Pirate, The Reader

Member Since

9/24/2019

Last Activity

4/8/2020 9:13 PM

EXP Points

59

Post Count

11

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0

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Order

Marauder

Commendations

6

Currently freezing my ass off in a leaking house in a far corner of London. Oh, and I'm a big fan of anime, writing, memes and pizza. In no particular order.

Storygames

Testing, testing, I'm just suggesting...
unpublished

Ambitious projects might not be the best thing.


Vivamus, Moriendum Est
unpublished

Adalorn is in a midst of a civil war. As royal soldiers, you and your odd group of friends must fulfill your duties to restore peace and order in the lands at once. But things aren't as straightforward as it seems...


Recent Posts

Corona Tag! on 3/21/2020 12:14:09 PM

I've forgot about that, thanks man.

Sorry @MrSausage @maxperhood


Corona Tag! on 3/21/2020 12:14:34 AM

(My bad, it turned to be 2009 words. I was feeling motivated)

The corporal winces as he misses a step, a sharp pang of pain piercing his side like a heated dagger.

Today's attack was a complete catastrophe.

In order to relieve the enormous pressure off the French, who were fending off fierce German counterattacks, the British commanders had all mutually decided to launch a series of offensive attacks in order to divert the enemy's attention. The objective of the offensive was to plunge into the German lines and capture the village of Neuve Chapelle, threatening to push the Germans back to the Bois de Biez line and overrun their trench lines.

At first the operation went well. Several British brigades managed to advance strongly against the defenders, and after being locked in a cutthroat onslaught and suffer from heavy losses, finally managed to overtake the village by nightfall. However, due to the delayed arrival of reinforcements and communication struggles, the success hadn't be furthur exploited, putting the end to land gains. The superiors tried to replicate the previous successes by ordering another assault, but this time the enemy forces were ready and fought back with intensity, leaving a trail of dead corpses as the British falls back.

In spite of his lingering fear, the corporal had led his men to take advantage over a quieter German sector, which was seemingly unperturbed by the raging battle and thunderous artillery fire. The atmosphere was thick with tension, but the men were cautiously optimstic, mumbling and whispering to each other that this may perhaps be an easy victory and they will be bestowed with distinguished medals for bravery. The corporal enjoyed listening to their excitement. His smile quickly faded away when, to his chilling horror, he caught sight of a group of soldiers with spiked helmets rising from the trenches.

The Germans had been hiding. Propping up their weapons, they were ready to lay waste on the damned men.

He screamed out an order of retreat, but the roar of the machine gun fire had cut him off.

The German bullets descended upon his men like molten rainfall, pieces of their flesh melting away into the cold air as the metal slam into their bodies. Desperately relying on his wits, the corporal attempted to shoot back to give some of the men cover and time to fall back to safety; but all was in vain as suddenly a stray shell slams down into the ground and exploded. 

Moments later the older soldier woke up with dirt in his face and mouth. He had been swallowed up by the earth, laying down on the shattered ground with body bits of soldiers from both sides around him. Ashes fall like snow on his haggard body; he wondered absentmindedly if some belonged to his fellow soldiers.

Without a warning, a white-hot blazing pain in his right side caused him to cry out - where the scorching pieces of shrapnel are embedded deep into his body. Gasping, he tried to alleviate the agony by treating it, but it wasn't enough. He knew that unless he crawled back to his line without any incidents and get proper medical attention, he would either die with from blood loss or festered wounds. A dark thought appear like a pest in his weary mind. telling him that perhaps he should stay put and accept the inevitable. But the images of his beloved wife and son shone bright behind his eyelids dispelling any more sinister notions, so with a sharp grunt he wills his aching body up, and thus began his slow trek back to the trenches.

As the mud gurgles under his worn out boots, the corporal begins to wonder for the millionth when why on God's green Earth had he and his younger brother decided to go back to the army. He never remember the fighting to this brutal, this cruel; the sheer amount of innocent blood shed from both sides spilling on the French muddy fields, reddening the earth to a rich maroon. He had never seen such astronomical numbers of lost lives in such a short time. It boggles his mind. 

The creaking of his bones is yet another sharp reminder of his age - he not longer possess a young and robust body. The thought reminds him of his wife, and suddenly for a moment all the aches and pains that plagued his body washes away. His love, his beloved; the only woman who he had ever loved and treasured in all of his thirty-nine years. She never agreed with his decision to join the war when it first broke out last summer, unswayed by the flood of patriotic ardor that infected everyone included him. She didn't see his reenlistment as a duty of honour but rather a derelictiom of duty what mattered the most: his family. She spoke of his engineering firm, his age, his son, begging him to come to his senses and stand with his family instead. Despite being moved, he stood firm in his decision, kissing and soothing her that he simply must go, it's a man's duty to protect his family you see and besides, the war will end before Christmas. Should anything happen to me, our son will take care of you. You know how reliable and strong the lad is.

His wife was always a worrier. It is a trait that his dear son also possess. Both so unlike him. Whilst he always faces the world with a laugh, his heart light and free, his wife and child turns away, fearing pain and torment. 

The corporal almost fall, but manages to regain his balance. This wasn't always a case, though. They weren't so reserved before. The loss of happiness is undeniably due to the loss of his daughter... her death eight years earlier had caused a shroud of darkness over the family.

He lets out a shuddering breath. Despite the loss of his men, the searing pain in his side, crippling exhaustion - the heartache of his baby girl is a suffering like no other.

She was exactly like him, in appearance and dispostion. A slice of the sun, her cheerfulness brightens anyone's day no matter their mood. Beloved by everyone, especially by her father. She was the apple of his eye. When the illness took hold of her petite body and spread like wildfire, he never left her side.

"Please... make it stop... Daddy," she weakly cried one night. "It hurts... so much..."

"Hush now," her father gently whispered, wiping the sweat off her pale face. "I'm right here, sweetpea. Get some rest to gather your strength. As soon as you get better I'll take you and your brother to the London zoo again - remember those cute monkeys you loved so much? But you must try your best to sleep a lot to become healthy again. That's fair, don't you think?"

She feebly nodded and closed her eyes, her breathing shallow. That was the last time he has ever spoke to her. When he woke up the start next morning by a deafening wail, raw and wretched to its core, he felt a piece of him died, his whole incomplete.

The corporal blinks his tears away. He never spoke of his grief, in spite of his brother's gentle cajolings. It was too excruciating, too difficult; a wound engraved in his heart that refused to heal. Which is why he never forget the day when him and his men were huddling in the trenches, cold and bored and chattering the world away.

The corporal was busy writing daily letters to your family when one of the men called you out, smirking.

"What do you reckon, sir?"

He blinked. "Reckon what?"

"About this lad's so-called party trick. Apparently he can tell one's true feelings lying in their heart, or something."

The older man put the unfinished letter away, amused. "All right, then, let's hear it," he proclaimed.

The men, huddled in blankets, grinned, eager to be entertained. 

The man with the alleged ability, a fresh faced private, shifted in his seat, visibly embarrased. 

"Well, okay, if you're fine with it..."

He leaned forward and stared into the corporal's eyes for twenty seconds. Feeling a bit uncomfortable, he was about to crack a joke of having a maiden heart when the private began to speak up.

"I believe... that you have lost someone. You suffered a great deal of pain and had never fully recovered."

The corporal's blood froze. "Come again, private?"

"Someone related to you. Perhaps a sibling, a parent, a child? It was someone you hold very dear to your heart, and you never stopped missing them. Did I get it right, sir?"

The corporal gulpped but forced a smile, his heart thumping. "Well, lad, now I know who's up for latrine duty tonight," he jokes, causing a racuous laughter from the men. The private laughed along, albeit nervously.

The private was correct. He never get to tell the younger man how right he was - he was the among those killed in the blast, his body parts littered across the mud. A damn shame.

Out of a blue, a lone German appears thirty feet away. He looks dazed, his grey uniform covered with mud and burn marks. His hair, almost white in color, is matted with blood oozing from his head. He looks extremely young - to the British soldier the enemy looks around the same age as his son. 

The German quickly takes notice of the man, his face adruptly drenched in terror and his eyes wide. He frantically reaches inside his jacket to take out his pistol.

"Shit!" The corporal hisses as he also fumbles for his revolver, his right hand still pressed against his bleeding side. With a swift motion he brandished the firearm with his left and aim at the German.

Silence fills in the gap as the two men stare at each other. Both men are unwilling to shoot, reluctant to shed more blood after today's total carnage, nor taking their eyes off each other. The German's teary blue eyes meets the corporal's steady amber ones.

"Come on, son," he mutters, then speaks loudy for the German to hear. "Come on now, son, put the gun down. There's no need for any more needless violence. I promise you no harm shall ever come to your way if you surrender - I'll make sure of that."

The German's hand that holds the pistol shake erratically, tears streaming down his dirtied face. 

"Bitte, mir verzeihst..." he whispers in a plea as he tightens the grip on his trigger. The corporal, instantly seeing this, quickly pulls the trigger to fire his revolver.

Two shots rang out.

Two bodies fell down with a thud.

The German slumps down, his vacant glassy eyes staring up at the blackening cloudy sky. The corporal kneels over, attempting to breathe, but because of the gory hole in his throat it comes out as a gurgled sound. Crimson blood seeps down his mouth as he desperately try to draw breath.

But it is all in vain.

He falls back on the sodden ground, his lungs filling with his own blood. This is it. This is the end of the long, ardous journey. The corporal knows that while his own war is going to end, the others are still in theirs, their days saturated with barbarity and inhumanity, their hell neverending unless a stray bullet gives them a sweet release of death. Peace at last.

As his body begin to slacken and his struggles grow feeble, he deliriously thinks of his sweet, timid wife, and his prudent, thoughtful son, and make an apology to them. He wasn't coming home, after all.

Darkness overcomes the dying man's senses, and his body goes limp. Then a white blinding light appears, shining on a smiling face of a little blonde girl, free of sickness. A voice echos in his ears.

"...Daddy?"

He reaches out for her, the missing piece coming back in place, his world now complete again.

"I'm right here, sweetpea. I'm right here."


Corona Tag! on 3/17/2020 10:11:23 PM

Alright then. I'll do it later.


Year's End Contest - Choose Your Own Prompt II on 12/4/2019 6:31:11 PM

Oh okay, that's a cool fact. At least I've heard of Freja before. Thanks, Bucky.


Year's End Contest - Choose Your Own Prompt II on 12/4/2019 6:15:10 PM

Wow, when you think about it, it's true. Anyway thanks but I'm currently working on my WIP and probably won't write another one in a such a short notice.

And what's Folkvangr? Is it a Viking thing?


Prompt: Write the Last Page of Sixteen Words on 10/14/2019 7:15:59 PM

No don't worry it's actually epic. You have a way with emotive and descriptive writing without making it seem too wordly, regardless of dialogue. I really enjoyed it!


Prompt: Write the Last Page of Sixteen Words on 10/14/2019 6:31:54 PM

Holy crap that was really good. I didn't take my eyes off the screen the entire time I was reading, and I can practically visualise everything you described in that story. You sir are a fantastic writer!


My first game called Vivamus, Moriendum Est on 10/11/2019 7:41:47 PM

Yeah it's pretty long for the first page. I'll take your advice yet again. Thanks!


My first game called Vivamus, Moriendum Est on 10/11/2019 7:40:58 PM

Hey man thank you so much for the kind words! They just lift a huge weight off my shoulders. I'll try my best.


My first game called Vivamus, Moriendum Est on 10/10/2019 2:11:27 PM

Hi guys! So at the advice of poison_mara (thanks again Mara!), I'm going to show the first page in here. One of my biggest fears is that the inability to show the MC's close relationships with his friends at the first glance, with the dialogue coming across weird and unnatural. So I really appreciate any feedback on this since it's my very first storygame - I want it to be as entertaining as possible for you guys.

It's bascially a fantasy comedic adventure story about a group of royal soldiers who are in the middle of a civil war. Here are the opening page:

Vivamus, Moriendum Est

"Phew, I'm so full," you huff as you pat your stomach, leaning back. You put your feet nearer to the bonfire, warming up your frozen toes.

Your fellow soldier Odi pouts, his chubby cheeks wobbling slightly. He grumbles, "That makes one of us, then."

"You just had three servings already, you fat pig!" The redheaded man next to you exclaims.

"Yeah, well, that's not enough for me, okay?"

"It's never enough for you!"

"No need to be so mean, Jaxon," Gilbert sighs, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "Odi just has a... uh... a healthy appetite, that's all."

Jaxon lets out a derisive snort. "There's nothing healthy about his eating habits at all. The man's looks like he's carrying babes!"

"You're just jealous because I'm a lot bigger than you. I mean, by the Gods you're shorter than your own mam!"

"At least I never thought of eating my own damn horse, you lard filled cunt!"

"Jaxon!" Gilbert scolds. "Just finish your own bowl, we're waking up early tomorrow."

That was just one time," Odi whines. "Our rations were cut some much last winter, we were barely fed. Plus, I heard that horse meat tastes nice."

"I bet even horse shit will taste nice to you..."

"Jaxon!"

"Okay, okay," Jaxon rolls his eyes and picks up his bowl. "I'll be quiet for now."

"I'm still hungry..."

Gilbert lets a long suffering sigh. "Seven hells, fine. You can have my share, Odi."

Feeling even colder, you inch yourself forward, letting the burning glow of the fire warm your bones. It's been a week since your group has been assigned to patrol the woods near town, with the order of finding the camp of the rebels. They have recently lay traps around the forest, leading to injuries of many unassuming patrols. The commander, furious at the losses, decided that the six of you to search for any signs of those pesky rebels and disable any trap you find in your way. Soon the cold and the meagre food supplies started to get to everyone - with Odi always complaining about the lack of food, Jaxon becoming even more snarky (if that's even possible) and Isaak being even more restless. Gilbert, being the team leader, tried to keep the peace, but it doesn't always work.

Poor guy. At least Mitch isn't causing anyone trouble, since he's a mute.

The six of you grew up in the same village, and since you all live next to each other it wasn't long until everyone became best friends. You, Gilbert, Odi, Jaxon, Isaak and Mitch. Being inseparable even into young adulthood, the six of you joined the army at the same time, and was even placed in the same squad. It's been almost two years, but it was pretty fun.

Well, until last year. That's when a lord named Lucian von Brandt start to declare a military coup against King Edric III, causing a spread of shock and disbelief across the nation. He announced that he cannot in good conscience serve a "heartless tyrant" who only cares about his power than the people underneath him. 

The rebellion was expected to be promptly quashed, but to the king's chagrin, it had garnered a lot of support from the populace, with a lot of ordinary people defecting to join the growing rebel army. Since then it remained a huge thorn to his side, with the peasants dealing a considerable amount of damage against the royal army.

Whoever this Lucian is, one thing is clear: he is not going away any time soon.

Suddenly Gilbert claps his hands loudly, getting everyone's attention. "Okay, men, before we proceed our mission tomorrow I want to make sure that everyone knows what they're doing. First, Isaak is going to- wait, where the bloody hell is Isaak?"

"He went to piss," you answered, and sure enough the blonde man stumbles back to the campfire, with a blissful expression on his face. 

"Phew," he exclaims, claiming his seat to the right of you and picking up his bowl of cold stew. "What were you guys talking about?"

"Never mind that. Where were you?" Gilbert blurts out, sounding exasperated.

"I was just pissing, that's all. A well good bloody piss that was..."

"But why did it took so long?"

"I told ya, it was a long piss. Just a piss. That's all."

Jaxon cuts in. "Stop saying piss so much. Plus, you left ages ago, so how the hell did it take that long?"

"I-I had a full bladder! So just drop it, okay?"

Odi lets out a huge belch, then hums in amusement. "You probably were rubbing one out, weren't you, Isaak?" He jokes.

"Come on, guys, he wouldn't do that," you jump in, feeling sympathetic. "It's freezing out here. Right, Isaak?"

Silence.

"Isaak...?" you turn to look at him, only finding him looking away in guilt. 

Everyone freezes.

Jaxon almost fell off his seat, looking at the younger man with both disbelief and repulsion. "By Asstra's tits, the bastard actually jacked off while he was pissing!"

"I-I couldn't help it!" Isaak cries. "I really was going to piss, but then the image of that bar maiden's tits flashed in my mind... I got horny and well... I did a quick one."

Everyone around the camp lets out a disgusted sound, further embarrassing him.

"I didn't have a choice, okay!? It was hard and painful, so I gotta-!"

"Shut up!" Gilbert yells. "Bloody hells, no one wants to hear you talk about your cock!"

Mitch inches himself away from Isaak, looking appalled.

You also scooted away from him, feeling slightly sick. You narrow your eyes. "Mitch got the right idea. You better have washed your hands."

"D-don't worry, I did! I actually came so much that I kinda had to..."

With a roar, Jaxon throws his spoon at the blonde, smacking him in the middle of the forehead. He lets out a yelp of pain, clutching his forehead.

"What part of shut up don't you get, you filthy cunt!?"

Odi looks down at his unfinished bowl, looking green in the face. "I think I lost my appetite..."

"OKAY, OKAY, THAT'S ENOUGH!" Gilbert bellowed, his normally pale face reddening at each passing second. "Isaak, go wash your hands again! Jaxon, don't throw things at people unless they're the enemy! And Odi, I just gave my serving, so finish that damn bowl or else!"

Soon after everyone's calmed down (with Isaak whinging about the bruise on his forehead and his freezing hands) and is present at the camp, the leader stands up from his seat and clear his throat.

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