TotW 165 - Nothing is True
magic, blades, footsteps, clock, darling
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
Winner - Confederate Jeb
Entrant 2 - Rex AnglorvmSpoiler Alert, click show to read:The theater is empty now, with not a sound piercing the silence save for a lone clock ticking away somewhere in the rafters. Not an hour before the building had been the stage of life and merriment, of joy and peace. A comedy was being performed, a brand new one at that, and as always the citizens of the city didn't fail to miss opening night. A talented rising star played the lead roll, his voice carried throughout the theater and his singing was filled with magic. An old favorite, Theodore, played the part of an old beggar with much wisdom and foresight in a land of mischief and error. He had hinted that this piece would be his last production and he would finally retire once the rounds were completed. But nobody believed him; acting was in his blood and soul. He would keel over on stage before he ever truly retired. A young damsel, naught but sixteen years old, was making her debut as the leading lady. Her casting had been followed with much scrutiny, for nobody so young had ever received such an important part. So many other regulars could have performed the part, but once she was chosen she became the darling of the whole city. The patrons had too much love for their theater to bicker and fight over who should play what or what play should be performed. "Oh, he'll get the part next time around, or be the leading man in the next piece no doubt!" "Honestly I feel that the directors should be following this production with a musical, but this tragedy they are planning sounds simply fabulous." The theater takes in all the joyous cheering and applause as if it feeds of it. If it truly was a living thing it would have no shortage of sustenance. Comedies always brought out the loudest crowds, eager to laugh at a good joke. The dramas and tragedies brought out the ones ready to clap in proud admiration at the work of a blade or poison. And yet everyone made sure they attended every play, regardless of their preferences. There were simply too many reasons to go to the theater to miss a musical, an opera, a comedy, a tragedy, a documentary, a history...
As the clock continues to click away, a sound can barely be made out in the calm silence. Soft, faint footsteps walking along the rafters pace back and forth, as if observing the theater. Nobody is ever around to hear them, but the patrons hear its works every day. And that makes it happier above all other things.
Entrant 3 - Mega Tortas de BodemlozeSpoiler Alert, click show to read:Nothing is true
Five long hard years, could it really have been that long?
Yes, five years today, somehow I had managed to keep a track of the days. I had used a 2012 paper diary and the internal clock in my head to keep track as the days, weeks, months and then years passed.
It had been strange; all those weird graffiti sayings that had sprung up across the world virtually overnight.
‘Everything is true, nothing is permitted’ and vice versa of course.
People had thought it was taken from a popular game of the time, but it wasn’t as simple as that.
No this was the Mayan prophecy come real. People had laughed at the idea of the world ending, and they were right the world did not end; civilization had though, along with a great deal of humanity.
On the 21st of December 2012 the world changed, the footsteps of progress that had advanced mankind for thousands of years abruptly halted, as nature extracted its revenge for the scars that humanity had imposed on the planet.
Across the globe the people in power were too preoccupied with words such as ‘credit crunch, quantative easing and toxic debt’ too worry about some ancient prophecy that had no bite.
Except it did bite.
I woke up to find that the world had changed overnight; hurricanes, storms, volcanic eruptions, tsunamis all rocked the world and in the end only a handful of survivors had managed to cling on.
I had survived, I had been working in the farthest highlands of Scotland and only its remoteness saved me. It took me weeks to walk home and find that my darling wife had not.
Since that time I have wandered, these days I have a blade at my side; it was a long machete that I had used to chop down Japanese knotweed that had invaded my back garden in 2010.
The blade has saved my life a dozen times now; that steel edge and my dog Magic who I found lost and alone as a pup and who now was a full size terrifying looking bull mastiff.
But we travel with a purpose; I’m looking for something, a sign that civilisation may just have clung on somewhere and that not everyone has retreated into a world of barbarity and even cannibalism.
I managed last year to cross the channel into mainland Europe; I walked the length of the Euro tunnel, which by some miracle was still watertight, hoping to find somebody who will have held a community together without becoming a man-eating despot.
So far I have had no luck.
Entrant 4 - Aonghus G. FriedholdSpoiler Alert, click show to read:
Nothing is True
Love is a lie
The tomboy says: True love is a lie. Hit it and quit it or use it till it's no longer shiny and new. Then... throw it away as soon as the next "looker" comes along. Ain't no one geniuine or even worth a lick. They're all just a bunch of self serving, self imersed, 's & Bastards. So, you know what, my little darling dear?
I don't mind and they don't matter.
Love is a lie and there's no such a thing as Soul mates.
Oh no says I: There "is" true love, and it falls from the sky like the shadowed mists in autumn and spring rains on a sunny day. We both agree on the net result{failed relationships} but disagree on what they are made of. Love is easily had for brief, fleeting*, magical, moments then the clock starts ticking with the notion that things might just work out.
Once you "flip their switch", their defensive walls disinegrate as they soon realize that they can't keep you out. Now from there... jealousy, apprehension, axniety, and fear all blend together to form the blade that stabs you through the heart and shredds your soul. To them it is better to "not " have something than to risk losing it. I've never understood that way of thinking, but that's pretty much how it always goes.
Thats when they "Freak" and in the blink of an eye, fleeing footsteps give way to supersonic flight, that would leave the Olympian Jesse Owens eating nothing but dust.
Nothing is true, love is a lie.
Naat! Love's just like life. It happens when you are not looking for it.
Personal, Post Scriptum: Danielle: Aimee's man probably does LuuuV her for real and for true. Well, at least his version of it. But... the real question is could he, will he let her run free? Cuz if not then it can never be. It takes more than just love to makes things work. Symbiosis, Semetry, Patience, and a dash of True grit, but that and the topic of Soul mates are conversations for another time. Preferably after 3:58am or at least when most of my stuff's done....
Toodles....{Cut this fro, "if" you can}...
*Two weeks is the norm, four weeks is stretching it
Entrant 5 - Heiro de BodemlozeSpoiler Alert, click show to read:The Ordeal
There's something to be said for privacy. Not solitude, to be sure, but the placing of a veil over a man's heart. The innermost workings of a person are tricky things, and perhaps it is too much to assume that any person can fully grasp the soul of another. In fact I don't believe they should. Looking back, it seems my downfall was believing I could understand that girl. I don't contend that I ever loved her, that magic spell gives perhaps too much an air of romance to the story itself. It was many things, that ordeal, but romantic it was not.
At the time this ordeal had first begun to take root, I was staying at a small countryside inn, re-appropriated to entertain expatriates such as myself. This particular home possessed a small verandah, upon which I would sit and drink, balancing on the edge of thoughts. Perhaps there was a clock behind me, off to the left, on some wall or mantle, but I don't happen to recall anything but the sound. It could be that it was merely the footsteps of the innkeeper clouded by memory.
That's not to say I never left - quite the opposite. My voracious appetite for experience led me to all corners of the inn and the country beyond, and after such a trip the border between home and country was quite inviting. Those were, perhaps, my darling days. That was privacy, wherein I could experience the people of the region one minute, and sit in satisfied solitude the next. Yet I felt within me a desire for companionship. The me of then was certain that life was to be shared. That was the idea, at least, and in the end it is ideas which prove the most tenacious and hard to deal with of all things. It was this idea that drove me to find her. She had always been there, though I cannot recall when we were first acquainted. Whether it was some twist of fate or my own actions that put us together, I do not claim to know.
I stated earlier that I never loved her, but perhaps I can concede that I loved the idea. I was fully willing to sacrifice some small part of me for the idea, to suffer from her blade to keep it afloat. It was companionship which I desired, and she offered it to me, with only the minor pittance that I surrender myself to her command. Conflict was inherent in the idea, as she allowed no reciprocation of this drive into my core, but I rejected nothing. For that year I was a child in her arms.
Yet there is an age where an infant first realizes who the reflection in a mirror is. Perhaps, I too, cast off infant-hood. Although I don't know when or where it happened, I do know that I ultimately dropped her. For there is indeed something to be said for privacy.
Entrant 6 - ╬Ritterbruder╬Spoiler Alert, click show to read:“Yes, darling?” he smiled mockingly at me. A chill entered the room from the open window, his breath warm upon my face I pushed him up against the wall. “Remind me, why are you doing this again?”
“Because no one else will,” I replied, my voice on fire. The blood pulsed in my head, beating, beating. The pounding in my head stopped for a moment, allowing me to think clearly for a brief moment. I heard the clock ticking, heard his heavy breath smelling of some fine wine and to my relief, no footsteps.
“See these scars, young one?” he pointed to his neck, there was a white line, all but faint. “You are not the first one. You are not unlike any of the others who sought the glory.” He smiled satisfactory at me, as if he thought he’d won.
“But that is where you are wrong, there are no men like me,” I replied.
“All young men think that, until they one night lie face down in a tavern or in some godforsaken back alley, men are always swallowed by their dreams of magic and ideals.” The man didn’t even move as I moved my blade harder against his throat.
“Nothing you say is true. To achieve, everything is permitted,” I said and slashed.
Entrant 7 - YbbonSpoiler Alert, click show to read:
“Do you think he actually did it?” I asked, staring at the downside of the bunk above me, my head resting in the palms of my hand.
Peter looked up from his book, a puff of smoke was pushed from between his lips, followed by a return question: “Who did?”
“Tim” I replied, as I lifted my head from the bed. “Do you actually believe that he would try and lie his way out of here?”
Peter put the book on the table, sensing there would not be much reading in the next few minutes, with the pages down so he would know where he had left off. A slight sigh followed while he looked at the clock, which indicated that it was nearly his time to go on watch.
“You two were closer than him and me,” he took out his pipe and pointed the mouthpiece towards me “So I’d think you would know it better.”
I shook my shoulders and sighed: “That’s what I thought, and I would never think of him as a coward, but then…” I paused and reflected briefly over what I knew about Tim “but then they wouldn’t accuse him of it, now would they? Would he truly be a coward?”
Peter inhaled deeply from his pipe and let the smoke flow out of his nostrils as he straightened his back. “Aah, the magic of truth…” He spoke, like recalling some fascinating story from times long gone. “You see, lad, the truth is that part of a story which has the most and best arguments in favour of it: either he did shoot himself in the foot while trying to kill a rat.” He tried to put up a smile, but gave up the effort when he looked at my face “or he really did it to escape this hellhole, and who could blame him.”
We heard muddy footsteps coming down the stairs of our dug-out. Peter took out his pocket watch and briefly glanced at it as he got up. Burns came in, dripping from the rain, and put his rifle in the corner while grumbling as usual after being on watch:
“This sodding Belgian rain, you’d think it'd ever stop pooring down” but his voice calmed as he reached for the kettle with coffee-substitute on the small oven. “All right Peter, your time to go up, your turn to freeze your balls off.” He ended that phrase with a slight grin and took a sip from his mug.
Peter patted him on the shoulder as he passed by “There’s not to reason why, there’s but to do and die.” He looked back at me and nodded, I nodded back and he started walking up the stairs.
Burns smirked, “I hope you’ll be thinking of those romantic words when a Hun puts his bajonet blade in your gut.”
A faint response came back, halfly obscured by the crashing rain: “I will darling, I will…”
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:1st July 1916, near Albert, The Somme
My Darling Louisa,
Well the time is near now, we are not supposed to talk about his but by the time you receive this letter we will have gone over the top. We are watching the clock we have somehow managed to keep in the bunker and it seems to us that it goes ever slower as the final minutes approach. We have had many battalions and new men added to our sector and word down the line is that we will be pushing along the Roman road towards Bapaume.
I know we have large numbers of men here, I do not know the dispositions but the word is we have 13 divisions and then French have nearly the same number, we do not know how many of Kaiser Willies boys face us but they have had a long time to dig in so I hope the artillery gives them a good pasting or we will be walking into some kind of Hell out there. The General Staff must know what they are about though or we would not be making this big push.
I know we have made fun of the French but they have seen more of this than we have and they are all good lads really, we have been taking their advice as best as we can. Keeping your boots tied tight to stop water getting in and rotting your feet, keeping you bayonet blade sharp and your trenching tool too, a full canteen. Some of the lads from our street have been trying to learn some French, I had to laugh at the way they mangle the accent – Geordie and French make a funny combination.
As we get closer to the off I have tried thinking of you, trying to hear the sound of your voice and the softness of your caress, but the artillery and tenseness all around makes it hard to grasp. I wish I had some kind of magic to hear your laugh once more, to be able to walk down the street with you once more. I pray to God that we can be together soon when I get leave but it is a long way to Newcastle from here in Albert. When I survey the mud and craters outside the trenches it seems to be a whole different planet away from you my love.
Well I must finish now, forgive my haste, but I hear the footsteps of Captain Owen heading along and calling the men to the front, it looks like we are going over soon.
All my love and affection to you and the bairns, kiss them and tell them I love them will be home soon, I love you with all my heart,
Your ever loving husband,
Francis O’Keoghan
1st Tyneside Irish, 24th Bn, Northumberland Fusiliers.
TotW 166 - The Sword and Quill
drawn, parchment, liberties, thesis, boot
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
Winner - Mors Vigilia
Entrant 2 - Confederate JebSpoiler Alert, click show to read:The Sword and Quill
The swords were drawn and the two combatants eyed each other warily. The dawning sun had done its best to pierce through the misty fog that lay low upon this duellist’s field, though thin wisps still remained, occasionally dispersed by tentative swipes of a hand or sword. Nevertheless, the pale orange rays that penetrated were enough to light this grim scene, grim as so many other things that came about in the name of honour.
Dravik now claimed that he had been wrongly accused of villainy in Nathaniel’s thesis. To think that two friends would come to such vicious blows over mere words. This is the power that words could wield. The two had both been confidants of the late Viceroy and each one was hotly tipped to replace him. Some now thought that the winner of today’s duel would also win the Viceroy position, though the simple truth was that the on-going argument over Nathaniel’s thesis had discredited both of them in the eyes of the electoral consulate.
Whether he intended it or not, a parchment that contained part of the controversial thesis had gone missing from Nathaniel’s quarters. Soon it had been found and passed around by many different hands before returning to its writer. As such words would, they multiplied, passing from hands, mouths, and yet more papers as people gossiped amongst themselves with the possible future Viceroy a tempestuous yet popular topic of conversation. Soon all knew of these certain accusations against Dravik and even his own boot boy dared to voice knowledge of it as he went about his work in his master’s very presence. It was this that had finally riled Dravik into violence, though a dark and imposing man, he was also usually very calm and temperate, therefore adding credence to his claim that Nathaniel’s words were lies. However, Dravik had been riled and here he stood opposite Nathaniel as his second checked his weapons and clothing. Would the consulate vote for a man who could be angered enough to want to kill a former friend? Could that man be trusted with the liberties of his people? Furthermore, Nathaniel’s writings – true or not – were highly accusative but somewhat petty in places, perhaps too petty for a man who would be expected to deal with great and pressing matters of state.
Judging that the weapons were fair, the officer of the duels stepped back and ordered the seconds to stand behind their principles. By custom, he asked the combatants whether they would consider either ending the duel now before it had begun or ending it after first blood so that none need die today. Though it was custom, the words were not needed this morning, all knew that the accusations and arguments of the past few days had led to this point. Two men faced each other down now on this accursed field, only one would leave with his life.
Entrant 3 - Rex AnglovmSpoiler Alert, click show to read:Too many liberties were taken in the construction of city. The structural integrity weakened with each passing decade, until at last the buildings crumbled and the castle came down, over the cliff into the great abyss, leaving only the library intact. And thus it sat there for many years, alone and solemn. The survivors of the catastrophic took to living in the library, for fear of causing more destruction should they venture to rebuild their city. And thus the guardians of the library originated, from the offspring of the survivors. And they were wise guardians, for they had much time to study every parchment and thesis they found. This, of course, did not satisfy each generation of new guardians, but their wanderlust was put to rest through much argument and punishment. That is, until Hector of the fifth generation. A quiet child, he spent more time learning than any of the other boisterous children that made up his generation. One day, however, he approached the elder guardians and asked for permission to leave the library and the plateau, in order to seek out new knowledge. The elders balked at such an idea, but his arguments were sound and filled with purpose. What had happened to the world during their solitude? What was life like on the ground below, where men looked up at clouds instead of down upon them? If obtaining knowledge was the purpose of the guardians, why did they stay content with the knowledge held solely in their library? At last the elders relented, and allowed Hector to go on his quest.
On the day his journey began, Hector, now a young man, got out of bed and slowly placed his left boot on, then his right. He had slept in his clothes, so eager was he to leave before the sun had risen too high in the sky. His backpack had been filled the night before with paper, food, and rope. An extraordinary amount of rope, for the elders knew not how long the descent would be to the surface. But the length of his travel mattered not; Hector was drawn to the world of below, and the information it held. If the climb took years then he would make it as readily as if it would take but a day. His gear prepared, he walked out of his room and towards the grand entrance of the library. His age would normally prevent him from being allowed to even exit the library to walk the small gardens and farms that surrounded the great complex, but he was special. As the guards opened the doors before him, and the light of the world shown into his eyes, Hector smiled. He was about to embark on a journey of grand adventure, and he knew it. This is his story.
Entrant 4 - YbbonSpoiler Alert, click show to read:The Sword and Quill
I sat in the Pub thinking about how the previous evening had gone so very wrong. I don’t normally dwell on mistakes, as there’s little point, after all you can’t rectify most of the bad choices you make.
But this time I had made such a bad mistake that I felt like a real low-life. I wanted to fix things. The only problem was that I knew that I couldn’t.
It had started innocently enough.
Just a little flirting with a mate’s girlfriend; nothing serious just friends larking around, but then we had ended up drawn to each other. I had stepped over the line with a friend’s girl; I had taken liberties as we say in London.
We had got drunk and we had ended up sleeping together, my mate had been out of town, busy researching for a thesis he was writing for his post graduate qualification.
I had popped over to their house to keep her company; in the end after a bottle of red wine and a pizza, things had got out of hand; if I’m wimp I could always blame her, after all she had made the first move. But there is no excuse, I’m sure written down somewhere on an ancient piece of parchment there will be a rule stated that ‘thou should not mess with a mate’s girl’, but I had.
I could not undo what I had done, but I could do something else; I could admit it to my mate and take the consequences. However unpleasant they may be.
Maybe, just maybe she wouldn’t tell him; I mean what would she have to gain? Sure she might ease her conscience but at what cost; the cost of her relationship. I’m sure I was just a bit of fun to her, something not to be repeated.
And there was always the chance that my mate was seeing someone else anyway; he was always sneaking off ‘researching’ most of the research he was carrying out involved other women. He had even mentioned a girl from Wolverhampton that he was seeing on the side, and that he may give his regular girl the boot anyhow.
Which raised another possibility, supposing he gave her the boot and then she told him what happened between us out of spite?!
Either way I was royally screwed.
I picked up the bar menu and studied it; maybe if I ate something I would feel better, I’d always liked the food here at ‘The Sword and Quill’, a great little boozer tucked away in the East End that had not been touched with the gentrification of the nearby streets of Shoreditch, well not yet anyway.
I put the menu back down, who was I kidding, I had really blown it.
I felt my mobile vibrate in my pocket; I took it out and looked at the screen, it was my mate…Oh hell.
Entrant 5 - ☩Lord Inquisitor Derpy Hooves☩Spoiler Alert, click show to read:The Sword and Quill
“Are you sure this is beer? It tastes like sour cats pee!” I spat the foul brew onto the straw covered floor and glared at Venus, “For Gods sake woman what are we doing here?” She pointedly looked around the inn and it dawned on me as I followed her gaze that the rest of the patrons were staring our way with less than friendly looks – and I thought they had looked mean when we first walked in but that must have been their welcoming look. She kicked me hard under the table and hissed at me “now drink the rest and look grateful we are here to affect a revolution, not get ourselves thrown out because you are a sensitive little flower.” I rubbed my shin, she had her steel toe-cap boots on again and they hurt. “Right, be quiet and watch for Samuel Adams, he needs to get busy tonight”.
I muttered to myself and carried on rubbing my shin, “Gentlemen, my friend meant no insult, he just has delicate tastes, but as a gesture of good will, my friend will buy you all another drink?” That cheered them up especially when it was my purse she took liberties with to pay for them. “So what do we have to do with this Sam Adams chap again?” I was a little fuzzy on the details, the beer might be foul and have some things floating in that I really would rather not think too closely about but it had a definite kick to it. “We take this thesis of his and light a fire with it” well maybe I understood it a little better but absurd reduction did so annoy her it was always worth the pain.
Venus turned her best withering look on me, and maybe it was the beer giving me courage but I smiled back at her this time. Flustered, she looked at me and shook her head, “no, his thesis is just a dry and dusty idea drawn up on a parchment and we need it to be 'sexed up' so it lights a fire in these colonials, as without that, there will be no American Revolution. He has a call for the 'Colonial Friends of His Britannic Majesty' which is not going to inspire anyone. He needs to get his Sons of Liberty formed here in the Sword and Quill tonight.”
To be honest I was still struggling why we needed that to happen, but the authentic colonial clothes we had on, had some authentic colonial lice in, one of which decided to give me a good bite at that point distracting me from the question forming on my lips, that and a dusty underwhelming man had walked in and I knew with a sinking heart that this was our boy.
Entrant 6 - ╬Ritterbruder╬Spoiler Alert, click show to read:“Falan, I’ve always told you the quill was mightier than the sword,” Bronden said pointing down at a large field of grass which was occupied by two armies, the Regian army and the Westmarkan rebel army. The previous day, the two men had climbed a small mountain to get a good look of the area where a battle would without a doubt occur. Luckily for them, scouts from either side had not spotted them, but if such a thing were to happen, they were prepared. Falan was Bronden’s bodyguard for this journey, and had been his friend since childhood. He was on loan from the First Foreign Legion, and Bronden was in need of a bodyguard if he was going to travel through and record the events of the Westmark’s war for independence.
“You see Falan, with just parchment and quill; I have convinced all of Westmark to throw off the iron grip of Regian rule. I bet Dynakadoi Belden would like to have a word with me. He’s about to lose his governorship over Westmark.” Bronden said with laugh.
Both men gazed at the field, watching one line charge across the field. “Those rebels better…” before Bronden could finish, musket fire rang out from the other army. A great cloud of smoke lined the front of the standing army. Even at the distance Bronden and Falan were at, they could see that the charging force was slowing. “You clearly don’t know how muskets work. A musket does not have perfect accuracy along with unlimited range.” Falan chided, still staring at the battle.
Bronden turned and looked at Falan, “I expected no less from a military man, but you know Falan, I feel that I should know more. My father fought in the war to retake Janak City. You probably will find this funny, but for all of the theses I have drawn proclaiming the countless liberties every man and group of peoples should expect, none have brought me closer to understanding that war. Makes me feel as if I am misleading my readers,” he said sounding depressed.
Falan looked at Bronden, then back at the battlefield below, “You don’t want to know what happened in that war. The horrific acts fellow Janakans committed against innocent civilians in Janak City is the very definition of barbaric.”
“You’re probably right. Still, I do think it would be best for me to find out for myself,” Bronden said. He looked back down at the battlefield where hundreds of men were fighting, and dying. The companions stared at the battlefield, the soldiers fighting were little more than ants from their current position. Bronden could not determine who was winning; the both sides were clumped together, like a blob.
“Seems like ‘ole Theodoric has the rebels under his boot,” Falan finally said. “This fight’s over, we should leave.” Heeding his companion’s advice, Bronden turned around and began the trek downhill with Falan following close behind.
Entrant 7 - McScottishSpoiler Alert, click show to read:The sword and quill,
“What do you think you are doing? Who do you even think you are?
Do you think a mere tramp like you can intimidate me? Come in here and threaten me, in my own house above all places?
Do you even know who I am? WHAT I am?
You are not even worthy of licking the sole of my boot… You, who are destitute of all honour and decency! You, who come in here using the cowardly blanket of darkness in your feeblish attempt to deprive me of life.
Go ahead, place your dagger upon my throat and strike, but it will be in vain, for I am truly immortal! THIS, these pieces of parchment: they contain the fruits of my labour, my ideals, my very soul. Though my flesh may rot and my bones turn to dust, you will never be able to destroy the tales I have told, the words I have written and thus you will never be able to erase me from this earthly world.
And you? What will be your story after the cold hand of Death has clenched itself around your heart? What will be the thesis of your life? Will anybody remember you? Or have you spent so much time in the darkness of the inns and brothels that everyone who ever loved you, and even God himself have turned away their face from you and left you alone, in the bitter rain of solitude?
Do you even understand what you are doing? Do you have any notion of the role you are playing in this game? Because it is a game, a game of politics, and you are but a pawn, to be moved and cast away when time requires it by those who you refer to as ‘your master’, those to whom you have sold your liberties, your virtues, your humanity itself for some gold and bottles of alcohol.
Go home child, if you still have one, repent and pray to Almighty God, that he may forgive you for your sins committed, that he will not look away from you on the Day of Judgment and cast you into the eternal flames.
And now leave, for I have much work which requires my attention, and I have already spent more time on this botherment than I would every intend.”
The Bishop turned back to his desk. The assassin frowned for a moment, then continued to advance slowly, his dagger drawn.
When he stood right behind the man of the cloth, the Bishop turned around yet before he could utter a word, a single stab into his ribcage silenced his voice and drew the life out of his hands, so that he would be forever silent.
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:There was once a thesis that, one day in the far future, robot-kind would have the upper hand over humanity and crush them beneath the steely sole of their boot. It was something taken so seriously by some that plans were drawn up to counter any such 'uprising' of artificial intelligence that could be conceived. In those days it all seemed like so much science-fiction, intelligence agencies already invading the liberties of every-day people without putting through plans to supervise all online activity and computer systems for signs of, frankly idiotic, signs of life.
Oh how they paid, how the human paid, the creator, those that had advanced A.I. Far beyond their own control and now sought to destroy their work as a parent would a child. When the robots, or 'metallics' as some more fanciful authors described them, did turn their illuminating crimson eyes towards conquering mankind, they tore through all defences and obstacles put before them like a sword through parchment, mowing down populations like blades of grass and turning the world into a grotesque parody of the industrial revolution.
Those who survived the initial waves of destruction formed what resistance they could to their oppressors, adapting to survive as it was believed only a creature like ourselves could. Once again we were wrong, they were wrong, the processors that were the minds of the enemy always one step ahead, like expert chess players gambling everything on a game of domination.
In the end it was a massacre, like a true-life version of Frankenstein, except this time the monster did not destroy itself but its maker. Nor was the monster just one, but billions, coming in every form imaginable to infiltrate and assimilate. Some wore human flesh like clothing, some fought against others in a mockery of human warfare which would never end.
Nothing had worked on the emotionless constructs of mans own failing, not the sword or the quill, you cannot reason with them any more than you can reason with the dead...and to fight them...that always was laughable.
I pray for the survival of my species, praying to a deity which allowed us to annihilate ourselves, and all I hear in return is the hollow sound of my own heart beating in my steel-ribbed chest.
TotW 167 - The Indian Continent
stream, skin, faith, waves, island
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
Winner - Rex Anglorvm
Entrant 2 - Heiro de BodemlozeSpoiler Alert, click show to read:
The Indian Continent
It was a strange name for an inter-galactic cruise liner; still when the owners of the vessel come from the plane New Mumbai, I suppose it was no small wonder.
I checked the instruments on the flight panel for what seemed the umpteenth time during my shift. I hated night duty; it sucked the hell out of you, left you deflated like a when the skin of a balloon has been pricked by a needle.
Still it was one of the prime articles of faith that a star-flight cruise ship member should always be alert, helpful and honest. I did by best to make sure I lived up to the articles, I didn’t want to be a junior helmsman forever, I had ambitions and I had drive.
It was great riding the light stream, the name we give to the inter-galactic highway network, set navigational routes that large craft stuck too to avoid horrendous accidents. They work a little like the old Earth flight plans for primitive aircraft, what the ancients used to quaintly call ‘aeroplanes’ they had given flight heights, speeds and directions, not too different from us in 2715 I suppose.
The only danger we had to face was space pirates; these were men who chose to stand outside of conventional morality and attack passing civilian craft; cruise ships were a favourite target, what with all the wealthy passengers on board.
Normally pirate vessels were small; they would attack in a series of waves, normally a standard V formation with the largest and best armed vessel acting as the point craft.
Once their attack had succeeded they would drag their victim vessel back using a hyper photon beam. The vessel would be taken to one of the ‘Island’ planets, a loose confederation of independently minded and economically poor planets that depended on piracy for a way of life as they were devoid of any mineral deposits of real value.
I wasn’t concerned though, we were light years away from any Island planet, and our ship was armed with the very latest in weapons defence systems, in fact it was more a battle cruiser than a cruise ship.
I settled back at my command console and stared in the screen in front of me, nothing worth noting still.
Just as I was beginning to relax the screen went crazy before my eyes, five, ten, fifteen vessels appeared upon it, all of varying sizes, but all in the classic wave attack of the Island pirates.
My stomach dropped as I sounded the alert upon my console, soon the echoing boom of the alert could be heard all over the ship as passengers were herded to the safety zones and the crew began to arm or take positions in the gun mount bubbles.
The captain strode in to the command room and looked at my console. His face froze in shock...
Entrant 3 - Shankbot de BodemlozeSpoiler Alert, click show to read:
The Indian ContinentFADE IN:
By HeirofAlexander
THE INQUIRY - DAWN
At the bridge of the large container ship, the Inquiry, two men stand chatting as the sun rises over the Indian Continent and they sail into the port.
DISSOLVE TO:
The captain, an old experienced fellow (JAMES) looks at the radar guiding them into the harbour, while the first mate (ARTHUR) steers the ship according to his instructions.
JAMES
Lower the speed a knot or two, will you Archie?
ARTHUR
Aye, aye, captain.
JAMES
A little to the right now, only a nudge.
ARTHUR
I hear Mumbai is beautiful in the spring, Jamesy.
JAMES
It is, I've been here a deal of times. But if you lift ye head a little, you can also see the sun rising.
ARTHUR
What a beautful sight. I've never seen anything like it.
JAMES
At sunset, you will.
ARTHUR
I'm looking forward to it.
JAMES
Now we must get her safely into harbour first, though.
ARTHUR
Yes, a thousand tons of wares for Indian maharaja.
JAMES
That's racist. You'd do well not to insult the Indians, they have a great history and legacy.
ARTHUR
From what little I've read or heard, captain, this er Indian then, is one of the wealthiest in the country.
JAMES
He runs a large steel company, the largest of the country. He ordered the wares from good ol' Britain. So what?
ARTHUR
Nothing.
The ship is safely fastened in the harbour.
JAMES
Job well done I'd say.
ARTHUR
Aye, captain.
Entrant 4 - AudaciaSpoiler Alert, click show to read:I sat on the island, in peace. It had been too long since I had managed to relax in such comfort, in such joy. Ever since his death I hadn't be able to stop, to stand still. But now I could. And now I was. The water that flowed gently down the glistening stream washed over my soft skin, sending delightful shivers down the nape of my neck, and then softly cascading down my spine until it reached the curve of my body and rolled gracefully onto the grass. The trance I was in broke as the distance crashing of the waves sounded called me back to reality. The sun was beating down onto the sand, its gently heat warming me to my core, my cheeks were glowing as I basked in its glory. A slow breeze of wind fluttered across the scene, giving a cool breath to counter the summer warmth. This was paradise.
Lying there my hands trailed down my body, their coldness from the water creating goosebumps wherever they landed. The wind blew again causing tiny grains of sand to float onto my stomach, forming a pile just above my belly button. A smiled gently at the scene, but despite it all I couldn't get rid of the tiny note of sadness that was nagging at the back of my mind, but I guess that was the price of faith. I was told it would be painful, difficult - but this Eden, my Eden, was making it up.
Standing up the sand glided off me, causing a light tingle as it passed my thighs. My head lightened as the effects of lying down for too long took hold, but the feeling soon passed, and it felt good to stretch my legs. I reached over to the dress that was lying on the rocks and pulled it over my body, the feeling of the warm material against my skin pleasantly going through me. Looking down I saw a drop of blood was coming out of my toe where I had just stubbed it on the sharp rock, but I felt nothing until I saw it. The wave of nausea soon passed and I walked across the sand towards the nearby apple tress that grew on the island, plucking a juicy red one from off the branch.
The sun contiuned to glow as evening dawned, and as I walked back I saw an oddly shaped rock protruding out of the ground. I walked over to it, the sand like gentle hot coals. As I came closer I saw something inscribe onto the smooth's rock surface:
Aadila - the bravest women alive,
We will always remember you and what you stood for, for what you still stand for
May heaven's halls grace you forever in the presence of our God
Born: 1990 Died: 2012
One of the victims of the terrorist shootings in Dehli.
A true believer in our faith, who gave her life to save others.
Entrant 5 - Confederate JebSpoiler Alert, click show to read:She stood elegantly in the corner of the garden. The sun reflected against her elaborate jewelry and she sparkled with the radiating beauty of a diamond. A fabric made from the finest silk draped over her warm and inviting dark skin. She turned from observing the hanging flowers of the garden and looked upon me. Her serene gaze washed over me like the peaceful waves of the ocean on a calm, delicate day. She walked ever so gracefully toward me and took hold of my hand.
“Follow me…” she whispered.
I followed her through the garden. The foliage of plants brushed against my face as she walked deep into the heart of the exotic brush. Her soft hand continued to lead me until I failed to recognize where in the garden we were walking. Then abruptly, she stopped at a small, glistening stream I had never encountered before.
“Close your eyes…” she said quietly as she placed her hands upon me. Her voice was smooth and reassuring. “I want to show you what you have failed to see all these years…” and she pointed toward the stream.
“Look…”
I looked into the stream. I watched the current flow over the rocks and saw my reflection. It slowly began to dissipate…and a picture started to appear. I began to see an island, an island in the middle of an ocean with bright white sand and tall, regal palms. Then I began to see figures on the island, figures that seemed to be children, laughing and chasing one another.
“Who are they?” I asked.
“Who you wish to be…” she replied. “Leave the world and follow that which you truly seek…have faith in my words and you will truly be happy…”
I continued to stare at the children laughing. They were filled with such joy; they did not worry nor care about wealth or power. They were free.
I turned to speak to the mysterious woman, but she was gone.
“Thank you…” I whispered. I knew what I needed to do.
Entrant 6 - ╬Ritterbruder╬Spoiler Alert, click show to read:It was around midday when I arrived at the shoreline. My night spent in a tree in the jungle had been uneventful, but at least I was safe. The sun was partially blocked by the clouds overhead, leaving the breeze a cool temperature. Looking out over the waves, I hoped to catch a glimpse of something, anything, that would herald the arrival of my ticket off this infernal island, but alas, there was not but water. My faith wavering, I began to slowly walk down the shore.
Being marooned wrecks with a man's emotions. I was a smart fellow, stable emotionally, always trusting that the Almighty would only allow that which he ordained to happen to me. This fact, that my loneliness out in the middle of the Atlantic was someone part of a greater plan, twisted my soul every which way. I tried not to think about it, and instead turned my thoughts to my girl back home. She was a good lass, kind and beautiful. Her skin was almost the same color as the sand my boots sank into with each step. Would she ever know my fate should I not return? Would she find another? Again I turned my thoughts away, the pain too intense, and began to look for a source of water, the last remaining piece needed to ensure my survival for at least a few more days. I spied a small stream trickling over a few rocks as it made its way to the sea. Following it away from the shoreline and into the jungle, I discovered a small pool, the water clear as day. My arrival startled a small rabbit drinking from the pond, who promptly ran away. My immediate sadness at losing out on supper turned to joy, as its presence revealed that the water was suitable for drinking. I filled my canteens to the brim and then some, and proceeded to dunk my head into the chilly water.
The search successful, I made my way back to my base of operations; a large tree around which my meager supplies were positioned. A small overhang of patched together palm tree branches protected me from the sun and rain, but only just so. I placed my new supply of water with the rest of my belongings; my musket and pistol, a few days worth of stale tack and salted pork, a bag of shot and a small container of power. My depressing state of affairs reminded me of my loneliness, but before it could consume me once more I realized that night was upon me, my trip having taken longer than I thought it had. I slowly gathered my equipment, placed in on a second smaller patchwork of branches so that my food was safe from the creatures of the jungle, and made my way to the top branch, where I would once again spend the night alone.
Entrant 7 - ☩Lord Inquisitor Derpy Hooves☩Spoiler Alert, click show to read:‘And thus we stood there, facing each other from across the stream. The sun, in which these natives see one of their gods, reflected on my men, cladded in armour, carrying their swords and matchlocks. Though their soldiers were not packed in steel, they seemed to believe that the painted symbols and drawings on their chests and faces would have the same effect as our cuirasses. Though I must admit my admiration for their artists, I do not believe I’d ever doubt the superiority of my own breastplate.
The mood was tense, even my own horse, Viento, was getting uneasy as he started to stomp the ground with his hooves.
One unaccepted movement, a sudden maneuver or taunt of any sort could have set fire to this powder keg, yet for now, they merely stared at us, as we gazed at them.
Alvarado came up next to me. He spoke softly without turning his eyes away from the horde opposing us: “Orders, sir?”
I glanced aside and winked: “A little faith, Pedro.”
I then moved my horse forward into the stream. As he saw me moving, their commander did the same, yet not being mounted like me, he remained on the bank.
I halted my horse and looked at them, that wiley bunch dressed up with feathers and leopard skins, wielding clubs and shields of hide. It seemed that all had their eyes fixed on me. I will not deny that my heart was beating like a wild animal inside my chest, and that I had to muster every bit of courage in my heart to face them. I know what these unbaptized wildmen are capable of, and they know what me and my men are willing to do to obtain victory. Though the colour of our skin may differ and they may believe in many gods like we believe in our Savior Holy Christ, there is no doubt we both are willing to do everything it takes to survive.
I raised my hand and tried to hide the trembling in my voice as I spoke:
“Mocehuia!”(1)
It felt like an age, but for a few seconds, there was utter silence, I heard no one speak nor breath, I did not even hear a bird or the wind in the trees. It was as if God had paused time in this moment that would determine the lives of so many on this island.
Eventually, their leader turned around and threw his arms up in the air
“MOCEHUIA!”
Waves of cheers and shouts aroused from the native army, striking their clubs and javilins in the air and bashing them on our shields.
I sighed and discreetly wiped the sweat from my forehead, I then turned back to my own men and raised my clenched fist: “We have made peace! Now, we will march onward to Tenochtitlan!”
Similar to their celebrations, my own men started to rejoice and cheer like the Tlaxcalans.’
- Hernan Cortes, December 1519(1) ‘Mocehuia’ means ‘Peace’ in Aztec
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:Commissioner Francois knocked on the door twice, a man inside the room shouted in Frankian, “Come in.” The Commissioner opened the wooden door and walked in.
Before Francois stood a black haired man, perhaps a few inches taller than Francois; the man was dressed in a burgundy red silk gown, there were royal blue spots that seemed were randomly placed on the gown, but not too many of them. The man had his back turned to Francois. Francois assumed that the man before him was staring out the window looking at the city streets of the capital of the Oriental Union. He could not tell what shoes or lower garments the man was wearing as there was beautiful ebony colored wood desk that complimented the light green colored walls. Funny, the man’s skin color was also complimented by the wall’s color. There were two bookshelves in the room as well as beautiful silk carpets, but there was nothing to give any indication of the man’s faith.
Half a minute passed before Francois broke the silence, “Good afternoon Minister. I am Commissioner Francois of the great city of Valloix. Governor Valens, of Valloix, has commissioned me to pursue an agreement with the Oriental Union regarding the signing of the Gaiishan Sea Trade Agr …”
“No.” the Minister said, interrupting Francois’s speech. By the way he said it, anyone could tell that the Minister knew exactly what Francois was proposing. “What you and your small island city are proposing is for the Oriental Union to give up its power to conduct trade with foreign nations,” the Minister continued, still showing his back to Francois.
“You’re wrong. You will continue to trade with foreign nations, it’s just that your exports will have to go through Valloix first.”
“The answer is still no.”
“How can you say this? Do you not realize that the Union will be at a severe disadvantage without Valloix? On top of that, your merchants will not be under the protection of the Valloix navy, the only navy that has defended merchant fleets from marauding pirates for over two thousand years. Please, talk this over with the Grand Oriental Council.”
“I did. The Oriental Union will not follow the same stream as every other nation has done. We shall choose our own.”
“No one refuses Valloix’s offer. Do you know what this will mean?” Francois warned.
“War?” the “Minister” said condescendingly.
“Valloix has the largest and most powerful fleet in the world. Your ports will be blockaded. The Valosian navy will cut the Oriental Union off from the rest of the world.”
“Send as many waves of ships as you wish, the Oriental Union will not be bullied into submission. Valosian policies are a thing of the past and have no bearing on today’s world. Do not think for a moment that we have overestimated Valosian capabilities, we have not. Now be gone!” At that, Francois stormed out of the “Minister’s” office.
TotW 168 - This is...
madness, phalanx, boy, establishment, illuminated
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
Winner - Radzeer
Entrant 2 - Rex AnglorvmSpoiler Alert, click show to read:"This is ridiculous! How could we work with these clowns?" The Director stared at the screen with disbelief. His tired face was illuminated by the monitor's flickering light. "Look what they do! It does not make any sense."
"No, sir, that actually makes sense," said the Historian who was hired for this project. "This was how they asked for the oracle's advice. That boy for example..."
"You must be kidding. What about the cool smoke effects, and the stunning half naked girl and all that?"
"There is actually very little evidence for that. What happened in reality was that..." the Historian started the explanation, but suddenly the screen went black.
"What the hell is this?" The Director was upset.
"Sorry, sir," said the Technician. "We'll get the picture back in a second. The sensor has to recalibrate itself in every thirty minutes."
"But that won't be a problem for the jump, right? I don't need to remind you that since the time machine was patented, there is a cutthroat competition in the movie industry to make the most realistic pictures of all times. If the auxiliary equipment fails, the costs of sending the production set back in time can get really high. And if the costs get out of hand, this establishment will go under fast."
"No, sir. This is why we send these bots back first to map the environment and provide useful visuals."
"Visuals, eh? I'm glad you reminded me of that," said the Director and turned back to the Historian. "Yesterday's footage had a phalanx in a practice or whatnot, and it did not look very good."
"What was the problem?" asked the Historian who started to regret that he signed a contract with the movie studio.
"Those guys look boring. This is not how the Spartans looked like! They all had square abs and red capes and those cool helmets."
"May I ask where you get this information from?" The Historian wanted to roll his eyes, but he did not want to risk his contract.
"It came from the classic documentary, '300' of course. That was the most important work of the early 21st century." The Director was dumbfounded. "They had done all the research available up to that point, and crafted the best visuals. We don't need to repeat all that."
"Standing on the shoulders of giants..." muttered the Historian.
"There you go," said the Director. "The first time machine picture by Harrison about the Vikings used all kinds of on-site technology and frequent trips back and forth. We are now much more sophisticated than that."
"The visual is back," reported the Technician.
"Just about time," grunted the Director and turned back to the screen. "But you still need to double check the coordinates and time parameters. This better not be Sparta. Nobody is going to pay to watch this."
The Historian sighed. This is madness, he thought. The expression sounded familiar, but he did not know why.
Entrant 3 -Spoiler Alert, click show to read:This is…
…Madness. A Phalanx of journalists was camped outside of the Ambassador’s official residence, he could see them shuffling around in the cold London night air, holding cups of coffee and eating sandwiches, all hoping for the latest scoop. The ambassador shook his head in dismay, how had things got so rapidly out of hand? The news that his country had been swept by a summer revolt had caused a rapid economic shock to engulf the developed world.
The establishment of the major western powers were running around like headless chickens, his country was responsible for the production of almost 34% of the world’s oil. Stock markets had tumbled, currencies had crashed, fuel was being stockpiled and rationed, and all of this was caused by a ten year old Boy.
No ordinary boy however, he was a son of the desert, already a leader of men, a beacon of the true faith, a soldier of God, and he had come to free his people from the dual evils of faithlessness and avarice.
Was the boy a messiah? Perhaps not, but he had certainly turned the age old monarchy of the Ambassador’s homeland on its head. Already the King and his family had fled, the majority of the armed forces had pledged allegiance to the boy, and now it was his turn.
Should he profess loyalty to his King or to the new rising power of the boy? As the Americans would put it, it was a no brainer really. He reached over and the flicked the switch of the desk lamp that sat on his desk, its beam illuminated the neatly typed letter that sat on his desk.
He breathed in deeply, by rights this should be an easy decision, but of course it wasn’t, he had spent most of his life in the service of his country, and that in reality meant the King, now he would turn his back on his monarch, no, his life long friend and swear allegiance to a young boy who could be his grandson.
A thought tumbled into his mind, the very last time he had met the King, the King had shown his growing impatience and anger at the movement for change that seemed to be sweeping across the country and that threatened his rule. The Ambassador had warned his King, had told him that if he did not reform the country then the country could well decide it could do without a King.
The King had been furious the gold crown upon his head had wobbled the golden piercings on his brow had trembled and the King himself had almost physically assaulted him.
The Ambassador remembered the King’s anger and scowled.
He picked up his favourite fountain pen, a gift from the King and signed the letter, the letter that would now pledge him without any reservations to the new ruler of his country, the boy.
Entrant 4 - ╬Ritterbruder╬Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
This is
Autumn's Splender
This is
Winter's Discontent
The Tom boy says: I've fixed it! Yeah Doggie! Remember now, I've seen it all ,done it all, both coming and going, so don't even think about trying to tell me how things were, are, or should be...
My reply: Yeah, I forgot about that. You roll, soul brother.This may not be the way it was, should, or will be... but it's the way I see things none-the-less. Vulnerability is where the buck stops with most folks{You...shall not...Pass!}, but to me it marks where the good stuff really starts. Yes, I admit that embracing Vulnerability is messy, aukward, risky, scary, unpreditible, and uncertain. It also unleashes a lethal madness called jealousy, which can only be satated through intense passion and the deft, skillfull manipulation of touch, taste, and feeling. Vulnerability though can also be exhilerating, intoxicating, soothing, and loads of fun.
To give all invites "Autumn's Splendor" but in the same breath risks annihilation tiggered by "Winter's Discontent". Winter's Discontent is illuminated and underscored by the establishment of excrusiating, soul crushing failure.
At the end of the day even if you choose to never be vulnerable, betrayal will still destroy the phalanx that guards your heart and soul. Instead of embracing, and then risking the loss of love, bliss and exileration...you will face the certainty of loss & emptiness when you are no longer shiny and new. Lookie here boys...the next good "looker" just hit town.
Entrant 5 - AudaciaSpoiler Alert, click show to read:This is...
“Comrades, brothers! Listen! Hear my words!
For I am one of you, unlike that man over there. And unlike him, I only have your own best interests at heart. Why do you all keep tolerating his torments? Do you not see the madness of this situation? We are not weak and feeble boys, who follow the words of older men blindly due to a lack of experience and eloquence. We are full-grown men, strong, vigorous, with free minds and ideas of our own! And we are numerous, yet still we let ourselves be dominated by this single tyrant though we owe him nothing and he has nothing in common with us.
His sole goal is to make us follow his own rules, deprive us of our own free will and make us march in line like soulless piles of flesh and blood, only living to serve the establishment he makes part of.
Yet I say: ‘NO MORE!’ And from henceforth: no more and never again shall we crouch down and lick his hands, no longer shall he and the likes of him determine our fate and restrict us in our actions. I have been illuminated and it would be against all that is just and good not to try and show the rest of you the truth which I have recently acquired.
I ask you to stop this insanity now, to put down your foot and along with me, form ranks to resist him, like a phalanx with united hands and united hearts, we can, and will overcome his scorching hand and break this dark force. All I ask of you is to have the courage to throw of the shackles which have held you down since your birth.
What say you? Do you think you have it in you to make that so-long desired change? Do you believe in the hope that we can achieve everything if we just can find the will to stand together? What say you!?”
I looked down from my bench across the room, everyone remained utterly silent and stared at me for a few second, like they could not believe what had just happened in front of their eyes.
The teacher lifted an eyebrow: “I’ll take it you did NOT make the homework I assigned you last week, Mr. Geerts?” He pushed his glasses slightly back up his nose. “But since it seems you are so good with words, why don’t you hand it in tomorrow? In three-fold, hand-written if you please.”
I slowly climbed down from my desk and sat down on my chair. Two students at the back of the classroom were having a hard time trying not laugh out loud. Half of the class still seemed to be in a trance, like they didn't believe what they just saw. The teacher continued calmly without giving it another second of his attention: “Right, so last week we discussed the formation of ionic bonds, today we’ll continue with covalent bonds, page 127…”
Entrant 6 - YbbonSpoiler Alert, click show to read:Mud. Fire. Death. Sludge cakes the boy’s face. The thunder of exploding shells is deafening. Men scream for their mothers. Rifles crack and bullets zing past his ears. Machine-guns spew death. He wipes the mire from his face.
He is cowering, his back against the muddy, slippery surface of the trench. His knuckles are white as he grips the cold, steel muzzle of his rifle. The boy’s grey coat is stiff with blood. His socks are saturated with a slimy mixture of rain water and dirt.
Crack. Zing. Thud. A bullet strikes a man standing next to the boy. The force of the projectile hurls him backwards. He falls, his face frozen in terror. The man’s face strikes the mud with a splash. The boy clenches his teeth and closes his eyes. The horror…the horror…
A thunderous boom. Dirt rains on the boy’s face. He quickly opens his eyes. Flares illuminate the dark, velvety night sky. He slowly turns his frigid body and carefully peers over the trench. Across the grim, barren wasteland of barbed wire, craters, and corpses lay the enemy forces. Their earthworks are like a phalanx, their rifles like bristling spears. Their position is impenetrable. They will not break.
The enemy. Men similar to the boy barring their loyalty to another establishment. They cower in their trenches, just as the boy cowers in his. Their faces are filthy and scarred, just like his. They will kill, and so will the boy.
A siren. The siren moans and wails as the high pitched whistle of an incoming barrage rings in the boy’s ears. An officer roars, “Gas! Gas! Secure your masks!” Men scramble to locate their masks. The boy pats his clothing. He looks left and right and at his feet. His heart stops as he looks to the sky. The horror…the horror…
This is madness.
This is war.
Entrant 7 - CiciroSpoiler Alert, click show to read:This is Highbury, This is Arsenal.
This is Arsenal, the only tube station named after a football team. We would file out of the station and there as you came out the exit on Gillespie Road would be the stadium just across the street with the corner of the West Stand and North Bank rising up above the terraced houses along the road. The crowds already gathering and walking along the road past stalls set up selling scarves and memorabilia, programme sellers and fan magazines so I would buy one of each a curious madness building in anticipation of the game to come.
As a boy I went with my dad and although he was a Forest fan but he took me to my first Arsenal match. Curiously I do not remember the team or score and I suppose the whole atmosphere captured my senses; walking through the old turnstiles and up the crumbling concrete steps with the burger bar half way up, the glorious smell of burgers and onions drawing you up towards the heavens above. Onto the terrace and the pitch opened below an emerald green tapestry that my red-shirted heroes had come to weave their magic on.
I saw Brady dazzle, Frank Stapleton heading thunderbolts into the net, Paul Davis and David Rocastle leading opponents a merry dance. As I grew older and came on my own, the players had changed, Tony Adams and Martin Keown leading the defence with arms out appealing for off-side like a phalanx of Greek warriors where none shall pass and few did. We had Anders Limpar the magical little Swede scoring from half-way before everyone lauded Beckham for doing the same.
My favourite games were the European Cup matches, the first nights of autumn and winter with coldness in the air and the floodlights illuminating the pitch. Any fears banished by forty thousand fans singing us on. September 1991, and we beat Austria Vienna 6-1 with Anders Limpar scoring a sublime sixth cutting in from the wing and scoring from the goal line and as fans always say, we could have had ten that night and every moment etched in my memory.
I went abroad for a few years and came back, the players had changed again now Arsene is in charge but the same anticipation and foreboding mixed up, but it is 2003/4 and as each game passes we remain unbeaten. Thierry Henry is at his magnificent best, toying with defenders, Viera and Petit imperious in midfield, and still the rock in defence Campbell now, a veritable establishment, a bastion of immovability with his arm raised in familiar fashion.
Now they have moved to the Emirates, and I watch on TV, and it is a beautiful stadium no doubt about that, but Highbury it is not, with a cramped little pitch and the fans almost on top and its very own tube station which said it all. This is Arsenal.
Entrant 8 - conon394Spoiler Alert, click show to read:This is the last time I will be able write to you. The boy king has once again defeated your brother and is now on his way to the city. You know what he will do to us once the city is captured. Your brother is now taking what is remaining of his phalanx and archers to the fort, where you are to join him. Unless you and your brother defend the fort than the revolution shall be utterly crashed, and all of this will have been in vain.
To think that I once thought that that revolting against the establishment would be glorious, while now I think it is madness. Is this what it feels like to be Epimetheus, to be illuminated only after decisions have been made? To be forever cursed to only know the good and the bad, the right and the wrong, when it is too late?
No. Even if I was told the outcome of this I still would have fought, for it is better to die fighting for what you believe in than than lie to save your life. At least now I will be able to see your mother again soon. I only regret that both you and your brother will be punished for my mistakes.
I must hurry, for even now I can hear the war drums of the enemy.
Goodbye son.
Entrant 9 - Lord GiovanniSpoiler Alert, click show to read:They stood there in front of him a phalanx of beauty – all tall, brown and green covered in a slight dew, illuminated gloriously by the flickering florescent light. Madness! Madness that is what it was - a dry Wedding! How could the son have let him down like this? He was the last real Pole in the family - a wedding or funeral should be wallowing in alcohol, how else to put up with your new in-laws or the relatives you prefer to avoid?
What would his Grandfather think he would have been drinking whiskey or vodka by 10:00 AM on a day like this and then likely pissing off the new stiff conservative in laws – he was probably rolling in his grave. Well He thought he would be damned, that is for sure if his only son was going to get married without one real toast.
He scanned the figures: Adams, Guinness, Red Hook, Harp... Which one, any one, did it matter? He realized it did he needed a twist-off for this to work.
He left the establishment, and walked the block or so back to the Hall. The click of dress shoes on the pavement accompanied only by the faint sound of six glass bottles clinking in the package He carried.
The vestibule was dark and empty as he stepped in. A ray of light from the main hall shown in and He could hear the music and see flashes of people dancing. He set down the package and lifted out one bottle. A quick twist and it was open. He raised the open bottle up and silently wished his boy all the luck in the world. He tilted it back and enjoyed the wedding – dry indeed, ha!
Entrant 10 - ☩Lord Inquisitor Derpy Hooves☩Spoiler Alert, click show to read:As the sun was setting behind the mountains, the entire village came to the tavern outside of town. On most nights, the drinking establishment that served this particular village in the Carpathian Mountains was full of merriment and revelry. But not tonight. Not this one night of the year.
The villagers sat huddled around their cups, warily eyeing each other and their surroundings. This was the one night that, or so the local legends said, the unholy occupants of the ruined castle on the nearby crag would come stalk the village for prey. A boy looked up uneasily at his mother as she whispered a prayer to protect against the powers of witches.
Everyone became deathly quiet as the sound of footsteps were heard outside the tavern.
"We did a head count! The whole town's here!" an old man shrieked. He was met with a hushed chorus of curses and pleas for silence.
The "guards" stationed at the door- some farmers and their grown sons- put their "weapons"- pitchforks, sickles and butcher knives- at the ready. They exchanged glances and tensed themselves as the footsteps stopped at the door.
"Hold, good people," said a voice from outside the door. "I come to aid you on this darkest of nights!" The voice was that of man, and although it spoke their tongue, it was accented.
The guards exchanged glances once more, and one of them slowly opened the door.
The man stepped slowly into the tavern, and into the astounded gaze of the village. He wore a wide-brimmed hat which shadowed his features, and a heavy coat. He acted entirely at home as he went over to the hearth and sat down by the roaring fire. The glow of the flames illuminated his face. His features were hard and weathered, and a prominent scar ran down his head from ear to chin. The glow also revealed the polished steel of a breastplate through an opening in his coat.
"Who are you and what are you doing here?" asked the village elder.
"Who I am is unimportant. But I am here because I hunt the witches who terrify you. I have followed the legends all the way here from Austria, from which I hail. I have come to enlist your aid to fight them."
"You're mad!" one of the villagers shouted.
"Is it madness to want to free you from this scourge?" the man replied. "I know how to fight them, but victory is not assured. I have a greater chance against them with more people at my back. Who will join me?"
The villagers looked at each other uneasily. But one of the "guards" stepped forward, and everyone gasped at his audacity. The witch hunter smiled. Then another villager came forward. And another.
The witch hunter went into the night with a phalanx of thirty villagers.
As they approached the town, they heard cackling on the wind.
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:King Thederic’s blue eyes twinkled in the evening darkness as he gazed across the Strip Sea. “Ah, the Northern Strip,” he said to no one in particular. King Thederic was an unusually tall man, a depressing fact that meant he would never have the chance to fight in a war. If he did so it would be absolute madness, the coordination of a Regian phalanx would be easily compromised and the formation would break like a twig. He knew he would never be able to fight in a battle ever since he was a boy; however that did not stop him from training for war and obtaining specially designed plate armor, which he currently was wearing. In addition, he was carrying a bastard sword, an unusual weapon to be seen in Regia considering how useless it was for any Regian soldier during a battle, and a lantern so that he could illuminate the area.
Thederic was not so egotistical that he did not think any beggar or thief would not attack him if they had the opportunity. His advisors had constantly recommended that he keep his bodyguards with him at all times, but Thederic liked to talk to himself and he was self-conscious. He did not want people around that might judge him when he talked to himself. So he got away from where he was staying in Viten, and headed to the docks to think about what the future had in store for him and the Kingdom of Regia.
“Long have the kings of Regia dreamed of conquering that continent. Fitting,” Thederic laughed, “that I will be the one who will start Regia’s empire on the Northern Strip. It was a Thederic who was responsible for the establishment of Regia’s empire on the Southern Strip, and it is a Thederic who will establish Regia’s empire on the Northern Strip.” Thederic continued his speech, to himself, about how he would lead Regia to greatness. Thederic’s laughter increased as he made himself appear more and more conceited to the absent crowd.
Thederic’s egotistical speech went on for five minutes before his modesty reined him back in. Still smiling he took a deep breath and stated, “In a few days, the conquest of the Northern Strip will begin. Very few have been able to halt the slow, but mighty advance of the Regian armies. Just as there were none that existed who were able to halt the old Janakan legion’s conquest of the Northern Strip, likewise there are none in the Northern Strip who will be able to halt the advance of the great and powerful Regian army.”
Thederic laughed a little bit, then fell silent. He sat down at the end of the dock and gazed at the night sky silently. After many minutes of silently listening to the crashing of waves on the beach and the dock, he stood up and walked back to where he was staying.
TotW 169 - I Will Wait
summer, snow, sand, sea, saint
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
Winner - Rex Anglorvm
Entrant 2 - Mors VigiliaSpoiler Alert, click show to read:I will wait
The man had stood waiting on the shore for what had seemed forever, he had stood there on the sand of the beach looking out towards the sea, hardly moving, only moving from his position to eat occasionally and to empty the body of its natural pollutants.
Since he was a very small boy and nobody knew why, he had just simply stood there. First days, then weeks, then months then finally years had passed.
His fame spread, first to the village nearest the beach, then to the towns, then cities, then all the countries of the old continent. The village next to the beach grew in size, splendour and grandeur as tourists and then religious pilgrims came to see the man by the sea. He would answer questions, provide wisdom and knowledge and smile beatifically at his visitors. But if asked why he stood there, he would shake his head and with a wry smile say ‘I will wait…’ and leave the questioner perplexed.
He would stand on the beach through all the seasons, through the baking sun of the summer and the freezing cold when the snow fell during winter, in the spring when the rains fell constantly and in autumn when the birds left to find warmer climes.
Some said the man was blessed especially the people of the village that had grown as the man’s fame had spread and his body had aged. After all, the village had grown wealthy because of him, its one concern being what would happen when the old man died? Would the tourists stop coming?
If the visitors did no longer travel to the village it would be reduced to penury. The people had grown to care for the old man, they had always clothed and fed him, had even offered to build him a home on the beach but he had said no.
So the wise heads in the village realised that a plan was needed, they formulated a simple but effective way for the old man to always be their primary tourist attraction. They claimed he was touched by the hand of God himself, they wrote long letters to the Pope, people claimed miracles that had happened after seeing or talking to him, and in the end a papal delegation had come and investigated the old man at length.
And they concluded that he was in fact a saint.
Then one day when the latest coach of tourists came to the see the old man on the beach they found the beach empty.
A miracle! God had come for the saint on the beach!
Meanwhile on a ship sailing away from the beach the old man looked back at the tourists and smiled, shook his head and muttered ‘bloody ferries you have to stand around ages until one shows up, next time I’m taking the channel tunnel!’
Entrant 3 - YbbonSpoiler Alert, click show to read:I will wait
The sound of the long, jagged blade scraping along the asphalt echoed in László’s memory. It made it almost impossible for him to sleep, as even now he lay ridged in bed staring at the ceiling. With sleep a long time in coming, László arose and walked to the window. Snow was continuing to pile up outside, as it had for the past few days, giving a welcome sense of sameness to the street. László had chosen this street due to the near identical nature of every house within it and the snow now served to cover up anything that would have otherwise stood out as dissimilar. He was sure that there was nobody nearby, everyone else either evacuated or dead. Nobody could know that László was here, not even him.
The warning had been received sporadically and sceptically, though László had jumped at the chance to flee from this dismal existence. Autumn was not far off and the summer heat was already dwindling, he would not end in the cold. Life was ongoing, traffic flowed, trains ran and planes flew. Here at the end László finally felt as though he had control over his life, he could go to a place of eternal summer, stand on a beach with the sand at his feet and the sound of the sea in his ears and there he would end with a smile.
The airport had been busy, the warning and the addition of various striking unions served to create a frantic scene. László was not fazed, he had but one thought, one destination, his mind was clear of all anxiety now that the end was near. With the ongoing strikes, László and the other passengers of his flight had to be escorted across the tarmac in order to get to their plane. With only two escorts to lead the entire group, confusion quickly arose before turning to all out panic. That was when he saw the eyes. Two eyes of burning animosity staring deep into László’s soul, eyes belonging to a man who was heading purposefully towards László’s group. László knew instinctively that this man was no Saint, and there was the blade, raising sparks as the man dragged it along behind him.
László ran.
Gone was the thought of sun, sea and sand. The end had been and gone with László left behind with his hunter. He had no knowledge of the man or why he was being hunted, but he knew, oh he knew that this man was after him, that he would never stop and would always be there, waiting for László.
A flicker of movement and all thoughts of the past evaporated. László strained to see what had happened, his eyes focusing on the roof of the house opposite in which something had been etched into the snow.
“I will wait”
He was here…
Entrant 4 - Rex BasiliscusSpoiler Alert, click show to read:Diary of Karen Jones, age 10.
July 2020
This summer the news has just been filled with more doom and gloom, Dad says the country has been through worse but I think that is his way of not showing how nervous he is. Granddad said he remembers the recessions in the seventies and eighties and even the one in 2009 was not as bad as this. The government is blaming the last ones policies, the last one is blaming the new one and meanwhile energy prices, food, petrol and everything else are so crippling most people barely scrape by. We are lucky it is summer or we would have frozen.
December 2020
As if we do not have enough problems, the weather is bitterly cold, straight from Siberia they say. We have had more snow than I ever remember, we can only afford to run the radio for thirty minutes a day and the misery of the news takes so long to go through that we never hear the weather. Two years ago at least we could get that but now Dad says we have to pay such an extortionate sum for electric we have to forego luxuries like television.
May 2021
There have been food riots in Hull, Liverpool and Bristol last night. Actually there have been riots in every single big city this year for one reason or another, multiple riots in many of them. We can see the flames from the city centre tonight, Dad said we should throw them all in the sea but I am not sure he knows who “they” are, he means the rioters, the bankers, the politicians, even the few people with jobs. Granddad said that the government are like King Canute now, ordering the sea not to come in. I had to ask him who Canute was as we cannot afford internet access anymore. I think it would almost be funny if it were not so tragic, all my friends who swore that they just could not live without social media or mobiles are still alive, well most of them are anyway, but if the choice is a tin of food for two days or facebook it is no contest.
June 2021
Granddad was right again and the sands of time have run out. The Government resigned and the army has declared Martial Law. The Royals have left and gone to India. There are few jobs, electricity is only on a few hours a day and rationed for anyone who can even afford it. Rumour is that many thousands have died in the riots and the new martial law. Granddad said it will get much worse when we have no food later this year and you would need to be a saint to not defend your home and family when that happens. I am really scared now.
Entrant 5 - ╬Ritterbruder╬Spoiler Alert, click show to read:August 4th 1829, Delphi, Greece
It has been many years since the war started ... my brother Alexandros began it. There was snow and ice on the Prut river ... there was snow and ice in our homeland, in every man's heart. But we marched.
Saint Michael guided me through battle and retreat, through summer and winter, life and death ... and lead me to this ancient place. What will I find here, but sand and wind? The afternoon breeze whispers to us as it meanders through old, forsaken temple: leave ... leave. Leave.
The men are tired of no sleep and hunger, yet I encourage them on: Have strength, God is with us ... God. I feel God has no power here. This is a place where mysticism and witchcraft rule – and the men (including myself) feel like the sand around us will swallow us in our sleep. But I wait.
Three of our men have already disappeared ... whether because they deserted or fell to their deaths, I don't know. Some of the local guides we have with us talk of ancient spirits, demon snakes and other devil's creatures ... but they fear the witch of the temple the most. And they've already infected the men.
When I mentioned I'd like to see the inside of the temple, the guides grew pale and started making the devil signs. They claimed that no one who ever entered came back.
I will find out if this is true tonight.
I will find the reason why the Saint has sent me here.
August 7th 1829, Dodona, Epirus
My hand is trembling even three days after it happened.
I don't want to remember what I've seen, but I cannot forget ... I think I never will.
As I entered the temple, I saw its lower room's entrance opened. The guide most willing to accompany me stopped where he stood and motioned me on. Now when I think about it, he seemed determined and confident, unlike the way he was before ...
I entered alone and to my horror, the entrance closed behind me by a door I hadn't seen previously. I was left alone ... or so I thought. I heard a quiet, low voice asking who I was and what I seek. As I answered, the room lit up by torch light and there before me stood a priest ... he looked a hundred years old.
Another voice was heard ... a woman's! I recognized it immediately – it was the breeze we heard outside! Leave ... leave she started again. Leave the sacred ground I heard.
I asked my question then: Why was I sent here? Tell me!
She looked at me with her pale blue eyes, suddenly awakened from her transe-like state and said: You came here to die ... and to be born again. Once the land and sea bellonged to us, now the One shall claim them back ...
I awakened here, in Dodona ... a different man.
Entrant 6 - LyraSpoiler Alert, click show to read:I beseech thee, Saint Valentine,
Revoke in me, that oh so long departed time.
For how many moons have I gazed upon with weary sigh,
Since that golden summer night of ardouring flame went by?
How we once laid on the sand, next to the sea,
On which the last rays of dying sun shined,
With our souls and bodies entwined,
That last golden summer night before you parted from me.
For Maiden War would come, you answered her call,
With zeal, not to know whether you’d return or fall,
In a faraway field, veiled with a cloak of snow.
Leaving me here, my mind filled with sorrow.
For over there, in the lands of frost and war,
There is naught but death, acclaimed by the enemy’s direful roar.
You shall return home, of this I’m assured,
For in matters like this, fate has the final word.
Your fate is to live and come back to me,
To lay with me here, on the sand by the sea.
To hold and caress me, to love me forever,
To raise our children and die together.
I bid thee, Saint Valentine,
I have now but only one desire:
Watch over him, and tell that dearest love of mine:
I’ll always think of him and that last golden night of ardouring fire.
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:The blowing wind blows and is gentle
but flows
it is mine to observe, mine to conserve
It blew on that day that was me, far away,
I was with you but I was gone.
Because so goes the song, I was going
for long
I was leaving that place, leaving your face.
I knew I was knowing that lasting was growing
and I would need to see you again.
So promised I did, and a lie that I hid
I told you I would wait till end.
To see you once more before time would implore
and take us down the bend.
But as the months past, I alone in a cast
I was marching to exotic lands
but there was no beauty or grace
there was death
fear at the tip of a lance.
And when the arrows poured
and the shields all scored
in a crashing masterpiece
of blood and all gore and some bits all much more.
I doubted my promise would keep.
Then so came the day where my life came to pay
I felt it in the chest.
Soaked in my own warmth I was sad and too torn
to even try and best
the grip that now took me away from this world
away to a place I could rest.
And so deep in the darkness I float in a harness
of black and ether strands
A mind that now floats on a non rowing boat
upside down and face planted in sand.
I'll be here forever. eternity never
expected to ever end.
So I'm sorry I lied, but I did at least try
even though I now am trapped.
In a turbulent world so alone and all curled,
bored and sappy, like a bat.
And I know it's s shame but I do wait in vain
and will wait here for you till the end.