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 Comedianmasta'a New Project Character Shorts (WWF) 
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Ace Trainer
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Hello Psypoke Fan Fiction Community. While Cleansing Warswick goes through the (very tough) publishing phase they asked me not to post/repost any material on the matter, and if it does get fully published to remove all traces of it off the net. So, I've been fooling around with some ideas that I shall now post here. I do not have a name for this project yet, only that it is after my other one, Chivalry is Dead, and that it is my very first (second literally) Fantasy project.

What I shall now post are two seperate stories, both in my "world". The background behind this is my thinking: Why is Fantasy always set in the middle ages? What happens after that... through time? What would stay the same? What would change? You'll notice many things change about our history and future as I take you to 1950 durring the era of Elves, Dwarves, Humans, Goblins, Nazis, Magic, and total fantasy!

Many of these shall be my character helpers, which will help develope characters. But the first does no such thing. Neither character shall make it into the book, but the incedent is very famous to the book. Ok, without further ado: I give you my project in the rough!

I must now ask that read at your own risk, Psypoke level K (I believe) and movie level PG-13. It is like all my stuff, violence, mil humor, and rare language. Not sure what's in these two exactly but I must always be sure for future events. Enjoy and post...

EDITED: Ok, this is just for quick ones. I've already begun the project but need a name. This forum will now be used for brainstorming purposes. Things liek the title of my book and other questions will be asked and brainstormered about in this thread. Please feel free to add and participate!


Soviet Union- Russia
May 2nd, 1948
City of Vlykar

Sergeant Vladimir Pyrcov- Russian 310th infantry Division

Lieutenant Kyle Wrendler- United States OSS

3:14 PM

The helicopter’s blades beat the air ever harder through the city as the fifth hour came to a close. Vladimir cocked a round into his PPSH Sub Machine Gun and adjusted his officer’s cap as his team stood to their feet. He had never flown in one of these contraptions before, and was still uneasy with them. He preferred a good tank and land groups instead of being in the air. These will never catch on, he had sworn.

He looked at the city, crumbling with age of war. The Goblins had done something new… something different to this city. He remembered the report; he was going to be the main push back in. The Goblins launched a strike of great proportions into Russia only a few weeks ago, and they bombarded the city of Vlykar for three days. On the fourth day, they stormed in under the cover of some sort of gas which was dropped in by Biplane cover. The gas didn’t seem to affect anything, at first…

Three hours later, nothing. Two days, not a soul… Man or Goblin.

The Goblin Horde near Shykrine backed off, and there has been nothing since. So now Mother Russia sends in Sergeant Vladimir Pyrcov and his squad with backup to see what is going on.

Vladimir reached to open the back ramp, but a hand gripped his shoulder suddenly, and he turned to glare at its owner.

“Not yet,” said a figure, as pale as snow.

Vladimir scowled; he never really did like Elves. Very few were found in Russia. Russia made it known its disgust with them and prejudice, and forced many of them out, despite their skills. This one was sent in to help by the Americans, along with a battalion of American soldiers and a group of other OSS soldiers. Vladimir thought that this was unnecessary, and that the war with the Goblins would soon be over and it would be the Russians invading Goblin homeland.

“I shall be very clear with you, American Elf,” spat Vladimir, “You are here because the OSS believes it needs to know what happened here. You are in no way my commander. Back off!”

The Elf stood ridged, and a cold look froze on his face. His pointed ears scanned the helicopter, before stopping in their normal place. He returned to his seat and crossed his arms. The Elf’s name was Lieutenant Kyle Wrendler. He hated every moment spent in Russia. It was cold, the Russians were hostile to everyone, expectably Elves, and he was the second of two elves sent here.

Kyle surveyed the small helicopter compartment. Three other smelly Russians were present, big, burly men they were. After closer examination, Kyle came to the conclusion that it was their coats and not their bodies that made them big. There was also two Dwarves in the helicopter, which impressed Kyle very slightly. Dwarves had all but disappeared from battlefields across the world since late in the Fourteen Hundreds. Now, in the Twentieth Century, Russia held the highest percentage of Dwarven soldiers at 15% of the Russian military force. The only Dwarven-Controlled country was Keitcherian bordering Poland and Germany and they were currently neutral in all aspects of any war except in supplies for the highest bidder.

A loud creak filled Kyle’s ears as Vladimir slammed the ramp opening lever and the ramp began to lower. The sounds of the helicopter blades rose and the city could be seen through the opening. It was blown out and destroyed, many building were crumbling from artillery bombardment and destruction. So many people used to live here, and now it was changed by war. Nothing could be seen, not even a body or body part. Even Kyle’s highly in tuned eyes could spot no sign of life down below. The other soldiers stood to their feet and the helicopter began to descend into a city square down below.

The helicopter hovered above the ground, and Vladimir leapt out and landed onto the tar of the street. Kyle was right next to him, followed by the others. Two more helicopters hovered in the air, high above the transport copter. They were smaller, consisting of the rounded cockpit welded to the wire frame and propellers. The contraptions looked as if they should never have been commissioned, but the American wasn’t much different and was in full production so it could not have been that far off.

Only then did Vladimir allow himself a look around the square. It had been set up as a wartime base of operations. Barbed wire, sandbag bunkers, and even some mortar bunkers were still fully set up and looked like they were ready to be used.

A lot of Mosin Nakin Bolt Action Rifles littered the ground, and some PPSH and Goblin Gnarled Root Rifles were also spotted by Vladimir. Kyle, with his keener vision, could spot some bullet casings on the ground. Kyle grabbed his two Magnums out of his side holsters, he should have brought another weapon besides a Lee Enfield that he could use in a dicey spot. He checked around as the helicopter began to rise.

The ramp closed, and the Helicopters took off in a group, leaving the group alone in the square. Two of the Russian soldier held Mosin Nakins, and looked around the area in fright. The dwarves and a burly Russian almost seemed pleased with the turn of events, and held double barreled shotguns. The Dwarves had sawed theirs down to a more manageable size, while the human clutched his full length.

Vladimir listened to the fading sound of the helicopters before turning to one of the smaller humans to his right and motioned to him. The soldier moved closer to the sergeant and stuck out his ear.

“Listen, Private Shiercov, we need to create a perimeter. Take Bolgar and head up that way, towards that bar there. Stay down and hidden, we will join you shortly. Rusnov! Chez! Stien! You will come with me and… the elf and we are heading down this way! Stay close!”

Kyle scowled, he really hated that man…

“Where are all the people?” said Rusnov in Russian, is deep voice ringing through the city, “All the Civilians? Even Goblins? I see nothing!”

“Be calm, Rusnov,” answered Vladimir in tough Russian, “I do not know where they are, but keep your eyes open. I sense a trap!”

“Goblins,” rumbled Chez from under his great beard, “I’ve never fought against such filth! How is it they band together without eating each other anyway?”

“They are disgusting, but they still have crossed our land so we treat them as any man or dwarf!” commanded Vladimir.

“God… look at this place?” said Kyle in English, “How could anyone live in such a place after this?”

“We do what we have always done,” answered Vladimir, in English, “We rebuild, we remake, we repopulate! We will win and we will prosper. It is the Russian way.”

“huh…yeah,” said Kyle under his breath and he continued to survey the wreckage of the city.

They traveled down the city street until the next intersection, where Vladimir commanded them to go right and back toward Shiercov and the others. Kyle rolled his eyes at the incompetent Russians, Shiercov and Bolgar, for their sad excuse for hiding. He picked them out as soon as the bar came into view around the corner. Vladimir called them out of hiding and they met in the cross section in the road, ignoring cover.

“Have you seen anyone?” asked Vladimir to Shiercov.

“No, Sergeant,” answered Shiercov, “I found nothing. You?”

“There is no sign of anyone in this forsaken city,” said Rusnov.

“Enough chatter,” interrupted Kyle, “Sergeant Pyrcov, please. We must make a plan of action before pickup. How do you suggest we survey the city?”

“Lieutenant, I was just about to get to that. You must be patient, elf. Ok. We should split up, and find the hall of records kept in the city capital. Then we need need a team to head up to the vlidal center on Shykal street. That is tallest building in city…”

As Vladimir rambled on, switching in and out of Russian, Kyle was drawn away by a sound. Some tables being shuffled aside in a café further down the street. Kyle had already holstered his magnums and unslung his Lee Enfield and aimed it down the street.

Vladimir must have mistook this as disinterest, for he ceased talking in Russian and ignored Kyle as he wandered further down the street. The small ruckus turned into a crash, and a figure stumbled out of the café.

Kyle stood more ridged, and he aimed at the figure. The figure slowly began staggering toward Kyle at a slow, painful pace.

“Sergeant!” yelled Kyle.

“Please, Lieutenant, I am busy!”

“Sergeant Pyrcov, there’s a person!”

The Russians quickly turned and aimed their rifles down the street, looking only for a moment for the figure. Vladimir pushed in front of everyone and walked up beside Kyle, readying his PPSH.

“You there!” yelled Vladimir, trying to draw the figure’s attention, “You, in order of the Red Army of Russia I order you to respond!”

The figure just rolled its head to gaze at the group of soldiers. It was then that Kyle saw it. It was human, a Russian citizen no doubt, but it was missing most of its face. Its left arm was left a stub just above the elbow, and its skin seemed a sickly pale-like green. It was unknown male or female for its hair was missing and most of its clothes were bloodstained.

“Oh my Gods…” murmured one of the Russian soldiers.

“Do you require medical assistance?” yelled Vladimir again.

“There’s more of them…” whispered Kyle through clenched teeth, as he could spot them through the windows and the wreckage of the city as they slowly made their way onto the street.

“Survivors?” another soldier asked.

“Why do you not respond!” yelled Bolgar.

Quietly, a small moan began to rise from some of the figures. At this point Kyle could hear that not all of them were human, but he only saw crumpled, injured bodies coming from the wreckage. The first figure outstretched its arms and began to limp towards the group. It allowed its mouth to drop open, a dark green liquid spilling outonto its cloths and onto the road. After a moment of bubbling, the mouth was empty and a monotonic moan erupted from the figure.

“Do not move! Stay where you are!” ordered Vladimir, aiming his weapon at the figure now.

The other soldiers took some steps back, but they readied their weapons.

“I ordered you to stop, or we will fire upon you!”

The figures still continued their slow march towards the soldiers. Kyle could take it no more. He aimed his rifle at the first figure and pulled the trigger. His bullet went right into its heart, and the figures body shuddered under the force of the bullet.

“Elf! How dare you!” yelled Vladimir in Russian, “I Did not order you to shoot them! How dare you fire on Russian Civilians without an order!”

“Sergeant,” called Shiercov in Russian, “Look…”

Vladimir looked, and his heart turned cold. The figure still came forward, unaffected by the bullet wound in its torso. Vladimir ruffled his eyebrows as the figure opened its mouth and a new groan erupted from its mouth.

“Impossible,” whispered Vladimir.

“It is not dead,” exclaimed Rusnov.

“No, that is just it,” replied Chez, “They are already dead. They are unaffected!”

“Kill them!” ordered Vladimir.

Gunshots erupted in the streets as the soldiers opened fire. Many of the victims bodies were riddled in bullets, and forced some of the figures to drop to the ground from their injuries. Kyle aimed for the head of the first figure, and fired. The figure’s head exploded and it crumpled onto the pavement.

Kyle put another round into the Lee Enfield and aimed again. His eyes caught it all. Even though many of them were falling, there was many more appearing from everywhere. Corner stores, buildings, alleyways, basements of stores. They all poured out onto the street, where the soldiers riddles their bodies with bullets.

“Back,” yelled Vladimir after finishing the rest of his clip into the crowd of figures, “We must retreat, we must get to the helicopters!”

Kyle took another shot and turned around, before stopping dead. Another crowd of the figures limped towards them from behind, and down either street to their sides. They were surrounded.


You shall notice how I do the begginings to try and help you understand more of what is going on, and the character(s) that are important. Pay attention, for it'll make this so much easier to understand. Many of these are subject to change/addition but odds of that happening are small.

North African British Empire- Mali
June 17th, 1949
Bridge of Komoko

Lieutenant Jacub Maxwell- United States OSS

12:46 PM

“Mr. Lieutenant!” nudged Anib, “Mr. Lieutenant!”

“Please, Anib,” said Jacub, rolling over and trying to hold onto the last remnants of his dream, “Call me Jake or Lieutenant Maxwell. Besides, I have four more minutes until-”

“Mr. Lieutenant,” interrupted Anib, “They are here! They are coming!”

Jacub Maxwell darted up, yanked from his sleep by reality, and he reached for his safari cap and Lee Enfield. He followed Anib on his stomach up to the observation post they had established over the ridge, overlooking the bridge. The African core had nearly started going over the bridge.

“Oh, hot damn, Anib! Good work,” Jacub exclaimed, “Is everyone in position?”

“Those lousy Brits you said was-a commin’ orrived on two hours ago,” said Anib, “and they is in-a position. The angry Capitan be sayings you betta be good on your end ora this bein a real bloody massacre.”

“Yeah, I bet,” said Jacub, “Captain Briggs has wanted my ass ever since I entered this god-forsaken country.”

“Hey, you be watchin’ your sayings, Mr. Lieutenant,” said Anib, “This’n my home and I be riskin lots to be joinin you Europeans in fightin the Gobilins!”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Jacub, peering through the binoculars, “But I’m American, Anib. I ain’t no European!”

Jacub eyed the division heading over the bridge. This African Division was the biggest Goblin attack group in Africa, and was the biggest threat to the British and French forces in their African territories. Jacub was sent in by the OSS to figure out why was the Goblin Empire, who had no native (or natural) interest in Africa (for Goblins do not thrive/live in dessert environments), currently aggressively moving throughout Northern Africa.

Jacub examined tons of Goblin half-tracks and armored tanks moving across the bridge, along with infantry and trucks, full of infantry. He continued towards the other side of the river, a long ways off, and he looked over the troops not yet on the bridge.

“Wow, look at all of them. He’s got to be in there!” said Jacub.

Then he spotted a swastika. It caught his attention so fast, he had to look back. Sure enough, several swastikas were painted on several trucks and armored half-tracks currently crossing the bridge. Jacub sighed and lowered the binoculars.

“Croats…”he murmured, “So the whispers are true… That’s how the Germans are able to thrive. Hitler and Grandbaum are getting real close.”

“Mr. Lieutenant, does this mean more Europeans will come?” asked Anib.

“It’s Jacub, Anib. And that’s exactly what it means. These Europeans, though, they’re bad. We have to end this now!”

Jacub looked back into the Binoculars at a section of armored cars rolling down the Cliffside road towards the bridge. They were covered with flags and surrounded by Infantry support. Jacub’s gaze fell on one in particular. A large, plump Goblin wearing a German officer’s cap sat in the back, and he grunted orders to smaller Goblins walking beside and sitting in the car with him. There was also a German Officer sitting next to him and discussing battle plans with him.

“The gang’s all here,” said Jacub with a grin, “If we do this right, this’ll make our damn campaign out here a piece of cake! All we gotta do is flip a switch.”

“Mr. Lieutenant, look!” cried Anib suddenly.

Jacub’s eyes darted to Anib, then he followed his pointed finger towards the sky. He heard them before he saw them. Two planes came roaring out of the sky and flew over the bridge. The Goblins and Germans below scramble for cover, and some even managed to fire some shots off as the aircraft past by.

“Damnit!” cursed Jacub.

“Brit planes, Mr. Lieutenant.” Said Anib.

“No, no, no!” said Jacub under his breath, “They’re gonna take cover, they’re gonna leave!”

With that, Jacub launched himself onto the detonator, pushing the handle downward towards the wooden box in which it was attached. A few seconds later some explosions were heard, and the frames which held the Bridge above the ragging river below erupted and buckled in flames. Then several more explosions occurred further down the bridge, and then another. Soon the bridge had erupted in explosions, and was crumpling under its own weight, falling into the river.

Jacub frantically searched the area he had landed, and he recovered his binoculars and assessed the damage. Besides a good portion of soldiers and war equipment lost in the blast, and a major bridge taken out, Jacub couldn’t help but feel a failure. He searched through the smoke, frantically scanning the opposite side of the river.

Gunfire erupted on Jacub’s side of the river as the British soldiers ambushed their pray, those lucky enough to make it through the explosions of the bridge. They were still outnumbered, but the ambush was meant to cause extra confusion and not to administer further enemy casualties.

Then Jacub saw what he hoped he wouldn’t see. The General Gobline’s small caravan had not started the journey across the bridge before the explosion, and they were currently recovering.

“Damnit!” cursed Jacub again, beating the sand with his fist, “damn R.A.F. slime! Probably Griggs’ doing, and they were early. Missed him by THAT much!”

“What is wrong Mr. Lieutenant?” asked Anib, “The bridge explodeded goodly?”

“Anib, without that General dying in the blast, this war still goes on just the same as it would have if we didn’t do it. That’s General Skydorf, the same General who fought in the Great War, the African Expansion Wars, and the last half of the French/German War of 1876. He’s a damn genius with a lot of experience! Besides he’s riding with some of the most powerful men in Africa!”

Jacub looked up again, he saw the General’s caravan start further down the Cliffside road, passing the bridge and its carnage. Jacub swore again and placed his face in his hands.

Just then bullets began zipping past his head and slamming into the Cliffside and dessert plants around them. Jacub jumped up but then immediately fell to the ground and crawled further back down the cliff toward his base camp.

“Mr. Lieutenant,” said Anib again, “There is another way.”

“What?” asked Jacub.

“Further down the river,” said Anib, “Many Gobilin scouts used it to avoid patrols on the bridges. That is where the Gobilins may try to cross now.”

“And you know of this?” asked Jacub, “How far away is it?”

“Not far, I can be taking you now.”

“Then grab my bag and go, Anib,” said Jacub, grabbing his Lee Enfield and taking off down the small path back to camp.

While running, Jacub lost his safari cap, but he did not stop to grab it. Anib grabbed a bag in camp and took off down into the plains that were to the mountains back. Jacub was always amazed at how fast the African Native could run through the bush of Africa, and in bare feet too.

They sprinted faster then they had ever needed to before. Jacub tried his best to follow right behind Anib, but adrenaline must have filled Anib’s veins for he ran faster the Jacub had ever witnessed before. While they ran, more gunfire was heard before the two British planes flew overhead again. They must have strafed the Goblin Division.

It wasn’t long before Anib slowed down, before coming to a halt behind some bushes. Jacub was not far behind, but breathing more heavily then Anib. He stopped and looked over the bush at what Anib pointed at. Sure enough there was a shallow spot on either side of the river, and a small, shallow bridge had been erected for the caravan. Goblins on motorbikes and infantry units had already made it over, and an armored half-track was currently crossing. Then Jacub spotted it, the Caravan with the armored car holding the Goblin General.

“Scope, Anib,” ordered Jacub.

Anib dug in the pack for a second then handed Jacub a rifle scope, which Jacub carefully attached to his Lee Enfield. The scope was not as long as a regular sniper scope, but it would do for the demonstration he was doing now.

“What are you planning to do?” asked Anib, who had grabbed and loaded his Lee Enfield.

“I’m going to finish this,” said Jacub, “This ain’t our war, yet, but I’ll make sure that when it is he ain’t around to make it harder!”

Jacub crawled on his stomach farther up the brush until he was in a clear line-of-sight to the caravan as it began to cross the river. He aimed, waited, then he took a shot.

“You missed!” exclaimed Anib as the Goblin troops ducked from the shot, but then began to look around the area, surveying the cliffs and nearby brush.

“Nope,” said Jacub, “I chose my shot.”

The driver of the armored car slumped over and his foot lay on the accelerator. The armored car accelerated ahead, hitting the car in front of it. The force of the hit veered the armored car off to the right, plummeting it into the river and it began to immediately sink. Those inside jumped up, and began yelling orders to any within earshot. Some German and Goblin soldiers began to wade out into the river.

“A wasted shot, methinks Mr. Lieutenant,” said Anib.

“For the love of your God, Anib,” said Jacub, ducking back as bullets pelted his area and harassed the plant life, “Call me Jacub, please! Move.”

They ducked down and dodged fire until they relocated and he moved back through the brush. The Goblin halftrack was using its heavy turret to pelt the area Jacub just vacated, and many Goblin Rifles did too. Other Goblins and Germans fired random shots around to make sure no other snipers were hidden.

“Look, Anib,” whispered Jacub.

He pointed to the river, where Crocodiles had entered the waters and began attacking the Goblins and Germans inside the River. Many surrounded the sinking car and the officers inside. They fired out into the River, trying to scare off the hungry crocodiles.

Jacub aimed again, his crosshairs resting on the head of the Goblin General.

“I didn’t come this far to take a chance with some reptiles,” said Jacub, and he pulled the trigger.


Last edited by comedianmasta on Wed Aug 12, 2009 2:27 pm, edited 2 times in total.



Tue Jul 07, 2009 7:54 am
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I just finished reading your Cleansing Warswick over the course of two days, and upon leaving that thread I found this one newly posted. Naturally, I had to read it.

You, sir, are quite good with writing action. A fantasy set in the 1900s is a nice change of pace from the usual time settings. Unlike Warswick, the fact that the scenes are involving politics interest me as well. Hitler + Goblins is quite the original idea and one that you are able to implement well. I normally lean more towards the science fiction genre than the fantasy one, but I like whenever there's some sort of political influence going on, as this story seems to have.

Be careful within your writing not to switch between the past and present tenses, as I noticed a few slip-ups with that here and there. Also, avoid capitalizing random words without reason. You seem to have a fair number of typos, but at least the amount in this has decreased from that of Warswick.

Your characters are nicely developed and the plot is thoroughly interesting. Nice job :)


Tue Jul 07, 2009 2:18 pm
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Why, thank you, sir. Warswick as had many revamps and such, and the sections ehre are soooo old. I do have some trouble believeing, though, that you completed it in a day or two. Have you really sat down and read the whoooole thing?

Anyways, yeah. This isn't really the book now but I put all such effort into all my projects. When the actually story gets going, many things will unfold. How all the races from Fantasy novels intertwine and the like.

I am with you, though, I lean more towards science fiction and futuristic worlds because it's (in my opinion) easier to write. I began this project because I was working on one (Chivalry is Dead) which was a 1940s crime drama/romance novel but all the local writers I met with write (mainly) fantasy books. It was hard to connect. Now I started this and hopefully I'll have enough at some point to come to a conclusion if Fantasy is even my thing or not.

Again, I thank you for having time to read my material, however much or little is read. And, if you are who I think (Memories bad at the moment) I enjoyed reading your material earlier today.


Tue Jul 07, 2009 2:33 pm
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Yes, I did read all of Cleansing Warswick in a ~48 hour period. I've been sick with allergies for 4 days now, thus can't go outside where I really want to be. The internet has since amused me, with your story having taken up a significant chunk of time. Warswick was quite good, though a few parts here and there made me want to forcefully grab my already throbbing head. Uri's dream bit in combination with the allergies managed to put me to sleep for a good 40 minutes this morning, as that was one of the more corny parts. However, the action was good for the most part, as it kept my interest to the point where I was reading it nearly non-stop. I know you already have a proof-reader for it, but I really wouldn't mind highlighting any mistakes I find and sending it back to you if you'd like me to.

I've drabbled in fantasy before, but I find it easier to write sci-fi as well. But what you have done here for this story so far is quite good, even if it's not to the real book yet.

And I think the person you thought I was is actually Golbania. I agree with you, however, that Golbania's story is quite good. I myself am more of a reviewer, mostly because I'm too afraid to post my own stories here :oops:

Okay, back to this thread and it's topic... Good luck with this project, overall it is well-constructed and I look forward to reading more of it. Keep your eye out for typos :)


Tue Jul 07, 2009 4:28 pm
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United States of America- New Orleans
December 31st, 1949
New Orleans’ Market

Jeremiah Linux- Orphaned Street Pick-Pocket

11:51 PM

Another firework zinged right over Jerry’s head, and a smile lit up on his head. It was cold, much colder then usual. He was only 21 dollars away from a nice sweater he had seen a few carts back. He needed to get it if he were to survive much longer on the streets of New Orleans during winter.

He saw a rich looking Dwarven tourist and walked up to him. He had a camera, and was getting ready to take a picture of some of his other Dwarven friends as Jerry bumped into him, and slipped his hands into his pocket, into his wallet, and grabbed the paper bills he had inside. Jerry backed up and apologized to the dwarf.

“Get away from me, you stinking street rat,” said the dwarf, adjusting his new pinstriped suit, “What’s the matter with you?”

Jerry turned around and continued through the crowd, counting the bills he had stolen. Four twenties; wow, that dwarf was loaded! Dwarves were usually a good bet, but sometimes they horded their riches at home and took just what they needed.

Jerry made a wide loop around the market and tried to head back to the sweater stand before the dwarf realized what had happened and came looking for him. On his way back he continued to pickpocket from people. Pocket change here, a few empty wallets there, and some firework tokens from some teenage Zoot Suit guy.

Before Jerry called it quits, he bumped into a guy and reached inside his pocket and wrapped his fingers around a wallet. Before he knew what had happened another hand grabbed hold around his wrist hard and yanked his hand out of his pocket. Jerry whipped around and let out a yelp, and an icy face of an Elf starred into his eyes.

“Oh, you’re a young one, aren’t you?” said the Elf, showing a police badge in his other hand.

Uh-oh, thought Jerry, red-alert! Without hesitation Jerry grabbed some red pepper dust he kept in his left pocket and slung it at the Elf’s face. It flew into his eyes, even though the Elf made a lightning fast move to dodge the blow. He yelled in pain and let go of Jerry’s wrist to rub his eyes. Jerry took off down the nearest alleyway and slid under a drainage leak, falling a half a story down onto a dumpster lid. He looked up to see a pair of hands had just missed him, some fat human cop who had chased him down the alley.

The Elf cop yelled directions, then jumped over the small wall and looked down over the drainage wall into the lower alley. Jerry took off running once more, only the sounds of his feet and the cops feet behind him. The Elvin cop was fast, faster, and was dangerously close to catching up. Jerry turned the next corner into the busy street, and jumped over a car, sliding on its hood towards the end. He dived underneath the legs of a man walking past and shoved his way through a crowd of busy shoppers leaving a department store. He chanced a glance back, seeing the Elvin cop not too far back, only slightly slowed by the shoppers.

Jerry took another corner, and had to duck from the arms of another police officer. Jerry continued running, thinking of all the safe houses he knew. He turned left into another alleyway and chanced another look back. The cops were still right on his tale.

Ugh, thought Jerry, these ones are much harder then the last.

As he turned another corner, the lock of a cops hand around his arm almost made him trip and fall. Jerry slammed a contraption on his wrist in a panic, and moved so his arm was pointing at the cop, the Elf, holding his arm. The contraption emitted a high-frequency burst of sound, which temporarily caused the two police officers to clench their ears and fall to the ground.

Jerry continued running down the alleyway, and he took the next right further into the dark back streets. Before clearing a gate left slightly ajar, Jerry slammed right into a figure, who held him firmly and kept him from falling.

“No, let go!” said Jerry, who was tripped and thrown to the ground.

Jerry looked up, expecting to see another police officer, but instead seeing a man in a dark trench coat and a black Fedora glaring down at him. Jerry seemed stricken with fear, but the fear was soon replaced by the arrival of the two police officers, who immediately handcuffed Jerry.

“Is zer a problem officers?” asked the man, in a deep German accent.

“No, sir,” said the Elf, “Just a little troublemaker in need of some attitude adjustment. Are you ok?”

“I am fine, but I may have hurt the child?” said the man, only sounding more eerie.

“No, he’ll be alright, have a good day,” said the big human officer, who dragged Jerry further down the alleyway.

Jerry looked back and glared at the man, who slowly backed up into the shadows of the alleyway, and his black silhouette slowly made its way down the alley.

“I think its time to turn over a new leaf, kid,” said the Elvin officer, “I know a great juvenile center in Orlando. I think you should look into it.”

“Screw you, cop!” Jerry spat.

“Oh, now, I don’t think it’s your decision to make,” said the Elvin Officer as he roughly shoved him further down the alleyway back to the street.



United States of America- Orlando Florida
November 4th, 1949
Thousand Island Jazz Club

Mack “Two Guns” Somos

12:30 AM


The wail of the trumpet signified the end of the song, and the crowd went nuts. It was quite a popular number, and very heavily requested. It was good that at least this time of night they kept the crowd going. Good for business, and good for Mack.

Mack was a top grade, an Alley Cat, a Zoot Suit, whatever you wanted to call him. He went by many names, but none of them was more known in all of Orlando then “Two Guns” Mack. Tonight he was out on the town, feeling the clubs, hunting his prey. What was his prey? Women.

He straightened his suit, a fine purple “Zoot Suit” with a big hat & feather to go with it. The kind of suit that even made the Dwarven women wonder how much doe he had.

Mack ordered another cocktail from the bar and walked over to the roulette tables where a nice Elfish girl tried to earn some extra cash by hanging around with the high rollers. Mack smiled, and stroked his mustache.

Why hello, baby,” he said, catching her attention, “Why don’t you just give me a little of Elf magic and pick a number.”

“Why don’t you go screw yourself,” said the girl, and she walked away hastily towards a rich guy at another table who just one forty grand.

“The plan was for you to teach me how,” shouted Mack after her, and he shook his head.

The band began a slower jazz song, and some couples got out onto the dance floor. Mack blew twenty dollars on the tables before winning $97. He was about to go again when a large hand grabbed his shoulder, turning him around. Three large men in grey suits and Fedoras stood behind him, one was smoking a cigar.

“Well, well, Mack,” said the one with Cigar, “Gonzales wants a word.”

“Well, cat, it just so happens that I wanted to speak to Gonzales too,” said Mack, raising his hands out in a surprised gesture, “How in Jesus’s name did you find me?”

“Nonya, now move,” said the man, and the two beside him grabbed Mack and started dragging him out to the back of the club.

Outside , a man in a white suit and Fedora waited with two more guards. He smoked an elongated cigar, and he wore sunglasses despite it being night time. He smiled and gestured at Mack when he answered.

“Two Guns Mack, huh. Long time no see,” said the man, blowing a white trail of smoke from his nostrils and mouth as a spoke.

“Gonzales, look at you, my brother,” said Mack, going in as if to hug him.

“We are no were near brothers, Amigo,” said Gonzales.

“What are you talkin’ about? We’re both Latino,” said Mack.

“You aren’t Latino, Somos!” said Gonzales in a disgusted tone, “You could barely pass as frickin’ Italian. You just changed your name so you could be more Latino.”

“Yeah, bull-crap, Gonzales, and you know it,” said Mack, with an uneasy laugh towards the guards, “Look at this guy, what a joker huh? I love ‘em!”

“Mack,” said Gonzales, dragging out the name in a long, painful manner, “You owe me somethin’. 40 Gs, my friend. I lent to you to pay off the debt from that other guy.”

“What are you talkin’ about, Gonzo,” said Mack, sweat beginning to bead on his brow, “We took that guy down. You took over everything of his. You got your money.”

“It’s Gonzales, you piece of manure!” said Gonzales, getting angry, “And me stealing it back is not the same as you repaying me. You owe me 40 Gs, Somos, and I want my money.”

Mack looked around frantically, eyeing the crowd of body guards around him. He wanted so bad to reach for his Colt under his suit jacket, but he hadn’t been searched yet, that might be his only way out of this.

“Come on, Gonzo, mi amigo,” joked Mack, “You know me, I’ll get you your money, yeah? You know I’m good?”

“I know your past you filthy con artist,” said Gonzales, “You stiffed four bosses before me. One of them you shot yourself, the other you handed over on a silver platter to me. Now I am very grateful, hombre, but what makes you think I’ll trust you after such a record.”

“Come on… Gonzo,” said Mack, holding up his hands as if in surrender.

“Shut up, Somos,” threatened Gonzales, pulling a gun on Mack, “I want my money!”

“Well,” started Mack, pulling out a wad of bills, “I got 1 G on me and another ten at my place. What do ya want from me, huh?”

“Oh,” started Gonzales, shaking his head, “That’s not good, sustantivo.”

Mack began to laugh nervously, and he looked around at the other guys standing in the Alley.

“Well, it looks like I’m up the creek, fellas. Does anybody want to loan me some Gs, eh?” he said, “Just for a short while, because all I have are these…”

Mack folded the bills up as tight as they would go, then he slowly released them, shooting them up into the air like playing cards. With his other hand he reached into his jacket and grabbed the Colt. While most of the guards eyed the cash flying up into the air, Mack sidestepped and shot Gonzales, who fired his pistol, missing Mack and hitting the guard with the cigar. Mack then aimed at each guard in turn and fired one shot into their chest. If any showed signs of staying up he shot them twice. In a matter of minutes it was over, and all the gangsters laid on the ground and Mack stood in the center of them, paper bills littering the alleyway.

Mack walked up to Gonzales, who was coughing up blood and clutching his chest where he had been shot. Mack searched him, and took his wad of bills from his wallet and looked down at him.

“Damn, I gotta stop barrowing money from people,” said Mack, and as Gonzales eyed him in fear, he pointed his gun at him and said, “Well, Gonzo my man; It looks like it's two bosses I’ve killed.”


Thu Jul 09, 2009 10:58 am
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Wow, a chase scene and a gangster shooting :shock: This project it doing a very nice job of diversifying your work. The content is solid and for the most part believable. The fantastical elements seem to be missing a little bit other than the Elves and Goblins just being there, but you have managed to incorporate them into human society rather well.

On a side note, "then" is used when relating to order and "than" is used when in a comparison. Just noticed the two being commonly misused so I thought I'd mention it now. Ex: The dog ran faster than it's owner could, thus it quickly escaped across the road. Then, it began to exercise its newfound freedom.

Typos can be a bugger, but you've gotten better at avoiding/noticing-and-correcting them.

*thumbs up*


Thu Jul 09, 2009 1:33 pm
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At first I thought it strange that one would do a fantasy story set in a relatively modern age, but then the author of The Golden Compass did exactly that, twisting modern England, etc. with his own imaginary settings. And, this takes place in the post-WWII era too, which kind of merges the edge of those times with the intrigue of contemporary fantasy. Good job!


Thu Jul 09, 2009 1:55 pm
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I think you'll find my work, excpecially these that deal with just character things, to be alot more diverse then my books. Now these will all become characters that meet up in the book and become the Band of Misfits that "Save (or screw up) The World". It's actually very different for me. Hopefully there'll be a time where I can begin posting my other "book", Chivalry is Dead. The only problem with that is the stuff I got done are all Prison scenes and I don't want anyone to get the impression it's a Jail Book. The majority of THAT story takes place like a normal Gangster book (so to speak, haha). Now, on with the characters. Two more to go after these!


Nazi Forces of Germany- Germany
December 20th, 1948
Local Pub, Remagen

Lieutenant Michael Nichols- United States OSS

10:26 PM

Mike just leaned further back into the booth and listened to the sounds of the bar. A group over by the piano had slowly drank away their signing skills and they now sang so differently then before, like a werewolf after a change.

An old Dwarf with a long white beard had been sharing stories for at least an hour now, and they got more and more crazy as they went on. He claimed to be near 300 years old, which was probably the closest thing to the truth he had said all night. Everything from a diamond so big, you could barely hold it, to the time he caught a fish so big it fed his clan for two days. Mike couldn’t help but smile, everyone knew no fish besides a great whale could feed an entire Dwarf clan for even a day; and Dwarves were not big fisherman to give it a try.

After a bit, the dwarf finally got around to what he was after. He began telling recent stories, but rumors beyond all else.

“Back before the Great War,” stated the dwarf, “Back before many wars before that, there was a wizard. This wizard was one of the last few great wizards of our time. He was giving advice to the Great Kaiser Shyrciav, and he protected him from many assassinations. His name was Vlanderdesh.”

The old Dwarf stroked his white beard and allowed the others around him sink in this story. Some already knew it, but not what he was getting at. Mike took a sip of his beer and turned a pointed ear towards the Dwarf. It wasn’t what he thought it was but it was still interesting.

“Vlanderdesh had a connection with the other world that we could never hope to attain, but our world was shying away from magic and forces out of our control. They were loosing touch with all such powers. Now adays even experienced Elves who study have trouble casting the simplest of spells.”

He continued, after a short swig of his ale saying, “Now Vlanderdesh, he knew; Vlanderdesh had an idea of how this world could run, and he could feel it in the powers of magic that it would make this world a better place. You see, Vlanderdesh experimented with certain magic that got him exiled. He thought he could bring back life from the dead. Vlanderdesh did many scientific calculations also with his magic, and found some startling work. Humans were more adaptable then any other race, and a super race could be made. An “Arian” race as he called it. But he saw, he believed that the Elf and Human pact would eventually lead to interbreeding, which had already begun by this time.”

“What’s wrong with interbreeding?” blurted Mike, standing from his spot at the booth.

All those inside the bar turned and looked at him, the Dwarf raising his eyes to stare at him from across the room.

“I’m glad you asked, my Elvin friend,” said the Dwarf, “You see, after a time period of centuries there would be so much interbreeds and sub breeds that human and Elf would cease to exist. There would be one, master race. Unfortunately, Vlanderdesh concluded that instead of a positive outcome, this would have a reversed outcome. You see, my Elvin friend, this new species would have all the negative traits of both Elves and Humans, without the positive traits of each. With Goblins another race entirely and Dwarves having no tolerance for such actions, or no sight for them, he saw this as the only problem.”

“So what did he do about it?” asked Mike, “It’s not like he could change the world. He’s not famous now.”

“He will be, stranger,” said the Dwarf, smiling slightly, “You see, Vlanderdesh believed that Humans were the easiest to change, and that if Elves were to be… removed from the future, that humans would become the dominant race and thrive for a better future for our planet.”

“So he wanted to kill all Elves, is that it?” asked Mike.

“Now, now, don’t get all upset, you,” said the Dwarf, “He died not twenty years ago. Alone. But, as I was saying, before he died he wrote a book. In this book he put all his findings, all his calculations, all his thoughts and reasoning on everything he had ever done. This book was as big as the Vatican’s Bible thickened by 400 hundred pages. It was immense with knowledge and legend. He hid it, in one of his many huts in the Alps, and never returned to the hut again. Shortly after, though, he died.”

“So, what is the point of your story, Dwarf?” asked Mike, “The book is a power in some mystical hut in the Alps?”

“Not anymore…” said the Dwarf, and he rose from his spot, grabbed his cane, and began limping out of the pub, “The book was recovered by special order of the Reich. Troopers searched the Alps, and returned the book to Hitler himself. Since then Hitler has hidden in a secret shelter in Berlin and examined its pages.”

Mike stared at the ground. A strange tale… but now could it be wonderful news? The Dwarf turned from the door and walked up to Mike, pulling his shirt for him to bend down closer.

“I know who you are, American,” said the Dwarf in English, “And I know why you’re here. I’m not drunk, not even a fairy’s eyelash close to it. I tell my story for you. Hitler is enemy to Elf and Dwarf alike. It’s why the dwarves stockpile weapons in the mountains. It’s why I help you now. The General will be taking the east bridge, and your information was wrong. Your informer’s a double agent and if you stay here much longer the Gestapo will be all over you.”

Mike’s eyes widened, and he straightened looking around. The dwarf began heading for the door.

“Thank you, old timer,” said Mike to the Dwarf.

“Live long enough to use this information,” said the Dwarf, “A storm’s coming and we’d like as few Germans alive as possible when it reaches us.”

The dwarf left the Pub, and Mike waited three seconds before grabbing his coat, paying for his drinks, then he walked out of the Pub. He hurried down the street and turned a corner into an alley, grabbing hold of the stormdrain and climbing it to the roof. He began walking toward an apartment he had further downtown when he heard a siren sound off behind him. He dropped to the roof and peered back.

Two black armored cars pulled in front of the pub, and Gestapo agents and Nazi troops stormed in, breaking windows and the front door needlessly. Mike let out a sigh, and thanked God for the Dwarf. He normally wasn’t a fan of dwarves, but today he probably could’ve married the right one.

---

The United British Empire- Australia
April 7th, 1948
Florence

Joyous Phyllis Songsun- Lead Reporter for the US Times

5:35 PM

“Blimey, Mrs. Songsun,” Ranger Morris said again, turning away from the reporter once more and walking farther away.

“Please, It’s Miss Songsun,” Joy yelled, trying to keep up with the Ranger, “And I’m not finished.”

“This interview is done, madam,” said Ranger Morris once more, “I can’t continue to be beaten and battered by some Reporter from the States.”

“Mr. Morris,” said Joy, “How can you keep turning your back on what’s happening here? Can you not deny that this is like what’s happening in America? Natives are being forced off their land because some people believe just because they want it they can take it?”

“Ma’am, please,” Morris said, “Us Australians deserve to be here just as much as those bloomin Aborigines. Just because our flag is that of the British doesn’t mean that we’re English, now don’t it?”

“That doesn’t mean anything to the topic at hand, Mr. Morris.”

Ranger Morris stopped and examined the world beyond the cliff he now stood on through binoculars. The Australian sun was now setting, and it cast a red glow on the sand and mountains. Joy walked right up next to Morris and crossed her arms, an angry look on her face.

“Ranger Morris, please,” she said, “What about the organizations trying to help them. What about them? How would we feel? Someone just… attacking us and forcing us out of our homes?”

“There ain’t no one for miles who’d ever do such a thing here, Ms. Songsun.” Said Morris, “The Japanese are a bunch of superstitious Wankas, the Chineese Fight constantly with their own Goblin problems and prepare to enter Russia’s war and America holds no interest in Australia. Ma’am, Oz has nothing to offer the world but Opals and trouble. The very wild life here wants us dead.”

“Then why, Ranger Morris, does England want it so bad?” asked Joy.

“Because they were here first, and now they have an Alley more then anything,” answered Morris, “Look, I’m an Aussie, right? This is my home. If we were to up and leave for those blacks I wouldn’t be wanted anywhere else. Not England, not France, and not America.”

“So that’s it, then?” asked Joy, writing some notes on her pad.

“For now? That’s it,” said Morris.

Joy sighed, and began heading back to the truck, before turning around and examining the ranger.

“They are still amazing, you know,” she said, “Back home they say the Indians can still use magic. Sometimes, they even have wizards.”

“Magic,” scoffed Morris, “I’ve seen the petty spells, the half work love potions, the fire tricks, the illusions. But the real magic is leaving this world, Sheila. Besides…”

Ranger Morris turned and began heading back to the jeep. Before he did, though, he pulled out his magnum from its holster and showed it to Joy.

“They haven’t made a spell yet that can stop a bullet,” continued Morris, “Any bullet, even the older ones. Took too much power, too much energy, too much training. It’s what’s making swords and arrows obsolete. Why the world’s expanding, why discoveries are being made.”

Ranger Morris holstered his magnum and continued back to the jeep. Joy waited a second, then she followed him back.

“Do you think Napoleon would have ventured over the Alps into Italy without the cannon? Do you think The Americans would have ventured through the “cursed wilderness” without their guns?”

“Maybe, not everything has to be solved with weapons and bloodshed. This is modern times. We’re becoming more civilized. Walls are being broken down. One day we won’t have any need for weapons.”

Morris chuckled before starting the jeep, “Now you’re sounding like a Pointy. Trust me, Ms. Songsun, as long as two men are left on the planet: There’ll always be a need for weaponry. And I’ll bet me own private Billabong Retreat that these Aborigines aren’t gonna be the last ones standing. As I said before, there ain’t been a spell yet that’s stopped a led-tip from its target.”

Joy pouted out her lip, and continued to scribble in her notepad. She had not gotten anywhere with this man besides further hopelessness. Maybe Mr. Gregor was right. Maybe her career would flourish if she stopped writing on what she wanted changed and wrote on what people wanted to read.

With that, she crossed her arms and stared out onto the Australian landscape.


Smaller stories, but important info and character build. More to come!


Sun Jul 12, 2009 2:21 pm
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The references to magic have finally been made :o

I like how Hitler's persecution has extended to the fantasy-races, as it's a very believable link in the setting you've created thus far. Not a lot of characterization is in there for Mike, though. It sets up the Gestapo being after Elves, which will surely affect Mike, but the only real detail revealed about him is that he is an Elf or an Elf-Human mix.

For the other part, I felt it told a lot about Miss Songsun. She's a reporter that is struggling to fulfill her own vision, but the general public isn't necessarily interested in what she thought was important. Just because of that, she's probably my favorite character thus far. As a writer of any kind, people need to convey themselves and there's so much more passion when the message that's being sent out is what they truly want to write. But in doing so, marketability might decrease dramatically. Writers are usually the intellectuals and the general public can have difficulty understanding some of the topics pertinent to the writer. Anyway, go Miss Songson :D The bit about the magic-can't-stop-a-bullet was well done as well, as was the brief talk about weapons being a main source of the world changing.

I can't wait for the other characters to be revealed :)


Sun Jul 12, 2009 5:53 pm
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Here are the last of the Major characters who will be making an appearence. I specifically chose for these two to come last, I hope the add their own special twist to the story. There is one more character of any major importance, but I have decided to keep him as mysterious as he will be in the book. I hope you enjoy these. Also, I need your help. Please feel free to read the ending of this post (you will if you read of course, haha).

The United British Empire- Australia
September 13th, 1948
The Bush

William J. Carther- British Intelligence (Australian Division)

10:34PM

Will gave out a long sigh then he grabbed his hat from the driver’s seat of the truck and slammed the door. He turned and motioned the Private to show him the way. He followed him through the night, and towards where the other soldiers waited, their Lee Enfields pointed towards a band of Aborigines who wielded nothing more then Elegant Spears and daggers.

Only the light of the Truck and Jeep Headlights illuminated the area, and a few soldiers making patrols around the area held Flashlights. Will didn’t bother bringing a gun this time, but it looked like the military had other plans.

“Right, Captain,” said Will on arrival, “What did you call me down here for this time?”

“Carther,” said Captain McFarley, “These Aborigines were spotted by aircraft far from their designated area. I needed someone to explain… technicalities to them.”

Will took a once over of the Aborigines, a male with a long staff accompanied by two other men, way younger, and a boy. Will shook his head and let out a large sigh.

“Captain, they’re on walk-about,” he said.

“What? What is this walk-about, Carther?” asked Captain McFarley harshly, “That’s exactly what we don’t want these blacks doing. We want them to stay on their land and off ours!”

“Captain, Walk-About is how a boy becomes a man in the Aboriginal society,” answered Will, “Besides, all of Oz is their land.”

“Please, Carther,” scoffed McFarley, “I don’t have time to deal with this! Just tell them to piss-off!”

“We be speakin white man, sir,” said one of the Aboriginal young men.

Will walked over to him, and removed his hat.

“Sorry for the inconvenience, mate. This bloke ain’t Aussie. He’s English. He doesn’t understand around here.”

“Please, my sun. He be gettin’ manhood. He needs goin on walk-about,” said the Aborigine.

“Yeah, right, mate. That’s all understood. You can continue on. I’ll handle this,” said Will and he turned and replaced his hat.

“Well, Carther?” said McFarley.

“Captain, it’s all a misunderstanding,” said Will, “They’re not gunna hurt anyone. The Aborigines are a peaceful people. They’re only armed with meager things, for cutting up food and any wild animals.”

“I don’t think you understand, Mr. Carther,” said McFarley, “Men, Open Fire!”

Before Will could comprehend what was happening, the soldiers standing around fired upon the four Aborigines. Ina matter of a second all four were dead, and when Will turned their bodies had hit the ground.

“No!” exclaimed Will, “Buggah!”

Will ran up to them, the bodies bleeding out on the ground. He knelt by the old man, who was mumbling something unrecognizable under his weakening breath. Tears glazed Will’s eyes and he glared at Captain McFarley.

“You bastard!” yelled Will.

“William Carther, I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” said McFarley, as he ran his thumb and index finger over his mustache, “The Japanese are mobilizing and the Goblins are trying to weaken any chance the British have at winning this war. Soon England will call all available hands to Africa and France. The war rages on!”

“That ahs nothing to do with it,” yelled Will, “They’re a peaceful tribe. They did NOTHING to provoke this!”

“Carther, The Orcs are preparing to rage into Southern Africa. Why, I don’t know. What we do know is that I received word that The Orc factions and the Goblin factions around the world have sent word that any Native who fights for them will regain their land from their European Rulers,” spat McFarley, jumping onto the passenger seat of a nearby jeep, “Indian is in shambles! The Indians have risen up and turned against us! After all we did for those miserable excuses for humans. Think about in Africa. Think about here, where they reject our every living breath.”

“They reject us because wankas like you don’t stop to understand them and treat them like animals!” yelled Will.

The Captain’s assistant got into the drivers seat and started the jeep. The Captain buckled his seatbelt and stared off into the night.

“As far as I’m concerned,” said the Captain, “They are animals.”

As the jeep tore off, Will examined the old man he knelt beside again. He continued to chant in a small, monotonic voice. Will looked around, seeing the two younger men dead. The boy lay, gasping for air. He was probably going into shock. Will looked up at the remaining soldiers.

“Medic,” said Will softly, then more forcefully, “We need a doctor!”

The soldiers scattered, and yelled for a Doctor, searching the trucks. Some got into trucks and tore off down a rough path towards the military camp close by. Will knelt over the old man, shaking his head.

The old man held out a necklace grasped in his hand, and he stopped mumbling to blow, softly, onto it. It glowed a light blue, and then faded back to its normal look; an opal and two rattle snake fangs tied to a string. The old man looked into Will’s eyes, and spoke something softly.

Will bent down, but only heard Aboriginal words. He tried his best to remember them, and ended up writing them down on a map he had on him. Soon after the old man died, the necklace laid in Will’s hand. Will bowed his head, and grasped the necklace.

He then stayed with the boy and murmured soft lullabies. He waited as the chaos around him slowly died down. Some soldiers began joking around near a truck. Truck after truck began leaving, never to return. Soldiers with them. Will knew, they didn’t care.

Soon he was left alone. His truck on in the distance, casting light on a bush further off. Will sat, quietly, clutching the necklace, and the still body of the dead child in his arms. It was around midnight when he finally got up, grabbed the shovel from his truck, and began digging the graves.


Ah... dearest Will. Now feast your eyes on this.

Nazi Forces of Germany- Germany
March 22nd, 1947
City of Zlight

Reid Von Trope- Shoemaker

9:15 PM


“Hurry,” yelled Reid up the stairs, “Hurry, Isaiah.”

Reid stumbled through his apartment again, grabbing his hat and cloak, and grasping the old walking stick he had had for many years. His 9 year old grandson came stumbling down the stairs, holding his favorite stuffed bear.

“Grossvater,” said the boy, “Why do we need to leave? What’s happening?”

“Do not ask questions, Isaiah,” said Reid, and he grabbed the boys coat and helped him put it on.

The boy walked up to the window and looked down on the streets below. Reid turned and headed into the kitchen, and he pulled down a can full of his most coveted material goods. A Picture of his wife, the movie ticket when he proposed to her, the ring he gave her…. Her ring.

“Grossvater,” exclaimed the boy from the other room, “There men outside. Men with guns!”

“Get away from the windows!” commanded Reid and he hurried into the next room to pull the boy back.

Reid looked outside the window. A black car and a truck had pulled up in the street, and the Gestapo was pouring out into the street, shouting orders and arresting people nearby. Many wielded guns, and threatened whoever was nearby with them.

“We must go now, Isaiah,” said Reid, and he pulled the boy to the door.

He opened up the door and hurried down the hallway to the window at the end of the hallway. There another tenant had bashed out the window and escaped onto the fire escape. Reid followed his path down into the alleyway behind the building and off onto a side street. Several other people were waiting down there, ready to escape.

“No, we can’t. It’s not ready,” argued one of them.

“Look, we don’t have time anymore. They’re gonna take us to those ghettos. It’s now or never,” said another, then he turned and pointed at Reid, “You, with the child. Are you with us? There’s a boat on the far side of town. We can make it through the sewers if you hurry.”

“We will come,” said Reid, “I’ll follow you.”

Reid followed these men through the city, ducking behind alleys and dodging patrols. The Gestapo had been making small arrests all week, but now it looked as if they were cleaning out the city. Only the wealthy or the privileged appeared to be untouched. Those few waited out the raids in the comfort of their homes.

Reid figured that was the case for his family, as he had served the Keiser as a young Police Officer and every elected official since then. Now, it proved no matter, now that his family was being hunted down, like rats.

The man lead them to a subway system, with a train station underneath the street. It was bustling with people as the trains tried their best to leave. Reid tried to get in a line with a crowd getting onto one of the trains when the man they were following pulled them off and toward the side of the station.

“Trains can be stopped with no hope of escape,” said the man, “Trust me, those people won’t live. We’ll take the tunnels on foot.”

The man tried to lead them through the crowd quickly, and the train blew its whistle and began its movement out. The conductor tried to control the people attempting to get onboard, but he ended up getting pushed off the train and he hit the ground. People scrambled on top of the train as it rolled out of the station, into the tunnel.

Suddenly a crowd of people rushed by them, and Reid was pushed and shoved around. Before he could think of a reaction, Isaiah’s hand was ripped from his own. He reached out immediately to try to grab it again, but ended up only getting some woman’s cloak. He looked around, fear filling his eyes. He could not find Isaiah in the crowd of people.

“Isaiah!” he yelled, forcing is way through the crowded train station, looking around frantically, “Isaiah! Isaiah!”

He searched, but not sign of his grandson could be found. He once thought he could hear a faint “Grossvater!” but he could not tell which way it came from nor who uttered it. He searched and called, but he did not find Isaiah.

Another train pulled up into the station, but it was an armored train. The Nazi Swastika showed on the side of it, and it had several carts behind it. Some people began to scream and tried to push back, but the crowd and confusion was already too great. The doors opened and Nazi soldiers jumped out and immediately began rounding up the refugees. A man came over the loudspeaker on the train.

“Citizens of Zlight: Do not be afraid. Relocation is inevitable. We are your government, we are trying to protect you. It is for the war effort. For Germany, for our leader, for the greater good! Please cooperate or face the consequences.”

Reid’s eyes widened, and he began to look more frantically.

“Isaiah!” he yelled, “Isaiah!”

An arm reached out and began pulling him to the side. He fought with it, stills creaming Isaiah’s name. He was turned around, and he stared into the face of the man earlier.

“He’s gone, old man. He’s a goner!” he said, “You cannot save him, now you either come with us or you are left for the ghetto!”

“I can not abandon my grandchild!” Reid yelled, “Isaiah!”

A heavy force slammed into Reid’s head, and he was out cold. The man pulled out a revolver he held in his cloak, and shot three shots into the chest of the soldier who had hit Reid. After the shots rang out, the soldiers began shooting into the crowd, and women and children began to scream.

Two elves helped the man drag Reid into the tunnel, and they carried him off to their escape route. The man shot a few more shots at some German soldiers, killing them, but otherwise the journey was eventless from that point on. They left the train station far behind, and then they left Zlight all together.


Not As full as I wanted it, but it gets the feeling across for a short story. Now, that's all. I have begun writing the first major chapter and should be able to post that sometime whithint he next week (if I'm not busy). I still have alot of other works to do (Warswick, Chivalry...)

Now, for what I need help on. I have yet to found a suitable name for this project. I need your help. The storyline I can give away at this moment is that Two OSS agents get sent on a mission which leads them onto a giant plan of the Axis forces. On their way, they meet an array of wacky and assorted characters who help them in some way or another and end up following them (or tagging along). Along with a very humerous aspect this will still be a serious book. At the end (I don't want to give it away) but they will be refferenced as _____________ blank and that's the title of the book. So, i need a name for a ragtag group of people who will be known as something. I have some ideas of my own, but help would be nice.

Some Names: Knights of The World (yawn)
Knights of Fortune (Yawn)
Starry Knights (Like a pun, haha, of some sort)
The K-Team (or something of that sort)
________Squad/Team/Knight/Brotherhood/Platoon/Guild
Anything refurring to mixed, rag-tag, or montage of personalities or race


As you can see, i have pretty much nothing. There's no such thing as a bad suggestion, don't feel abd if I don't take yours, but anything will help. Thank you!


Wed Jul 15, 2009 9:39 am
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Bug Catcher
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These last two bits seemed a little rushed, but you've sort of made a reference to that already and at the moment I don't have time to be picky about little things. As a whole, the group of characters and the set ups are well executed.

When it comes to titling writing, I usually wait until the project is completed or close to completed to give it a title. However, I can see the need for a title when the project is posted on a forum such as this. The information that you've released about the plot is so minimal that it makes it hard to come up with suggestions as well. I have managed to come up with a few possibilities, though I don't know how well they'd fit and don't think they're that good.

Saints of Athena (Athena the mythological goddess supported wars with good causes, much like the one of the story. Her intellect could also be a symbolic link to the Office of Strategic Services.)
Squad Athena (sounds more modern than the previous and still is supported by the reasons above.)
Forewarning Knights (since discovering the Axis Powers' plan would be sorta like a forewarning >.> Knights could be replaced with anything that fits better.)
Knights of Omen/Ominous Knights (blah, kinda a rewording of the one above as well. Once again, knights could be replaced with the many alternatives.)

I'm sure anything you can come up with for the title would sound fine, and it's not like a title at this early stage would be set in stone.


Thu Jul 16, 2009 3:57 pm
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Thanks, I've usually always named my titles before getting as far as I have (in the actual book writings). Now I'm nearing chapter three and I don't know anymore... I am so far behind I'm not sure what I'm doing. I should send out some revised parts to my advisor today... go over Warswick, post another chapter of Silver Nava and hopefully think of a name for this!

Maybe we need a new parameter for a name. Maybe a large name for the world I've created! What we might need is instead of thinking of a name for this book maybe think of something for a series as a whole. That might help. So what are some names that could bring past Fantasy References with Modern refferences (modern as in 1940-1965). Don't get me wrong, I'm not planning a series by any means. As far as I'm concerned this project is a one-and-done, if it gets done at all!


Thu Jul 23, 2009 6:42 am
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Ok, I think I'm just gonna do the Series name as World War Fantasy (just in case I do any more in this world) and I also think I'm gonna tag this one as the "Ancient Artifact". I am almost done with Chapter two... all in all I think it feels a bit rushed but good non-the less. So Expect a thread on the new series to be out soon. Meanwhile this will stay for my character shorts on the WWf series. I may make some more, I may expand some existing ones... depends on my time scape. OK, so expect some fun new adventures by the end of the week.

As always if you're bored check out my two books Cleansing Warswick and Cleansing Silver Nava IV!


Wed Aug 12, 2009 2:31 pm
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I really like your writing style! Have you succesfully published anything before, or is Cleansing your first?

It's haunting, moving, powerful. Some start slow and build up, others throw you right into the action. It's amazing!

I noticed you haven't mentioned the Japanese- Will they play a part in this?
Also, curious, what is your definition of Orc? i.e. corrupted elf (in which case, what is meant by corrupted? undead?)?


As for title, well you obviously have ideas and a plot, but perhaps:
Fallen Regiment?

_________________
{absol} {gardevoir} {salamence} {crobat} {skitty} {glaceon}
yay skitty!
olim est virgo Troiana
quae incensus cogitat grama esse bonus.
incendit per noctam,
et sic excitavit;
invenit veru magnum ano.


Wed Aug 12, 2009 10:18 pm
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