Second Annual .Org Writing Contest

[Big_John]

here's mine, a little piece of humorous (i hope) historical (kind of) fiction.


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A Moat of Entrails

(Transcript of John the Wise's address to the Fifth Committee on Anti-Barbarian Measures. Middle Summer, Anno Domine 862)

Elders, leaders, warriors, and fellow landsmen. I have been called here today to answer for my part in the minor disaster that befell our village yesterday. Now, please, there is no need to call for my head. I understand that we are all feeling somewhat upset after the latest barbarian raid. But let me assure you that when I guaranteed that the barbarian invaders would not penetrate our walls this time, I did so with only the best of intentions.

The old ways of fighting and praying simply were not working. I alone had the insight to devise a new way to counter the menace. So, if I am guilty of anything, it is of being too visionary! Gentlemen, please sit down and hear me out! Now, I hope you all agree that my idea was a good one.. Wait! Sit down for just one second please! Listen, had I more warning of the invasion, certainly my Moat of Entrails© plan would have worked splendidly. As it was, we simply did not have enough time for the moat to fester thoroughly. Not even a rabid barbarian would have driven head-long into a sufficiently putrid Moat of Entrails!©

As to the rumors floating about, let me assure you good sirs that I was at the battlements, so I will address each slanderous rumor in detail. It is true that the gate was unable to be closed because a sheep carcass had jammed the pulleys. And yes, it is true that the sheep carcass which jammed the gate (thereby allowing the invaders direct access to the town) was accidentally placed too close to the gates' pulleys and weights by my team of "entrails removers". But, look at it this way; had the gate been down, another long and costly siege would have ensued, after which we would have had to surrender anyway. So this was actually not such a bad thing, was it?


*A small ruckus ensues. Some chairs are broken.


OK, wait! Calm down! Please, I have five minutes! I have been given five minutes! Allow me my five minutes! Duncan the Fair, put your bow away! Thank you. Now, for the other rumors. It is wholly FALSE that I am in league with the Devil. I am also NOT in league with the attackers. And while it may be true that the barbarians became even more fearsome and berserk after wading through a Moat of Entrails©, the barbarians did not, I repeat, did NOT use the fairly fresh entrails as a snack after plundering our village. Nor did the enemy leader thank me personally for "providing his men with a hearty meal after a long day of raping and pillaging," as Sir Philip the Honest has accused. That is simply ludicrous.

In summation, I believe we all have to stop pointing fingers and start dealing with the current situation. And for this, we will need men of ideas, such as myself. Our good village is beginning to reek from the Moat of Entrails©, which is now becoming properly putrid. No! Wait! Sit down, sit down! I volunteer myself! See? Yes, I volunteer MYSELF and my team to cover-over the moat. However, it will likely take several days to finish the job unless some of you are willing to lend a hand. No, no! I still have two minutes! Sit down, please! Thank you. We also need to find a new source of meat, as all of the sheep were slaughtered for the Moat of Entrails©.


*A second small ruckus ensues. Insults are hurled with abandon. A few bones are broken.


Wait! Wait! Sheathe your swords gentlemen! Please! Violence won't solve anything! Duncan, would you please put your bow away? Come on! Look, none of you had any great ideas, did you? If you are all so quick to blame the one man that actually thought of something, what about yourselves, huh!? Oh, what's that? Say again? Oh. Well... yes... maybe... I suppose, in retrospect, perhaps we should have tried Duncan's idea of a flaming moat. But, gentlemen what's done is done. We can't dwell on what might have been. Duncan! Again with the bow!? That's the third time now! For a man known as "the Fair", you are not giving me much of a chance here, are you sir?


*A general pandemonium ensues. Order is restored after much furniture is thrown. John the Wise is allowed to finish his address after being cut down from a makeshift gallows.


In the name of God, I am certainly glad all of you good men finally came to your senses! As is the case, I feel I should conclude my address at that. I trust that your fair judgement will see that placing blame is NOT in our common interest. I thank you for your time. Oh, and by the way, our homes will likely need a good washing, since the barbarian invaders tracked and dripped a good deal of the Moat of Entrails© in with them. Now, this would normally be women's work. But, seeing as the barbarians took most of our women.. Hey! Whoa! Whoa! Sit down! Wait! No, no, no, let me finish! No, no! Wait just one second! No!! Hey, stop!! *URRRK!!!*


*Address abruptly concluded.


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[Alexander the Pretty Good]

Hehe. I liked that Big John!

Here's mine. Exactly 1000 words!

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A Soldier's Life is Never Easy
Or, the Art of House-to-House Fighting

Bill deeply regretted touching that doorknob.

The shrill, head-throbbing alarm it set off alerted not only the rebels inside the run-down apartment building but also a machine gun at the top of the charred hotel at the end of the city block. Bill’s comment on the situation was somewhat tangier than “shucks.” How could he have known that the building’s alarm had survived days of orbital bombardment and ground shelling, as well as destruction of the power grid in this sector?

“Just my luck, picking the only house on the block with a battery-powered alarm,” he grumbled. But the whizzing of bullets disturbingly close to his head cut off those sentiments – the machine gunner had spotted him! He dove into the alley between the apartment with the alarm and the last building his squad had cleared, a gutted butcher shop. His timing was perfect: a split second after he took cover someone inside the apartment riddled the door Bill had tried to open. If he was just a hair slower, there would have been much less Bill. Looking on the bright side, he noted that ricochet from the machine gun fire had shattered the alarm – one less assault on Bill’s poor eardrums.

Four days of fighting had left 12th Infantry Division depleted – only a third of the original eleven thousand soldiers had survived the landing and subsequent carnage. The survivors had fought a whole three and a quarter miles to their objective, a supply depot seventeen and three quarter miles further into the wrecked city. That kind of attrition transformed green-as-paint recruits into veterans in minutes. But it also made for a lot of letters starting with “We regret to inform you that your son was killed in action against the enemy.” Corporal William Thurgood would have preferred to remain a buck private – but, like most things in the Army, he didn’t have a say in the matter. The sergeant acting as company commander had pick Bill and a handful of others to lead double-squad sections. Five minutes after the abrupt promotion ceremony, a sniper removed the sergeant’s head from his body.

Bill had little time to contemplate all that, however, as several people were trying to kill him. And his platoon (it had been his for a whole three hours) was under small arms fire in the snow and rubble-strewn street. And he still needed to clear this apartment. And the terrifying screams of incoming mortar fire and the following heavy thuds meant his platoon was in even greater danger. And, quite frankly, William Thurgood the First, Corporal in the Army of Republic, did not want to die.

“Corporal! What should we do?” The shout just pierced the din of battle and the cries of the wounded.

“Take cover and fire on that machine gun!” And, to himself, “Deep breath, Bill. Stay Calm, Be Alert, Think Clearly, Act Decisively. Just like boot camp. All right, first things first. Time to take care of this building.”

And with that, he crawled back in front of the door. It was a much easier task without the attention of that machine gun – it had moved on to other, less difficult targets. Praying that the rebels inside wouldn’t take this instance to hose down the alley with lead, Bill took a grenade out of his pack and pulled the pin.

“One.” He got up into a crouch. Time seemed to slow as he followed what was second nature since boot camp.

“Two.” He grasped the doorknob with shaking fingers.

“Three.” He turned the knob and opened the door. He saw four rebels turn at look down the hallway at him, their heavy gray coats contrasting with the tacky, bright green wallpaper of the apartment wall. They moved for their guns.

“Four.” In went the grenade. It bounced down the hall towards the surprised enemy. Bill shut the door and dove for the alley in one move.

With five, the door was blown open and into the alleyway, missing Bill’s boot by inches. The sharp whir of shrapnel pierced the thick, dull ache in Bill’s ears. Instinct drove him through the next steps of building clearing, and he got up and rushed into the now door-less apartment. The wallpaper was now charred black instead of green, but Bill didn’t notice. He was more interested in the staggering form of a surviving rebel. The man stopped reeling and stared at Bill. Blood poured from the enemy’s ears, probably from the concussion of the grenade. For a second, neither combatant moved. Bill brought his rifle up faster by three seconds – he hadn’t born the brunt of the grenade’s blast. He pulled the trigger.

“Click.”

Bill swore.

The Colonist aimed.

The blast that knocked Bill out the hallway back into the alley also destroyed the apartment building completely. The darkness engulfed him and his worries ceased.

Bill awoke to deep rumblings. He thought it might be his stomach – he couldn’t remember the last time he ate. He looked around – the ruins of the apartment were strewn about him and he ached all over, as if he had done a billion push-ups and sit-ups. The rumbling was not coming from him but from a Morrell tank in the street. It’s ugly and compact build had led soldiers to name it the “Hog,” and Bill had never had seen a more beautiful sight in his life. Hogs meant Mechanized Infantry – which meant reinforcements.

As if to confirm his relief, a Mech Inf grunt ran up to him. “Looks like we just saved you and your buddies, Corporal. As usual.” There was a still calm, noticeably lacking in the rattle of machine gun fire, the scream mortar shells, and the crackle small arms.

“I’ll take it, Mac.”

“You OK?”

“I’ll walk it off. Came out pretty lucky. Nothing broken. Sore as hell, but you’d expect that.”

“Somebody up there must be looking out for you, Corporal.”

“Just point me at the enemy, Mac. We still have a job to do.”

[King of Atlantis]

Okay here's mine. It's actually a faction description for my mod, but its a story too.

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The alternate story of Atlantis

Imagine if the Isle of Atlantis hadn’t sunk and the Atlanteans came back to rule it once again. This is that story……

This story begins a long time ago, with the first great civilization. This great nation was Atlantis. Her people were advanced way beyond their age and were great lovers of peace. Trade brought great wealth to their nation and their goods could be found all over. One would think such civilized peace lover would have a weak army, but such was not the case for Atlantis. They were wise enough to know a nation could not live without a good defense, so the made sure their army was of top quality. They were famous for their mighty phalanx pikemen and their cavalry that could even match the men of the steppe. For hundreds of years they lived in a golden age of peace and their culture grew significantly. This true golden age among men would sadly come to an end though. The end was not brought by a foreign enemy, or by natural disaster however. No, this sad day was brought by corruption from within.

This terrible conflict was a great civil war. The war was started by a man Cronus. Cronus was a very clever man and was known through out Atlantis as the greatest warrior that ever lived. Such a man would have been valuable to Atlantis except for one major flaw. He only desired one thing and that was power. He hated how Atlantis lived in peace. He saw peace only as an excuse for the weak. Atlantis was the greatest nation to ever exist and he thought that is was Atlantis’s destiny to rule the world, with him as her leader. The King of Atlantis would hear of no such thing and said it was Atlantis’s humble duty to teach the world, not to rule it. Thus Cronus had to work in secret to poison the people’s ears with lies about the King, telling them that he didn’t want war because he was scared. He was able to convert many to his side and began to plot for war. Eventually, he got his wish and civil war erupted. The war lasted ten long years leaving many dead in its wake. Unfortunately, Cronus had come out on top. The former King rounded up all those that were still loyal to him and left Atlantis for the end of the world….

Shortly after the Royalist left, Atlantis broke into cause. Where as the previous King had been kind and peaceful, Cronus was a complete tyrant. The war had already left the economy in ruins and now Cronus distributed all of the remaining wealth among his most trusted followers, thus leaving a starving nation of starving peasants. In this already dark hour, fate decided to deal another blow to Atlantis, but this time it was from nature. All in one year there was massive flooding, earthquakes, and even a volcanic eruption! This was more than Atlantis could take. The people decided to take their revenge by killing Cronus. After that they tried to live in anarchy, but it was to no avail. If they stayed in Atlantis they would surely die thus they decided to flee the island. They scattered across the world, spreading their knowledge and culture to all that would listen.


Of course, no news of this tragedy would reach the Royalist, as they were already far away on the high seas. Though they avoided the trouble of Atlantis, they had problems of their own. Their numbers were so small that they had to struggle to survive were ever they went, causing them to move from place to place on their boats, always running from invaders. This existence as sea nomads would finally come to a halt when they were able to find a safe haven. This haven was safe, but not much else. It was barren and would only be able to produce enough food for them to survive, not flourish. They lived in this isolation for thousands of years, losing much of their technology, but never their culture. Sadly after thousands of years in this life the Royalist would become exactly what they had fought, a nation of warriors, instead of a nation of peace. They rallied under their new King as he promised them great riches and glory from their former home. They boarded their ships and sailed to conquer the land that was rightfully theirs…

The road back to Atlantis was very hard. They had no clue how to get to Atlantis though their ancestors had left them clues. They figured if the sailed east they would eventually find it. After years of sailing the Atlanteans had somehow managed to find it. When they finally got there they were shocked. Their once mighty Kingdom was gone without a trace. Instead they found only some barbarians that had decided to call Atlantis home. The Atlanteans were able to settle in a nice new town, but things were tuff. The barbarians raid them constantly and food is scarce. It is time to teach these barbarians a lesson and remind them who they real masters of Atlantis are!


As the new ruler of Atlantis you have a very tough road ahead of you. Your ancestors have striped the land of its resources and the farmland is far from fruitful. First and foremost, you must get rid of the barbarians on your island. This will be difficult as your army is small and weak. If you successfully beat the barbarians the road is still not clear. You are surrounded by enemies and have no army or money. If you can get passed the first couple bumps in the road you can achieve great things. You have the ability to train the best soldiers this world has ever seen and you’re close to very rich lands. You must succeed in your efforts all for the glory of Atlantis!

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It's like 997 words long, enjoy and please pick me

[ichi]

The Zen of being a soldier

Waking to the sounds of yelling and the movement of the men around him, he rose quickly, gathering his gear to stand in formation. Third from the left, third rank, he was glad he wasn’t in the front row, ashamed of his fear.

No breakfast, they could see them on the horizon, already coming closer. He had to strain to look past those before him, careful not to draw the attention of his Captain. Again he felt the pull of opposite feelings, confident in his leader but hateful of the discipline.

Now they moved, in unison, to the edge of a field. His unit was on the left, cavalry the only forces on their flank. It was happening fast now, as the two forces closed, but in his mind time was expanded, so he could see the clouds and trees and smell the men around him, recognizing each unimportant thing. He had seen battle, but that was part of an overwhelming force. He wanted to prove his brave spirit, and he wanted to melt into the ground. Today would be harder than before.

The order to charge was obeyed and he went with the crowd, when it stopped he lifted the long sharp pole over his head and thrust it into a man in the enemy’s front rank. The man had not seen him, focused on those closer. Now he looked around, not only for another potential victim, but perhaps someone was looking to thrust a spear into him.

Crushing force from his left and he was knocked to the ground as hostile horses hit his unit from the left. On the ground he was nearly trampled, first by the enemy then as his own cavalry plowed into the fray. Tempted to lie still, he was afraid to get up. But still more frightening to him was to be crushed by hooves.

He rose, only to realize his weapon was lost. A fierce warrior from the other side, riding a terrified horse, brushed against him. He realized the man was locked in combat with another mounted man. In reaction he raised his arms to block the horse, but this led him to grab the man by the leg. This caused the horseman to turn and look down, and their eyes met, but before he could bring his sword down he was beheaded.

Uncontrolled the horse bolted, and he was unable to break free as it ran in terror, his arm caught under the headless man’s leg. He was beaten by the ground and the horse’s legs until he lost consciousness.

He came to, hanging from under the headless man’s leg. His arm was dislocated, the rest of him so bruised and scratched and screaming in pain that he almost passed out again. He worked himself free, and the horse, with most of its master, wandered off.

He looked down from the hill he climbed without knowing, to see the battle. Their left had collapsed, but their right had prevailed, so the armies swirled together, yin and yang. He could barely stand, let alone walk, and he wanted so badly to sit. But the mutually opposed forces within him were subdued and he accepted that he must go back.

Down the hill, gathering strength as he descended. The battle increased in ferocity as its size diminished. Some men ran back over the ridge he had first seen them come over. He entered the original position, now obvious from the bodies of the dead and dying. He grabbed an enemy spear, and walked unseen toward an enemy Captain, astride a horse. Calmly he approached, hoisted the pole above his head, and drove it into the man’s back. The man screamed, but it was just another sound among many. No one noticed as the Captain turned, still impaled, and charged. But the blow was deadly, and as horse and rider bore down he tumbled from the saddle. The beast gave a glancing blow then rode off, perhaps to join up with the headless Captain’s horse.

As he rose up on his good arm, he saw the enemy collapse. He had killed a powerful and important man, and this had the effect of demoralizing his troops. As they ran they were pursued, fear providing the speed needed to stay just out of reach. One by one the units slowed and halted before regrouping. Only a small band, probably elite soldiers, stood and fought, but their numbers dropped slowly as more and more men surrounded them. With the last death it was quiet.

He stood and looked around, found a third spear. He chose it for one reason, it was bloody. He focused his will and walked to where the bulk of the men were reforming. Before he could rejoin them, they were ordered to secure the field. They would kill most of the enemy wounded, capture any officers, tend to their wounded, strip the dead, count the heads.

As he stumbled through the bodies he saw an older man from the opposing army, missing an arm. Pale and bewildered, he knew this man was an enemy but could not understand why. The man would die soon, regardless, so he raised his bloody spear and gently, but firmly, ran it through his throat. Open eyes, open mouth, open hands pleaded but to no avail.

He had killed three men. The first was armed, and from the front, but unseen. The second was armed, but from the rear. The third, unarmed, but face-to-face. All three had to be killed, each for a different reason.

He had struck the decisive blow, but would never be recognized for it. He was filled with pride for having done such a thing, appalled that he had stabbed a man in the back. He had killed an unarmed man, a man who was already dead but had not yet accepted it.

He tried to make sense of it, but was overwhelmed by the need to eat breakfast.

ichi

[BobTheTerrible]

Well, here's my go. Don't expect it to make much sense... I'm hoping to draw some laughs rather than awards.


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All of the sudden, the guards grew silent, their faces mixed in equal measures of surprise and alarm. The conference members threw alarmed glances at the guards, who slightly nodded, confirming the members’ fears. I desperately looked around, trying to find the cause of the calamity. I whirled about suddenly for no apparent reason, and saw something I had never seen before, the sight of it filling my simple brain with wonder.

“Hey guys!! I found Waldo!” To my dismay nobody seemed fazed by my profound revelation. Even Waldo looked offended. I looked up for a second, and then he was gone. “Damn you and your chipmunk games Waldo… I’ll find you yet…” I muttered.

“Silence!” Mr. Q. Gordon boomed like a pregnant cow in labor. “Do you hear anything?” he asked desperately, his eyes wide with fear. Nobody knew his first name, but with the initial Q, nobody wanted to know. He was not a man to become friendly with. He was a big man, the type of man you wouldn’t want to share a prison cell with.

“No!” whispered Waldo dramatically. Hey, how’d you get back here? I wondered, but by the time I turned my head to try and find him, he was gone. Damn.

“Nothing?”

Everybody listened, and judging by the looks, the general consensus seemed to be that nothing was heard. I was still confused, but a sideways glance at Seifer, the only other guy I knew here, confirmed that I should remain silent.

Hmmm-, I thought musingly, when my thoughts were interrupted by Gordon.
“We took the necessary security procedures,” Gordon’s voice was barely a whisper. “Even so, they tracked us here… this is worse than I expected…”

Hmmmm, I mused thoughtfully, when my thoughts were again interrupted. I began to angrily wonder who was writing the damn story, and why I could never get to thinking anything worthwhile, when suddenly my thoughts of not being able to think were interrupted.

A noise rang out into the silence. A noise so silent, that it only served to make the silence more silent. I was confused over this concept for a good few seconds, when it all made sense. However, this won’t make any sense to you until I stop leaving you in suspense and tell you what I saw.

A blur of black and white burst silently into the room. I looked up, and quickly recognized it by the characteristic red markings on its cheeks.

“Mimes!” I yelled out, horror stricken. I had no idea things were this serious. The creature was followed by another, then another, and yet another. More kept coming.

It was hideous. The mimes silently built up an invisible wall before we could utilize the few anti-mime weapons we possessed. Curses! And all the worse for me, I was the odd one who had decided back in college that a “Defense against the Common Mime” course would never have practical applications. Go figure.

Seifer had grabbed a pistol and was firing rounds off at the mimes, but to no effect. The shots merely ricocheted off the invisible wall. There was no time for thought. Everyone in the room began trying to mime weapons of their own, but to little use. Fights erupted around the room between the mimes and the conference members.

Seifer mimed a chainsaw, and a pretty good one at that, but the mimes were too used to this old trick. One mime, in an epic struggle, managed to disarm Seifer and, in the same fluid motion, mime a piece of rope, which he used to tie Seifer to a pillar. The other members hadn’t fared very well. Most were trapped in mime-made invisble boxes on the ground, trying viciously to claw their way out. The mimes’ only response to this was silent laughter.

I was the only one left. The mimes had me cornered, evil grins and intimidating eyes pointed my way. I quickly mimed a twig, a paper clip, and a porcupine. None of these seemed to help. The struggles of the other staff members ceased and suspense music began to play as the mimes slowly advanced towards me. One mime angrily flashed sign language to another. The other dejectedly turned off the suspense music, which had the adverse effect of making things more suspenseful. I set the porcupine free.

I suddenly remembered one last thing… I made a grab for my briefcase, fumbled around in one of the side pockets, and pulled out an ancient cassette player. I popped a blank tape in. The nearest mime grew wide-eyed and made a lunge for me. I pumped the volume up to full, and moments before the mime reached me, pressed the play button.

The effect was amazing, to say the least. Several mimes keeled over, but they were just miming it. The rest of the mimes covered their ears. In a quick flash of sign language, the one who seemed to be the alpha mime motioned their exit. The mimes hastily beat a retreat.

The mimes’ invisible boxes began to disintegrate, and the conference members broke free, one by one. Seifer let out a long breath as the invisible ropes around him vanished. A quick look around the room confirmed our worst fears. They had taken Gordon.

“Government mimes,” Seifer breathed. I raised a questioning eyebrow. This was a conference called by the government. Why would the government’s own mimes attack? “Or rather, they used to be. Remember that series of experiments and alterations the CIA did on mimes a few years back? They broke free, and were never heard from again.”

“Until now.” I had remembered reading of the government’s experiments to create the so-called “Mind Mimes” in my copy of Anarchist Monthly a few years back. The CIA had gone ahead and experimented on them before they were fully tamed. Big mistake. They had broken free and caused havoc, before mysteriously disappearing.

“Well. We may have won this battle…”

[The Stranger]

Divine Blessings

“It’s my duty as the strong to oppose any who threaten the weak
It’s my honor to keep safe Mirrodins secrets, not to use them
My destiny is to save others, so theirs can be fulfilled
My shield of light will admit no shadow
I hereby dedicate my body to my country
And my life to my king.”

5 years later

The door of the main hall smashed open with a loud BANG! In the entrance a fierce man appeared. Whispers went around the main hall. Who was this man that so ruthlessly disturbed the meeting? Shocked, the audience looked to the man, as he walked towards the king.

“Who are you, and how dare you to disturb the king like this,” a man who sat right to the king asked: “Identify yourself!”
“It’s enough Darell, stop before you make a fool out of yourself,” the king spoke.
“But, my lord”
“Enough is enough, Darell”
“Now, if you wouldn’t mind, tell us your name stranger?” the king gently asked.
“My name is Gerrard, my lord,” the stranger replied as he kneeled: “Captain on the eastern borders, my lord.
“I suppose you have a good reason to disturb my meeting, on a kind…let’s say unpleasant way.”
“I do, my lord. General Ullrich had send me here with a urgent message my lord.”
“Well, why keep us waiting?”
“2 days ago a scout reported people fleeing towards our lands. He asked one of the refugees about the cause of their sudden flight. The answer was quit disturbing. A Phyrexian army is marching our way, murdering and looting anything in their path.”
“Quite unnerving news, lad. Sit down, while we will discuss this matter.”

The stranger now known as Gerrard, bowed before the king before he went to the place assigned to him. He only casted one look on the man that shouted at him when he entered.
His name was Darell. He was known to be silent as a serpent, twisted as a lone bog and evil as the devil’s heart.

“My brothers in arms,” the king started: “ as you might have heard, we now must discuss a dangerous matter. A Phyrexian army has been send our way, to demolish everything that we call our homes. Our armies can never rival the Phyrexians. No matter what choice we will make today, it will seal the faith of thousands. Any suggestions?”
It was like a cold wind had blown to the main hall. At the time the king was finished, there was no man who hadn’t felt a shiver go down his spine. When you would look around, all you would see is grim faces and nervously moving limbs. But no man opened his mouth. Until Darell stood up and said: “The paladins would be wise not to forget about the Balduvians. As these barbarians have turned the tide of more than one Phyrexian war…and I have no doubt they’ll do it again.”
Now it was Gerrard, the stranger that arose.
“My lord, I don’t think it is a good idea. Nothing is sacred to these rats. Everything is simply another loot. Besides, we’ve been victim of their treachery and ambitions on more then one occasion. Why won’t the betray us again?”
“But my king, if we don’t hire them, Mirrodin will be lost,” Darell panted.
As the king stood up to speak, both men sat down. “All in favor to hire Balduvian mercenaries, raise their hands.
A wave of hands descended into the air. It was a undeniable fact, that Gerrald had lost this cause. The Balduvians would be hired.

[Aenarion]

I'm in aswell in this one! Here is my story:

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Silent Night

The night was silent. As the first few shimmering lights glittered over the city. The only light to be seen, strangely enough was a small dot rising from the centre of the city until it reached a substantial height. The dot began to expand and expand, until it formed a ball of light. Its diameter reached the length of the whole city, covering it on all sides. The few people walking in the streets stared at this object. Suddenly the ball of light began to shrink again with a certain speed, until it became a dot again. A split of a second later the dot expanded and expanded, this time not stopping and in an instant it hit the city with terrible force…then there was darkness.

In a small village nearby, some of its inhabitants saw a great light coming from behind the hills. A deafening sound came dashing all over the area. Two minutes later, houses were being swept away and turned to dust; trees thrown in the air, … and chaos. Nobody had the chance to know what was happening, because as soon as they discovered the truth, they disappeared instantly.

Seen from above, the immense ball seemed to be gaining speed each time it expanded and destroyed cities, towns, villages, hamlets. A large crater was being created. As this explosion continued on its destructive path, people wandered: what was happening? Was this the end of the world? And suddenly darkness…
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Thanks,
Aenarion

[Hayduke]

The Squirrelslayer

Well practiced strokes propelled the canoe and its occupant swiftly down the Chenango. On his way to trade his furs downriver, his body piloted the canoe without conscious thought; his mind occupied itself by contemplating his past. An amused snort punctuated the remembrance of the fateful shot that inspired the name his adopted tribe gave him. It was an exceptionally lucky shot that pinioned two squirrels with one arrow at the height of their passions. Squirrelslayer would not have been the name he chose for himself, but most people seemed to react favorably to it; some even laughed till they cried when they learned the tale of how he earned it.
The sun was quite high, and Squirrelslayer decided it was a good time to seek some shade and break his fast, so he dexterously stroked to the east bank. When he reached it, he threw the paddle ashore. One hand carried his musket while the other dragged the canoe a few feet up the bank. The brush behind him exploded as a brave, hatchet raised, closed the gap between them. Without enough time to put finger to trigger, Squirrelslayer swung his musket in a wide arc, striking the brave a blow which knocked him on his back. With musket raised and while pondering what action to take next, Squirrelslayer’s curiosity prompted him to ask, “Why did you attack me young brave?”
Still out of breath from running along the bank as fast as the river flows while following his target, the brave managed to say, “I must take a warrior’s own scalp to my chief, so I can take my Man’s name.”
The Slayer replied with a snort of disgust, “You made a poor choice of targets, brave. Even if you took this scalp off this head, you could not take it from me. It is not mine.”
Rising to his feet and a non-aggressive stance the brave replied incredulously, “I’m at your mercy. Must I listen to your poor jokes as well?”
“No joke. My grandparents were taken from the Coast of Ivory across the ocean and were sold to a merchant in New York. My mother, she gave me to an Iroquois squaw, so my owner would not have me, and I could live like a free-man. So you see, this scalp, it’s not mine, and if you had taken it, you would have taken it from the man who owns me,” Squirrelslayer said with a smirk and a tone that expressed his cynical opinion.
If possible the young Indian looked even more confused and said, “I will never understand the ways of the white-man. My people capture prisoners. They obey, or they die, but if they escape, they are no longer a prisoner. How can one man own another?”
To which Squirrelslayer replied, “It is a thing the white people call the Law. You were born outside of it, and so I understand why it will not deter you from wanting my scalp. May I offer an alternative?” Without waiting he continued, “Come with me to the trading post. I’ll sell my skins and take the money to the fort. The captain there buys Indian scalps for two pounds. I’m sure for a few more he’d be willing to make himself or the King a quick profit and sell us one. Take it to your people and we can both be happy. I have no desire to kill you.”
Only a quick nod signified the young brave’s assent and Squirrelslayer, in a gesture of trust, turned his back to retrieve his supplies and begin his breakfast. An almost inaudible sound of grinding gravel reached his ear, and he knew the brave had leapt and a collision was imminent. He twisted, fell, and shot from the hip. The brave, pierced through the heart, landed beside him. Squirrelslayer chided himself. It was foolish to expect the brave to honor their agreement. Thinking he would keep a promise to an enemy was even more foolish than thinking he would understand slavery. Squirrelslayer promised himself to always remember that the Indian and the white man were from different worlds and that he would try and take the good from each and leave the rest.
Gazing sorrowfully at the young warrior who only had moments yet to live he said, “Tell me your name, brave, so I can pray for you and honor you in the way of my people.”
With the brave’s last breath he whispered, “Laughing Squirrel.”
The slayer raised his arms to the sky and shouted, “Ah, to be the Squirrelslayer. Ah, humanity!”

[Copperhaired Berserker!]

Here's mine. Hope I do a good story for once.

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The alien's great fault

Yeah, I'm in trouble. Have to go to the gallows, you see. Could've been worse. Could've been chucked into a lion case. You get resurrected in there 20 times, so the pain is so bad, you'd rather drown yourself 40 times. I was escorted through the streets.

Why was I in trouble? Too old, that's why. 300 years old me is. The gits think I'm the devil's warrior. Think I must be the warrior, as the only person who could be that old is a warrior of the devil. Goodness, they made me 300 years old!

Some machine enhanced my life span, of course they made me 300 years old to make a excuse to kill me. Damn aliens. The planet Earth is suffering because of them. I saw my planet being destroyed because of these aliens.

People were running through these streets, that were basicilly machinery, no nature at all in there. Big machines, like the ones out of War of the Worlds, chased those people and caught them with ease using large, mettalic claws to pick them up. They bashed those people off bulidings and chucked them onto a basket attached at the bottom of the thing.

I was pushed out into a arena where men and women were slaughtered by the thousands. I was sweating buckets and was pouring tears all over my wrinkled face. I saw those gallows. For extra pain they strucked victims with spears.

I screamed,"Why do we live!?!?!?!? What point is there to live if you slimy gits try and kill us!" The aliens charged at me with weapons, because I insulted them. I closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable.

Then they stopped. They all screamed in pain as something seemed to eat away their body. I could not see it. Then it dawned on me. Bacteria. Invisible, minute, bacteria.

I thought now I was the only human on earth, alone as I knew those aliens would die right now. I saw that I was getting younger.

Alien DNA changed me. Why I was older. Those aliens believed in Heaven and Hell. But was differeint from our religion. Alien DNA was dying and I was turning back to normal. Explains why I got into this mess. I found this out as something seemed to tell me why.

Then I saw another human. A woman. My wife. It was two remaining people on Earth. I was now with my wife. And now.... we would start all over again.

Berserker!