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In, with a flash rule please!
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Oct 7, 2020 05:43
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Weltlich posted:Walamor - Jeong Yakyong The Mind and Soul As always, Dasan awoke to near total darkness. His cell contained no windows, no torches, and he was not even allowed the luxury of a candle. A tiny slit of light came through the base of his cell door, which seemed to get smaller and less bright each day. He slowly managed to rise from the corner he had curled up in, stretched his sore muscles and tried to ignore their painful protest to being moved. The robe he was wearing when he was brought here was now tattered and frail and offered little comfort or warmth anymore. His eyes gradually adjusted to take in the little light there was to offer and when he could see well enough to make his way over the uneven stones, he made his daily pilgrimage to the darkened glass that made up an entire wall of the room. Dasan rested his hand on the cold glass and lowered his head. The sharp grinding sound of his door being unlocked disrupted this brief moment. A masked jailor clad in black robes stood at his door, holding a torch. Dasan knew the guard would not speak their demands, and resignedly turned back to face the glass wall as he was expected to do. Almost immediately the glass lit up as black robed guards bearing torches poured into the cell on the other side of the wall. The light revealed a huddled shape in the same corner where Dasan slept in his cell. The jailors grabbed the figure on the ground and forced the man into a simple wooden chair which had been dragged into the room. They bound the man’s hands and feet and left the cell just as quickly as they had entered, leaving only their torches scattered about and flickering on the floor, lighting the room fitfully and throwing odd shadows over the stone walls. The bound man’s head lolled from side to side, and his limbs splayed out as far as they could in the bindings. The prisoner’s skin was colored a mixture of red blood still seeping from untended cuts and black and blue bruising. “Brother…” whispered Dasan. Dasan’s hands tightly gripped the sides of his robe as he stared into the adjacent cell. “Please, Yak-jong,” he pleaded to the wall. He heard more footsteps as he was joined by more masked and black robed jailors. Dasan had long since stopped trying to figure out why his jailors were masked when his brother’s were not. He glanced at them as they formed a semi-circle around him, allowing him just a small space to stand at the glass. These guards all wore masks of stern and terrifying complexions, and each stared him down until he turned back to the glass. Maybe today would be different. A man in a blood red robe walked through Yak-jong’s cell door, pulling a small cart behind him. Dasan tried to muster the strength to hate this man, but he only felt profound sadness. Today would not be different. The man stashed the cart in a corner of the cell and strode to stand in front of Yak-jong. He spent a long second staring down at the top of Yak-jong’s head. “Mister Jeong,” the man said, tapping Yak-jong’s head. Poke, poke, poke. Hard and swift, each time, and Yak-jong’s head bobbed with each jab. “Are you with us today?” Yak-jong’s head rose slightly in reply. “Good,” said the man. The man paced in front of Yak-jong, making slight smoothing adjustments to the robe he wore. “Do you remember who I am? I know you often need to be reminded of even the most basic things these days.” Yak-jong, with an obvious great effort, raised his head just a bit higher before sinking back down to stare at the floor. “The devil,” he eventually managed to say, his voice harsh and rough. “Ah, but Mister Jeong, I thought that you did not believe in the devil?” The red robed man shook his head in mock disapproval, and made a tsking sound. A long pause, Yak-jong mustering his strength. “A devil.” “I see.” The metallic crest of the Inspector General gleamed in the torchlight as the man unpinned it from his robe and held it low in front of Yak-jong’s face. “I am Inspector Jeongjo. Daesaheon Sado has ordered me to investigate the Catholic infection that has been allowed to fester in our country. I intend to exorcise each little bit of corruption. Starting with you. And your family.” “King Sunjo would never-” Yak-jong began. “Sunjo is dead! The Queen Dowager rules, as you well know!” interjected Jeongjo, slapping Yak-jong for emphasis. The inspector bent over, grasped Yak-jong’s head, and held it up to face him. “I tire of this. I would love to believe this act of yours, this play you put on for me every day. I would like nothing more to leave this stinking place and be rid of you forever.” Jeongjo shoved Yak-jong’s head back down and scowled down at him. “You maintain that you’re not a Catholic, while your family leads the entire Catholic community in the country. We know this for a fact. We know you were baptised. WE. KNOW. IT. ALL.” Jeongjo roared the last four words, as if physically throwing them at Yak-jong. Jeongjo stepped back from Yak-jong and covered his face with his hands, seeming to collect himself and drawing a deep sigh that lingered in the room. “This talk is a waste of time. Shall we get on with it?” Silence was his only answer. On the other side of the glass, Dasan tensed. The inspector shrugged. “Where is your brother, Mister Jeung?” A long pause. “Do you renounce your brother and his faith?” Yak-jong struggled briefly, weakly, in his restraints. Seconds dragged on before he responded. “He is my brother.” It was almost too quiet to hear. Dasan let out a choked sob, full of sadness and fear. “No, Yak-jong! Just tell them! They have me! They already have me!” he yelled at the glass, his voice breaking. “Free yourself of this!” He pounded a fist on a glass. “Free me of this,” he said quietly, a tear running down his cheek. A jailor clamped a hand on down Dasan’s shoulder and forced his arm back to his side. Dasan hung his head. Nothing he ever said or did ever mattered. The hand moved from his shoulder to his chin, forcing his head back up. “Ah yes, the same old standby,” said Jeongjo. “So, we move on to the next act then?” Without waiting for an answer, Jeongjo went to his cart and picked up two items from the top - a glass of water and a tiny object that if Dasan had not seen this a hundred times, a thousand times, a million times, before would not know was a pill. Jeongjo returned to Yak-jong and forced the pill down Yak-jong’s throat, followed by the glass of water, before stepping back. All was quiet for a minute. The flames from the torches sputtered and died at once as an otherworldly red glow began to emit from the inspector. Jeongjo laughed, a vile sound that seemed to echo even in Dasan’s own cell. The robes fell away from Jeongjo as his skin started to twist and contort. Hooked claws sprung from his fingers, a pointed beak grew from his nose, his eyes turned yellow and grew narrow, and metallic feathers sprouted all over his skin. “Let us begin again,” the creature said, its voice distorted and sinister, as it closed in on his brother. The masked jailors held Dasan’s head steady as he tried to avert his gaze, their steely grip overcoming his best efforts to look away. As always, they made him watch the whole time. He yelled and screamed until his voice gave out, which was not long. He cursed the creature, he cursed his jailors, and even cursed his brother. More days passed, or were they weeks? Months? Dasan could no longer tell. Each time he woke, it was exactly the same. One day he woke from the blackness of exhausted sleep tied in a wooden chair. He rolled his head in small motions from side to side, the best he could manage. Torches lay scattered over the ground, lighting the room in flickering flames. He was in a bare room with four stone walls. A man in a blood red robe stood over him. “Where is your brother, Mister Jeung?” The man stared down at him. “Do you renounce your brother and his faith?” A voice within Dasan was screaming for him to finally talk, to free himself of this everlasting hell. The voice pounded within his mind, almost overcoming all conscious thought. Dasan reached deep within himself and found his small amount of remaining resolve. He thought of Yak-jong, of his brother’s family, and all of the love he had for them. Every day those memories held a little less comfort, a little less warmth. But it was still enough. “He is my brother.”
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Oct 12, 2020 06:58
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Thanks for the crit crabrock!
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Oct 20, 2020 00:17
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In!
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Oct 20, 2020 22:08
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In and already regretting it after seeing the samples.
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Oct 28, 2020 01:01
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Sentences: This was good, just lay in the water and he’s next. Things are going to get refused. Metal shook her head. Wordcount]: 1096 A Dangerous Favor Daiki took a deep lungful of air before pulling his head down below the waterline. He stared up at the dark shadow of the bridge above him and willed himself to invisibility. This was good, just lay in the water and he’s next. They will surely just pass him by. Long seconds ticked by as he mentally ticked them off. How long is long enough? When he last saw them, the city watchmen were stopping to question people, but it seemed brief, cursory. They were otherwise walking quickly, just trying to get to the end of their shift and pass their problems onto the next shift. He fought his lungs as long as he could stand to, then resurfaced quietly, fighting the urge to violently expel the canal water that had seeped into his mouth. He grimaced at the garbage floating past him as he spat out the foul liquid. Quietly spat, he reassured himself. He was relieved to hear the periodic jingling and rattling of the watchmen’s armor grow fainter in the distance until it was indistinct, folding into the quiet murmur of the city going to sleep. After careful surveillance, Daiki pulled himself out of the canal. He snagged a cloak off of a low slung clothesline and wrapped it tight around him, pulling the attached hood snugly over his head. Keeping to the shadows, he made his way down into a residential quarter, thankful that the lamplighters stuck to the richer parts of town. His destination was not far off, but each minute he spent creeping there felt like hours as he dodged the few groups of people still out and about in the growing darkness. He knocked on an unadorned wooden door, then again after a brief pause. Come on, Konnor, Daiki thought. Another knock, another anxious pause. “Who’s out there?” said his friend’s voice, muffled from the inside. “Daiki,” he whispered at the door. “Hurry up and let me in!” The door parted slightly, outlining a large man holding a wooden staff against the flickering flame of a hearthfire within. “Daiki?” Konnor lowered his staff as Daiki tugged the hood off his head. “What are you doing here? What’s wrong?” “Please, just let me in,” said Daiki, not waiting for permission to squeeze past his friend. As Konnor shut the door behind him, the patter of tiny feet announced the arrival of Konnor’s family. “Uncle Dak!” cried out the little girl, who ran and hugged Daiki’s legs. “Ew, you’re wet. And smell funny.” Daiki let out a half chuckle, trying to pry the girl from him. “Mette, let him go,” said the woman following the little girl. “You’re going to knock him over!” The woman laughed as she helped free Daiki from her daughter. “Thanks Raelyn,” said Daiki, smiling. Mette stamped her feet, looking up at her mother. “Say it right!” she said, pouting adorably. Raelyn sighed dramatically. “And just what is wrong with your actual name?” she said, looking down at her daughter, who theatrically stamped one foot. “Fine, Metal. Better?” “Look, you two, we need to talk,” said Daiki, looking from Konnor to Raelyn. Konnor nodded to his wife. “Time for bed, Metal,” said Raelyn. Mette shook her head. Vigorously. “Time for bed, or no tuck in,” said Raelyn, raising one warning finger. “Fine!” said Mette reluctantly, and went to grab her mother’s hand. “We can think of my new name for tomorrow! Good night Uncle Dak! Good night Dad!” “Good night,” said Daiki, waving to the little girl and forcing a smile until their backs were turned. Konnor pointed to a pair of wooden chairs by the fire and raised an eyebrow. Daiki settled into one with a sigh. “So,” said Konnor, seating himself in the other chair and looking over patiently. “So,” echoed Daiki. “The conscriptors came for me today.” “Oh, no,” said Konnor, leaning forward in his chair. “What did you do?” “I might have… knocked one of them out and ran,” said Daiki, slumping back in the chair. “Daiki!” exclaimed Konnor, his eyebrows shooting upwards. “That’s not just desertion, that’s treason!” “I know, I know,” said Daiki, holding up his hands towards Konnor in defense. “I panicked! And this was the only place I could think of to come to.” “Here? Where my family is? How could you bring them into this?” said Konnor, standing up and towering over Daiki. “Look, I emphasize, I really do, nobody wants to be an imperial pawn, but this is too much.” “I was careful, Konnor,” said Daiki. “Nobody saw me come here, I promise. I love your family, you know that. I would never intentionally involve them. But I don’t have any other options. Look, I was just hoping you could smuggle me out of the city in your cart. You have a delivery to the guard post at the gates tomorrow, right?” “Quiet down,” said Raelyn, coming back into the room to stand by her husband. “You’re going to get Mette all excited and she’s never going to sleep. What do you need, Daiki?” Daiki opened his mouth but Konnor cut him off. “He wants impossible things. An insane favor. He’s running from the conscriptors. Attacked them, even. And now he wants me to smuggle him out of the city tomorrow.” Raelyn’s eyes narrowed. “Well then. Things are going to get refused.” stated Raelyn, flatly. “Right?” she said, staring at her husband. Konnor violently ran his hands through his hair. “Please,” said Daiki softly. “I’m begging you. It’s the only way.” “We love you dearly,” said Raelyn. “But this is too much. What happens to Mette if you get found? Even you being here is dangerous. If they found you, we would be taken in.” Konnor nodded his head in agreement. “If it was just me alone, like the old days, you know I would try to help,” said Konnor. “But I have to think of what’s most important.” Hard pounding at the door made them all jump. Daiki leapt from his chair, fruitlessly searching for a corner to hide in. Konnor looked at his wife questioningly. Raelyn simply nodded at him in response. With a sigh, Konnor went to the door and swung it open. Mette stood in front of the door, flanked by a pair of city watchmen. “I brought them, Mom!” said Mette proudly. “To help Uncle Dak, just like you said!” “We have to protect Mette,” said Raelyn, looking sadly at Daiki. Konnor struggled to hold back his emotions, his voice rough and breaking. “I’m sorry, my friend. It is the only way.”
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Nov 2, 2020 06:00
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Thanks for the fast critting Phoenix!
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Nov 2, 2020 08:33
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I'm in, though I feel like I may want to get off DocKloc's wild ride.
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Nov 2, 2020 19:37
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I will drink the BEER but will not participate in drinking contest shenanigans!
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Nov 4, 2020 18:25
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C4 please, hope it's explosive!
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Nov 5, 2020 06:44
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Dr. Kloctopussy posted:Walamor, the Screeching Summoner The Screeching Summoner’s Tale: The Grifts on the Bus Go Round and Round 1550 Words Cole pushed his earbuds in even further and rolled his eyes to himself in the window. Even with the help of the rhythmic pounding of the bus’ tires, he could not drown out the inane talk coming from Seat 14C. “You really don’t want to make that move,” said 14C. His voice was high, nasally, and somehow even more unpleasant each time he opened his mouth. “Ummm… okay,” responded 14D, the unfortunate woman who was 14C’s target. Cole had watched the pimply faced man pick his way down the aisle at the Greyhound station, the man’s eyes focused on the attractive redhead seated in front of Cole. Just in case, he had moved his bag to block the aisle seat, but the woman ahead of him had not prepared any defenses to the man’s approach. “Seat taken?” the man had asked, sitting down without waiting for a response as the bus’ doors hissed closed. “Alonzo,” the man had said, extending his hand. “Jacky,” the redhead had responded, briefly shaking Alonzo’s hand before pulling headphones over her ears. Alonzo kept to himself at first, but once Jacky removed her headphones a couple of hours into the trip, he pounced. “How about a friendly game of chess to pass the time? I’ve got a travel set with me,” Alonzo had said. Jacky’s unfortunate acceptance started the last hour’s constant chess negging mixed in with random bits of chess theory. Alonzo seemed to delight in a captive audience and made sure to throw in as many words that he deemed impressive. Of particular repetition was maxim (“like the magazine, heh”) and treatises (apparently pronounced “treaties”). Cole resigned himself to continuing to fail to drown out Alonzo’s horrible attempts to impress Jacky by insulting her play. He rubbed his temples before leaning over his bag to rummage through it. “Hey!” came Alonzo’s voice from above him. Cole turned his head to see Alonzo peering over his seat down at him. Alonzo pointed towards Cole’s bag. “You play?” he asked. poo poo, thought Cole, looking back down to see that his dog-eared copy of Discovering Chess Openings had slid into view. “Oh… no, not really,” lied Cole. “It’s my brother’s book.” “But you do play?” persisted Alonzo. “Oh, you two should play!” pipped up Jacky. Thanks Jacky, Cole thought, but couldn’t blame her for finding an escape. “A little,” Cole admitted. “My brother played a lot, but I…” “Excellent!” interrupted Alonzo, already coming around to stand by Cole’s aisle seat. He looked expectantly down at Cole’s bag. Sighing quietly, Cole obliged and moved his bag to the floor. “Take it easy on me, okay?” said Alonzo while he rearranged the pieces on his board. “I’m really not very good,” said Cole. He wasn’t exactly lying, thinking of his brother’s brief professional career. The first game proceeded quickly, with only a few pauses when Alonzo still tried to chat up a clearly uninterested Jacky. Cole wondered if there were any chess pick up lines, but presumed he would have heard them already if there were. Cole bested Alonzo in forty moves, remarkably fast to beat someone who previously was trying to use chess theory to talk up a girl. The next game lasted only slightly longer, taking Cole fifty moves to defeat Alonzo. Cole found himself momentarily enjoying himself, losing himself in the game that took up so much of his and his brother’s youth. He could narrow his focus to just the board and the pieces thereon, and not the problems that awaited him in Phoenix and back home. Alonzo took each loss cheerfully, remarking on his own poor play and how easily Cole beat him. “You’re good,” he said as he set up the third match. “But I think I’m gaining on you. What do you say we make this a little more interesting. Say, twenty bucks on the next match?” Cole looked up sharply at Alonzo, his eyes narrowing. Was this guy really trying to grift him on a bus ride, or was he just an idiot? Alonzo just smiled back while pulling out his wallet from his pocket. Cole mentally counted his money. A hundred bucks for the medication in Phoenix. Ten for food. Ten for emergencies. That’s a hard pass. “I’ll play another friendly game, but I didn’t really budget in a money match,” said Cole. “Aww, come on, the way it’s been going, it’s free money for you!” “The last time I was hustled out of my lunch money was in grade school,” he said with a small laugh. “Hustle? I’m just trying to have some fun here!” said Alonzo. “All right, how about just ten bucks then?” Cole considered for a moment. Ten dollars would be all of his food money, but then again doubling up meant he could get an actual meal. And it wasn’t like he was really trying in the matches so far. Even if he was being grifted, he could probably win. “Ten dollars, sure,” said Cole. “But I get white,” said Alonzo, turning the game board around. “Fine, fine,” said Cole, busying himself by slightly adjusting the tiny magnetic pieces. This third game took longer, and Cole had to concentrate to avoid several traps that Alonzo had fairly skillfully set. Gone was the casual conversation, and Alonzo focused solely on the board. This finally felt more like a real game, though Cole was able to win pretty comfortably, much to Alonzo’s obvious irritation. If he was a grifter, he was a pretty poor one. “Twenty bucks,” said Alonzo, still looking down at his trapped king. Without looking at Cole, Alonzo pulled ten dollars out of his wallet and passed it to Cole. “Sure thing,” said Cole. Even if he somehow lost, he would still only be down ten dollars. An extra twenty could go a long way. Their fourth game progressed similar to their third, much to Alonzo’s growing frustration. Eventually, Cole was able to checkmate Alonzo by pinning his king between Cole’s queen and a rook. Twenty dollars landed on the board. Alonzo looked up at Cole and scowled. “A hundred.” Cole’s heart pounded in his chest at the thought. “Woah man,” said Cole. “Absolutely not.” Alonzo pulled out a stack of low denomination bills and thumbed through it before dropping it next to the twenty dollars already on the board. Cole stared at the pile. He could hear his mother’s voice in his head, telling him to walk away, that it wasn’t worth the risk. But he could also picture her pain that he saw every day, only dulled during the times they were able to scrape up enough money to buy the strong painkillers that was his mission to get in Phoenix. With this extra money, he could double up with their dealer and get her some real relief. “A hundred, right there,” said Alonzo. Cole chewed on his lips, then nodded. Was that a hint of a smile from Alonzo as he dropped his head back towards the board? Alonzo blitzed forward on the attack this time, leaving Cole on his heels. Cole countered as best he could, relying on fragments of remembered strategies from years past. He fended off strike after strike as Alonzo nagged him about how much time he was taking between moves. Alonzo formed a spearhead of three pawns and advanced them down the board, threatening to undo everything Cole had worked to preserve. Cole froze up, remembering games years past against his brother, where a similar strategy finished him off more often than not. How had he ever bested it? The memories of success flitted about his brain, unable to be captured. The reality of what he had agreed to, what he had wagered, crashed down upon him in waves of guilt and anger, and he had to fight his emotions to remain in the game. Cole attacked back, using his knights to maneuver his way around the pawn spearhead to some success, and for a moment, thought he was on the cusp of victory. But he had let his focus slip. Distracted by the three pawns on the other side of the board, Cole had left a path open for a single pawn to go through his lines and reach the end of the board. “I think I’ll take a queen,” smirked Alonzo as he replaced the pawn. It did not take long for Alonzo to finish him off after that blunder. Cole stared down at the board. He thought he might puke. Alonzo held out his hand and waggled his fingers at Cole. “A hundred, right?” Cole stared at Alonzo for a long moment. “Right,” he eventually managed to say. He screamed at himself, blamed himself, hated himself, as he pulled a hundred from his wallet and passed it over. How could he have been so stupid? “You played well kid,” said Alonzo. “Almost got me there.” “Yeah, sure,” said Cole meekly, not able to meet Alonzo’s eyes. Cole counted his remaining seventy dollars. He had no choice at this point. The dealer he was meeting would be furious if he brought less than one hundred. What if he refused to do the deal at all? What would his mother say? What wouldn’t she say? Cole could see the disappointment already. “Seventy?” asked Cole.
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Nov 9, 2020 08:55
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sparksbloom posted:
This was great, thank you all!
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Nov 17, 2020 22:22
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Week 427 Recap!