The City, by finalsalvo
The city springs up over the grassland like magic, its golden spires rising over the horizon as if they pierced through the earth. It is a young city, but a busy one.
Uniform streets score the land, each one choked with people. Wealth flows in endlessly, snaking in on caravans that cut through the grass. At night, the city lights up with a thousand taverns, disturbing the once tranquil steppe with raucous amusement. Ask any one of its people, and they will tell you a tale of glorious conquest over the earth, of the many battles with the “savages”, and the utter dominion of man. However, beyond the golden city and its fledgeling walls, the steppe-dwellers tell a different tale, one of flight and subjugation. Their foe was not one that fought with guns or steel or horse, though they did have those in spades. Nay, their strength was in their wealth and their tenacity. With scripture, plow, and fence, they subverted the old ways and broke them like a calf at the time of slaughter. It was a different sort of war.
They no longer quite live up to their name, living on the fringes of the City in sun-cracked mud homes much different from their tipis of days past. Their former paths have long since been split and divided into the domains of the plantations. What spears and bows they did have been taken from them. The few who refused to integrate were dealt with long ago.
This is not the end of their tale, however. Stay until the brazier runs dim, and you may hear of another war altogether. The works of man do not last forever, and the earth will not forever be his sandbox. When the city’s cobbles become choked with moss, its spires worn and decrepit, and its people old and jaded, there will be a reckoning. Nature will have her due someday, and when that day comes, it won’t be much of a war, The only thing that awaits, is oblivion.

Adrift Without A Breeze
by AnonymousMidshipman (Idiot)

Another day at sea, and I prayed to God that we’d find an enemy ship to shoot. I started to lose track of time.

Since that battle with that Spanish fleet, the mood of the crew just spiraled. We were supposed to dock past those ships, but we had to make due ‘till we found another friendly port. But the Captain said nothing, and I saw nothing but open ocean. And the men who questioned him got keelhauled, and we all had to watch. Before, I thought nothing was scarier than killing a man, the screams, the faces they made, the wounds. But when I saw a yeoman two years my senior pulled from the depths oozing blood and most of his skin torn off, I had new nightmares. Had begged the older men for their grog.

It was after a break that someone echoed my thoughts, Philip, one of the senior deckhands.

“Ya knew Thiebaut, right?” he asked me. Every yeoman knew who he was, and he was well-liked by the crew. We also knew the Captain keelhauled him, and the doctor thought he was a goner.

I told him, “Of course I do!” Looking back, I should’ve wondered about this, but I was glad someone wanted to talk about it. It hadn’t been my idea of what the Navy was like, and I said as much to him.

I remembered him checking for anyone listening before he said, “The Captain’s gonna discharge us. All of us.”

Now, I couldn’t believe it, but he said he got word from the first mate. The crown made peace, and we’re all going to be cut off from the Navy when we made port. The Captain didn’t care what would happen to us.

Then, he said, “Just be ready in a few days.”

That got me curious. “Ready for what?” I asked.

He didn’t answer, just went on another tangent. “What were you hoping for when you joined up and sailed to the new world? Glory? Gold? Freedom?”

Then he smiled. “Don’t you think it’s time to take it?”

Dreaming of Survival
By Derek McEldowney (Deviacon)

In my slumber bring me sight
From the eye of gnawing fright
And should it catch me in my flight
Give me strength to show it might

The words echo slowly in my mind, reverberating deep, deep, deep into my dreams. Words recited each night by every person still living. Sleep was no longer restful, for it had become a war of attrition, waged in the mind for our very essence, against such Terrors that lurked just beneath waking consciousness.

I recognized the feel of grass against my flesh, beneath my feet. Soft and comforting. The vast field of my childhood sprawled before me. Bright green summers and dewy springs of ages past. The stony old vacation home, so cold and damp. Refreshingly so to the stale stagnation of daily life.

A familiar forgotten voice calls out to me hearkening back to days long reminisced. Before I can turn to face the voice, the ground has warped beneath me. The lines of rhyme echo gently in my ear. I look back up and see the scene pulled and misshapen as if sculpted into a singular path. The insidious entropy of the Terror’s twisted hunts.

I run through the halls of grassy fields and stony walls, the looming gnashing sound slithered just behind the previous bend or two. The branching, twisting paths open into a tightly grown forest of rotting, fallen trunks and a rusty dilapidated industrial halls. With every step through the amalgamation of scenery I hear the footless steps get closer, feel the slithering hunger at my heels.

The Terror lashes at my sides, grasping at my soul. Pulsing, dripping teeth and bones, slithering eye of rancid hunger. Biting branches, clawing tongues, desperate for its feast. With no choice left I push ahead, dive and tumble, regain my footing, and turn to face it, in hopes I might make it crumble.

“A Different Front”
By Hemming Sebastian Bane

Rot skulked the forest on high alert. It must be close. She could smell it. Then, she saw it. A hulking bone-colored monster. It towered three feet over Rot herself, but was thinner than the trees. Its many appendages segmented into innumerable joints, and from its crest hung four tendrils, each a different length and width. Each tendril had dozens of lamprey-like mouths.

Rot charged, falling to all fours as she shifted into werewolf form. She slammed hard into the creature, the two colliding with a tree. Rot got up and stepped back. It, too, got up, knocking the tree over in the process. The she-wolf looked around. No one. The creature’s appendages whipped wildly, striking Rot hard. She fell into the litter, cracking ribs. A gurgling roar filled the air. The sound made Rot’s blood run cold. She crawled back up and looked back; the lights of the village grew closer. If it went any farther, there’d be a bloodbath.

“You go no further!”

Rot pounced, dodging the appendages. She slashed at its belly, but its chitinous skin resisted. The creature swatted her to the ground with a thud. Rot’s side burned with pain. Gasping for air, the she-wolf dodged another blow. Quickly, Rot hoisted herself up.

Then, she heard it: chanting. Rot smiled as the trees glowed a soft green. The creature tried to run, but something kept it in place. Slowly, the thing faded until it was transparent. It lashed out, but its appendages passed through Rot. It was strange; she could see it, but it wasn’t there. Eventually, it vanished from the world and Rot collapsed to her knees, back in human form. From behind an oak, a man with graying hair stepped out.

“I guess Nexus Scions are different from cultists, eh, Inquisitor?”

Rot panted, her hair stuck to her face. “Easy for you to say, sir.”

“It was just a juvenile.”

Rot cleared her throat. “It was a pleasure to work with you, Shaman Von der Hain.”

Von der Hain nodded. “Likewise. And remember, Rot, we don’t hunt alone.”

“Age of Annihilation” Submitted by Exce

A lush green coast appeared before them.

The captain folded his arms behind his back, a smile on his face. After weeks on the sea it was good to see the shore. Especially one who promised some fun.

He was shaken from his thoughts by the words of one of his Lieutenants. He approached him from the side, carrying a tablet.

“Our scouts have found the closest settlement,” the Lieutenant scoffed. “Looks medieval, quite primitive over all…” He tapped the screen a few times, highlighting several buildings. “These are what seems to be the trading hub, barracks and the administrative building.”

The captain nodded. “Have you sent the coordinates to the other ships?”

“Yes, sir, they are calibrating.” 

Again the captain nodded. “Excellent.” Ready the pilots, as soon as we light up those primitives I want them to assist the landing parties with establishing a beachhead.”

The Lieutenant saluted and turned, then hesitated. “Should I also ready the AAs?” 

At those words the captain’s smile turned vicious.

“Maybe one, if you’re feeling bored. These primitives do not possess aviation technology.  Or any technology, for that matter. They have feathered wings, like a bastard of street pigeon and man. Now, Lieutenant, I believe you have your orders.”

As the man walked out, the captain stepped forward, looking down on the display in front him.

One after another, the ships signaled that they had locked onto the coordinates. When all signals were on green, the captain pressed the comm button.

“Fire!”

A shudder went through his own ship as all the main guns fired, tendrils of smoke rising from each barrel, following each shot.

In front of them, over the verdant green shore, great balls of flame rose, and the faint echos of thunderous explosions was like music to his ears.

After a few volleys, squadrons of aircrafts took to the air, circling above groups of amphibious troop transporters.

The captain could not suppress a chuckle when he watched a group of straggling winged figures being blown out of the sky.

This truly would be a new, refreshing kind of war.

A War of Attrition, By Matthew (Handsome Johanson)

When I was young, I was the target of relentless bullying. The other girls would call me names and go out of their way to exclude me. Because of this, I would often eat lunches alone outside. I didn’t mind it too much; it was actually quite relaxing to sit alone and listen to the sounds of the city muffled by glorious maple trees and pretty birds.

On one lonely autumn noon, I was munching on some sunflower seeds when I noticed that a visitor had arrived at my table.

“Hello there.” I said politely. ”What is your name, little guy??” The iridescent black bird that had joined me at my table just stared back at me with a blank expression.

“Well, it was nice of you to join me.” I continued. “Here.” I poured some sunflower seeds into a pile in front of him. “Enjoy a departing snack.” The crow was hesitant at first then he took a few bites and flew off.

For the next few days, my beautiful visitor would return, asking for snacks, and I would oblige, happy to have a new friend. Eventually, I grew a small following of crows, vying for attention and snacks, but the large crowd drew attention from others.

One day, as I was heading to my table for lunch, I was followed by two of my bullies. They were older girls, a couple of years ahead of me. As soon as I sat down, they came over and pushed my lunchbox off the table, destroying my prepared meal. I started to cry. The stress from classwork and the constant teasing was really getting to me.

“Aww. Is the witch starting to cry? Maybe she shouldn’t have dropped her food!” one of the girls said as both started laughing.

CAAAW!

Upon hearing the warcall of one of their brethren, the crows in the nearby trees simultaneously took flight. They all began pooping and dropping rocks on my attackers. Soon, the bullies were routed, and the crows returned to me in a protective circle.

It’s nice to have friends in high places.

Swords to Plowshares
By Jen (Bookwolf)

I stared at the pile of weapons the man had brought. The collection consisted of mostly blades, but here and there a spear or pike could be seen.

“You’re sure you want these melted down?” I asked.

The warrior, for he couldn’t have been anything else, gave an affirming grunt.

“And you want them turned into… tools?”

“Farming equipment, yes.”

I looked at the weapons again. Many tools could be made with what he’d brought.

“I am able to pay you,” he said, mistaking my thoughtfulness for worry about payment.

“That was never a question.” A dagger with swirled etching caught my eye and I tugged it from the stack. “The question is why. You could sell most of these, buy the farming equipment you want, and have money left from your sales. The King’s war has them in high demand.”

His hand running over his stubbled cheek sounded like sand on rock. “If I did so, they would find their way back to the likes of those I took them from in the first place. This way, I know they will produce life, rather than death. The King’s war is not mine.”

I wondered then if this warrior knew the losing battle he was fighting. There would always be weapons in the wrong hands. The King would continue to take able-bodied men from their villages, leaving the women and the infirm behind to fend for themselves. If those left had the right tools, perhaps they could survive. Maybe this battle-field veteran knew what he was doing after all.

“You’ve brought me a lot of material to work with,” I said, putting the dagger back down. “What kind of farming equipment are you needing?”

“Everything a single farmstead could need. As many of each item as you can make.”

We discussed prices and method of payment then. Surprisingly, he agreed to most of my terms. I had expected to haggle more.

“I will return in three weeks,” he said as he walked to the open front of my shop. “Perhaps I will bring more business for you.”

“The War”
By King_Nix

Deep within the temple palace of the high city of Urba, bustles a retinue of immaculate servants. In the midst of their fervor sits what one might mistake for an immense statue, the dreaming king of the Domvari, Illos, who peers endlessly through time and space. For millennia, he watches the great mechanism of the cosmos turn, fueled by the raging currents of Luminous and Chaotic magicks, a ceaseless war between the Creator and the rebellious Void. In this war fought on fronts both physical and metaphysical, Illos seeks for the knowledge to guide his people toward survival.

Other beings are hard at work. Keshek, the cosmic frog, lurks in the depths of the Great Dream, spinning vast networks of intrigue as he eternally calculates the future, imparting forbidden knowledge upon hapless mortals. Bearing no concern for the wellbeing of this world, he manipulates events to bring about the downfall of the other Elder Things, which hunger for any advantage in their Great Game.

Omnipresent, and perceivably omniscient, the Void hates all. It was the perfect Creation, forged by a perfect Creator, so how dare He change It? What function do the stars and the planets have but to insult the perfection of the empty Universe? And then came the blasphemous Primordials, whose wretched spawn breed like parasites on those cancerous worlds, fueled by the pestilent suns. In the name of justice, this War must continue until the last ember of light has been snuffed out, and perfection restored to the Universe.

Throughout the ages, all peace gives way to war. Just as the Primordials destroyed themselves, so too did the Daemon King Nix bring about the downfall of his own brother, and orchestrate the destruction of the golden kingdom of Sun’Ashar, and drive entire races to obliteration at the hands of his perverse experiments. So too did the Baraki enslave and destroy their own Centaur comrades, and the races of Men wage war after war for dominion over the world.

With no answers to be found, Illos continues to dream, as the world falls ever further from grace.

Title: The Tail Wars
By: Twangyflame0

It was at the end of the dry season at the end of the Fourth Age when two very different societies would meet in a conflict that would have repercussions to the modern age. A bloody conflict that spanned decades, known as the Tail Wars.

As far back as historians could tell, the Dragonfolk had ruled the northern continent of Tol’uk. They were spread out along the vast deserts in many tribes; however, they all shared a common religion and practice, which mostly involved sacrifice and consorting with devils. The only real competition that they received was from themselves and the Lizardfolk of the south.

However, arriving on the eastern shore were newcomers coming with weapons that the primitive tribes had never seen before. They came on great warships. They came with metal rods that shot explosions. Within the week of their arrival, they had already set up defensive camps along the shoreline. They wore strange clothing that was not made out of scales or hides but out of cloth. They also had fur of varying colors, which many tribes were not accustomed to seeing.

They were the few remaining Ratfolk in the world. They had come to Tol’uk in order to find a way to save their race from a deadly virus that only affected them. They were a part of Clan Kotiry, a Clan mostly found in the Nuvasi Isles. They were led by a cunning tactician by the name Vecteek, who had a penchant for using chemical and firearm based tactics. He was a ruthless individual who didn’t tolerate even the slightest failure.

Once word of these invaders spread throughout the tribes, many younglings began gathering war parties to attack the Ratfolk. These initial parties were utterly annihilated upon contact. With mortar and rifle, the young warriors were butchered and taken by Veckeet for experiments. The surrounding chiefs knew that this was an act of war and so, throughout the volcanic valleys and barren deserts, the drums of war were heard. And so a war like no other in the world would be fought.

Fires Kept Burning
By Giovanna J. Fuller

“Ooooouuuur next guests are two of the greatest heroes our generation has seen, best selling co-authors brilliant magic casters. They, who stood on the front lines in the fight against the fourth dark lord, Mr. and Mrs. Deveraux!” The camera panned over to a warlock and witch walking onto the set. They were waving and smiling at the applauding crowd.

They sat down on the long sofa next to the host’s desk.

“Welcome! Welcome!” The host fawned over the couple.

The image disappeared as the TV was shut off.

She walked in, carrying a giant bowl of popcorn. “Hey, where is it? Aren’t they on?”

“Meh…”

“Adam, mom and dad are going to be on ‘Wily Yinfer’.” She plopped down on the sofa next to him. “Don’t you wanna watch?”

Adam shrugged again. “What’s the point? It’s like, what, their sixth time?”
Angela put her bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. “Yeah…but this one is for their new book.”

“They’ve written three.”

“This one’s a textbook!” She took on the tone of a movie trailer voice over. “‘Preventing and Defending Against Dark Lords’.”

“I have finals to study for.” He stood up and moved to leave the room.

“You’re on break.”

“You can never start-.”

Angela grabbed his arm before he could leave. “Wait.” She was forcing a bright smile. “We don’t have to watch ‘Wily Yinfer’. There’s this other TV show on the mortal network about a scientist who can turn himself into fermented gourds!”

“Sounds dumb.”

“Marsh promised me it’s really smart! Big brain stuff! BIG brain!” She was smiling and jumping, as she pulled harder on his arm. “Come oooooon Ad-um! Ad-um! Ad-um!”

The sixteen year old rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

“Yay!” She pulled him back on the sofa. She wrapped her arms around him. “There’s my snuggle buggle!”

“Angie…” He protested weakly, a small smile on his lips. It was like when they were kids again, all alone in the big family house. Angela, too warm and smelling like burnt, overly buttered popcorn, holding him close as they stayed up far past their bedtimes.

“Datapoint” by gregovin [Aleph null science fiction universe]

To the national institute of Virtual Reality combat research: A description of events

It had started as a split in the playerbase. The True Citizens clan and the Game breakers clan were always in competition. The True Citizens clan is entirely based on role playing, to the extent that metagaming can get you exiled. The Game Breakers clan is entirely based on “playing as yourself” and uses exploits frequently.

Eventually the fighting started.

The actual start of the war is still somewhat mysterious. However, it is theorized that a botched dialogue update exacerbated the pre existing conflict, and some trolls took the opportunity to start a war.

And so I came down to observe. There could be so many papers written about this event.

I joined the game as a healer.

Soon, I found an organization that called itself the Red Cross, and helped them heal players on both sides.

The propaganda war exactly and weirdly mirrors real life. I’ve even seen ads decrying both sides as communists, which is quite frankly outdated and hilarious.

In my estimation, civilians had been treated far better than in any real war. Only one hospital was destroyed during my time there, which is quite impressive considering I estimate there were approximately 10,000 hospitals that at one point or another were in a combat zone.

Of course, this war had no casualties. You could always respawn. That being said, based on the admittance rates of my organization, I would say that militant deaths outnumbered civilian deaths at least 10,000 to 1.

This war is still going on today, however in the form of a somewhat cold war. Right now, major corporations are sponsoring each side(including, infamously, the wells fargo corporation). Whenever a new update comes out, there is always some fighting after the Game Breakers abuse the inevitable glitchiness of the update, but it usually calms down fairly quickly. Based on my interactions, it seems the True Citizens see this as abusing the world and react accordingly.

This is my report,
—Isaac Mathews

An Ephemeral Season
By PitL

Dude. You are not gonna believe it.

No, I ain’t jokin’. We’re at the hospital right now – hey, wait, hold up, gotta sign something –

There we go. Anyway, you gotta get here Right. Now. Like, this is not a drill. Just get over here.

Yes, the grandparents are here. Yes, you have to deal with them –

Just get here soon, okay? … I already said I’d let you hold her fourth-ish!

K. See ya soon.

#

Oh. My. Gosh. Is this picture not adorable? Look at her chubby little baby-toddler-face!

Okay, yeah, I want you to babysit. That obvious, huh?

God, I never expected this. Sure, there’s no sleep, and even less recreation –

Yeah, it’s a blessing, it really is.

Oh, come on. I’m hardly –

Yeah, just try and get here around 2:00. Work and all that, ya know.

Thanks so much. Love you, bro.

#

I’m thinking early next month. Is that good for you or –

Great! She’ll love to visit the cousins again! You know how she gets whenever she sees baby Phillip.

Probably be good for me too! It’s a little stressful around here, especially since…

Well, yeah. I think she’s taking it okay. A little moody, maybe, but nothing that unexpected –

Truth. It’ll be a good little vacation for all of us.

Wait, really? A cat, huh? Nice.

#

It’s so weird. One minute they’re a baby, and then they’re a kid, and then you turn around and they’re in high school. It’s weird, bro.

Of course, it was a little easier back when they were short and had a limited vocabulary.

Yeah, you know how it is.

Happened to you, too, I assure you. You were the grumpy one, hands down.

Mum agrees, ya know.

Don’t deny it!

Maybe you should talk to her… ya seem to have your head on far straighter than I, my guy.

#

… She left, earlier. Yelled at me. Loudly.

Yeah.

Them damn family reunions, amirite? No one likes ’em! Heh…

… I know. Twenty years. Where did they go?

I’ll call back in a bit.

Bye.