# Sky blue Short Stories - Current story: Fair Maiden - Finished!



## Cerulean_Wings (May 8, 2008)

Get it? Cerulean... sky blue... no? Okay, I'll go back to hiding.

I'll write two disclaimers as an introduction. A short one for those who don't need/want to know the details about my idea to write short stories, and a longer one for those who do. 

*Short explanation*

I used to want to write a novel for every single crazy idea that popped into my mind. No more! Now those crazy ideas will be manufactured into short stories. The theme, duration and setting of the stories will vary, and even I don't know which ones will have sequels (in the shape of short stories, that is).

*Extended explanation*

I used to write a novel in this forum, Unforgiving Lands. Thing is, I got a massive writer's block, and the story was left unfinished. A shame, yes, but at the same time a blessing, for I don't have much free time nowadays (curse you, real life!). So then I wondered about what I wanted to do next: another novel, different setting and new story? I had a couple ideas in mind, but none of them seemed possible to accomplish, for they would require loads of time (which, again, I don't have). Therefore the prospect of making more novels was turned down.

One magical day, an idea popped into my mind! If I couldn't write long stories... why not write short ones? I felt both giddy and silly, the latter because I couldn't believe I didn't think of it earlier on. And that's how I came with the idea of writing short stories 

/end disclaimer

*For everyone to read*

I hope you enjoy these short stories as much as I enjoy typing them. The first one, Righteous Nova, is a sci-fi one, and not only is it my first short story I ever wrote, but it's the very first sci-fi story I ever wrote. I'll be posting it shortly once I've done the finishing touches to the first part of two. I could potentially add more parts, but we'll see   

*Note:* I don't like constructive criticism. I *love* it. So please, read 'em, tell me what you think, if you have the chance


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## Cerulean_Wings (May 9, 2008)

*Star Clash*

*Part I*

_Killing is easy: you point your plasma pistol at someone’s face, say “Blow up, will you?”, pull the trigger, and that’s what they  do. What’s the best part? The sound of sweet, sweet victory. That’s the sound I’m looking forward to when I find Rayne and blast the bastard into nothingness._

The corridor leading to the Seventh Heaven pub is just like all the others I’ve been through: white, with dozens of highly detailed multicolored paintings of pure beings. The Ascendants’ insatiable desire to make building walls look remarkable seems to go hand-in-hand with their insatiable desire to prove themselves better in any way than the rest of us “normal” humans in the galaxy.

_Rayne Zetrus, leader of Sacred Earth as the Crest of Purity, better known as the Righteous Nova. He could be the King of the Universe, for all I care; He’s going to die as soon as I make it to his bar where he’s having a drink, probably celebrating another planet of “alien scum” being destroyed by his guild. _

Another guard passes by as I walk forward. He grunts at me, sounding disgusted rather than awed at my presence. Not surprising, since my reputation as the Scourge proceeds me practically everywhere in the galaxy.

_Siding yourself with the Triumvirate does that to you._

My microcom beeps once, loud enough for only me to hear it, but I ignore it; I told my crew that I would be gone for some hours, and that they shouldn’t try to contact me. It seems like my simple request has been disregarded in the record time of twenty minutes and forty seconds. 

_They worry too much; It’s not like I haven’t pulled off this whole “go in all by myself and kill the bastard who sabotaged our operation” deal before._

I turn to the right, following the golden sign that points towards my self-righteous victim’s location. Seventh Heaven may be under control of Sacred Earth, but I’ll be damned if that’s going to scare me from doing what needs to be done. My posture is straight, completely erect, a grand display of confidence and composure, with rage simmering right below the surface, ready to jump out at my call. 

Still, the fingers in my left hand, the shooting hand, twitch, and I’m forced to steady them by flexing them slowly. Up to this date, no one who messes with Arken’s Zealots lives for long; I make sure of that with the help of my Leviathan X3, one of the best plasma guns in the galaxy, securely attached to a holster on my hip.  

_And more to the point, no one messes with *me*, Arken Shane, and brags about it for more than a solar cycle before I bring down the hammer on the fool who dared to cross my path. _

_Ah, there it is! _

The double megatanium doors leading into Seventh Heaven (which is going to be renamed to Seventh Hell once I’m through with my business there). No sentries at the entrance, of course; Sacred Earth wants to make it look like they don’t expect people like me to want to go in and make a slaughterhouse out of their bar. 

_Maniacs, all of them.  _

The nigh-impenetrable doors slide open in the blink of an eye as soon as I approach, and the smell of incense greets me like an overwhelming host who just loves to please. The place is nice, but in an Ascendant type of nice, so not nice at all for me. Exotic shaped chairs with extra pillows and drapes of all colors, tables designed to resemble halos, holographic candles on top of actual sources of light, and more things than one could possibly register with a quick glance.

There’s patrons everywhere scattered around the tables of the large pub, but mostly orbiting around one, that of their beloved leader: Rayne. Too bad their proximity will get them caught in the impending blast. 

_Y’know, I’d tell him that his security ‘bots just plain suck if it wasn’t for the fact that I want him gone from the face of the galaxy; I can spot their stealth fields several feet away without the help of my gizmos._

“Excuse me” I say casually as I slide through waves upon waves of patrons, each dealing with their own affairs, each completely oblivious with what I’m about to pull off, what no other has dared to perform before. It’s like a magic trick that no illusionist is brave enough to perform, but when one daring mage does it, he becomes a legend, a star. That’s the history of famous people, or at least that’s my take on it. 
_
Try as I might, I just can’t stop the nagging fear deep in my mind that warns me of my victim becoming even more famous in death. Aw, to hell with it; Rayne Zetrus is a dead man. And if I’m wrong-nah, impossible. No point in worrying about “what-if”s. _

_Thirty feet. Getting closer, oh so slowly. Die Rayne, die._

I can see the bastard from here: tall, skinny, shoulder length fire-red hair tied in a ponytail, short moustache and beard, and although his coat that identifies him as the Crest of Purity is pearl-white, it’s more like a bulls-eye for me. I walk around in order to get him from behind.

_Twenty feet. Rayne is dead._

I hear the buzzing of plasma weapons being drawn and activated, ready to fire their cargo at any time; seems like the organic bodyguards around Rayne are smarter than the ‘bots, since the latter still haven’t made a move, remaining in their useless stealth fields. As I pass by another table I “sneeze”, seizing the moment to cast a quick glance around, counting the guards, robots excluded.

_Ten feet. Ten guards. Rayne is no longer with us._

Still no movement from any of the bodyguards, surprisingly. Are they that confident? Is Rayne that confident? They all look my way with empty looks, and I pretend they’re as fascinating as black holes; I can’t allow myself to become distracted, not now when I’m so close. Mister Purer than Thou is sipping his beverage just like he would any other day; it doesn’t seem as if he’s aware that his lifespan has been reduced to mere seconds because his sentries allowed me to get this far. 

_Five feet. Goodbye Rayne, it wasn’t nice knowing you._

The nut case whirls about with his chair one hundred and eighty degrees in order to face me, although I don’t remember intending to give him the slightest hint of my presence. He’s smiling that big, serene smile that begs “_Punch me, you’ll feel good about it_”, and it’s with impossible self-restraint that I refuse to yield to that compulsion.

“Arken, what a surprise. What brings you to my humble abode?” he asks, never leaving those gray eyes of his from mine, one hand still holding his drink. How I manage to not jump over him and bite his face off amazes me. 

“I’ll give you a hint” I begin, clenching my fists and jaw at the same time, my tone barely concealing the surge of violence beneath “Your cronies messed up with the air tanks of our Colossus Plates, replacing them with poisonous gas. Imagine our surprise when we realized that just after a Vestii squad reached my ship with murderous intent.”

He doesn’t respond, or at least not initially. Rayne shakes his head slowly and sighs, a very condescending gesture. “My dear Arken, how could you come up with such a preposterous notion, hmm? Sacred Earth would _never_ do such a thing to your combat equipment. We only confront space vermin, for the benefit of the galaxy, as you should already know.”

“Along with _everyone_ else who dares defend aliens from your blood-stained hands!”. The words come out harder than I intended, and I have to straighten myself, for my upper body is leaning forward, my face mere inches from my nemesis’. Rayne looks amused.

 “Sacred Earth doesn’t like the Triumvirate and their ‘play nice’ policies that include aliens, humans and Ascendants, that’s no news” I go on, keeping my anger in check. “The Vestii couldn’t have sabotaged anything since they don’t believe in subterfuge, only in getting rich by killing other species”.

By now nearby people who have (or want) nothing to do with this give some worried glances in my direction, and some even go as far as moving to another table as stealthily as possible.

I extend my right hand with my index finger pointing at Rayne accusatorily. “Who else but you, Rayne Zetrus?”. 

Of all the things he could’ve said and done in retort, the bastard chose to clap his hands and chuckle at my detective prowess. 

“And you came all the way to my bar in order to tell me this, hmm? Arken, dear Arken, if you knew this for a fact, why bother coming to the wolf’s den, instead of taking the hint and finding a hole deep enough where I can’t find you and your Zealots?”    

_Ah, so the curtains are lifted and the charade blown away as quick as lightning. I guess it’s my turn to tell him that…_

“Nobody messes with _me_”. My Leviathan X3 is out and saying “hi” to Rayne’s forehead as soon as I finish pronouncing the first word. He doesn’t even flinch; typical of a man who considers himself invulnerable. The guards and robots, on the other hand, all react as one and make a move to take aim with their respective weapons. A split-second later they realize that such actions won’t be beneficial to their leader, not with my weapon mere inches from his face. 

Rayne still looks amused, never ceasing to smile. Someone yells in surprise somewhere in the tavern, and the sound of patrons getting up hastily emerges at long last.

“Arken the Scourge always comes for those who cross his path, Rayne, as you should already know” I state, using his earlier words as my own. A drop of sweat descends from the back of my head like a lone raindrop to the canyon wall that is my back. My muscles feel like they’re made of jelly.

_What the hell, this should be easy; I’ve done it like a thousand times, why is this one any different? Why won’t he stop smiling?_

Time comes to a standstill. Rayne’s life hangs by a rope which I’m holding with a finger, my trigger finger, and he knows it. Yet he keeps looking at me as if it was all a very entertaining performance. 

_So be it, then: let this be the end of the show for Rayne Zetrus, the Righteous Nova. _

I pull the trigger of my Leviathan X3. There’s the low hum that comes a split second before the shot, followed by the white and gold beam of light emerging from the tip of the weapon.

And then there’s sound of _sweet, sweet victory._


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## Megapurrr (May 9, 2008)

*I don't believe you...*

This can't be the first short story you have written... it's too good.

You have pictured a very angry man excellently. From the beginning, after I read the first paragraph in the story I felt the man's anger towards his enemy, his boldness towards his actions, and his self-consciousness about what he is capable of doing. I love how you pictured his feelings and thoughts about his surroundings. 
You have made an excellent short story of a very simple plot. 
You could describe this story as: "An angry man walks into a place, holding a pistol and subtly approaches his enemy. When he is too close for the enemy's bodyguards to do anything, he kills him". But you have made it into something more, and something worth reading.
Keep them coming!

MP


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## Cerulean_Wings (May 9, 2008)

I'm glad you like it, MegaPurr, thanks for posting your input 

As for the next installment, it might come by today or this weekend, depending on my availability to sit down in front of the computer and type


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## Cerulean_Wings (May 13, 2008)

I haven't abandoned this project, no siree! I've been busy with real-life roleplaying business, and so I didn't update this before. I'll be uploading the continuation to Star Clash, part II, today, and then I'll probably get to work on another short story, unrelated to this one


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## Cerulean_Wings (May 14, 2008)

*Star Clash - Part II*

Star Clash - Part II

Rayne’s head blows up in a shower of-metal? Circuits, metallic chunks, wires, all fly away from Rayne’s body like confetti at a carnival. Spontaneous understanding ensues. 

_Now_ I know why he was smiling like a madman and why the guards didn’t bother to stop me as soon as they saw me. I’d say “Sorry, my bad” and turn around to leave, but since I’m outnumbered ten to one by armed goons I somehow don’t think that’s going to do it. 

From one of the stealth fields (the ones that I could spot a mile away, no less) comes the real Rayne, dressing exactly like the ‘bot had, and for a moment I have the sickening feeling that there’s no difference between machine and man. But then I notice the dreamy look on his face, and the feeling is washed away.

“Rayne” I say, the effort spent in keeping my tone steady bigger than I had imagined.

“Arken” the bastard replies casually, apparently unmolested by the robot’s demise. He takes a couple of steps to the side, glancing at me sideways as he does. While I look like a defeated warrior, he in contrast resembles a victorious leader after a decade long campaign. 

While this happens, patrons are getting the hell away from us (or the bar altogether), some screaming, some fleeing in mute horror. In their eyes, Rayne Zetrus just got a headshot from a plasma gun, after all. They’re probably going to notify the local authorities as well.

_Damn it all._

“Why are you here, Arken?” 

The question takes me completely off-guard, and I shake my head briskly, hoping that I heard him wrong.

_Did he inhale something recently?_ 

My brow pushes down my forehead’s skin, forming a frown. “I came here to kill you” I hiss through gritted teeth. Despite my appearance and tone, the statement sounds like a whine, much like a kid would complain when he doesn’t get the toy he wants at a store.  

“You wish _me_ dead?” Rayne replies, a measure of surprise obvious in his voice. The nutcase shakes his head slowly, as if in denial. “Judging by your course of action, you have succeeded in killing no other than _yourself_, Arken the Scourge.”

_Will the gloating never end? It seems like an eternity for one such as me._

He stops pacing and turns his body to face me directly; he’s barely ten feet away, and if it wasn’t for the bodyguards with the plasma weapons, he would be dead. Again. 

“The moment you walked into my establishment-no, the moment you had the mad thought to dock your ship on this planet, that’s when you forfeited your life. And all because of what?” he says with a shrug, gazing helplessly at the ceiling as if it held any answers. His gaze returns to my face in a flash, a look of sudden anger clear on his previously relaxed features. “Because of your pride, thinking yourself capable of ending the life of the Crest of Purity! Your sin has, at long last, become the end of you, Arken the Scourge, and you will be put to justice in this very floor where you had intended to kill me, the leader of the noblest organization in the galaxy”

_Why won’t he stop with the preaching and get on with the executing? Is this the way Rayne tortures his victims?_

“Arken, I would’ve forgiven you of your past sins had you decided to join Sacred Earth, but now the chance is gone, and judgment _must_ be passed” he says with a tone of grim finality and sadness at the same time, like a judge forced to pass off a death sentence to someone he dearly loves.

_Quite the act he’s pulling off; he almost convinced me. Almost._

The guards take off the safety triggers from their weapons, and that’s the moment when I put up the act and smile back at the madman dressed in white. “Me? Join Sacred Earth?” I ask, pretending confusion. “Not in a million light years, you disgusting maggot, son of a-“.

I keep going with the name-calling for quite a while before Rayne finally makes a gesture and the bodyguards take aim at my body. He doesn’t look amused anymore. 

_What can I say? It’s been fun, this thing we call life.

Orphaned by a Vestii armada that destroyed the solar system I lived in.

Killed more people for money than I can keep track of.

Worked for the Triumvirate as their strike team... 

that’s my life right there. _

_And to top it off, I almost got to kill the galaxy’s real scourge. Almost. _ 

The inevitable sound of weapons being fired emerges at long last. Except that this happens behind me, by the entrance doors, rather than right in front of me. Disregarding the immediate threat, I yield to my curiosity and take a quick peek over my shoulder.

_Kadil! I told him not to follow me! Never mind that, how in space did he get his Colossus in here?! How did he get past so many guards unnoticed?_ 

The Colossus that somehow-fits-in-the-pub is basically a 6’ tall robot that looks like the Zarr that pilots it: a cross between a human and a grasshopper, even color-wise; apparently, Kadil wanted the resemblance to be almost uncanny, and so the thing is a mixture of yellow and orange rather than the typical metallic grey.

In an instant, Kadil’s twin Quake 360 plasma-cannons shoot the guards nearest to the entrance, killing them instantly, and the subsequent beams do the same with the goons closest to me. The fact that he risked such a close-shot angers me, and despite the whole situation, my irritation goes up a notch when the sunnavanalien waves at me with the Colossus’ mechanic arm and yells “I got ya covered, Chief!”.

_Note to self: administer an extensive smacking session for Kadil to serve as an example for the rest. If I make it back. Sigh._

I don’t need to be told twice: I fire several beams of hot plasma at the guards closest to me, artfully adding several extra air holes for him to breathe with, while simultaneously performing a perfect back flip that takes me behind a table that has gone vertical. Not really good against plasma, but hey, better than thin air.  

Rayne would’ve been the ideal target, but the bastard somehow disappeared in the sudden turns of events.

“Wahooo! Boom, you go, BOOM, gwahaha! Go boom, baddies!” the maniacal engineer that is Kadil yells while shooting a barrage of plasma in random directions. This, naturally, causes the remaining (and most unfortunate) patrons to duck for cover, scream in fear, jump away, and all sorts of improvised evasive maneuvers. Chairs, tables and other furniture is blown to bits all over the tavern. 

_The wreck this inn will be after he’s done with it will be impossible to describe with words. Heck, they’ll probably invent a new word for this type of mess: “kadilism”._

As I shoot with my pistol from behind the table I activate my microcom in order to express my feelings to my right-hand alien. “Damn it, Kadil, we need to get back to the ship ASAP! It will only be a matter of time before the entire city guard is here!

Much to my surprise and relief, the uncharacteristically wild mannered Zarr stops with the random violence and leaps (yes, _leaps_, large Colossus and all) towards me, bends down in order for me to get atop the mechanical shoulder, and off we go. Leaping.

“How in the hell did you get over here without getting caught? Whatever you used, you better be able to do it again” I yell towards the robot’s head in order to get my message through above all the noise, mainly from screams and plasma beams shot at us. More than one such shot hits the Zarr-Colossus, but the thing is made of Megatonium, and it holds for the time being. 

He makes the Colossus shrugs in response, as if it wasn’t that big of a deal. “Photon shield, chief” he says via microcosm. “I’m the hax, remember?” he adds, making me perform a face-palm.

“It’s ‘hacker’, you crazy Zarr!” I shout, mostly to cover my amazement at Kadil’s skill in somehow installing a Photon Shield, the best stealth technology developed so far, with a freakin’ Colossus. It’s not like the little guy needs any more encouragement for his demented creations, no sir.

Kadil takes us through the tunnels back the way we came, and around the bend there’s a large squadron of security guards forming a barricade, easily twenty of the buggers. The ones up front carry large Matter Shields, the fancy kind that blocks any attack, physical or energy, while the others behind have the biggest and deadliest pulse rifles trained in our direction. One shot of those and, armored or not, you’re a goner.

Too bad they can’t see us, thanks to the Photon Shield.

Kadil takes advantage of the taller tunnels to leap over the blockade, and not even the guard at the back of the formation notices the 1-ton robot landing right behind him, all thanks to the Shield.

I barely need to move my lips and whisper via microcom in order to transmit my message to Kadil “Good job, Prime Zealot” I say in a perfectly serious business tone, my eyes looking straight ahead at the corridor we’re in. “We might just make it back to the Black Nereid in one piece.”

“WAHOO!” Kadil screams. I sigh.

So much for stealth.

"They have a stealth field! Activate your Piercing Visors!” one captain orders the troops. 

The alarm is sounded yet again, and the chase is on; a shame that no one here owns a Colossus as fast and agile as ours, and we actually make it to the docking station after a short while of jumping and wall running, leaving our pursuers far behind, with little security to bypass up ahead.

“Did you get the big baddie guy, Arken?” Kadil asks in a whisper, having learned his lesson at keeping quiet while maneuvering the robot around people and ships in order to reach ours undetected.

I shake my head. “Nah, not this time” is my response. My eyes are drawn towards the plastisteel window that allows me to get a look of space. Somewhere, in another sector of the galaxy, a star reaches its end, blowing up in a spectacular supernova, and I can’t see it happening, but I know it’s happening, somehow, out of intuition. 

_Does it mean the same thing: having Rayne die, even if I’m not there to witness it? _

“Maybe next time, eh, Chief?” Kadil asks in a conciliatory tone. I can’t help but nod and half-smile.

_Nah. If I’m not there to pull the trigger to blow him into bits, it doesn’t count. I’ll get you Rayne; maybe not today, but tomorrow. The Righteous Nova will come to an end, consuming the organization it created.

And for once, the Scourge of the galaxy will overpower the Righteous.
_


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## Cerulean_Wings (May 20, 2008)

This thing ain't dead yet! *casts Heal on thread*

I haven't updated because I've been busy. _Okay_, I didn't have as much time as usual. Fine, alright, I was having _fun_ in that thing we call *life*! Happy now? 

Busy times ahead of me, but I'll give my best to upload the next short story if I get the chance. No more procrastination from me, no sir.


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## Colmarr (May 21, 2008)

Just thought I'd drop in and give my 2c worth on the first instalment. 

I've put them in spoiler blocks so as not to distract readers who aren't interested in my comments and just want to read the excellent fiction.

[sblock=Internal monologue difficulties]I'm a very amateur writer myself, so take my criticism/advice with a grain of salt, but there were a couple of times in the first instalment where Arken's thought patterns and/or internal monologue seemed not to match his emotional state. Specifically, I noted that his monologue at times was quite verbose and articulate whereas emotionally he was frothing with rage. 

"Rayne Zetrus, leader of Sacred Earth as the Crest of Purity, better known as the Righteous Nova" is an exceedinly complex sentence even for a calm and collected person. Likewise, "And more to the point, no one messes with me, Arken Shane, and brags about it for more than a solar cycle before I bring down the hammer on the fool who dared to cross my path" is a laboured sentence that I can't really imagine anyone being able to think/speak without pausing to take a breath.

I personally like to represent rage or anger with short, explosive sentences. You've done so in some cases, especially the EXCELLENT 'range' sentences (eg. "Thirty feet. Rayne is dead"), but IMO you've let the sentences run on too long in some areas, and that takes away from the sense of rage.[/sblock]

Overall an excellent story, and one I'd be very happy with if I'd written it myself.


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## Colmarr (May 21, 2008)

Ok. I'm back with some comments on the second instalment:

[sblock=General]This instalment seems to me nowhere near as polished as the first. It's hard for me to put into words, but you seem to slip out of "Arken telling a story" mode and into "me telling a story about Arken telling a story" mode.

More specifically, Arken seems to slip out of character on a number of occasions:

*"The Colossus that somehow-fits-in-the-pub is basically a 6’ tall robot that looks like the Zarr that pilots it"*

The "somehow-fits-in-a-pub" seems out of place here, both structurally and thematically. While Arken may be surprised to see the weapon suit in the pub, it strikes me as jarring that he refers to it that way. Similarly, it seems jarring to me that he describes it using the word "basically". We (the reader) may not know what a Colossus is, but Arken does.

While I wouldn't dare try to re-write your story, an example might be appropriate to explain what I mean: compare your version with "The Colossus is stationed just inside the front door, plasma weapons blazing. I can't even begin to imagine how Kadil managed to sneak a 6 foot tall weapons suit into a heavily guarded establishment in a civilian area, especially one so outlandish as his." It conveys the same information but doesn't use what I hesitantly refer to as "flippancy" (the hyphenated term) or modern youth slang short cuts ("basically").

*"and all sorts of improvised evasive maneuvers"*

Again, I think this comes across as out of character for Arken. I would have preferred that you leave this clause out of the sentence altogether. It seems like a gag line in a non-gag story. If it was intended to be a wry condemnation by Arken of the civilians' panic, I think you need to expand on it more.

*"while the others behind have the biggest and deadliest pulse rifles trained in our direction"*

You've shown earlier in the story that Arken knows the names of weapons (his plasma pistol and the Colossus suit), so it seems odd that immediately after specifically naming the Matter Shields, he refers to these weapons so generally. I think you would have been better off giving them a specific name. The following sentence adequately describes what the weapons do, so there's no need to stress in this sentence that they're big and deadly.[/sblock]

Aside from those thematic issues, I did notice a few pedantic bits that I'll throw out there. Consider this proofreading more than criticism   

[sblock=Pedantic stuff]*"Unmolested"* - I don't think this is the word you were looking for. "Unperturbed" or "unphased", perhaps?

*Safeties on weapons.* If the guards had their safeties on, why did Rayne come out of the stealth field? The guards weren't in any position to stop Arken firing again. Similarly, why didn't Arken kill Rayne when he emerged? If the answer to that question is that Arken didn't know the safeties were on, why doesn't he react when he realises he missed such a prime opportunity?

I think you need to put some more work into this issue, either by removing the reference to safeties altogether, or by expanding its impact on the actions of the characters.[/sblock]


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## Cerulean_Wings (May 21, 2008)

Colmarr, first of all, thank you for stopping by an posting 

I accept your criticism whole-heartedly, and I appreciate you pointing out those flaws in the story. I admit that the second part was less in-character than the first, for whatever reason, and I'll keep that in mind if I make other installments for Star Clash.

As for the "weapon safety device" deal... it happens when I attempt to write a sci-fi story for the first time in my life and don't bother with proof reading the story 

Thank you for the comments, and I'm glad you've liked it. I'm almost done writing the next one (not a continuation to this one, and very different in setting and mood)


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## Colmarr (May 21, 2008)

Not a problem. I was hoping that I hadn't come across as condescending. Thanks for taking my comments in the manner I intended


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## Cerulean_Wings (May 22, 2008)

Colmarr said:
			
		

> Not a problem. I was hoping that I hadn't come across as condescending. Thanks for taking my comments in the manner I intended





Not at all, on the contrary: it's exactly the sort of critic I was looking for desperately in my previous story hour, so it's quite refreshing to read someone's honest and well thought opinion on my writing 

The next short story is almost done, I just need to give it the finishing touches...


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## Cerulean_Wings (May 22, 2008)

*The fair maid*

Priscilla recoiled backwards at the impact of the butler’s slap against her head, allowing a yelp to be released from her lips. Her head banged hard against a fine set of metallic utensils that were hanging over the kitchen table in the process, forcing yet another cry of pain from the young woman. 

The butler, Caredhio, regarded her with narrowed eyes, his lower lip trembling “Now listen here, you little whelp” he commanded with his typical elegant, yet dangerous voice. “If I find out that you disrespected the master one more time, I’ll feed your beaten body to the dogs, you hear?”

The girl nodded quickly while she rubbed the place on her head where she had hit herself with the cooking items. Try as she might, she couldn’t blink away the tears forming in her green eyes, partly from pain and partly from embarrassment. 

_I can’t believe I’m in trouble for standing up to that-that bully of a lord! “Master” Thalis had no right to treat me like that_ she thought and wisely kept the notion to herself. 

Thankfully for Priscilla, Caredhio was no mind reader and so her inner thoughts remained a mystery to him. Still, the aged butler didn’t cease to regard the maid with a look of suspicion even after she curtsied and dashed away to perform the next kitchen chore. “That one has to learn her place” the butler said to himself in a low voice, clenching and unclenching his fists. 

Still fuming, Caredhio walked briskly towards the door that lead outside of the kitchen, stopping his journey once in order to yell at a clumsy cook who had dropped an expensive spice on the floor. When the door slammed after his departure, Priscilla wasn’t the only one to sigh in relief.

“Prisci, girl, what did you do this time?” a big burly cook by the name of Ogen inquired whilst preparing an elaborate dish with his massive hands. In response, Priscilla took a flask of pepper and one of salt with her hands and brought them next to the large cook where her assigned dish was. A loose strand of red hair obtained freedom from her pony tail and paraded itself in front of her eyes, forcing Priscilla to tie it back with the rest of it.

Seeing no response forthcoming, Ogen shook his head. “Stubborn lass” he mumbled.

“What was that?” the perceptive girl inquired while seasoning her dish and Ogen shook his hands in front of him from left to right rapidly “N-nothing! Nothing at all, Prisci!”

She seemed satisfied by the answer and focused her attention on the task at hand. Ogen was twice as tall as her, many times as strong, yet the big cook had always been under her thumb when it came down to it. How it had come to that, not even Ogen himself could offer an explanation. 

“Stupid Caredhio” the young maid said at length, her eyes focused solely on the potatoes on the elaborate plate in front of her. “Her mother probably worked the streets when he was in her womb or something.”

Ogen knew better than to agree or disagree with her-heck, or even say anything at all when Priscilla was like that! The other members of the kitchen staff avoided her like the plague as well, at least while she had had a fight with the mansion’s butler.

Another cook passed behind them with a luxurious cart carrying delicious meals of high caliber cooking. “Remember our master wishes his potatoes mashed into a puree” he commented as he passed. Priscilla didn’t give a response, but she grabbed for the potato masher and began to pound into each vegetable with the vigor that a seasoned warrior carves his mace into the heads of his most hated opponents. 

Ogen took a stealthy step to the left, clearing some distance between him and the energetic woman. He concentrated solely on his plate like his life depended on it- and in his mind that was indeed the case!

“Slap me for not bowing low enough, will he?” she whispered through gritted teeth. The potato masher went up and down at incredible velocity, partly due to Priscilla picturing both Caredhio and Thalis’ faces over the potatoes. In a matter of seconds there were only the post-massacre remains of the vegetables left in the plate.  

Priscilla huffed a little bit, feeling lightheaded, taking a moment to regain her breath. Her arms felt like she had been throwing heavy rocks at a far-away target, and so she stretched them while recuperating her energy. 

Ogen put one hand on her shoulder gently; judging from Priscilla’s lack of reaction, he assumed it wasn’t an unwelcome act of charity. “Maybe you should take a break” he suggested. Priscilla nodded slowly.

The same cook that had come by with the food cart returned the same way, now with an empty cart, and he used the chance to say “And don’t forget about the lord’s intolerance to nutmeg. He’ll throw a fit if he has another coughing episode.”

The words barely registered in her mind and she nodded absently at the fast-moving cook. She looked down at her apron, normally a white cloth of medium quality; now it resembled a surgeon’s vest, covered in potato chunks acting as gore. 

 She leaned forward against the counter and crafted a small nest with her arms for her head. A second later, her head snapped upwards, a look of revelation across her face: there was one particular thought that stuck in her mind, seemingly for no apparent reason. 

_Nutmeg_. 

“Oh, how could I forget? Our dear master is allergic to nutmeg” Priscilla mused while allowing a sly grin to take form on her fair face. “It’d be a shame if someone accidentally put some in his mashed potatoes…”

“Priscilla, please don’t do this” Ogen protested with a low but serious tone. “If he has another coughing episode he’ll have us all flayed alive”. The maid pouted in response, making Ogen change tactics; the big man joined his hands into a praying position and put up his best “pretty please” face. 

Priscilla threw up her hands and harrumphed noisily, responded with a quick “Fine, fine” and walked away towards a different sector of the kitchen to pick up a few more ingredients. Ogen exhaled in absolute relief.

On her way, without thinking twice about it, she artfully snatched a nutmeg flask that was nearby. Once back to her station, she started pouring its contents down onto the potatoes she had just mashed. “Slap me for not bowing low enough, will he?” she whispered again and again while dumping more and more of the spice onto the dish. After a brief moment she stopped to consider the resulting dish: no one would notice the difference if she mixed the puree a bit. 

Not even if she uncorked the stopper and allowed the whole contents of the flask to rain upon lord Thalis’ most delicate dinner.

Ogen sighed deeply. “Gods preserve us, we’re all dead cooks” he prayed after catching a glimpse of Priscilla’s antics.

---

To say the dinning room was richly adorned would be a gross understatement: ivory vases with golden gilding were placed atop black marble pedestals on the corners of the rectangular chamber, along with a corresponding painting for them representing a member of the noble family living in the mansion, the Baudyrs. From the center of the room, right above the dining table, was an enormous chandelier made of special crystals that reflected multicolored light. All forms of jewelry, tapestries and expensive adornments were placed around the dinning room with great precision, all of them constantly dusted and washed daily. 

At the large and exuberant oak wood table sat a multitude of people, the master of the house included.

“Shall we begin?” Thalis Baudyr said with one wine-filled glass on his right hand towards his guests, nobles from the city who dressed just as pompously as the relatively young baron, still in his late twenties. Everyone flashed their best fake smile and nodded with no less authentic eagerness. 

In the next room Caredhio was giving quick and simple instructions to the staff that had been chosen to deliver the meal. Due to some strange trick of fate, Priscilla was amongst those people and the carts full of finely treated food.

“Don’t look at them” the butler was enouncing low enough for only the servants to hear. “Don’t talk to them” he added, then took a moment to stare at everyone in the eye one by one. “And for God’s sake, don’t even _think_ about disrespecting our master!”.  

The servants nodded as one, their eyes cast low, shoulders slightly hunched as proof of their submission. Satisfied, Caredhio nodded to himself and opened the double doors leading into the dinning room. It took a matter of seconds for the carts to start rolling into the chamber at a moderate pace, not too fast and not too slow. 

Meanwhile, the nobles pretended as if their food was being brought to them by invisible forces, too snobbish in their way of seeing life to admit that there were, in fact, human beings taking their food to their table without even asking for a ‘thank you’ in return. 

Fate wasn’t about to stop tampering with Priscilla’s life, for she was the one to deliver the nutmeg-seasoned dish to Thalis. She placed it in front of him along with the other plates that were already there without a word or a look as sternly instructed. Moments later she was back in the previous room with the rest of the staff, waiting for Caredhio to return and give his appraisal of their performance. 

_Come on, eat it_ was the thought that kept popping into Priscilla’s head again and again. Without realizing it she was nibbling on her thumb whiles her other hand clawed at her own apron.

Several minutes passed and the double wooden doors opened and closed in a flash, the only change being that the butler was with the staff in the back room. “No complaints” he said with a hint of surprise after making sure everybody was there. Caredhio re-adjusted his fine tunic, not for the first time in the day “You’ve all performed… well, and I’m sure this will mean the master is-“

His next words were cut out; there was a commotion at the dinner table, as if someone had fainted. At first the sounds coming from thre were barely recognizable, with multiple nobles shouting words and phrases at the same time, forcing Caredhio to open the doors to the chamber once more. 

“He’s choking” yelled one noble.

“His face is all red, he can’t breathe!” another shouted.

Priscilla looked into the dinning room from the edge of the threshold: all the nobles were placed around lord Thalis in a semi-circle, with two of the men holding him steady on his feet. The young baron was having a massive coughing spasm, making his body flail back and forth like a cawing raven.

“Ha!” Priscilla would’ve wanted to cheer right there and then, but the wise maid held the celebration in her mind only, victory dance and all. She had to make a supreme effort to keep a concerned expression on her face, though. 

Caredhio was shouting orders for the nobles to move out of the way and for the staff to fetch a healer as quickly as humanly possible, but Priscilla wasn’t listening, suddenly concerned; why the big commotion for a simple coughing fit that Thalis had had before by accident? It would be over in a minute or so, resulting in a flustered Thalis and Caredhio.

She didn’t move from her spot in the back room and nobody seemed to notice her lack of action. Her eyes were locked on her master’s convulsing body, which lost energy with every second. 

“It wasn’t supposed to be this bad” she kept telling herself under her breath as she witnessed the surreal scene. 

Thalis stopped coughing all of a sudden and then lay very still. Caredhio and the visitant nobles talked to him, but he ignored them. Or so it seemed at first.

For Priscilla the world was devoid of all sound, even with the servants running back with the mansion’s healer in tow, even with the butler shouting his master’s name. 

In the ensuing chaos, no one realized at first that there was a red haired maid laughing like a maniac in the back room, hugging her knees as she sat against a wall.


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