Goethe shall turn in his grave - TotW 59

**molls** · October 21, 2009, 08:07 AM

[user]Halvar von Flake[/user]'s submission for the PotW 112 contest.

IMPORTANT FOR ALL CONTESTANTS
It has come to my attention that some of you still have problems with the word limits that where set up for this competition. I will check all entries personally to see that no one violates this rule. Contestants who violate this simple rule will be disqualified.

1. Post a short text about this picture, with min. 200 max. 500 words, in a spoiler.

Learn rule one by heart guys. No more violation will be tolerated.

RULES :

1. Post a short text about this picture, with min. 200 max. 500 words, in a spoiler.

2. If you are a contestant you are honour bound to not read other contestants' writings until you have submitted yours.

3. The winner gets 1 point on the Leaderboard, if there are at least 4 contestants.

4. Deadline: last day of each week (Sunday).

**Juvenal** · October 21, 2009, 08:12 AM

It was the sky that inspired this little tale. I do hope everyone is familiar with the quotation.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

Lost in Translation

“Did you hear that?” one exclaimed (we shall call it Michael), literally quivering with excitement.

“Mmm... Yes, looks like you were right, one of those pathetic creatures really is sentient” its companion (who we shall call Gabriel) responded wryly.

They silently contemplated the mental amplifier dominating their cabin. Of course, now the call had been detected, they would need to go back and investigate fully. Reluctantly reconfiguring the living area for in-system use they turned their little ship back to the island of life they had so recently left.

Their search of the region of the call's origin remained fruitless for a long time, during which the two gravitated toward their usual temperaments, Michael excitable and optimistic, Gabriel saturnine and cynical. The detector responded to every mote of life, its chimes loudest for the two-legged ones, but there was never anything coherent. Then, finally, the mental tone they remembered came again.

They landed at a native monument, its design resembling a standard mooring for interstellar craft. (Were the locals subconsciously aware of the wider universe?) Having sent the ship up far enough for its saucer shape to be inconspicuous, Gabriel insisted that they adopt forms that wouldn't be unsettling to the locals. Michael agreed grudgingly, but had trouble coordinating the four-legged part without waving the arms of the rider in time to its trot.

As it turned out, the locals proved not to be a problem, their puny sensoria easily fooled by Gabriel's powers of mental projection. They arrived at their target's domicile just in time to receive the mental blast of its loudest broadcast yet through their portable amplifier.

“It wants something desperately, but I don't quite understand what, damn that useless machine.” Gabriel complained.

But Michael was much more assured. “I got a clear psychic impression of its friend/mate(?) in distress, of the need to poke holes in the friend's hide to release excess fluid. I think it must have Bloat!”

The two agreed that the best way to get on good terms with their target would be to find and bring relief to the friend/mate, whose signature was so strong in the call they would have no trouble locating it.

As they hurried off on their mercy mission, Michael mused. “At least we have these shiny pointy things, they should be ideal for relieving Bloat.”

Gabriel couldn't help voicing its reservations. “I still don't really understand that last word, are you sure it means Bloat?” it said, waving an admonishing tentacle. “They don't resemble us at all physically you know, they might not even have acid sacs.”

Michael ignored the remark, preferring to amuse itself practising therapeutic stabbing actions while the phrase continued unnoticed in the background, repeating itself over and over...

'Will no one rid me of this turbulent Priest?'.

**Nazgûl Killer** · October 21, 2009, 09:19 AM

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

**Halvar von Flake** · October 21, 2009, 11:42 AM

Nazgul Killer, the picture is from Deus lo Vult Kingdoms Total War...

Hey molls, old boy, I only understand "train station"...did I violate any rules...I'm an old man who is not used to speak/write English...please send me PM in German if I have to change my PoTW behaviour...

**SonOfAlexander** · October 21, 2009, 12:18 PM

Great pic! Reserved!

**Mega Tortas de Bodemloze** · October 21, 2009, 12:28 PM

The Moon, Pagans & Pagan temples, and the brisk night air...There can be only one word..RESERVED {pLEASE KIND sIR} -totally and without a doubt denied.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

**Benz282** · October 21, 2009, 10:36 PM

"Unforgotten Deeds"

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

The ringing of a bell broke the silence of the night. The burning flames of torches danced wildly in the air, but the people remained still and without the slightest utterance. The place was sacred, but a sense of desperation bound their lips. No prayers or festivals were to be held; no feasts or great tales of bravery. As cruel as the land had been when it had come time for harvesting last season, it was the indifference of the gods which struck the populace the hardest. The priests claimed the famine was brought about by an offense to the gods, and so they were here; here to rectify their wrongs.

The ring around the central disk parted to make way for the three priests, whose faces were hidden behind hoods. When they had positioned themselves in a perfect triangle around the disk, they bowed their heads and uttered a short blessing. The audience bowed as well, and repeated the phrase. Then the priests raised their heads and called out a name.

"CERIAN."

Had the situation been any different, the tribe would have protested vehemently, but it passed almost without feeling. Whatever her crime, the gods demanded her death. She hesitated a moment as the grappled with her fate, then stepped forth. Tears fell as she spread her limbs across the disk, and saw the dagger being unsheathed. The next moment it was planted firmly in her chest. Her final breath left then, as silently as it had came.

"ANGWEN."

Again, the victim stepped forth, and again, the scene was repeated. When the life had finally left the body, it was dragged off the disk and discarded to the side. And hence, the ring around the disk grew smaller and smaller, until there was no longer space to dump the bodies; at which point, they began stacking...

"HEREMON."

By the time the last man was called, the intentions of the priests were clear. He stepped forth, half-crawling, half-climbing over the bodies. Blood trickled down across the land, and the priests' robes were now stained a too-familiar red. He lay his head down on the stone tablet, in the same place his children had before him; in the same place his lords and servants had too. His eyes looked up at the sky; only the moon stared back.

Then the third priest lay upon the disk, and the second. Finally the leader was the only one remaining. He slashed his wrists so that his blood mingled with those of his kinsmen, and seeped into the ground to be reborn anew, then gutted his eyes out of shame.

But none of this, the travelers knew. They rode past the stones silently, even as the stones cried out their testimony.