much like a gamer, but he’d been glued to The Sorcerers Wrath console the entire evening. He was dressed in the gray, bland uniform of the United Bank Industry, which meant that it was miracle no one hadn’t already tried to rob him; Industry types were loaded. But no, he was thus far unharassed, left to pull his long brown hair, dripping with sweat, continually off of his forehead. Left to glance forever across his shoulder at the club’s other patrons with his flat brown eyes.
It certainly wasn’t because of his exceptional gaming skills; he kept dying at the exact same place on the second level. He didn’t even seem to be enjoying the game: all his attention was focused away from the screen, as though he was looking for someone.
After almost an hour of his futile battle with the console, he heaved a titanic sigh and shook his head. Slowly, he left the console and wandered back towards the door, looking more depressed than a few lost games should justify.
Just before he reached the door, he was stopped by a smooth, cultured, male voice from the booth right next to the door.
“Armen Nikolai.” the voice said. It wasn’t a question. Armen hastily spun around to see a shrouded figure sipping a drink at a nearby table. The figure gestured for Armen to sit down. He did so, looking angry.
“For crying out loud!” he said, angrily but quietly, “I’ve been at that fregging game for more than an hour!”
“Did you come here for business or games? Incidentally, your problem was the Ichor Pool: you can’t kill it with your sword, you need to-”
“I don’t care about the fregging game!” Armen interrupted, nearly shouting. The shadowy figure across from him raised a rather bushy eyebrow.
“My apologies,” the voice said, still glacially calm, “but if this was so, then why in Gaia’s name did you play for over an hour?”
“Because,” Armen said, in an urgent, though slightly apologetic, voice, “Your agent told me to come here at eleven hundred hours, standard, and play The Sorcerer’s Wrath until I got to the second level, where I had to die from the third enemy that attacked me. I did that, but nothing happened, so I did it again-”
“And again, and again, and again…” the voice trailed off into a dry chuckle. Armen glared at the hooded figure across the table.
“My… employers say your one of the best, so I guess that their willing to put up with your eccentricities. I’d rather not. Let’s just get our business done, and that’s that, ok?”
The figure leaned forward and grinned predatorily, “The messenger boy never dictates terms, understand? Otherwise, he ends up as fodder in a flowerbed.” He leaned back and became all smiles again.
“Now then,” he said, “what’s the job?”
Armen looked a little shaken; just for a second there, there had been a glint of ice in the stranger’s gaze. Armen wondered if he’d really… he shuddered.
“My employer wants you to hit a special shipment of virt,” Armen stuttered, “Some valuable music and art pieces, as well as some other trinkets.”
The figure opposite looked bored. Virt, short for ‘virtual’, was art or money that was shipped strictly over the internet. It was usually heavily guarded, both by programs and slotted guards. But even so… he crooked an eyebrow, “Your employer knows better than that I hope.”
“Yes. He said the prospect would bore you. But there’s more.”
“I’m all ears.”
“The shipment will be guarded by a revolutionary new type of virus protection.”
“Yawn. I don’t use viruses. They’re too unpredictable.”
“No, you don’t understand. The shipment is guarded against viruses, but it’s also guarded by them.”
The figure sat in silence for a moment, toyed around with his drink, then looked up at Armen “You know that’s impossible,” he said as he coolly sipped his drink, “A virus cannot be programmed to do anything but destroy. They can’t be controlled, only directed. Many times, the user of a virus finds himself its victim. Whether it is a mandrake, Trojan horse, worm, shark, doppelganger, they are all wholly independent of human control: the animals of the Internet. It is quite impossible to use a virus as a security measure simply because there is no guarantee that it won’t consume or destroy the data it’s supposed to be defending. Quite impossible. One might wonder how exactly this system could be created… or defeated.”
Armen squirmed, “That is up to you. We don’t even care if you keep the virt or not. We want the security program, and will pay you handsomely for it.”
“How much?”
“@150 million in virt. But in addition to the artwork, he wants the guard system. It’s called the ‘VOX’ system, and it will need to be physically removed; it’s mostly hardware.”
The cloaked figure grinned, “We’re in. But I do have a question: something like this could only be military, correct?”
Armen immediately went poker faced, “We will e-mail you the coordinates of the pick-up and drop-off points, as well as the offline location of the VOX hardware. If that is all…”
The figure gave a crooked smile, “Actually, no. I have one more question. Who is it that we’ll be working for?”
If anything, Armen’s face grew even stonier, “Suffice to say that we can afford to pay you @150 million. Other than that, just do your job.” Armen stiffly rose from his seat and turned to leave. He was stopped when the man at the table called out,
“I must admit that I’ve never seen a man with a Russian name working for the Yakuza, Mr. Tomichi. Perhaps you should get a new cover…”
‘Armen’ blanched, and stood sputtering for a moment, unable to say anything. Then, without another word, he turned and raced out of the club, leaving his mysterious contact silently sipping his beverage. After a moment, the figure spoke, apparently to his pocket.
“Maestro?”
“Yes, sir?” a flat, metallic voice answered from his pocket.
“Contact the others. The Symphony has a job to do. For once, it may prove to be interesting.”
“Which contacts will we be using sir?”
The Symphony thought for a moment, and then said, musingly, “Chant, Canticle, Serenade, Beat, and Chorus. Have them meet me at our usual contact point.”
“Of course, sir.”

Nice stories =P Never been one much for Sci-Fi stuff, but that digital internet world sounds really interesting...Like a book i would like to actually read instead of stare at the cover then throw it at some old woman.

"And lo, so did Chuck Norris descend and beat up all who did not like sci-fi."
-The book of Grubz, 5:51

Wow... I like them all. You guys are good you know. There wasn't one I wouldn't have kept reading. Loved them.

Deleted! My writing will now be found in the thread MY FICTIONS started by yours truly!

i like but its kinda hard to understand sometimes, but that maybe fatigue on my side of the interweb.anyways it sounds like a section torn from a rather well written book.
you are quite the skilled writer, my friend.

Me? >.>;

no im talking abot h.l. mencken. yes you!

lol, sorry. I'm just not used to getting any praise. I hail from forums like PWND and PPL where anything worth doing shouldn't be done.

I am truly amazed. I wasn't sure what would happen when I started this...but I couldn't be happier. Legato, wow, lovin' it.

God... I feel so empowered! Do you guys actually want me to write more? I haven't touched either of these stories for nearly a year but with this much positive feedback I think I might... I'll start my own thread if you want, which can be put in a writing forum IF WE EVER HAVE ONE NUDGE NUDGE HINT HINT WAVING A SIGN AROUND THAT READS "MAKE A WRITING FORUM".... Ahem!

But really, is it THAT great?

yay, but dont get to hhigh and mighty on your horse there

No, no, I'm sorry. I tend to get a big head when I'm complimented. Thanks for the stopper!

Also, I'm making the thread.

That actually doesn't sound like a half-bad idea. A writing sub-board... obviously, there are some very talented folks here, so we could post short stories and crap. For bigger things (like your stuff, legato) just do another installment every month or so. I think it'd be cool.

Oh, and I like your story too, though some of the terminology was a bit confusing (never played Morrowind).

For all the sci-fi fans out there...(be nice I did this in 9th grade, I even have an apple sticker on it from my teacher...)

Humans constantly war against each other for such petty reasons as greed, prejudice, and power. We are no longer human. We few are the survivors of the defeated ideas that caused World War III. We are very careful. We cannot allow the humans to see us. You must understand that they do not like us. In fact, they loathe us. Yet, they also created us.

We are the last of the Enhanced. Only sixty-five still exist in the humans' world. It is not easy to live as one of us. Despite our abilities, we can be brought down, and if the humans find us, we will be destroyed.

One hundred and fifty-five years agao, in 1999, a human named Carl Lonsir invented the Enhancer. It's existance was a viciously gaurded secret. This was extremely unfortunate for the rest of the world. My brother and I were not volunteers. Since the first experiments, which had proved completely unsuccessful, volunteering had become unpopular. We were abducted from our home. We were just there at the wrong time.

We spent two days in a room about the size of a big closet. An almost rhythmic shrieking acompanied us while we waited. When they came for us, the screaming had lasped into silence. The others had not survived enhancement, Carl did not know why. They led us down a dark hall to the shining lights of the lab. They strapped us into the cold machine. Setting the machine for our chemistries and attributes, he activated it.

"Aaarrrggghhh!!!" We began our own musical shrieks. It was like fire had razed through us everywhere at once. We could neither see, nor hear. We could only rock in the agony of the pain. Soon the machine no longer hurt us, it made us stronger. We straightened, until we stood erect. The greed in Carl's eyes was unmistakable. The straps, previously impossible to break, held us as thin paper would have. That is to say, not at all. We bolted from the lab into the twilight.

Everyone turned away and fled from us. when we found a mirror we saw... two perfectly formed human bodies with one exception. We appeared to made from metal, remarkably flexible metal. It gleamed blue-green in the sunlight. We tested our new bodies through various exercises. We found them to be, not only stronger, but more agile and swift than a normal human's could ever be. Our minds had access to every computer in the world. We could train ourselves to anything we desired. In all ways did we look and act human, we even had to wear clothing, but our differences were too much for the humans.

The world was rapidly becoming an Enhanced one and the humans fought back. They did not want enhancement to continue. We did not care for they could not unmake us and we had done nothing wrong. We agreed enhancement should stop, after all nearly half of all the Enhanced were unvoluntarily made. Our leaders did not agree. The most notable advisary to this was Carl Lonsir. He began to enhance anyone who stood in his way and developed a way to control the new enhanced. Previously we had been our own masters, but no longer. He hunted us down, forced us to obey, and formed a monsterous army of Enhanced.

Then in 2054 it happened. The world had divided into those who supported enhancement and those who opposed it. War was declared Christmas Day, 2054. One point two million innocent people died that day. All over the world people were dying, crying out for their loved ones.

We Enhanced desperately tried to hide the people we met. If they were not killed, they would be enhanced, a fate worse than death. We were destroyed for this, but we refused to blithely follow orders, twisting what we could. Thus, we turned on them, those that had created us.

We tore them down from power. We rent their bodies. We fought back with all the anguish and torment we had endured from them. And we destroyed the machine. It lies shattered into thousands of metal shards. Only then was the world safe from them.

And so are we feared and hated. Though we fought for them and gave them back a chance for a normal life, we had turned on our creators. Would we also turn on them?

We are very careful not to be seen, but we are here, waiting. And we will wait, forever if we must, for them to accept us.

Rashana Lanare
Christmas Day 2154

OK, I've moved my story to it's own respective thread. You can repeat your comments or add new ones there, please no more here.

Also, if you have any layout suggestions for my thread please tell me in a PM, not in a thread.

Well if you like I've got this one
It's an alternate history during WW1
The plan was too periodicly switch between certain soldiers on each side working up to bring them together

It's no where near done mind you but here goes

*****

Kazra was a young dwarf, at 85 just barely an adult, but already his face was lined and scared by age in ways he'd not seen even on the oldest men back home. His uniform stained with blood, crap, and mud just like his beard. He sat huddled in the deep trench as the shells continued to pound down on the pock marked dead land between the two lands. The powerful explosives and magery just uselessly churning up dirt, mud and bodies. One round lands particularly close by and the dwarf throws himself into the embankment as a short shower of earth, and less Identifiable debris showers down into the trench. "Damn artillery." he mutters with as much venom in his voice as he can muster for two words. To him it doesn't matter whether it was from his own side or coming from the enemy. The fat bastards just sit far back behind the lines not caring where there damn shells fell.

The shelling stops for a moment, but lately that’s been worse. There was a push on this morning and this whole section of the line had gone over. We didn't gain any ground and a good portion of those who went over hadn't made it back. That’s what made the bloody silences so hard, there was still some one out there. It wasn't till the shelling stopped that they could here him. Somewhere out there in that hell on earth was a brother tangled in barbwire, shot full of holes and bleeding out his life into the mud. Kazra shoulders his Enfield rifle and mount the ladder scanning the battlefield for the fallen soldier one more time. "Why doesn't he just die dark damn it!" But the wild pained howling just fills the air. All along the trench that sound causes solders to cringe and scan the horizon just wanting to make it stop. Soon though the shelling starts and Kazra drops back to the muddy floor, silently praying for those damned artillerymen to do him a favor and silence the screamer forever.

A tall human man slowly works his way down the line. He moves slowly hunched over but it's not from the weight of the large pack on his back. It's the careful creep of humans, and elves that'd spent anytime in the dwarf sections of the trenches. He stopped at each solder in passing out rations. As he got to Kazra's position he dropped his pack and flopped to the ground next to him handing over a glass bottle of water, a muddy chunk of bread (if your lucky it's just mud), and a banged up tin of meat. The man trench whispers to the dwarf, shouting to be heard over the sound of shells but hoping no one else hears, in a thick American accent. "Er you go Kaz, Johnny down the line asked me to drop this off fer ya." before passing a second bottle, still mostly full (gotta cover transportation fee's don't cha know) of the finest rot gut this side of the line before he moves on.

The dwarf grimaces down at his meal. Cracking open the tin he pours a healthy dose of booze over the meat. It's a shame to waste it but it'll help him choke down the stringy stuff, and maybe the rest would be enough to block out the screams, and shells long enough for some shuteye.

*****

High above the churned mud of the battlefield there was another fight going on. The young drake Redgore wheels in tight circles, barking orders into his radio headset trying to get his goblin gunner to listen. "Dark Damn it Nozd you have to keep those pegisi off my back!"

The goblin, strapped into a seat in a steal howdah on the drake's back, just whines into his headset. He's fighting not to throw up as the powerful Drake jukes and turns threw the skies. He swivels the machine gun on it's pintail mount and lays down a stream of fire in the general direction of one of the elven pegasus riders. There’s a loud clatter against the steal armor followed by roar of pain from the drake. Nozd chances a look over the steal skirting and spots a neat row of quarrels stitching the wyrms left leg, dark blood streaming across the lighter red scales. Looks like those enchanted heavy repeating crossbows got lucky.

Red gives his wings a powerful pump jerking abruptly out of the sharp ark he'd been following. He tucks his wings and rolls somersaulting end over end, incidentally causing Nozd to loose his battle with his meal, before unfurling his wings as an air break. He's now behind the elf riders and he takes careful aim and a deep breath.

The lead pegasi has little time to react as the powerful gout of fire engulfs both mount and rider reducing them to a charred mass plummeting towards the battle below. The second rider banks a hard right but still the edge of the flame sears one wing stripping away flesh, bone and feathers. The elf struggles to maintain control of the panicking beast as they spiral down towards the ground. At the last moment he manages to get some modicum of control over the beast, and he finishes chanting. A rippling web of green energy engulfs the wounded wing allowing them to straighten out the deadly dive, barely above the blasted no mans land he turns back towards the safety of his lines. He never makes it, in an instant the whole area is engulfed in bluish white witch fire as an artillery spell detonates with devastating results.

In the skies above Redgore surveys the horizon. He can see more fighters heading his way. Elvish heavy magic eagle riders, and American solders on griffin back. There numbers are too much for the drake as he cuts his wings and banks hard, back towards his own lines. There’s a loud chattering in his ears from the radio headset.

"You did it sir you did it!" Shouts Nozd.

"What the hell are you talking about you little fool." grumbles the drake.

"Those last two kills will finally pump you up to Ace sir."

"No they won't, the number for ace status was raised this morning, besides I can't claim that second kill, it was the artillery that got him not me."

"But sir, that’s not fair..." whines the goblin as they land at the forward airstrip. He swoops low past the nesting grounds of the great bomber dragons, past the caves of the small fighter wyverns. The Drake lands roughly on the fighter/bomber field favoring his wounded leg. Ogre ground crews swarm over the field undoing the straps to free him from the howdah.

As a group of halfling healer mages start to remove the quarrels from his rear he feels now familiar sting in his right shoulder as Nozd tattoos the horseshoe mark of the latest kill through tough scales. He'd done his time for today, now he just had to rest up for the next mission.

*****

Kazra jerks himself awake with a snort. Something's wrong, something's different. He grabs his rifle and looks around. What is it that's changed, what's wrong. It's quiet enough that he should be able to notice something wrong right away. The dwarf's eyes goes wide as that sinks in. It's quiet, too damn quiet, it can't be this quiet, it's never silent on the line. The Dwarf falls to his knees in the mud of the trench, both hands gripping his matted, tangled beard. He's heard stories of this, of men being on the line so long, sourounded by the constant noise of shells, and guns, and bombs, and death, that one day, it's just gone. They can't hear it anymore, or ever again. They just can't hear. The dwarf sits back, cradling his rifle. "That can't be happening to me," he thinks, "I'm not weak like that, I wouldn't crack." A gloved hand on his shoulder jerks the dwarf back to reality. He spins to his knees, bringing his rifle around to bear on the attacker, but the smell stops him. Even with his nose clogged with mud, shit, and gunpowder, that stench will cut right through.

"It's all right Kaz, mate, jus calm down now." The voice is a little strained and garbled, since the speaker is missing a few of the parts considered necessary for speech, plus his accent is as thick as mustard. The human stands there grinning down at the dwarf - 'course with most of the skin rotted off, he couldn't help but grin. Fitzhume, the only human who never stooped when coming through the dwarf trench, simply because a dead man has very little to fear. "You'd gone a bit wobbly there, I didn't want you to hurt yerself now. "

"So it is real. It's stopped, yeah?" says the dwarf shaking his head, still trying to clear his mind.

"Ya, fer now anyway." Mutters the zombie. "I figure somewhere on the line theres a push goin on. The brass don wan those shells screwin wit there famous charges, now, do they?"

The dwarf just grimaces, glad it's not his section that's running through the meat grinder this time.

"That don mean we can't have some fun ourselves, though, Kaz," says the dead man with a wild grin. He grips one of the ladders, and takes step up, so he can properly survey the battlefeild. Shouldering his rifle, he peers down the line through the scope. "Hey Kaz, did I ever tell you why they pick zombies for their sniper corps?"

The dwarf leaning against the wall below him scratches his beard and thinks. "No, I don't think you did. Why is that anyway?"

The dead man just leans into the gun, having found a target. "It's all about heart beat, see, a dead man don't got one, and yer heart beat shakes the sights." With that, theres a loud retort as the rifle kicks back. Across the way there's a scream as some goblin officer gasps out his last, quickly followed by volleys of rifle shots and, finally, the angry roar of the machine gun emplacement. The grinning dead man slides down into a sitting position in the trench. "Woohoo, now that's got them stirred up something nice." The chatter of that heavy maching gun gets him thinking. "You know, I heard the gunners drain the hot water out of the cooling jacket fer coffee after every attack. Why couldn't we have thought of that?"

The dwarf just shakes his head in wonder at his friend, Sometimes he wonders if he'll ever understand the dead. Kazra feels the bottle of hangman in his pocket and fishes it out. "Er Fitz you take this eh. Just my way to say thanks for talking me down."

The zombie eyes the bottle with open affection, "Aww Kaz, man, thats sweet of you." The dead man grabs the bottle quickly before the dwarf can change his mind, and pulls the cork out with his fetid teeth. Tipping back a generous dollop into his ruined gullet, the corpse just sighs, savouring the feeling, as the rotgut seeps out of the various holes on its way down. With the taste in his mind, Fitz splashes the rest of the bottle across his face and shoulders, doing his best to preserve what little flesh he had left, as well as to cut down on the smell.

The dwarf just nods and leans back against the wall, wondering, and not for the first time, if he survives this, will he still need the sound of gunfire to fall asleep?


thats it for now

I like it. I really do, though it was originally very difficult for me to choke down the anti-wow information in there. I read 'dwarf' and thought allies, but at the word pegasi I was thoroughly overturned.

The sides aren't very clearly represented, so you might work on that, though. I'm not very big on WWI, so I don't actually know who was in it but I'm interested nonetheless. If you could clarify maybe where this takes place I would greatly appreciate it.

Like I said, good work.

I deleted my own post. See below for an explanation.

The name Joe Shblotnik is a very... Interesting choice.

I do like it, though it has more shock appeal than depth appeal so far.

yeah the whole thing was marvelous. if you want a better description of the horrors of WWI though, (along with a different point of view) go and look up "All Quiet on the Western Front". its a marvolous book.(although its not for the faint of heart. TRUST me). i mean i like the story, but i dont think it truely convays the despare in the trenches of WWI.
i liked the beginings of it though.
it almost reminds me of the PS3 game resistance:the fall of man.

My story has updated with a dialog piece for those interested, but I can't bump it so if someone else would...

Preferably with feedback.

dude PM it to me...

Just follow the link in my previous thread, or go to the thread "my fiction"

Seedy, definitely got a hook going there, but I don't know if the almighty mods will allow much more like that, especially if it gets more desriptive...so I'd ask for a review first.

Okay, I decided against posting my screenplay, and I deleted what I already had.

After further reflection, I realized that there's a decent chance such a post would give the wrong impression, and since I'm very new here, that's not something I want to do. Maybe sometime in the future, if I become more well-known on this board, I'll re-post the thing.

I guess I just got ahead of myself and posted without thinking.

Psshh, don't be sorry. We just don't want to call down the mods. And it was interesting.

YAY!

Thinking before you post is for the sane and sober.

For the greater good, I am bringing back decent threads from the dead, rather than clogging up the boards with new threads that need not be recreated.

Anyone here have any short stories they'd like to share?

[[I've been working on this for sometime... nearly four years now. Mind you, this is simply the preface to the introduction. I'm still tweaking it.]]

The year was 3434, and by this time it has been speculated that people would be driving in hover cars and living the high life with technology beyond people's wildest dreams. This was not the case. From the arrogant idealism of facist corporations arose a world torn in three, a world that was stuck between those who have and those who were hunted. During the War of Minds in the early twenty-first century, the world split into three distinct factions: The Government, which was controlled by corporations that could provide the necessary technology. Instead of fighting foreign countries, the Government had assimilated into one giant money-fueled machine. Their single-minded purpose was to rid the world of those who had slipped into the crevices of society. These degenerates were known as "Rogues." The Rogues were the underbelly of society, the individuals who were either criminals themselves or revolutionists who brought about change in, oftentimes, violent and dissolute ways. They lived and worked beneath cities, creating their own sense of honor and establishment. The middle child of this three-way split were those who had plenty and were usually stingy about it. The "General Populus" was controlled by a single company called Peace Corps which was nothing more than a dummy corporation from the Government. Peace Corps had risen from the ashes of chaos of the War of Minds. During the war, people had lost much of their faith in current government structures - coming to put faith only in anarchy. Small groups of people attempted to govern themselves; collaborating with like-minded people. Eventually, these so-called tribes broke into an all-out civil war that seemed never-ending. With the promises of a peaceful, complacent life, the Peace Corps was able to lasso the people with sufficient funds and grind them into a subservient melting pot. Although it held the outward appearance of a democracy - in reality, it was little more than a dictatorship with a seedy, and faceless tyrant at the helm.

It was during this period of self-observation that our heroine was born. Kaede Lim was not born into extreme poverty as most Rogues were. In fact, her father was a rather lucrative, if not shrewd business man and her mother had a silver spoon in her mouth since birth. However, the dream of chocolate-coated strawberries and high-priced schooling was never in little Kaede's future. From the very beginning, Kaede was passed off on other family members while her parents squandered what little fortune they did have. While her father gambled away everything he owned (and some things he didn't own), her mother was busy "enlightening" herself with the many faddish religions that had come to call. So, it wasn't too surprising to the events that had led up to the moment of her awakening. By her fifth birthday, her father had plunged himself so far into debt that he could no longer pay off what he owed. His bookey was becoming increasingly upset that bets were being taken when he had no collateral left to use. In this time, despite the amassing chaos and loose morals, the Government took payment of indebtedness very seriously. It was because of this chain of events that Kaede was given to the Government in order to pay off his debts. Shortly after she was taken into the bosom of what she would come to despise, her parents were both murdered by a Rogue raid that had gone horrifically wrong. This was also where her belief in karma had stemmed from.

The Government had implemented a trial program: the training and developing of fetuses into well-oiled, covert killing machines. They had found it was easier to mold a child than it was to retrain the mind of an adult. Aside from the fact that the certain possibility laid that someone from the Rogue faction could ultimately infiltrate their ranks - they found it to be more cost-effective to house, train and feed children that were already unwanted. This also helped decrease the orphanage populations. By the time they had recieved the scraggly, gangly Kaede; she was considered too old to train - but considering she was given up without so much as a fight, they couldn't complain too much. Immediately she was put through the rigorous system: vicious, physical endurance training, fast-paced mental development... all of it combined with an undertested serum used to supress the secondary sexual hormone that naturally induced willfulness in children. Perhaps it was fate, or perhaps it was the sheer stupidity of the medical staff on call; but the serum never quite took its full effect on Kaede. The more her training wore on, the more she seemed to become detached from the drones. She was constantly combative, punished severely by being placed in solitary confinement; sometimes isolated and sensory-deprived for days on end until she would comply with them in some pervese way. The one thing the serum did do for her was increase her natural abilities ten fold. She was able to learn faster, be physically stronger and faster than anyone else that she had trained with.

It is said that ten percent of the genome remains unmapped. Many people believe this to be the soul - whether a person is "good" or "evil." Whatever it was that had driven Kaede to do it, she did it. Sixteen years old and she was already showing signs of a disease that had been labeled as the "Genius Complex." They only considered it a disease because it meant that while the serum was increasing her prowess, it was not doing its intended job of making her into a mindless drone. Eventually she would be a detriment to the empire that they had built. She was not the first of the Genius Complex; those who shared her similiar fate were caught and locked away. Not to be killed, seeing as how each of them was worth well over 7.5 billion dollars alone. They were simply confined and used for other... testing... purposes. Kaede knew this was where she would end up. She had seen them. Pale, lifeless... drained of their existence because they believed in something greater than what their intended outcome was. It was then and there she began to plot her great escape.

However, it was not her escape that would capture the world by storm... It was what she did after she had slipped their clutches. At first, they denied her existence; hoping that by debunking her very being she would recede back into the depths of the world to never be heard from again. The more they tried to deny it - the worse she became.

From a makeshift computer module, she was able to delve deeply into the main database of the Government. Not their "super computer" per say, but enough files to be able to smatter their reputation into the dirt. The news media was in a frezy attempting to stop the whirlwind of accusations flying from all directions. She posted their darkest secrets anywhere eyes could see. She wished for Man to think - to remember the freedom of revolution and what it could mean to rebuild a complacent world. Having lived with the Rogues and adopting their morals and standards, she slowly rose to the top to become one of the most noted figures in history...This is her story...

I am...impressed. Very, very impressed. How much of this has been written?

Not enough. I'm still working on the character development. Once it is satisfactory, I'll be a perfectionist and continue to tweak it.

Over four years? Daaaammmmnnnn. I'm working on a modification of one of my first stories I ever wrote, turning it from a short into a novella. Going well so far.

My characters in this story are complex and stem from the personalities of people I have met. In fact, the main characters are based off of my friends. Kaede Lim / Black Plague - Myself
Tom Meridian - Dane
Elle Meridian / Siren - Kristin
Torrence Shepherd / Virus - Erin
Daryl Robley / Wyrm - John... etc

Makes for good stories when the characters are made up for you!

I have no such luxury. I take the time to hand-breed my characters. Any time I end up trying to use characters off of people I know, they never end up behaving like I need them too.

Bah wish i was at home so i could link a story i have written. Main story line involves a younger man (20) who has lost everything he has loved.
Its kinda a war time adventure book mixed with some fantasy elements. (I know its been done )

Does he grimly realise that there is no glory in war and that he is really living through hell?

Nah has more of the twisted betrayal to it. He gets home in time to see his wife to be cut down and his friends and family massacred. the village fights but eventually falls. The intro ends with the main char collapsed against a wall with the sword falling from his hands and losing conciousness and feeling an icy blast in his chest.

Also known as a 'heart attack'.

Nah its adrenaline or the magic version of it O.o

Spyder- Lately I've been writing stories by running them as games. It seems to interject that random element I have a hard time doing on my own. Within the last few months I've been toying with a race(society?) that is gifted psionically. While they can theoretically learn many talents, each member of this group is naturally gifted in the telepathic arena. So much so that as adults, they engage in a battle of wills to dominate those weaker than themselves. I haven't yet figured as reason why they wait until then, perhaps it is simply that the children pose no threat until the come into their own? Said domination is not neccessarily for a lifetime, clashes will happen between master and subordinates. I imagine we have something like nation-cities that are ruled by the most powerful until a new most powerful arises. Their will be those of course who are too strong willed for even these individuals to dominate, thus giving us many nations and rivalries to be dealt with in other ways. Attaining power is a primary goal for most any member of this group(world?), though there are as many varied reasons for wanting that power as there are in our own real lives. True domination, security, to better the world, you name it. It is very much a new work in progress, but what do you think...interesting at all? Ideas perhaps?

Sounds good to me

Ahhh power does not make a good leader so thats gonna be interesting,

Spyder- It isn't a quiet peaceful setting certainly. Though aquiring power doesn't neccessarily dictate bad ruler or person. There will be those who people can identify as 'good' or benign and those people will truly hate. Most people will do what most people really do, try to survive as happily as possible. Of course much of the real action comes at higher levels than this. As a game it is high powered to say the least. As the story it will become, the lives of ordinary citizens are more the backdrop to the story. Important, but as a measure of illustrating the effect the decisions of those above them make. Hell, I'm not sure I'm making sense anymore.

Edit- The setting too is giving me trouble. I tend to avoid modern. Somehow how I see this as future, though I can see it as fantasy as well.

would anyone mind if I post a super long short story (Super long compared to others that have been posted)?

and your idea of for a story sounds great. and yeah, it does somehow seem future-ie

'Cause my story is really long, i'm just gonna post a link to my Journal entry that has it. When I got into WoW about a week ago, I started writing. XD Since i'm still new to the game, any wrong information you find I would love to have pointed out! Though it's not done yet, i'm still working on it.

http://alison-swift.livejournal.com/92812.html#cutid1

Gah. It's terrible. I never take any time into my writing anymore, I need to practice.