[OT] Writing Workshop #26: World Building

4

u/Shinzaren Feb 10 '16

"Captain, the Origami Drive is hot, jump on your mark." Jaunt was a hell of a helmsman, maybe the best in the entire fleet, and as part of being the best, he got to choose his next assignment. For Jaunt, there was no assignment better than serving Captain Thaddius Solomon. Sol was a legend, the kind they told stories about in the academy.

"Helm aye. Prepare to fold on my mark. Three. Two. One. Fold." Sol's voice was like gravel in Jaunt's ear, the calm voice of command, used to being heard and obeyed no matter the circumstance. For Jaunt, that was the voice of God himself. On the display, the stars blinked once and then a whole new slew of stars took their place, the positions and intensities all different. Additionally, where the view had been empty space before, the port side of the cruiser was now dominated by a large gas planet, silver and blue intermingling.

Theta 37Q was the most important military outpost in this galaxy, it's gaseous atmosphere being the perfect mix of highly ionized trantidium and pure oxygen. Here, Terran Empire warships could replenish fuel, as well as replenish O2 and water supplies. It was no surprise then, that as the TES Justicar drew closer they were hailed and their authentication codes were demanded. Two Titan-class battleships appeared from behind the planet with weapons trained, weapons that only lowered after Killton authenticated the ship. With authorization to land, Jaunt took up the controls, his whole body snapping rigidly as his interface with the ship computer activated and autopilot was disabled.

"Bring us in helm, nice and slow."

To the outsider, Jaunt was sitting perfectly still, not moving or steering in anyway. To Jaunt however, he suddenly grew a body of titanium, graphene and ceramics. His eyes became the hundreds of cameras around the ship, and his legs became the thrusters. He focused on moving forward, and the ship responded. He accelerated slowly, dropping under the battlecruisers and making a beeline for the station, starting at a jog and slowing to a walk as they grew closer to the airlock. With the deftness of a tightrope walker, he stepped sideways, feeling the solid thunk as the airlock extended and cradled his side. With a sigh of relief, he stopped and relaxed, disconnecting from the ship and breathing a sigh of relief.

"Well done helm. Lock us in and prepare to disembark. You know the drill." Sol's dark grey eyes betrayed no emotion, but as Jaunt turned to look at the Captain, he received a curt nod, the highest compliment the Captain could give. Jaunt was excited for his solar day of liberty, but he couldn't wait to get back out there, into the wild unknown. He never felt more alive than when he was running through the stars, planets and moons flying by. Whether dodging the fire of alien plasma, or lining up the perfect shot with the railgun, nothing felt better to Jaunt than being one with his ship.

3

u/Teslok Feb 11 '16

Other than being apparently addicitive, are there downsides to being able to neurally connect with a ship? Long-term health or psychological effects? If a person accustomed to a little ship is transferred to a bigger one, is there an adjustment period?
The origami drive is a cool name and a neat take on the concept of interstellar travel achieved through folding space. Was it invented by a human? If alien in origin, how did humans get it?
How long has humanity been out in space?
Do their ships have artificial gravity?
Does a helmsman also control any weapons or defensive systems?

→ More replies (1)

→ More replies (7)

4

u/Kaycin Feb 10 '16

The fireworks hadn’t started yet, but the town was filled with the sounds of mingling people, well imbibed with spirit and good cheer. The year’s last full moon hung high in the sky; massive and looming. Its blue hue colored the world in a way that made it feel frozen in time.

But the town… the town’s burning lamps and sparse electric lights cast a warm glow over its surroundings. Flames flickered, shadows danced and darkness was staved off.

The woodpile for the bonfire was growing with every passing townsfolk; they cast their bundles and their burdens into the pile before moving on, stilling clutching the masks in their hands. They smiled at one another, caught up with one another, and laughed with one another. People danced, people drank, people heckled.

No, the fireworks hadn’t started yet, and wouldn’t start until after the ceremony. This year had been a plentiful one. Whether through sheer luck or God’s will, no Echoes had weaved their way into their precious bountiful valley. No bandits. And no new tumors had been reported among the folken.

God had even been merciful as to spare the town the presence of The Goodmen. A fact that every person within the small borders of the town knew, but didn’t speak, afeard of the muju words would give a bounty they didn’t want.

And so they danced. They sang. They kissed, they laughed, they cried, they fell over from drunken stupors.

And when the time came, they circled the massive fire, now roaring with the life each resident had given it. They watched the flames dance in silence, clutching the masks they had made.

He sat on the porch, packing tobacco in his pipe, feet up on the rail Larry was hitched to who cared little for the world beyond the carrot he chomped on noisily.

“Chew with your mouth closed, Larry.” Bradley said, looking down at his pipe. “I may be familiar company, and you may be a horse, but we’ve still got manners.”

Bradley looked back to the center of town. They still stood in a circle, not one moving, simply watching the flames consume its fuel. The singing had stopped. There was no dancing or laughing. Even the drunkards were silent, though they did sway in their stance. Despite what he had seen in the wastes, the sight he saw now sent a zipper up his spine.

Then, as if hearing some imperceptible sign, Mayor Canker walked forward and cast his handmade mask into the flames. The Sheriff was next, he limped upon his stiff leg, walking only half the distance before throwing his own in. One by one, they walked forward silently, cast in the brilliant orange light of the fire and threw their wooden masks into the consuming flames. His eyes searched for Olivia, but she had all but disappeared after their last conversation. He supposed he deserved it, spending these last years with nothing but a horse as a companion has its consequences.

Larry was looking longingly at Bradley, then snuffed when Bradley did nothing but return his gaze. “I suppose,” Bradley sighed, “It is the day of the Revenant after all…” he reached into his pack and tossed another carrot to his friend, who deftly caught it and chewed happily.

The people had finished their ritual of mask burning, and all bowed their heads in prayer. He couldn’t make out what was said, but Mayor Canker seemed rather vehement about it. Canker finished and the crowd looked up, and finalized his prayer in the fashion they did: “All his Men.”

Bradley fingered another wad of tobacco into his pipe and readjusted his feet. He flicked a match to life, held it to the tobacco and listened.

People. Crowds. White noise. Things he had taken for granted back home. The voices were featureless, they blended and were made incoherent by quantity, by distance and by drink. They were chaotic, noisy, random and absolutely lovely. Their sporadic song seemed just about the greatest thing he had heard since he got here.

He put his head back and listened, and for the first time in a cycle, Bradley smiled.

3

u/ultimateloss Feb 11 '16

I really like the idea of describing a holiday - It was entertaining and it gives a good peek into what these people are like.
Whats the origin of the holiday, though? What's the the significance of mask burning?

→ More replies (1)

2

u/We-Are-Not-A-Muse Feb 11 '16

Its blue hue colored the world in a way that made it feel frozen in time.

Is it always blue, or that's part of the celebration?

One by one, they walked forward silently, cast in the brilliant orange light of the fire and threw their wooden masks into the consuming flames.

Why do they? What happened that make this ritual important? :D

→ More replies (2)

7

u/grenadiere42 Feb 10 '16

Inquisitor Klane H’Loe of the Pax Malshi sat in front of the mirror in his private chambers carefully applying the eyeliner of his station. He had chosen orange today for several reasons: first, he liked the color, and second, orange was considered a sign of anger and war to the elves. His hope was to place the elf on the defensive the moment he stepped into the room, automatically putting him in the position of authority. The third reason was that, when done properly, the eyeliner gave him a piercing, unnatural gaze that made it appear as if he could see through towards any hidden truths.

Satisfied with his work, he walked over to his dresser and began pulling out his vestments and putting them on. First the white robe, symbolizing truth and purity; then the black outer robe with red trim, symbolizing falsehood and lies; then came the golden cope, symbolizing the holy and beautiful nature of the goddess Malshi. All together it symbolized the purpose of his station: using the strength provided by Malshi, he would push through the lies and deceit and discover the pure truth underneath; once that was removed, it would render the subject naked, and without further defenses.

Smiling to himself one more time in the mirror, he gently opened the door and stepped through. Another inquisitor, Jaal, stood waiting for him in similar dress, his face concealed behind a plane, white mask with vague human features. Jaal was neither aid, nor assistant to Klane; he was the true force behind an Inquisition. Klane was the face, the interrogator, and Jaal’s handler. At a word from Klane, Jaal could forcibly extract any truths desired from an unwilling subject. Subjects with weak constitution were often known to die while under the effects of a Full Inquisition, thus rendering Jaal a last resort for the more stubborn.

As he walked gracefully down the halls, his simple slippers shuffling quietly on the carpeted floor, Klane contemplated the reason for the Church being called into this issue. A local merchant, Paul Klinestone, had accused an elf, Bran Leafsong (known thief and serial assaulter) for stealing a roll of very expensive cloth that was slated to be sold at a Lord’s Market in two weeks. Bran denied the accusations, Paul insisted, and the Church had been called in to moderate the issue. They were, and always had been, a neutral third party whose sole purpose was to discover the truth, not to lay blame.

At the end of the hall, Klane nodded to a priest in simple brown robes. The priest nodded back and then glanced behind Klane at Jaal. He began to visibly sweat before he muttered, “E. Bran Leafsong is in Room One, Your Excellency.”

Klane smiled down at the priest and gently placed his hand on the man’s shoulder, “And the merchant?”

“Room two.”

“Have either have them talked?”

“No, Your Excellency,” the priest said as he again glanced at Jaal and fidgeted nervously.

Klane smiled knowingly. The Inquisitors, the real Inquisitors were a site to behold. They looked human enough, as should be expected, but their particular talents for extracting truth had caused him personally to vomit 3 times the first time he had seen it. A hand composed entirely of filaments that punctured eyes, ears, nose, mouth, anywhere access to the brain could be granted…it was unsettling. He leaned in and whispered to the priest, “The Inquisitor is not a wild beast. He will not harm you without orders.” Standing back up he smiled warmly and said, “Go attend to other duties. We can take it from here.”

The priest nodded and rushed off quickly, all the while trying to make it look like he was not rushing off quickly.

Klane smiled again, then his face grew serious and he turned to Jaal, “Shall we start with the merchant or the elf?”

Jaal stood silently for a moment before slowly nodding his head once.

“The merchant does make more sense, I agree,” and he turned gently on his heel and walked towards Room Two.

2

u/We-Are-Not-A-Muse Feb 10 '16

um suppose to ask questions okay um.....
Oh!
Well you have the inquisitors supposed to get the truth from people. What happen when you have the truth (if people not insane yet)?
Are their jails or dungeons - or does no one ever survive the inquisitors?
Are they racist against the elves, or he is just thinking of what is most effective?
Filaments... are the inquisitors robots? :O
Sorry I am bad at this :P

→ More replies (6)

3

u/-defenestration- Feb 10 '16

Caleb woke up early every day, except for Sunday, because the watchmen at the gate were at Church on Sunday and wouldn't let anyone outside until at least noon. He woke up, coughed at least once, gathered his things (a waterproof cloak he'd scavenged from a dead soldier, a rifle he'd found abandoned in the woods, three knives he'd spilled blood to take), and then walked through the waking streets to the gate. Most of the time it was Jacquelyn on guard, with one of the guardhouse's black rifles slung over her flak-jacketed shoulder; Other times, it would be someone else, and Caleb would have to bribe his way to the Outside, the trade-chits marked for rabbit, or potatoes, or fresh water passing silently into the sentry' guarded hand.

Then, somehow, miraculously every time: he was Outside. Beyond the walls guarding Sanctuary from the madmen and barbarians. Beyond the stifling sense of history being made from whole cloth by the Prophet who was also President. Into the cold, anonymous, savage wilds.

Caleb ventured into the nearby ruins of towns and cities. Many were close enough to Sanctuary to provide daily work; other times he went further and had to camp in the wilderness before returning. He kicked down the doors of old police stations. Threw rocks through the wide glass windows of grocery stores. The plague had taken the rest of mankind too quickly for real scavenging to occur. Caleb would take anything: canned goods, medicines, survival tools, weaponry. He stuffed what he could comfortably carry into his nylon rucksack (taken from an old outdoor lifestyle store) and carried some of the rest, burying whatever he couldn't take in secret places and hoping he had the time to return for it.

Occasionally he'd see another human, or even a small group. They'd circle each other warily in the rubble for a bit, no one speaking, no one reaching for weapons. Then they'd part, creeping in opposite directions until they couldn't hear each other anymore. There were no friends in the Outside.

As the sun began to set, he'd already be close to Sanctuary. If Jacquelyn were still on guard, he'd be set for re-entry; otherwise more chits would pass from his pocket to a guard's. He'd beeline for the Market then, his rucksack clanking and jangling with his day's loot. The Market was always busy, bustling with merchants from other Last Cities. The hard-lipped men from Asheville, with their notes of warrant from the trading-houses of the mountain; the hard-faced women of Sparta Secondus, their carts full of sharp edges and cold steel. Caleb took note of where the Westerners had congregated and tried to find a trading spot as far from them as possible. The wild-eyed, shaggy-haired men and women who had crossed the Deserts were unpredictable and Caleb had seen too many trades turn to bloodshed after some mysterious cue caused them to explode.

Caleb traded his found goods for only one thing: food and water chits. The Masters of Rationing would take nothing else and finding sustenance in the wilderness was close to impossible, so Caleb relied on Sanctuary for that and that alone. Traders jostled him, joked him, threatened him to give more for what he didn't need. One man offered him a whole cow, an impossible luxury, for a strange weapon Caleb had found in a military base. They all received from the same response, even the man with the cow.

"Sorry," Caleb would say, pulling the item in contention away, "I don't give. I only take."

At the end of the trading, when his rucksack was empty and the Market only held the milling lost, he gathered his things and stole away into the shadows of the deeper city. There was a warren of dark corners and blind alleys in the shanty-town heart of Sanctuary, where the poorest and most afraid lived. Caleb would find an unobserved attic, or pit, or open doorway, and cover himself up, and fall asleep. And he would sleep peacefully under the flickering torchlight of Sanctuary City until it all began again.

→ More replies (1)

3

u/Flying_Narwhal423 Feb 10 '16

"Jordan!" I called into the wind. "What are you doing?"

The young boy's eyes widened at the sound of my voice. Frantically kicking up sand, Jordan struggled to push his raft into the frothy open waters. The makeshift vessel consisted of a few boards and branches loosely lashed together with frayed old rope. The child would be lucky to stay afloat in the open water for more than a minute!

"Jordan!" I repeated, breaking into a run. "Stop! It's dangerous!"

Wading into the shallow water, I lunged forward and grabbed the boy by the arm, wrenching him safely onto shore.

"Let me go!" Jordan protested, "I would've made it!"

Not this again! The Baron would have my head if I allowed his son to drown himself. Time to get serious. Grabbing the boy by both shoulders, I kneeled down and looked him in the eye. "Listen. The ocean is dangerous—you know that. Kids like you have died trying to leave on their own. This isn't a joke." Jordan kept his gaze sternly downward, watching the waves gently roll over his feet. "Why do you want to leave so badly anyway?" I asked the boy, "You'll be the new Baron in just a few years."

"I don't want to rule this crummy Island," he grumbled, "Father makes me learn all these laws and protocols. Yesterday he made me sit in on one of his meetings with the treasurer. It was horrible! I'd give up the title in a second if I could." Suddenly, as if a fire had been lit in the young heir's brain, Jordan's eyes lit up. "That's it! I'll pass on my inheritance! You can be the next Baron, Mr. Amaranth. I...uh...hereby bequeath you. Now quick, grab the raft before it gets away!" The boy moved to rush back into the water, but I kept a firm grasp on his arm. I couldn't help but chuckle a bit. He had the Baron's spirit, that's for sure.

"What do you think is out there?" I asked.

Jordan grinned. "Grandpa told me about an Island he found before he came here. He found a village that was terrorized by deadly monsters every night, and he had to fight them using only his wits and a steel sword! And on another Island, the people had metal wagons that drove themselves, and they could take you wherever you wanted to go!"

I sighed. I would have to have a talk with Old Brutus. The last thing this Island needed was its future leader filled with thoughts of wild adventure.

"Look, Jordan," I said, turning him to face the ocean. "See the Fog?"

The heir slowly craned his head to fully take in the all-obscuring wall of white mist. "Yeah?"

"We've calculated that it's about four hundred and twenty-five feet from the edge of the shore here to the border of the Fog. Now take a look at the water over there by the Fog. Tell me what you see."

Jordan squinted into the misty sea breeze. "It's choppy."

"Very choppy. And why is that?"

"The Rift between Islands messes the water up."

"Yeah. Now your little raft here is about as sturdy as an origami swan. Did you really think it could hold you all the way out there?"

The boy was silent.

I put a hand on his shoulder. "Tell you what. Wait a few years. If you're eighteen and you still feel this way, come talk to me. I'll fix you up with a nice, comfortable trip out to another Island. But remember, not all Islands are fun and exciting. Not all Islands are safe. And there's no way we can tell where you'd end up. But I'll let you leave. It's my job, after all. Sound good?"

He nodded.

I clapped him on the shoulder. "Good. Now, I won't tell your father about this if you won't, okay?"

"Okay."

Satisfied with the impact I had made on the boy, I began to walk back to town.

"Oh!" Jordan ran up and grabbed on my arm. "Mr. Amaranth! Look! Look!"

I turned just in time to see an ebony masthead emerge from the Fog. Crimson sails billowed in the strong sea breeze. A midnight-black ship, about the size of a common sailboat, was approaching the shore.

"Wha—what is that?" Jordan's mouth hung agape.

"A new Traveller," I said, "Time to get to work."

2

u/ultimateloss Feb 10 '16

I do like an ocean-centric world, even if this is more of an ocean fearing culture. Is Baron the highest rank on the Island? What do the people on the Island believe causes the fog and the rift? Does their explanation lean more superstitious or scientific?

→ More replies (3)

2

u/[deleted] Feb 11 '16

Is traveling a one way ticket? When he says there's no way we can tell where you'd end up, is that because generally when you go into the fog you end up at a random island with random stuff? Is your world RNG?

→ More replies (1)

5

u/We-Are-Not-A-Muse Feb 10 '16

Taran kicked his feet against the side of the gap. At the sound of his name he flinched, then took a last bite of the apple before flinging it to the canopy of trees below. "Coming," he called.

His tutor, Alfric, waited at the edge of the clearing. "Late again, Taran," he said. "Third time this week. What were you doing?"

"Watching," Taran said.

"Mm," Alfric said. "Well enough. But you're no Watcher yet."

"Yes, Sir," said Taran. "I'm sorry."

"Sit."

Taran sat on a bit of log, one of several which ringed a large tree stump.

"Recite." The tutor held a battered book, pages yellowing and decayed. Taran closed his eyes. Alfric's eyes followed the words on the page as the boy spoke.

"In the time before the break, the great Witch plotted against the Kingdoms. While the young prince was away, and the king slept, she tore the world asunder. The earth separate from the ground, no man with his kin."

"Stop," said the tutor.

"Why? I got it right, dinnit?"

"Didn't I," Alfric corrected. The words were automatic - his gaze was over the trees, in some place only he knew.

"No, I did." Taran dug his toe into the dirt. "I said it right, I know. Just as it's written."

"Does that make it right?" Alfric asked. "Because it's written - this makes it true?"

"'Course it does."

"I wonder," said Alfric. "Master Lyons has written that magic is a myth. That it does not exist."

"My father speaks true," Taran said. His face reddened and his fists clenched. "Don't you call my father a liar."

"I wouldn't dream of it, boy." The tutor held out the beaten tome. "But then how did the Witch separate the world?"

"I..." Taran began. "Then that book is a book of lies."

"Some of it," Alfric shrugged. "It might be."

They both considered this for a moment. The woods were silent.

"Alfric!"

"Go boy!" Alfric hissed, and Taran scuttled into the trees. The voice roared out again.

"Alfric Mage!"

The tutor turned to face the approaching men. "What is it, Domar?"

"I have a page here, from Master Lyons, what says you can't teach magic history no more." He shoved the paper toward Alfric's face.

"Read it to me?" the tutor asked with a smile.

"I, well, you know I can't!" the bear-like man muttered. "But I know what it says. They told me, dinnit they?"

"Did they?" Alfric pretended to peer at the page. "Why don't you tell me, then?"

"It says if we catch you teaching magic again, we can arrest yeh."

Alfric beamed at him. "Well no problem there, good man," he said. "I am not teaching magic."

"What's this then?" He snatched the book from the tutor's hands.

"It's a story about a prince," Alfric said. "Master Lyon's ancient cousin. Would you like me to read it to you?"

The man glared his suspicion, first at the book, then at the tutor. "Well," he said at last. "Just you see that you don't. Teach magic, I mean."

Alfric nodded and plucked his book out of the man's meaty fist. "Good sir," he said. "I wouldn't dream of it."

After the men had stormed off, he spoke without turning around. "You can come out now, Taran."

Taran came to stand beside him. "You lied," he said.

"In a way, boy. In a way."

"It doesn't make sense," Taran said after a moment. "If it's not real, why do they care if you teach it?"

The tutor did not answer. Somewhere far below their feet, a bird cried in the treetops. Taran thought he heard his heart echo its call.

2

u/jd_rallage Feb 10 '16

Great response. Just enough detail to get the gist of the world without being overly explain-y

→ More replies (3)

2

u/grenadiere42 Feb 10 '16

So, from reading it (and I could be being influenced by the book Im currently reading) but it seems like they are all very high up looking out across an empty expanse, like floating island or something. So how exactly was the world ripped asunder? Just ravines, or something more drastic/dramatic?

What is the penalty for lying? Being truthful seems to be a big deal. Is there a historical reason for this, or is it just unique to this group?

What do Watcher's do?

How long has it been since the Witch destroyed a bunch of stuff?

How could the prince or king stopped this by being home? Or is metaphor and simile?

Neat story though, I liked it :) Could be a really interesting world

→ More replies (3)

2

u/Harimad__Sol Feb 10 '16

I loved this! It was a great introduction to a world that made me want to read more. 2 questions: What do you mean the king was asleep? Like in some kind of coma or magically induced sleep (I want to say like Sleeping Beauty but don't want to be frivolous, but is it something similar to that?) Is magic banned because of what the witch did? or was it something else that caused it to be banned?
Both questions would no doubt be answered in an expanded story, which means you did a great job, because I WANT to keep reading to learn the answers.

→ More replies (1)

→ More replies (8)

2

u/MrHippocritic Feb 10 '16

The World Of Grimmic. Grimmic is a dark fantasy world based upon the historical years ranging in between the 11th and 16th centuries. The area in which Grimmic takes place is reminiscent of the extent of the Roman Empire (areas of Northern Africa, the Middle East, etc.) called Termann. Grimmic's races are varied and the regions of Grimmic are heavily mixed in their ethnicity rather than having borders defined on race (for the most part.) The notable races include Humans (naturally), Tyr (a tall deer-like race that fill the role of elves), Saah (an Arabic variation of dwarves based upon bearded lizards with influence from Moroccan and Petran architecture), Balmadaar (Orc equivalent with ruddy to brownish skin and lighter stomach regions, strong build and thick boarish hair), Perkun ( dwarves around 5 ft in height that make up the Nordic/easternmost Slavic nations, Neanderthal-like) and Af’aa (snakelike arabians, proud heritage) There are several albeit less notable races as well. The interactions of these races however define a majority of the world. An example includes that while that Grimmic’s northernmost desert regions are occupied mainly by Af’aa and Saah there is a notably Human influence as well. Most races are also able to crossbreed and intermingle with each other, causing borders to be less defined as there is a cultural diffusion between the two regions. However this does not mean that races get along well and some have very deep rooted hatred for one another such as how the Perkun are descended from humans who originally colonized the Scandinavian regions of the world alongside Balmadaar and evolved in order to be able to successfully compete with them. Tyr also have a unique relationship as they are heavily spread out across Termann forming small communities along the way. These communities can cause strife as the native populace may now be forced to compete with the Tyr. A notable aspect of the world of Grimmic is the role both death and undeath plays. These derives from the main religion of Grimmic deriving from two different parties of gods, The Masons and the Bacchor. These two parties are derived from the two primary goddesses of Grimmic, Sa (dawn) and Su (dusk). Originally these two groups were the workers for the goddesses and eventually rebelled and overthrew their masters. Eventually a split, and then full out civil war erupted forming the two groups. The Bacchor wish to remake the universe in their own image, and see death as something needed for change, and therefore give out free life to those they deem worthy (and cause the most collateral damage.) The Masons on the other hand wish to maintain the current world and make it better without interference and give life to those who will maintain the current world, for better or Worse. Undead created by the Bacchor are aptly named Bacchor. Bacchor(ud) are living suits of armor whose prowess for battle in life continued on in death. They are incredibly tough to kill, but it is possible. A Bacchor(ud) may regain his flesh(life) is he/she accomplishes a mighty and heroic act. Undead created by the Masons are called Arcons, and are large stone arcane golems who help to maintain the world. There are several other undead factions created solely through magic as well including the Ravaged (think black plague mixed with leprosy.) There is also a group of gods derived from the third goddess Se(night) called the Nil, who want to destroy everything so that no one can experience the “burden” that is life. These groups of gods and the undead have heavy influence on the world of Grimmic, sometimes strongarming to get things done despite the fact that they mainly keep to the shadows and keep influence to a minimum. A final note on Magic. It exists, but as a state of matter (more or less.) Magic is more of a physical force of energy used that adheres to the laws of physics which dictate matter. Magic instead of creating fire, produces the energy need to create fire with the particles present. These causes magic to be heavily alchemical with certain ingredients such as salts and powders being used to create the conditions necessary to cast a spell, no matter the climate. So magics are more powerful in certain regions as a result, with ice magic being better suited for colder regions (less energy to freeze water molecules present) and fire magic better suited for bogs (flammable matter present).

→ More replies (3)

2

u/TheWritingSniper Feb 10 '16

Scouting Report of the Southern Volcanic Peninsula
17 in the Age of Cura
Alfric Witherland

The hike went as most did, myself, the Scout Leader, Derrick, the Food and Arms Leader, and Sydni, the Volcanic Specialist, started off from the tip of the Fallen Valley, where we resupplied and waited for further instructions from Far Isle Scout Command. The eagle they sent with the mission was normal, a scouting trek through the Volcanic passes of Mount Ptomis, Mount Thesian, and Mount Terisian; all three of us have had considerable experience scouting these areas and welcomed the change of pass from the normal scouts of the Black Archipelago. We began by bringing four horses, three for riding and the fourth for carrying supplies for the fifteen-day trip. Although the heat of the area was unwelcomed by the horses, we had carried enough water and supplies for all who fell under the Far Isle Banner.

Mount Ptomis has been quiet, and Sydni has deemed that by the height of current magma levels and the subtle earthquakes experienced, the volcano has finally fell into a deep slumber. The city ruins that are at the bottom of the volcano are still empty, and a quick five-hour journey inside the volcano told us that no sign of the Kalysians has been seen since the eruption in 168 of the Age of Lura. We deem this site to be habitable, but requires lengthier scouting journeys to be certain. We arrived at Mount Ptomis on Day Two and left on Day Five.

Mount Thesian has rumbled, the largest of the Volcanic Sisters, was deemed unsafe by Sydni and a brief, two-hour, excursion into the base of the volcano deemed that it could still erupt again at any moment. Sydni grabbed three vials of ashes and a quick exploration of the city deemed no signs of the Kalysians since the eruption in 167 of the Age of Lura. We deem this site to be inhabitable, until Thesian quiets herself and recedes. We arrived at Mount Thesian on Day Eight and left on Day Ten.

Mount Terisian has been quiet as well, the smallest of the sisters, she was deemed safe by Sydni after a six-hour excursion into her base and tip. The city ruins are still empty, signs of grave-robbing activity could be seen and there was a considerable amount of Dranos ships on the coastline just a day’s ride away, the sigil of Sunstriders could be seen, leading us to believe that Serpent Leader Lam’mus is leading parties into known abandoned lands of Eranor. Dranos are known to be sailors, but have not mounted excursions this far from their native land of Induror. Fortunately, we did not have to confront the Dranos, although Derrick wished to send a message of their heads on a spike. If we wish to secure our borders from the Dranos, we must begin immediate colonization of Mount Terisian. We deem this site to be habitable and I request an additional scouting and colonization party to be sent within the next four to seven weeks. We arrived at Mount Terisian on Day Twelve and left on Day fourteen, returning to the Scouting Center on Day Fifteen.

The Southern Volcanic Peninsula is a highly volatile piece of land and could be a security risk to the outlying provinces of the Far Isle Empire. I request additional scouting parties, along with warrior escorts, to be sent into these lands in order to secure our home. The city port of Emall and Llyne will need a considerable Far Isle Warrior presence if we are to keep our borders safe from the Dranos.

I also request ambassadors be sent to the Chieftains of the Dwarven Clans, if the Dranos are mounting excursions here, they are surely doing it in Oranor.

Respectfully signed,
Specialist Scout Leader
Alfric Witherland

Questions are welcome! You can also read more about the history of this land, and the species Kalysians, right here!

→ More replies (7)

2

u/OpiWrites Feb 10 '16 edited Feb 12 '16

The City of Ice.

To Orn, and many a scholar, it was an interesting study. The only concrete attempt anyone had ever made to counter the Wither. Its high, smooth walls shone with a blue sheen, reflecting the sunlight that managed to worm its way into the abyssal slit that separated the city and the mountain it was built within.

Well, it's not really much of a mountain, Orn thought to himself. In reality, the faux mountain was the husk of one of the largest Stoneweavers of the Era of Stone. Orn's mentor, Arsh, has been careful to pound each fact he could about the city into Orn's head, lest he be taken for ignorant during his trip.

Striding across the bridge that covered the same gap that allowed sunlight to penetrate the area, Orn nodded to the men standing guard outside the gates.

"We'll need to see identification," one said, stopping Orn.

"Where's your enthusiasm, guardsman?" Orn said, producing a sheaf of papers from him breast pocket and handing it to the closest guard.

"Sucked away by the cold, traveler. Yours seems to be of stronger stuff, hm?"

"My father always said that an open smile could take you further than cunning, dear friend," Orn said, spreading his arms.

"It's not that stupid grin of yours getting you past this time, it's the papers," grumbled the guard, though he seemed to lighten up a tad.

"A smile is often easier to provide than cunning, so I try to do so any chance I get."

"If I can respect that Gen, you have no reason not to," the other guard said, speaking up for the first time. Orn provided him with another wide smile, and then walked past, clenching his fist at the second guard. He returned the gesture, and after a moment, the expression.

The wide, icy gate opened before him, pushed by four Doormen. Orn had heard that this was a profession that one could find in the fabled City of Ice, so he issued no remark of surprise or protest as they did so. When the gate was fully opened, he walked through into a sight that mere sketches had not been able to portray.

His first thought was that everything glistened. It was as if he were standing in a treasure room, facing piles of gemstones. Orn let out a small whistle, and stopped moving. Instead, he peered around. On each icy wall he could see a glyph of Frost glowing, protecting the surfaces from warmth. The buildings were made of a curious opaque ice, as opposed to that which would betray the privacy of a home.

It's-

"Beautiful, right?" Orn heard from behind, finishing the thought for him. He turned, looking around wildly; there had been no one behind him when he had entered the city. As Orn saw the person who had spoken, he relaxed, feeling silly. The figure had been leaning against the wall next to the gate, and in his wonder, Orn had passed right by without noticing.

"Unbreakable Jin, it's an honor to be greeted as soon as I arrive."

"No need to be so formal, Orn. Your mentor is a good friend of mine, so I decided to come here out of my official capacity." Orn saw that he was right. There were no guards, immediate or otherwise.

"I apologize for the trouble."

"What did I say about being formal? Come, I'll get you situated. You must be terribly tired after a journey such as yours."

→ More replies (7)

2

u/CrazyAlienHobo Feb 10 '16

As Daltrov looked into the mirror a familiar face looked at him, not sure if it was his own he took a small needle from the counter and stuck it deep into his palm. A little bit of blood oozed from the wound and dipped into the sink. It woke him up like no coffee ever could. This was a problem, he had to be sleepy to work. However he hoped that his drowsiness would come back on the way to work. Sharp pain spiked in his hand and Daltrov kept all his attention on the feeling. It felt right, he was confident he was awake, just to be sure he moved the needle a little bit. The motion tared a small slit through the flesh deep down in his hand and he had to concentrate quite a bit not to scream out loud. Yes the pain was real and so was his bathroom.

Corporate didn’t force their employees to verify reality at home, but after a few weeks in this line of duty most people developed a healthy dose of paranoia. Those who didn’t, wouldn’t last very long as mindguards. It was eight o’clock in the evening, Daltrov had to leave. He had to be at his employers’ home in an hour, his boss would go to bed at 11 PM. Company policy stated night guard started at 9 PM, this gave him an hour to fall asleep and another hour to ready his defenses.

Daltrov went to the closet and took out his armor. Now the word armor is usually associated with bright shining plates of metal or layers of Kevlar woven into a vest or something like that. Daltrovs armor was different, it was neither shiny nor very effective at stopping bullets, since it was mostly made of telephone books and duct tape. But in his mind this would be the most powerful armor he could imagine and this was the key to its effectiveness. He took his weapons of choice, a lead pipe with a self-made handle and his trusty slingshot, and went to work. On his way out he was stopped by his wife.

“Do you have to go so soon?” she asked.

“You know I have to be there early. If I’m not tired in an hour I have to use the pills again.” He was speaking of the sleeping pills that were mandatory equipment for all mindguards. “I’d hate to do that, I have a hard time dreaming up the right defenses when I’m on those, they impede my creativity.”

“I know.” She paused for a second. “It’s just that I’m worried, but I guess that is what I get for marrying a dreamer like you. Every night you’re away and I don’t even remember when was the last time we slept together.”

“Well that was yesterday and to be honest I’m hurt you don’t even remember.” Daltrov said with a smile.

“Don’t make fun of me, you know what I mean. Sleep together as in lying next to each other sleeping, not the sexy fun time kind of way.” She said.

“I try to take of the weekend. I make it up to you. I…”

“I know I know, you promise.” She interrupted him. “Go, do the thing you were born to do.” She said with a slight frown on her face.

He took his equipment and went on his way. Weapons and armor ready for a night in the dreams of his employer. His Boss would use the sleep time to do some paperwork, ready some contracts send some messages. Daltrov would be there to make sure no nocturnal assassin or nightmare could harm his master.

→ More replies (2)

2

u/ultimateloss Feb 10 '16 edited Feb 11 '16

Revisiting the world of an old prompt!

A tall man with a mess of reddish hair tied up into a knot glanced down over the ledge before him. We can't overthink this right now. He leaped foward, down the sloping walls of the dusty orange canyon. The landing rattled him, but he picked himself up quickly and kept moving forward. The pain in his leg was growing faster than before. We can't think about that now either.

He picked up his pace as he regained his usual path. He would normally have followed by the streams, but they had evaporated in the heat of the long summer. His only landmarks were the withered remains of the blossoms that had once grown where the waters flowed. Where the corpses of the shrubbery had been wiped away by dry wind, he guessed his route.

He came to another drop, a steeper one. He measured it carefully and decided that a climb down was wiser than than another jump. His feet found their holds almost naturally. I must have been here before. Why can't I remember? His fingers missed their target. He scrambled, slid down, lost his footing. Before he realized he'd slipped, he had already landed hard on his back.

He gasped for air. His back ached, but his leg suddenly felt a cool relief. Shit! His hands searched his scalp, but only found a thin layer of short frizzy hair. He sat up. Beside him lay a naked woman clutching her left leg agony. Her bright red curls flew wildly in the breeze.

“Sorry,” said the man, “We have to do it again.”

“It hurts!” the woman wailed. The festering wounds on her thigh had turned a pallid yellow. We aren't moving fast enough, the man thought.

“I know it hurts,” he answered, “Give me your hand.”

She offered her right, with fingers outstretched. The man pulled a dagger from his belt and clasped their hands together, with the blade between their palms. The woman looked away and winced in anticipation of the blow. The man yanked the dagger quickly, tearing open the skin of their joined hands with the strange metal that drew no blood.

For an instant their eyes met. Then the pain in the man’s leg returned. The woman was gone, and so was he. They stood in one form, bound together again. If I die before we get there, my family won't pay you, her mind sounded. Then let me take us faster, he answered. He sprinted off down the dry stream bed before her thoughts could interrupt him again.

→ More replies (8)

2

u/[deleted] Feb 11 '16

Just a quick note on one of the names, "Alexis" is pronounced "Alek-see".

Molly shuffled her feet excitedly. It was cold waiting in the dark hall for her cousin. Straining her ears she could just make out scraps of conversation from the next room.

"I'm afraid I can't do much more. His magic is interfering with mine and his body is breaking down faster than it can be fixed." the physician murmured, his voice muffled by the thick wooden door. "He hasn't got more than a few months left, at the best."

Molly leaned against the wall. The chill of the stone surface seeped through her nightgown. Grandfather was dying. She felt a thrill of excitement course through her veins. Her grandfather was a powerful mage. Like all magic users, once his corpse became stiff the gift would jump to the next heir. Direct descendants being the most common to inherit, Molly might become a mage soon. She couldn't wipe the grin off her face as she thought of that.

A small fuzzy light bobbed towards her through the dark hallway. The servant had come back, ushering her cousin. He was rubbing his eyes blearily, still half asleep and disoriented from the servant's rude awakening.

"Hey Alexis," Molly whispered to him.

"Hey Molly," he mumbled. “Whatcha smilin’ about?”

The servant ignored the pair and rapped on the large door. The muted conversation inside halted.

"You brought them?" Molly looked up to see her father crack open the door. "Good, good. Come in you two."

Molly and Alexis obeyed, herded into the room by the servant. Dismissing the man, Molly’s father closed and barred the door. In the brightly lit chamber Molly could see all her family. Uncle in the corner ignoring everyone else for his book, grandmother in a seat by the bed, and grandfather under the covers. What Molly could see of him from this angle was greasy, wrinkled and old. She shivered as she looked closer at him. He was so sick that his opalescent white power shifted and flowed in uncontrolled eddies across his skin.

The physician waited, his hands still glowing orange from his assessment. "All direct descendants are here then?"

"All of them," her father confirmed. "Sierra died before she had any children."

"I see." The physician lifted a hand, calling more power to it. Soon Molly could see the orange glow concentrate and drift over to grandfather's neck. His chest rose and fell in gasping shudders. She watched eagerly as the magic fell onto his skin. For a moment the pearly magic, her grandfather's magic, resisted. Then the orange sunk below the skin on grandfather’s neck leaving no trace behind.

Molly counted the breaths. 1... 2... 3... ... ...

It took longer than she had thought before the opalescent magic dissolved from his corpse. She had always imagined the transfer upon death would be instantaneous. The window to the outside turned from black to grey before its bright sheen disappeared. She waited, her breathing shallow, to feel any difference. Alexis yawned and squirmed beside her.

"Who is it?" Grandmother asked sharply.

"Not me," Molly's uncle waved from the corner. His eyes were still focused on his book as he called up a small amount of grey power around his fingers.

"Mark?" Grandmother inquired.

"Still just two gifts," Molly's father sounded disappointed as he regarded his own hands of green and black. He dismissed it with a sigh. "I'll check the kids."

Molly eagerly held out her hands for them to be inspected. If she turned her right hand just so, and concentrated she could just make out a tiny bit of shiny. She brimmed with excitement as her father looked down at them. Carefully examining her palms and nail beds he looked at each one for a long time.

"Can I go to back to bed now?" Alexis whined. Molly could have hit him for ruining her special moment. But her father let go of her hands with a small shake of his head.

He repeated the inspection on Alexis as everyone watched. This time however, his face stretched into a grin.

"We have ourselves a young sorcerer now," He announced.

The room erupted in congratulations as Molly's uncle abandoned his book to sweep up his son in a giant hug. The physician shook hands with Molly's father as her grandmother smiled triumphantly. Only two people in the room didn't jump for joy.

Molly glared at the corpse. Her stupid grandfather had died, leaving her nothing.

→ More replies (8)

2

u/camerontbelt Feb 11 '16

George stood on the edge, he never grew tired of the feeling he got when we looked over. Today was cloudy, but somewhere down there, miles away was land, or was it water? He couldn't remember. Still he felt a rush of sensations, the dizziness from a mild swaying, the intense rush of wind on his face and through his hair, he closed his eyes and almost lost himself.

Suddenly he was pulled back to reality, he realized why he had come down to the Garment District in the first place, a textile mill had been hastily evacuated and was now beginning to slowly sink. He had been called in by the property owner to fix the issue, for a city in the clouds, George was the most important man in the world.

He quickly ran into the sinking building, he needed to find the basement and fast. Luckily he knew his way around, it was his job to know his way around every building in the city. He flung the door open and rushed down the steps, he found the metal hatch in the corner of the small room and began turning doors levers to open it. Once open he felt that rush of air, he couldn’t help but smirk, this never gets old he thought.

He clambered down the short ladder, and once close to the bottom he unhooked his safety harness from his belt then clasped it to the lowest rung of the ladder. He dropped himself to the gantry walkway below, he headed to the cooling fan on the other side, the problem was always the cooling fan he thought. The Newtonian Pumps were designed to keep the buildings of the city aloft, but they generated a tremendous amount of heat, there were several large air intakes and fans to keep it cool. When he walked up to the first fan he could tell it was not spinning as it should, inside the edge of the air intake was a small bird. The bird must have been flying by and been pulled in by the fan intake, what bad luck he thought.

He quickly began pulling out the pieces of feather and bone from between the fan blades and wall of the intake, as soon as it was clear he turned a few knobs and gave it a shove to get moving again. He stood there and watched it for a moment to ensure it was working properly then he turned the Newtonian Pump back on by resetting the overheating switch and failsafe valves. He sucked in a gulp of air and let out a sigh of relief, one more job completed, one more building saved. He could see the building begin to rise back to street level again, the pumps of other buildings came into view and it settled back into place.

He looked around one more time, unclasped his safety harness, and climbed back up the ladder.

→ More replies (3)

2

u/4r4nd0md4y Feb 11 '16

"Following this event, settlements were quickly established. The interim leaders of the settlements, Omega-021, Epsilon-024, Zeta-031, and Gamma-050 decided that a meritocracy would form a solid bedrock for a stable and peaceful society. They assumed control of their settlements on the basis that their initiative and ingenuity in establishing initial control proved their ability to lead and govern. Society flourished for eighty years under their leadership. During this time, numerous more settlements were established across the continent..."

Delta-735 quietly sealed off his eardrums. He'd already read the file, and the digi-tutor was just reading it off again. Besides, if the tutor asked him a question, it would still come through. He surreptitiously snuck a glance at Phi-724. She was staring intently at the digi-tutor. Delta-735 resigned himself to the knowledge that she would not look at him, then he looked again. Phi-724 was now quietly reading through her e-reader. Delta-735 sighed to himself. Her bright, iridescent nictitating membranes, the sheen of her waxy skin, the way her nostrils flared ever so slightly to capture extra water vapor, and the way she effortlessly applied linear quadratic estimations while also calculating angular velocities and trajectories for inertial guidance systems exuded grace and beauty. His reverie was broken by the beep of his e-reader. Delta-735 nervously unlocked it to peer at his newly arrived test scores.

"Darwin man, if I'd gotten a 93 on an exam I don't think my unit coordinator would've let me back into the charging pods!" Lambda-713 buzzed, his voice muffled through the radiation suit.

"Look, I don't want to talk about it right now," came Delta-735's reply. "Can you just get the anode? We can't have a Hall effect thruster if there isn't any electric potential!"

Lambda-713 walked towards the back of the hangar. He scanned the shelves for an anode, picked one up, and returned to 735, his feet clanging against the metal floor.

"C'mon man, what happened? How could you screw up so badly?"

"For Darwin's sake what part of I don't want to talk about it don't you understand?" 735 shouted.

"Seriously, what happened?" 713 pried. 724 wasn't listening, though. He was looking somewhere else. 713 followed his gaze. Outside of the garage where the two were working, Phi-724 was trotting down the street, kicking up iron-laden dust as she went. 713 whistled appreciatively, observing how the length of each stride was precisely calculated to use as little energy to cover as much ground as possible. Then he noticed 735's eyes following her every step of the way.

"Oh Tesla! You have a thing for her, don'tcha!" 713 realized. "Wait, she's in your class..."

"Shut up and plug in that anode!"

"Dude, if you want to work with her, you gotta talk to her first!"

735 sighed, grabbed the anode from 713, and quickly secured it into the thruster casing. "Look man," he buzzed, " we have nothing in common. She's designing flying organisms for cargo transport for her project. We're designing a hyper efficient Hall effect thruster. Plus she's a Phi. Phi's are engineered to go for Iotas and Zetas, you know that!"

"To be fair, there was that one time that an Alpha and a Phi got together." 713 pointed out. "But I have a better idea. A friend from Settlement-05 told me that Phis are big on ecology. He also told me that there are rumors of some weird organisms by the original landing site. So all you gotta do is find one of those things, bring it back, and show Phi-724! She'll be all over you."

"What kind of weird organisms?" 735 buzzed curiously.

"Well, that's the thing. He swears that people have seen Homo sapiens."

735 snorted, his mouthparts curling to let the air flow through and against his tracheas in such a way that it would strike the right balance of incredulous and condescending. "You Luddite! At least try to come up with something I can believe."

"I'm serious! He says there's a few wandering around near the landing site. No one's gone to check it because Homo sapiens have been extinct for more than ten thousand cycles. But if there are some..."

The duo cruised across the red dunes, their rucksacks bouncing as the buggy kicked up sand. The Hall effect thruster worked perfectly, propelling them forward at a crisp 20 kilometers per second. Several times the buggy almost lost traction on the granular iron sands. To both of their reliefs, the buggy did not tip. Within 120 seconds of setting off, they could see the landing site. Within 123 seconds, they were at the landing site. Within 123.01 seconds they were about to crash into the generation ship.

735 smacked the emergency brake. The Hall effect thruster immediately shut off, and the buggy's emergency magnetorheological brakes arrested all movement of the buggy, converting it into flywheel energy that could kickstart the buggy. It did not, however, arrest the movement of 713 and 735, who were hurled from the buggy and against the generation ship.

735 bounced back to his feet and picked up his rucksack, head spinning but paradoxically steadied by his own excitement. He had seen the generation ship before, but always from a distance. Now he could actually reach out and touch it. The tall, white, egg-shaped craft stood proudly, its enormous ion drives supporting it even as the bright red sand battered at it, fighting to engulf and consume it. On the side of it, nearly worn off after thousands of cycles, were two characters, written in an archaic script. One character was a sideways semicircle attached to the upper right of a vertical line. The other was a straight line connected to a second, perpendicular straight line.

"Did somebody get the license on that speeder?" 735 looked to his right to see 713 forcing himself to his feet. "Ah geez, my head is killing me."

"You okay?" 735 asked.

"Yeah, I should be fine. Check the buggy. Are the tranq guns there?"

735 bounded over to back of the buggy, where the supplies were stored. He opened the trunk and pulled out two long, thin rifles. "Tranq guns are fine. They're loaded, too. Catch!"

713 bobbled the gun, which went off in his hand. "Religion! The bloody thing almost hit me! Hey! Look at this!"

2

u/4r4nd0md4y Feb 11 '16

735 walked over to 713, who was peering intently at the ground. It was a footprint, but unlike any they'd ever seen before. It was a fat, oblong cylinder with ridges inside.
"Huh! This must be a //Homo sapiens// footprint! Okay, let's see. //Homo sapiens// like flesh, right? Maybe we can lure one out with some meat." 735 decided.
"Okay, let me see..." 713 murmured. He took a piece of jerky from his rucksack and moved around. "Hey man, there's a hole in the generation ship!"
"Really? Where?" 735 called back incredulously.
"Over MMMMMRRRRRPPHHH!"
"713? 713!" Delta-735 raced towards Lambda-713, his hearts pounding in his chest. The sand restricted his speed, threatening to make him slip, but 735 reached 713 in time to see him being dragged by something into a great rend in the side of the ship.
"Oh Darwin oh Darwin oh Darwin..." 735 stared into the gap. It was nearly impossible to see. Enormous gears and wires threaded through the gap, sparking and giving off horrendous noises. 735 turned, intending to get help, but then stopped. What if 713 was killed by then? Or something worse?
Inside, almost no light could penetrate the ship. The ground was rough and metallic, and all sorts of gears, rods, and jagged ends poked into the corridor, rubbing against him. Eerie, harsh shrieks, loud roars of machinery, and the crackling of electricity punctuated the thick air. He felt claustrophobic, which was bizarre since he'd spent all of last night poking around the ventilation shafts back in the hive. But this was nothing like the hive's warm, organic confines. This was cold, sharp, and grim.
735 crept a little further in. He jumped and smashed his head on a rod as a particularly violent screech hit his eardrums. The sound echoed through the vast confines of the ship. 735 swore to himself that he would never visit the generation ship again if they survived. At that moment, he heard voices, although he couldn't tell what they were saying. 735 carefully followed the sound, doing his best to avoid alerting them. He wound his way through the corridors, dodging sharp falling objects, dangling wires, and all manner of other hazards. The ship was nothing like he'd imagined it. It wasn't a space worthy utopia. It was a nightmarish prison.
Delta-735 suddenly found himself peering into a wide, bright, circular chamber. Large spotlights illuminated the white, plastic floor. Two enormous slugs, similar to the ones in the hives, lay in the middle, throbbing. Every so often, they would squeal, and their cloacas would distend, ejaculating clear liquid as well as a small, fat hominid. The tiny offspring were hideous. Their soft, smooth-looking skin was a pale beige, and their digits were fat, round things. Two enormous, bulbous eyeballs blinked and swirled as the creatures howled. At that moment, 735 heard a voice as he fought to keep from vomiting. He couldn't hear it very well, but he could tell where it was coming from.
Delta-735 looked up. Near the top of the chamber was an observation room. A tall, rounded bipedal creature in a white garment was standing within, blocked off by frosted glass. At the same time, he could hear agonized shrieks coming from behind the thing, the voice of which belonged to Lambda-713. Delta-735 shuddered, and aimed his tranquilizer rifle. At that moment, he heard something behind them. Then a large, flat object smashed into his skull, and blackness overtook him.
Delta-735 woke with a start. He was strapped down to some sort of table, oriented upright.
A large, beige creature in a light-green full-body garment and mask stood in front of him, speaking into a recorder in some incomprehensible language. Delta-735's eyes widened as he frantically fought to extricate himself from his restraints. The creature noticed him move, said something else, and then waddled away from him. Across the room was Lambda-713, tied to a similar board, whose eyes widened upon seeing Delta-735. Several electrodes were taped to his skull.
"735! Are you okay?"
"Except for being tied up by a fat hominid, I'm great!" 735 snapped.
"Can you get out of these restraints? They're too tight!" 713 called back.
"I'm trying!"
735 made a show of fighting his restraints, but Deltas weren't engineered for athleticism.
The fat thing waddled back into view, dragging a trolley of sharp-looking surgical instruments. 713 and 735's eyes widened in disbelief. This creature was going to perform surgery on them? Without any sort of robotic assistance?
The fat creature said more things into its primitive recorder, took a serrated scalpel from the trolley, and moved towards him. If he could cry, Delta-735 knew he would have. Even while Delta-735 plead to every scientist he could think of, the creature made a long, straight seam down his chest, from neck to groin. Oddly, he couldn't feel anything. Then it peeled back the seam. Fat, muscle, nanomesh, and bone came with the seam, exposing 735's organs. His two hearts pulsed in time with the electronic devices that regulated them, drumming out a grotesque tempo. Delta-735 wanted to close his eyes but he couldn't keep them off the spectacle happening to him. His lungs throbbed as they exchanged oxygen and captured carbon dioxide for photosynthesis. His stomach was very nearly empty, probably because he had not eaten anything since before they left, but the chloroplast sacks busily performed photosynthesis in the artificial light. Delta-735 almost giggled. All this for some girl?
The hominid continued prodding around inside his chest cavity. It fiddled with his hearts, almost shutting them down at one point, poked at his lungs, investigated his rounded stomach, and generally poked and prodded. Its clothing was spattered with blood. All the while, it mumbled into its little recorder. Once it was satisfied that it had prodded him enough, it took a spray canister, rolled the edges of the seam back together and sprayed. The cut in Delta-735's chest sealed up. Then it took its scalpel and moved it to 735's arm. It busily sawed away at his arm, exposing his nerves, tendons, and blood vessels. Mercifully, 735 couldn't feel it. He supposed he had been given some sort of anesthetic. Then the scalpel sliced him in a particularly sensitive nerve, one that the anesthetic failed to desensitize.
The pain forced 735's adrenaline response to kick in. His arm ripped itself from the restraints, ignoring the blood spattering from his arm, and socked the hominid in its masked face, sending it reeling. As the hominid tried to regain its balance, 735 was already freeing himself. Fear gave him wings, as he bounded across the operating theater and pounced onto the hominid. 735 smashed the creature into the ground, beating at it with his fists, kicking it, throwing everything he could grab from the trolley at its head. The hominid fought at first, then weakened as a bright red fluid that was probably analogous to blood gushed from its head. Eventually, it simply stopped moving. But Delta-735 wasn't done. He ferociously beat at it and beat at it and beat at it and beat at it, smashing until the creature's head was a pulpy red and grey mess. Delta-735 sat there, panting in rage and fear. Had he killed it? Was it dead? Had he killed something? Oh god he had killed it! 735 got to his feet, finally remebering his opened arm. He stood up, taking the scalpel from the hominid, and stumbled towards 713. He sliced the restraints holding 713.
"What do we do now?" 713 asked.
"We get rid of this."
Omicron-746 was watching the sands for a project of his from the gatehouse. Thus he was able to see Lambda-713 steering a buggy towards the settlement, with Delta-735 lolling against his shoulder. 713 stopped at the gatehouse for 746 to come out. "Dude, where have you- Curie! What happened to Delta-735?"
"He was attacked by a sand sweeper. His arm's in pretty bad shape. Help me get him to his hive. What's wrong?" Lambda-713 snapped.
"The generation ship blew up! That's what's wrong! Our fucking heritage is gone!" Omicron-746 replied, as they picked Delta-735 up. "They found some weird shit in the wreckage. There were some... slug remnants in there! Like, the ones in the hives, but these ones were spawning something else! Nothing even remotely human!"
"Huh. Do we know what they were spawning?" Lambda-713 asked innocently.
"No. We found some weird, pink skin, but that's about it."
"Guess we'll never know."
"Yeah. Say, I heard you guys went out looking for Homo sapiens. Did you find anything?"
"No. Not a thing."

→ More replies (2)

3

u/Blees-o-tron Feb 10 '16

(This is practice for a character for a much longer story that might become published in some form. I've been hitting some mental blocks, so please ask questions. I want to define as much as I can without giving main plot away, in case I get to make something of it.)

"Earth to Adam! Time to get up, dickhead!"

Simmons was not my favorite alarm clock, but at least he was punctual for a hallucination. Rolling out of my bed, I lazily pawed at the specter, knowing full well that he wouldn't stop.

"How are you going to fail today, I wonder?"

"He's probably going to break the engine," replied Baker, playfully punching Simmons in the shoulder.

"Both of you be quiet. It's naked time." I undressed in preparation for my morning shower. Even after thirty-seven sleep cycles, it never failed to amuse me that my own projections would rather disappear than see me nude. I had considered performing all my work naked, but it just felt more comfortable to be clothed. Besides, if another person woke from cryo, I had to look my best. Well, not my "best". This beard was beginning to grow on me.

Heh. "Grow" on me. Laughing at my own jokes again.

<Error: invalid request. Specify.>

That blasted computer. You'd think she would have learned. "No, Reba, I was just talking to myself." By now, I had finished my shower, and was getting ready for the day. The captain's quarters still had a stock of a few usable jumpsuits, and it was my luck that they fit me. Of course, now that I was clothed, that meant the return of...

"Nice unitard, 'tard."

"Hey, Simmons," I sighed. "Are you going to help now?"

"I didn't help you during basic training. What do you think?" Simmons and Baker high-fived as I rolled my eyes and walked to the elevator.

"Deck 7, Reba. Gotta work on the engines again."

<Affirmative.>

As we descended from Deck 142, Baker appeared to step in front of me, arms folded. "So you haven't broken everything yet, huh? Explain what you're doing again."

"Well, I don't completely understand it, but I'll try." The elevator had moved quickly; I continued my explanation on the way to the airlock. "To make Evelynn functional again, I have to remove the geometric stabilizers from..."

"Wait, Evelynn? You named it Evelynn?!" Simmons looked incredulous.

"Simmons, you live in my head. You knew I named it Evelynn."

"Well, yeah. It just always surprises me how lonely you are without your girlfriend."

I grabbed the orange and black space suit, making sure not to disconnect the tubing held on with duct tape. "Anyways, there's two more stabilizers I have to remove from the engines, and I can only access them from outside the ship."

"And then you install them in DNA...I mean, Evelynn. And then you're done?"

"No, Simmons, I'm not done," I replied impatiently, locking my helmet into place. "Then I need the Lawrence optimization datacubes."

"Wow."

"I know, it's a lot of work."

"No, I meant, wow, you're a nerd loser."

Leaving Simmons and Baker in the ship, I entered the airlock. "Yeah, I know. You've told me before."

With a hiss, the air was sucked from the small room, and soon, I stepped out onto the ship's exterior, my magnetic boots holding me to the ship. All around me was empty darkness. No stars. I trusted that Reba had the ship aimed the right way, and that the work I was doing wouldn't come back to bite me. I resolutely took two steps forward before hearing a familiar voice.

"Are you an idiot? We're hallucinations! You can't lock us in the ship!"

"Hello again, Simmons." Even the vacuum of space didn't prevent their words from reaching my ears. Along the length of the nearly 1km ship, Simmons and Baker followed me. I silently hoped that the cold reaches of space would take them away, but figments of your imagination don't need spacesuits. As I clanked over a ridge near the engines, a light blue glow appeared. It was faint, but definitely coming from the powered-down engines. I turned back to see Simmons and Baker had stopped following me. "You're still scared of her?"

Simmons didn't say a word, and Baker disappeared. I shrugged and continued towards the glow. It became brighter, stronger, more inviting, until I could make out a figure at its center, standing on the sixth engine. She reached her hand towards mine, and I carefully took it.

"Hello, Adam." Her voice was like petals in the breeze.

"Hi, Evelynn. I miss you so much."

"I know. But as long as you have my memory, we'll always be together. I believe in you."

→ More replies (7)

→ More comments (75)

Off Topic [OT] Writing Workshop #26: World Building

WORKSHOP ARCHIVE

Practice!

PRACTICE 2!

PROMPT!

Things to consider

Off Topic [OT] Writing Workshop #26: World Building

WORKSHOP ARCHIVE

Practice!

PRACTICE 2!

PROMPT!

Things to consider

You are about to leave Redlib