tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-44219153281398265362024-03-05T05:06:01.597-08:00Odie BracySHORT FICTIONS, LONG TALES, AND ENTERTAINING LIESOdiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10640581334924139121noreply@blogger.comBlogger8125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4421915328139826536.post-57776896821728814092015-05-20T19:10:00.000-07:002015-05-20T19:10:39.238-07:00Wreck-Age: The Science and the Art<i>I stumbled on this story while going through some old files.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>It's a short fluff piece I wrote for the rulebook for Wreck Age, by Hyacinth Games. And when I say short, I mean short. Embarrassing really, because not only was it all I was able to finish in the days leading up to my daughter being born (and thus the last thing I had time to write for some time afterwards), but also because I lost touch with the guys at Hyacinth, and coupled with some internal production problems of their own, I actually don't know if they used this story in the book(!).</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Anyway...this was for one of their post-apocalypse factions, The Stitchmen - the last surviving doctors of the apocalypse who stole bodies and used the parts to keep themselves alive.</i><br />
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<i>Enjoy.</i><br />
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“The science of it is done.”</div>
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The Doctor startled himself with the sound of his voice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not because he was speaking to an empty
room (for in his old age the Doctor had become quite used to talking to
himself), but rather, because he had never truly contemplated the futility of
his works until the truth came tumbling from his lips.</div>
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Long before the world caught fire, there were new things to
learn, and endless discoveries to be made.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once, he and his fellow doctors had the luxury to improve
upon the medicine and not just manipulate it for survival.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was room to innovate, and each
new day would bring a new discovery, a new technique.</div>
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And the world loved them for it.</div>
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They had been gods among men, with the ability to cure the
sick and give life to the dying at their fingertips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They worked in pristine sanctuaries devoted to their crafts
with gleaming tools, and their triumphs were celebrated across all of humanity as
they lifted mankind ever upward towards perfection.</div>
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But the world had changed, and now they were forced to hide
their talents from a society superstitious of anything above the most homespun
salves and remedies. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>A society who
eyed their great works with the same suspicion afforded to that of the common
criminal.</div>
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They were demons living among animals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were bogeymen, and monsters in the
night.</div>
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They were the Stitchmen.</div>
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Hiding themselves away in whatever secret holes they could
find, they used the last of their skills, not for the benefit of mankind, but
simply to…what?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Continue
living?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was that the last legacy
that remained to them - to simply carry on?</div>
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Secreted away from the accusing eyes of a society who didn’t
have the ability to recognize the magnitude of the doctor’s talents, their vast
knowledge reduced to the mere repetition of refreshing their bodies with
whatever scraps of flesh they could scrounge from the wastelands?</div>
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The Doctor sighed and shook his head as he looked at the filth
of the room surrounding him – how far had he fallen that <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">this</i> was now considered fit to perform his surgeries.</div>
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Yes, sadly the science of it may be done… A spark flickered
in the old man’s brain.</div>
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He licked his thin, dry lips and whispered, “But what of the
art of it?”</div>
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Their operating rooms were once called “theaters” – could
they not become places of great art once again?</div>
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Could the repetition make way for the mastery of the act,
just as innovation could fall away in the pursuit of perfection in it all?</div>
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Hadn’t he taken those ancient medical oaths, those promises
to serve mankind, to use his knowledge to heal all of humanity’s ailments?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Didn’t he owe it to them to remain,
despite their wishes, to drag them kicking and screaming like newborn babes
into the future along with him?</div>
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“Yes, of course!” he told himself.</div>
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He and his fellow Stitchmen would be the progenitors of a
brave new world that would rise from the ashes of the old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He would make humanity see that he did
this for them, whether they liked it or not, and in time the Stitchmen would be
gods once again!</div>
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The Doctor broke from his reverie as his assistant wheeled a
fresh corpse into the operating room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Doctor gazed down at it with an almost religious awe.</div>
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<br /></div>
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“Is everything okay, Doctor?” the assistant asked, although
he could tell by the look on the surgeon’s face that he had been talking to
himself again, and he knew it had been the same conversation the Doctor had
every time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Doctor’s body may regain
its strength with every new transplant, but over the many lifetimes the Doctor
had lived, his mind was slipping into the well-worn groove of senility.</div>
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“Yes, yes, thank you…everything is…perfect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Scalpel please,” the Doctor said.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And the Stitchman began to cut.</div>
Odiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10640581334924139121noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4421915328139826536.post-78364320004141154732015-03-03T14:17:00.003-08:002015-03-03T14:31:06.815-08:00Heavy StaticWhen I first started this blog, I decided that I would keep it as clean, concise, and as focused on my fiction work as possible. That meant no editorializing about nonsense topics, talking about myself, or posting anything on the blog that wasn't either a free fiction story, or some kind of notice about a piece of my writing that was about to be released elsewhere.<br />
<br />
Well, this is sort of all of those things wrapped into one post...sort of. And it should be the last time I do this kind of post.<br />
<br />
I've recently been exploring the deeper connections between creative inspiration, process, and the finished artistic product, and have started a sort of sister-blog to work in tandem with the free fiction blog here.<br />
<br />
This new blog is <a href="http://heavystatic.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Heavy Static</a>.<br />
<br />
On Heavy Static you'll be able to find a madhouse collection of articles, links, pictures, and musings on all of the things that inspire me creatively across a wide host of artistic disciplines - everything from authors, artists, comics, film and television, gaming, crime, horror, occult, grimdark, and creative and productivity processes of all types.<br />
<br />
I want to gather together all of the things that I love, mash them all
up in one spot, and see what kind of projects I can synthesize out of
them. Heavy Static will be my R&D department where I can
experiment with all sorts of creative...things, and see what works
before taking it out to the showroom floor here on on this blog, or out into the wider world for publication.<br />
<br />
I hope you'll check it out, and I hope you'll get as much enjoyment out of it as I will.Odiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10640581334924139121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4421915328139826536.post-70429190392260937552015-02-13T14:12:00.004-08:002015-02-18T14:20:42.301-08:00Ghost Town<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidIrM7jzuxOezFoEklGTjeagzfZLHl1dXrMgdesLgtM_PUNTkkqkfBc8iXMGnV-XFSzTZMOzSxfKJarGiUtMX1x51xR-ISr8YmIDToDT-e9znLWJX77zZVVWQ2EeUULy8KSQwNX4JVdQE/s1600/Ghost+Town+Cover+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidIrM7jzuxOezFoEklGTjeagzfZLHl1dXrMgdesLgtM_PUNTkkqkfBc8iXMGnV-XFSzTZMOzSxfKJarGiUtMX1x51xR-ISr8YmIDToDT-e9znLWJX77zZVVWQ2EeUULy8KSQwNX4JVdQE/s1600/Ghost+Town+Cover+1.jpg" height="320" width="192" /></a></div>
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This is a favorite comic project that I did a while back, but sadly, despite interest from publishers it never got off the ground for multiple reasons.<br />
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Art by Riley Rossmo. <br />
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I may end up novelizing this before too long.<br />
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Click the link below to read the full first issue. <br />
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<a name='more'></a><br />
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Odiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10640581334924139121noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4421915328139826536.post-35787394231776401082014-01-06T09:08:00.000-08:002015-02-13T13:08:04.415-08:00Hell Dorado: Inferno - Demons<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This is the introductory story I wrote for the Demons Faction, originally published in the Hell Dorado: Inferno expansion rulebook for the <a href="https://cipher-studios.com/store/index.php?main_page=index&cPath=36_46&zenid=f64huets8e33v08phdhnt9fui5" target="_blank">Hell Dorado</a> miniatures skirmish game by <a href="http://cipher-studios.com/" target="_blank">Cipher Studios</a>.<br />
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From the Memoirs of Brother Francois Gillmartin</div>
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Brother of the Order of Shining Light, Excommunicated</div>
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Discovered in the ruins of the garrison at Forsworn Pass,
Outer Circle of Hell</div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">To whoever may find
these words, may they shed light on the horrors that have happened here, and
may that light guide you to safer pastures</i>.</div>
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It has been five years since the Earthly world Above
discovered the gates to Hell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
say “Discovered”, but in truth that may not be the right word, for in my
estimation the gates had always been there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were simply waiting for some unknown signal to reveal
themselves to mankind.</div>
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Where it is rumored that the Saracen cracked the gates wide
by design, it is my belief that for the West, it was the blood of battle shed
between brothers that allowed the Gate to Hell to yaw open before our
people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps we had to become
not unlike demons ourselves, to be deemed worthy of free passage into the
Inferno.</div>
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To this day I am still amazed that our lust for expansion
and acquisition holds such few limitations, that once the Gate was revealed to
us, we set our hearts towards scrawling our names across the very stuff of
myths and legend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What was once
allegory upon which our religions had been founded, we now sought to write
ourselves into by way of war and conquest.</div>
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Maybe this is merely human nature.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps our discovery of the Underworld was that last
temptation of mankind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
temptation made to test us that we could leave some mysteries intact, and
resist the urge to defile the landscape of the spiritual as we have already
defiled the physical.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, having
failed that test will soon face Hell’s repercussions for our imprudence.</div>
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Perhaps if I had resisted this urge in my own soul I could
have avoided having to write these words, that fate would have found
another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But no...I know now that
it had to be me.</div>
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My father was a wealthy merchant from Lyon, and as the son
of such affluence, I was destined to a life of courtly leisure rather than that
of toil and labor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite my
fortunate lot, I desired something greater than the simple dichotomy of feast
or famine, and decided to forge a path of my own design — one of the mind and
soul.</div>
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As a child, my insatiable desire for knowledge knew no
bounds, and I would spend endless hours teasing the answers to the universe
from whatever texts and teachings I could lay my hands on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I grew into adulthood, I obliged
myself as apprentice to a succession of scholars and craftsmen who trained me
in a myriad array of trades and teachings. Soon, I had mastered as many of the
physical and philosophical arts as I deemed worthy of my attention, and I was
certain that it was within the intangible mysteries of religion where I would
find the answers I sought.</div>
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Against my family’s wishes I took the monastic vows, and devoted
myself to a monk’s life of quiet contemplation within the Order of Shining
Light.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For years I pondered in
solitude the meaning of life, and man’s place within God’s grand design.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Looking back, I freely admit that I knew full well the
outcome of that venture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To all
outward appearances it seemed as if I had seen the glory of God’s light, and
entered as a faithful servant, devoted to carrying out His will.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But somewhere deep within my soul, I
knew that I entered as a scholar, not as an acolyte, and my interest in the
church was merely a means to an end.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Still, I was not satisfied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was something missing, some vital link between the
world of faith and the world of the mundane that eluded me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I saw my answer the day the Gate opened at Magdeburg—I knew
that my future lay within the infernal depths of Hell.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On pretense of pilgrimage, I travelled to the rapidly
expanding outpost the questing forces had named New Jerusalem. As I marveled at
the terrible grandeur of Hell, I knew that this place was the key to my
mysteries; the abstract made real, gospel made flesh, at last.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It makes me laugh now to think of my naiveté during my first
secretive forays into understanding Hell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As a man of the church, I believed that my careful inquiries would arouse
suspicion, when in reality I could have run headlong into the darkest corners
of everything that Hell and New Jerusalem had to offer, and it would have
raised nary an eyebrow of my fellow explorers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once I saw this revelation for what it was, my studies
became more brazen with each passing day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are things of this time that I will not speak of
here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each experience proved a
valuable tool in my instruction, but for the sake of my conscience and the good
name of my family, I will not commit my actions to record.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Suffice it to say, my monastic brethren eventually
discovered my activities, and the heads of the Order were forced to remove me
from their ranks as punishment.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Despite the nature of my excommunication from the church,
and subsequent dismissal from the brotherhood, I still consider myself a man of
faith.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But as to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">which</i>
faith?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ah, there is a worthy
question. For now I am an observer, and am satisfied to simply watch until I
can determine who can properly be called the architect of life’s grand scheme.
Perhaps my real faith lies in that of Man as the true inheritor of eternity—the
privileged kings of Heaven and Earth—if we could only find a way to reach high
enough to grasp it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Free from the restraints of the church, I consorted with
mercenaries and other such men-for-hire, and soon began to sell my services as
advisor to questing parties set out to explore the wilds of Hell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All but the dullest captains and
explorers knew I was no longer a proper member of the church, but it was the
semblance of the thing that eased their minds along their journeys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, my reputation became such that
I was hired by many a group where the veneer of holiness was preferable to
their business than the actual moral observation of God’s will.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In simpler terms, I gave them God’s permission, without the
guilt of His judgment – it still astounds me what horrors a man can commit when
he believes God justifies his actions. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If I was ever still during this time, it was not for lack of
work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For five years the Western
nations continued their expansion in earnest, and with astounding ease, managed
to plant their flags of conquest over a vast expanse of the Outer Circle, and I
travelled on many of the expeditions that required communication with the
natives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Word of the…<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">questionable</i> activities of my past had
spread to various military leaders, and although I by no means consider myself
a demonologist, my knowledge of and interest in the demonic population of Hell
became very much in demand when deals were to be struck with the local Barons
and Lords of the land the demons knew as Kohut.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was through
compacts with these denizens of Hell that I negotiated the downfall of no fewer
than three fiefdoms in the region to petty uprisings that overthrew their
demonic masters, and turned control of their lands over to the waiting armies
of New Jerusalem.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Still, we pushed further, ever onward, ever outward, the
Western forces never resting until all of Hell would cower beneath their
banners.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their insatiable progress
was a mirror in which my own lust for knowledge was reflected back at me – the
more we gained, the more we wanted, until now, sadly, recklessness on both our
parts has led us to what will surely be the ruin of us all.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The garrison at Forsworn Pass was a recent outpost built at
the outermost edge of Western control.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was one of many new military emplacements intended to solidify the
Western power’s position in the region, with Forsworn Pass, specifically, being
the staging point for expeditions from Kohut into the neighboring Circle of
Thebaide.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My inclusion to the camp was an advisory one, instructing
expeditionary recruits on demonic organization and hierarchy, and giving them
the full benefit of my years of study on the subject of the Underworld, before
they were sent through the great veil of darkness that would take them to the
next circle.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had not been at the fort long before realizing that this
assignment had been an easy posting for its men, and as such, the garrison’s
soldiers had become slothful, and lax in their duties.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With almost no resistance from demon or
mortal alike, the garrison’s Commander Ambroise and his men had succumbed to
poor discipline, as if Hell had already fallen to Western rule.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was no surprise then to me, when the
safety we had believed, came crashing down around us.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The guards found the woman standing quietly in front of the
garrison’s main gates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though it
was close to morning, the sky still hung with the murky gloom that signified
night in the Outer Circle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nevertheless,
her appearance sent the fort into panicked disarray and sleeping soldiers were
woken to full alert.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Those guards stationed at the approach to the garrison swore
it was this darkness that allowed her to slip by their watch, and make her way
up the pass to the very entrance of the outpost undetected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Likewise, the guards at the gate itself
claimed that she appeared out of nowhere, as if the darkness itself dropped her
at their doorstep.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Watch Captain, on the other hand, placed the blame on
the suspicious disappearance of a crate of wine from the garrison’s storeroom,
whose bottles were found empty at both posts.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She was young and pretty but little more than a girl, dark
haired and dark eyed, with skin the pale of cream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her simple dress was the coarse weave of a peasant’s gown,
but the way she walked as the guards muscled her through the gates into the
garrison’s courtyard, suggested a formality of grace I hadn’t seen since my
youth at my father’s estate, and the courtly ladies that he entertained
there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite her bare and
bloodied feet, and the excruciating pain she must have suffered with every
step, her timid smile was the very picture of tranquility.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I do not know if it had been some spell sent to cloud my
judgment, the stolen wine I had shared with the guards over the evening, or my
own curiosity of what was to happen next, but something held my tongue when I
realized what she was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I choose to
believe that my warnings would not have made a difference in the end, but there
is a part of my soul that nags at me that I had betrayed my mortal brethren
then, for the unholy pursuit of knowledge that has consumed my time in Hell.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Commander Ambroise had been sent for, and joined the
commotion in the courtyard shortly after.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As he arrived, the Commander looked over the poor maiden who had since
been shackled at the wrists, and forced to her knees by the nervous Watch
Captain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The woman showed no
emotion to her rough treatment; she simply smiled at her handlers in the most
pleasant of manners.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What is the meaning of this?” the Commander blurted to his
men – the tone and slur of his words told me that he too had been drinking long
into the night.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Watch Captain quietly stepped to the Commander’s ear and
began to explain how they had found the young woman, but before the Captain had
finished his report, Ambroise started to laugh and pushed his aide away.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Her?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s no
more than a child!” the Commander laughed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Quite a brave lot of soldiers I have under my command, that
a peasant girl can set their fears alight!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But sir…”, the Captain tried to explain, but the Commander
had already grown tired of the disturbance and wanted nothing more than to
return to his bed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Enough, Captain.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The Commander waved the Captain and his explanations aside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Put her in stocks or send her away, it
makes no difference to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just
don’t wake me again until morning.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The lout’s overconfidence enflamed me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That he could dismiss the sudden
appearance of a stranger in the middle of his camp – and against the backdrop
of Hell no less – was a shining example of the false sense of superiority that
the Western forces had adopted over the years of easy victories in the Outer
Circle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the shameful light of
the Commander’s indifference to military discipline, I admit to a certain
thrill at what was to come.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As the Commander started back towards his quarters, the
woman finally spoke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though her
words were quiet, and she spoke them plainly, her voice rippled out through the
ranks of soldiers surrounding her with the sound of a knife on the grindstone,
and the gnawing of bones.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“By the hand of my master, the Fallen Angel Abezeth, you all
will die this day,” the woman said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Commander turned back slowly, too stunned to speak.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To hear her voice was to have the worst
of a man’s fears and disgraces dragged up from the pit of his soul, and laid
out for him to see all at once.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Had I not accepted that I was already damned years earlier, I might have
joined the few guards who fell to the ground weeping openly at the shame of
their pasts now revealed to them.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Commander tried to stammer out a response, but he was
stopped short as the woman stood and broke the iron chains that bound her
wrists as easily as if she had been shackled by a single thread.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She spoke again, and men wailed as they ran from the sound
of her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The mortal’s time in Hell
is at an end, and by the authority of Lucifer Himself, your kind shall be wiped
from its face.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Only the Watch Commander was able to speak.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Lies!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing more than the boasting nonsense of another petty
Demon Lord, come to test his mettle against the might of New Jerusalem!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bold words, but the waver in the Captain’s voice reminded me
of a frightened child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As if to
punctuate his fears, a low rumble of drums began to beat time from outside the
garrison’s walls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The demon woman smiled
broadly at the Captain, and when she did the corners of her mouth split her
face from ear to ear, nearly bisecting her head on a wide, unnatural hinge.
“The archangel Abezeth, the Sword of Lucifer, comes to deliver your doom.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Those of us able to move ran to the garrison’s open gates
and looked out into the distance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The sky was beginning to lighten with the morning, and by the dawn of
the new day, I could see an army of the damned, greater than any I had ever
seen, descending upon us with tremendous speed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I watched their approach, I felt a warm hand gently take
my arm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I turned away from the
advance of death to find myself face to horrible face with the woman as she put
her arm in mine like two lovers out for a stroll through the countryside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She whispered softly, “Stay with
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It will all be over soon.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And it was.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To call it a battle would be a gross overstatement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was, without argument, nothing short
of a slaughter.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No resistance by the Western soldiers was given.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those who did not run were cut down
instantly by the demons that poured into the garrison’s confines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those who fled were quickly caught and
torn limb from limb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So mesmerized
were they by this sudden turn of events, I swear I saw the Captain and
Commander both offer up their necks to the blade when Hell swept through their
camp.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The bloodshed raged around me, but as I was with the woman,
I remained untouched by the violence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then, as quickly as it had begun, the fight was over.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I marveled at the carnage that surrounded me, and watched as
fires were lit one by one to burn the garrison to the ground.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A voice with the echoes of distant thunder spoke from behind
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Is this the one?” it asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The woman turned me to face the speaker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes, my Lord Abezeth,” she cooed,
“This is the one you wanted.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I looked up into the face of the being that towered
over me, I wept – not from fear, but from the sheer perfection of his
countenance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His features were
carved as if from living marble.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>His armor gleamed and burned with hate—forged from the very stuff of war
itself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From his back a single
wing rose up, its partner ripped away as a broken stump.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Before me, tainted though he may have been, stood that which
I had imagined man could someday attain to – soul made flesh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before me stood the angel Abezeth.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His eyes were fire, and I felt him look deep into my soul
and gaze at the darkness I carried with me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We know you,” his voice rolled through the now burning
garrison, and the flames jumped higher as he spoke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You wish to learn.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes,” I whispered.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Then you will watch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You will study, and you will learn,” he said, “And you will chronicle my
punishments on those who have trespassed into Hell.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I will,” I answered, and found that at some point in my
reply, I had fallen to one knee in act of fealty to my new master.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Satisfied, he walked away, his gibbering demon soldiers
following on his heels.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Much as I had witnessed the massed ranks of the Archangel’s
demonic horde across the great landscape of the plains of Hell, I now see the
inevitable war for dominance that looms on the horizon.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There was only ever one intended path to Hell, and having
found a more convenient route we have disturbed the balance of the cosmos.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A balance that Hell, in all its fury, intends to correct.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Hell Dorado and Hell Dorado:Inferno is </i>© Cipher Studios. <i>Story used with permission.</i></div>
Odiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10640581334924139121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4421915328139826536.post-44349138028712979872013-12-10T16:45:00.001-08:002015-02-18T14:19:18.075-08:00Pavlov's God<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Art by <a href="http://www.studiosputnik.com/" target="_blank">Steven Sanders</a>Odiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10640581334924139121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4421915328139826536.post-92147205610615051232013-12-10T16:41:00.001-08:002015-02-18T14:20:01.997-08:00Pests<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Art by <a href="http://edeart.itsartmag.com/" target="_blank">Engin Deniz Erbas</a><br /><table class="user"><tbody>
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Odiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10640581334924139121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4421915328139826536.post-52409724695232646512013-12-10T16:38:00.001-08:002015-02-18T14:20:27.546-08:00Disgruntled<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Art by Juan MorenoOdiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10640581334924139121noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4421915328139826536.post-66929986582962242542013-10-10T13:09:00.003-07:002015-02-13T13:10:15.150-08:00Letters During Wartime: Cola Wars<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">One of the greatest resources an historian can use to gain insight into any given time period is the first person account of its citizens on the world around them. This has proven especially true during times of war, since</span>, when a nation's populace is thrown into disarray by conflict, often times the only surviving historical records are those written and kept by partisan officials, who by their nature will be biased as to the health and stability of their political charge. Surprisingly, it has proven time and again, that the most reliable and numerous accounts during times of military action come not from those at home, but from the correspondence of the soldiers themselves, who would send regular letters to loved ones in an attempt to alleviate and assuage their fears of the dangers at the front line.</i><br />
<br />
<i>Those letters recovered and preserved from the Cola Wars, remain as some of history's greatest social document resources to date. Here are excerpts from some of the most revealing letters kept on record.</i><br />
<br />
<i>- Dudley P. Ackleman Ph.D.</i>, <i>Professor of Refreshment Studies</i><br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
<i> </i><b> </b><br />
<u><b>The Futility of War</b></u><br />
<b><br /></b>
<i>The most common theme of soldier's letters home was the philosophical musing on the true purpose of war, and what would become the ultimate cost of both the lives and souls of those that fought in it.</i><br />
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<br />
My Dearest Beatrice,<br />
<br />
It has been five long months since I left you and the children, and there has not been a day of it that I have not thought of you and wished I could hold you all in my arms.<br />
Every night I am able to sleep, I close my eyes praying that I will dream of your smiling face, only to wake screaming from another nightmare of fields strewn with broken bottles and cans dented beyond repair. I have seen many horrible things since I joined the ranks, and to my
shame, I admit that I have done far worse than I thought I was ever
capable in the name of refreshment.<br />
There was a time when we all fought under the same banner, Thirst our common enemy, but this war of soda against soda...I just don't know the point of it anymore, and I fear what kind of cola I will be when, God willing, I return home.<br />
<br />
Love, Coca-Cola<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<u><b>Morality and Consequences</b></u><br />
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<i>The ethical costs of war weighed heavily on the hearts and minds of those who served during the Cola Wars. Historians are hard-pressed to find a soda who, at one time or another, didn't question the morality of war, and wonder if their actions didn't have ramifications that extended beyond the battlefield.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
Harriet,<br />
<br />
Words cannot express my devastation as I read in your letter of our dear Crystal, finally succumbing to the vagueries of consumption.This war has broken my body and spirit in ways I thought not possible, but the loss of our daughter has truly broken my heart in two.<br />
I am reminded of the day that New Coke finally fell on the battlefield, and was struck down into discontinuation. I admit that I rejoiced in his passing with the rest of the sodas, cursing Coca-Cola's name as we celebrated. I wonder now if the loss of our daughter is God's way of punishing me for my callousness at another cola's loss of their child.<br />
I will carry on as I must, but I can only hope that I will have the strength of will to forge ahead through this pain.<br />
<br />
Yours, Pepsi <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<u><b>The Inequalities of War</b></u><br />
<br />
<i>While the Cola Wars were primarily thought of as a battle between the major cola-flavored sodas that gave the war its name, much of the fighting was done by other-flavored soft drinks, their contributions on the front lines often overlooked because of their social standing of the time.</i><br />
<br />
Dear Mabel,<br />
<br />
Things are okay here for the most part. They treat me fine for what it's worth, but when it comes time for a place in the chow line or a turn at latrine duties, it's obvious that a cola is a cola, but if you're lemon-lime you're barely a soda to them. From time to time we've heard them call us un-colas when our backs are turned, and yesterday I had to hold Sprite back from hitting an officer who said as much when he thought we wasn't listening. Seems they're happy enough to have us when the fighting breaks out, but the only time they see us as equals is when we're standing in front of a bullet. I know you said that it wasn't our fight and that I was asking for trouble when I joined up, but me and the boys stick together and look out for each other. I still believe that the end of this war will level the field, and a beverage won't be judged by his coloring or flavoring.<br />
<br />
Love, 7-up <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<u><b>Deception in the Ranks</b></u><br />
<br />
<i>One of the most common worries of a soldier during wartime wasn't for his own safety, but for the safety and security of the ones they left behind. A soda was more than likely the main wage earner for a family, and without their presence at the homestead, many were uncertain as to the state of the home they hoped to return to. Some sodas went to drastic measures to ensure that the family was well cared for.</i><br />
<br />
Dear Martha,<br />
<br />
When you finish reading this letter, I beg you to burn it in the stove and hide half of the enclosed money in a place that only you would know about. I know there is more here than you were expecting when I signed up, but the thought of you alone without me home to work put me in a panic, and when I saw at the enrollment station that an army doctor ranked a higher pay grade, I enlisted myself as a medic.<br />
I've had enough practice tending to the injuries and ailments of the animals there at the farm to make a passing show of it, and I've been seconding to the more experienced doctors here during basic training to learn on what I need to, but I'm scared of what will happen when I'm sent off to the front to tend a regiment of my own.<br />
A soda came in the other day with his bottle cap taken clean off, and I almost gave myself up right then and there, it was all too much to look at. Then I thought of you and the house, and I knew this was something I had to do to make sure you were safe.<br />
You can't tell nobody about this or else we might lose everything we've worked for. I'm sorry I've put you in this situation, but just remember I'm doing it for the good of our future.<br />
<br />
All my love, Pepper<br />
<i> </i><br />
<i> </i>Odiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10640581334924139121noreply@blogger.com0