इ ऍम टाइपिंग थिस फॉर थे बेनेफिट ऑफ़ हिन्दी-स्पेअकिंग रेअदेर्स, ऎंड इ हवे तो तेल यू, आईटी'एस प्रेत्टी फुच्किंग अवेसोमे! थे रेस्ट ऑफ़ थिस पोस्ट, होवेवर, विल बे इन इंग्लिश, सो प्लेस सेट यौर ब्रोव्सेर्स फॉर ट्रांसलेशन। अल पॉवर तो थे एन्गिनेस!
Alright then, i present to you two unrelated stories, and one link. Tale the first:
Chapter OneThomas Riengold stood, scared, among his far larger fellow knights as they faced the metal-mesh-gate at the bottom of the hill. To his right stood a horse, beyond that was his commander, Gregory, whose tall, lank frame cast a shadow over the rest of them. To his left were David and James, stubble marking their chins like darkness engulfing their mouths. Before them lay the end of the forest, and a steep downward curve beneath the hill on which they stood that gently angled outward up to the gate… and certain death. For behind the gate lay the eighth district, which had long since fallen to Them. They stood behind the line, pressed up against the gate and smiling smiles that could curdle milk and turn the hair of babes gray. They were dead and rotting; all they wanted was food. Unfortunately for Thomas and his friends: they were their food. It was broad daylight, but the light seemed gray to Thomas’s eyes, and complete silence fell upon his ears. It was as if a nightmare turned to reality. Fear swallowed Thomas’s heart as he gazed down on what were surely sendlings from the very depths of hell. The decaying hands of the terrible creatures grasped the mesh of the gate, as if in anticipation of closing upon the throats of their prey. Their yellowed and hollow eyes burned with an otherworldly fire as they looked at what they were sure would be their next meal. Seeing this, Thomas did what any sane man would do: he looked to his commander and tensed, preparing to run. As if sensing his intentions, Gregory stuck out his arm behind him without even looking. Rather than striking down the deserter, however, his fist bore a long dark-grey knife with notches along its blade. Thomas knew what it was for. When soldiers sought to abandon their fellows they were offered a choice: they could do the honorable thing and stay, or they could take their own life. While many would consider such a practice barbaric, it was not an easy choice to make. There were many who would choose suicide over a slow but inevitable death, and for those they were given a choice. Thomas stood as still as a bird among tigers, and gazed, mesmerized by the blade before him that meant so much more. Seeing his indecision, Gregory turned his head slightly and, staring into Thomas’s eyes, became insecure. He tilted his head and waited, unsure. Tears blurred Thomas’s vision and he shook his head stiffly. Bending down, Gregory spoke to him: “Alright, you have to run exactly when I say, ok? Go when the gate opens or you’ll never make it!” Confused by this act of mercy, Thomas nodded. Looking over his shoulder at David and James, the commander stood up. Turning he faced the gate and the demons that lay beyond them. “Open the gate!” he ordered. In the breadth of a moment the two guards opened the gate, the creatures shot out and up the hill, and Thomas bolted in the opposite direction without looking back. One of the creatures leaped up the hill and charged, hissing, at Gregory, who blocked the lunging slash of the creatures long-nailed hands with his sword, drawing a line of bright red blood from the demon’s palms. Its flying mane of wild black hair blew in all directions about its head as it snapped downward, trying to bite its foe. Its sharp, pointed teeth glinted in the afternoon sun as it hissed and screeched. Its eyes seemed to devour Gregory as they beheld his visage reflected in their gleaming yellowish orbs.The other two monsters that had stood at the gate quickly swarmed up the hill after their fellow and began to tear at David and James, who could barely hold their own against the wildly flying claws and teeth. They all knew that many more had heard the grinding of the gate, and were coming, lurking just beyond the line of sight, but they fought valiantly.Thomas ran on, unaware of this. For the only thought in the mind of a man in such clear peril is to run faster, in hopes of escaping whatever doom that might befall them. But a man cannot run forever, eventually his troubles catch up to him, and so it was in the unfortunate case of young Thomas.Reaching a clearing near the road, a desperate hope began to enter our hero’s mind, only to be crushed by despair as he was hoisted up to the air, in the rotting green arms of a thick-limbed terror.Such a monster it was that held him in its grasp that it need be described to those who can stomach it. To say it was thick-limbed is to say that the world is large, in reality its huge sausage-shaped muscles bulged in such a way as cannot fittingly be worded. It was a large beast, in the same manner as some men who are not fat but simply so big that they appear so. It probably did weigh quite a lot, even for one of its size though, as it had the beginnings of a plump belly showing through the faded gray butcher’s frock which it wore over peasant clothes. Its face was a horror fit for some tale that is whispered between children as they huddle in the dark. It bore the visage of a fat man as one often sees walking the streets of so many towns and villages, utterly unremarkable in its fat cheeks and bushy eyebrows. It looked as if one had thrown bits of clay together and molded them to appear as a man, its green-tinged skin pulled over chubby lumps of flesh. Its hair was a light gray, as it appears on the heads of old men, and it grew only from the sides of its head in ragged patches, as on top it was as bald as a babe, the light reflecting off its skull in a comical imitation of a mirror. Its teeth were rotten and worn away, fallen out in places. Flattened out at the tips, they stuck out crookedly into the air as it opened its maw to engulf its prey. But worst of all were its eyes: they shone orange in the light, and seemed to burn, the pupils ever shifting to reflect an inner fire.The demon just kept on walking, as if the bundle in its arms were a package to be delivered rather than a writhing human being. Thomas struggled against the beast, its arms held strong though, pressing him against its torso. He held back its head with one arm as it attempted to bite him, repeatedly striking it about its neck and head with his other arm. Alas, his attacks were futile however as it would not release him no matter how hard he struck.Suddenly the creature fell back and dropped Thomas to the ground. He landed sprawled in a pile on the earth, and unceremoniously scrambled up to continue running. It was then that he beheld his savior, a boy scarcely older than himself, dressed in the robes of a peasant, and holding a jagged black dagger dripping with bright red blood.They sprinted onward, side by side, through the clearing and down the road. By this point the beast which had captured Thomas had regained its stance and resumed its hunt, several other horrors having joined it. Seeing such, and being terrified in a fitting response in one faced by such creatures, the people of the country began to run about screaming in all directions.It was such a bedlam through which Thomas and his hero ran as they made a mad dash for safety, as if there were any left. A horse-drawn cart, its driver likely beset by some manner of insanity, veered around the bend in the road and rushed past the pair, stirring up a cloud of dust. Expending the last reserves of energy left in their frail and depleted bodies, they sprinted after it and, grabbing the ledge at the rear which keeps things from falling off, they launched themselves over and into it. They landed among various odds and ends, gathered in a hurry, and one very confused cat.“So,” asked the driver without turning around, “where are you headed?”“Bell,” supplied Thomas’s nameless hero, “one of the three walled cities.”“Ah, you know where the real battle will be fought,” remarked the driver.And so it was that they rattled on along the road, to an unknown destination, prisoners of destiny.
Tale the second: How Far We Fall.
Chapter One
The world was a nightmare. The war had ravaged the earth, turned it into a huge battle-scarred wasteland. No one seemed to be able to remember exactly how it happened…it was as if one day the planet was thriving, everyone happily living in their own self-delusions…the next the remnants of a fallen civilization scrapped over bits of safe food among the devastated structures that were once buildings. Some of humanity still lived among the ruins…others took refuge in the underground military bases that littered the jungle…but most were busy making a new society, here: in the desert. <> The music that could be heard only in Jason’s head was epic as he looked down over the dunes, reaching a crescendo that seemed to echo through the sand. It suited the far-reaching landscape of the desert, he thought. The tightly wrapped cloak that kept the sand from creeping along Jason’s skin flapped in the wind a little, it’s loose ends whipping back and forth behind him, adding to the feeling of drama. Putting on a smirk that no one could see beneath his scarf, Jason set off for the city. The wind quickly blew sand over his tracks as he walked. It was as if he was merely a fleeting sensation, a passing touch that could leave no lasting mark on the immortal desert. The city was far from paradise, but it was a welcome respite from the never-ending sand and the blazing sun. The people lounged in the “streets,” having nothing else to do now, the everyday distractions that once kept them idle long since lost in what was known only as “The Fall.” It’s sad to think this is probably all that’s left, thought Jason. Starving people lying in the sand among desolate buildings; the only structures, manmade or otherwise, that marred the vast expanse of nothingness. But it was a form of art, in a sense. How sick I must be, he thought, that I can see beauty in this. Walking onward, Jason came upon a large domed-roof building that was partially submerged in the sand. A man whose face was obscured by a raggedy scarf wrapped around his head stood outside the entryway (the door was missing). Jason decided it might be worth taking a look at. He glided over to the doorway and stepped inside, his bare feet making no noise as they stepped onto the sand-covered stone floor. The floor was tilted slightly due to the fact that it was beneath ground level for about a quarter of the building. A fat man wearing only a piece of cloth over his loins sat in a throne carved into stone which adorned the far side of the room. To his right there was a worn wooden door in the wall. In front of him, half hunched over was a second man. He wore nothing, and was so thin that both his ribs and his spine were visible through his skin, his dark hair was found only on the sides of his head, in messy little patches above his ears. His skin was dark, just like the fat man and everyone else here, but his eyes were bright. His eyes shone with a deep inner intelligence and an emotional spark was present that told volumes about his personality. Two men who wore loincloths and scarves in the manner of the man outside stood beside the fat man’s throne. One hold a dull scimitar that had likely not been polished or sharpened in years, the other’s hands were empty. They both stood with a rigid posture, looking straight ahead of them, reminiscent of the demeanor of guards. “No.” said the fat man as he reached to his side and picked up a piece of bread, which he then he shoved into his mouth with all the grace of a slack-jawed hippo. “But sir! I simply can’t live on what you’ve given me!” demanded the gaunt man, who appeared to be some sort of peasant. “I said no,” replied the fat man. The gaunt man slinked off, looking even more depressed than before. His feet dragged along the floor as he walked and his face fell under the shadow of his brow. A slight whine escaped his mouth as he left the building. Jason stepped forward, demanding the attention of the fat man.“By what authority do you preside over these people with such cruelty?” he asked.“My own,” came the reply “I need no mandate for I am the king, and who the hell are you?”“Me?” Jason pondered the question “I’m the punchline.”The fat man was confused, one eyebrow raised he remarked “to what?”“Life,” said Jason as he walked away “and you can’t do this.” Behind him one of the guards swung his scimitar smoothly sideways in a clean arc, swiftly removing the “king’s” head. The guard didn’t even break posture, remaining a sentry to nothing; forever gazing ahead. The fat man’s blood stained the floor, and his rule was no more.How easily men rise and fall, thought Jason morbidly.The city was of passing interest, but no answers lay there, and so Jason moved on into the unknown. Wandering through the streets, the only one with a purpose. <> Looking back, the city was a speck, a forlorn dot barely marking the desert. Jason wondered if he’d done the right thing, leaving. He wondered if there really was anything left out there, beyond that city, beyond the ill-defined borders of the pathetic little shell that was probably all that was left of humanity. But Jason’s mind was no party to regret, and so he walked on, in no direction in particular.The sand and heat wore on the mind, a burden on thought, hindering passage through the desert. Being surrounded completely by nothing had that sort of effect on people. The journey was rough, but possible.The sand eventually gave way to long craggy cliffs of cracked tan rock, falling away sharply to reveal the ocean stretched out into infinity. The water was dyed a deep unnatural green by the cast off bits and pieces of society’s refuse that were scattered among the waves.Sighing gently, Jason let go of the earth slowly…and jumped.
And: watch
this. It's only NSFW if you have [an] overprotective parent(s).
