New MAARC Bronze Medal recipient
As the new amendment ("legalizing" the new points) is very likely to be accepted, I announce the new MAARC bronze medal recipient: Juvenal!
A good example, that you can earn this medal in various ways. Give your rep cookies and tribute to him.
+1 point - category win (the "Best Narrative" award in the I. MAARC with Juvenal's Journal)
+5 points - 5 Tale of the Week wins (!)
Tale of the Week 4 Winner
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:TEUTOBURGER WALD: THE TRUE STORY
Jovinus Flatulus Pulcher was the epitome of that peculiar type, the man's-man. His voice loud, humour coarse and intellect finely honed to methods for beating men senseless and recollection of rude jokes.
Although his presence would be caustic among the fine company surrounding Governor Varus, there was always some place in the column that appreciated his talents.
When the turncoat Arminius brought screaming hordes of barbaric Cherusci upon the unsuspecting column, Jovinus was constantly in the midst of battle, laying about him with no regard for personal safety, felling enemies by the dozen.
That night in the derelict fort, Jovinus alone retained his composure, making his way through two month's wine ration and his entire repertoire of bawdy songs.
Cunning Varus had a plan to snatch victory. He would sneak a force into the forest, sally to tempt the enemy into an all-out charge, then the ambushers would fall upon the German rear. The vital signal was entrusted to Jovinus - clearly the bravest and most unflappable man in the army.
Varus emerged with the first blood-red rays of the sun into a maelstrom of screaming barbarians. Pushing forward into the mass, swords flashed, blood ran, men fell lifeless to the ground. Amidst the chaos, Varus coolly contemplated the state of battle. Judging the moment right he ordered the signal be made.
Jovinus, still drunk from the previous evening, decided to raise the brand with his spatha for greater visibility. But the effort of bracing his legs around his horse and trying to raise sword and brand together brought forth a mighty belch.
Brand and belch exploded together in a yellow ball of flame and Jovinus fell stunned.
Sadly the ambushers failed to see this unrepeatable feat, so both groups went down to an heroic but inevitable defeat.
Tale of the Week 5 - Winner
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
Gaza Coffee-House Parting
Al-Hakim bi-Amr Allah sat outside his establishment, head hung low with an air of despondency. At intervals he addressed passers-by in desultory fashion on the quality of his services, with no success. Gaza was a small town and his girls, no beauties, were now known and loathed by his whole clientèle.
After a particularly rude brush-off, Hakim stood up in disgust and walked right out of town into the wilderness. After hours of circular thoughts about his problems he happened to look down and saw something glint.
Carefully clearing the rubble away, Hakim found that he had discovered an old battered oil lamp. Suddenly excited at this exemplar of childhood stories he gave it a good hard polish with a corner of his robe.
With a blaze of sparks and a cloud of acrid smoke the Djinn appeared (coughing). Hakim, fearful of being tricked, blurted out “I wish my girls were irresistible to men!”
The Djinn, nonplussed, abandoned his prepared speech and disappeared back into the lamp, the words “You got it bub” echoing in the rapidly dispersing cloud as he departed.
Hakim ran back to Gaza. A large queue of foreigners had already formed outside his premises. He noticed that they looked angry and carried much weaponry, so he ran down the line shouting loudly that this was Happy Hour and all prices were halved.
All proceeded well through the rest of the afternoon as Hakim’s purse grew ever heavier, but the queue was growing faster than customers could be satisfied and soon circled the whole town.
In the distance, Hakim saw a large contingent of Poles start a fracas with the Germans ahead of them. But then they seemed to come to an agreement and both groups turned as one and made straight for town.
Seeing the writing on the wall, Hakim made a run for it. The last thing he saw as he raised the sail of his skiff was the pillar of smoke as Gaza was sacked.
Tale of the Week 6 - Winner
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Revenge of the Sith
The Dark Modder sat brooding over his monitor, his face in the gloom
showing an enigmatic expression as he glanced at the clock.
Once he had been happy, the burning light of his genius illuminating the
inner workings of the flawed gem that the Chitinous Amalgam had created.
He had tested, and tweaked and slowly found ways to improve it until it
became a respectable opponent for the baying fans.
And then at the height of his fame, the acclamation of his followers ringing
in his ears, he had offered his towering skills to the pathetic Cretinous
Autarchy ... and the craven fools had rejected him!
Stunned at their folly, he considered moving on. But then he realised that
simple Justice demanded there be a reckoning. So he threw himself anew
into modding. He found bugs in the program that enabled him to inject new
code, and his subtle algorithms grew so powerful that even on-line players
were drawn into his thrall.
And so now the hour was upon them. He watched the machine intently,
fingers wrapped tightly around the emergency cut-out as the final minute
rolled over – 11:11pm November 11th. At first nothing seemed to happen, but
then there was a low rumble, it became louder, and the ground on the
screen began to shake, soon the little A.I. figures were literally thrown into
the air as the sound became a scream and a light brightened in the sky. An
ironic mushroom cloud could be seen growing on the horizon until the light
drowned it out.
The PC itself now began making an alarming grating noise and a curl of acrid
smoke emerged from the case. The Dark Modder threw his switch and the
machine fell silent.
Striding to the window, he threw back the curtains in triumph and looked
out over the city as one by one the lights started going out.
Tale of the Week 9 Winner
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
Like a Thief in the Night
The three Hashshashin ran across the dunes with fluid grace, black robes
concealing everything except their very existence, with even that easily
doubted by any but the most pious and fanatical of observers.
The Templar Lord had barely ceased to gurgle away the last of his life's
blood yet the three were already almost out of sight of castle and pursuers.
One, who had paused to sweep the horizon with a small spyglass, put on an
amazing burst of speed to catch up with the others.
Pushing back her cowl, Azzah (the Gazelle) gave her report.
“They have no horses and there is a small dust storm coming this way, so
we will be able to lose them easily”
Ra'idah the leader shook her head.
“They will have sent messengers, no doubt cavalry will soon be found to
ride us down. We shall keep to the plan”.
Reaching their hidden cache, they donned the clothing there and waited for
the storm. Fedheela (the most widely read) checked each outfit to ensure
it was correctly arranged according to custom.
***
The dust cleared suddenly, revealing the calm shore through shafts of
brilliant sunlight. The Templar guards came to a ragged halt and looked
around in dull bewilderment.
Gunther the Lame called his men to attention.
“They must have had a boat waiting, there's no point looking around here,
we're going back!”
As the grumbling men-at-arms turned to go, Gunther couldn't help noticing
that three nearby soldiers in red and ochre surcoats seemed strangely
attractive. Shaking his head to banish the sacrilegious thoughts, he
resolved to scourge himself for twice the usual time in his cell that evening.
Retracing their steps, the Templar Guards trudged clumsily off into the
distance... except for three in red and ochre who moved with fluid grace.
Tale of the Week 11 Winner
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
SELF-DESTRUCT
Dieter Schnabel sweated in the 1903 Bosnian summer heat. His ludicrous
ceremonial guard uniform baked him - just like the fish his mother used to
prepare every Friday (despite such Catholic practices being viewed with
suspicion in the enlightened Democratic Communist Republic of Franco-Deutschland).
Sweat smeared his experimental HUD (made to look like a monocle),
so he took it off – it was impossible to miss at 5 metres.
Dieter wondered if this was really the best use of State resources. Surely
it would be better to bend all efforts to winning the conventional war
back in 1945. How on Earth had Einstein’s time-travel project
acquired the influence to launch such a crazy expedition?
Admittedly the premise sounded good. Would the Austro-Russian Alliance
still be fighting now without Austrian Premier Vojislav Princip's irrational
hatred for Communism? But for Vojislav, Austria might have
embraced Marx during the revolutions.
There was a scrape of boot against stone in the darkened stairwell.
Vojislav was arriving exactly as predicted by the time-project historians.
Dieter and his comrades readied their weapons, and as soon as the figure
stepped out into the sunshine they fired simultaneously.
The man collapsed instantly, falling like a sack of flour, and Dieter
stepped forward to confirm that he was dead.
Relieved at the ease of the mission, he hardly noticed the child,
Vojislav's brother Gavrilo, staring open-mouthed with shock.
He turned back towards the faint disturbance of the air
that betrayed the presence of the time-warp,
confident that history would only record that Austrian soldiers
had shot a man of no importance for an unknown reason.
How much better would the world be on the other side?
Maybe the war had never happened, his Dresden home saved from the
ruin of the firestorm and his family still alive. Trying to banish
this hope from his mind, he stepped back through the warp...
PS. Here is a link in case you don't know who Gavrilo was: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gavrilo_Princip
...is my daddy!
Originally Posted by Juvenal
A well deserved prize.
The story continues 
