lurker's comment: Blasphemy...
Nothing is too epic for smilies!
Except this.
This update is worthy of commendation equal to the other iconic motivational speeches throughout history. It's just amazing, full stop.
Unbound
- Thread starter the unbound
- Start date
Except this.
This update is worthy of commendation equal to the other iconic motivational speeches throughout history. It's just amazing, full stop.
the unbound
Chieftain
- Joined
- Sep 5, 2011
- Messages
- 57
Part I
Chapter XIII
The devil is in the details.
Aromatic organic particles waft from the roiling surface. One molecule might be a speck of pelagic ooze kicked up by turbidity currents dragging their fingers through the sediments. Another might be the last gasp from a fish snapped between the jaws of a predator, desperate carbon dioxide from a lower vertebrate making its last desperate, bubbling exhalation moist with fear. It all coalesces and slips into the air, hoping maybe to slip away from gravity completely, to drift off as lonely messengers of life into the black.
But instead it finds its way to some twitchy little hairs in my nostril and then sets off a firestorm of clicks and buzzes between my olfactory lobe and my amygdala.
I know on some level that's all my smelling the sea air is, just particles smashing into each other. Crude, physical collisions. Like everything.
But I don't care for a moment.
"My lord, why do we wait here?" one of my advisors asks. After the sacking of Delhi, when we fed all the generals' hearts to the gods, I elevated him and several of my personal guard to lead the army. Now, here at the ocean's edge, he has crept up alongside me, testing each sandal step in the soft, moist ground. He looks out at the expanse of the blue and green with more dread than he would ever show for an enemy.
"Isn't it beautiful?" I ask him.
"It unnerves me."
And why shouldn't it? Landlocked savage trained up for war. If it was an ocean of blood then it might captivate him. Isn't it beautiful? I hear myself saying. Who is that? Who would say that? Pedestrian awe at a big sloshing tide pool. Why would I say that?
"The ground here is too poor to camp. We should prepare in case the insurgents to the south try to strike out at us."
Beauty? What is beauty? It's not an aesthetic quandary I could ever discuss with this man, with any of these men. What would it matter, even if I could? After all these lives, all these centuries, what could any of them ever say to me that would be new, that would be in the least bit captivating.
"Or, my lord, the men can march on. The sooner we dispatch this uprising, the sooner we can march the spearguard south toward Babylon."
"Babylon."
"Yes, as you said, they must pay for their denouncement of us."
"By the waters of Babylon...we wept and remembered Zion."
"Zion? What is this?"
I laugh. His face contorts with confusion. Source of the holiest of holies. Wellspring for creation; the heart of reality. If you looked on it, my battle-hungry friend, would you understand beauty then? If I looked on it, would I?
But then, haven't I? Isn't that the eye I pass through? When I'm done with one world and I throw it out like an old shirt, isn't that the nexus I pass through to begin again. Whipped back through time, outside of being, and injected once again in the vein of human existence here on this rock.
Fine, then, my jagged-toothed friend, let us march. Let us march on and on. South to Babylon. West to the Songhai. Let us sack the Ottomans. Let us do what we will, not what we must, not what we should.
Maybe somewhere in it all, we will find the eye of the world and let it look into us.
Chapter XIII
The devil is in the details.
Aromatic organic particles waft from the roiling surface. One molecule might be a speck of pelagic ooze kicked up by turbidity currents dragging their fingers through the sediments. Another might be the last gasp from a fish snapped between the jaws of a predator, desperate carbon dioxide from a lower vertebrate making its last desperate, bubbling exhalation moist with fear. It all coalesces and slips into the air, hoping maybe to slip away from gravity completely, to drift off as lonely messengers of life into the black.
But instead it finds its way to some twitchy little hairs in my nostril and then sets off a firestorm of clicks and buzzes between my olfactory lobe and my amygdala.
I know on some level that's all my smelling the sea air is, just particles smashing into each other. Crude, physical collisions. Like everything.
But I don't care for a moment.
"My lord, why do we wait here?" one of my advisors asks. After the sacking of Delhi, when we fed all the generals' hearts to the gods, I elevated him and several of my personal guard to lead the army. Now, here at the ocean's edge, he has crept up alongside me, testing each sandal step in the soft, moist ground. He looks out at the expanse of the blue and green with more dread than he would ever show for an enemy.
"Isn't it beautiful?" I ask him.
"It unnerves me."
And why shouldn't it? Landlocked savage trained up for war. If it was an ocean of blood then it might captivate him. Isn't it beautiful? I hear myself saying. Who is that? Who would say that? Pedestrian awe at a big sloshing tide pool. Why would I say that?
"The ground here is too poor to camp. We should prepare in case the insurgents to the south try to strike out at us."
Beauty? What is beauty? It's not an aesthetic quandary I could ever discuss with this man, with any of these men. What would it matter, even if I could? After all these lives, all these centuries, what could any of them ever say to me that would be new, that would be in the least bit captivating.
"Or, my lord, the men can march on. The sooner we dispatch this uprising, the sooner we can march the spearguard south toward Babylon."
"Babylon."
"Yes, as you said, they must pay for their denouncement of us."
"By the waters of Babylon...we wept and remembered Zion."
"Zion? What is this?"
I laugh. His face contorts with confusion. Source of the holiest of holies. Wellspring for creation; the heart of reality. If you looked on it, my battle-hungry friend, would you understand beauty then? If I looked on it, would I?
But then, haven't I? Isn't that the eye I pass through? When I'm done with one world and I throw it out like an old shirt, isn't that the nexus I pass through to begin again. Whipped back through time, outside of being, and injected once again in the vein of human existence here on this rock.
Fine, then, my jagged-toothed friend, let us march. Let us march on and on. South to Babylon. West to the Songhai. Let us sack the Ottomans. Let us do what we will, not what we must, not what we should.
Maybe somewhere in it all, we will find the eye of the world and let it look into us.
Greizer85
Emperor
- Joined
- Mar 7, 2009
- Messages
- 1,210
Be careful with the updates, mate; this story has a high enough concentration of Awesome that it could make the Sun go nova at any minute. 
Have you written any books, by any chance? If not, you should; if yes, then a link or PM would be nice so I could buy one (if I ever get a creditcard).
Have you written any books, by any chance? If not, you should; if yes, then a link or PM would be nice so I could buy one (if I ever get a creditcard).
Tambien
Theseus, Duke of Athens
You should publish this......
the unbound
Chieftain
- Joined
- Sep 5, 2011
- Messages
- 57
Thanks, guys. Sorry I didn't post for so long before. The voice is so important for this that I thought it best not to force it. Also, sorry for not replying to comments, but I snuck in the last two posts in quick shots.
Anyway, very kind of you all, but Tambien, I think I'm hitting the entire target audience on this forum, publication would be redundant. And Greizer, let me get back to you on that question.
So I'll try to squeeze in another chapter right now...hopefully I'll make it before I have to get going.
Anyway, very kind of you all, but Tambien, I think I'm hitting the entire target audience on this forum, publication would be redundant. And Greizer, let me get back to you on that question.
So I'll try to squeeze in another chapter right now...hopefully I'll make it before I have to get going.
the unbound
Chieftain
- Joined
- Sep 5, 2011
- Messages
- 57
Part I
Chapter XIV
Now, my warriors, as before, we face a determined foe...
The Jaguar ranks are thinned out on the hills overlooking the city. I have brought the spear guard into the narrow valley where two tributaries meet. It is low ground and the crossing will slow us, but we are the dread Mexica--we will not broker with any impediments, not earth or water or men, in our march to domination.
Once again, we must subdue a nation that has dared to defy us. Once again, we are called to glory...
Flaming bolts fly over our heads--cover from our archers on the ridge behind us.
Once again, we have fought hard to take what ground we have, and once again we face the choice that is so easy for lesser men. To drive onward, against the odds, or to lick our wounds and be contented with half a victory. I say, let us not take the easy route. I say, let us show our foes once more, what it means to challenge us...
Dawn's glow is on the horizon as we advance, fresh deer meet in our bellies. Beyond the bulwark of the spring-swollen river, we see the spires of Akkad. Naked and vulnerable, she beckons to us. A coy mistress protesting her virtue, even as she opens herself to us.
Let us feast tonight in their halls. Let us tear their banners from their ramparts. Let her people flee south to Babylon and send tremors up the spines of those that hear their tales. Let the whole world know that nothing will stand between us and our destiny...
Then the arrows begin to fall.
Have no fear! The gods await your tribute....
I see a lucky shot crash through the great headdress of my lead general with enough force to crack open the rear of his skull like a succulent gourd. The men do not waver, but only shout their war chants more forcefully as they advance on the river banks.
The arrows continue to rain down, though. They have sufficient power to punch through the men's shields. One man before me has only a few gore-soaked tendons holding his arm to his body; he marches on several paces, then collapses with his spear still clutched in his good hand.
I can see the river glistening ahead, but there is no vanguard left before me to cross it.
An arrow whisks past my face. I stop and look behind me.
Our shields dot the landscape behind me like stepping stones tracing a path back out of the valley. The spears jut out of the earth like weeds. Grave markers for men who died grinning, died hungry--always hungry, but always satisfied.
I have given them all a good death.
Chapter XIV
Now, my warriors, as before, we face a determined foe...
The Jaguar ranks are thinned out on the hills overlooking the city. I have brought the spear guard into the narrow valley where two tributaries meet. It is low ground and the crossing will slow us, but we are the dread Mexica--we will not broker with any impediments, not earth or water or men, in our march to domination.
Once again, we must subdue a nation that has dared to defy us. Once again, we are called to glory...
Flaming bolts fly over our heads--cover from our archers on the ridge behind us.
Once again, we have fought hard to take what ground we have, and once again we face the choice that is so easy for lesser men. To drive onward, against the odds, or to lick our wounds and be contented with half a victory. I say, let us not take the easy route. I say, let us show our foes once more, what it means to challenge us...
Dawn's glow is on the horizon as we advance, fresh deer meet in our bellies. Beyond the bulwark of the spring-swollen river, we see the spires of Akkad. Naked and vulnerable, she beckons to us. A coy mistress protesting her virtue, even as she opens herself to us.
Let us feast tonight in their halls. Let us tear their banners from their ramparts. Let her people flee south to Babylon and send tremors up the spines of those that hear their tales. Let the whole world know that nothing will stand between us and our destiny...
Then the arrows begin to fall.
Have no fear! The gods await your tribute....
I see a lucky shot crash through the great headdress of my lead general with enough force to crack open the rear of his skull like a succulent gourd. The men do not waver, but only shout their war chants more forcefully as they advance on the river banks.
The arrows continue to rain down, though. They have sufficient power to punch through the men's shields. One man before me has only a few gore-soaked tendons holding his arm to his body; he marches on several paces, then collapses with his spear still clutched in his good hand.
I can see the river glistening ahead, but there is no vanguard left before me to cross it.
An arrow whisks past my face. I stop and look behind me.
Our shields dot the landscape behind me like stepping stones tracing a path back out of the valley. The spears jut out of the earth like weeds. Grave markers for men who died grinning, died hungry--always hungry, but always satisfied.
I have given them all a good death.
Tambien
Theseus, Duke of Athens
So? It wouldn't hurt to just SEE if a publisher is willing to publish this....
CrazyHorseSouix
Chieftain
- Joined
- Oct 5, 2011
- Messages
- 27
History teachers who aren't video game fans maybe?
Optical
The Fall of the Eleventh
Well, since it's kind of in the public domain, it'd be a little redundant to publish this. Work of this calibre certainly is worthy of it though 
the unbound
Chieftain
- Joined
- Sep 5, 2011
- Messages
- 57
Part I
Chapter XV
Two dozen or so survivors slosh with me across the river, toward our lines on the ridge.
I give no order to the Jaguars and so they charge at dawn to attack the city. We hear nothing more from them. By nightfall, the Babylonians counterattack with volleys of their own, spearing men in their tents as they dream of the loot of Akkad.
I start on the road back to Mecca and the archers follow me. Behind me, I hear their whispers. The survivors from the spear guard spread their tales of the battle.
"I saw it," one says just at the edge of my hearing. "I saw the arrow pass through him and strike the ground."
My dumb luck becomes legend. My callous indifference to their lives and the chances of success only deepens their awe.
I am truly a god now.
Several ministers convene in Mecca, some having travelled all the way from the heart of the empire. The priests, too, sit in council.
I remain silent.
"The Babylonian army is broken. In that sense, it was not a defeat. We have never quaked to sacrifice men to cripple an army."
"But the city remains outside our control."
"We can rejoin the fight at once. Take the reinforcements forward and this time, crush them utterly."
"It is our faith that has failed. That must be what the people understand. Our faith in him," one says without even glancing in my direction. I did not call for them. They have come to my tent uninvited. All of this is happening despite me now. "Our piety was insufficient."
"Yes. Only the pure in purpose may carry his banner."
"We must induct our warriors through a holy rite, whereby their commitment to our dominion is fortified."
"No, it is not a matter of doctrine, but of understanding."
"Doctrine is understanding."
"It is their minds that must be purified. Purged of doubt so that if we tell them this is a victory, then they must believe it."
I rise.
They stop their conversation and watch as I walk out the opening of the tent.
Mecca's pale stone glistens in the morning sun. Around it, like blades of blood red grass are the tents of the reinforcements. Fresh bodies for the crucible of battle. New souls eager to die. A whole army to replace the one I have just wasted.
The idea springs to mind to walk to the nearest of them, take his weapon and kill him. Then another. And another. What would they do? Would the men just watch and wait their turn? Would they finally turn on me? Could I, one by one, kill all thirty thousand of them? How would the old men in the tent behind me reconcile that with the new philosophy they're concocting for themselves?
Another tournament, perhaps, like the one that began this empire eons ago. This time here in the desert heat. One by one in the ring. The greatest of our warriors can challenge the god king himself. They're not just untrained savages with bone axes anymore. Now they are vessels holding centuries of warrior tradition filtering the techniques I brought with me from past worlds. I might not survive the first round this time.
I've never known what happens in one world when I die, when the damage crosses the threshold and I've drawn out, back into the interstitial nothing between universes. Do they see my body just disappear? Pop into nonexistence?
Or does their whole universe collapse?
"My lord," the high priest asks. Several of them hover behind me in the opening of the tent, peering out inquisitively. "Is something wrong?"
"I'm leaving."
"But the men are not ready to march. They have only arrived. We must--"
"I'm not going back to Akkad."
"You wish to strike further south, against Babylon itself?"
"No. I'm just leaving."
"We don't understand you. What will--"
"You don't need me anymore," I say. "Not that you ever did."
I see the young warrior in the jungle again. The curl of his lip as he prepared to strike at me. The faint release of air as I drove his own weapon into his chest.
"But--"
I walk toward a post where a captured Babylonian horse is tied up and free it. Its dark eye swivels down and regards me, as if this might be a trick. I pull myself onto its back. Behind me, the ministers, generals and priests shout excitedly.
I am gone before I hear them decide what to do about my departure.
Chapter XV
Two dozen or so survivors slosh with me across the river, toward our lines on the ridge.
I give no order to the Jaguars and so they charge at dawn to attack the city. We hear nothing more from them. By nightfall, the Babylonians counterattack with volleys of their own, spearing men in their tents as they dream of the loot of Akkad.
I start on the road back to Mecca and the archers follow me. Behind me, I hear their whispers. The survivors from the spear guard spread their tales of the battle.
"I saw it," one says just at the edge of my hearing. "I saw the arrow pass through him and strike the ground."
My dumb luck becomes legend. My callous indifference to their lives and the chances of success only deepens their awe.
I am truly a god now.
Several ministers convene in Mecca, some having travelled all the way from the heart of the empire. The priests, too, sit in council.
I remain silent.
"The Babylonian army is broken. In that sense, it was not a defeat. We have never quaked to sacrifice men to cripple an army."
"But the city remains outside our control."
"We can rejoin the fight at once. Take the reinforcements forward and this time, crush them utterly."
"It is our faith that has failed. That must be what the people understand. Our faith in him," one says without even glancing in my direction. I did not call for them. They have come to my tent uninvited. All of this is happening despite me now. "Our piety was insufficient."
"Yes. Only the pure in purpose may carry his banner."
"We must induct our warriors through a holy rite, whereby their commitment to our dominion is fortified."
"No, it is not a matter of doctrine, but of understanding."
"Doctrine is understanding."
"It is their minds that must be purified. Purged of doubt so that if we tell them this is a victory, then they must believe it."
I rise.
They stop their conversation and watch as I walk out the opening of the tent.
Mecca's pale stone glistens in the morning sun. Around it, like blades of blood red grass are the tents of the reinforcements. Fresh bodies for the crucible of battle. New souls eager to die. A whole army to replace the one I have just wasted.
The idea springs to mind to walk to the nearest of them, take his weapon and kill him. Then another. And another. What would they do? Would the men just watch and wait their turn? Would they finally turn on me? Could I, one by one, kill all thirty thousand of them? How would the old men in the tent behind me reconcile that with the new philosophy they're concocting for themselves?
Another tournament, perhaps, like the one that began this empire eons ago. This time here in the desert heat. One by one in the ring. The greatest of our warriors can challenge the god king himself. They're not just untrained savages with bone axes anymore. Now they are vessels holding centuries of warrior tradition filtering the techniques I brought with me from past worlds. I might not survive the first round this time.
I've never known what happens in one world when I die, when the damage crosses the threshold and I've drawn out, back into the interstitial nothing between universes. Do they see my body just disappear? Pop into nonexistence?
Or does their whole universe collapse?
"My lord," the high priest asks. Several of them hover behind me in the opening of the tent, peering out inquisitively. "Is something wrong?"
"I'm leaving."
"But the men are not ready to march. They have only arrived. We must--"
"I'm not going back to Akkad."
"You wish to strike further south, against Babylon itself?"
"No. I'm just leaving."
"We don't understand you. What will--"
"You don't need me anymore," I say. "Not that you ever did."
I see the young warrior in the jungle again. The curl of his lip as he prepared to strike at me. The faint release of air as I drove his own weapon into his chest.
"But--"
I walk toward a post where a captured Babylonian horse is tied up and free it. Its dark eye swivels down and regards me, as if this might be a trick. I pull myself onto its back. Behind me, the ministers, generals and priests shout excitedly.
I am gone before I hear them decide what to do about my departure.
the unbound
Chieftain
- Joined
- Sep 5, 2011
- Messages
- 57
Part I
Chapter XVI
I follow the long road around the mountains, bending south below the capital, off through the colonies and toward India.
When the horse tires, I lead it off the road and feed it whatever dry grasses I can find. When it seems sated, I lie down in the soft sands.
The pilgrims arrive hours after.
Some are deserters who walked away from the army when word spread I had taken to the road. Most are civilians, lured by an accidental piper. Deep into the moonless night I hear them shuffle in on blistered feet. Babies clutched to mothers' breast whine and gripe with shallow, weepy breaths. Old men scratch vermin from their beards as they collapse into concentric circles around me.
They ask nothing. I say nothing.
I wake at dawn and see that there are at least a thousand of them asleep and half dead in the dust.
"You," I say, shaking one from his slumber.
"Yes, unholy one?"
"Who are you?"
"I am Acatlotzin," he answers.
"Not your name. What are you? Why are you here?"
"I was a worker. I helped build the floating gardens outside the capital, but two mornings ago, I heard word that the god king was passing the southern road on a holy journey and--"
"And you deserted your work for this foolish errand?"
"I wished to serve your will!" he pleaded.
"And what made you think this would be my will?"
He tried to summon up some words, but could not.
Why serve my will? Would you be a slave? I imagine his work, hacking out long beams from the cane plants and lashing them together. Building rafts of sludge for some future bounty.
These savages thought of that.
It's never one thing, civilization. I've led them astray, tugged on the most ruthless thread of their nature and told myself it was the central cord of their being. I've done you wrong, little farmer. Go back to making your rafts; go and watch the chilies and squash sprout up on your tiny, artificial islands. Worship nothing. Live as you would live, not as the god king would will you to.
I mount the horse and ride off, losing the sounds of the man's pleas for forgiveness in the clopping of the hooves. I drive the beast hard through the sweltering heat, hoping to lose them.
By nightfall outside the next city, though, I can sense their bare feet shaking the ground behind me, so I ride on, ignoring the animal's distress.
I almost kill it by pressing on after the river crossing toward Delhi. When I finally make camp and let the animal succumb to exhaustion on the earth beside me, I think I have finally escaped my entourage. I slip off into a dreamless sleep that I wish could last for ages.
But by morning's light, the whole throng of them is there again. Filthy and bleeding from their pores, they have hurried through the night to be near me.
I waste no more energy trying to escape them.
I let the weary horse clop on at foot pace and the whole pilgrimage plods along just over my shoulder.
In Delhi, somehow word has travelled ahead of us and the governor stands in the streets with the entire city guard in full regalia. He bows and has horns blow as I pass through the gate. He begins to speak, but I ride by him.
The Indians watch our sad invasion of depleted souls march by with blank eyes.
The road ends.
The mass of humanity trailing me has grown. Loyals and Indians alike from Delhi have added themselves to the impromptu migration. Even the defeated must know awe. Their gods have never walked by, so they might as well follow.
Past the cattle pastures, I finally see the sea on the horizon. When the horse finally steps past the last of the tall grasses and onto the open expanse of the beach, I dismount.
I slap its flank hard and send it running along the length of the sea. It shows no attachment to me or my purpose, less foolish than the human dregs behind me.
I have not eaten in seven days. Even with all my advantages, I cannot last much longer. The steps through the dense sand slow me and I feel as if the lip of the sea is beyond reach.
When my toes finally touch the water, crisp and cold against my pale, worn flesh, one of the pilgrims speaks up.
"My lord, what does this mean? Why have you brought us here?"
A more biting question than he can ever know. Why?
"I'm done with this world," I answer.
"But how, how can you be finished? The world is not yet ours."
"And if it was? What would you want from me then?"
"I do not understand."
And you think I do?
The water pulls at my ankle. The tide is perfect.
"It's time for me to go."
I wade out. Behind me, wails of lamentation go up from the women. There are moans of agony as men cut their own throats. I don't turn around. I don't want to see it anymore. I wash my hands of it all.
End of Part I
Chapter XVI
I follow the long road around the mountains, bending south below the capital, off through the colonies and toward India.
When the horse tires, I lead it off the road and feed it whatever dry grasses I can find. When it seems sated, I lie down in the soft sands.
The pilgrims arrive hours after.
Some are deserters who walked away from the army when word spread I had taken to the road. Most are civilians, lured by an accidental piper. Deep into the moonless night I hear them shuffle in on blistered feet. Babies clutched to mothers' breast whine and gripe with shallow, weepy breaths. Old men scratch vermin from their beards as they collapse into concentric circles around me.
They ask nothing. I say nothing.
I wake at dawn and see that there are at least a thousand of them asleep and half dead in the dust.
"You," I say, shaking one from his slumber.
"Yes, unholy one?"
"Who are you?"
"I am Acatlotzin," he answers.
"Not your name. What are you? Why are you here?"
"I was a worker. I helped build the floating gardens outside the capital, but two mornings ago, I heard word that the god king was passing the southern road on a holy journey and--"
"And you deserted your work for this foolish errand?"
"I wished to serve your will!" he pleaded.
"And what made you think this would be my will?"
He tried to summon up some words, but could not.
Why serve my will? Would you be a slave? I imagine his work, hacking out long beams from the cane plants and lashing them together. Building rafts of sludge for some future bounty.
These savages thought of that.
It's never one thing, civilization. I've led them astray, tugged on the most ruthless thread of their nature and told myself it was the central cord of their being. I've done you wrong, little farmer. Go back to making your rafts; go and watch the chilies and squash sprout up on your tiny, artificial islands. Worship nothing. Live as you would live, not as the god king would will you to.
I mount the horse and ride off, losing the sounds of the man's pleas for forgiveness in the clopping of the hooves. I drive the beast hard through the sweltering heat, hoping to lose them.
By nightfall outside the next city, though, I can sense their bare feet shaking the ground behind me, so I ride on, ignoring the animal's distress.
I almost kill it by pressing on after the river crossing toward Delhi. When I finally make camp and let the animal succumb to exhaustion on the earth beside me, I think I have finally escaped my entourage. I slip off into a dreamless sleep that I wish could last for ages.
But by morning's light, the whole throng of them is there again. Filthy and bleeding from their pores, they have hurried through the night to be near me.
I waste no more energy trying to escape them.
I let the weary horse clop on at foot pace and the whole pilgrimage plods along just over my shoulder.
In Delhi, somehow word has travelled ahead of us and the governor stands in the streets with the entire city guard in full regalia. He bows and has horns blow as I pass through the gate. He begins to speak, but I ride by him.
The Indians watch our sad invasion of depleted souls march by with blank eyes.
The road ends.
The mass of humanity trailing me has grown. Loyals and Indians alike from Delhi have added themselves to the impromptu migration. Even the defeated must know awe. Their gods have never walked by, so they might as well follow.
Past the cattle pastures, I finally see the sea on the horizon. When the horse finally steps past the last of the tall grasses and onto the open expanse of the beach, I dismount.
I slap its flank hard and send it running along the length of the sea. It shows no attachment to me or my purpose, less foolish than the human dregs behind me.
I have not eaten in seven days. Even with all my advantages, I cannot last much longer. The steps through the dense sand slow me and I feel as if the lip of the sea is beyond reach.
When my toes finally touch the water, crisp and cold against my pale, worn flesh, one of the pilgrims speaks up.
"My lord, what does this mean? Why have you brought us here?"
A more biting question than he can ever know. Why?
"I'm done with this world," I answer.
"But how, how can you be finished? The world is not yet ours."
"And if it was? What would you want from me then?"
"I do not understand."
And you think I do?
The water pulls at my ankle. The tide is perfect.
"It's time for me to go."
I wade out. Behind me, wails of lamentation go up from the women. There are moans of agony as men cut their own throats. I don't turn around. I don't want to see it anymore. I wash my hands of it all.
End of Part I
Tambien
Theseus, Duke of Athens
Mind posting the save for this game when you finish?
Verarde
Pondering Wearing A Hat
No, I have a feeling that he's just building a boat to go check out any other nations.
CrazyHorseSouix
Chieftain
- Joined
- Oct 5, 2011
- Messages
- 27
Definitely going down an interesting path. The question is, what will he remember in the next world? Or will the story go in a different direction entirely?
the unbound
Chieftain
- Joined
- Sep 5, 2011
- Messages
- 57
Tambien, sorry, I don't have the save games anymore. I have autosave set to every turn (a setting left over from when Civ V was so unstable). I took these screenshots as I went through, but I've played several other games since then.
I'll start Part II as soon as I can, but I'm afraid it won't be this week.
I'll start Part II as soon as I can, but I'm afraid it won't be this week.
Tambien
Theseus, Duke of Athens
Darn. Well, I cant wait for PArt II!
Greizer85
Emperor
- Joined
- Mar 7, 2009
- Messages
- 1,210
I can't help but read this in the 'inner monologue' voice of Willard from Apocalypse Now. 'If your story is really a Civ game, then so is mine.' At this point I can't decide which I like more, the movie or your story. Perhaps your hero might run into Mr Kurtz somewhere along the way? 
I also like how every part of the story so far makes sense in Civ terms: the 'inherited' skills from countless former games that you can't remember specifically learning; the blindly obedient underlings; Indian war elephants coming out of nowhere (no resource required...); letting the Indians live for a while to avoid being called a warmongering menace; and now, getting bored of Conquest victory and quitting before the mopping-up phase. I never knew that someone getting bored could be made to sound so interesting! Now ofc the question becomes: which victory will the hero (or rather, player) pursue next? Culture or space? I think time victory will be the final chapter, if I am at all correct about where you're heading with this. I'm all ears, to quote Dolph Lundgren in "Universal Soldier" (kind of a shame to quote such a bad movie, but if you've seen it, you know why the quote fits the thread 
).
I also like how every part of the story so far makes sense in Civ terms: the 'inherited' skills from countless former games that you can't remember specifically learning; the blindly obedient underlings; Indian war elephants coming out of nowhere (no resource required...); letting the Indians live for a while to avoid being called a warmongering menace; and now, getting bored of Conquest victory and quitting before the mopping-up phase. I never knew that someone getting bored could be made to sound so interesting!
Now ofc the question becomes: which victory will the hero (or rather, player) pursue next? Culture or space? I think time victory will be the final chapter, if I am at all correct about where you're heading with this. I'm all ears, to quote Dolph Lundgren in "Universal Soldier" (kind of a shame to quote such a bad movie, but if you've seen it, you know why the quote fits the thread ).
clearmurky
Emperor
This is amazing!!! Everyone put a link in your signature!!!
