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  • Locked thread
Apr 12, 2010

Shooting and Fucking
are the same thing!


Glitch me.


Apr 12, 2010

Shooting and Fucking
are the same thing!

Blood and Soil
"Crops planted/tended by mad cultists will occasionally be Evil" (+200 words)

A shape moved through the rows of crops like a shadow made flesh. Vaguely human-shaped but oddly crooked and moving in strange irregular spasms.

The shape paused in the middle of the field and extended its wrist before dragging a clawed finger across it seeping thick black blood on the soil below. It resumed the march through the crops with blood dripping behind it. Everywhere the ichor fell the crops withered and died.

A column of smoke flew across the night sky and landed in the field where it began to take the shape of a man. In his hands was a bundle of fennel stalks, tightly bound with a length of rope. "Die vile witch!" he screamed and swung the bundle over his head like a flail. It hit the shape in the face smashing it open, the burst of blood rotting the ground below. The man moved swiftly behind the kneeling shadow and threw the rope around its neck and tightened it.

The shape dug its claws deep into his right hand but the pain only made him tighten the rope even more. The creature attempted to shriek but could only let out a low gurgle. It writhed uselessly against the restraints until went limp and the man let it fall to the ground where it melted. Seeing that his job was finished the man's became wisps and flew backwards over hills and fields into a village where he shot down a chimney and threw himself back into his sleeping body.

The body of Carlo Moduco.

Carlo woke up in bed covered in sweat and bleeding from his hand. His wife had long gotten used to nights of blood and screams but such nights have come much often of late and she was beginning to worry.

"Did I shout much?" Carlo inquired.

"Only 'Die witch!' and then a load of moaning and wincing" his wife answered "If the neighbors were not already dead they would have heard you. With the racket you were making they probably did anyway."


Carlo was born in the caul, a sign of good fortune to some but a bad omen to others. Carlo however was never particularly lucky nor was he unusually unlucky. For the most part his life had been unremarkable. His father was a wheelwright so he became one as well. He got married and had children though none had yet survived infancy. He drank on occasion but in moderation, seldom left his village and went to mass each Sunday.

But on the night of his twentieth birthday destiny called. On the stroke of midnight Carlo was awoken by a thundering blast of trumpets. Above him stood an angel, Carlo was shocked that it did not resemble the angels he had seen in statues or paintings who were simply beautiful humans with wings, this angel had six wings and a thousand eyes upon each. The angel pointed behind him and he turned around to see himself lying on the bed sleeping.

When the angel opened its mouths it's words were a deafening thunderclap "You were born with the caul and are one of the Benandanti. A soldier in the army of the LORD. Upon the ember days you and your brethren must leave behind the common clay of your flesh do battle with the harbingers of famine and disease.".

The angel clapped its hands and Carlo exploded into smoke and flew into the night sky before landing in a forest clearing where he met scores of others like him and was initiated into the order.

Most years the Benandanti only had four battles, one at the start of each season. When they were victorious there was prosperity and plenty. When they failed there was much hunger and suffering. Despite the last battle ending in a victory for the Benandanti famine had fallen upon the land and Carlo had been fighting every night for two weeks and slain a witch every night. He had been but one of five Benandanti in the village but all the rest had fallen during the night battles and he was left alone. There were others in the land and he had even met some with foreign accents but it seemed that the disaster that had befallen his village was also a problem elsewhere as he had not seen any of his distant brethren since the beginning of the season.

The corruption begun with a strange drought. Even when it rained the crops would remain dry as a bone. During the drought the livestock began milking blood and puss.
Not long after some of the crops became unnaturally tainted. They grew twitching tongues and clouded sightless eyes. When harvested blood burst from them as they shrieked and wailed.

Even those crops that looked untainted were not to be trusted as those that ate them soon became gravely ill. First their teeth and hair fell out became feverish and in their delirium became convinced insects had burrowed under their skin. They clawed at themselves constantly and soon became covered in sores that would get infected and begin weeping puss.

Since the crops were not safe the people went hungry. Some boiled leaves and bark, others slaughtered and ate their pet cats and dogs in desperation.


Carlo was at work when there was a sharp knock on the door. Outside stood a dour man with pale skin and sunken eyes clad all in black. "Good day, I am Bartolomeo Mattei of the Roman Inquisition, Might I ask you a few questions?" the voice was as dry as the man himself, "I do not think I will be of much use to you but I am always happy to assist the church in any way I can." Carlo replied.

"This village has been struck by famine and I am told that many are blaming witches and that there are men, calling themselves the Benandanti, who exploit the desperation of the people by promising them salvation from this tragedy. They claim to be able to leave their bodies and fight the witches responsible using sorcery." the inquisitor continued

"I have heard such rumors but I do not put much trust in them." Carlo said, "God alone will deliver us from this hardship.".

"Some of these rumors claim that you are one of these Benandanti." said the inquisitor.

"Would that I could leave this body at will, I would have ascended to heaven long ago. I am sorry father but you have heard wrong." Carlo replied. "But is it not commendable to combat witchcraft, even if some benign sorcery is involved?"

"God is almighty and those who claim to have control over his creation through magic are charlatans at best and lunatics at worst. However all sorcery is a form of heresy and heresy, like all plagues, will spread if not kept in check by fire." the inquisitor smiled but it was not a true smile, the corners of his lips moved upwards but his eyes were unchanged, "Thank you for your time. I shall not delay you any further.".


As Carlo drifted off to sleep he could feel his spirit begin to break loose. He shot up the chimney and out to the countryside. He glided over the land but could feel himself being drawn to a certain spot. On the way he passed A breaking wheel on a high pole, the condemned long ago rotted to bones. He wrenched the wheel of the pole and kept on his journey.

He came to field of dead and dry barely where an entire coven of witches appeared to be gathered around a strange idol made of bone chanting incantations, the ground around the idol was made of pulsating flesh. The idol had an aura of black smoke. The source of the corruption.

Carlo gathered up all the torches he could find and threw them into the field. It caught fire fast and as the burning witches ran out of the field to escape the fire Carlo met them and beat them back into the flames. Flying back and forth between various ends of the field to catch them.

Carlo held the breaking wheel high above his head to smash the skull of a still twitching witch, "I am Carlo Monduco of the Benandanti, we are God's red right hand of vengeance and if you crawl back from the pits of hell know that we will be waiting!" but before he could bring the wheel down his palm ripped open and he could feel himself being pulled back into his body.

He woke up on his bed, it was empty. All around him were armed men, his blood was still dripping from the spear that had pierced his hand. They were laughing. The inquisitor stood at the foot of the bed. This time he smiled with his eyes as well as his mouth.

Apr 12, 2010

Shooting and Fucking
are the same thing!


Apr 12, 2010

Shooting and Fucking
are the same thing!

Castle Doctrine

What stood in front of me was more lock than door. They might as well have put up a huge neon sign proclaiming "Something valuable lies behind this door. Please take it off our hands". They seemed to be under the impression that the more locks you put on the door the more secure it becomes when in reality the opposite is true. With every lock you add to a door you weaken it and make it easier to break down. If a burglar were to try to pick every individual lock it would be tedious time consuming work but why bother when you could open it with a crowbar?. A crowbar is a skeleton key. It makes a hell of a lot of noise and it lacks the subtle finesse of lockpicks but there isn't a lock in the world that can withstand it.

I broke down the door with ease and entered the room. I threw whatever valuables I could find into my bag as well as the lockbox I had been hired to steal. As a finishing touch I threw a few random objects on the floor before making my exit, to make it look more like a random burglary.


My employer had requested to meet in a secluded back alley in a bad part of town. Knowing that this was a good way to get my payment only in the form of a bullet I insisted we meet at the bus station.

I hadn't slept for two days and every sound I heard felt as if it had a slight reverb to it. I could feel the night press down on me as I stared vacantly at the crowd. The sound of a car horn pulled me out of the trance.

By the curb in front of me was an expensive but tacky car. The window rolled down and a bony finger beckoned me near. In the backseat sat Francis Steiner, a weasel faced man in a ill-fitting suit that made him look like a high-school kid on his way to prom around his neck hung a few pounds of gold chains. Francis was a glorified middleman with delusions of being a big gangster. The driver was a giant seemingly made purely from muscle. He was fiddling with the radio trying to decide between talk radio and oldies.

"The box is in the dumpster with the giant penis spray painted on it." I pointed him to the alley across the street.

"Listen" he began. "We can either pay you now."


"Or you can do one more thing for us and we can double your money." he said with a greasy smile.

"I just wanna go home and sleep."

"This is a job you can do in your sleep." he said assuringly. "All you need to go into one of our legal operations and take a few items. The cleaning lady will have forgotten to lock the door and put the alarm on."

"Then you sell the loot and get the insurance money." I said, stating the obvious.

"Exactly" Francis said

"Sure why not?"


I stopped at a 24 hour grocery store for some coffee to keep myself from collapsing. The radio was blaring jungle sounds instead of music leading me to suspect that I might already be asleep.

Standing in line I heard a familiar voice behind me.

"Kid, is that you?"

I turned around to see Detective Jonathan Elihu, weathered and graying beyond his years with a mustache that hadn't been fashionable since he was a toddler. Elihu had arrested me seven times in the last ten years. The closest thing I had to a father.

When I was 14 years young I was running with a gang of older burglars. They taught me everything I needed to know from how to open any door to how to wear dark greens and grays instead of black since even the darkest night is never purely black and black stands out more. They'd force open a window and I'd crawl through it. I was rail thin and limber so I could easily squeeze my way through even the smallest of windows. One night I lost my grip while climbing through a bathroom window and fell face first into the sink loud enough to wake the neighbors. When the cops arrived the rest of the gang was long gone.. Elihu was a patrolman back then and found me lying on the floor with a huge gash on my face in a pool of blood. I don't actually remember it but he tells me all I said to him was "You should see the other guy." He drove me to the emergency room and let me off with a warning.

"You wouldn't happen to know about the B&E in the pawn shop on the Southside?" Jonathan said.

"No, sir. I've been in this line the whole night. The cashier is a trainee and works a bit slow" I replied

"I'll take your word for. Didn't seem like your style anyway. Way too sloppy. They threw so much random poo poo around the place that it was almost like they were trying to make it look like it was a random break in by some junkie shitheads that didn't know they were robbing an organized crime front." his tone of voice had gone from joking to deadly serious. "I mean if it was a organized job there might be a gang war and the first thing the people responsible would do would be to silence the burglar."

"Thank god it wasn't me then."

I paid for my coffee and Jonathan's as was customary. He figured I still owed him at least a few bucks for the clean-up bill for his squad car.


The door was unlocked just as Steiner had promised. I entered and closed the door behind me. The room was almost pitch black with a few tiny slivers of light seeping through the space between the blinds, as I made my way through the room I suddenly noticed that in the corner there was a strange spot of darkness that seemed to be slightly darker than the area around it, I stopped and stared it. Then the darkness leapt at me.

A huge fist smashed into my face like a wrecking ball and before I knew what was up I was on the floor. I could faintly see a huge mountain of a man standing over me clad entirely in black. I tried to scramble away but kicked me so hard in the side that something must have burst. I crawled towards my bag hoping to get my crowbar but the giant grabbed me by the hair and threw me into a wall.

I had walked into the most obvious set-up in the world. They send me to steal from their competitors and to tie up any loose ends they make me burgle one of their own joints. That way the thug currently beating me to death is a upstanding citizen protecting his property from a burglary and fully within his rights to kill me.
I was on the floor again. I could feel blood running down my face and I couldn't open my left eye. The giant bent down and grabbed my collar but just as he was about to pull me towards him I kicked him square in the nuts. He fell to his knees in agony as any many would in his situation. I managed to run to my bag but the zipper was stuck and as I fiddled with it I could hear the ogre start to move towards me, angrier than ever. The zipper came loose at the last moment and I grabbed the crowbar from the bag. I swung around and hit my attacker across the face. For a moment it rained teeth and blood.

The giant staggered but fell forwards onto me and pinned me to the floor. His eyes were bulging and his mouth oozed blood over my face. He reached into his belt and pulled out a knife, his hands shaking from adrenaline and pain. I felt something warm all over my lower body. I was convinced it was my own blood till I smelt piss. Detective Jonathan Elihu stood in the doorway and wires ran from his taser to the giant's back.

"You should see the other guy" I said with a smile.


A few hours later I was in a holding cell, for my own protection they said. My eye was beginning to bulge and was already a deep blue. Through the barred window I could see the first crimson light of dawn.

This wouldn't do for long. I couldn't be a witness for the cops or my career would be ruined but I couldn't just lay low because Steiner and his superiors would find me eventually.

I was going to fight them. I'd crawl out a window on the police station and take the fight to them. I'd steal their drugs and sell them to the competition, I'd send anything incriminating to the cops, and piss in their sock drawers.

But first I had to sleep. It had been a long night.

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