Scriptorium Summer 2015 Writing Competition Non-Themed voting thread

[Sir Adrian]

Here are the submissions for the short and long categories. Please vote for your favorite one.

Also, please bear in mind that anonymity is still required here. Authors of any works below may not declare what submission may be theirs, or in any other way ruin the anonymity of theirs or another member's submission. Those found to be doing so here or anywhere else will be punished with extreme prejudice by our resident sith lords, knights and ice creatures, and rightly so. The same rules apply to other members as well. Authors may vote for their own entry if they wish.

The thread is for discussion of the articles at hand and voting, NOTHING ELSE.


Polls last until September the 15th

[Sir Adrian]

Entry 01 - The Fall of Xandinaina

The Fall of Xandinaina Commander Imperator Avaustus stood at the brim of the ship as he surveyed his massive forces, ready to launch their assault on their hated enemies, the Mashani. For centuries the Avianians had been suffering under Mashani rule. Now it would be no longer. Imperator Avaustus stared at his fellow Avianians and raised his fist. The Imperial Generals stood behind him as they ordered the flags to be raised. The drummer started drumming as Avaustus's men started cheering. '' Legions! Today is the day we march on Xandiniana, the day we crush these hated Xandinians once and for all. They ransacked our towns, stole our women and raided our gold. Their accursed General, Imasahs Sijaliki leads the last of what is left of them. Xandiniana will fall! We wil bask in the glory of the mother goddess tonight! '' Avaustus raised his fist ordering his troops to attack. The troops cheered as they buckled their massive guns and put on their face masks. Huge humongous lizards hissed and cheered as their commanders held them, grunting back in desperation. The city lay in front of them, a massive city, full of temples made out of gold and silver. The great harbor lay open front of them, with hundreds of small ships shooting. Fireballs erupted into the ranks of the Avianians as they marched upon the city walls. Artillery fired back into the metal walls, with plasma bursting and melting into the walls. '' You will march or you will die! '' One of the officers urged. '' Avianians, heed my words! We fight for Aviania! They must be taken! '' A officer roared to his men as the large bronze shield tower made its way. Avaustus grinned. Everything was going according to plan. '' General Galendian, the Imperial Navy will attack. Order the artillery for a full bombardment. We spare no one. '' Galendian nodded as he shouted the orders. Huge humongous spaceships armed with cannons and sky ships made their way towards the massive city. Civilians ran like tiny ants being squashed by elephamnants. The city erupted into fire as missiles made straight through buildings, causing many to tumble and crumble down. The walls melted down as an band of Avinaians raised their guns and shot straight into the wall causing a massive hole. Once done the Avianians stormed through the large hole, shooting any charging Xandinian solider they could find. One Avianian slammed his metal rifle into a Xandianian before plunging him down. Another Avianian shot at four Xandinians as they tried to signal for cover. The walls exploded as the Avianians stormed the walls, regiments after regiments poured into the streets as Xandianins rushed under the command of their General. The regiments of Avianians flooded as their ships provided air support. Avaustus nodded from the Imperial Flagship. He would be rewarded handsomley back home. **** Ganei pulled the rope as he settled into his small boat. His friend, Haba, the merchant looked back at him with fear. '' Ganei, what are you doing? Come, we must retreat! The Avianians are destorying everything! '' Ganei popped his head from below the ship as he tried to start it, moving through the various wires and cables that were cordled around his body as he moved into the depths of the ships' heart. '' Thank you but I don't need your advice, I'm on some important work right now, '' '' And what important work is that then fixing your ship when we're being destroyed by a massive army? '' Ganei found the shining beacon of metal, handia has it was known. He grinned. Perhaps Xandinaia would survive the onslaught today. Perhaps he would be known as a hero. '' Its this! I found it Haba, we'll now be able to defeat them! '' '' Handia? '' Haba held the metal, and looked at Ganei with alarm. '' The General told us not to take it, its the last remant- '' '' Oh who cares, it will save us that's what, '' '' Really? And how? '' Haba would regret those words as Ganei grabbed him into the cockpit. Ganei started the ship as it zoomed straight into the sky. '' Help!!! '' Haba screamed. '' Don't worry Haba, its just a technical minor disturbance! '' The ship flew at a fast speed, as it began to shook and dodge bullet and missile fire from the Avinianan ships. Ganei locked in the handia metal into the firing cockpit and spun the ship as Haba screamed. The big ship lay right in front of them. He held the button and fired as the small missile hit the ship. An massive explosion shook the ground as a huge rectangle cloud formed, while hundreds of broken metal fell straight onto the Arandisian grounds. Avasutus looked in alarm. Who could have gotten access to destroy one of his ships? '' Find the Xandinian that did this! Bring him to me! Keep attacking! '' The whole assault went in disray as Ganei kept on firing and huge clouds formed up the attack, allowing the Xandinians to strike back. '' General, its Ganei of Xandinia, '' One of the messengers urgently spoke. '' Ganei? '' Avasustus looked on as he saw the small ship flying away. '' Yes sir, '' '' Find him and bring him to me. Xandinia will fall and it will. '' Avasustus locked his fist.

Entry 02 - Theseus

Theseus "Are you sure about this?" Less a question than an accusation. No. "Yes." "Aren't you afraid?" Less a question than an accusation. Yes. "No." "Systems are booted. It's time." This time a statement that feels like a question. The machine hums expectantly. I stroke a finger across the paneling. Warm. Not a great sign. It's going to be a long night, and overheating is the least of my concerns. I walk to the interface. The controls are rudimentary, but the machine is fairly basic. All it really needed was an on/off switch. The hardware was easy. A tank of primordial soup, with a few generous pinches of biogens to ease the transition, a handful of photoelectric spark lights pulled right off the shelf. Barely any modifications beyond what I could pick up at the store. It's the software that took decades. Thank goodness I didn't need to write the code, though. The software is beyond human comprehension. A billion years of evolution took care of that part for me. I throw the switch. The machine hisses at me. It's angry. I think it knows better. I adjust the power surge and obediently it calms itself back to a purr. The spider arms carrying the spark lights put Terpsichore to shame as they dip into the pool and stir the fluid into rivulets. Each spark light flashes brighter than lightning, with a pop to shatter an eardrum. My assistant is hiding beneath a protective mask. I savor each and every assault on my senses, the staccato bursts speaking an unheard language. Pain is fleeting. Pain is fleeting, and now, so is death. So is misery. She begins to take form. First a wisp in the pit, then an outline. Next, a silhouette. A shadow growing paradoxically as the lights grow brighter. Each flash of light polymerizes a new molecule, a vesicle full of neurotransmitter, a glycoprotein anchor, a cell full of functioning pieces and parts. A body is growing. Her body is growing. It won't be her, he said. It can't be her. It must be her. Every enzyme, every muscle fiber. Every hair. The sweeping curve of her cheeks. The crooked smile that sneaks out when she smells daisies. The tank fills with foam as the arms swirl about. I was never able to solve the foaming issue. An air pocket here and there shouldn't be a problem. We can correct that after the procedure. And if we can't - we'll just run it again. Eighteen hours have passed. I haven't moved from the controls. The half-composed flesh and bones in the tank would be a hideous sight to an untrained eye. Gristle and guts and byproducts of a killer, not a restorer. These are not trophies of death. These are not remains. These are redemption. A second-chance. A vessel to carry something that never should have been lost. Eighteen more hours. Or maybe it's been eight-hundred? I have powered down my assistant. If it weren't his directive to follow, he would have left a long time ago. His opposition was good. It hardened me to my task, but I do not need distractions now. We are nearly there. The body has been sealed off, hiding the precious organs within. She is missing only a few hairs, which lengthen even as I watch. She is exactly as I remember her. I would call her even more perfect, if I didn't design the machine. She is exactly as she was. DNA is an infallible code. The hardware would not permit otherwise. She will not be her, he said. She will look like her, but she will not be her. DNA will rebuild her body. The scans will rebuild her brain. Every synapse, every cross-link, every thought and memory is nothing but a code. She will be as she was the moment she died. Memory is not a code. You cannot program experience. You cannot program love! Funny words from a robot. I would have dismantled him then and there if anyone else would help. I am alone. Part of me wishes my only companion could witness our reunion, but this is a moment for me and her. I will not be alone anymore. The machine hisses at me. It is angry again. I toggle the power and the arms drift to sleep. The photo nodes fall silent. The foam roils, bubbles, simmers, dissolves away. There. There she is. Exactly as I remember. She is perfect. Far more perfect than I could have imagined. I climb into the pool. My legs have grown useless during my reverie, but I am weightless in the fluid. My blinded eyes see clearly. My shattered ears hear the songs we sang when we were young. I feel the ache seep from my body, and the doom seep from my heart. I grasp her, feeling her skin for the first time all over again. One arm around her waist, one cradling her head. I have never stopped loving her. A deep, cleansing breath escapes our lips as we break the surface. She opens her eyes. It is I that is reborn. I stare deep. I feel love. The same love I have always felt. She stares back, but says nothing. She feels it too. I know she feels it too. Eight-hundred hours pass, and I falter. "Darling?" I ask.

[Sir Adrian]

Entry 03 - The return

The Return Seven long years away from home. It had seemed longer. He had left with nothing. A mere child, spirited away from the only home he had known, the only people he had known. Seven years. Every night for seven years he had dreamt of what had been left behind, of the life that had once been his. Every morning for seven years he had risen in the vain hope that somehow it had all just been a dream, a cursed dream from a young mind. The truth was often too painful for him to dwell on that which had been. Yet that pain was what had kept him alive, driven him forward when all others would have given up. Seven years he had grown in a land that was not his, letting it mould him in to a man. “Now I am home,” he whispered, hardly believing it to be true. If the words had been muttered any louder, Smarv feared that the sight before him would have shattered. If the gods had heard him, they would have taken it upon themselves to rip away everything before him and leave him ruined. The sea was calm, a well-received gift. The sun was alone in the sky, with nothing by a flock of gulls for company. Yet the birds were more interested in circling the mainmasts than in ascending to the deep sky. A score of warships cut through the water, oars raising and dipping in a wave out of sync with the ocean all around them. Trained sailors heaved with every movement, working in near-silent professionalism. Above their heads flags swayed in the gentle breeze, bearing the proud heraldry of a half-hundred clans from Flendria. The banners were as colourful as the sails of the warships, deep reds and oranges rivaling the sun itself in their warmth, greens as varied as the clans themselves and the violet which looked more skin than cloth. Blue and white designs adorned the sails as well as the flags, uniting the clans in at least tradition if nothing else. The lands of Flendria had become a second home for him, for the boy who had had nothing. The vast continent had taken him in, provided him with everything a man could need. In return, he had fought for its people. Bled his very essence for them. A hundred allies had been made there, some becoming close friends while others were only bound by their oaths. Yet each had provided men and money, no small thing for the clansmen of the hills and valleys beyond the domain of the city-states. Many had been relieved at the news that he was finally returning home. “At least it is a good day.” Halrof was no small man, even if he was still a youth. The stress of being at sea for the first time had driven him in to a foul mood, merely amplified by those around him. He did not like to show any sign of weakness, a trait hard-learned from service to his chieftain and father. “If all goes according to plan, then it will only get better.” Most of his newfound allies had only looked at the debt they needed to repay. Smarv’s struggle was not theirs. Their responsibility was to their people, first and foremost. A foreigner’s doomed quest was of no interest to them. Yet, Smarv was thankful of the few who truly wished for success. Those like Halrof, who now wished for nothing more than to right a great wrong. To those few, such a mission was worth their own lives. Such honour had allowed Smarv to cast his eyes forward, towards the future. With such men at his side, how could defeat be possible? “I still do not know how you can claim that those rocks offer any protection.” Maytus’ Grasp. Was there a name which could have been more fitting? The young man was hard-pressed to think of one. The five islands were fingers of blackened rock, reaching out for the god’s distant mother. While from the direction they were approaching the islands, none of Smarv’s small army could see the harbors and fortifications built to join the five solitary juts of land together. However every man knew of their existence, and of the danger the garrison could wreck. They had been warned of the fighting which would result from their unannounced presence. “Not the rocks themselves, my friend. Though we must rely on their weaknesses for swift victory.” Accepting the king’s words, Halrof made his leave. Turning away from Smarv, the young chieftain began to bellow orders at his men, roaring in the thick Flendrian dialect which he had known all of his life. Leaving the clansman to his business, the young, throneless ruler fixated upon the distant mounds of rock and timber and stone. “Your Most Honourable, we will be upon the islands before sunset.” The ship’s captain was a stocky man, a thick mane of blonde hair framing a square face. Like most Flendrians, Abelard had not been sentimental enough to name his ship. As it was merely loaned to him from the military dockyards of Repluem, the lowlander had not thought that he needed to give the ship a name. However, with a toothy grin, he had accepted the suggestion of Honour’s Steed as a suitable title. “Thank you, Abelard.” Smarv had been drawn to the man. There had been no debt needing to be repaid. No promises had been made to buy his service. No, Abelard had offered his services to the king, and the services of nearly half of the other ship captains who commanded his ships. “It is not too late to change the plan. We can take them on an even field. Our numbers would tell on the open waters.” They will not face us in the open. Despite being considered warships by the Flendrians, the vessels were little more than transports, and heavy laden at that. Their high flanks and ponderous movements would be ill-suited to the narrow straits around the Grasp. A disadvantage both Smarv and the enemy would be well aware of. “It was too late when we left the port, my friend. Iovus has not let me down yet, nor shall he do so now. Have the others make ready.” The captain nodded, striding away after he had accepted the king’s final decision. He had a hundred duties to carry out before the ship was ready for battle, and they needed his entire attention. One mistake could prove fatal, and that was something neither Smarv nor Abelard could accept. Looking past Maytus’ Grasp, the young man took in a deep breath. The salt cleansed his body, casting away the dark thoughts in his mind. Home. Off in the distance somewhere was a thing strip of land which was his homeland. A grey scar between sea and sky, it did not glow as he had expected it to. He had dreamed of something more. Pushing himself away from the prow, the young man turned and made his way back to his cabin. As full as the ship was, Smarv had little need to weave his way across the swaying deck. Those who had a spare second dipped their head in the vague direction of their liege as he passed. As he passed the Flendrian chieftain, Halrof offered the exiled king one of his well-used phrases. It had been muttered and whispered and roared so many times that Smarv said it with his ally. “This had better be worth it. I expect the women to be as wanton as they are beautiful!” Those within earshot who had the time and energy to give up a ragged cheer. “I am certain that you will discover that for yourself,” went the reply. Laughter, half forced half genuine, sounded for a few moments before the men’s attention was drawn back to more pressing concerns. Blades were sharpened to an unmatched edge and armour was stitched with practiced hands. Food was handed out between friends, each many grimacing at the poor quality they were still not used to receiving. However they did not complain loud enough for Smarv to hear, so he put it from his mind. The cabin was a small affair, only large enough to house a bed and a small chest. However, it kept out the worst of the salt spray and that was good enough for Smarv. The alternative had been a hammock drawn between posts down in the dark hold. At least here there is some light. Casting aside his heavy cloak, the youth worked at his shoulders. Glancing around him, Smarv tried to find something to do. His feet took him to one side of bed, before turning and leading him to the other. Settling on the lumpy mass, the king tried to rest, closing his eyes in a false imitation of sleep. There he lay, listening to the world outside, trying in vain to drift off in to sleep. “Your Most Honourable?” The voice was not accompanied by a rap upon the weak door. However that gruff noise needed nothing to help express the urgency. Smarv called Icarus in as he accepted the futility of sleep and opened his eyes. The man entered at once, pausing only long enough to offer his king a deep bow. “Your Most Honourable, Abelard says that it is time.” Before the youth could rise from his bed, the man was already diving in to the royal’s chest. Pulling out his liege's well-wrapped armour, Icarus examined each piece with an expert eye before laying it out on to the simple bed. It was done in silence, a ritual older than the kingdom which Smarv was destined to rule. Although Smarv could hear the oars dipping in and out of the ocean, and scores of burly men moving to-and-fro throughout the ship, his attention was focused solely on the equipment laid out on his recently-vacated bed. Stripping, the king raised his arms out to each side. At a barked command from Icarus, two servants entered carrying towels and deep bowls. One bowl held steaming water, the other a rich oil. “Welntos, King of Gods, your servants call upon you once more. We beg forgiveness for the weakness before your all-bearing sight. Of ice you formed our souls and of rock our will. That we fall is not to spite you, but to honour you with our spilled essence.” The two servants worked quickly as Icarus spoke, first using soaked towels to clean Smarv’s body. Then, with practiced hands, they lathered the oil over their liege. Massaging as they went, the two servants covered Smarv in the gleaming liquid. Using the dry towels and frantic movements, they dabbed off the worst of the shine. “Lend me your voice, great Welntos, and that of your sister-wife’s son Epartos to speak to souls of the metal.” Now Icarus approached Smarv, aiding the two servants in dressing their king. First went a knee-length robe of cloth, bound tightly by a broad rope around his stomach. Then the leather armour Smarv had worn during the bloody skirmishes across the countryside of Flendria. It was supple leather, able to bend but nigh impossible for a man to tear. Aside from filling out his chest and hiding his shoulders, a skirt of leather strips, strengthened by oil and bronze studs, offered a little protection to his near-naked thighs. “Spirits, we beseech you for your aid. Lend your strength to the armour of one of your own. Protect him as you would your own son. Defend your king, your protector, your champion.” As each piece of armour was fitted, Icarus muttered a different prayer, a different request to the souls of the men who had found their final resting place while wearing the armour. Greaves were held in place by a dozen knots. His vambraces ended in the sharp claws of a Flendrian big cat the king had once slain. Then went on the cuirass, the bronze held in place both with knots and by attaching to the leather underneath and at the shoulder guards. When he was finally clad in his armour, Smarv bowed to Icarus and the servants for their service. However they were not finished, and the king had to allow the servants to approach him again with their oil. Icarus had fallen silent, having retrieved his liege’s helmet and sword. Waiting patiently for the bronze to once more gleam in the weak light of the cabin, Icarus remained motionless. “After the battle, seek me out. You will be both honoured at the victory feast.” The servants, older men from the courts of the Flendrian city-states, thanked the young king with a deep bow and muttered gratitude. They were the first to exit the cabin, fleeing back to whatever dark corner Abelard had earmarked for the non-combatants. “It is good to be home,” Smarv told his friend, leading him towards the prow of the vessel. “It would have been better under different circumstances,” replied Icarus, pausing to allow a clansman to get out of his way. No, the circumstances are just right. He was an exiled king returning come. He was the rightful king coming at the head of an army of warriors seeking vengeance. The people would see him and remember the stories they had been told as children. He had Welntos’ blessing. “The Grasp will be your victory,” Smarv told Abelard as the Flendrian turned to acknowledge the king. “Your name will be remembered by my people for years to come.” The captain accepted the honour with a toothy grin. However it quickly disappeared as he called the king forward. Casting his hand out towards the five islands, the man pointed towards a dark shadow shifting like smoke. Despite the short distances, Smarv needed a moment to focus his eyesight. “They are reacting as quickly as you and your men boasted, however they are gathering in the wrong place.” The king tried to spot the positions of the enemy, but without the aid of the sun, he could not tell for certain what his eyes saw. “Where would that be?” Iovus asked, as unused to naval actions as his younger liege. “Between the middle and fore fingers. They should be over by the index.” They should indeed. For a moment, Smarv did not know what to say. Licking cracked lips, he allowed a thousand thoughts to settle. "They think they have the strength to face us on the open sea?" The king raised his head up to the heavens. Thank you Welntos.

Entry 04 - The Visitor and the Emperor

The Visitor and the Emperor With steps as light as a tiger's he moved into the room from the shadows of the hanging cloths, over the carpets in direction towards the bed. The captain of the Emperor's guard had just been in the room, left a harsh report about an intruder and, for safety's sake, locked the door carefully from the outside. The vast palace echoed of alarm and guards who rushed methodically from room to room in search for him, looking for their assassin in every dark corner. But they would naturally not find him. ”Who is it?” The Emperor's voice broke the silence, not at all loud but calm, as if it did not bother him that his old eyes could not discern who approached in the obscurity of a single living candle. The intruder bent his legs in the steps, pulled his dagger, the Emperor got up sitting in the bed, the intruder reached the bed's edge and went down on knee, with one leg against the floor. He bowed his head in reverence. ”Emperor?” The Emperor pulled white strands of hair from the face, vaguely he distinguished a young man clad in black. The dagger glimmered in the light as a cross pressed against the chest. ”Yes, young man. Are you here to kill me?” ”No, my lord, I do not think so.” The Emperor nodded and drew himself closer the the bed's edge. The silk clothes rustled under his slow motions. The calm voiced was raised again: ”Are you one of my citizens?” The stranger lifted his head hastily, a tone in his voice got sharp. ”No my lord, I am not.” Again the Emperor nodded in acceptance, moved his hand upward and the man in black got up noiselessly. ”What shall I call you,stranger in my house?” ”The Emperor may call his temporary visitor Snowcat, your grace.” ”Snowcat you say,” the old man concluded without hesitation even if his mouth moved with afaint hint of resistance. It was the truth, but not the entire truth. Well, his features relaxed, even an uninvited guest had the right to his secrets. The visitor was silent with his eyes at rest, as much far away as in the present, the dagger in his hand. ”So, young master Snowcat, my guards are looking for your as we speak. I admire your skill and I admire your courage. I shall not call upon them, on that you have my word, but if the guards find you, a risk that increase the longer you stay here, they will arrest you. And I will not hinder them if they do, do you understand?” ”Yes your grace, I understand.” ”Good, so what are you looking for in my chamber? My gold and jade?” The Emperor made an inviting sweep over the room with an open left hand. ”No, I did not come to take anything,” Snowcat dismissed, and did not look around. ”Is it then something you intended to deliver to me, without my courtiers knowledge?” The Emperor reached out his right hand towards Snowcat, but the visitor laid nothing in it. ”No, your grace, I have nothing to deliver.” The Emperor put his hands to his sides and leaned forward. ”Well then. What is it you have come to ask?” ”I have one mere question and I hope you will answer it, even if I am but a simple man from the western mountains.” ”Yea, a man from the west. I heard it on your voice, that exquisite tune. But I will not answer, without a question in return. That is my demand.” Snowcat put his dagger in it's sheath, threw a glance out the window where faint stars whispered about an approaching dawn. He said: ”An honour, you have every right to demand a question without receiving one yourself.” ”But that would cost you your mission.” ”That is true, lord, but had you demanded so I would known that you had no answer to provide, or would lied at any rate.” ”Reasonable. So, what is your question, visitor?” Snowcat slowly opened his coat and brought out a small leather pouch. From it he poured out three small and cold beads that were placed in the old man's hands. The Emperor weighted them carefully. ”Ah, one of gold, one of silver and one of copper...” Snowcat nodded gravely and said: ”Your grace have good tactile. These are valuable things. But more valuable is knowledge and I am looking for the answer to the question... if your realm will rise to find such metals?” The Emperor played with his thin goatee, listening to how guards rushed around with heavy steps and loud command cries. ”My subjects will rise and go,” the reply came on a sudden. “In their travels they will trample many, that shall be your answer. So, now my question. Are the Biins still lords in their forefathers house, in the Valley of the Three Noble?” Snowcat gasped, as ift aken aback. Then the captain of the Guard was heard outside the door and the stranger vanished among the hanging cloths, as quickly and silently as him namesake. Again the captain had gone, after a disappointed report that no assassin had been arrested, and the Emperor sat silent in the gloom with wrinkles across his forehead. ”Step forward Whisper,” he murmured, and from behind a tapestry the tall eunuch came forth. ”My lord?” ”You saw and heard Snowcat the intruder. Well?” The eunuch looked upon his ruler with narrowed eyes. ”The intruder herald great changes in the west. Snowcat should had been removed.” ”No Whisper, I gave my word. It would changed nothing anyhow. No, we shall use this change and this Snowcat. We shall enlighten the people about my mother's great prophecy!” ”But, your mother did not foretold any prophecy?” ”No,” the Emperor chuckled, ”But we shall invent one!”

[Flinn]

finally find some time to finish to read these too

voted of course, one really intrigued me

[Copperknickers II]

Voted, some very good writers on show here.