Creative Writing Thread

[Megaman_zx]

Here's a horror story i wrote for a creative writing class, so i guess it's ok if i post it here.

Unlucky
Part 1​

A couple walked down the bustling sidewalk. One of them was yelling in an attempt to be heard above the roar of the crowd. The two were oblivious to the numbers of people in the crowd as they seemed to blur by. The noise around them slowly dimmed until finally, they realized there was silence. Feeling awkward, they looked around. “Did we miss the turn?” and “I don’t recognize this part of town.” Were some of the phrases they uttered in their confusion. They tried to look for someone from whom they could ask directions, but there were no humans in sight. A bird cooed from above, causing them to jump slightly as the silence was eerily broken. They looked at the buildings around them and realized that they were all locked with the lights off. They peered closer and realized that there were people in the buildings, but they were motionless, and the darkness coloring them in shades of grey. They both knocked frantically on the windows until finally, one slowly turned around. He stared at them with black eyes, then turned back to his frozen posture. Shaken they moved on trying to find something familiar. The Buildings loomed above them and sun blazed down on their backs as they tried to remember from which way they had come. They were walking in large circles trying to decide which way they should go, whispering in the dead silence. Suddenly a noise pierced the sounds of their frantic whispering. They instantly quieted as the noise came again. The sounds of ruffling and the clattering of trash started to emerge from a nearby alley. Thinking they might find someone, they quickly walked to the mouth of the alley. There was no motion in the alley as they peered into the darkness. After waiting for what seemed to be eternity, they slowly turned and walked back towards the ominous quiet of the city. Suddenly, the sound began again and they turned as a black cat jumped out of a nearby trash can into the alley. The couple and the cat stared at each other in the silence. Suddenly the cat meowed and ran under a ladder, down the alley. The couple tried to follow, desperately hoping they might find the cat’s master and a means of escaping this cursed section of the city. The cat disappeared into the shadows, of a dead end. They searched frantically for any sign of where the creature had escaped, but were confronted on all sides by the cold brick and concrete of the nearby buildings. They slowly trudged back to the street where they had been stranded and began to cross it in their hopeless quest for any escape from the ominous silence of the surrounding area. A horn blared as an eighteen wheeler barreled down the street. They started sprinting in an attempt to get out of the truck’s way. In the midst of their escape, the girl tripped on her heels and fell onto the hard black pavement. The man turned around and grasped her hand in an attempt to pull her to safety. He closed his eyes and tugged with all his strength, leaning backwards as he pulled. Wind rushed into his face and he fell backwards onto the concrete sidewalk. He began to slowly open his eyes, when he noticed that his face was wet, thinking it was sweat he wiped his forehead. He opened his eyes and looked at his hand, it was red with blood, he looked at the hand of his girlfriend. He was holding a bodiless arm; the rest of his girlfriend was lying in a bloodied heap a foot away. Her body was bent into an inhuman posture, and there were spots of blood where the shards of bone jutted from her skin. Blinded with trauma, he slowly dropped the disembodied arm and began to hopelessly trudge in circles, moaning his loss, begging for a way to escape his pain. Suddenly he stopped as a drop landed on his shoulder. He looked at his shirt, perturbed. A white speck of bird poop was sliding down his shirt. He scowled and was about to commence his wandering when he felt another drop, then another, until eventually the foul liquid seemed to be raining down on him. Suddenly it stopped. He wiped his eyes and looked around. The ground was covered in white and there was an army of pigeons standing in front of him. One of the birds cooed, and the call was carried on by its numerous brethren. Suddenly the air was filled with the sound of cooing as some of the birds began flying around the man’s head while other’s slowly marched towards him. Some of the pigeons alighted on the body of his girlfriend biting into her and flying away with pieces of red flesh. He screamed in rage at the sight and charged at the wall of pigeons. They flew out of his path, clearing a road to his dead partner. He fell on top of her trying to protect her vulnerable corpse. The pigeons alighted on his back, biting into his flesh; he flailed in agony as the sharp beaks pounded into his back and pieced his skin. He rolled off her, trying to save himself from the rabid birds, but nothing would satiate their endless hunger. They kept coming biting and scratching, as he rolled around on the ground. Finally, he gave up and the mass of pigeons swarmed him with renewed zeal. When the tide of grey finally cleared there were two bodies lying on the road. They had been reduced to masses of torn flesh and their eyeless faces seemed to be locked as their fingerless hands tried to grasp each others.

 

[Angst]

Holy crap, I forgot about this thread.

 

[Cobalt Command]

It seems quite dusty, but a good practice ground

 

[Dance.Down]

He wanted to see red again. It was not much of a demand, especially when compared to those whimpers of the guilty who wanted pardons for their crimes. By the visits he never received, the sneers the guards gave him, and the way his lawyer fidgeted whenever he moved. He felt that forgiveness was more than out of the question; instead he asked for red.

It was denied to him, so he contented himself with red’s bastard child, orange. It was either this or fall into the mute grey walls that closed in on him or the blues of the guards who looked like they wore their funeral vestments. Occasionally he was let out- along with his disgruntled peers- into an earthy brown yard with black-and-steel exercise equipment and grey basketball court with a faded basketball that was somewhat flat, but the weights were either claimed by those who used them too much and the basketball court the domain of the blacks who gave him wild looks.

He soon made it a habit to avoid these other men who hung around in packs flexing their muscles, and instead he indulged in things not alive. He would look up at the sky and see his wife’s light blue eyes that would open up just so slightly and let in little bursts of bright white light when she smiled. Though she never really smiled. Her teeth were large chalk cliffs- sudden, jagged, and off-white. Instead she forsook that typical toothy American smile and let the corners of her mouth curl up, keeping her thin unadorned pink lips pressed tightly against each other. It was her eyes that really smiled, full and bright. It was how he could tell when she was sincere or not, but soon the crisp blue sky would dim into some real, vivid hue, and the dead men with dead stares and guns that could shoot him dead would command the men milling about back into their grey building.

He would find no such solace in memories once inside. The grey and orange gobbled them up and his mind would be focused only on surviving. In a way he liked this. Outside he had been slothful and ungrateful, but here he felt like a child again, or as if he was a caveman. Whenever he looked out from his cave past the perfectly cylindrical stalagmites he saw men more like monkeys competing for dominance in the grey jungle. There were three principle tribes, each divided by racial hatreds and those three divided countless times over by personal dogmas.

There were the neo-Nazis, white men of all builds and styles, most not Nordic at all, but linked by a fear of being the minority for once. Then there were the blacks. As varied as their Nazi counterparts, the blacks had the same uniting factor that they were black and everyone else was not, but had the unusual advantage of being the majority for the first time in their known lives. Discomforted by this new reality the blacks rarely united, instead preferring to fall in on each other with more ferocity than even their neo-Nazi enemies. Strangely enough they did not speak in cryptic hip hop rhythms, but constantly wore scowls or sneers as a testament of their inability to be affected by this grey place. Lastly there were the Latinos. Little red men who did not fit into the race war between the whites and blacks, instead presenting an unwelcomed outsider for both to hate. Of course there were the other groups, the Irish, the Italian, the gays, and so on so forth, but these men were minor in the grand political scheme.

As he sat eating some grey mush he felt a bubbly suspicion rise up in his stomach. Looking from one angry group to the other in the big, bright grey hall he felt that he would eventually have to choose one of these tribes and declare his loyalty and by the distracted way his lawyer handled the case he was to be in here for a long enough time for the decision to matter. He would resist it, if he could. These men were monsters; he had seen one of them beat another almost to death and the sight of the ugly red splats on the ground made him sick. He frowned into his cup of flat, warm water and thought back on his wife’s cooking momentarily, not much different than the slush the big ‘Aryan’ with a crooked nose, bald head, and swastika carved into the back of his hand had served to him, but it still had tasted like something more.

Even the microwave dinners hot on the outside cold on the inside brought a small curve to his lips, though immediately after he would turn frustrated and make a low mewling in the back of his throat to express this. She had been at home all the time- he was as well for that matter. However, his home was far away in a white room, one wall a massive window where he could look out at the street, the other three covered with expensive, but meaningless art- but she had no real excuse for the way things were. His house, their house, more so hers at her insistence, had been that red one on the very beginning of the street, on the cusp of where the suburbs began and the city ended. It was big to him, but not his wife. She had come from a large, wealthy family near Basel. He grew up more or less alone and never really bothered with parents, or childhood for that matter.

Thinking back on this it was the only way he could rationalize these men, that their childhoods had been entirely non-apparent or terribly abusive. Either that or they all really had lost touch of their humanity, pushing them to do terrible, unthinkable things that made juries look at them with poorly hidden contempt. However he liked to think that he had been faced with an assembly of his peers, not a gaggle of outsiders who could never connect with him even on a basic level. Sometimes that is what scared him the most, not being normal anymore, but at those times he would look at the other men and take solace in the rational distance he kept from them.

His cellmate was a large black man with a thick, beefy neck, trapezius muscles that dwarfed this neck, short, bulging arms that barely reached his midsection and were constantly arched like he was Popeye ready to fight and even more like Popeye his face was a tight fist. His name was Simonsomething, but he was identified as #93A234 and the other men called him ‘The African’ presumably because he was the African. He was in for life twice over, once for each police officer he killed and some more years tacked on because of drug trafficking. When he heard what his new cellmate was in for he asked if she was an adulteress and when all he received was a shrug and a mumbled answer tinged with doubt he also shrugged and said “If you can’t be sure of that then what can you be sure of” in a thick accent and went about his business. His cellmate, however, was unable to do so. On first night in his mind reeled, and though the jury was still out the sentence was definite in his mind. The second night was more of the same, though with less silent tears, but soon time left him and he only wanted to see more colors again, the exact danger of his situation lost to him. ‘The African’ paid him no mind throughout all of this and kept to the other blacks, though occasionally at night he would comment on how a recluse was not long-lasting in these kinds of places.

You have to be tough, he would say, though it would only make sense a few seconds later. Find friends fast, make sure to stick to them tight, and always- always -have their backs, even if you dont like it, do it, its that simple. Treat the place like some playground and youre that weird new kid who will get the beat out of him by the other kids if he dont stick with no other crew. He would then frown and go on about how it’s you verses everyone else, occasionally dropping in a ‘we’ or an ‘us’.

He would sit and nod when ‘The African’ did this, because in truth he was terrified of the larger black man, though he did his best not to let it show. Fear only made these men more ravenous, but it did not stop him from making the mistake sooner or later.

It was late in the afternoon, during the stagnant twilight between recreation and dinnertime and he had been idly shoving the grey woolen sheets that always gave him rashes into the huge grey dryer. It was his job to do this every day for the past two hundred and eighty eight days, so by now he was used to the itch the sheets left when they were pushed into the dryer’s smooth, circular maw and the throaty chorus of the machines around him, he was used to the smell of starch and the quaint thoughts it brought back of him and his wife abstaining from the evils of the mainstream. He was used to the way she would tell him that back in her home, in his mind rolling the ‘r’ in ‘her’ that guttural French way she had done ever since he had met her; though he knew it was one of her little lies because that entire city spoke German. Two large men and one smaller one would walk up to him, the two big ones wearing an identical grimace and the smaller one between them a lecherous smile with sharp corners, all three with swastikas on their shoulders. They had first begun bothering him when they smelled his fear, figuring the reason why he isolated himself was because of how terrified he was of everyone else.

It had happened during lunch some months back. He was alone, as usual, in his own little corner pushing the grey mush from one side to the other and occasionally making little sculptures with his yellow-orange bits of corn. The three approached him then, the larger two silent gargoyle statues behind an imp with a cruel glint in his light blue eyes; he reached into his pocket and clutched a small charm he had fashioned out of stone. Boy, whats thatchu got? He asked, a strange almost womanish inflection carrying the word ‘boy’ up to the topmost part of hearing where it danced and tickled. When he did not respond a gargoyle caught the brown tray in his thick, craggy hands and overturned it with a low, guttural grunt. I said, ‘Boy, whats thatch got?’ the imp repeated, titillated by the way his prey looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes that swam.

He stood up abruptly and swung at the imp, but missed and was hit back down by the gargoyle to his left. The one on his right hit him twice in the mouth and the imp managed to snake his hand into his prey’s pocket, pulling out the rock-charm and laughing a little laugh before the guards even bothered to involve themselves in the fight. As inmates gathered the three sank back into the crowd, though the imp’s sharp, little smile lingered in his head. He almost heard ‘The African’s accented voice intone in his head ‘You versus everyone else,’ and on that day and the days when the three manifested it would be him verses them- sometimes he won, sometimes he lost.

Eventually these attacks became daily; he had been deemed weak and rejected by some group for some reason. Most likely it was his unwillingness to speak or associate with the others, or it could have been his embarrassing fight against such a slight magical creature as the imp garnering ire from everyone else. Losing became more common and his attackers fluctuated between three and twelve on any given day. Though he fought back each and every time, their sheer numbers overwhelmed him and he was caught underneath a furious storm of fists beating him senseless and hands holding him down.

At those times he closed his eyes and in his mind painted more pleasant pictures like the ones he used to make when he had first met his wife. He had fallen for her long, dark looks, not the fake kind of quirks his previous women had possessed, but something genuinely obtuse about the way her face was a near perfect circle, though not fatty, and how when she looked down at him he could almost see into her cavernous nostrils squished against her head. Her black hair that wound itself into clumpy, tight tubes at the ends and shined like slick rhinestones just taken up from a muddy bank; her queer long-legged lilting gait that betrayed the pinched look she gave him during their first awkward dates. They had met at one of his shows. He had been standing in front of some painting he would later realize was a tasteless piece. He had made it by mixing acrylic and urine on an expensive heavy linen made even weightier by three layers of gesso. The painting was of a woman composed of earthy reds and dirty yellows. She stood naked facing front, arms down, and feet forward. On her stomach the sentence ‘I am Art’. It was of an old girlfriend he had barely liked and if it had any meaning he did not remember.

When she strayed over to him he put on a bored smile, though he was interested enough in her to pull out a little bone charm he had made and kept since childhood. She did not marvel over the yellowed thing and jokingly said it reminded her of some barbaric tribe she had learned about in school and he winced.

They were out for coffee and he was trying his best to be as cool as he was not, casually disregarding her questions about his family by looking off at the urgent red walls and responding ten, fifteen, twenty seconds after she asked. He made sure he counted so that he would seem interested, but not- to add an air of ‘mystery’. His answers were brusque, simple ‘hnnn’s and ‘hrnnn’s instead of yes’s and no’s, though he readily asked about her and she readily answered. At the end of it all he asked her out again, though she only turned the corners of her mouth up, giving him a ‘hnnn’ and he winced.

He was painting her, not nude because she found those tasteless, but fully clothed in some expensive designer clothes he had struggled to buy for her. She had admonished him for it, saying something about starving people somewhere and people going about in rags elsewhere, though she had kept the clothes and now he was immortalizing her in them, though not her beauty, as she had said, but the clothes so as to immortalize their era of rampant consumerism. At that moment he really could not have cared less about profound messages and the painting was a sloppy piece he had barely had time to finish in between all of the sex that they had, but she liked it so he hung it up in their small apartment and every time he saw it he winced.

She was throwing a lampshade decorated with red and black Native American geometrical patterns at him and he readily took it in his chest. How could you even ask such a thing, she cried at him as she stuffed clothes into an expensive leather luggage bag. His furious answer made her let out a weak groan that popped at the end as snot dribbled into her wide open mouth. He accused her of sleeping around, of ing his friends while he was away in California, of gladly giving it up to anyone if they so much as asked for the time of day and she just denied them all and called him crazy. As the two danced back and forth between the neat, white bedroom to the living room with the red carpet, red sofa, and red coffee table he continued to shout accusations, now drawing on years of grievances, but always falling back to infidelity. She continued to deny them and her protests of how she loved him too much to lie to him turned to venomous accusations of her own. By the time she was at the door she looked back at him one last time, her eyes swimming in tears held back by anger. When she slammed the door he winced.

Then he was on his knee, one of the many rude New York pedestrians had bumped into him hard enough to force him to the ground, but there a heat swelled up in him and he fished around the pockets of his too-tight pants, by the way she looked down at him with a small frown that got her penciled eyebrows nearly smooshed together in sick worry the square bulge had given him away and when he asked the question those kohl lines bent painfully upwards and when she spoke he winced.

He was swimming in her pool, it was late summer, but cooler than he was used to so he did not sweat much there in that mountainous country. He had met her family, her five brothers and three sisters, her father, but not her mother because she had died the summer before and the funeral was what brought his wife back to him. They treated him nicely and he was quiet around them, which elicited no end of teasing from her, but he suffered through it and while he was floating in the water she waded up next to him and said let’s do it when we get back, once and for all. He gave her a questioning look and said, It? Marry? She said, yes. So they did.

He coughed up an alarming red onto the grey speckled tiles and groaned and that made the bigger men around him decide they were done, so they left him to amaze about how he was still alive. He had seen three inmates die at the repeated embraces of cruelly wrought plastic knives. Maybe it was because ‘The African’ had taken a liking to him, though the little angry looking man only softened at nights when he would ramble so fast that his cellmate had trouble keeping up. However, he was sure this was not the case because he had told ‘The African’ that he would not join any gangs, which had made the man rightfully angry and few words had been exchanged since then. Maybe his tormentors simply liked ing with him, they were certainly audible about it and this drew no end of shame to him and he found himself without the freedom to choose to be alone anymore. Facing narrowed glares from most of the inmates he drew attention from the authorities who were no more compassionate, though they moved him tending the grey wool sheets to serving the grey meals three times a day, in plain view of the guards the attacks were less frequent.

They were not allowed to handle knives, though he sharpened the bone of a fleshy pink pork chop he did not eat into a crude knife. Finding it fun he took to carving in patterns and designs, the first real art he had made in so long that he looked at it till his eyes stung. An ape-like confidence swelled up in him and he was not surprised by it. It had always been there from the very start, he had just tried to deny it to maintain an image. He confronted his wife about his suspicions, while away he always felt those bubbly things telling him that she was somehow betraying him. The blackest of crimes so far as he was concerned, but she adamantly denied his accusations though he did not believe them entirely: his dinners were always cold, conversations strained; her smiles had lost their little white lights in her dark eyes. He would not go to a consular, he had tried that when he was much younger and the results had always left him feeling grey with a dull yearning for clearer answers. Their problems were their own, he would tell her, no one else’s. She would cry and he would feel bad immediately, so he would wrap his arms around himself and wait it out before attempting at assuagement.

After one particular struggle he was left alone again. He looked around the dark room. It was nighttime outside, though inside it was shades of grey and red. He was not in the kitchen, but back in the laundry room he seldom visited any longer, being too preoccupied with his new home with a perfect view of the outside through the window across from where he worked. He felt a great weight in all his muscles and a dull prick in his temple, but a greater ache burned in his chest which made it hard for him to breathe. He tried to summon up the fight, to capture it in his mind like how he had always been able to, but found himself seeing an angry blur that left his ears with a sharp, ringing crescendo from thinking too hard. All that he was left with were his impulses and they swam throughout him relentlessly. On their whim he reached into his pocket where he kept his small knife and charm.

 

[Reno]

@Megaman_zx Try dividing the text you've written into paragraphs, as the way the text currently is (just a single block of text) making it difficult to read.

 

[Circuit]

Thlayli suggested I post this here. So...okay.

Seeing as the thread's been a bit slow lately, I'd like to post this. I wrote this story for Lit Mag, and would just like your general opinion.

Spoiler :

Agency




“Okay. So this is the viewing room. This is where we view the life-book of the embryo and determine the life of the agent.”

“You say it as if it's so casual, like it's just an every-day thing. I find that funny.”

“After you've been in the business for some time, life-books become a bit less taboo. When I first came as an intern to Life Hub I, I responded just as you did; acted like this was such a big deal. And it is. I won't deny that. But we're like soldiers; we grow desensitized over time.”

“I'm sure.”

“Anyway, we view the agent's life book before we publish it. We also make any modifications that are necessary, such as inserting points of deviation, seeking out possible future undocumented agents that require a point of deviation, determine whether the agent will be a free agent that will enter the local AMF on his planet, and when the agent will die, so that we may adjust resources accordingly.”

“Agents are people, right?”

“...you are Junior-level in school, right? I'd think that would be one of the first things they taught you at Knowledge Hub II before sending you here as an intern.”

“I did learn. I'm just not used to talking about people in such a way; reading the death date and such.”

“That's partially why we call them 'agents'.”



I sat alone on one of the benches in the gymnasium, sipping punch. All around, the other lucky students who had just graduated from their twentieth year in secondary school pranced and leaped with the music, giggling with their partners as they danced together. They did their best to converse with each other in the energetic atmosphere, speaking loud enough to be heard over their neighbors and their own heavy breathing as they popped up and down. Quite a feat, actually, being able to talk and dance with all that energy at the same time. I myself, being a shy guy, was one of the wall flowers, sitting along the edge of the boiling, jubilant crowd; a byproduct pushed to the edge of the pot as the other chemicals reacted and oozed and churned with energy. I had always been one of the byproducts of the school, really, almost ever since I entered secondary school. I was hoping that maybe I could meet with another byproduct, or perhaps one of the chemicals, to have our own reaction. Not tonight, it seemed.

I took another sip, wondering why I was at this dance anyway. I could be on a ship headed to Knowledge Hub VI, preparing for a life in the galaxy; the universe, for that matter. I'd probably fit in the Knowledge Hub more, anyway. So why was I here?

“Hey, Illome!” I turned my head. One of the guys from human biology was headed at full speed towards me. I faked a big smile and firm hand shake when I really couldn't care less. “How you doing, man?” he asked.

I sighed clearly and deliberately. “Bored, man. Really bored. I've been on this bench drinking punch all night.”

He smiled and nodded his head in acknowledgment. “Why don't you dance?”

I made a face and shook my head in exaggerated frustration. “Don't have a date.”

“What, a good-looking guy like you?” He looked genuinely surprised. I myself had to admit that for a nerd I was a good-looking nerd, and indulged in my reflection in the mirror on occasion. Nonetheless, I knew that looks didn't compensate for my shy nature, something that this jock, I knew, couldn't quite understand.

He waved it off. “You'll get a date. I know you will in time for the final dance; you know, the slow one?”

I laughed. “What? Have you read my book or something?”

His chuckled uncomfortably. No one liked to be reminded of life-books. The idea that one's life has already been predicted and that one had no true free will was a real conundrum for most. A little more deflated, he said, “You'll dance because I'll make sure of it.” And with a wave, he left.

I resumed my spot on the bench, leg over knee and watching the crowd. I continued to sit there throughout the night, a good three hours, doing nothing but thinking about what it would be like on Knowledge Hub VI, along with many other of life's problems; getting the spaceship ticket, leaving my family for a good fifty years, quite possibly never seeing any of my friends again; or, at least, not for the next fifty years. Pleasant.

It was time for the last dance, and sure enough, that guy was back, but this time with a brunette walking with him, his arm wrapped around her shoulder. “I told you I'd find a date for you to dance with.” While not a supermodel, she certainly fit my profile for attractive.

She giggled and shyly stepped forward. “Hi,” she said, followed with a giggle. “I'm Maretti.”

“Uh,” I glanced around nervously, “I'm...Ilyer?”

The guy from human biology laughed. “Now I want to see you two dance. I'm coming back after this and want to see you two together. If you aren't...” He made a menacing fist. We laughed, and as he walked off, Maretti and I looked at each other, shrugged uncomfortably, and took each other's shoulders.



“Now this is important. Rarely do we insert points of deviation. Knowing when a point of deviation is needed is most of what this job consists of.”

“Okay. It sounds like you're looking for a place to put one.”

“Well, one of the times when you insert a point of deviation is when the agent is going to procreate an undocumented agent. That, of course, always involves a partner who the agent would be sexually active with.”

“I see.”

“The Viewer has just marked an important partner for this agent. So we need to look closely. Notice how the partner's ID number is always highlighted in pink?”

“Yes...uh, Jarv-D11-99458. The cross-ref says her name will be Maretti Ecoleu.”

“Yes. She first appears when the agent is an adolescent, 29 standard years old. After that, she appears frequently, with increasing frequency as the agent's life progresses.”

“It appears that he's going to marry her.”

“That's the typical pattern, yes.”



Not going to Knowledge Hub VI for post-secondary education may have been the best decision I have ever made. Maretti and I, after that dance, were close. I won't say it had been love at first sight. Rather, we danced and talked; quite uncharacteristic of me, really. But talking never felt so good. Never did it feel so loose. Once we broke the ice, we might as well have stopped dancing and kept talking. In fact, that was what happened at the end of the dance. We weren't done with each other. Nothing got out of hand, of course; I wasn't that bold. But as we zipped in my 'craft to a drive-through restaurant, we just kept talking.

We both were similar people; sort of shy and reserved, to our friends' shock, considering that we both were considered to be good looking. We were both more introspective than extroverted, but felt like all that it took to get us talking was for someone to free us. And we thoroughly enjoyed each other's company.

Within two weeks, we were considered boyfriend and girlfriend. I stayed on Jarvis, missing the rocket out to spend an afternoon at a grav-leap. I went to school at one of the Jarvis universities, learning to become a simple electrician. I was still in school when I proposed to Maretti on top of the tall, elegant Jarvis Governmental Building, two years after we met. She quivered with delight while she said yes.



“Now we need to find all instances of impregnation. The moment we find an impregnation that is not registered while in the embryonic stage, we have an undocumented agent.”

“It's kind of troubling how we poke around in people's personal lives like this.”

“You'll get over it.”

“I hope I don't. What would that say about me?”

“You know, I don't understand why you're studying this if you have such issues with it.”

“It's complicated, but it ultimately comes down to one, a fascination with human nature, and two, wanting to be a free agent.”

“Being a free agent isn't all it's cracked up to be. Truth is, you're not really free at all. You're just more free than most. Your book changes to account for knowledge recursives and other factors from knowing the content of the life-books, plus altering those books with points of deviation and such. But you still follow the natural laws. It's just not recorded as well.”

“I went to school, you know. I know all about this stuff.”

“Then why are you still here?”

“I never said I enjoyed it.”

“Wait a second. What do we have here?”

“What is it?”

“It's impregnation. Now we really have to hunt. If the book doesn't say that the child will be registered, we need to insert a point of deviation.”

“Why such the big deal?”

“Well, one: if we allow one undocumented agent into the universe, all life-books are invalidated. The undocumented agent can go and change everything. Two: a point of deviation actually requires action. So the AMF will go in and instigate the deviation.”

“I'm not familiar with how the AMF does that.”

“I think I have an idea. I've seen so many books changed when we insert a point of deviation involving the AMF, I've gotten a clue.”

“How do the books turn out?”

“Not the best, to put it lightly.”



One thing I find disturbing is that my life-book details everything, even predicting who I will marry and how that marriage will turn out. That's already been predetermined for me; not forcibly, but by the force of my mental processes, genetics, and environment, all constituting my will. Not to mention that I'm not allowed to look at my own life-book, since the moment I read it, the book is invalidated; a “knowledge recursive”, I've heard it called on the Galactic News Network. But I, along with practically every other human being, have grown accustomed to the idea.

Nonetheless, in the moment of groom nervousness as I stood at the alter in a Galago-Christian cathedral, and as the priest in white stood with the Galactic Bible in his hands, I yearned to read my book, just to know what this marriage would face in the future, and how my life with Maretti would turn out. My heart was pounding with the synergistic energies of excitement and fear.

The music started, supposedly the same music that had been played in the first few millenia of the ancient planet Earth, long ago consumed by its aging sun, Sol. And on the other end of the sanctuary was Maretti, in the traditional white bridal gown. The more modern weddings for the wealthy were more complicated, far more theatrical, with the bride and groom as actors in a gravityless choreographed dance in a grand auditorium. But this would do for me. The sight of my future wife made me weightless.

The ceremony went as planned, executed to perfection, as it had been since the pre-galactic era. The tender touch of my wife's lips against mine convinced me that the marriage, along with the rest of my life, would be satisfying. I didn't need to read my life-book to know that.

The ceremony ended, and we were now Mr. and Mrs. Illome. Our reception was marvelous, but ended quickly. My wife and I had to get to bed early, if we were to make the starship in time to take off to Visitro, the luxury world, for our honeymoon. And besides, we weren't going to spend all that time sleeping...



“The Viewer does not give an ID number to the new agent created by the impregnation. We have ourselves an undocumented agent.”

“So...you have to insert a point of deviation?”

“Yes. And in this case, it's going to be through the AMF.”

“I see. And you just write it in?”

“Well, it's a little more intuitive than that. There's a script for inserting a point of deviation that the program uses. Plus I have to decide where the point of deviation will occur, which requires synchronizing with the AMF and their agents. That's what the script is for. I just have to run it.”

“Okay.”

“So...let's see...here's the script...just enter the properties...we'll stick it right here...and...huh.”

“Why the 'huh'?”

“This is one of the most difficult parts of the job. Seeing the results of a point of deviation.”

“Why? What happened?”

“It seems that this point of deviation has violent action in it.”

“Violence? Is anyone hurt?”

“Yes. The book's length has dropped dramatically. This point of deviation is going to kill the agent.”



We were waiting in the spaceport terminal the next day. Maretti and I held hands, gazing into each other's eyes, as many newlyweds do. So what if it was way too early in the morning? We enjoyed the company.

“Flight 2032 to Visitro, please begin loading,” the female voice over the loudspeaker swooned. We grabbed our bags and headed to the terminal entrance. The crowd jostled and fell through the entrance like marbles though a drain. Nonetheless, we were able to stay together.

But when we made it to the entrance, two men in white and blue uniforms stopped us, and pulled us out of the crowd. I knew who they were. They were AMF officers. Something was horribly wrong, no question about that. My heart began to race. I felt adrenaline through my body. AMF encounters typically never go well.

“Mr. and Mrs. Illome?” one of the officers asked.

“Yes. What's going on, officer?” I demanded.

The officer, without looking, said in his emotionless manner, “Undocumented
agents are not to be permitted.”

“Undocumented agent?” Maretti asked, in a voice as intense as my own. “You must be mistaken. I'm not pregnant.”

“Yes, you are.”

“How do you know?” I asked.

“We know these things. Your wife is to come with us, to Life Hub XII.”

“And what about me?” I demanded.

“Your wife will be returned to you safely.”

Maretti and I exchanged desperate glances. We knew better. Maretti would be in processing on Jarvis for months before being sent to a planet containing twelve billion souls from planets across the galaxy, with only 100 million of whom being permanent residents, controlled by a bureaucracy of such an astonishing size and complexity that there were infinite places where something could go wrong. Unless one went privately, the risk of being routed to the wrong planet was not one that Maretti and I wanted to face. We might not see each other for decades, if we ever saw each other again at all.

Beginning to quake, I told the officer, “We'll get an appointment to a life hub on our own.”

”That is against regulations,” the other officer said. “All undocumented agents are to be handled by the Agency Moderation Force.”

“We'll cancel our honeymoon. We'll go right away,” Maretti pleaded.

“Sorry, but it's not allowed. You are to come with us.”



“Kill him? How?”

“The Viewer says that the agent will react aggressively to the AMF officers, resulting in the officers using forceful action. The action turns out to be fatal, even though the officer does his best to not mortally wound the agent.”

“That's terrible!”

“Quite unfortunate, yes.”

“'Quite unfortunate'? It's devastating! Isn't there another way?”

“No, there is no other way.”

“We can't just send a man to his death with the push of a button and the run of a script! It's unethical! It's wrong! No better than murder.”

“It's the law. As unfortunate as it may seem...”

“'Seem'?”

“...we cannot allow undocumented agents into the galaxy. If we do, all the books on every person in existence, all the countless octillion of pages we have generated and documented, are worthless. This is a science. You may be revolted now, but realize that trillions of humans across the galaxy are dying every hour. That's of natural causes and accidents! Before, we had no power to stop the birth of a murderer. Now, with the documentation of every agent, we can predict a life of crime before birth and abort it. The universe is safer now. How do we know that the agent will not parent a mass murderer? We don't know, not unless we document the agent. The loss may seem large now, but consider this in perspective.”

“You're not justifying killing him. You're justifying documenting agents. As revolted as I am by the idea of predetermining people's lives, even I see the reason behind it. I don't like it, but I see it. But does that justify killing a man?”

“There's no other way.”

“How do you know? After all, the agent's life is determined by both his environment and his genetics. Couldn't we alter one or another and possibly change the course of his life so that he doesn't die?”

“The parent of this agent will not agree to being placed in another environment, and we cannot reveal the contents of the life-books. And as for genetic modification...don't you remember what you learned in your galactic history class? The Gene Wars? Galaxy-wide revolution for genetic altering and discrimination, utter enslavement of massive populations because of genetic engineering? Genetic modification is illegal, and for good reason. We cannot do that.”

“This is an extreme case. We're not creating slave populations. We're giving life to a person, a better life. A longer life. And if we're going to talk about enslavement, wouldn't allowing this one to die, in fact forcing him to die, for the betterment of the rest of society be no better than enslavement? You warn about enslaving people through genetics, but what about freeing people with genetics?”

“What about those who have had to die because of their genetics for the exact same reason as this agent? They were 'enslaved' by their genetics too. Why don't we save them? What makes this agent any better? Because you've seen him? If you save one agent, you have to be fair to all the others. And what would the galaxy be then?”

“Maybe a better place?”

“No it wouldn't. Wait...hold on...”

“What was that?”

“My pager. I'm needed by administration. Looks like it will be a while. Uh...hmm...I think we're done here.”

“Done? You can't leave this hanging like that.”

“I told you, we have no choice. And I have to go. I want you to wrap up: publish and close the book. I have to go.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And don't pull anything screwy. Leave that book as it is. If we find you did something illegal, there will be serious consequences. Very serious.”

“...yes, sir.”



I watched as my options narrowed slowly, and each became a more and more desperate measure. I watched as the AMF officers began to turn away, my wife between them, her gazing longingly at me with what was either desperation or perhaps getting all she could from her last look. Soon, I realized that there was only one way to possibly rescue her, even though it could mean my end. The two officers were bigger, stronger, and armed. But perhaps I could muster enough strength to free her, and then we could make a run, hide away somewhere safe from the AMF and all the forces of the galaxy. The fear of loss seemed to override my sense of self-preservation. I was a loaded gun, ready to fire.

But for some reason, I just couldn't pull the trigger. The officers took two steps in unison with my wife, then four, then six, and I told myself I would do it the next step they took. But I couldn't. My feet were planted where I was.

Then rationality returned. What would sacrificing myself in an attempt to save her do? Would it make her happy? At least now, there was a one in three trillion chance we meet again. If I died, the odds were zero. What would it do to her to watch as her husband was killed in his last act of desperation? Was my fear selfish?

I knew I couldn't act out. It would not be worth it. Instead, I began to run after them, not in aggression, but in chase, to remain in earshot. “Maretti!” I cried.

“Ilyer!” she replied.

“We'll see each other again! I promise! I love you!”

They turned the corner, and “I love you too” echoed numbly before she was gone. I slouched down in the terminal, in the middle of the surrounding crowd who I hadn't noticed till now. All alone, I wailed.



“So you had to go and do it.”

“Do what?”

“I checked on the life-book of that agent earlier today, to see whether you followed my instructions...”

“I didn't modify his book, I swear.”

“And his genetics? You should know that the genetic analyzer in the viewing room has a record of all commands administered to it. You modified his genes and made him a titch less aggressive, and ran a new bookmaking script before the agent's parent was shipped out. That's against the law, you know.”

“I know.”

“Then you deserve what's coming to you.”

“I see you chose to escort the police yourself. Wanted to see me fall or something?”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“But before I'm arrested, I have to ask something. You knew very well that I would do something to ensure he wasn't killed, didn't you.”

“...yes, I did.”

“So why did you leave me alone?”

“...Because I wanted you to do it. I wasn't genetically disposed to have the balls to do what you did myself.”

“And I get to pay the price?”

“Well, it's not like I forced you or anything. You made the decision yourself.”

“Did I really?”

“More or less.”

 

[Thlayli]

Circuit's post, Strategos', and das' story are the only enjoyable stories in this thread so far. This is a [slightly edited] repost from LINESII. I did it as a joke, so it'll fit right in. Might post something legitimate later.

---

June 14, 2069 AD, New Baltimore, United States of America

The short, thin man entered the info-bar. Glancing around to make sure he wasn't walking into some seedy hangout, (and coming away rather disappointed at that,) he approached the counter. Two translucent holoscreens popped up in front of him.

Hello sir! What can I help you with today? They would never make these damn voices convincing.

"I'll take 2 scoops of Garcia, intravenous, and a ginger ale, liquid."

Thank you sir. Will that be all?

"For the moment." Some of the patrons shot him annoyed looks as the fabrication machines behind the counter whirred to life in synchronized automation. By the look of them this crowd wasn't used to taking their 'drinks' corporeal anymore. The man took a stool at the counter, tapped absent-mindedly a couple times, and scratched his nose. He wore a white armband with a red cross, marking him as one of the old-fashioned traditional medicine practitioners, as opposed to a genomedic or a synth dealer. It made sense; the man was starting to go gray...so he was probably in his mid to late seventies.

The whirring soon stopped, and a tray slid down the counter with a square tablet and a glass of fizzing liquid on top. A smaller holoscreen popped up to resolve the bill.

Thank you sir. Your bill comes to 72.35.

"Accepted. Do you have information services?"

Thank you for requesting Petraeus Green Tavern Information Services. Two or three-dimensional view?

"Two dimensional."

The Comprehensive Information Security Act of 2045 requires public internet providers to request certain information from their customers. Is this usage for business, personal, or entertainment purposes?

The man actually thought about this for some time, which was unusual. After a few seconds, he replied. "Personal."

Your queries will be monitored for security purposes.

A vast array of welcome screens popped up in real space, as the man looked like one of those anti-brainarray types. Some of the older generations were resistant to even the most popular body modifications. Go figure...weird old geezers. But even the oldies knew how to interact with the static portions of the internet.

Swiftly navigating to one of the more prestigious internet search providers, he opted for a voice session, and tweaked the parameters. This automated voice was the robotic sounding female as opposed to the male.

Welcome. Please tell me something about your query, and I'll see what I can find.

"Bring up information directories regarding NESing." He pronounced it "nessing."

Are you referring to the late 20th century Nintendo console, the multiplayer roleplaying game, or something else?

"The second."

In quick succession, the results began to categorize themselves. The old linear list based on search traffic was long out of fashion, so results were organized by an amalgamated formula analyzing a mixture: Volume of information, searcher satisfaction, traffic volume, and relevance to the specific query.

As the information self-organized and began playing little voice-clips or streaming video as he glanced at each portal, the man sipped his drink thoughtfully, and painlessly injected the Garcia into his bloodstream. He smiled as a prolonged sensation of chocolate and cherries washed over the taste centers in his brain. It was a nostalgic flavor, popular in the early 21st century, so it had been transferred over when the IV packs were first marketed.

Finally he settled on the Encyclopedia Nessica, a community-edited info-page styled after the old paper encyclopedias. They chose the "rich historical-sounding male voice" for their prompter.

"So," the man subvocalized to the page, "know anything about LINESII?"

Several digital pages flipped to an illustrated entry.

LINESII was a classic-style turn-based NES, following the 'random map cradle' format. It is regarded as a pioneer of that style, serving as a model for countless iterations of random map and 'veiled' or 'shadowed' NESes, both in the first community and after the major expansions.

A few diagrams appeared, listing player personae and notable stylistic choices, while the narrative voice continued.

LINESII is also notable as the first NES to fully progress, without an accelerated or artificial pace, (citation disputed) from the ancient age to a period equating Earth's modern ages in technological development. While critics attacked unrealistic technological gains or feats achieved by certain players, the moderator was known for deflecting such concerns by refusing to equate update events with unbiased historical fact, a trend that would later manifest itself in second generation interactive games. (see Legendarium Effect)

"Hmm." The cherry-induced euphoria was starting to wear down, and the man needed specific answers. "I wonder what happened after..." he muttered to himself. "Provide detailed timeline," he ordered the page.

LINESII began in the mid 2000's, and continued with significant interruptions until the middle of 2016, when the Vancouver Incident caused the...

"Session over," the man said curtly. Waving away the bill request with a word, he walked out of the bar, leaving the scattered mix of info-leeching patrons in his wake.

 

[Lord_Iggy]

I know, I know. I'm going to resume working on it, and the Vancouver Incident will not have a statistically significant effect on the delay compared to what we've already experienced.

 

[Luckymoose]

Yes FC I do.

 

[North King]

OOC: BUUUUUUUUUUMP



Allow me, friends, to sing to you: the song of the Whistling Arrow, and the tale of Azklvnai. My song is older than the forests, but truly, still a tale of men. I sing of the elder days, of a golden sun and untamed wilderness. I sing of the ancient but the still remembered. I sing to you the song of the Whistling Arrow.

Attend!

The sun rose heavy on a gold gray day, winds stealing its warmth, taking it somewhere we knew not. Rain had fallen for a length, and the dream-seers knew the world wept – but we did not know for whom.

The Vl Sharal lay dying in a sick-white hammock, and though half a hundred attended him, he felt quite alone. Once, his wisdom had known no bounds. He had won every single battle he'd ever fought. Fifty-seven cities had fallen to him, and the entire river valley was united and prosperous under his even and just hand. His chiefdom was ever young, and reached between the hills, but he was older than old, and shrunken. His wife had died may years before, and his son was a loathsome creature. Thus, in the hour of his death, he sent for his old friend and favorite, the boy he wished was his own – the boy Azklvnai.

Azklvnai rushed to the Vl's side, for he knew the old man was soon to die – he had foreseen this in a dream. “My chief,” he asked, “Why have you sent for me?” The old man stirred and looked at him.

“My hours are numbered like the flies on my bed:” he surveyed it, “fewer as I slay them. Now I have but one of each.” He opened his palm to display the last insect, staring with sadness. “Azklvnai, I bid you listen carefully, for you alone can know what I tell you now.

“Long my reign has been, longer than long. There are no injustices in my land, and our borders are the safest of any land. But my son is a fool. If I were to let him grasp my bow, and rule after me, many years' building would come undone in one of fighting. Our people would turn to eating roots as he wantonly shot our Tshtr in sport, and no man nor woman would go unburdened. Thus I tell you now that you are to be my heir, grasp my bow, and bring justice to my people. There is none more well-suited to this work.”

“But to rule in my stead, you must know what I know.” He placed an arrow of exquisite craft before Azklvnai, and asked, “Do you know what this is?”

Azklvnai looked at it long and spoke, “It is a whistling arrow. When loosed from a bow, it will signal whole armies more surely than any warhorn.”

“All that and more. This is the Whistling Arrow, crafted for me by the spirit Hal, of magical lines. This arrow has won a thousand battles, and it is how our land is kept safe.”

At this, Azklvnai grew curious. “What magic lies in this work?”

“The spirit told me it would make me mighty, but long I doubted him. Long I kept it in my quiver, untrusting. But in a heated battle, I had slain so many that my arrows were otherwise spent. Our band was surrounded by many foes, and we were tired from the beating of the sun. I spared no thought; I pulled it from my quiver and set it to my string.

“When it flew, my bowstring sang – not with a single tone but with many, deep as the thrum of the world itself, high as the call of a sweet green bird. And through all the chaos arced the Arrow, drawing every eye. It plunged into the heart of the other chief, who fell and died. The hopeless battle turned, and we who had been on our last legs quickly drove them before us.

“At first I thought the Arrow did nothing more than strike true, for it always did. But soon, I realized: I would never lose the battle in which I loosed the Arrow. I was invincible.”

“Then it is all trickery? Every battle you have won since was won on the back of deceit?”

“What is battle but a thousand feints?” the chief admonished. “Did you think I had won my battles on strength alone? I am a hundred and one; if I had fought the Arbli last year with but my right arm, would this land have stayed safe?

“Mark this, Azklvnai, the honor of a Vl lies not in his tactics in battle, but in how he treats his fallen foes and captives.” As Sharal said this, he smiled, and all the years fell from his face. But then he sighed at a pain in his chest, and his pallor returned. “You must use the arrow, and you must let no other claim it. This arrow is no great symbol, but with it a chief may rule. Stay not your hand. But assure yourself also that you can fight without it, for you maybe surprised with it far from your side.”

“I swear that I shall.”

“Now please, Azklvnai, the boy who would be my son, hear me in my death. Keep my memory, and remember the wise words, 'With time, all passes.'” And then the chief grew quiet, and his eyes closed. He had died.

Azklvnai embraced the body and wept, for Sharal had been like a father to him.

And when the quiet passed, the rain began to fall once more, and the heavens opened with great trembling and thunder, its mourning clear. Azklvnai walked into the main hall of the palace, and announced the chief was dead. At this there issued a thousand lamentations, and the chief's son, Mauklv, came to see why there were so many tears. “Alas,” cried the people, “the Vl is dead, and it will be a thousand years until we see his like.”

At this he grew dark, and said, “I shall bring you peace and plenty in his stead. I will make the world renewed. What he has brought you with one hand, I will bring you in both. For every house that now stands, I will make two, for every Tshtr now in the pastures, you will have ten. All shall be well under my even hand.”

“No,” Azklvnai countered, “For Sharal had seen your evil before he died, and named me chief in his dying moments.”

Mauklv stormed, and cried, “Treason! The Vl would not betray his beloved son, not even if he were delirious with fevers. My people, is it not clear? Azklvnai has slain the chief, and now spits on his memory. He tries to rule by murder! Seize him!”

At first there was a long silence, but then Atrzal, most trusted of the Vl's guard, nodded gravely and took Azklvnai by the arms and pinned him. A commotion followed, but the Vl's guard aligned behind Mauklv, and after them followed the people. And he who should have been the chief's son was bound and trussed to a great pillar in middle of the palace as the skies darkened overhead. “Your fate shall be decided on the morrow,” proclaimed Mauklv, but it was not to be.

Midway through the night, a young girl game to offer Azklvnai water. He exclaimed in relief, for standing bound so had him exhausted. He bid her bring the precious drink to him quickly. But she was a little girl, and he was a grown, tall man, bound high on the pillar. Even with all the stretching she could muster, the bowl could not reach his lips.

“Little one, please, unbind my hand that I might bring the bowl to my mouth.”

She hesitated, and at last nodded. She reached around and undid a knot with deft quickness so that his left hand came free. But when he tried to bring the bowl to his lips, he was unable to grasp it without trembling. “Little girl,” he implored again, “unbind my other hand, please, that I might grasp the bowl without trembling.”

She smiled, and exclaimed, “I know what your game is!” And with that, she unbound him fully; he slid to the floor.

Azklvnai stared at her and exclaimed, if I am freed thus, they will punish you.”

She shook her head. “Little girls such as I can hide. Big louts like you must run.”

“So I must. But if I may ask, to whom do I owe this great kindness?”

The little one smiled once more. Then in the blink of an eye, she transformed into a beautiful young woman. “My name is Drza, and I am of the spirits. With luck we may again meet. Seek me. Farewell, Azklvnai. Run.”

And so he slipped out of the room, out of the palace, and ran, as fast as he could. From town and field he fled, from pasture and meadows. Into hill and forest he fled – into the land of the Arbli. It was then that a sickening dread befell him, as his thoughts turned to the Whistling Arrow. “Alas,” he cried, surveying the dark land beneath him, “Alas, Mauklv is invincible.”

Spoiler editor's notes :

There are a couple clever little gems that are lost in translation. Obviously a lot of the wit of the original cannot be rendered into English. The opening paragraph in particular is a nifty little construction – in the language of the original, possessives are rendered as “object possessor object,” e.g. “Song of the Whistling Arrow” becomes “Song Whistling Arrow Song.” The opening paragraph begins and ends with this phrase, paralleling the smaller construction.

A few useful terms:

Vl translates roughly to “arbiter,” he is a chief-of-chiefs who settles disputes between the people of his land.

Tshtr are the most common domesticate of these people.

The spirits in mythology are roughly speaking the gods who, after losing their power some time ago, tend to be more vicious towards people than anything else.

 

[Terrance888]

NESing is the best
But it needs to take a rest.
For RL now strikes back
And My Comp just hit the sack!

To remember my signature while I figure out which NESes are still alive, which are zombies, and which are dead.

 

[kkmo]

I have a lot of work and family stuff to do these days, but I will gradually post large amounts of information here regarding an alternate world. That world may or may not become a NES at some point, but I'm more interested in making it something to stand on its own. I have written about many worlds, some in fantasy settings, but those are all solo efforts. I do not want this to be necessarily collaborative, but I want the gradual input of people around here. Please note my attempt is not to be incredibly original or innovative, but moreso fun. I have what I think are original works of writing (but really, is anything original these days?), but those are the ones I'd be way too self-conscious to post.

* * * * *​

Setting

It is hard to pin the setting down to a single era, because different regions are currently facing different situations. The situations here will be elaborated upon as I post more about this world.

Horas, a region split into several different nationalities in a very small geographic space, is recovering from a great plague. Their population has suffered as a result. From the ashes, religious men are rising from humble beginnings to preach unity and offer safety from sickness to the masses. In many cases, religious sects / priest councils are responsible for appointing kings or emperors. Peasants, the most populated group in this region, are extremely uneducated and respond to this propaganda. As such, lines of factions are not drawn based on nationality, but rather based on religious sect (and there are many). At the eastern fringe of the region, a holy empire has its sights set on the heretics of the Mil Se Tu An.

Mil Se Tu An is a name describing an entire people, and not as much a region (the region would be called the Lemon Sands). The Mil Se Tu An are organized into a confederacy of sultanates. Their society is sophisticated and their technological achievements numerous. The religion of the Mil Se Tu An believes in a single deity who can supposedly provide wisdom and purpose. This is one of many reasons the Horaseans hold much disdain for the Mil Se Tu An people. Perhaps the greatest reason, though, is the fact that a massive wall was erected between Horas and the Lemon Sands to prevent the spread of the Horasean plague into Mil Se Tu An lands. More about this plague will be covered later. The Mil Se Tu An inhabit the second least populated region in the world (the first being the Sydridian Isles).

The Kelks, across the sea from Horas, suffered at the hands of the same plague that devastated the Horaseans. The plague was brought by merchant vessels. However, the Kelks are organized into either incredibly isolated tribes or two competing, significant empires. Even the empires rule with a rather decentralized doctrine. While major Kelken cities surely suffered, the Kelks do not share the same crowded lifestyle the Horeaseans shared. The Kelken region is vast and it was generally more difficult for the plague to spread throughout these lands.

Now, to move to the far eastern side of the known world.​

The Adenese have a long history and were recently ruled by a single emperor. During this time, the city of Doden ("five points") prospered. The large Aden country is now fractured, and many once-prefectural level cities are beginning to thrive as de facto capitals. There are great wars fought between the various Aden clans and city-states. These groups are all controlled by different prominent families, five of which claim the throne and claim to be the true relatives to the late emperor's family. The story of the decline of the emperor is a long one, which will be explained in full later.

Coming from the great steppes of the west are the Mekir. They are not very advanced and are semi-sedentary. However, they have large numbers and all of their men are almost exclusively dedicated to combat and raiding. They are known and feared for their battle songs and horse archers. More later.

From the southern wetlands, jungles, and savannas come the Raieja, a civilization dedicated to meditation and story-telling. They maintain a strict caste system and are splintered into several different nations, all with different goals. More on this later.

The Sydridians are the people from the isles. Not much is known about them, except that they are fairly primitive.

In order of most populated to least populated:

1. Aden (ah-dhen) / Adenese / Adenese
2. Mekir (meh-keer) / Mekiri / Mekiris
3. Raieja (rye-eh-jah) / Raiejan / Raiejans
4. Kelk (kelk) / Kelken / Kelks
5. Horas (hoh-ras) / Horasean / Horaseans
6. Mil Se Tu An (mil-seh-tu-anh) / Mil Se Tu An / Mil Se Tu Ans
7. Sydrid (sigh-drid) / Sydridian / Sydridians

* * * * *​

Sorry, I kind of rushed to write this. Expect this post to be edited and proofread. And expect a lot more info to be posted and eventually collected here.

 

[kkmo]

A general history of Aden

Before current times, Aden was a prosperous empire ruled by a hereditary line of emperors. This single dynasty, the Laeside Dynasty, lasted for a thousand years. There were obviously minor rebellions throughout this massive timeframe, but nothing significant to cause internal distress. During this time, Aden was the birthplace of many innovative technologies. Great ships roamed the eastern seas, progresses in city design were remarkable, and even books began to be published and distributed. Aden enjoyed a rather "free" society (compared to the standards of other world cultures at the time). There was an obvious class system which tended to keep peasants in the farms and merchants on the road, but this was not overbearingly strict.

The thousand years of Laeside rule were not entirely peaceful. In fact, it was constant warfare with the Mekiris that kept much of the country unified. Soldiers felt a sense of pride protecting their homeland and local governments used this passion to entice the goodwill and support of ordinary citizens. Aden, being the most populated empire in the world, could easily field thousands of soldiers. Innovations in city wall and castle designs further enhanced the Adenese ability to protect themselves from the Mekiri horde.

A series of events brought down the Laeside Dynasty: 1.) A massive famine. Many famines had occurred in the past, but this one was of epic proportions. 2.) To make matters worse, this famine occurred during the rule of Emperor Taenan, a man who was not respected compared to emperors previous. He was a weak ruler and relied too much on his predecessors achievements without accomplishing his own. 3.) A group of eunuchs used Taenan's weaknesses against him. They prosecuted good, decent men and imprisoned those who questioned their authority. 4.) Throughout Taenan's reign, not necessarily through his actions but more through the actions of a corrupted landowner class, the gap between rich and poor became widened beyond belief. And finally 5.) A prolonged war with the Mekiris finally became unbearable as manpower was dwindling and the poor no longer felt cause to fight for the emperor.

And so the city of Doden ("Five Points" in the Adenese tongue) experienced great strife. Aumide Seran was the first to take an army to Doden to approach the emperor. The Mekiris had pillaged Seran lands and Aumide was just barely able to fend them off. With his ragtag group of veterans he rode to the great city and began to siege the emperor's palace. During the siege, Chamile Aesem arrived in support of the emperor. A great battle took place and the city of Doden was devastated. In the end, a peasant rebellion near the city limits poured past the gates and poorly guarded walls, joining the Seran's growing army. Chamile Aesem, upon seeing the passion of this mob of ordinary men and women, gave up his ambition and finally supported the seizing of the emperor. The crooked eunuchs escaped during the turmoil.

After Taenan Laeside had been publicly executed, there was much dispute over who would hold the most power in a post-Taenan world:

1.) the Seran, who initiated the great battle in Doden;
2.) the Aesem, whose eventual assistance in overthrowing the emperor was crucial;
3.) the Merae, an offshoot of the Laeside who claimed relation to "noble elements" of the former ruling family;
4.) the Baelodes, who were essentially a puppet family of the Mekiris;
5.) and the Red Banners, or the peasant mob who had established a somewhat functional representative government.

At first, there was no war. Taenan Laeside had a young son, and he was officially named emperor, being assisted by advisors from each of the five largest factions. During the next few years, it became clear that this was ineffective. These factions were gradually moving away from each other in policy and socio-economic initiatives. The advisors became similar to the eunuchs, and did not adequately represent their respective factions. Corruption continued to run rampant. Land disputes even erupted between various factions. Unity was a distant dream, and still is.

Now...

Doden has been virtually annihilated from massive battles. It is a city of ruins. The Mekiris are not as much of a threat because they have begun to conquer the west, and believe their trusted puppet the Baelodes will eventually unify Aden. Aden is fractured and in a state of perpetual warfare. Some families have managed to carve out small states and remain at peace, returning their infrastructure and conditions to pre-downfall standards. These families are typically merchant families.

(more at some point later)

 

[kkmo]

The Broken Lands

It should be mentioned that in the middle of the world there exists a region in which civilization cannot thrive. It is a barren wasteland riddled with meteor craters. Even the Mekiri seldom ride into the Broken Lands due to the lack of any noticeable life or resources. This region is incredibly inhospitable. There are hotter places in the world; it is simply the vastness of the Broken Lands that make it a terrifying place. Legends and myths all over the world talk about the creation of these lands. The majority of civilizations believe this region to be haunted.

The Broken Lands have, of course, shaped trade routes, roads, and civilization as we know it. Because no direct path from Aden to Mil Se Tu An exists, merchants have long had to travel through Raiejan lands to reach their destination. The cultural effect of this fact is that the vast majority of religious myth around the world is of Raiejan origin (though none of the world's religions would admit this). The economic effect of this fact is that Raiejan cities enjoy a modicum of wealth and prosperity (which is remarkable considering the eccentric nature of Raiejan society).

The technological effect of the existence of the Broken Lands has been the ongoing development of great ships that can travel through the seas and reach any destination efficiently. The Adenese once had the most innovative ships, and currently some smaller merchant families continue to maintain this reputation. However, a few nations in Horas have begun to sail large, remarkable vessels, competing for influence and power in the local seas.

(more info later)

 

[kkmo]

A general history of Mil Se Tu An

The Lemon Sands are, in many respects, the cradle of civilization. The first recorded writing systems, irrigation canals, and pottery all come from the Lemon Sands. However, these developments were far before the time of the Mil Se Tu An. Yet the Mil Se Tu An have over many centuries taken advantage of the heritage contained within their small geographic abode.

The Lemon Sands are a vast desert. They surround the En Di Och valley, with the exception of coastal cliffs and northern steppes. The Mil Se Tu An mostly inhabit the En Di Och Valley, a fertile region supplied by rivers flowing from the northern mountains. Mil Se Tu An history has taken place almost exclusively in the En Di Och Valley. Mul Ay, the largest city in the valley, straddles and surrounds several different rivers. This city is perhaps the oldest city in the entire world. It boasts incredibly dated structures adjacent to newer dwellings. And indeed much about Mil Se Tu An history can be learned in this remarkable city.

Mil Se Tu An society began to form during the conquests of Renadr over two thousand years ago. Renadr was a great warrior-emperor from northern Horas. When Renadr's armies marched into the Lemon Sands, they occupied the En Di Och Valley. Renadr essentially turned the region into a prefecture of his forming empire. However, those in the En Di Och Valley were treated as inferior citizens compared to the soldiers who occupied their realm. They were essentially turned into slaves. As Renadr's empire grew to encompass lands past the valley, his armies were stretched too thin. Barbarians from eastern Horas began to threaten Renadr's homeland. The people of the valley were quick to rise up against their masters. After Renadr's empire had crumbled, the Mil Se Tu An people formed their own state encompassing the valley and much of the Lemon Sands.

The En Di Och Caliphate, as this state was called, survived for a few centuries. During this time, the peoples of the valley intermingled and thus the Mil Se Tu An were born. Their true ancestry became lost and all Mil Se Tu An began to claim to be related to the One Prophet. The One Prophet is believed to have existed thousands of years ago. However, it is believed that he was resurrected during the time of Renadr to help the Mil Se Tu An rise up against this tyrant.

Yet religious men often lose sight of history, changing it for their benefit. This was the situation in the En Di Och Caliphate. A powerful class of Ka Leh, the priests, began to determine who was related to the One Prophet, and therefore who could rule the caliphate. Unfortunately, different Ka Leh in different city-states believed differently. The rift between varying interpretations of the One Prophet's teachings grew. Some city-states became militant and launched rebellions to free their land from the overarching rule of the caliphate. Compared to the collapse of the Adenese Empire, these rebellions were relatively tame. Over time, the caliphate was effectively divided into various sultanates, and the religion of the Mil Se Tu An became fractured.

To this day, the Mil Se Tu An inhabit several different sultanates throughout the lands near the Lemon Sands. They remain at relative peace with one another, and in fact have worked together as a confederation many times in the past. The most notable case of this was during the plague of Horas, in which all Mil Se Tu An sultanates worked together to build a massive wall, effectively encasing Horas in its own sickness. To this day, the wall stands, and is still used to regulate travelers from Horas. Despite the end of the plague, many remain paranoid and do not wish for many Horaseans to come into the valley. This has greatly angered the Horaseans, who have seen a dramatic impact on their trade and merchant classes due to the presence of the wall.

(more info / edits later)

 

[kkmo]

A general history of Horas

Horas is a region separated by various snaking rivers and sporadic mountain ranges. It is for this reason that early tribes formed into a variety of different groups and thrived independent from the others. This did not last as Horas entered into a period of great warfare. The Pandr people of northern Horas were divided into numerous tribes in their early history. One of those tribes had a warrior-prince named Renadr. Gathering his semi-sedentary barbarians, Renadr set out to conquer the other Pandr tribes. This was an easy task, and many of those tribes pledged fealty to Renadr.

With his army massive now, Renadr launched a full-scale invasion of southern Horas, completely occupying the city-states that had peacefully existed there for some time. This was still not enough, and Renadr eventually even conquered the En Di Och Valley and all of its inhabitants, as well as parts of northern Dindisma, land of the Kelks. Of course, Renadr's empire grew too large. Resistance elements in all of the occupied lands, combined with a horde of barbarian tribes coming from eastern Horas, toppled his empire.

The next chapter in Horasean history involves the development of dozens of small principalities and kingdoms. Due to the onslaught of barbarians from the east, people grouped together under wealthier lords for protection. For hundreds of years, this system existed, and there was seldom cooperation between kingdoms. The barbarians of the east successfully pillaged many lands and destroyed much of the infrastructure Renadr had established. This was a time of darkness and terror. This period resulted in the strengthening of lords and their families as protectors of walled manors and castles.

The onslaught of the eastern barbarians was put to an end as the Mekiri fought large wars with them during their long invasion westward from the inner steppes. As the eastern barbarians became less of a threat, the various kingdoms and lords of Horas began to work together to improve life. It was during this time that roads between cities were improved, soldiers of various kingdoms fought side by side against remnants of the eastern barbarians, and farmers were appreciated for their harvests. This was the early foundation of many nations that exist today.

Time passed and collections of lords gathered and appointed powerful kings to rule over greater domains. Taxes were collected and cities thrived. During this period, the population of Horas boomed. The eastern barbarians, having temporarily pushed back the Mekiri, began to raid these larger kingdoms. These raids were put down easily by the advanced and large armies of the various border realms of Horas.

Horas enjoyed an era of prosperity and enhanced trade with the developing sultanates of the En Di Och Valley, via Aden and Raiejan. There were some regional wars between competing socio-cultural groups, but nothing terribly significant or earth-shattering. The next chapter in Horasean history is perhaps the darkest and most sudden. In the western area of the region, people began to fall ill. Then they began to die. This plague spread like wildfire throughout the kingdoms. As merchants brought reports of this plague to the Mil Se Tu An, they immediately took action. In some ways, it was too late. Many infected people had already traveled on the busy trade paths through the En Di Och Valley. However, the number was few and the lifestyle of the Mil Se Tu An was not as crowded and close-quarters as the lifestyle of the Horaseans in their large, walled cities. The Mil Se Tu An effectively began to execute those coming into the valley from Horas. They then cut off the roads and built a massive wall separating Horas from the valley. They even established a regular sentry of vessels in the seas, ready to eliminate any trespassers at all from the west. Due the En Di Och wall and the mountains of northern Dindisma, Horas became completely isolated from the rest of the world.

During the Age of Terror, Horaseans began to practice their religion more fervently. The religion of the Pandr people had effectively spread throughout Horas since the time of Renadr. It had obviously transformed significantly since that time, and different kings supported different aspects of the faith. This religion, known as Esalos, began as a shamanistic, polytheistic belief system. As the Pandr tribes developed their civilization, Esalos evolved to become less ritualistic (for example, human sacrifice, which was prevalent in the tribal era, was phased out in favor of prayer). The many gods and goddesses worshipped via Esalos are all pieces of a single, all-knowing deity. As the plague spread and continued for several years and then decades, cunning shamans began to espouse various ancient writings, thus renewing them and bringing them into light once more. The Esalos shamans preached life after death and the existence of an everlasting soul. This caused many Horaseans to pray more often and put their trust in powerful shamans. Suddenly, education was no longer important compared to having faith in the Esalos deities. Many who were out of favor with the Esalos shamans were accused of being warlocks or demons and executed by fanatical mobs. Rulers and noblemen were overthrown by an angry, infected shaman-inspired populace, accused of hiding in their castles while everyone else suffered. Riots broke out in all major cities.

When the ashes of the Age of Terror had settled, Horas was a far different region than it had been before. Over fifty percent of the Horasean population was decimated. Esalos temples were numerous, and many kings had been appointed by shaman councils.

Now the many kingdoms of Horas are recovering from the Age of Terror, even though it "ended" a few decades ago (minor cases of it still emerge every now and then). With the plague having died down considerably, kings (often essentially puppets of still-existing councils of influential shamans) have made great progress in reconstructing their realms and bringing hope to the populace. Esalos is everywhere and there is no separation of religion and state. The theocracies of Horas have varying interpretations of Esalos and support different denominations. Most of these are moderate in their teachings of Esalos, but a few realms have gone to the extreme and have reverted back to a ritualistic aspect of Esalos that most Horaseans are now ashamed of. There is currently much hatred for the Mil Se Tu An. The wall still exists, and the Horaseans still cannot pass. As such, coastal kingdoms have begun to make great advances in naval technology, pushed by a renewed sense in confidence and desiring trade by sea.

(more info / editing later)

 

[kkmo]

A general history of the Kelks

Dindisma is the region of the people known as the Kelks. The northern area of Dindisma is mountainous, providing a buffer with Horas. This area experiences large amounts of rainfall, which is why many rivers snake out from the northern mountains. Below the major mountainous region, sporadic mountain ranges occur alongside savannas. It is in this region that the Kelken people made a living long ago.

To pin the Kelken people to one ideology or way of life is difficult. They were and many still are tribal in nature, roaming around the savanna and preferring a low-tech and low-maintenance lifestyle. Much of this preference comes from Kelken spiritual beliefs. The Kelks honor nature as their goddess, and it is this extreme environmentalism that has driven their policies for centuries. The scattered tribes of the Kelks know of other technologies. They know how to make cities and they realize the importance of weapons of war. However, they take this information and transform it to suit their complicated spiritual needs.

The Kelken population is not small, but it is spread out over a vast region larger than all of Aden. Within Dindisma, there exist two large empires: Toral and Drer. These two powers have brought hundreds of tribes under their hegemony and have, over centuries, developed thriving cities (though this did not last, as we will soon discover in this reading). The appearance of these cities is far different from other cities around the world. Kelken cities are spread out and they use nature heavily in their design. The history of Toral and Drer is essentially the history of the Kelken people.

Long ago, during the times in which the Kelken tribes had not yet found their way, two tribes were said to be born from the same tree. These tribes began as tiny seeds, and it was foretold they would grow into powerful, thick-rooted, everlasting growths. Kelken tribes were still scattered when Toral and Drer came into the world. While the beauty of the savanna guided the tribes to adopt a belief in the mother-goddess, most tribes still fought over resources and water ways. These tribal wars were frequent and they were bloody. The land of the mother-goddess was stained with much blood. The seeds from the great tree were taken by two separate winds. One of the seeds was carried to the northwestern edge of Dindisma, while the other was carried to the northeastern edge. Thus Toral and Drer were born.

The rapid growth of influence for these two tribes was tremendous. Many smaller tribes respected their strength and resilience. The Ceremony of the Land was spectacular within Toral and Drer lands. But most notably, these two tribes decided to settle their lands, instead of move about them, following wildlife. Toral and Drer began to farm and domesticate animals, but they did so keeping in mind the graces of the mother-goddess. Their cities grew and they became covered in vines and spread over the savanna. Skyways connected the taller structures, and gardens were placed on rooftops. Many Kelks flocked to the two tribes that had become empires. Other Kelks opted to hold onto their non-sedentary lifestyle, following the herds south.

Then on one fateful day, a massive earthquake shook the fault line that sits under the northern range. The epicenter was directly underneath the lands of the Drer. A volcano erupted near Dreran lands, spewing ash into the air and burying entire cities. When the disaster had ended and the dust had settled, the Dreran people began to resent the mother-goddess. They no longer viewed nature as sacred. Shrines to the mother-goddess were ransacked and desecrated. Diplomats and dignitaries from Toral lands offered aid to the Dreran people and were dismayed at how they spat on the image of the mother-goddess. Many Drerans accepted this aid, but eventually it made matters worse. Dreran leadership and its people began to envy the good fortune of the Toralans. For a time, there was a large migration outward from Drer. Some fled to Toralan cities, where they made the living conditions of those cities worsen. These new Toralan citizens also disrespected the mother-goddess. This angered Toralan citizens, and many of the Drerans were forced to leave Toral. Eventually, most Drerans migrated to the last standing cities of their lost empire, located on the eastern coast. There they began to fashion an army, with the goal of expanding their realm. They did so at the expense of many smaller tribes, and they continue to expand to this day. Over time, the Drerans also began to trade with other nations and adopted policies that would harm the earth (compared to their Toralan counterparts). As of now, their cities have become overpopulated as much of the tribe has been forced out of the volcanic wastelands of northern Dindisma.

This is largely the state of Dindisma at this time. No massive war ever broke out between the competing empires, but such a possibility always exists.

(more info later)

 

[Gem Hound]

The gigantic wooden horse stood in the desolate blood soaked fields as the gates of the city slowly opened to accept the gift the Mycenians had given to Troy and Poseidon. The captain of the guard watched as the behemoth worked it's way down the streets and into the central courtyard of Troy. Everyone was cheering, yet his guards stayed silent. "My men, I do not believe the Mycenians would just give up after 10 years of war. They have lost far too many soldiers. I propose that we stand in guard over the horse just incase. We will meet when Apollo reaches his palace."
The Captain stood there as the people filed out of the courtyard leaving the gift to Poseidon wide open for all to see.

**********

That night, The guards traded off watches until a soft thump was heard on the ground. The horse was hollow! The clash of bronze was heard in the night as the Myceneans came out of the Trojan Horse to meet the blades of the suspicious Trojan soldiers.

The Trojan army, alerted by the company of guardsmen, manned the walls before the Myceneans arrived.

The captain knelt down to find their leader when he heard screams coming from the other side of the walls of Troy. The Myceneans had come to fight Troy yet again.

That night, the Mycenean army shattered and scattered to wherever they could. Most hopped into boats and when they got back to Greece, their were no statues built, there was no victory. Only defeat as the Greeks, shattered into several city states once more.

The Trojans, never left Troy and continued to live there. The city of Rome was never founded due to this, and the Roman Empire never existed.

 

[Terrance888]

Eternal flames looking forever, down upon the lands
Where beings milling all about, as countless as the sands
Swept away by the endless seas
Torn apart by the endless needs
The ocean of time swallows all
From the springtime to the fall
Each life a tiny candlelight
Burning so brief and yet so bright
Only for the winds of time to blow them out one by one
As the eye watches through the hour glass of the cycling sun.
Crowding against the storm of time
Together the brighter they shine
The greater the joy for the sand
Into dust to grind, this small band
Attempting to fight against her
The shrouded lord of forever

Old story I wrote about suicidal sadistic elves in Sekai, but didn't really fit as much as I wanted.

Also, that is hilarious Gem Hound. Keep in mind that such peace offerings were common back then, and the Trojan Horse is famous because they basically committed sacrilege. It's like hiding navy seals in grain tankers sent as a peace offering.

 

[Gem Hound]

I know Terrance. That story is a what if some Trojans were suspicious of the Greek gift?