The Spearman

The winds of time blew. And a world was created. The winds blew. And the newborn world itself, gave birth to great continents that rose from the depths of the oceans. And the winds blew. The continents, in turn, gave birth to life. And man was born. And the winds blew. Man gave birth to civilization. And the winds became silent. This world was complete.
Birds chattered and animals made lazy noises at the river, deep in the jungles. A waterfall made a breathtaking backdrop to the scene; the kind of scenery that would have inspired anyone of a poetic nature to write, draw, or paint a masterpiece. If anybody would have been within a thousand miles, they might have. A great flash of light from high above startled the wildlife to a sudden alertness. The air shimmered, and then seemed to ripple, to bend. As if from a distance, a voice could be heard, "oooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ssssshhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!" WOOMPH! A body fell from the sky and landed in the pool, created by the beautiful waterfall. The animals of this particular region had their very first human encounter. They ran (which, incidentally, turned out to be a good idea for millenia to come). A figure slowly surfaced in the shimmering pond. A head broke the water and looked around. When he spoke, it was with a dry voice, in stark contrast to his soggy appearance. It was a voice like dried leaves scratching across a rough road. A timeless voice. A voice that held all emotions, and yet none. A voice that was as gentle as a newborn baby, yet as rough as sandpaper in a sandstorm. The voice was ... ahem, well, anyway, this is what the voice said, as the figure looked around at the idyllic surroundings, "Great. Just freakin' great. Well, here we go again." That last was added with a heavy sigh, and the figure pulled itself out of the pond, helping itself with what appeared to be a long walking stick. Perhaps this would be the last time? Perhaps he could finally rest after this one? He doubted it, but still, some small spark of hope pushed it's way through the layers of doubt, and skepticism. Perhaps. The thought drifted away on the winds, as the figure walked it's lonely walk to civilization.

Micheal grimaced as he rubbed his foot. He was glad for the rest, the group of soldiors he had been assigned to had been patrolling hard for the last three days. This is hardly worth it, he thought to himself. Sure, CNN paid good money for jobs like this one, and the live coverage from the front lines made for good T.V., but there had been no action for three days! Just endless marching. His cameraman came to sit beside him,
"How's it going, Mike? You think we'll see these Kentucky boys in action today?"
"Yeah, right! I think the only action we'll see is my feet swelling up like a couple a melons. I'm just about ready to say 'screw the pay', send my ass home, where I can cover a nice juicy story about... oh, I don't know, maybe a group of nymphos who are totally insatiable... and they loooove reporters!"
They both laughed about the thought.
"C'mon, Mike. I heard the sergeant say that he thought he saw somebody moving around at the top of this hill. Maybe it's the bad guys!"
"Mountain, Bob, it's a damn mountain. And there's nobody going to be crawling around on the side of a damn mountain. Trust me, the only thing out there is rocks, and more rocks."
A gruff yell came from the platoon leader, "LET"S ROLL OUT PEOPLE!"
"Great," said Mike, "Gary and Joe get to cover the bombing of Kabul, and we get stuck in the middle of nowhere, on a mountain, where I don't think anybodys been for the last thousand years, with a guy who's watched 'Apocalypse Now' way too many times! Gung Ho army freak."
The two men laughed again as the platoon grabbed their gear, and continued the patrol.

"Halt! Who goes there?"
The voice whispered down the mountainside to startle the platoon. The sergeant gave a curt order, and his men spread out, taking cover and unslinging rifles. Mike's heart performed a series of somersaults, this is it! I'm going to get my story!, "Bob, are you rolling?"
"Affirmative, great leader."
The cameraman's voice sounded a little shaky too.
"Halt, I say. Who goes there?"
The voice came again. God, it sounded like...like...like dry leaves, rustling in the wind. With a timeless quality, with a slight echoing, that Mike didn't think came from the mountains. The voice was loud and firm, yet soft and giving. It was a voice to instill fear, yet, while giving confidence. It was a voice that.... Mike's thoughts were abruptly cut off as the sergeant yelled his reply. The sergeants voice was simply loud. "This is the United States Army. If you are with the rebel forces, come out with your weapon raised above your head, the magazine ejected and in your left hand. If you do not..."
The sergeant was cut off by the voice, "Very well, as you want it, so shall you have it."
The sergeant looked around at his men and shrugged. He got puzzled expressions in return. Damned if Mike knew what the voice meant, either. The sergeant repeated his demands, but no more reply came from the rocks above. Bob rolled film as the army men spread out and slowly advanced.
Mike stood by his cameraman, in breathless anticipation of the coming action. Hopefully there would be bloodshed, on either side. That always made for good T.V. A blur of motion caught Mike's eye. There, in the sparse bushes to the left. With no more warning then that, a spear hurtled out of the dried vegetation and impaled a soldior through the chest; the man gave one, short strangled yell, and was silent. The rest of the men turned as one, and with much profanity uttered, screamed, or yelled, proceeded to unload enough lead into the scrawny bush to satisfy 'Skilcraft no.2's ' requirements for a year.
The air filled with the acrid tang of cordite, and the guns fell silent. there wasn't much left of the little bush, and dried leaved still fell from the air all around. The soldiors all stared in silence until the sergeant's order came,
"Riko, get up there and see if we got the little sum*****!"
"Yes sir!"
Riko scrambled up the small ledge and kicked the remains of the bush around. "There's nothing up here, sir." He added with a grin, "but we killed the hell outta this shrub, sir!"
The grin left Riko's face as a spear came from underneath him, stabbing upwards. A look of horror spread across his face as he clasped his hands to his wound, and he slowly toppled sideways. The earth beneath where Riko had stood shook, and a figure emerged from the ground. Covered in dirt, it was hard to make out the details, but as the platoon stared in amazement, the figure leaped straight up into the air, spun at the top, and landed lightly on a ledge some ten feet above it. Then it launched another spear, that punched through a kevlar flak vest, and took down another man. Again, a barrage of bullets spattered against the mountainside. Mike stared in horror at the dead men laid around him.
The sergeant, and his men, swore a lot more, and then proceeded up the trail to hunt the strange creature, and get their revenge. Bob started after them, but Mike grabbed his arm, "Bob, don't. I have a real bad feeling about this."
Bob shook his arm off, "What? Are you crazy? This is what I came out here for. C'mon, don't be a pussy, man. Let's go."
But Mike couldn't. He stood at the trail, looking upwards to the action above. It didn't seem so glamorous as on T.V. he thought. The sound of gunfire streamed from above, and he heard more of those strangled yells of the wounded. Suddenly something shot over the side of the ledge and landed at Mike's feet with a wet plop. What the... Mike leaned closer, then spun away, retching and gagging as he realized what it was. He stared upwards again, and now he could make out quite a lot more body parts flying through the air. Like wood going through a chipper, he thought grimly. What the hell could be doing that? He decided to get the hell out of there, but asa he turned to run, the strange figure landed lightly in front of him. Mike fainted.

That first bit reminds me of Rincewind from Discworld. Actually that first bit reminds me of Discworld. Very good.

OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!

How can a spearman defeat a modern unit?

THAT'S HOW!!!!!!!!!!



This dark, comedic pun of a story is going to prove very entertaining

This is what terry would write if he played civ!

Originally posted by Revolutionairy
This is what terry would write if he played civ!

Click to expand...

Indeed.

The world slowly came into focus. Mike looked around as he sat up with a jerk. "What the...", he saw the strange figure sitting on a rock, staring at him. "Where am I?" The figure simply stared at him. As Mark's vision returned more fully, he could see that the figure was nothing more than an old man. A very old man, judging by the length of his beard! The thing put 'ZZ Top' to shame, reaching all the way to the floor, and then curling up. The old man stared at him from under thick bushy eyebrows that drooped down the side of his face to his cheek. He looked for all the world like some kind of... primitive caveman! But that stare! It was a stare to chill the blood in your veins. It was a look so full of knowledge, and wisdom, yet innocence and foolishness. It was a glare that outshone the sun itself, while being as dark as the night sky, on a cloudy night. With no stars in the sky. And no moon either. Or streetlights. It was a stare to stop time in it's tracks, yet....
Mark shook his head, and tried again, "I said, who are you and where am I?" The old man stared at him even harder. "Goddammit! Answer me, you freak! Answer me, I say. CAN YOU EVEN UNDERSTAND ME?"
Hmmm, maybe this caveman only understood 'Halt, who goes there', Mark thought, like a taught phrase, that he doesn't understand. "Look, I am a huuummmannnn." He drew the word out, speaking loudly and slowly as if that would make the caveman understand. "I come from a world more technological than you. That makes me superior. Suuuppperrriiooooor! DO you understand?". Mark almost jumped when the old man answered.
"Yes! I can understand you, you idiot. I merely had my mouth full. It is dinnertime, you know. Sheesh!"
Mark saw that the caveman had a microwave dinner by his side.
"And as for you being more 'technologically' advanced, you moron, check this out..."
He pulled something out from his robe and held it up. A small flame appeared. "Yes, that's right. It's called 'fire', fiiiiiirrrrreeeee'", the old man used the same long, drawn out pronounciation as Mark had used.
Mark stared at him. "Ummmm, that's just a lighter, right?"
The caveman looked dejected as he put his lighter away, mumbling something under his breath. Mark thought he heard, smartass reporters, or something like that.
Mark decided to try a different approach, "Look, my name is Mark. I am a reporter for CNN. What's your name?"
The old man drew himself up, grandly. The pose he struck was a pose to inspire terror, yet instill peace. It was a stance to....
"Oh no you don't," Mark interrupted.
"What?"
"You're getting all...you know....descriptive, again."
The old man shifted his eyes nervously, "What are you talking about?"
"Like that thing you do with your voice. You know, when you try to sound like Clint Eastwood, or something and you get all...'soft, yet firm', and stuff."
The old man exploded, "AAARRRGGHHH! Clint freakin' Eastwood stole that voice from me! Me! I was here first, you simpleton! I've been here since the birth of this wretched worl....oops."
He clamped a bony hand to his mouth, but it was too late.
"You've been alive for how long?", Mark asked, incredulously.
"Nothing", said the old man, "I didn't say nothing."
"Yes you did, you said, 'I've been here since the birth of this wretched worl....oops', and then you clamped up."
The old man gave him the glare once more. "Fine then, 'Mr. I don't seem to forget any-freakin-thing', fine. I have been alive forever. How do you like that, eh? In fact, I created this world."
It was Mark's turn to stare, "So, you're like, God or something?"
The old man sighed. "Follow me", he finally said, and turned to walk up the mountain.

I like this

a good bit of comdey on a very serious forum

keep it up

The two men soon arrived at a cave. The Spearman gestured for Mark to enter, and then followed him in. The place was quite lavishly decorated with all manner of antiquities. There was an ancient Mhing vase, a roman helmet, an English longbow, and several more things that Mark didn't recognize. In the middle of all this, sat a large couch in front of a bigscreen T.V.
"You want a beer?", asked the old man, as he walked into a back part of the cave.
"Ummm, no. No thanks." Mark walked to a large desk, covered with crumpled up bits of paper. In the middle of the mess, he saw a book. The title was mostly covered up, but as he moved to uncover it, he only got as far as "The Cultu...", before the Spearman walked back in and sat down heavily on the couch.
"Where do you get all the stuff here. Like all this paper, and the couch and stuff?"
The old man jumped up from the couch, his eyes blazing like the sun. Mark sighed, he had a feeling what was coming. The old man's eyes burned as if with an inner light, yet they were as dark as the blackest coal. They fairly sparked, as if dry lightning was about to pour forth, and devour not just Mark, but the whole world. Those eyes shone with inner fury, yet denounced great peace. They....
Mark couldn't take it any more, "Okay, okay! That's enough!"
The old man scowled at him, "Fine. Damn philistine, kids today don't appreciate any of the real good biblical crap. You know, I once burned like a burning bush? Yeah, that was me. Anyway, as I told you, you brainless halfwit, I created this entire world. I gave rise to the very continents upon which you stand, the very seas on which you sail. I made the heavens, the skies, the fish, the birds, everything! I made it all. Don't you think that I could somehow manage to come up with a pencil and some paper?"
Mark saw a plastic bag from the corner of his eye, it said, 'Walmart'. He didnt' think it would be a good idea to say anything, so he kept quiet.
"So if you're God, then how come you just sit up here on this mountain killing people with your spear?"
"Ah. that my mentally challenged friend, is a good question. You see, I too was created by a yet higher power. The name of that higher power is 'Fire Axes'. I was given a mission by my creator, and my programming...er, I mean nature, only allows me so much freedom. I create worlds all the time, everywhere. So many that I often find myself creating multiple worlds at once."
"Wow! So are you like, in different places all at the same time? What's that like."
The old man settled back into the couch, "Well, you moronic crusader, at this precise moment, I am fighting a Roman legionaire, I am waiting on a damn mountain top, I am... ooh! I am getting lucky with a likely wench! Hold on a second." The old man's eyes seemed to glaze over, and he started drooling a little as he made some moaning sounds.
"Hey! That's nasty, man. Stop that, stop it!", Mark shook the old man by the shoulders, but the old man, lost in another world grabbed Mark by the shoulders and started pulling him closer. He was surprisingly strong. Mark found himself being drawn closer and closer to the old man's puckered lips,
"OOoooh, yeah baby, that's right. Who's your God, who's your God!", The old man's eyes suddenly snapped back to the present, and he found himself nose to nose with Mark. He pushed him away,
"Dammit, I don't swing that way. I know that I'm a sexy beast, but get a hold of yourself."
Mark choked back his angry reply, he was just glad that it was over.

"So, let me get this straight. You create worlds all over the place, often several at the same time, and then you stay in each world, fighting as a spearman." Mark scratched his head, "I don't get it. I mean, you know we have tanks and stuff, why wouldn't you simply become a tank commander or something?"
The Spearman shook his head. "You just don't get it, do ya. Listen, you corpulant pile of pus, I have to be upgraded in order to become something something else, like infantry or whatever. Mostly, I am, but sometimes, I just kinda get forgotten up on top of a mountain. So I remain a spearman."
Mark was confused, "What do you mean upgra..."
"And on top of that, the worlds I create have very definate rules. Sure, sometimes I like to mess with the gamers, you know, by popping up in a city just as it's about to be attacked, or maybe allowing the AI to create settlers from thin air, but that's mostly just for my amusement."
Mark was silent for a moment. What the hell was the old geezer talking about? Settlers, gamers, AI?
"Okay, so you create all the worlds, like everywhere?"
The Spearman looked down and scuffed his foot for a few seconds, then he mumbled something.
"What was that?"
"I said not every world." The old man looked quite uncomfortable as he explained, "Look, you maggot infested peon, I have an enemy. I don't know where it came from, or what it is exactly, but I call it 'The Dameditor'. It is kind of like a parasite, it takes my world, but warps it. It does unspeakable things; changing graphics, messing with stats and so forth. It creates unpure worlds. In those worlds, I am usually reduced in power so much, that I can't even beat up a tank. In those worlds, a little piece of me dies each time I lose." He looked up, with fear in his eyes, "I think that one day, I will be so diminished, that I will lose myself completely."
Mark raised an eyebrow, "Wait a minute, you said you can beat a tank! Get outta here. If spearmen could beat tanks all the time, then we wouldn't have any tanks! Just lowly spearmen!"
"Watch your tongue, idiot. I never said spearmen could beat tanks. I said I can beat a tank. I am The Spearman." The capitol letters were actually audible. " I rarely get a chance to fight tanks as a spearman, but when I do," he chuckled, "when I do, you should see the uproar in the forums. Heh heh hee."
Mark simply scratched his head. He wasn't sure if the old man was fully compis mentos or not. He barely understood a word the old man said.
"So, you don't understand me, eh. Well, that's because you're just an idiot. You're a nothing, a nobody, why, you don't even exist!"
Mark gave a start, "You can read my thoughts?"
The Spearman paused for a second, "Umm, no, I read it from the monitor. It said something about 'compis mentos', and then how you can't hardly understand me." The old man looked down for a moment, and moved his lips as if he were trying to figure something out. Then shook his head, "Anyway, it doesn't matter how I knew, I just did, okay? Good. As I was saying before I was interrupted, you don't really exist. I mean, you do, but not really. Get it?"
Mark stared at the man blankly.
The old man sighed, and tried again, "Okay, it's like, if a tree fell in the forest, no... no, wait, that's not it. Okay, okay, so pretend that you are tied up in a cave, right? And the only thing you could ever, and I mean ever, see, is the shadows on the wall ahead of you, then that would be the world to you, right?"
Mark's eyes started to water.
The Spearman gave an exasperated sigh, "Okay, okay, okay. It's like this, You exist, but only to you. But you also exist to me. But only for the moment. Once I leave, then you don't exist anymore. But I do. So therefore, you do exist, but not really." He gave a triumphant smile, and held his hands up high, "You see?"
Mark gave a strangled yelp, as he collapsed to the floor, holding his head, which was visibly throbbing.
The smile left the old man's face and he bought his hands down slowly. He hoped this one's head wouldn't explode like all the others. He sat on his couch, and tried to work out what exactly he had been meaning to say; there had to be some way of explaining it without all the damn mess...

The Spearman is the essence of Civilization!!!!!!!

Man, I get sick for a few days and Chingis starts a new story!

I love this one! It's a beautiful change of pace!

Commander Abraham Smith Shole had just recieved his orders over the radio, and he was excited. "You hear that boys? We get to see some action after all! Freakin' Yeeeeeehhaaawwwww!!!"
Riko shared a look with Ashby. How the hell had they got stuck with this damn cowboy for their tank commander? Apparantly, a bunch of grunts had got lost up in the mountain, and they had to go check it out. Some action.
Commander A.S.Shole let out another whoop, "Yeeehhhawwww! We gonna kill us some ragheads! I bet there's a whole bunch of them dirty little peckerheads crawling around up in them mountains!" His voice lowered, and he leaned in closer to the three crewmen, "I say we try and run some of 'em over, see if their little rag-heads pop right off! What do you guys say?"
Riko looked up from his gunner position, "Umm, sir, I think that's against the Law of Armed Conflict", and he added in a more sarcastic tone, "but maybe we'll get lucky, and one of them will just fall under our treads, sir."
A gleam came into Sholes' eye, "Yeah! Maybe one of 'em will just 'fall under our treads', heh heh hee." He started making squishing and popping noises with his mouth, as if he were running over hordes of people with his tank.
Riko groaned, it was going to be another long day.

Mike sat, nursing his head gingerly. The old man was trying to explain some of the 'rules' that the world was subject to.
"...and the corruption levels! Whew, I think somebody really screwed up there! But if you think that's bad, wait until I tell you about 'culture flipping'."
Mike suddenly sat up. He remembered seeing the unfinished book on the table. "Hey, isn't that the title of the book you're writing, 'The Culture Flip'?"
The Spearman looked at Mark sharply. Then his eyes shifted from left to right as he answered, "No. How stupid do you think I am? Who the hell would write a story about a freakin' culture flip? Sheesh."
There was a quiet pause.

Keep going!

Who the hell would write a story about a freakin' culture flip? Sheesh.

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only a dumbass

[dance] [dance] Waaay funny, almost as good as terry pratchett...