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 Post subject: Oreo chalenges Napoleon - Short Story Contest
PostPosted: Sat Feb 12, 2011 11:28 pm 
Crucible King
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;D

Hear ye! Hear ye! Oreo, creator of Brichstopia, has challenged me, Napoleon, creator of A Nation Divided and The Land of Vendameria, to a short story-centered duel! I accept! *Napo smacks glove lightly like an effeminate 1700's fop* :9

RULES:

Once again, this a for-fun competition between me and my buddy Oreo, thus, no prizes. *Dramatic, chivalrous voice* "Our literary honor is the prize."

Competitors cannot vote for themselves.

The theme of the contest is historical. Stories must contain one LEGO/BF illustration. Quasi-historical themes, like Greek mythology, are allowed.

No word limit, but nothing ridiculous. ;) If we limit the size, that will limit creativity. In short, word limit hurts story, even though one might be the better author if given no exact limit.

After both authors submit their tale, the poll shall last for two weeks.


Now, I've chosen the 1700's to set my story in. At the moment, expect my story to be about the Battle of Culloden. A set, well-documented battle will help me keep it short. Plus, it'll allow me to use my large amount of redcoat minifigs in the illustration. ;D

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Last edited by Napoleon on Sun Feb 13, 2011 2:47 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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 Post subject: Re: Oreo chalenges Napoleon - Short Story Contest
PostPosted: Sun Feb 13, 2011 12:20 am 
Mould Mason
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Cant wait to read them gentlemen!

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 Post subject: Re: Oreo chalenges Napoleon - Short Story Contest
PostPosted: Mon Mar 07, 2011 5:58 pm 
Smelt Sire
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Part One: The Thief

The dappled rays of golden light flowed through the gaps 'twixt the green leaves, the rest creating an eerie green glow in the thick woodland. Oak, ash, beech and maple trees, framed against a beautiful hue of light blue, their gnarled root systems heavily twisted and knotted, like old men from a bygone day and age long past. Their trunks were great and scarred, mirrors of their age-old neighbours. The brown, soft loam that covered the forest floor was soft, even welcoming to a tired eye.

Occasionally, as one went along, a sprawling fern bed could be seen, the ribbed, green, leafy stalks sometimes reaching six feet tall.

Wildlife was commonly seen, but particularly skittish. Every now and then one could see through the ancient trees a majestic stag, a small doe, a cautious rabbit, or a lone wolf.

This was a very human woodland, to say the least. Most forests in that day and age were said to be inhabited by the beautiful yet reclusive race called Elves, but this was obviously not one of them. It was inhabited by humans, if inhabited by anything but the wildlife.

A balmy summer breeze whisked through the air, laughing its merry laugh as it rolled and tumbled along its way. Patches of wildflowers could be seen sprouting in random areas. The smell of summer was in the air, and with it, rich pilgrims traversing the land from their winter homes in the south, to the far north where their residences lay for the summer.

The sun was warm, the streams were clean, the deer were maturing, and, upon occasion, a wealthy baron, lord or some man of the higher classes would travel along the well-trod forest road.

This, my friends, was precisely the reason that The Thief was out.

His eyes quick, his boots worn, his fingers skilful, his gait merry and his spirits high. It was a season for thieving, and this was where to do it.

He wore an average sized forest-brown cloak on top of his dark green tunic and homespun dark red shirt. His tight brown trousers could be seen over tall, large-cuffed leather boots and under a thick leather belt with a broad brass buckle.

Over his head he wore a long, ridged leather hood, long and pointed at the forehead to cover his eyes and nose. However, his muscular, well-whiskered jaw and slyly grinning mouth could be seen below.

On his wrists were long leather bracers, and on his back a full leather quiver of scarlet-flighted arrows and a sturdy recurve bow common among Elves and Centaurs.

All in all, you could tell he was a roguish type character, but from his merry gait and bright smile, even the way he carried himself, showed that he was at least an uncannily charming fellow.

Here he sat, in the bowl of one of the gnarled root systems, his legs gathered under him indian-style, his hood cast back over his quiver revealing longish, wavy red-brown hair, a cocky cock of his eyebrows belying a thorough knowledge of flirtatiousness and light-brown eyes so uncannily shallow, they seemed to be lying the whole time. However, his face altogether was what a girl would call attractive, even charismatic.

The jingle of a bridle.

The musical sound of coins, clinking in a moneybag.

The whinny of a horse.

The smell of a hot turkey leg.

The Thief put his hood over his head, and reached behind his back under his cloak with his right hand, retrieving a long, curved knife with a ruby pommelstone. It appeared to be of Elvish make.

A few more moments, and, without a sound, he had slid off the root system and was standing in the middle of the road, deftly tossing and twirling the longknife in his hand.

The source of the sounds and smell presented it in the form of a fat man on a black-and-brown-spotted horse. He was dressed in the regal finery of a baron, with the crest and colours of a province to the west. His tunic was of fine silk, coloured purple and yellow. His stockings were the same colours, as well as his feathered hat.

Indeed, he was chomping on a fair sized turkey leg dripping with grease. It appeared to have been freshly purchased, The Thief judging from the location of a small milltown about five miles down the road.

His horse seemed to have no fear, and the man did not appear to be paying much attention to the fact that The Thief was standing in the path.

Soon enough, the man and horse were directly in front of The Thief, and the young man decided that now was an opportune time to speak.

His hood was drawn low over his face, giving the nobleman the displeasure of not being able to look into The Thief's eyes, but giving the advantage to The Thief, for he could.

"Halt." he said. The nobleman obeyed, and drew the reigns attached to the horse's bridle to his chest. He looked down his nose at The Thief with disdain, still munching on a chunk of turkey.

"Afternoon m'lord." The Thief said with a northerner accent. The nobleman swallowed with no sparing of all manner of disgusting mouth noises, then spoke.

"What do you want, thief? You shall not have it, whatever it is."

"Ah." The Thief replied. He cocked his head to the side, still looking up at the fat man. He took a kindly tone. "I just thought, consid'rin' y've go' a fair bit o' trav'lin' ahead of yeh, I might relieve y'of that big ol' purse y'got on yer saddle. It looks awful heavy, I wouldn't want no undue strain t'be put on yer, uh, already substantial weight, sir."

The nobleman looked skyward, as if any help would come from it. "If you dare make a move toward my saddlebags, I shall have to gouge out your eye. I have no tolerance for thieves and blaggahds." he said with a droning, nasally voice.

The Thief paused, still deftly flicking the longknife 'twixt his fingers, 'round his hand and finally sheathing it behind his back. "Well," he said with a lighthearted grin, "I'll just have ta take all yer stuff then."

Twenty-six minutes hence

Same location

The nobleman sat by the road, frowning and glowering with what appeared to be a deep sense of hatred for something that had happened to him. Indeed, he had good reason.

He was completely naked, save for his underpants and his brightly coloured hat on his head. The feather was gone. His hands were bound behind him, and his feet likewise, the bottoms of which were touching each other, thus causing a painful stretch of his thighs.

Aye, The Thief had left, and taken with him everything the nobleman had. Money, clothing, belt, horse, supplies, feather and even his turkey leg. The nobleman was in no danger. He could either hop back to the village, or a search party would be sent out from his home.

However, by then, of course, The Thief would be long gone. It was obvious who got the better end of the deal, as was the way things usually went for him.

After all, he had been doing this for years. Not only that, but he was a sucker for making a good show while robbing even the smallest of things, and getting away with it (which he always did).

Aye, The Thief had been at his job for a long time now, and what was more, he didn't plan to stop.


I'll post another part along these lines within the next few days, possibly.

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 Post subject: Re: Oreo chalenges Napoleon - Short Story Contest
PostPosted: Mon Mar 07, 2011 6:12 pm 
Crucible King
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Darn. Know I know I'll lose. 8o Awesome, Oreo! I might post part of mine tonight... ;D

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 Post subject: Re: Oreo chalenges Napoleon - Short Story Contest
PostPosted: Sat Mar 12, 2011 8:36 pm 
Hammer Ace
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Nice Oreo! And goood luck ta' all!

Whoever wins. Perhaps I will challenge them... ;D

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 Post subject: Re: Oreo chalenges Napoleon - Short Story Contest
PostPosted: Sat Mar 12, 2011 11:28 pm 
Crucible King
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khopesh97 wrote:
Nice Oreo! And goood luck ta' all!

Whoever wins. Perhaps I will challenge them... ;D


;D

I'm writing the first part of mine, now.

Image

;D

I also can't wait to do a MOC for it.

;D

Yes, I'm rather fond of the ;D emoticon.

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 Post subject: Re: Oreo chalenges Napoleon - Short Story Contest
PostPosted: Sun Mar 13, 2011 1:14 am 
Crucible King
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khopesh97 wrote:
Nice Oreo! And goood luck ta' all!

Whoever wins. Perhaps I will challenge them... ;D


You'll probably be challenging Oreo. ;)

My story will be largely based on my timeline in the Scriptorium. What the hey, here...

we...

go!


Part 1

Location: New York City, USSA

"Comrades of the United Socialist States of America! Welcome to the annual October 1st Victory Day parade, celebrating our fathers' heroism in the Great Patriotic Wars of 1939 to 1970, and the liberation of the Allied world from capitalism!" roared the announcer over the intercom in Zhukov Square, which had been known as Times Square six decades before. Things had gone downhill, or uphill, depending on your ideology, for the Americans after General Patton had retreated from Czechoslovakia in '46. The alliance between the Allies and Republican Germany remained steadfast till the end, when the USSR had beaten them all. First Poland, then Czechoslovakia, then Germany, then France, the Low Countries, Italy, Spain, Mexico, even Britain and Canada. And yes, even America. Saying that the "entire Allied world had been liberated" was a stretch; Japan still was an Empire and was an island of capitalism in a sea of Bolshevik wannabes. Half of Africa belonged to Russia, though the southern half went to the Republic of South Africa, the place most ex-European Allies and even some Nazis had fled. The Dutch-speaking government welcomed the immigrants and used them to capture half the continent. In South America, Venezuela had turned to communism. With Russia's help, they had subjugated Colombia and Peru. Brazil was basically a socialist puppet state of the USSR. Argentina, however, remained steadfastly capitalist, thanks in part to the mass immigration from Europe and the USA to Argentina's West-friendly country. India was communist, though it hated the USSR and China. Iran was communist, and it had added Pakistan, Afghanistan, and Iraq, to boot. The Workers' Republic of Iran was friendly with India, thus, it did not like the USSR or China. The rest of the Middle Eastern states largely were Soviet or, like America and Mexico, belonged to the Soviet-dominated United Socialist Nations.

The announcer continued as fireworks went off all across the city, "First up is the National Hymn of the USSA. Please remove your caps." A huge military band played a tune that was strikingly similar to the Star Spangled Banner, but with very different lyrics. "Oh say does that crimson banner yet wave?" was a good example of how the Reds had changed everything. After the song played through and the parade-watchers were nigh unto tears, the voice again echoed through the square, "And now, to lead the parade, the elite Regiment of the Minister, currently under the command of our beloved Josef Stalin Harrison! The regiment was formed in 1965 to protect the first Minister of the USSA, James Watson, from capitalist assassins, back when the USSA only consisted of California, Washington, and Oregon! Still today, they always accompany the minister wherever he goes." The blue-coated troops with red trim saluted and marched past. "Next, and you'll really like this regiment, folks, is the 1st New York!" A Soviet march blasted from the martial band as the crimson-coated men paraded by, AK-70's on their shoulders. Regiment after regiment passed; the 5th Indiana, the 18th California, and at least one representative formation from all 48 states.

Location: 1st New York Regimental headquarters, New York City

After the parade, Captain Pyotr McCullough propped his AK-70 up against the wall of his barracks. Like many Americans born after the Great Liberation, his parents had given him a Russian first name. He sat down on a chair and passed some time looking at a biography of Lenin. He was about to start chapter two when a soldier came running into the building.

"Captain McCullough! Captain McCullough! Red alert! The Indians have sunk a Chinese cruise ship off of the coast of Sri Lanka! I always knew the Indies might try something, but I never thought that they would do something so barbaric as sinking civilians!"

Pyotr was not as shocked, "They told the Chinese to stay away from Sri Lanka, Smith. The Indies have fought one uprising after another there. Don't Blame 'em; the Chinamen could've been sneaking weapons to the Sri Lankans. Remember the Lusitania?"

Smith waved his hand dismissively, "That proves nothing, comrade! The Americans, Germans, and British of WWI were barbarians and capitalists! The Indians may not be as good as us and the Russians, but at least they recognize the needs of the workers," he said, having firm conviction in his race's superiority.

Before Pyotr could respond, another soldier, Josef Webb, barged in, "War! It's war, comrades! The Iranians have sent in troops to assist the people of Turkey in rebelling against the Russians! We are getting shipped to the Middle East to combat the attack. Don't worry, no one thinks this will come to nukes; Minister Harrison and Premier Putin have said it will be a mere skirmish compared to the old wars."

Compared to the old wars. The old wars were Hell on earth, so that's not saying much,
Pyotr thought to himself. "Why doesn't Putin just use the Soviet army to crush them? That'd make more sense. Why us?"

Webb grinned, "Because we're part of the United Socialist Nations Expeditionary Force. Because the 1st New York is the best of the best. There's gonna be one regiment from Mexico, one from Venezuela, Chavez has already sworn to assist the Russians with all his might, one from Canada, and one from Brazil. All elite."

Pyotr stood up, grabbed his rifle, and grinned, "Well, this should be interesting."




To quasi quote Porky Pig: "That's all for now, folks!" :D

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 Post subject: Re: Oreo chalenges Napoleon - Short Story Contest
PostPosted: Sun Mar 13, 2011 11:29 am 
Chisel Hand
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Great stories, both of you ;D !

Where/what is that picture from, Napo?


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 Post subject: Re: Oreo chalenges Napoleon - Short Story Contest
PostPosted: Sun Mar 13, 2011 12:53 pm 
Crucible King
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AlbaVik wrote:
Great stories, both of you ;D !

Where/what is that picture from, Napo?


Thank ya!

The picture is from Google images, I can't even remember what it was for... It's a neat piece of art. :)

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 Post subject: Re: Oreo chalenges Napoleon - Short Story Contest
PostPosted: Sun Mar 13, 2011 1:17 pm 
Smelt Sire
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Wow, nice job Napo. This really makes for an interesting competition. ;D

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