SF's "Write Your Butt Off" Competition HD II.5 Remix

[Anacybele]

2 minutes ago, Jotari said:

I don't wander beyond the General Fire Emblem forum much.

Oh okay, I see.

[Interdimensional Observer]

I was watching the reputable news last night and I believe it showed 25% of Americans have depression or anxiety-related mental health issues. So it's very understandable, as I've been that way firsthand as well.

 

Which is why distracting the mind helps, and adding tweaks to a fanfic can be a form of that. Might make one even sadder, but it might help if it is part of a group activity to cut down on loneliness.

This said, I already whipped some touchups into my entry, extending it to 5394 words. It is now renamed z2w.y5b1o2, having a better if still not complete understanding of the naming conventions inspiring it. Or again, just "His Choice" for something that can actually be pronounced and remembered easier.

For those who may have already read the original, I'm sorry I was hasty. This was my first time successfully making an entry and I just wanted to get it out there rather than sit on it and submit nothing. 

Again it's mostly touchups, barring some significant additions starting at the "paragraph" (I divide them according to how it looks in an SF post combined- not according to usual grammar rules, since most are too short to be called paragraphs) beginning "Lao was soon to awake...". You can glance over the rest, but that is where some real work was added.

Spoiler

“We require further exploration of Noctilum’s northern reaches, find suitable ground for new probes.”

The usual sort of work for a Pathfinder, a job he was willing to have the team take up. Noctilum wasn’t fully understood, no part of this planet was, if humans did, he’d be out of a job. Belisarda could handle this, Noctilum was dense jungle rife with indigens ready to pounce, but compared to the otherworldliness of Sylvalum and the inferno of Cauldros, Noctilum was much less a threat.

Seeing she was free, he asked Eleonora for the details of this mission after viewing it on the BLADE console. The survey of Noctilum was proceeding as smoothly as could be hoped for at the moment. Yet it the northern and more distant regions remained less examined, this was simply a request to expand FrontierNav there, particularly in the northeast. Willing to serve, confident and slightly eager, he stated he would see it done. 

Eleonora smiled, Lao was one of the finest Pathfinders around, left to his crew, the Lifehold would be found in no time. Lao modestly shrugged off the praise, his team wasn’t special. Like everyone else, he would do his part to find the Core, or die trying. Eleonora thought to continue the small talk, to ask why Lao chose to become a Pathfinder, she never recalled having heard his reason why. Yet she kept focus and uploaded to him general coordinates for the region in need of FrontierNav expansion. 

Lao thanked Eleonora and walked away towards Division Drive to get him men together. Blonde hair, light purple eyes, a perfect complexion, and the way she acted, like she had never known want nor need. Sure it was part of her job to be courteous and kind, but she looked to him like she was here for the wrong reasons, as most were. It left him with some disgust, not that he could blame her exactly, and who knows what goes through other peoples’ minds?

What he couldn’t detect, and which she made sure none of the thousands who passed by her on a daily basis, was that she was one of the most insidious humans to survive. That miraculous, intricate technology known as the mimeosome, a machine which in all ways so perfectly mimicked the human body in form and function, a technology which was responsible for humanity’s survival here on Mira. As humanity struggled to avoid extinction, she didn’t care, creating mockeries of humans in the mimeosome’s image, certain to serve somebody’s greed and want for power. Yet the worst part was, as Lao couldn’t have known either, is that she was not alone in these experiments with false people hiding amidst the real, who and how many did she answer to? That remains unknown. But had Lao to guess, to get away with this, they might have been the ones who played god with this Project Exodus (also called the Earthlife Colonization Project) in the first place.

Strolling down good “old” Division Drive, which was barely two months old, nothing on Mira man had made had a past greater than that, he glanced at Murderess. She was smiling at her comm device, must have just come back from a mission, credits funded to her account. Did she shoot someone in the back again today, and leave her lackeys to finish the job if there was further resistance? Anyone who would trade their birth name to be known by such an epithet, how is it that BLADE hadn’t gotten rid of her and the kind she engaged with? All he could think to be an answer was the same old one justifying a lot on this planet- the immediate crisis of Humanity. She, this woman who routinely ripped off others on collection errands and played games of intentional risk with her clique, was a serial criminal who Humankind needed to survive. 

If Lao had scratched a bit deeper, he would have found that though Murderess threatened and had her enforcers, she herself was a paper tiger. A better name for her would have been Crippler, for not once on this planet had she murdered a fellow human being, it was a farce, one on which she planned to rebuild her family’s name and fortune. Digging yet further however would have made Lao furrow his brows in greater revulsion than Murderess had done. Somehow, the man who had sent her parents to their graves back on Earth and left the little Sharon Effinger an orphan, had found passage on the White Whale and had stolen another’s mimeosome. His bloodlust was soon to revive as well.

Reaching the Pathfinder station, marked with its bright green arrows logo, Lao was noticed by Mondo and Saiden, to whom he called to inform of him of the job he’d accepted. Saiden was more than a decade Lao’s elder, and Mondo was slightly older: 43 and 34 to Lao 31, but Lao was acknowledged to be the better Pathfinder and thus picked to leader their group. He contacted the young Mondo (20), who was off in the Commercial District, he didn’t say much about why he was there, other than to relax for a moment. Lao told him not to come over, Noctilum was to the west, they’d come to him en route to the West Gate. 

Passing in front of Blade Tower, Lao had that great view of the Industrial, Commercial, and Residential Districts below, and that newly arrived starship belonging to the xenoforms calling themselves the Ma-non. This was New Los Angeles, on the high ground stood BLADE Tower and the military and governmental facilities, overlooking the civilians below. It was how society was supposed to work back on Earth, a responsible government dedicated to protecting and ensuring the happiness and rights of all who it served. Maybe Mira would keep that tradition alive, but Lao was far from the kind of person to assume it would be so.

If there was anything in particular which bothered him about the artificial landscape below, it was the Residential District. There you had a public park, tennis courts, a church open to use by all of any faith, all of that was well and good. Those pale, two-story single-family houses with a built-in garage, hedges fencing off each, and a swimming pool with beach chairs to lay back in. Those were what would never sit well with him in NLA. 

Sure, they each presently housed multiple civilian families, and he understood the hundreds of times it had been told to him such was necessary to preserve a semblance of the old life people had back on Earth. Not everyone was mentally so strong, not everyone was suited to be a BLADE, and even those who joined BLADE could find the sight comforting. It would be the life they hoped they could return to once the present crisis was past. “Return” was a funny word though, their horizons would not be the Pacific Ocean and Sierra Nevada, it was the steel rims of NLA. California was naught but particles floating in the depths of space between Venus and Mars; and nowhere on Mira, not Primordia, not Noctilum, not Oblivia, and certainly not Slyvalum and Cauldros, could California be found again.

Lao did visit the Residential District once in a while, he saw plenty of green outside NLA, but was not immune to the appeal of standing amidst some flat and plain turf. He was himself one of those jaded people to survive, they all had to be turn a blind eye to the visible injustices committed by Project Exodus. NLA was built to be a modern American city as the name implied,  though its inhabitants had come from across the Earth. Two of the top leadership positions of Mankind was American- Director General of NLA Maurice Chausson and BLADE Commander Jack Vandham, but NLA Defense Secretary Nagi was Japanese. And there was supposed to be other Ark Ships, sponsored by other and varied countries, none of which were presently known to have survived however, it was better to assume that New Los Angeles and its 20 million souls of a little over 10 billion were all that remained of humanity.

For whatever national and ethnic diversity the White Whale had taken on, Lao could not miss what wasn’t there. A truly representative sample of humanity was not here, any tour of the city proved this, entire peoples, countries, regions of the world, were left to perish as others were privileged. What point was it if One Hundred Years of Solitude survived in a hunk of the Lifehold data yet to be found, when there were few who could say to have belonged to Latin American world it described? Lao, as his name and nationality indicated, grew up being educated about racism, he was Chinese-American. Lao was not one for books, his short career on Earth had been in the military, but he had his smarts besides them.

Those houses symbolized yet another form of exclusion, apart from that of ethnicity and nationality. NLA was classy, real classy, upper and upper middle classy, to the great if not complete exemption of those from the increasingly lower rungs of society. Lao wouldn’t have foolishly asked for slums to be constructed on the double, those might naturally form in time once humanity can relax. What was the logic here? That that those who live well deserved to live because they had the skills needed for Humankind’s continued and uncertain existence? It held some truth, but the poor and underprivileged had never been given the chance to try! Nor was every of the lucky chosen an engineer or army man, there were plenty of common folk with special skills, why then they over their same with lesser means? Few dark-skinned persons raised in the ghettos could have ever been afforded the right to live in one of those Los Angeles suburban dreams. In New Los Angeles, there were those of African descent able to buy those homes, but none had ever lived poorly.

Returning to Lao, he did not take a trip through the Residential District this time, he descended the elevator to the lower level of the BLADE District. He found Doug at his usual spot and shot the breeze with his old army pal back from Earth, asking each other how things were and all. This was no time for a good drink, that’d have to be when he got back. Doug said Elma was soon to deploy for Noctilum and that she had turned down his offer to accompany her, Lin, and Cross, instead she had that xeno named L with her. Lao said he was likewise headed there, and perhaps they’d meet up. If he or Team Elma stumbled on very aggressive indigens- Tyrants- be sure to sure to answer their call he request. Doug responded he’d get the Harriers on it as fast as he could, which was only so fast, given the Skell flight module was far from being finished, just hold out until then. Lao said he would never let some savage alien beast be the end of him, and Elma was an impeccable sharpshooter, assuring Doug all would be well.

Continuing onwards, Lao entered the Commercial District, the civilian shopping and entertainment area. It had boutiques, a movie theatre, and plenty of eateries. Americana was the theme of it all, with names ripped from a classic American novel used for streets and neighborhoods. Americana had the taint of that glossy image of an idyllic Earth without problems, it was the perception of a country only those affluent enough could maintain. But it bothered Lao much less than the Residential District, for it better served a purpose to the civilian public he thought. He’d been treated to a few good orders from Army Pizza as well, a restaurant whose “grenades” were delivered across NLA, and for its starry-eyed husband and wife proprietors, all of Mira once it had been tamed. 

Army Pizza starting to come under pressure from the freshly arrived Man-on, who as a species had discovered a newfound obsession for this distinctly Earthling treat. It would drive the woman making the pies to die insane from from overwork in a few weeks. And after that, her husband would begin poisoning Man-on orders as vengeance, feigning a few of his murders as suicides. Lao wouldn’t think the guy was wholly beyond reason in doing this. Xenos had attacked and blown up the Earth, and then attacked again and stranded them on this hostile planet. He got the Man-on, with their voices like helium, statures small, and in manners lazy but rational, were different from those who attacked Earth though, and that the Ganglion harassing them here were enemy to the Man-on as well. He bought the explanation that humanity needed to work with peaceful xenos to do better on Mira, and thus suppressed his prejudice.

Near Barista Court, where outdoor dining replicated many a good time on Earth, Lao found Shingo as he said he’d be. Shingo with only some embarrassment admitted he was here trying to find love, and he was sure it would only be a matter of time before he did. Lao found it somewhat entertaining, if a something of a foolish thing to be doing now. If the Lifehold wasn’t found soon before its power supply was fully depleted, humanity would literally run out of time and existence. Mimeosomes also had a restriction which made the pursuit of companionship futile in a way, they could simulate the acts leading up to it, but procreation Lao could frankly tell you wasn’t possible. If he wanted to start a family, he’d have to wait until his real body which his consciousness was being streamed from to his mimeosome brought out of cryostasis, which meant finding the Lifehold Core soon.

Taking this casanova from his escapades for the time being, Team Belisarda now complete went on to the diner marking the start of the Industrial District. Around them were the mechs known as Skells of both industrial and combat purposes, as were a number of helicopters. As Skells were expensive and helicopters a precious resource as well, they would walk the whole way to Noctilum, as most BLADEs did. They reached the West Gate, the boundary separating this raindrop of civilization from the ocean of wilderness into which it fell. 

There were no asphalt roads to Noctilum, no airplanes, no high speed rails nor boats, only the pathways nature had coincidentally created. BLADE was having in the process of seriously considering the construction of a water purification plant at the nearby Lake Biahno. It would be only the second human establishment on Mira, barring the various little base camps a few multipurpose trailers in side established across the five known regions of Mira. 

They crossed the highlands covered in wild non-Earth grasses, being grazed on by the sheep-like indigens appropriately named by human scientists as “Ovis”, who in turn were consumed by the lizard-wolf amalgams assigned the label “Grexes” by the same humans. You had the great giants called Millesaurs, who left some to wonder if they had discovered Earth back in the Cretaceous Period, they were larger than the largest land creatures back on Earth, and made their habit very close to NLA. Fortunately, these were docile beasts, sipping water all the day with their long necks drooping forward, never once showing signs of aggression unless provoked by humans, for all native life knew better. Only when provoked did the Millesaurs become a menace the Harriers would have to commit ten Skell to destroy, and not without casualties. 

Being Pathfinders, Lao’s team were not fighters in the foremost, though he and plenty of other BLADEs like Nagi, Frye, and Yelv had been veterans back on Earth. Pathfinders were explorers, their goal being mapping in greatest detail every inch of this planet for what it was worth. Establishing the data collection system known as FrontierNav was their top priority, done with the implanting of probes which would then passive start analyzing the surrounding environ for all sorts of information. If it detected interesting plant life or ancient and abandoned xeno technology, that would be come missions for Curators, minerals of note would be for the Prospectors to collect, pieces of humanity’s broken and scattered Lifehold would be assigned to the Reclaimers, indigen and hostile xeno intel would go to the Interceptors and Harriers if they ever needed to fight them. The Interceptors and Harriers would be armed with weapons and armor made by the Outfitters, who forged that technology from the Prospectors’ haul. With Harriers on the prowl, Pathfinders could more safely do their jobs. Such was the interconnected web of duties of BLADEs. 

As a matter of precaution however, all BLADEs from the offensive Harrier Doug to the peaceful Mediator Hope carried weapons, two of them, one for close range and one for distances. Familiar inasmuch as one could be with Primordia, where NLA found itself nestled and hence was the best known region of Mira, Team Belisarda was able to evade combat with hostile indigens and xenos alike, reaching the Green Threshold.

Here, in a reversal of how things had gone some time before, Lao found Elma and her trio taking a moment before crossing into Noctilum. Elma said hello to Lao, Lin was happy to see him, Cross spoke to Lao in their own way, and Lao got a interestingly-worded greeting from that peculiar lone xeno named “L” who had joined BLADE in a nonspecific role. His appearance was a bit concerning, the blue skin and hair, his horns, he looked something like a devil. Yet his jolly behavior and messy yet passionate self-taught effort to learn English from a Lifehold piece before encountering human beings on this planet made him seem harmless, like a happy fool if anything. Lao was cautious in case this was a sinister farce, but never spoke his of his wariness, Lin wouldn’t like it, it wasn’t diplomatic, and Elma could he was certain could keep tabs on him.

Since they had a long way to similar destinations, Lin asked if they could travel much of the way together. Safety came in numbers and Lao was more concerned his group would slow down Elma’s than vice versa, but she brushed that off. And so he agreed to band with Elma for the time being, Lin was happy about this and Lao liked seeing Lin happy. She was only 13 despite her technical genius as an engineer, working hard on inventing a successful Skell flight module, and her innocence and childlike exuberance was heartening. No actual children had been allowed on the White Whale, the grown and sexually productive would have to produce the next generation of humanity, the first tragically beyond Earth, once they access to their real bodies again. 

Lao found Elma just as delightful, but very different in how she was mature, calm and cool, yet still warm and human. Elma and Lin were “his girls” as he gently praised them from time to time, one a child, the other an adult. He absolutely was not attracted to Lin in that way, and he could not love Elma in that way either. And he could only speculate if she held feeling that fond for he who had heroically sacrificed himself and the Ares Skell defending the White Whale as the Ghost xenos sent it crashing onto this planet and momentarily invaded NLA, neither they nor this Lone Hero had been since.

How would Lao have felt at that moment if he had known what he would not for some time concerning Elma? That she was intimately involved in Project Exodus, that she knew the truth of who was chosen to escape the Earth and who was condemned to annihilation, most certainly it would have been in her power to affect those lists of eternal consignment? 

Reasons to hate her would have been amplified by the great lie all but a handful in the highest administration of the government and BLADE knew. And she alone of them all was a hypocrite, it was her xeno body alone which resided in the Lifehold in cryostasis, every single human being’s had been tossed aside on the Earth. They were to be given new flesh and new blood, all according to their carefully catalogued personal genomes, identical to what was lost in form, age, and material to which their consciousnesses and memories would be transferred from a server where everyone’s were truly being stored at the present time. 

This was all good, but she lied. Die with the Earth or sacrifice the body one had been born with to live on, this was a moral choice everyone offered to board the White Whale should have been presented with. If Project Exodus had excluded everyone who had refused to give up their Earth body, they could have found people more than willing to take their places. Instead, just as it arbitrarily decided who was worthy of life and death according to wealth and ethnicity, Project Exodus chose to keep everyone in the dark and destroy their bodies regardless of their wishes. 

What was a body? For one perspective, it was just proteins, lipids, carbohydrates and nucleic acid working all together as an organism. Yet what those who attached sentimental value to their bodies? Who found the bodies they had been born into, nestled by their loving parents as a child, had gotten covered in mud and bandages as a kid, that once ate thirteen hot dogs to ill effect on a friendly dare, that furiously jotted down answers for the SATs, that experienced their first kiss, much later made first love, and later even perhaps held its newborn progeny, priceless?

But this was not in Lao’s mind at the time. Instead he just pushed forward with Elma’s team and his own through Noctilum. What a sight it is on first entry, the jungle so dense a hundred yards felt as though a mile thick. He had promised to take her to the zoo one day, just imagine if she saw this. -He quickly dashed this thought from his head before it could visibly affect him, there was no way he’d let her come here, way too many things that could kill them. 

And speaking of killing, some indigens such as Simians, flowery Mortifoles, and spider-like Scirpos, did assail them as they ventured through the region. It was no problem, Lao knocked them off guard with his javelin, Lin toppled them over, Elma struck precisely but relentlessly, Cross was talented, and even L Lao had to admit provided some nice support. Lao’s teammates did their share too, it became clear in advance a Tyrant was in their way just south of the Elephant’s Trunnk- the only land bridge connecting the two halves of Noctilum. The Tyrant was a camouflaged Tectinsula- large tortoise-like indigen, against which Mondo, Shingo, and Saiden offered themselves as decoys to awaken it, and falling for the feint, a hailstorm was fired from Lao’s sniper rifle, Elma’s dual guns, Lin’s gatling, and L’s psycho launchers, which weakened it enough for a melee kill. A few jokes about Tatsu, that furry xeno that it insisted it wasn’t a potato or papaya who Lin was both cursed and blessed with, part of the banter which followed this handful of fighting encounters.

They at least reached the area known as the Qing Long Glade, it was covered in truly alien blue grasses, light blue-white trees like fungus where arose from the same soil, and insectoids the size of small pets called Germivores disguised themselves as plant life and borrowed into the ground waiting for prey and hiding from predators. Here in Noctilum’s northern half, things were much more open than in the smaller southern half and its jungles. The sun had no issues penetrating the canopy to the ground, why the Suncatch Ravine was a testament to its splendid radiance. Jungle or not all was vibrant, pristine, untouched by humanity, which Lao traversing through it all, could only degrade, much as it had done to like environments back on Earth. Humankind could not make Miran nature more perfect, all it could do is take from it and add to itself. As others expressed bewilderment at the majesty that was part and parcel of the daily grind of a BLADE, Lao kept his praise short and none too emotional, though he felt the aesthetic overflow within.

It was at the BLADE base camp in this area that Lao’s crew and Elma’s departed from each other after a merry little expedition together. Her team was headed for Dead Man’s Gulch, the site of some abandon xeno mech which was to be secured from indigens and then retrieved by helicopter due to how significant it appeared to be. 

Lao had his team’s sights set on the Weeping Whitewood, which sounded just pleasant as Dead Man’s Gulch. All the plant life in the Whitewood was pale or grey, looking rotten and dead, with pools of blood-red water, corrosive and poisonous to the touch. And yet it this was still part of Mira’s natural beauty, it supported its own ecosystem. Belisarda worked as it usually did and completed its job, it found sites for new probes to expand FrontierNav and instilled as much of the area as they could into their heads, looking for anything they could suggest examination of later in the written report for this job.

Beginning the trek back to NLA job well done, they passed through the base camp at Qing Long Glade again. They were charitable enough to help a few other BLADEs with their odds and ends, not much of it was prescribed Pathfinder duties, but the BLADE Divisions were only a guideline, not a hard and fast rule. Night was falling when they were nearly out of northern Noctilum, at the Canopied Nightwood, where they chose to turn in and get some sleep at the base camp. Lao opted to just lay outside, there was always active duty BLADEs defending the base camps and he always slept lightly whenever out of NLA just in case.

Trying to fall asleep, he stared at the stars peaking between the trees and mushroom-shaped rocks called the Nopon Highroad looming above him. In this state, as he drifted towards slumber, his consciousness and unconsciousness melded together. The trees branching out ever higher, they became his hands. Yet as far as he could stretch, wherever the Earth was in the distant cosmos, he could not reach it. He was certain Charmaine and Chenshi were back there, reaching out just the same for him. Entering deeper and deeper into dream, Lao felt it all real, that his body was real, he envisioned stars shining in the daytime hours, his wife and daughter passing comets, sending him a sunshower and rainbow beyond compare. 

Lao was soon to awake but an hour after he fell asleep, the fantasy gone. Yet in the brief liminal state of going from unconscious back to consciousness, his mind ran furiously full of thoughts, far more than one could normally conceive. He knew they were dead, they were not of the 20 million of 10 billion who were selected by Project Exodus, he alone survived. Why? He shed tears with the guilt of a survivor. The memory which continually haunted him returned yet again. 

An alien starship was detected at the Oort Cloud at the edge of Solar System, it was large enough that it could only mean one thing- war. Soon, the second group of aliens was noticed, and confirmed beyond all doubt that Earth was in the crosshairs. The battle in space looming over Earth between the Ghost and the Ganglion was soon to begin, and Earth and humanity would suffer great damage. The dire alert was sent, it was time for Lao to make his exodus from this planet, the probability Earth would cease to be, or that Humankind would be brutalized beyond by the terrors of these mysterious clashing invaders, was too high to ignore. Whilst they fought each other, they could not leave beforehand since they needed to assemble and prepare everyone for this voyage, only then was there any time to evacuate. 

Lao could only pack light at his little family’s home, the space on the White Whale was limited, excessive and nonessential baggage would be discarded once he got to the boarding zone. He wouldn’t try to force his way through, that was hopeless, he already knew the truth, but was powerless to change it. It was something he swallowed as natural, knowing full well it wasn’t at all.

As he hurried to get himself together, Charmaine handed her beloved a photograph, the best one of the three of them together. Being in the military, this was a not usual scene, but this was no mere deployment he and his wife painfully knew, leaving innocent Chenshi to think it so. This still image would have to substitute for them, for now, forever. 

He tightly embraced them both one last time, and he drove them off to a Project Exodus-associated emergency shelter for their safety, a blissful fiction for the final hours of Earth. Alone in a crowd of fellow panicked strangers, tears now running down his face without his daughter to keep calm and ignorant, he marched to the boarding zone to reach the White Whale in time, which he did without issues, only regrets.

This recollection shook him to the core as it had before now fully awake, but in the darkness was able to hide it from anyone nearby. When the glint of the artificial light produced by manmade trailers entered his eyes, he squinted with disgust at it all. He suppressed this feeling and fruitlessly tried to return to sleep.

In the next morning, he hid his tiredness from his team and together they pressed on in their return to NLA. As they traveled directly south, they had to turn to the west once they reached Lakeview Stronghold, a fortified base belonging to the Ganglion. Humanity could not force out these xenos from their well-fortified military bases established months before humans crashed on Mira. The Ganglion Lao had seen in Elma’s company were intent on the total annihilation of humanity. Whilst the fighting the Ghost back by Earth, they had in a matter of seconds detonated the entire planet, a blink of an eye. Unaware they too were stuck here, Lao only knew that they would eradicate everything, every last human, and not only that, they would obliterate the smallest sign of humans having ever existed. Thus, the Lifehold had be reduced to less than rubble, it mattered not if it was forgettable or glorious, a Shakespeare play or a dime novel, absolutely nothing of humanity was to endure.

His crew taking a half hour or so’s break, Lao said he was fine and if everyone else could defend for himself, he was going to do a little recon. He wanted to see if there were any little paths near Lakeview Stronghold could use to sneak past the Ganglion. It’d be quicker if there was one. Everyone else, admiring Lao and trusting in his wisdom, let him go on independent recon for the break, just return safely is all they asked of him.

This was it, that feeling he had felt in the night, he was acting on it. The Ganglion destroyed the Earth, the humanity that survived was flawed. It had always been flawed, but at least it kept it to Earth, now, humanity was just starting to become an intergalactic species, and it found the first new planet to screw up. Perhaps it was too late to get better, perhaps humanity was a tumor to the universe. 

…All of humanity should have perished along with the Earth.

So driven by the knowledge he held that few of the 20 million others not in the upper brass had, so longing for his wife and their daughter, so given from these things to assume the worst in Humankind, Lao betrayed. 

I know I could continue considering more and more changes and additions and just keep at that. But this is just some creative writing for a little gaming forum- I shouldn't obsess over it. Thus, I hereby walk away, not to toy with this hot soufflé anymore. I will let it stand as is. Can't take that back now that I said it. I'm just walking away....

[Ottservia]

@Azure in a Roundabout I made literally one edit which was just a single sentence at the end. Honestly after reading my story over with a more fresh mind, I am actually glad I wrote it. Recognizing you have a problem and you have these issues as well as being open with them is the first major step towards being able to heal. Writing like every other art form is a way of expression and being able to express these feelings through my writing is one way to help reflect on them and realize how much I've truly moved passed them.

Edit: There's a reason I put a shotgun in there to and I honestly wanted to try and put a telecaster in there as well but I couldn't find a way to fit into the story organically so I didn't do that.

Edited May 3, 2019 by Ottservia

[Azure the Scale Tipper]

@Ottservia

Well, your story was a pretty depiction of suicide. Given your experiences, that is no surprise. Every detail of the plot showcased every source of the feelings: expectations from the parents, envy towards the friend, the options given, and most of all, self-doubt and -hatred.

The only thing is how this can be considered a story from another character’s point of view. Maybe that friend has something to do with it?

[Ottservia]

2 minutes ago, Azure in a Roundabout said:

@Ottservia

Well, your story was a pretty depiction of suicide. Given your experiences, that is no surprise. Every detail of the plot showcased every source of the feelings: expectations from the parents, envy towards the friend, the options given, and most of all, self-doubt and -hatred.

The only thing is how this can be considered a story from another character’s point of view. Maybe that friend has something to do with it?

I initially wanted to write the story in first person actually but then I realized what I wanted to do with the ending so I switched to third person and then by the time I realized first person would've been better anyway it was a little too late to go back and fix all the pronouns so I did my best. Basically what I wanted to get across with this story is the idea that those feelings of emptiness and self-loathing were correct cause y'know when it comes to depictions of death in media the saying is often "the ones who suffer the most are the ones left behind" and so I wanted to take that and do the exact opposite. Make it so that the ones left behind aren't the ones who suffer and in fact do better without the person in question. I wanted to depict despair without hope in essence cause usually in these type of situations there's a glimmer of hope. All the time in stories you see inspirational moments that give off the message of "don't give up" and so I wanted to write a story where giving up was the only true option and not doing so will only lead to more pain. I realize I'm dancing on the edge of the moral boundary with this one and maybe I crossed a line somewhere but y'know

[Azure the Scale Tipper]

Okay, @Ottservia, given the prompt (which I’ll say is a little vague), it does fit. Sorry. I thought this was more like just @Anacybele‘s thing or something.

Edited May 3, 2019 by Azure in a Roundabout

[Azure the Scale Tipper]

Pardon the double post, but I am done.

The Sun Casts a Shadow

Fandom: Fire Emblem: Awakening

Word Count: 3,508

The story of Chapter 9 from the perspective of a certain dark mage, her knight commander, and the Dark One that looms over them.

Spoiler

In the barracks...

    A hand, skin obscured in its armor, pinches a candle, snuffing out its light. A general’s helmet hung by the belt below the armor’s breastplate. An aged, heavily-armored man took one last look around the room. He then took a look at a birdhouse he had recently made. Campari’s hobby; one that he could share with the poorer citizens of Plegia. But he had no time for it now.
    The war was reaching a critical moment in little over an hour.
                                                     ———
    It was July when this day had come. The heat that most other people below south of Ferox complained about was a daily occurrence in Plegia. However, the heat was only worse in summer. And the desert that the people struggle against only became worse.
    For some, not even this would justify the execution of the peaceful Exalt, Emmeryn, at noon.
    None of this news made any difference to the dark mage Tharja. She was always a shut-in, not only from the heat, but also from any concern for any of these people involved. The only things Tharja ever came out for were ingredients for a cursed potion. The new potion to work on for the day was one to invoke a person’s sweat instantaneously. Just a little something to ward away boredom, as usual for Tharja.
    “The water’s to a boil. Now, the ingredients.”
    Tharja then took from a line of objects neatly placed for ease’s sake.
    “Rotten rabbit’s foot... drop of jackal’s blood... two-week-old toenail...” One by one, the ingredients fell into the cauldron hanging over the fireplace. She then took a small spoon and poured it to half full with grinded thanatophages: the essential component to make a seemingly random selection of items into any potion of this nature. As she mixed everything together to make a blue liquid, there were a few hard knocks on the door. Letting out a sigh, she went to open it. Before her was her captain, Campari.
    “You came to remind me to attend the execution, as the king demands?” Tharja asked.
    “No.” Campari replied. “I came to tell you that we are to stand guard for it.”
    The execution was not the only thing expected to happen at noontime. The platoon of soldiers known as the Shepherds had been a common threat throughout the war. Their leader, Chrom, was brother to the Exalt. So it would come to no surprise that Chrom would try to intervene, so the Mad King Gangrel likely wanted a platoon of his own to shield him from victory. The platoon Tharja was in, led by Campari, was of higher esteem than others among the lower platoons. It mostly comprised of wyvern riders, pikemen, archers, and mages. Among the mages was Tharja, known to be a talented dark mage, even though she was more accurate with curses than combative magic. Due to reports of most of the Shepherds being considered “unpromoted”, it seemed as though this one in particular would do.
    “...Fine. When am I needed?” Tharja wanted to at least get one vial of potion before moving out.
    “You are to come to the end of the hall in ten minutes, Miss.” Campari replied.
    “Yes, sir.”
    The knight then cracked the door for Tharja and left. The mage ran to check on the potion. Black. Useless. Tharja groaned loudly. If it were not for the fact that she was to fight that day, this potion would have been perfected. With much reluctance, she went ahead and started gathering the curses, potions, and tomes she needed for the seemingly inevitable fight.
                                                    ———
    Campari had heard Tharja’s groan from outside. As he expected, she was not prepared. But it was unsurprising. Despite her talent, he saw Tharja as nothing more than a newer recruit that needed discipline, like everyone else in his platoon. It was for their improvement, but it let his anger issues out often. Walking down the torchlit halls of the barracks, Short Axe and shield in his hands, he continued to brace himself for the coming battle. He questioned whether or not outright execution of the Exalt was too much, but he expected nothing less from who people named “The Mad King”.
    Nonetheless, he believed in a better Plegia, looking at the previous Exalt’s invasion as nothing more than the past, and at a better economy. Unfortunately, the only thing he can do was to not be killed too early to see it, whether at the hands of a stranger or his own king.
    “Captain!”
    Campari turned; a wyvern rider ran to his side, just to let him know he was ready.
    “Mount your wyvern, soldier. And don’t complain to me again if she does!”
    With Campari’s order, the rider nodded before turning over to a hall on the left, which led to the wyvern stables. Soon after, Campari came to a set of stone doors twice his height. He was to meet his infantry here while the wyvern riders were getting ready to fly their wyvern to perch on the walls lining the courtyard. He heard footsteps to find they belonged to Chaim. The young man was an archer who respected him like very few in the platoon; always reported first, always sharing Campari’s mindset. He was a mirror of Campari back when he was first recruited.
    “Solemn day today, sir.” Chaim reported.
    “So it is.” Campari replied. “Your brother doing well?”
    “He is doing fine, sir. Thank you.”
    Campari nodded, before silence took the conversation’s place. At this point, small talk was all they could afford; conversations were unnecessary when the risk of dying in the next hour looms over anyone.
    As ordered, all of the infantry had reported within the ten minutes they were assigned. Tharja was the last to report, which was usual for her. And, also as usual, she kept her glancing downcast. She had only been in the army for a year, coming from the Academy of Black Magic, like every other dark mage. Campari then took a breath to give a brief speech.
    “Men, I can only keep my words short. But I shall say one thing: in each and every one of you, I see your potential. Not as better soldiers, but as better people. This day may not be one everyone wants to see, but the king orders it as such. Remember everything I told you, and survive for another day. That is all.”
    The infantry gave a salute, followed by a “Yes, sir!” Now that every soldier was ready, Campari opened the doors out to the harsh sunlight.
                                                  ———
Plegia Castle Courtyard, noontime.
    The scream of a fallen executioner rang throughout the area. The Shepherds have come, the Feroxi army alongside them.
    “Oh will you now?” The Mad King’s words echoed out from the courtyard, followed by a brief cackle. “We’ve been expecting you, little prince. Men: kill him. Kill his sister. Kill his troops, and his friends, and anyone else you can find! Kill them all!!!”
    As one last cackle came out, the troops readied their positions. Wyvern riders perched on the walls flew outward to later intervene in the path Chrom would set forth. Grasping her Elthunder tome, Tharja focused on the happenings in the distance. There was a figure in white running towards the battlefield, with a select few infantry turning against their unexpected initiator. The figuring carried a black axe; Tharja concluded that this may be a Killer Axe.
    I have heard of warriors like that. Tharja remembered how Ylisse had priests and clerics alike wielding axes when they promote. They were also known to resist magic better than most, as is their nature. Even still, Tharja did not care. Her magic had the range advantage.
    Tharja heard the sounds of clashing steel as a scream confirmed the battle’s first shedding of blood. And then there was a dragon’s shriek, before another scream from a Plegia soldier. Tharja was confused as to how they would have a dragon in their midst. Did the Mad King even prepare for this? Did he even care? All these thoughts shrouded her mind, but she chose one to think aloud.
    “So we’re to kill or die here, simply because the king demands it?”
    She looked over to the balcony from which king Gangrel resided. He was cackling, speaking of death to the Shepherds, followed by more cackling. She saw a man whose mind may only be shrouded in bloodthirst, hatred, and anything else he may have retained from the history she learned in the academy years ago. She concluded that maybe, there was little intelligence in someone who would make their evils so obvious.
    “Pfft. What do I care of these Ylisseans?” She murmured. “We’re given no reason to fight, only orders. What’s the point? Besides, I’ve always been quite good at choosing to hate on my own...”
                                                    ———
    Around the corner of the courtyard wall, a duo of mages from the Shepherds appeared, shifting over the sand with their wind magic. The taller of the two cast Wind on a wyvern rider, felling him with ease. Chaim, scouting the situation out, decided it would be best to run and report this to Campari.
    “Captain! The Shepherds have broken through our first line, sir!”
    Campari had hoped this would not happen. But it is unsurprising. He was aware of reports of the determined prince of Ylisse working alongside a genius tactician in dark robes named Robin.
    “I thank you, Chaim.” Campari responded, coming closer to help the archer catch his breath. With a solemn face, Chaim saluted before going back out of the courtyard. Campari detached his helmet from the belt to put it on, then raised his right hand. A wyvern rider, having observed the gesture to report, responded with a descent to the knight’s side.
    “Sir, is there anything I can—“
    “Where is the wyvern brigade?”
    The rider seemed confused with Campari’s question. He seemed to be a new recruit lacking discipline.
    “Sir?”
    “Where is the damn wyvern brigade?!” Campari questioned again, louder and angrier. He desired nothing of the soldier’s lapse in reception. “Hurry! Close off their escape!”
    The rider promptly and hastily took off to retrieve reinforcements. A long sigh expelled from Campari’s lungs. The knight readied his weapon and shield, taking a defensive stance for imminent combat.
                                                      ———
    It seemed as though every Shepherd had now reached past the first line, now in the process of breaking through the second. The clergy from before also seemed to join their side. The amount of combatants rushing in Tharja’s direction for the courtyard entrance made Tharja feel something she had not felt in a long time: fear. But this was a new fear. Unlike the fear of imperfection and the fear of harsh words from her time in the academy, this was the fear of death. This was Tharja’s first true battle, after all. She knew that she should not worry of such things, however. She would willingly take any one of the Shepherd’s lives, should she have the chance. And that chance came soon enough. Not far from the fort to her left, she noticed a man in blue and white alongside a pegasus knight. Upon a more focused glance, she noticed the blue hair, and a sword clenched in his right hand. It was undoubtedly Chrom, exposed to an attack from her thunder magic.
    Is this man really going to die here to this idiocy? Tharja thought, questioning the prince in her sight. How utterly foolish. Tharja cast wind magic to shift across the sand with ease, quickly closing the gap between her and her new target. She cast Elthunder.
    ...
    The prince had dodged her attack.
    Damn you with the fumes of my useless sweat potion. Tharja cursed. It seemed to be it for her. One foolish move may now have cost her her life. This was confirmed when Chrom handily fell the two wyvern riders that initiated on him soon afterwards. She saw in them her own fate. But she still readied herself with one more spell once Chrom started to rush towards her, and then...
    “You there! Are you with the Plegians? You seem reluctant to fight.”
    The blasted prince had stopped in his tracks and spoke to Tharja. She stood there confused. She noticed her hand had not been opened fully, with her fingers curled. She was surprised he noticed something she did not. She soon looked back at Chrom to respond.
    “...Death comes for all of us eventually. ...Why invite it early, fighting for a cause I don’t believe in?”
    How Tharja managed to get those words out alluded her.
    “So... I should take that as a no, or...?” Chrom asked.
    Tharja began to stand at ease, in the hunched posture she was used to. She then more readily answered his question.
    “Let’s just say I’m keeping my options open.”
    Chrom looked to the pegasus knight, who did the same with him. They then turned their heads back to Tharja as she continued.
    “I mean, long live the king and all, but I’d like to keep living as well. And I have a bit of a rebellious streak, I’m afraid. A... dark side.”
    The pegasus the maiden was riding sneezed out some sand from the air. Said maiden turned from her mount to her leader, looking concerned. Chrom gave her a look of what could only be assurance, as the maiden nodded with a smile.
    “Then perhaps you would rebel now and fight for our cause?” Chrom asked as her turned to the dark mage.
    Tharja’s eyes squinted. Apparently the demure-looking pegasus knight agreed to her prince letting someone like her in. She decided, like she would normally do in this situation, to approach Chrom with a hypothetical situation.
    “You... would trust me?” Tharja questioned, cradling her book against her chest. “What if this is just a ploy to plunge a dagger in your back?”
    Suddenly, a masculine voice called out Chrom’s name to their direction. The three turned to see a figure in a dark cloak with white hair, raising his left hand. Tharja concluded that this may be the tactician she had heard about. Chrom raised his left hand, gesturing the other man to hold on. The dark-cloaked man gave an okay before moving returning back into the fort that he presumably came out of.
    “My sister, the Exalt—I think she would trust you.” Chrom answered. “And I’m trying to learn from her. Besides, I already need to watch my back, whether you’re with us or not.”
    The prince seems to be less naive than I thought. Tharja had now seen that Chrom was good enough to be with.
    “Well, that’s odd...” Tharja said. “Usually, when I bring up the backstabbing bit, the discussion is over. Alright then—consider me your new ally... For now.”
    Chrom smiled. The pegasus knight and him then moved towards the courtyard. Tharja, before moving with them, decided it would be a good thing to introduce herself to the tactician when she has the chance. She needed him to prove he was as intelligent as he was.
                                                           ———

Inside the courtyard...
    It became clearer to Campari that the battle may be lost. He was already seeing Chaim struggle against some mages, thunder magic knocking him back. He fired one more arrow before being knocked off his balance by a second thunder spell. A man in dark robes and a green-armored cavalier came into Campari’s view. The tactician had come, as did the rest of the Shepherds. This situation only became worse when he saw the two part to make way for a man in blue and silver: Chrom.
    Worse yet, however, was that he saw that Chaim was not moving. A man fighting for his brother, set aside by ignorant Ylisseans; something about this boiled the blood in Campari’s veins, and anger shrouded his mind. As the prince approached, Campari’s grip on his Short Axe tightened.
    “You’ll never save your precious Exalt, scum!” Campari exclaimed.
    The prince retorted back.
    “I have no time for words like yours. Move out of the way or be cut down!”
    Campari found this dialogue unsurprising from the prince, as reporters said he was a cut first, ask questions later sort of man. He was familiar with this behavior, for he was one like Chrom. But he had no patience for anyone who cared not for the citizens of Plegia like Chaim for the sake of staying selfish anger. Chrom rushed towards Campari, pegasus knight at his side, while the General raised his shield in defense. But it was all for naught.
    Campari felt as though a blade winked deep into his armor and body. Chrom had a rapier in hand. He now regretted being so angry at the prince, as he may have noticed the blade. He could have tried parrying it instead of blocking it. He now understood the power Chrom held, even without that Falchion.
    Of course, the anger still resided in Campari.
    “Killing me will only... feed Plegia’s rage...”
    As he started to fall, he saw all the faces of the Shepherds behind Chrom’s back. The tactician and green Cavalier from before, two other cavaliers in red and blue, an axe man in white. Then he saw Tharja. For once, he felt envious of someone. He felt envious that, he realized, that Tharja may not have to deal with a craven king. His last thoughts were those of Chaim and the other poor citizens he helped birdhouses in their hands, before landing front first, dead on the ground.
                                                      ———
    Pegasus knights soared over the courtyard, taking positions to defend their Exalt. All lead by a Falcon Knight, whose Silver Lance gleamed under the harsh sunlight.
    “What? Pegasus Knights? How did they...?” Gangrel questioned. He then made his anger seem more apparent, by slamming his fist onto the balcony rail. “That damned Ylisseans tactician does not play fair!”
    The Mad King’s exaggerated movements were an amusing sight to Aversa. She walked closer towards the rail from the shadows, before placing her hand on Gangrel’s shoulder. She chuckled at this moment, for she had something the Shepherds did not: a favorable fate.
    “Yes, well... neither do I.”
    Aversa’s assurance was followed by a snap of her finger, leading to Risen archers rising from the ground. Her focus shifted to the Shepherds who, one by one, realized the terror they were about to witness. As the Mad King laughed his worries away, Aversa the Dark One saw Tharja amongst the crowd. Normally, she would be worried about a traitor, but she knew even this was fate. Should fate follow its course, Tharja would fall in love with a man and have a cursed archer for a child. At least, this was what her two masters saw.
    Aversa then heard the voice of the Exalt. She decided against focusing on the words, because why would they matter if the Exalt was going to die anyway? And, surely enough, the river of fate ran back to its original direction as the Exalt fell.
                                                      ———
    Tharja’s gaze was fixed on prince Chrom, who was now kneeling in mourning for his now deceased sister. Now the way Chrom acted made sense to her, given the Exalt’s last selfless action. She felt today would be a good day not to let that rebellious streak come up. Or this week, for that matter.
    All of a sudden, an exceptionally manly voice rang out.
    “No, boy!”
    A dark-skinned pair of man and woman ran in Chrom’s direction. The Khans she heard of, no doubt. Her gaze followed their trail until she saw the tactician, who she now knew was named Robin. His gaze was downcast, looking over Campari’s body. She approached the two.
    “That was my commander.” Tharja said. “I actually feel a little bad for him. I suppose hope in him resting in peace is all I have now.”
    The dark-robed tactician looked up, his gaze turning to Tharja. He sighed, then responded.
    “I mean... I am not surprised, and I feel bad for him, too. But that is not what it was.”
    “Then what is it?” Tharja asked.
    Robin said nothing. Tharja noticed his brown eyes. They seemed overtaken by sorrow. Sorrow that came from broken view of perfection; something him and her seemed to strive for. She did not know how she saw that, but then something clicked in her. Tharja has now related to this tactician. Something about the similarity of their goals and seeing Robin like this made Tharja feel something new.
    “Robin! Don’t let him do anything stupid!”
    The male Khan had come back with Chrom. Robin looked back up, his speechlessness interrupted.
    “Y-... yes sir.” Robin then started to run alongside Chrom.
    When the Shepherds left the courtyard, Tharja was left with one thing: this new feeling she had. A feeling to mull over later, but she had a few thoughts on what it might be. Empathy, sorrow, and possibly even something more surprising: affection.

Reflections and Rationale (Read after reading the fic, please)

Spoiler

So this is my second fanfic that I have ever posted on the Internet. The other one was a Bowsette origin story I made (yeah, that was a thing I liked). I just want address some things here:

-I decided, to make up for reusing dialogue, to put more emphasis on action during dialogue scenes.

-The combats shown during the story (Tharja initiating on Chrom, and Chrom vs Campari) were actually calculated as close as possible to actual Awakening battles. I set the difficulty to hard mode, and yet Chrom is still an absolute Chad on the battlefield. So that was why Campari fell so easily, and why Tharja had not hit. Made an entire sticky note to emulate the battles.

-The mood and tone might be a little inconsistent, especially between the section in which Tharja was recruited and the section devoted to Campari’s last battle.

-I have tried my best to justify Campari’s dialogue with the character I made for him. Campari being this strict yet caring General was inspired by his description in Ricken and Henry’s support chain. I might have been able to make changes, but I have some Smash and FEH to play, Endgame to watch, and projects to do in the time I have left, as of this writing.

Other than all that, thank you for reading, and do leave good constructive criticism.

 

[TheSilentChloey]

I think in this case double posts kind of don't particularly matter.

 

Still neat use of the prompt, even if I'm not fond of Tharja, it certainly was a good read and nice to see her as close to her usual self XD

[Azure the Scale Tipper]

24 minutes ago, TheSilentChloey said:

I think in this case double posts kind of don't particularly matter.

 

Still neat use of the prompt, even if I'm not fond of Tharja, it certainly was a good read and nice to see her as close to her usual self XD

Thanks! I did try to make Tharja in character and stuff. I mean, Tharja just met Robin. She would not be stalking him just yet, especially since... you know...

Chapter 10.

[TheSilentChloey]

Yeah, she probs would after that though by my guess.

[Ottservia]

So I changed the title of my story to something I find to be a little more fitting, Vocaloid fans should know what I mean.

[Azure the Scale Tipper]

18 minutes ago, Ottservia said:

So I changed the title of my story to something I find to be a little more fitting, Vocaloid fans should know what I mean.

Not a vocaloid fan, but I do.

[Jotari]

4 hours ago, Ottservia said:

So I changed the title of my story to something I find to be a little more fitting, Vocaloid fans should know what I mean.

Not a vicaloid fan either, but your title does remind me of this.

 

[AnonymousSpeed]

Lo, I made a thing and procrastinated such that I didn't even have time to proofread it.

Title: Newhill

Words: 2,605

Spoiler

"Finally."

Cynthia looked around the valley, cool streams conforming to the gentle hills. Shrubs dotted the lush meadow, all shone upon by the bright pink sun.

"An new an untainted world, where we can live rightly in peace."

She scanned the alien horizon which was now home. The sky was a deep rose. The native plants had a pale shade to their leaves, the invasive grass was mahogany. Trees bore fuschia fruits from branches whose wood was a nearly black shade of reddish purple. The distant mountains bore the dull, steely pink of mountbatten.

The star which shone down on this world was ashen and delicate, but there was no doubt were the hue of the planet came from. The celestial torch was distinctly pink.

The whole place seemed perpetually to be in sunset.

It had cost 48 thousand credits, but Cynthia and about sixty others had managed to smuggle themselves beyond the hand of the Federation, and onto the sparsely inhabited surface of a remote and distance world. Mostly untamed, mostly unclaimed, its lands free to be received by whoever had grit enough to cultivate them.

The cultivators were conquerors, victors in the struggle to establish themselves and survive. To the conquerors went the right of governance.

There was no Federation to give or enforce its laws. It would be up to these sixty pilgrims to do so.

That was why they had come here. Pulled by a shared ideal, to shed the worldly rule of man, and return, as best they could, to God's laws, no matter how disagreeable the world found them.

Cynthia took a deep breath, looking from the soft sky to the river which cut a small hill from the larger one where she stood. It was here that this new and pious settlement would be built.

A new place of worship. A new city on a hill. A new Jerusalem. A new hill.

***

Newhill grew slowly over the next few years. Some children were born, and it managed to attract three plastic workers and a physician.

Now, the First Congregational Church of Newhill was, fittingly, congregational in nature. The town's whole character was marked by decentralization. Yet no amount congregationalism can inhibit the development of hierarchy. So, while Cynthia held no formal title, her reputation as Newhill's founder and most devout worker earned her the town's highest measure of authority.

Second to her was Ajax, the new physician and a very well educated man.

To possess influence in Newhill necessitated influence in its church, and both Ajax and Cynthia were seen as trustworthy authorities on the scriptures. Neither had attended seminary. However, the most excellent thing about seminary is that, for any of them which are conducted with right sense, there is truly only one textbook, and each had read it through many times.

It was a natural development, then, that the two should speak together on matters important to the community. From that, it was natural they would sometimes speak to themselves.

"It wasn't long after I converted that I began to feel...there was much about the culture and government of the Federation which I could not agree with. I suppose that is when the idea for Newhill formed," explained Cynthia to Ajax, each shaded from the rosy sun by the awning of a produce stand. "What about you? What inspired your retreat to this little hamlet?"

"Disagreements as well, I suppose," said Ajax timidly, placing some darkly colored greens into his basket. "My parents were very devout, you see, and very vocal as well. I picked up some of that from them, and so when the Temple Tax was first announced, I became a very open opponent of it." Ajax sighed. "I thought I noticed my internet speed getting worse and worse the more I spoke out, and then I received an email informing me that the Central Bank demanded my loans be paid immediately and in full. So I sold most of what I had, paid of what I owed, and smuggled off to here."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Ajax," Cynthia cried, a grandmotherly consolation. "That's terrible. Though, it does make me glad that I headed out before all of that mess."
"It does seem like it was for the best."
"Indeed. You said your parents were quite devout?"
"Oh yes, very. Perhaps a bit...disagreeable to some people, but very convicted."
"I see. Why did they name you Ajax then? It seems like an odd choice for a Christian couple, to use a Greek mythological figure."
"It is a bit strange, but it was the name of the pastor at our church. Ajax McCarthy, he was a very nice man."
"Well, that's a reason, certainly," said Cynthia as she searched through some oblong fruits, and Ajax resumed shopping for smoothie ingredients.

"You know, Cynthia is a Greek name as well," the woman finally remarked.
"Is it?"
"Yes, it means 'from Mount Cynthus,' a mountain where Artemis was supposedly born." Cynthia rolled her eyes. "Dreadful! My parents were not nearly as devout as yours seem to have been, it really is just the sort of name they would pick," she chuckled. "Having said that, understand that what I'm about to say I mean with no disrespect to you. A great disservice is done to a child who is not given a good Hebrew name."

"You think so?" remarked Ajax. "I wouldn't be so sure. I don't think a Greek name inhibits us too much- many early church figures had Greek names."
"True, but many of them were not born to Christian parents," Cynthia remarked. "Nor does claiming to be a Christian and being a part of the tradition really make the former true."
"I wouldn't be too doubtful of them."

"I'm still telling you, Ajax. The Hebrew's are God's chosen people, I don't see any reason why we shouldn't use their names. I would much rather be named after Ruth than Artemis." Cynthia smiled. "Many of them have such wonderful meanings, you know. Grace of God, Gift of God, Multitude- that's what Abraham means."
She looked down at her basket.
"I think it would be so nice to given a name by God, like Abraham was. He has chosen not to give me one, though, so I'll remain with the one I was given."

***

"Of course I'd like to divorce him. He's a complete layabout!"
A young woman brought complaint of her husband to Cynthia while she and Ajax talked around a lamp filled with greaseberry oil, and being a woman's grievance, it fell very naturally to Cynthia to address it.

"What if you had a child who was a complete layabout?" said Cynthia.
"I certainly won't with that man. Are you saying he shouldn't be helping around the house?"
"Of course he should. But our goodness towards others must not depend on their goodness towards us."

The young growled. "Slothfulness is one of the deadly sins, you know."
"We all struggle with sins," said Cynthia.
"I don't see why that means I have to struggle with him."

Ajax twiddled his thumbs at the table while the two spoke.

"Firstly," Cynthia began, "because God is gracious with us, and so we should be gracious with others. Secondly, because God decries divorce as a sin, except in the case of infidelity."
"Why can't we just allow for a divorce and have grace about that?"
"Grace may abound where sin abounds, but that's no license to sin."
The young woman huffed.

"Now dear," Cynthia began, "I understand that this is frustrating, but don't let that make you rush to a worldly and impious solution."
"What is the 'pious' solution, then?"
"I shall have some of the other men talk to him, and see if they cannot motivate him to be more dutiful. Most importantly, though, I would suggest you pray for him. Pray that God moves in his heart, and I will keep you both in my prayers as well, if it would please you. You can come and pray with me about it, or anything, whenever you need it."
"I have been praying about him," stressed the young woman. "He's not gotten any better!"
"Oh, I certainly understand how that can be frustrating," Cynthia declared. "Yet we should not rush God, instead of trusting that He knows the right thing and the right time to do it. He is certainly wiser than us, after all, and He would not want us to be impatient, either with Him or with men. We are called to be long suffering, and must not return sins against others due to their sins against us."

The young woman clutched her forehead, mumbled something with a tone between irritated defeat and begrudging acknowledgement, and walked out.

"I do hope things get better for the poor girl," said Cynthia to Ajax.
"Yes, that would be very nice," remarked the physician.
"It is a detestable thing, divorces. I should say that increases in divorce went hand in hand with an increase in shameless licentiousness in human culture."
"We would certainly not want any licentiousness taking root," said Ajax stiffly. "Though, Cynthia, if I might-"
"You may."
"Yes, well, what about...more extreme situations?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, even a husband who does not commit adultery, wouldn't you say it would be more acceptable to, if he is, perhaps, abusive, wouldn't it be acceptable to divorce him?"

"If a man is being abusive to his wife," Cynthia began, "then him being an assaulter needs to be addressed before anyone starts thinking of divorce."

***

Cynthia was quickly brought to the site of the ruckus. A young man from a few miles away had been in Newhill for a few days now, and garnered a fast reputation as a drunkard. He was now making a scene at the general store, having broken merchandise, thrown up on himself, and refused to leave when asked.
Now, Cynthia was somewhat thin, but very tall, and had the sternness of one like her, so there was some expectation that she could convince the traveler to remove himself.

"Get out, you lout!" Cynthia slapped the man's cheek with a plastic ruler.
"Ow, now what kinda way is that to treat a customer?"
"We don't want any business from you while you're in this state, now get out or I'll leave three marks on each side of your face!"
"Now look, grandma-"

Smack!

"You're grandmother would be ashamed to see you like this."
"Alright, geeze, I'm leaving. I'm leaving!"

The young man turned away, nearly fell out the door, slapped his hand against a passing maiden's buttocks, and was promptly thrown onto the pinkish dust outside the town. "You may return when you sober up, clean up, and repent for your drunkenness," said Cynthia.
"I thought you Christian types were supposed to be gracious?"
"Get!" Cynthia brandished her ruler, "back to where you came from!"
And so the man left.

Now, it just so happened that Ajax was nearby when this final exchange occurred, and walked up to Cynthia as she watched the drunkard wonder off into the part of the magenta horizon he'd come from.
"That seemed rather dramatic," said Ajax.
"Unfortunately."

A bit of silence.

"Shouldn't we be gracious, though?" asked Ajax.
"Hm?"
"About what the traveler said. Shouldn't we, as Christians, be gracious to others?"
"It's not very gracious to leave people worse off than we can. It is better for him that we do not tolerate his wickedness, and therefore encourage it. It is certainly better for everyone else that we do not force them to endure it."
"I see."

***

"Cynthia," Ajax said one day, as most of the congregation walked out of the church following the benediction. "I don't mean to be contrary, but I feel like I need to talk to you about your word today."
"I can tell," remarked Cynthia. "You've got that very serious look you get when you don't like what I've said."
"No, no, it's not that I disliked it," assured Ajax. "The message behind it was very good. Don't you think it was perhaps a bit...extreme, though?"
"Extreme?" Cynthia chuckled. "Some people do see God as being 'extreme,' I suppose."

"Yes, well, please consider this," Ajax began. "When James John asked Jesus if the disciples should call down hellfire like Elijah did, Jesus said no. He said that His purpose was to save lives, and not destroy them."
"Yes," Cynthia concurred, "and I'm not asking him to send down fire to destroy everyone unconditionally. My prayer for the wicked is that God would either save them, or kill them if they can not be saved. If some wicked one can't be saved, why should want them to remain alive and hurt others?"
"Doesn't that seem a bit heartless?"

Cynthia was visibly upset by this. "Heartless? It's heartless to let the wicked pray on the innocent. I believe in grace, but I will not say that we should take that to mean we should be alright with pedophiles and murderers, and that Jesus would want us to just be so kind to them- no! Ridiculous! That would be letting people be destroyed, not saving them by taking away the thing that's destroying them."

"I understand what you're saying," Ajax said, "and I get it, I really do, it's the sort of thing my mother and father would agree with, but people tended to see them as somewhat...being zealots, and personally I don't feel very comfortable with prayers that, even conditionally, are asking for people to die. If they're wicked and they die, then that sends them to hell, and that's just..."

"Ajax," began Cynthia, "listen. We shouldn't just give up on what God says because it's a little uncomfortable. I'm sure you and I and most of the people in Newhill would say that we'd die for God, but what good is our saying that if we wouldn't even go through some discomfort or bear some disapproval for Him? Those aren't real convictions then."
"I'm concerned the impression it gives will drive people away from Christ."
"Let's not drive them away by selling them a false gospel."

Ajax looked to the floor for a second.

"I haven't always been happy with God in my life," said Cynthia, and a shocked Ajax turned his eyes back up. "Sometimes I wondered why He did certain things, or didn't do certain things, or why He was asking me to do something, or how many more years I would have to wait for His promises to manifest, and a lot of those times I was wondering to myself, what is God even thinking doing this? I understand, but what you'll have to learn is what I had to learn, and that's to trust God, even when it doesn't come naturally." Cynthia smiled warmly. "After all, who can better say what is good than God, who wove the universe and good into it?"

Feeling a bit hot, the young physician wiped his brown and took a deep breath. "I'm just concerned, Cynthia. I don't want Newhill to become some sort of Salem."
"Now Ajax, how do you even think that would happen here?"
"Well, people seemed to be quite alright with calling down fire from heaven to kill wicked the morning. That's what happened in Salem, and innocent people were killed."
"We would be morally depraved not to take actions against those calling on the servants of Satan to harm children. The issue in Salem is that they saw witchcraft where it was not. As you said, innocent people were killed."
Ajax began to fast more regularly after that.

I'm not even sure if the thing I was trying to portray in a different light actually came across differently, or whether its even obvious what I'm trying to portray, but the blistering literalism was too good for me to skip even if I didn't get to tie that part in as much as I wanted.

[Azure the Scale Tipper]

7 hours ago, AnonymousSpeed said:

Lo, I made a thing and procrastinated such that I didn't even have time to proofread it.

Title: Newhill

Words: 2,605

  Hide contents

"Finally."

Cynthia looked around the valley, cool streams conforming to the gentle hills. Shrubs dotted the lush meadow, all shone upon by the bright pink sun.

"An new an untainted world, where we can live rightly in peace."

She scanned the alien horizon which was now home. The sky was a deep rose. The native plants had a pale shade to their leaves, the invasive grass was mahogany. Trees bore fuschia fruits from branches whose wood was a nearly black shade of reddish purple. The distant mountains bore the dull, steely pink of mountbatten.

The star which shone down on this world was ashen and delicate, but there was no doubt were the hue of the planet came from. The celestial torch was distinctly pink.

The whole place seemed perpetually to be in sunset.

It had cost 48 thousand credits, but Cynthia and about sixty others had managed to smuggle themselves beyond the hand of the Federation, and onto the sparsely inhabited surface of a remote and distance world. Mostly untamed, mostly unclaimed, its lands free to be received by whoever had grit enough to cultivate them.

The cultivators were conquerors, victors in the struggle to establish themselves and survive. To the conquerors went the right of governance.

There was no Federation to give or enforce its laws. It would be up to these sixty pilgrims to do so.

That was why they had come here. Pulled by a shared ideal, to shed the worldly rule of man, and return, as best they could, to God's laws, no matter how disagreeable the world found them.

Cynthia took a deep breath, looking from the soft sky to the river which cut a small hill from the larger one where she stood. It was here that this new and pious settlement would be built.

A new place of worship. A new city on a hill. A new Jerusalem. A new hill.

***

Newhill grew slowly over the next few years. Some children were born, and it managed to attract three plastic workers and a physician.

Now, the First Congregational Church of Newhill was, fittingly, congregational in nature. The town's whole character was marked by decentralization. Yet no amount congregationalism can inhibit the development of hierarchy. So, while Cynthia held no formal title, her reputation as Newhill's founder and most devout worker earned her the town's highest measure of authority.

Second to her was Ajax, the new physician and a very well educated man.

To possess influence in Newhill necessitated influence in its church, and both Ajax and Cynthia were seen as trustworthy authorities on the scriptures. Neither had attended seminary. However, the most excellent thing about seminary is that, for any of them which are conducted with right sense, there is truly only one textbook, and each had read it through many times.

It was a natural development, then, that the two should speak together on matters important to the community. From that, it was natural they would sometimes speak to themselves.

"It wasn't long after I converted that I began to feel...there was much about the culture and government of the Federation which I could not agree with. I suppose that is when the idea for Newhill formed," explained Cynthia to Ajax, each shaded from the rosy sun by the awning of a produce stand. "What about you? What inspired your retreat to this little hamlet?"

"Disagreements as well, I suppose," said Ajax timidly, placing some darkly colored greens into his basket. "My parents were very devout, you see, and very vocal as well. I picked up some of that from them, and so when the Temple Tax was first announced, I became a very open opponent of it." Ajax sighed. "I thought I noticed my internet speed getting worse and worse the more I spoke out, and then I received an email informing me that the Central Bank demanded my loans be paid immediately and in full. So I sold most of what I had, paid of what I owed, and smuggled off to here."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Ajax," Cynthia cried, a grandmotherly consolation. "That's terrible. Though, it does make me glad that I headed out before all of that mess."
"It does seem like it was for the best."
"Indeed. You said your parents were quite devout?"
"Oh yes, very. Perhaps a bit...disagreeable to some people, but very convicted."
"I see. Why did they name you Ajax then? It seems like an odd choice for a Christian couple, to use a Greek mythological figure."
"It is a bit strange, but it was the name of the pastor at our church. Ajax McCarthy, he was a very nice man."
"Well, that's a reason, certainly," said Cynthia as she searched through some oblong fruits, and Ajax resumed shopping for smoothie ingredients.

"You know, Cynthia is a Greek name as well," the woman finally remarked.
"Is it?"
"Yes, it means 'from Mount Cynthus,' a mountain where Artemis was supposedly born." Cynthia rolled her eyes. "Dreadful! My parents were not nearly as devout as yours seem to have been, it really is just the sort of name they would pick," she chuckled. "Having said that, understand that what I'm about to say I mean with no disrespect to you. A great disservice is done to a child who is not given a good Hebrew name."

"You think so?" remarked Ajax. "I wouldn't be so sure. I don't think a Greek name inhibits us too much- many early church figures had Greek names."
"True, but many of them were not born to Christian parents," Cynthia remarked. "Nor does claiming to be a Christian and being a part of the tradition really make the former true."
"I wouldn't be too doubtful of them."

"I'm still telling you, Ajax. The Hebrew's are God's chosen people, I don't see any reason why we shouldn't use their names. I would much rather be named after Ruth than Artemis." Cynthia smiled. "Many of them have such wonderful meanings, you know. Grace of God, Gift of God, Multitude- that's what Abraham means."
She looked down at her basket.
"I think it would be so nice to given a name by God, like Abraham was. He has chosen not to give me one, though, so I'll remain with the one I was given."

***

"Of course I'd like to divorce him. He's a complete layabout!"
A young woman brought complaint of her husband to Cynthia while she and Ajax talked around a lamp filled with greaseberry oil, and being a woman's grievance, it fell very naturally to Cynthia to address it.

"What if you had a child who was a complete layabout?" said Cynthia.
"I certainly won't with that man. Are you saying he shouldn't be helping around the house?"
"Of course he should. But our goodness towards others must not depend on their goodness towards us."

The young growled. "Slothfulness is one of the deadly sins, you know."
"We all struggle with sins," said Cynthia.
"I don't see why that means I have to struggle with him."

Ajax twiddled his thumbs at the table while the two spoke.

"Firstly," Cynthia began, "because God is gracious with us, and so we should be gracious with others. Secondly, because God decries divorce as a sin, except in the case of infidelity."
"Why can't we just allow for a divorce and have grace about that?"
"Grace may abound where sin abounds, but that's no license to sin."
The young woman huffed.

"Now dear," Cynthia began, "I understand that this is frustrating, but don't let that make you rush to a worldly and impious solution."
"What is the 'pious' solution, then?"
"I shall have some of the other men talk to him, and see if they cannot motivate him to be more dutiful. Most importantly, though, I would suggest you pray for him. Pray that God moves in his heart, and I will keep you both in my prayers as well, if it would please you. You can come and pray with me about it, or anything, whenever you need it."
"I have been praying about him," stressed the young woman. "He's not gotten any better!"
"Oh, I certainly understand how that can be frustrating," Cynthia declared. "Yet we should not rush God, instead of trusting that He knows the right thing and the right time to do it. He is certainly wiser than us, after all, and He would not want us to be impatient, either with Him or with men. We are called to be long suffering, and must not return sins against others due to their sins against us."

The young woman clutched her forehead, mumbled something with a tone between irritated defeat and begrudging acknowledgement, and walked out.

"I do hope things get better for the poor girl," said Cynthia to Ajax.
"Yes, that would be very nice," remarked the physician.
"It is a detestable thing, divorces. I should say that increases in divorce went hand in hand with an increase in shameless licentiousness in human culture."
"We would certainly not want any licentiousness taking root," said Ajax stiffly. "Though, Cynthia, if I might-"
"You may."
"Yes, well, what about...more extreme situations?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, even a husband who does not commit adultery, wouldn't you say it would be more acceptable to, if he is, perhaps, abusive, wouldn't it be acceptable to divorce him?"

"If a man is being abusive to his wife," Cynthia began, "then him being an assaulter needs to be addressed before anyone starts thinking of divorce."

***

Cynthia was quickly brought to the site of the ruckus. A young man from a few miles away had been in Newhill for a few days now, and garnered a fast reputation as a drunkard. He was now making a scene at the general store, having broken merchandise, thrown up on himself, and refused to leave when asked.
Now, Cynthia was somewhat thin, but very tall, and had the sternness of one like her, so there was some expectation that she could convince the traveler to remove himself.

"Get out, you lout!" Cynthia slapped the man's cheek with a plastic ruler.
"Ow, now what kinda way is that to treat a customer?"
"We don't want any business from you while you're in this state, now get out or I'll leave three marks on each side of your face!"
"Now look, grandma-"

Smack!

"You're grandmother would be ashamed to see you like this."
"Alright, geeze, I'm leaving. I'm leaving!"

The young man turned away, nearly fell out the door, slapped his hand against a passing maiden's buttocks, and was promptly thrown onto the pinkish dust outside the town. "You may return when you sober up, clean up, and repent for your drunkenness," said Cynthia.
"I thought you Christian types were supposed to be gracious?"
"Get!" Cynthia brandished her ruler, "back to where you came from!"
And so the man left.

Now, it just so happened that Ajax was nearby when this final exchange occurred, and walked up to Cynthia as she watched the drunkard wonder off into the part of the magenta horizon he'd come from.
"That seemed rather dramatic," said Ajax.
"Unfortunately."

A bit of silence.

"Shouldn't we be gracious, though?" asked Ajax.
"Hm?"
"About what the traveler said. Shouldn't we, as Christians, be gracious to others?"
"It's not very gracious to leave people worse off than we can. It is better for him that we do not tolerate his wickedness, and therefore encourage it. It is certainly better for everyone else that we do not force them to endure it."
"I see."

***

"Cynthia," Ajax said one day, as most of the congregation walked out of the church following the benediction. "I don't mean to be contrary, but I feel like I need to talk to you about your word today."
"I can tell," remarked Cynthia. "You've got that very serious look you get when you don't like what I've said."
"No, no, it's not that I disliked it," assured Ajax. "The message behind it was very good. Don't you think it was perhaps a bit...extreme, though?"
"Extreme?" Cynthia chuckled. "Some people do see God as being 'extreme,' I suppose."

"Yes, well, please consider this," Ajax began. "When James John asked Jesus if the disciples should call down hellfire like Elijah did, Jesus said no. He said that His purpose was to save lives, and not destroy them."
"Yes," Cynthia concurred, "and I'm not asking him to send down fire to destroy everyone unconditionally. My prayer for the wicked is that God would either save them, or kill them if they can not be saved. If some wicked one can't be saved, why should want them to remain alive and hurt others?"
"Doesn't that seem a bit heartless?"

Cynthia was visibly upset by this. "Heartless? It's heartless to let the wicked pray on the innocent. I believe in grace, but I will not say that we should take that to mean we should be alright with pedophiles and murderers, and that Jesus would want us to just be so kind to them- no! Ridiculous! That would be letting people be destroyed, not saving them by taking away the thing that's destroying them."

"I understand what you're saying," Ajax said, "and I get it, I really do, it's the sort of thing my mother and father would agree with, but people tended to see them as somewhat...being zealots, and personally I don't feel very comfortable with prayers that, even conditionally, are asking for people to die. If they're wicked and they die, then that sends them to hell, and that's just..."

"Ajax," began Cynthia, "listen. We shouldn't just give up on what God says because it's a little uncomfortable. I'm sure you and I and most of the people in Newhill would say that we'd die for God, but what good is our saying that if we wouldn't even go through some discomfort or bear some disapproval for Him? Those aren't real convictions then."
"I'm concerned the impression it gives will drive people away from Christ."
"Let's not drive them away by selling them a false gospel."

Ajax looked to the floor for a second.

"I haven't always been happy with God in my life," said Cynthia, and a shocked Ajax turned his eyes back up. "Sometimes I wondered why He did certain things, or didn't do certain things, or why He was asking me to do something, or how many more years I would have to wait for His promises to manifest, and a lot of those times I was wondering to myself, what is God even thinking doing this? I understand, but what you'll have to learn is what I had to learn, and that's to trust God, even when it doesn't come naturally." Cynthia smiled warmly. "After all, who can better say what is good than God, who wove the universe and good into it?"

Feeling a bit hot, the young physician wiped his brown and took a deep breath. "I'm just concerned, Cynthia. I don't want Newhill to become some sort of Salem."
"Now Ajax, how do you even think that would happen here?"
"Well, people seemed to be quite alright with calling down fire from heaven to kill wicked the morning. That's what happened in Salem, and innocent people were killed."
"We would be morally depraved not to take actions against those calling on the servants of Satan to harm children. The issue in Salem is that they saw witchcraft where it was not. As you said, innocent people were killed."
Ajax began to fast more regularly after that.

I'm not even sure if the thing I was trying to portray in a different light actually came across differently, or whether its even obvious what I'm trying to portray, but the blistering literalism was too good for me to skip even if I didn't get to tie that part in as much as I wanted.

Well, you are portraying a Protestant pastoral figure and the physician. Of course, I do not know how this is showing something different than what is expected.

[TheSilentChloey]

And we've got a three way tie XD lol this will be certainly quite difficult to break...

[Anacybele]

It'll break. Only a total of three votes have gone in, and we've always gotten more than that before voting ends.

However, should it come to just a tie between Dcat and I, I forfeit to her since she's not had a chance to choose a prompt yet while I did.

[Dragoncat]

13 minutes ago, Anacybele said:

 

However, should it come to just a tie between Dcat and I, I forfeit to her since she's not had a chance to choose a prompt yet while I did.

This is fair.

[Azure the Scale Tipper]

Is this the part where everyone posts their reviews and what-not?

[Jotari]

10 minutes ago, Azure in a Roundabout said:

Is this the part where everyone posts their reviews and what-not?

Yes. Go for it. I'm going to need a day or so before I can read any myself.

[Azure the Scale Tipper]

Ok. I have already reviewed “Regrets of a General”, “Destiny Awakes”, and “Just once more? No, no more”. So here is the rest.

Though, I might have to leave out “z2w.y5b1o2” because I want to play Xenoblade Chronicles X one day. So sorry.

@TheSilentChloey “A Dragon’s Question”

Spoiler

A cute story about a confused Grima and his summoner, from the dragon’s point of view. I liked a lot of the details, including the inclusion of skills that fit with Male Grima’s playstyle (Swap and Atk Smoke are both good skills for him to have), and the inclusion of mechanics, right down to the ability to touch heroes on their screen. And it’s a headpat, too. :3

@Jotari “The One I Love the Most”

Spoiler

Okay, maybe I already said things about this one, but I can tell much care was given to how the relationship worked. The only thing I can say is that I still do not understand how this fits into the prompt.

Other than that, it is nice.

@AnonymousSpeed “Newhill”

Spoiler

A nice little story about the development of a religious Protestant town, albeit with more modern beliefs (or, at least, that might be wrong). I find it interesting that this is described as a new Jerusalem, though. Makes me want to know more about the Federation and this world in general. Like “The One I Love Most”, though, I do not understand how this is a story from another, unexpected angle.

 

[TheSilentChloey]

Anyone get a chuckle out of the Seven Deadly Camillas joke?

[Azure the Scale Tipper]

2 minutes ago, TheSilentChloey said:

Anyone get a chuckle out of the Seven Deadly Camillas joke?

A little. And also the joke of IS being Eye Ess. Because Grima has no context.

[Anacybele]

I did get a chuckle out of that Camilla joke, actually. lol

Only one person has given my entry a true review so far, I think. Hope a few more people care to do so!

I should give some reviews myself as well. I already said how I feel about Ottservia's and Jotari's entries, so I'll just skip those here. I'll also not do Chloey's because last time I gave her critique on something, it didn't go well. I just don't feel comfortable with it anymore.

@AnonymousSpeed I'm not into religion at all, so I cringed a bit at first, but this ended up being rather interesting. That's saying something coming from someone with such a negative view on religion, so you can pat yourself on the back there. You wrote some good stuff and showed Ajax's inner conflict well. Though as pointed out, I'm not sure how this fits the prompt well, so it does lose points on that.

@Azure in a Roundabout I have to echo Chloey about not being fond of Tharja at all, but this was an interesting idea. Even if I admittedly thought of Frederick as soon as I saw "knight commander" in your description of the entry. lol Oops. But anyway, this gives some more life and character to the Plegians when they seriously lacked it in the game. Good job.

@Dragoncat I was pleasantly surprised at how well you pulled this one off considering you haven't played a lot of BotW just yet. I thought you might have a handful of inaccuracies due to not seeing many of Zelda's memories and stuff yet, but the only incorrect thing you had was that bit about Zelda's magic that I'd pointed out. I feel the writing is a bit choppy and stiff at times, but I'd say this is the only real flaw. You characterized Link and Rhoam well. :)

@Interdimensional Observer Eh, this just felt like a slog to read due to it being basically an info dump with no dialogue and all. It sounds interesting besides, but with no dialogue, I'm not sure how you get a real story out of it. I recommend sticking with stories that have a balance of dialogue and description.

[TheSilentChloey]

5 hours ago, Anacybele said:

I did get a chuckle out of that Camilla joke, actually. lol

Only one person has given my entry a true review so far, I think. Hope a few more people care to do so!

I should give some reviews myself as well. I already said how I feel about Ottservia's and Jotari's entries, so I'll just skip those here. I'll also not do Chloey's because last time I gave her critique on something, it didn't go well. I just don't feel comfortable with it anymore.

@AnonymousSpeed I'm not into religion at all, so I cringed a bit at first, but this ended up being rather interesting. That's saying something coming from someone with such a negative view on religion, so you can pat yourself on the back there. You wrote some good stuff and showed Ajax's inner conflict well. Though as pointed out, I'm not sure how this fits the prompt well, so it does lose points on that.

@Azure in a Roundabout I have to echo Chloey about not being fond of Tharja at all, but this was an interesting idea. Even if I admittedly thought of Frederick as soon as I saw "knight commander" in your description of the entry. lol Oops. But anyway, this gives some more life and character to the Plegians when they seriously lacked it in the game. Good job.

@Dragoncat I was pleasantly surprised at how well you pulled this one off considering you haven't played a lot of BotW just yet. I thought you might have a handful of inaccuracies due to not seeing many of Zelda's memories and stuff yet, but the only incorrect thing you had was that bit about Zelda's magic that I'd pointed out. I feel the writing is a bit choppy and stiff at times, but I'd say this is the only real flaw. You characterized Link and Rhoam well. :)

@Interdimensional Observer Eh, this just felt like a slog to read due to it being basically an info dump with no dialogue and all. It sounds interesting besides, but with no dialogue, I'm not sure how you get a real story out of it. I recommend sticking with stories that have a balance of dialogue and description.

Huh?  Okay so let me get this straight...

 

Apparently because you felt inclinded to say basically "My FEH Morgan is better than yours because he's going to run the most standard build of Morgan there is because that's what's best...wait no I'm just just critiquing not doing what someone else did to me that I called rude..." when that was EXACTLY what you were doing Ana and when it was pointed out to you you kept saying "Oh but I WASN'T being rude I was just critiquing because I said why my Morgan was better!" and when I weighed in on the matter you were all like,

"Oh so I can't critique now no matter what the topic because you weren't looking to be like everyone else with your Morgan..." when I pointed out I wanted my Morgan to be unique for my own reasons.

This topic is THE place for critiques.  That's why we're here :/ I wouldn't have posted here if I wasn't wanting to be critqued in a CONSTRUCTIVE manner.

 

That said I am a particularly hyper senstive individual, so much so that I often times won't actually pick up on the cues others are sending, or flat out just have it float over my head and that's where 95% of the problem lies.

 

And on the topic of critiques...as much as I am uncomfortable with doing them, here's mine.  Please take with a grain of salt because I'm likely going to have missed stuff or it might not be favorable to people.  I have tried to keep it as constructive as possible, though bias is very difficult to pull out.

@Anacybele

Spoiler

Not going to lie as someone who has next to zero context of the Tellis games this was...a bit difficult to follow, though not enough to detract from this piece.

 

The set up was good, and seeing Bryce's struggles make him an empathic character.

 

So all in all a good solid piece, however...(oh boy...I hate it when I say that...)

I felt (personally) that the piece took a bit too long to get to it's climax- it would be all well and good if it was allowed to be a longer story- though that would be me nit-picking and we don't need that at all.  So basically it was nice to read, thanks XD

 

Next up

@AnonymousSpeed

Spoiler

While a good piece it was lacking context for me.

 

I spent a good portion of this piece being confused as to what it was about, assuming initially that it was a Fire Emblem piece (perhaps a bit wrongly) due to Cynthia.

 

I would have felt a bit more context was needed here to really understand it but that is just me personally.  It was a good read though.

Okay next is...

@Azure in a Roundabout

Spoiler

This was the winning piece to me.

 

Not only was it a refreshing take on Tharja who (let's be honest) is one of my LEAST favourite characters in Awakening, (a snip above Validar and Excellus) but has the misfortune of being my least favourite Shepherd in terms of character.

 

Yet...the story works because 1, I have context to work with, 2, I can see that happening and 3, you gave the Plegians a bit more than their depiction in game which is always nice to see.

 

If you were to turn this into a fanfiction please shot me the link when you do because I would love to read it!

@Interdimensional Observer

Spoiler

I'm leaning on the same lack of context here as I did with Ana's piece, since I haven't actually played the game in question.

 

And it was an info dump I struggled to get through...which was a lot like Ana's first entry- though there is nothing wrong with huge word counts, when you've got the time to go through them all, it becomes a bit harder in the context of this setting where we're judging the story we liked best.

Okay next...

 

@Jotari

Spoiler

This is one of those, uh what fics where I don't get what's going on but I can draw enough of a conclusion to say, "Okay I guess stuff happened in the background?"

That's not a bad thing, sometimes it works in the story's favour, and this is one of those times, despite the fact you said it needed to have played the Tellis games to get it.  I guess it's one of those rare occasions where I actually didn't need that much context for guessing enough XD

Thanks for the read mate XD

Okay next...

@Ottservia

Spoiler

So I know Ana kind of was triggered by this piece, but in saying that, I understand this kind of situation entirely.  As painful as that might be for some people to stomach.

 

Yes it could have done with a warning, yes it was borderline M territory.

However, it wasn't a bad read.  It fit the prompt given and was for me an ending I saw coming miles away actually...

And now for the "fun" part

Spoiler

I had to go the most predictable way and it kind of shows.  I think I've done three Grima centric pieces thus far and perhaps I could have done someone else- though I am not going to complain because that's just how it happened.  And I got to explore headcanons about heroes and Grima in general.  Plus having him be one of my most powerful units should come to a surprise to no one.

 

Of course when writing from Grima’s perspective it was actually fun.  I'm glad the Seven Deadly Camillas joke landed because I wanted it to be a humous moment, and "Eye Ess" was the additional joke too.

 

That said the pacing is a bit too fast and I kind of don't make it clear just how confused Grimmy is.  People don't like him, and I should have shown it a bit more, however I guess I was more focused on the shorter version and trying not to over cram too much.  Especially since I have ST to work on...

I hope it's not too "harsh"...god I hate doing critiques sometimes...