Nylan
Characters Welcome
Redevelopment had gone marvelously well on Kalia. The day was quite beautiful. The sky was blue and clear, the sun was out, and the fresh air was exhilarating. The forest nearby seemed to be singing, water could be heard running somewhere just out of sight, and the field of wildflowers was just plain beautiful. It was a good day indeed…
A good day to die.
Consul Mica had no time to stop and smell the roses this afternoon, he had business to attend to…if you could call it business. He had challenged Grigor Edinburgh to a duel in this clearing just outside Kalianna City, and was here to finish the man off. Grigor had used his position as Chief of Police to embezzle government funds for his own use. Not only that, but he had also been horribly inefficient in his duties, organizing The Purge in a way that was horribly inefficient. The Confederates needed all the resources they could garner. This galaxy was a troubled one, full of turmoil, treachery, bloodshed, and deception. Kalia needed to put up a strong front…as fast as was humanly possible.
Besides…Aaron just didn’t like the man. He was a sleaze, a patron of bars and lounges, a regular smoker and gambler…everything an employer dreaded. All this plus his waste good resources and embezzlement to pay his gambling debts had been the last straw. Aaron intended to make Grigor an example for all those who served the Confederate cause. The government must play a strong hand-albeit a democratic one-if it is to survive.
“Stop here” He ordered his chauffer. His limo came to a halt at the edge of the woods. “I’ll be back shortly…keep the motor going.” With that, he headed towards the planned meeting spot. When he got to the clearing he saw Edinburgh already waiting, weapon in hand, and the Master of Duels, a sort of official in the “sport” of dueling, commissioned to ensure duels were fair and that all agreements were kept. Behind the Master was his chest of weapons, from which a combatant who could not afford his own could acquire the proper weapon for whatever duel was agreed upon, be it pistol, heavy arms, blade, mace, or staff. Mica approached the two of them in long strides…he wanted to get this over with. Upon seeing him, the Master cleared his throat and spoke.
“Alright gentlemen, if you would, please present your weapons for inspection before we begin. I understand that you have selected a pistol duel, is that correct Grigor?”
“Yes, that is correct.” confirmed Grigor. As the accused, he was given the privelage of choosing the weapon for the duel. The accuser chose the location. This system was meant to emphasize balance and civilization in the “barbaric” act of dueling. This art form had undergone a revival amongst the corporate executives of Kali Corp. (no one quite knows why…
, and has since become an integral part of upper class Confederate society.
Grigor and Aaron both held out their weapons for inspection. The Master nodded. “Very well. Please assume your positions. Consul, your position is the blue flag over there on the right, and Grigor yours is the red flag on the left.” They complied.
“Please face away from each other and load your guns. Now…take ten paces on my count, turn, and fire. You both are allowed one shot. Once both shots have been taken, you may leave your positions, but may not come within five feet of one another, should you be physically able to do so. On my mark…one…two…three…”
The men began their paces back, and Mica steeled for the turn around. He was quite possibly the most proficient dueler in Kalia, and had dueled more people than he cared to count. Grigor was a drunk. There was no possibility that he would best the Consul, who was much younger, more agile, and more experienced. This was more execution than anything.
On the count of ten Mica whirled around to fire. However, by some miracle of fate, Grigor had gotten his shot off first. The old-world style glock had placed a shell in Mica’s left calf, and a searing pain ripped through his body. How could this be? How could he have been bested by an old drunkard? He fell to the ground and groaned in agony. This couldn’t be happening.
Suddenly, rage swept through the Consul. He would make Grigor pay for the pain he had inflicted. He still had his shot, and Grigor was a sitting duck. He fumbled around in the grass for his gun…and found it near his head. He turned to look at Grigor…and froze.
The man was paralyzed with fear. He was pale white and was shaking. He sweated profusely, and he was crying his eyes out. He was simply terrified. He had no doubt that he would die. He looked at Mica with pleading eyes, full of tears. “Please,” he croaked, “please forgive me…I’ll get help, I promise. I’ll get help for my addictions. I’ll break my habits. I’ll change! I promise! Just don’t kill me!”
Mica stopped just as he was about to squeeze the trigger. What was he doing? Here he was, about to shoot a poor man who was so terrified he had become nothing more than an animal? Where was the justice in this? Why shouldn’t he be tried for his crimes? Why shouldn’t he get the help he needs for his problem? He had a family to look after, he had a lot of burdens on his shoulder. Who was Mica to rob him of his life? Who was he to rob his wife of her husband? What about the children? This was not the Christian thing to do. Mica remembered a scripture he had read lately…something along the lines of “I the Lord will forgive who I will forgive, but unto you it is required to forgive all men.” He couldn’t remember where it was from, but he grabbed that thought and held onto it.
Mica was sick of being the cruel one. He was sick of being wicked. He was sick of the pain, the superficial gains and joys that were fleeting and were forgotten the next day. He was tired of wandering through life without purpose, with an emptiness inside, without knowing what was right and what was wrong. Without an understanding of why he existed. Such troubles had soured any and all worldly accomplishments Mica had gained in life. He was ready for a change. He put his gun down. No…he would not kill Grigor Edinburgh, as much as he may deserve it. Grigor would be tried in a court of law and dealt with fairly.
The next thing he knew, there was a loud bang and Grigor was on the ground with a bullet to the skull.
A good day to die.
Consul Mica had no time to stop and smell the roses this afternoon, he had business to attend to…if you could call it business. He had challenged Grigor Edinburgh to a duel in this clearing just outside Kalianna City, and was here to finish the man off. Grigor had used his position as Chief of Police to embezzle government funds for his own use. Not only that, but he had also been horribly inefficient in his duties, organizing The Purge in a way that was horribly inefficient. The Confederates needed all the resources they could garner. This galaxy was a troubled one, full of turmoil, treachery, bloodshed, and deception. Kalia needed to put up a strong front…as fast as was humanly possible.
Besides…Aaron just didn’t like the man. He was a sleaze, a patron of bars and lounges, a regular smoker and gambler…everything an employer dreaded. All this plus his waste good resources and embezzlement to pay his gambling debts had been the last straw. Aaron intended to make Grigor an example for all those who served the Confederate cause. The government must play a strong hand-albeit a democratic one-if it is to survive.
“Stop here” He ordered his chauffer. His limo came to a halt at the edge of the woods. “I’ll be back shortly…keep the motor going.” With that, he headed towards the planned meeting spot. When he got to the clearing he saw Edinburgh already waiting, weapon in hand, and the Master of Duels, a sort of official in the “sport” of dueling, commissioned to ensure duels were fair and that all agreements were kept. Behind the Master was his chest of weapons, from which a combatant who could not afford his own could acquire the proper weapon for whatever duel was agreed upon, be it pistol, heavy arms, blade, mace, or staff. Mica approached the two of them in long strides…he wanted to get this over with. Upon seeing him, the Master cleared his throat and spoke.
“Alright gentlemen, if you would, please present your weapons for inspection before we begin. I understand that you have selected a pistol duel, is that correct Grigor?”
“Yes, that is correct.” confirmed Grigor. As the accused, he was given the privelage of choosing the weapon for the duel. The accuser chose the location. This system was meant to emphasize balance and civilization in the “barbaric” act of dueling. This art form had undergone a revival amongst the corporate executives of Kali Corp. (no one quite knows why…
, and has since become an integral part of upper class Confederate society.Grigor and Aaron both held out their weapons for inspection. The Master nodded. “Very well. Please assume your positions. Consul, your position is the blue flag over there on the right, and Grigor yours is the red flag on the left.” They complied.
“Please face away from each other and load your guns. Now…take ten paces on my count, turn, and fire. You both are allowed one shot. Once both shots have been taken, you may leave your positions, but may not come within five feet of one another, should you be physically able to do so. On my mark…one…two…three…”
The men began their paces back, and Mica steeled for the turn around. He was quite possibly the most proficient dueler in Kalia, and had dueled more people than he cared to count. Grigor was a drunk. There was no possibility that he would best the Consul, who was much younger, more agile, and more experienced. This was more execution than anything.
On the count of ten Mica whirled around to fire. However, by some miracle of fate, Grigor had gotten his shot off first. The old-world style glock had placed a shell in Mica’s left calf, and a searing pain ripped through his body. How could this be? How could he have been bested by an old drunkard? He fell to the ground and groaned in agony. This couldn’t be happening.
Suddenly, rage swept through the Consul. He would make Grigor pay for the pain he had inflicted. He still had his shot, and Grigor was a sitting duck. He fumbled around in the grass for his gun…and found it near his head. He turned to look at Grigor…and froze.
The man was paralyzed with fear. He was pale white and was shaking. He sweated profusely, and he was crying his eyes out. He was simply terrified. He had no doubt that he would die. He looked at Mica with pleading eyes, full of tears. “Please,” he croaked, “please forgive me…I’ll get help, I promise. I’ll get help for my addictions. I’ll break my habits. I’ll change! I promise! Just don’t kill me!”
Mica stopped just as he was about to squeeze the trigger. What was he doing? Here he was, about to shoot a poor man who was so terrified he had become nothing more than an animal? Where was the justice in this? Why shouldn’t he be tried for his crimes? Why shouldn’t he get the help he needs for his problem? He had a family to look after, he had a lot of burdens on his shoulder. Who was Mica to rob him of his life? Who was he to rob his wife of her husband? What about the children? This was not the Christian thing to do. Mica remembered a scripture he had read lately…something along the lines of “I the Lord will forgive who I will forgive, but unto you it is required to forgive all men.” He couldn’t remember where it was from, but he grabbed that thought and held onto it.
Mica was sick of being the cruel one. He was sick of being wicked. He was sick of the pain, the superficial gains and joys that were fleeting and were forgotten the next day. He was tired of wandering through life without purpose, with an emptiness inside, without knowing what was right and what was wrong. Without an understanding of why he existed. Such troubles had soured any and all worldly accomplishments Mica had gained in life. He was ready for a change. He put his gun down. No…he would not kill Grigor Edinburgh, as much as he may deserve it. Grigor would be tried in a court of law and dealt with fairly.
The next thing he knew, there was a loud bang and Grigor was on the ground with a bullet to the skull.
ROTFLOL
