I'm currently transposing (I should say translating, my handwriting is that bad) a series of "X" vs "Y" stories from the scrawls on the backs of the old worksheets where the results of most of my creative process ends up. With these, I'm trying to capture the mood of a Nightfall battle. I'm calling these battles, "Engagements". It's such a civilized word.
The series runs, Guardian vs Harlequin, H vs Exodite, E vs Seer, S vs Cabal, and Cabal back to Guardian, full circle like. Most is done, but the Cabal vs Guardian is pretty sketchy so far.
Nightfall Guardian VS Harlequin
Nightfall Guardian VS Harlequin
...and now his Head was full of nothing but Inchantments, Quarrels, Battles, Challenges, Wounds, Complaints, Amours, and abundance of Stuff and Impossibilities.....
Cervantes, Don Quixote
Cervantes, Don Quixote
Re: Nightfall Guardian VS Harlequin
And without further ado, we who are about to die salute you.
An Autarch prepares for battle. Remote drones hover about him, locking his ornate armor in place, performing last minute systems checks. Tactical displays blink and swirl. His coterie is gathered around. His second in command, bearing the arms and armor of a Dire Avenger breaks the nervous silence.
“Sir, many leaders of the Harlequin organization are present in person. For one last time master, end this farce and allow us to seize them. We can deal their movement a serious blow. “
The Autarch replies, “We’ve already taken many of their tools, arrested leaders, silenced
media outlets and they have retaliated in kind. The masses are on edge. Coterie engagements are occurring at a dangerous frequency. Things have come to such a pass that blood will have to be spilled to bring this to any satisfactory conclusion. He and I have agreed that that blood will be his or mine. Winner take all. It is simply the best strategy available.”
The Avenger begins to protest, but is silenced by a glance.
“Furthermore, I will hear no more talk of seizing their leaders here. This dueling ground is sacred ground, an ancient temple of justice. A million generations of kings have battled and died here for much the same reasons we do today. To violate the neutrality of this ground would deal our cause a great blow. The arrest of a few charlatans is not worth that. “
“It’s a trick at best. He might not even come.”
“Oh, he’ll come, and he’ll fight honorably enough. Millions will be watching. He can’t
resist an audience like that. And that is all our people are to their kind. An audience.”
The Avenger in desperation cries out, “But, this isn’t battle. It’s a side-show. It’s
demeaning! It’s ….
“It is War. “ the Autarch says with finality. “Whether the casualties are one or
a billion. War is War. We no longer fight for territory, or resources or even honor. We fight for
the hearts and souls of our people .For those stakes I’ll fight in any place, at any time, in any
way.”
The Autarch lowers his helm, summons his spear and shield to his hand and strides
into the light of the arena. Ranks of hovering communications globes record and
transmit the sights, sounds, smells and emotions of this strange gamble to countless minds
across countless worlds.
Now the Harlequins enter. All are dressed in clownish parody of Guardian battle
dress. Tinny toy trumpets bleat mockeries of martial music. The Harlequins mill about,
bumping into each other, tangling banners, marching out of step. Then the Jester makes
his entrance. With deadly grace he flips over his followers antics, lands and bows to the
crowd. The clowns withdraw, leaving the combatants alone, alone with the eyes of millions
upon them.
The duel ensues. The Jester is a razored rainbow. He pirouettes, he dances a joyful
dance of death. The Autarch follows, slowly, carefully, implacably, a tiger stalking a
butterfly. Again and again the Jester’s blades and bombs strike and batter the Autarch,
leaving his armor rent, his shield smoldering. Again and again the Autarch’s spear
lances empty air. There is a blur and a flash like light off a mirror. And a mirror it is. The
Jester circles the wearied Autarch, wreathes him in mirror images. Which amongst them is?
the true Jester, which illusion? The Autarch has a split second to decide as the images hurl
themselves at him from all directions as one.
The Autarch drops to his knee, covers himself with his mighty shield and strikes blindly
upwards into thin air. Blindly but not unknowingly, The mighty blade flashes and there is a
crack like a thunder clap. The images fade with the Jester’s life. His lithe form hangs on the
Autarch’s spear, a puppet with cut strings. Blood sizzles on the shining blade.
The crowd, the unseen masses are silent for a moment. Then cheer, cheer for the
victor, their new champion, their new idol, the hero of the season. They cheer for this
moment of peace bought by one life.
And cheer that once again, that life was not their own.
An Autarch prepares for battle. Remote drones hover about him, locking his ornate armor in place, performing last minute systems checks. Tactical displays blink and swirl. His coterie is gathered around. His second in command, bearing the arms and armor of a Dire Avenger breaks the nervous silence.
“Sir, many leaders of the Harlequin organization are present in person. For one last time master, end this farce and allow us to seize them. We can deal their movement a serious blow. “
The Autarch replies, “We’ve already taken many of their tools, arrested leaders, silenced
media outlets and they have retaliated in kind. The masses are on edge. Coterie engagements are occurring at a dangerous frequency. Things have come to such a pass that blood will have to be spilled to bring this to any satisfactory conclusion. He and I have agreed that that blood will be his or mine. Winner take all. It is simply the best strategy available.”
The Avenger begins to protest, but is silenced by a glance.
“Furthermore, I will hear no more talk of seizing their leaders here. This dueling ground is sacred ground, an ancient temple of justice. A million generations of kings have battled and died here for much the same reasons we do today. To violate the neutrality of this ground would deal our cause a great blow. The arrest of a few charlatans is not worth that. “
“It’s a trick at best. He might not even come.”
“Oh, he’ll come, and he’ll fight honorably enough. Millions will be watching. He can’t
resist an audience like that. And that is all our people are to their kind. An audience.”
The Avenger in desperation cries out, “But, this isn’t battle. It’s a side-show. It’s
demeaning! It’s ….
“It is War. “ the Autarch says with finality. “Whether the casualties are one or
a billion. War is War. We no longer fight for territory, or resources or even honor. We fight for
the hearts and souls of our people .For those stakes I’ll fight in any place, at any time, in any
way.”
The Autarch lowers his helm, summons his spear and shield to his hand and strides
into the light of the arena. Ranks of hovering communications globes record and
transmit the sights, sounds, smells and emotions of this strange gamble to countless minds
across countless worlds.
Now the Harlequins enter. All are dressed in clownish parody of Guardian battle
dress. Tinny toy trumpets bleat mockeries of martial music. The Harlequins mill about,
bumping into each other, tangling banners, marching out of step. Then the Jester makes
his entrance. With deadly grace he flips over his followers antics, lands and bows to the
crowd. The clowns withdraw, leaving the combatants alone, alone with the eyes of millions
upon them.
The duel ensues. The Jester is a razored rainbow. He pirouettes, he dances a joyful
dance of death. The Autarch follows, slowly, carefully, implacably, a tiger stalking a
butterfly. Again and again the Jester’s blades and bombs strike and batter the Autarch,
leaving his armor rent, his shield smoldering. Again and again the Autarch’s spear
lances empty air. There is a blur and a flash like light off a mirror. And a mirror it is. The
Jester circles the wearied Autarch, wreathes him in mirror images. Which amongst them is?
the true Jester, which illusion? The Autarch has a split second to decide as the images hurl
themselves at him from all directions as one.
The Autarch drops to his knee, covers himself with his mighty shield and strikes blindly
upwards into thin air. Blindly but not unknowingly, The mighty blade flashes and there is a
crack like a thunder clap. The images fade with the Jester’s life. His lithe form hangs on the
Autarch’s spear, a puppet with cut strings. Blood sizzles on the shining blade.
The crowd, the unseen masses are silent for a moment. Then cheer, cheer for the
victor, their new champion, their new idol, the hero of the season. They cheer for this
moment of peace bought by one life.
And cheer that once again, that life was not their own.
...and now his Head was full of nothing but Inchantments, Quarrels, Battles, Challenges, Wounds, Complaints, Amours, and abundance of Stuff and Impossibilities.....
Cervantes, Don Quixote
Cervantes, Don Quixote
Re: Nightfall Guardian VS Harlequin
Cool, short, but cool.
I'm eagerly awaiting the next installment.
I'm eagerly awaiting the next installment.
Painted Minis in 2014: 510, in 2015: 300, in 2016 :369, in 2019: 417, in 2020: 450