Blitz Mage
06-05-06, 15:59
.... anyway, as you probably don't know, one of the things that I actually enjoy to do when I have free time is to write short stories. As of now, I've probably started a good two dozen stories, of which I only have the physical intention of completing one of them at the moment. At it's current point, The Wandering Spartan (a modern-day novella of Cartaphilus, a Roman Legionnaire who more or less beat the living crap out of Jesus during one of his falls while en route to being crucified and was condemned to immortality as a result, in the current age as he makes a living hunting demons) is about 30 pages long and I actually have the entire story planned out. Even though I plan to actually publish it someday down the line, I'm actually a little too paranoid to let anyone read it as I'm just about constantly re-editing the 30 pages that I've written so far, so it's not even close to being complete.
Another story that I have planned but have yet to work on is a story on the American presidency in the future from an administration by administration basis. As of right now, the central focus is on four seperate presidents (two Democrat, two Republican) and how they deal with various crisises. Once again, I have almost nothing in the written form down.
Any way, skipping all of that, I suppose that I'll post a short story that I made a while ago while suffering from one of my regular insomnia bouts. Be forewarned though.... its not very good:
The walls trembled as yet another missile plowed into the keep walls from the siege machines inside the great city. The din outside reached new levels of intensity as it was now completely audible to all within the massive, stone walled throne room. Sitting atop a resplendent golden throne, the young king was able to survey all the remained of his once proud empire. That singular room, with the twenty or so Imperial Guards, now remained the last bastion as of yet untouched by the rebels in their mad quest for liberal reform; as even the hallway just outside the massive oak doors had seen some sporadic fighting three days ago. All fifty-seven prefectures, spanning hundreds of thousands of square miles and encompassing tens of millions of people, had fallen to the Parliamentarian hordes. One by one, the overstretched Imperial Armies had all been defeated by the masses. Nineteen bloodstain years of conflict had finally culminated with the siege of the capital city of the Mahone Empire, Transifal. There, the Royalists had long planned to make their last stand with the “Child King” and inflict such heavy losses on the rebels so as to force them to sue for peace.
Any such plans for prolonging the war failed however, when the conscript army within the city mutinied three days ago and formed an alliance with the Parliamentarians. In a single hour, 75,000 well-armed and battle-hardened soldiers switched sides and forced what remained of the Imperial royalists within the Centralia Keep, the former heart of the Mahone Empire. Now, over three-quarters of a million men surrounded the barely 8,500 soldiers still sided with the Emperor. These men made up the Myturne Guard, the official protectors of the Imperial Family and still the best individual soldiers mankind has ever seen. For three days and two nights, the Guard fought tooth-and-nail to keep the vast sea of radicals out.
The end was at hand though; on this, the third night of the siege. Eventually, the sound of battle had reduced to an almost silent night as the last survivors of the Myturne were wiped out by the vengeful Parliamentarians. After minutes of near quite, the sounds of battle once again escalated, as the clang of steel against steel could be heard in the very hallway outside the throne room. This too died down, and the grouping within were treated to a few minutes of quiet before the bolted door heaved suddenly with a brutal force. The sturdy gate did not break, but it did continue to heave with a regular tempo. The rebels had brought forth a battering ram to knock down the last vestige of Mahone power.
With this, several of the Emperor’s ministers openly wept. The young tyrant would have normally cracked down on such weakness, but he let it slide. His aide-de-camp, chief of staff, and twenty-odd Myturne Guards all stood unflinchingly in between the throne and the now slightly splintered door. These were the men that had supported the Empire to the very end. It was just not right to have their last order be to silence a group of tearful elders.
A single vertical plank on the gate split in two, and for the first time the opposing sides could see each other. From the distance of thirty meters to the door, the three archers present among the Guard unleashed a rapid and accurate flurry of arrows, undoubtedly killing several rouges on the other side. The rhythmic hammering halted for a few seconds as the men outside regrouped quickly. The ramming began anew with increased vigor, despite the continued spray of arrows pouring out from the crack in the door.
Finally, the gate itself was ripped from the hinges and fell inwards with a massive crash. The Myturne archers halted their work as both sides stood perfectly still staring at one another. After a few seconds, several hundred haggard, worn, and confident rebels walked through the opening and continued to eye their final opponents. The two dozen Myturne Guards stood in their battered red-blue armor in defensive martial stances so as to completely cover their bodies with their massive shields while wielding their broadswords behind their backs. Only the three Myturne archers were sans-shield and sword on the Imperial side, while the Parliamentarians were armed with a wide variety of weaponry and armor (almost a third of their opponents in the throne rooms wore the uniforms of the Imperial Conscripts).
The 18 year-old and newly coroneted Emperor stood up from his throne and strode towards his remaining men. Even the lowliest of rebels were able to recognize the last surviving member of the Mahone Royal Family despite the fact that this was the first time any of them had even seen his face aside from being on a coin. From his head, the last surviving Mahone took off his crown and tossed it back onto the throne. The Emperor unsheathed his surprisingly bland-looking sword and took yet another step towards his opponents.
“I am Emperor Claude Hermann von Stein Fredrick Mahone XVII, 67th Regent of the Mahone Royal Line and Commander-in-Chief of the Most Glorious Armies of the Mahone Empire.” The youth swept his sword across the ground, “Come forth and learn the true meaning of honor.”
- Ryan Hoffman
7/27/2005 – 2:54 AM
Told ya' that it wasn't very good....:g-drop:
EDIT: Gah, forgive me for the multitude of grammatical errors....
Another story that I have planned but have yet to work on is a story on the American presidency in the future from an administration by administration basis. As of right now, the central focus is on four seperate presidents (two Democrat, two Republican) and how they deal with various crisises. Once again, I have almost nothing in the written form down.
Any way, skipping all of that, I suppose that I'll post a short story that I made a while ago while suffering from one of my regular insomnia bouts. Be forewarned though.... its not very good:
The walls trembled as yet another missile plowed into the keep walls from the siege machines inside the great city. The din outside reached new levels of intensity as it was now completely audible to all within the massive, stone walled throne room. Sitting atop a resplendent golden throne, the young king was able to survey all the remained of his once proud empire. That singular room, with the twenty or so Imperial Guards, now remained the last bastion as of yet untouched by the rebels in their mad quest for liberal reform; as even the hallway just outside the massive oak doors had seen some sporadic fighting three days ago. All fifty-seven prefectures, spanning hundreds of thousands of square miles and encompassing tens of millions of people, had fallen to the Parliamentarian hordes. One by one, the overstretched Imperial Armies had all been defeated by the masses. Nineteen bloodstain years of conflict had finally culminated with the siege of the capital city of the Mahone Empire, Transifal. There, the Royalists had long planned to make their last stand with the “Child King” and inflict such heavy losses on the rebels so as to force them to sue for peace.
Any such plans for prolonging the war failed however, when the conscript army within the city mutinied three days ago and formed an alliance with the Parliamentarians. In a single hour, 75,000 well-armed and battle-hardened soldiers switched sides and forced what remained of the Imperial royalists within the Centralia Keep, the former heart of the Mahone Empire. Now, over three-quarters of a million men surrounded the barely 8,500 soldiers still sided with the Emperor. These men made up the Myturne Guard, the official protectors of the Imperial Family and still the best individual soldiers mankind has ever seen. For three days and two nights, the Guard fought tooth-and-nail to keep the vast sea of radicals out.
The end was at hand though; on this, the third night of the siege. Eventually, the sound of battle had reduced to an almost silent night as the last survivors of the Myturne were wiped out by the vengeful Parliamentarians. After minutes of near quite, the sounds of battle once again escalated, as the clang of steel against steel could be heard in the very hallway outside the throne room. This too died down, and the grouping within were treated to a few minutes of quiet before the bolted door heaved suddenly with a brutal force. The sturdy gate did not break, but it did continue to heave with a regular tempo. The rebels had brought forth a battering ram to knock down the last vestige of Mahone power.
With this, several of the Emperor’s ministers openly wept. The young tyrant would have normally cracked down on such weakness, but he let it slide. His aide-de-camp, chief of staff, and twenty-odd Myturne Guards all stood unflinchingly in between the throne and the now slightly splintered door. These were the men that had supported the Empire to the very end. It was just not right to have their last order be to silence a group of tearful elders.
A single vertical plank on the gate split in two, and for the first time the opposing sides could see each other. From the distance of thirty meters to the door, the three archers present among the Guard unleashed a rapid and accurate flurry of arrows, undoubtedly killing several rouges on the other side. The rhythmic hammering halted for a few seconds as the men outside regrouped quickly. The ramming began anew with increased vigor, despite the continued spray of arrows pouring out from the crack in the door.
Finally, the gate itself was ripped from the hinges and fell inwards with a massive crash. The Myturne archers halted their work as both sides stood perfectly still staring at one another. After a few seconds, several hundred haggard, worn, and confident rebels walked through the opening and continued to eye their final opponents. The two dozen Myturne Guards stood in their battered red-blue armor in defensive martial stances so as to completely cover their bodies with their massive shields while wielding their broadswords behind their backs. Only the three Myturne archers were sans-shield and sword on the Imperial side, while the Parliamentarians were armed with a wide variety of weaponry and armor (almost a third of their opponents in the throne rooms wore the uniforms of the Imperial Conscripts).
The 18 year-old and newly coroneted Emperor stood up from his throne and strode towards his remaining men. Even the lowliest of rebels were able to recognize the last surviving member of the Mahone Royal Family despite the fact that this was the first time any of them had even seen his face aside from being on a coin. From his head, the last surviving Mahone took off his crown and tossed it back onto the throne. The Emperor unsheathed his surprisingly bland-looking sword and took yet another step towards his opponents.
“I am Emperor Claude Hermann von Stein Fredrick Mahone XVII, 67th Regent of the Mahone Royal Line and Commander-in-Chief of the Most Glorious Armies of the Mahone Empire.” The youth swept his sword across the ground, “Come forth and learn the true meaning of honor.”
- Ryan Hoffman
7/27/2005 – 2:54 AM
Told ya' that it wasn't very good....:g-drop:
EDIT: Gah, forgive me for the multitude of grammatical errors....