Hello. It's me, Pitka ("Ninja" to my friends), your morality guide. Together, we will embark on a journey filled with lessons on life and ethical behavior, while having fun along the way, of course!
I've written a series of short fables for your benefit. Come, take my hand as we navigate through life's innermost difficulties.
Entry for Bucky's Year's End Contest
The Providence of Kria consists of two major nations: The Kingdom of Brelia and the tribal territory of Rath. The ten-year peace between Brelia and Rath is quickly unraveling. In attempt to prevent another war, heir to the throne of Brelia, Prince Urijah, is sent on a diplomatic mission to appeal to the Rathans. In your older brother's absence, the burden of defending the kingdom falls to you. Your choices will determine the fate of the kingdom.
Runner-up for Corgi's Unofficial Contest: The Lords of the Land.
9/1/19 Update: Corrected a few punctuation errors
Taking place during the Golden Age of Piracy, assume command of The Sanguine as you plunder and search for treasure in the profitable Caribbean. In this swashbuckling fantasy, you embark on a dangerous quest to an ancient Aztec civilization. Peril lies behind every tree, stone, and indigenous spear.
The story adds fantasy elements to events occurring in the 1700s. There are many real life characters and places in the story. Many are factually accurate, and many are not. I highly encourage you to research the people, places, and deities after reading.
Entry for Gower's Battle in the Ruins of a Dead Civilization contest.
1852 - The Territory of New Mexico
The hunt has taken me to to the outer edges of civilization. Out here, lawlessness abides. There are no godly folk. Only heathen. The inner demon in me can relate to the call of anarchy. No rules, being bound by nothing; it sounds like freedom. In the end, that "freedom" is simply the self-indulgent, care-free living that is a poison upon humanity. If killing a man will save society from the infection of lawlessness, then I will gladly do what is necessary.
You eye the journal at your lap. The freshly written ink expands and bleeds to the perfect width of the quill. Satisfied that it won't smear, you shut the book and toss it aside. The meager fire at your feet does little to warm your body, but its original use was already completed. The frail, thin-boned squirrel did little to satisfy your hunger. Still, it would keep you alive until the next meal. You pull the leather waterskin from your pack to gauge how much longer it would last. With a gentle shake, you estimate it'll last a couple more days with strict rationing.
The road is lonely. In a former life, you dreamed about wandering the world without any responsibility or burdens. The reality of the road's harsh living conditions were nothing like the trigger-happy romanticized versions of the lawless west. Here there are no home-cooked meals, no warm body to lie next to yours. It's only you and the necessary task. Someone had to die.
You gaze up at the night sky. It seemed foreign at first. Without city lights to disorient the constellations, it looked like an entirely new sky. If you traveled at a good pace, you'd reach Canyon Diablo by midday. You pull the bone-carved pipe from your pack and light a match against the sole of your foot. You lie down on your bedroll, breathe in the relaxing tobacco, and drift off to sleep...
The Wild West is a dangerous place. Be sure to make good use of that "back" button. I've hidden three achievements throughout the story. Yes, your total score will show if you've discovered them or not. The highest score possible is an 8/8.
Achievements: 1 point each
Epilogue: 5 points
Entry for mizal's Lone Hero contest
8/28/19 Update: Fixed the symbols appearing in the description
VALENTINE'S DAY WRITING JAM SESSION
on 2/13/2020 10:17:21 PM
Supply and demand, baby. It’s hard to get keep this level of love production when the demand is so high. I need only to point my finger to get what I want. Fine, fine, I need only to point my finger after paying the john. Hey, not all of us have time for candlelight dinners, movies, or cruising in your dad’s state-of-the-art speeder. Some of us work for a living. Art just doesn’t steal itself, despite all the advances in technology. I can’t promise you a ring on your finger, but I can give you one hell of a ride (I mean in your dad’s speeder, although I like the way you think). Thrilling, quick to the destination. Oh, yes. I can give you one hell of a ride. This time, leave your daddy's speeder at home, baby.
Good ol’ Cara X. There’s not a finer space station in the galaxy for someone like me. It’s heavily populated, far too much that seems safe. Not to mention, the lawmen have an appetite for credits. I keep them well-fed and leave plenty for myself to eat. There’s not a finer space station in this sector, and speaking of fine, the governor’s daughters aren’t bad on the eyes. The fact that they take after their mother is a benefit to us all. If I was the type to keep a secret stash of photos for “personal use,” they’d likely all be of Danielle, the first born. You know what? While I’m at it, I might as well include some photos of their mother. I've never seen the second-born, but imagination's a powerful tool. I don’t mean a physical box, obviously. I’m talking about memories stashed in the strongest lockbox. A virtual, no not virtual… A memory bank with an uncrackable combination. It’s truly the only secure vault, and trust me, I’ve been around plenty. The contents are kept intact, untouched, and pristine, not like the filthy, stained-up shoe box underneath your bed, kiddo.
I stare up at the neon sign in front of me. Charlie’s. It’s not a bad place for a drink. Hell, is there really a bad place to drink? The answer is yes. Remember, that kids. There are bad places to drink. The automatic door slides open with a whoosh, and I give a tip of my cap to the bouncer. He doesn’t see the gesture. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. Guess what? I don’t care either (secretly I do though). Lining the shelves is every kind of booze imaginable. Blue whiskey, moon vodka, American tequila, you name it, they got it. I push my way past a smoochin’ couple, and hold up my fingers in a number two position.
“As cool as that looks, I don’t know what the fuck you want,” the bartender says.
“Means ‘peace.’ Don’t you read the holo-magazines in your own bar’s bathroom? There’s a surprising amount of content on the Hippy movement,” I say with a slight hint of superiority.
“No, I don’t. I’m usually busy doing other things,” the bartender replies while tying his long hair in a knot. Just to be clear, men going bald on top shouldn’t have ponytails.
“I wondered why there were waist-high peek holes in the stalls,” I respond.
“God damn vandalizers. I thought I filled up all those holes already.”
“The holes were filled all right,” I answer. “Back to the point, there’s another meaning behind holding two fingers up like this.” I create a “V” shape with my hand showing the bartender for proof. “See, if you put your tongue in the center—”
“Alright, that’s enough. Just tell me what you want,” he cuts me off mid-sentence. Aw. And I was just getting to the good part. No matter. I’m sure my tongue will get its exercise soon enough. The drink calls for me, and I’m pickin’ up the phone. Also, sex.
“A whiskey for me. None of that blue crap either. And one for that pretty dame over there,” I say to the bartender nodding at the lone girl at the bar.
“Friend, every man in this place had their go at the lass. I’m just warning you, it could be a short trip.”
“I’m different though.”
I show him, fully, the second meaning behind the “V” gesture. With my hands of course. Not…fully.
I take my whiskey from the bar top and meander through the patrons to reach the girl. She sits alone, staring into her drink. She’s almost through and finishes the final sip just as I arrive. She makes a slurping sound through her bright green straw. Her soft blonde curls tickle her bare shoulders. She looks like the object of every hero dressed in a spotless trench coat and fedora. All she’s missing is a cigarette — as the thought comes to my mind, she rolls a joint and turns toward me while licking the doobie shut.
“Nice form you got there,” I break the silence (and ice I might add).
“Gets the job done. Thanks for the drink. Newman said it was from you,” she says. Her voice sounds vaguely familiar. Maybe a bit like Ms. Marcy, my former babysitter…among other things. Most of which were academic related. A babysitter, tutor, and designated captain of the Spank Police, Ms. Marcy could do it all.
“I wasn’t talking about the joint,” I say with a handsome wink.
She takes a moment to think. Her brow furls like cute kicked-off covers. “Tee-hee,” she giggles, lighting up her handiwork. “What’s your name?”
“I don’t understand the reference.”
“Honey, I’d be surprised if you did. You tell me your name, and I’ll tell you mine.”
“I’m Annie. Do you like unicorns?”
Interesting comments 4
on 2/13/2020 10:01:14 PM
This deserves to be shared.
Rift Station: Open Worlds
Yes yes, go ahead and complain that I'm rating my own story, but it's mostly written by ninjapitka at this point so now what, bitch?
by mizal on Feb 9, 2020
The Weekly Review - Edition 42
on 2/9/2020 12:11:14 PM
I enjoyed your performance at the Super Bowl halftime show along with J.Lo.
on 2/7/2020 12:09:22 PM
The notification screen spells disappear "dissapear."
Highlights of the Past Year
on 2/7/2020 12:42:14 AM
Shh, just let it die a quiet death. I'm flattered though. Thanks.
CYS Book Club: Book Ten
on 2/3/2020 8:28:44 PM
Your comment is almost as long as your "review." Shots fired. Pew pew.
CYS Book Club: Book Ten
on 1/23/2020 3:16:46 PM
This isn't IS. You don't need to ask permission.
CYS Book Club: Book Ten
on 1/23/2020 2:59:35 PM
@mizal @Bill_Ingersoll @Cricket @Shadowdrake27 @TheChef @MicroPen @ghost11 @DarkSpawn @Gower @Avery_Moore
I was cleaning the other day, and I rediscovered the CYS Book Club kicked and left for dead behind a dresser. After a quick spit polish, here it is, bright and shiny like the very first posting. Instead of leaving it on the street corner (next to Coins' mom) with a giant "Free" sign, I think I'll leave it here.
Going in order, DarkSpawn is next to pick the storygame.
While there was a lengthy discussion on the last post,
overall reviews were minimal. To put it into perspective, at this time I have 50% of the reviews on Woban Island.
Now that everyone's done with their contest stories, let's sit back, read Dark's selection, and try to be less of a disappointment.
2019: Objective Weighing of Value thread
on 1/15/2020 12:22:21 AM
All my work this year was fueled by mad jealousy for not making the cut in 2018. I mean, I had like nine commendations at the time, come on. Did my four 50 word stories mean nothing to you? I suppose I can take down the red-haired elf dart board off my wall now.
Also, the list this year is gigantic compared to last. Looking forward to the stories you all put out.
What are we reading now?
on 1/14/2020 11:37:16 PM
Just noticed the last thread in here was over a month ago. The class got defunded for lack of students enrolling.
Would you recommend any of the books you mentioned?
I'm currently halfway through Doctor Sleep by Steven King. It's entertaining to read just before falling asleep. The chapter breaks are short, sometimes a single page, so it never feels like a chore to get to a good stopping point. This is only my third Steven King novel, and I'm a big fan of his characterization. He's also kind of a weird writer. There's tons of creatively-spelled words and the descriptions are downright odd at times. The current read isn't anything special, but it's engaging and suspenseful enough to keep me going.