LINESII- Into the Darkness- Part II
- Thread starter Lord_Iggy
- Start date
LittleBoots
The Bloody Banner
- Joined
- Jul 25, 2006
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- 1,979
Maybe he means stories written from the point of view of scholars from the Citadel? That was my first impression.
*whacks Ken*
*whacks Ken with alex's help*
There are some camelids living at cold and dry climate extremes.Camels don't exist, or not as far as I remember (or i would have some, for operations in the desert!).
You know, I feel like an idiot now because I got Aagi and Zekat confused in Karzt's diary entry. D: And I even proof read it somewhere to the order of twice! D:
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Canadia games end around March 10, am I right? I shall be eagerly expecting it.
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Canadia games end around March 10, am I right? I shall be eagerly expecting it.
Swissempire
Poet Jester
If i see you and i track you down, do i get a bonus EC?
lurker's comment: Heh, wasn't all that hard either. Just for the challenge I thought I'd try - took me about 4 mins... 
Thlayli
Le Pétit Prince
"Some say Death is a woman, or a tall skeleton wearing a black cloak. I know better. Death is not a thing, but a lack of a thing. The emptiness of a stilled heartbeat, or vacant eyes revealing a vanished mind behind. If death has a feeling, it is cold."
-Andron Pelcari, Observations, Vol 1.
He didn't want to die.
It was all a game in the beginning, a child's tale of bright armor and great deeds. Of mighty Stratikrators leading their hosts to glorious victory, or mysterious resistance fighters sniping at the enemy from buildings and alleyways. Excited faces by the fireside, animated discussions in tavern back rooms, and fair maidens throwing flowers in the road...that was all it was to them.
The lofty concepts that they fought for, freedom and self-interest, a reborn Veritas risen from exile, shimmered like bright stars on an azure sky.
But in the end, it came down to plunging your blade through muscle and bone, tearing the sinews of life made by the One's own hand, until something broke in your enemy's body.
And after a while, something broke in all of them.
Soldiers often called it "the subtle wound," that internal adjustment to cause violence, pain, and death without remorse, on a daily basis. It was something they all had to do, because combat was personal. You faced a man, as much a man as you, and as worthy of life, fighting for ideals not entirely dissimilar from your own, and you had to make him your hated foe. You had to watch his life bleed out at your feet, without pity, and know that he would do the same.
The irony of death in war was that it was so impersonal, and yet so personal simultaneously. You never truly saw the man behind the helmet, and if you died, or he died, there were no hard feelings about it. Personally, you could respect the man, even as a faceless foreign monster.
But that was what made it so difficult. Because inside, he was the exact same soldier as you.
The conscript farmer from Khemri, the illiterate miner from Myocaca, or the grizzled fisherman from Veritas...they were simple men, and no different from countless other thousands. They fought because they were told, because if they refused, their families, or other families, would die. It had happened once. It would happen again.
But these men, when thrown into the inhumane, unholy carnage of war, forgot all of that. It became a simple struggle for survival. Blade on blade on flesh.
The violence was horrible, but almost hypnotic in its age-old patterns. And it would go on.
He didn't want to die.
When they came through the barricades in the High City, he fled with the rest. What was his name? It hardly mattered, for he was one of faceless thousands, an irrelevant mote in a battalion of soldiers marching to some obscure destiny that no historical footnote would ever remember.
But death would not touch him. They were Death's attendants.
The second wave of Royal Guardsmen came over the wall. A high, orange flag waved in the distance, and he heard their cheers. They were young, fresh from the cities and river-villages of Khemri's heartlands.
They hadn't learned yet, he realized. But they would.
-Andron Pelcari, Observations, Vol 1.
He didn't want to die.
It was all a game in the beginning, a child's tale of bright armor and great deeds. Of mighty Stratikrators leading their hosts to glorious victory, or mysterious resistance fighters sniping at the enemy from buildings and alleyways. Excited faces by the fireside, animated discussions in tavern back rooms, and fair maidens throwing flowers in the road...that was all it was to them.
The lofty concepts that they fought for, freedom and self-interest, a reborn Veritas risen from exile, shimmered like bright stars on an azure sky.
But in the end, it came down to plunging your blade through muscle and bone, tearing the sinews of life made by the One's own hand, until something broke in your enemy's body.
And after a while, something broke in all of them.
Soldiers often called it "the subtle wound," that internal adjustment to cause violence, pain, and death without remorse, on a daily basis. It was something they all had to do, because combat was personal. You faced a man, as much a man as you, and as worthy of life, fighting for ideals not entirely dissimilar from your own, and you had to make him your hated foe. You had to watch his life bleed out at your feet, without pity, and know that he would do the same.
The irony of death in war was that it was so impersonal, and yet so personal simultaneously. You never truly saw the man behind the helmet, and if you died, or he died, there were no hard feelings about it. Personally, you could respect the man, even as a faceless foreign monster.
But that was what made it so difficult. Because inside, he was the exact same soldier as you.
The conscript farmer from Khemri, the illiterate miner from Myocaca, or the grizzled fisherman from Veritas...they were simple men, and no different from countless other thousands. They fought because they were told, because if they refused, their families, or other families, would die. It had happened once. It would happen again.
But these men, when thrown into the inhumane, unholy carnage of war, forgot all of that. It became a simple struggle for survival. Blade on blade on flesh.
The violence was horrible, but almost hypnotic in its age-old patterns. And it would go on.
He didn't want to die.
When they came through the barricades in the High City, he fled with the rest. What was his name? It hardly mattered, for he was one of faceless thousands, an irrelevant mote in a battalion of soldiers marching to some obscure destiny that no historical footnote would ever remember.
But death would not touch him. They were Death's attendants.
The second wave of Royal Guardsmen came over the wall. A high, orange flag waved in the distance, and he heard their cheers. They were young, fresh from the cities and river-villages of Khemri's heartlands.
They hadn't learned yet, he realized. But they would.
alex994
Hail Divine Emperor!
OOC: I believe Khemri has Royal Guardsmen while Guangfei has Imperial Guardsmen
Thlayli
Le Pétit Prince
A world of implication behind that sentence, then. 
Or not.
Or not.
alex994
Hail Divine Emperor!
OOC: I can conscript more people then you have in your whole nation
Thlayli
Le Pétit Prince
OOC: I can conscript more people then you have in your whole nation
Yes, the battle-tested effectiveness of conscripts has been clearly shown in so many wars, which is why none of the great wars to date have been won by powers using professional armies...did I have that right?
Silver Steak
The Ghost of SS
I was going to have this one story about the drunken high priest of some religion hitting the sauce over the triumph of Alse/Atheism over organized religion, but it's been done. Damn you, Viski Lasi! *Shakes fist*
Which one of them are you referring to? Just curious.
Silver Steak
The Ghost of SS
Btw, I think my ruler should be changed from Viski Lasi, if it isn't already. I was supposed to write that story where I detailed the new Lasian dynasty, but I guess I kind of forgot it all. Will get around to that, I promise.
Silver Steak
The Ghost of SS
OK, but I think I should write the story first. And I need to continue the ending story arc for my Fall of Wu'di as well. Gah.
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