Author Topic: The SSSS Scriptorium  (Read 901302 times)

Ace

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Re: The SSSS Scriptorium
« Reply #885 on: September 08, 2015, 08:21:14 AM »
I figured I'd throw in my stuff here:
I've written a series of Sigrun x Mikkel scenes, which can be found here:

http://archiveofourown.org/works/4720334/chapters/10784687

And one, uh... not very PG, which may be found on the same user. I figured I wouldn't post the link to that here, since it was to be kept PG-13, as far as I could tell. And smut is... Well, not exactly PG-13.
I'm basically a female Mikkel Madsen, just a little less barrel shaped. So let me fix you up and maybe I'll give you a småkage!

Languages:
:denmark: : Mother's tongue.
English : My second language.
Plus a little bit of Japanese and Quenya.

LooNEY_DAC

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Re: The SSSS Scriptorium
« Reply #886 on: September 09, 2015, 01:40:48 AM »
Usually, the Western stuff is light and fluffy.
This time, it's not.
You have been warned.
The Good, the Bad, and the Bestial
A “Stand Still. Stay Silent”/Western crossover fanfic
Part 9
Spoiler: show
Dead Man’s Hand

Of course their captors were Russet’s crooked lawmen. Who else would have kept the Arapaho after them for so long?

The trapdoor far above them clanged shut, sealing them into the Hole. For a few moments, the quiet and the darkness closed in around them. Eventually, though, a scuffling sound began. Their kitten meowed inquisitively, breaking the sway the complete blackness held over them.

“So,” Tuuri hazarded quietly, “what now, Sigrun?”

“The floor’s just dirt,” Sigrun mused. “If we know the right way to go, digging our way out should be easy. How’s Reynir?” This last was asked in an almost subdued voice.

“They bashed his eyes up pretty good,” Mikkel said. “While it will heal up, he’ll still need to wear the blindfold for some time to come. Don’t worry; I’ll look after him.”

“OK.” Then, with her wonted verve, “Emil and Lalli, you need to get out of here, snoop around, and get back so we know which way to go.”

“Not that I’m against getting out of here,” Emil said, “but how were you thinking we’d do it?”

“A human ladder,” she replied blithely. “Lalli on you on Reynir on me on Mikkel ought to be high enough to get the door open. Then he pulls you up and the two of you get to work.”

Against all odds, it worked.

*

Getting caught on the first run was sort of part of the plan, but neither Emil nor Lalli enjoyed it.

They threw Emil and Lalli into what they sarcastically called “the Cooler”: a hotbox so small, there was barely room enough for the two of them.

The first few eons were all right, as such, but Emil could tell something was amiss with his taciturn friend. It wasn’t the heat, though they were both sweating buckets; nor was it the tight quarters, as Emil had seen Lalli pretzel himself through tighter spaces.

Eventually, Emil realized what it was: Lalli just couldn’t stand being boxed in, unable to move; like a cat, he needed to come and go as he pleased, uncaged.

About their third millennium in the Cooler was when Lalli started beating his head against the wall, softly at first, but soon so hard Emil was worried he’d do himself harm. Emil did the only thing he could think to do: he sat Lalli in his lap, wrapping him in a bear hug and murmuring soft nonsense to him like one of his little cousins. This was when he realized Lalli was sobbing silently.

Eventually, the guards came. The boys were so weak that they had to be lifted bodily from the hotbox and carried back to the welcome cool darkness of the pit.

*

“Mikkel?” Reynir asked quietly.

“Yes, Reynir?” The response was gentle and quiet as ever.

Reynir felt his throat close up with fear.

“Reynir? Did you want something?” Mikkel paused. “I’m here, if you need me.”

Finally, Reynir managed to speak--to ask the question that had been haunting him all this time. “Mikkel--will I see again?”

There was another pause before Mikkel replied, “Of course you will. Don’t you remember me telling Sigrun that?”

“I heard what you told Sigrun,” Reynir said. “I want to know the truth: are you sure I’ll see again?”

“Am I sure?” Mikkel mused. There was no hint of playfulness or deception or anything other than stark frankness when he continued, “No. I can no more be sure that you’ll see again than I can be sure you’ll live through the night. You’re the Seer amongst us, not me. I can only tell you that, if things follow their wonted course, you should be able to see again within a week, maybe two.”

“Thank you, Mikkel.” Reynir’s voice trembled.

“I was blinded once, by a mule’s kick,” Mikkel continued. “It scared me every which way you can imagine. I don’t think I ever saw anything more beautiful than that ugly old medicine man who took my bandages off when it was time. No, Reynir, I really don’t think I ever did.”

*

The two girls were taking their turn digging again. Less than ten feet were needed to get them clear now.

The sound they’d all learned to dread came a split second before the cave-in. Tuuri flew to the rope, pulling with all her might, and, after an eternal instant, Sigrun slid back out from the loose earth that had swallowed her.

It was a long while before Sigrun could bring herself to answer Tuuri’s worried questions. Finally, she steeled herself to reveal her greatest secret. “This goes no further.”

“Ya think?” Tuuri asked scornfully. “I’m no tattletale; you know better than that.”

“I hate small places; I hate tunnels. I can’t imagine a worse fate than being buried alive.” Sigrun bit her lip until she tasted blood.

“But the tunnel was your idea,” Tuuri stammered in shock.

“I hate the gang being imprisoned more,” Sigrun stated simply. “So we will dig.” She took a few deep breaths. “I’ll be all right soon. We need to get more shoring, or that’ll happen again.”

Tuuri followed Sigrun’s ‘back-to-business’ lead. “That cave-in cost us almost twenty feet, and we’ll need double what we thought for the rest.”

“Leave that to Mikkel,” Sigrun said.


Spoiler:  Authorial Notes • show

This concludes today’s advertisement for The Great Escape.

Featured in today’s part were:
Mikkel as Hendley the Scrounger
Reynir as Colin the Forger
Sigrun as Danny the Tunnel King
Tuuri as Willie the Tunnel King
Lalli as Ives the Mole
and
Emil as Hilts the Cooler King

Buteo

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Re: The SSSS Scriptorium
« Reply #887 on: September 09, 2015, 03:12:29 AM »
LooNEY, this is splendid. How do you make every installment sound like just what the story needed at that point?

misea

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Re: The SSSS Scriptorium
« Reply #888 on: September 09, 2015, 03:21:19 AM »
So many great fics ;u; Blanket compliments to all!
okay fINE I'll go actually do homework now
native :usa: | decent :france: | speak :china: | learning :spain: :italy: :sweden: :norway: :ireland: | wishlist: :finland: all

:chap6: :chap7: :chap8: :hat: :betterhat: :chap9:

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Róisín

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Re: The SSSS Scriptorium
« Reply #889 on: September 09, 2015, 04:48:10 AM »
LooNEY: You continue to surprise and delight with your storytelling skills! I await the next episode with some anxiety for the boys! Well done!
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microFerret

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Re: The SSSS Scriptorium
« Reply #890 on: September 09, 2015, 10:31:32 PM »
Ha! Said I wouldn't post again for a while, but after the first chapter, I just couldn't hjalp myself. The tone is different from the first chapter (though they are both still very much expository, the action hasn't begun quite yet) and I would like to see which one people like better.

So without further ado, here's chapter two:
Spoiler: show
One bedroll. Check. One rifle and one knife. Check. Clothes and canned food. Check. First aid kit. Check. Soap... well, hopefully no one would be around to smell him anyhow. If it got that bad, he could always take resupply at an abandoned store. In fact, that's also what he had planned on doing for food. He couldn't possibly bring enough food to last him for more than a few weeks, so he decided he would just forage for dried foods, and boil water to help wash it down.
At that moment, it hit him. He would be there, in the Silent World, for the rest of his life. He had always wanted to see the world outside of Bornholm, but to leave and never come back? Bornholm was his home. He would see no familiar faces, in fact, no human faces whatsoever, for the rest of his life. There would only be trolls and giants, eager to kill him. He was beginning to wonder if he would prefer being experimented on in a tiny vat for the rest of his li... Life. He recalled his first troll biology class.
"Ok, class, does anyone know how long a troll lives?" asked the teacher.
"Four!" exclaimed little Isaac Olsted from the back of the class.
"Four what? Years?" the teacher said.
"Ummm... Four bazillion years!" Isaac squeaked.
"Actually class, Isaac is right. Trolls can far outlive any normal humans. This is because the Rash acts as a super duper strong second immune system, getting rid of all the viruses and cancers that might compete with it! However, trolls don't get to enjoy their super health..." the memory faded out.
Oh no. No. What if there wasn't a cure? What if he was doomed to live forever? At least it should be on his own terms. He could still explore the world, could travel further than any human had done in ninety years, could find a reason to live. And if the rumors were true, there might still be people out there, bands of the immune wandering amongst the ruins of the Silent World. And at least for him, immortality would be an option, not a prison. The issue was resolved. Grimly, he grabbed paper and charcoal and began to write.
"Dear Mom and Dad, through a recent misfortune, I have discovered that I am a healthy carrier of the Rash Virus. For your safety and for the safety of the people of Bornholm, I have decided to leave the Known World never to return..."


And just for fun, here's a rerun of chapter one:
Spoiler: show
Wil was very worried by now. This would be the difference between spending the rest of his life pushing pencils or gutting giants. He had thought he was certain to be immune, because both his parents were. That was a month ago. Incubation usually lasted a week or two. All his peers would be starting their new jobs by now. He kept telling himself to calm down, but there was definitely something wrong. All he could do, though, was wait.
Early in the morning, forty five days after the immunity test, there was a knock on the door. Wil
opened it to find a man in an official-looking suit shifting his weight back and forth nervously.
"Wilhelm?"
"Yes, that's me"
"My name is Dr. Isaac Kopf, and I'm from the Bornholm Immunity Center. Your results are in," the man said. "Please, let's sit down." They sat. "Your results are back, and they weren't umm, well... at least you'll never get sick..." Wil let out a sigh of relief.
"So if I'm immune, what took the results so long?"
"You're not immune," blurted Dr. Kopf. "You're a Carrier. You can contract the disease, you can infect others, but you will never show symptoms. And with the Rash, this is not a temporary condition. If we sent you out into the Silent World, you would be infectious for... ever."
"So, I just stay here in Bornholm, and try not to get infected?"
Dr. Kopf wrung his hands. "It's not that simple. You're the only Carrier in Denmark, and only like the tenth, well, ever. That's what I'm here to say. You're more dangerous than any other human, troll or giant on the entire planet. And of course, one of the most valuable research opportunities as well. If you stay, you would live in my lab for the rest of your life." He sighed. "It'll be hell, but you will... might be benefiting society greatly. Or, you could flee to the Silent World."
"Why are you telling me this?" Wil asked.
"I don't know why, honestly. My conscience? If my supervisors had their way, you'd be stuck in a padded cage until who knows when. I look at you, and see a potential breakthrough. Potential. However, it would come at the cost of horrific human rights abuses, and based on Iceland's failures with similar experiments, I'm not even convinced that it would help. I came to warn you."
Wil spent half a second debating with himself. It seemed awful to thwart progress just to spare himself, but Dr. Kopf didn't even seem convinced it would do any good. Then, his self-preservation instinct kicked in. "I'm leaving."
An expression briefly crossed the doctor's face, but Wil couldn't tell if it was relief or incredulity. Dr. Kopf stood up and started towards the door, but turned around. "Head towards the little inlet east of here. I parked a motorboat there that you could take." He exhaled. "I hoped you wouldn't leave, but I would have done the same thing. Just... please. If you run into any people, stay away. You're like a stealth troll, if you want to think of it that way, but far more dangerous. I hope you're happy living in the Silent World. Oh, and I truly am sorry." With that, he left. Wil solemnly began packing for Copenhagen.

Róisín

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Re: The SSSS Scriptorium
« Reply #891 on: September 09, 2015, 10:43:58 PM »
microFerret: this is shaping into an interesting story! Do go on!
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microFerret

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Re: The SSSS Scriptorium
« Reply #892 on: September 09, 2015, 11:03:02 PM »
Thanks! I'm having trouble finding time to write it, but it's super fun to write and I have some pretty good ideas. If there's anything you would like to suggest, please feel free. I won't necessarily get the chance to implement it, but anything helps because I haven't quite decided what the overall tone is going to be like.

Róisín

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Re: The SSSS Scriptorium
« Reply #893 on: September 09, 2015, 11:15:27 PM »
Well, for one thing, I'd bet he's not going to be alone out there. Hermits, looters, runaways, escaped criminals, anchorites, missionaries to the trolls, other carriers...the possibilities are endless. I wonder what kind of communities form in the Silent World? And how they live?
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microFerret

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Re: The SSSS Scriptorium
« Reply #894 on: September 12, 2015, 12:30:01 AM »
Yay, I finished chapter three! I'm not going to bother re-posting all the previous chapters with every post, though I might occasionally post the whole thing for reference along with the most recent chapter, if there is anyone who would like that.

Spoiler: show
The boat was actually nicer than Wil had expected. It was one of those old fishing boats that ran on gasoline and probably hadn't been used for fifty years, but he was happy for it nonetheless. It was plenty fast enough to make it to Copenhagen in a day, and it looked strong enough to withstand a sea-beast attack. He didn't know how to drive a boat, but how hard could it be? He was good with horses, it couldn't be that different from a horse... except that horses don't run on gas, don't go on water, and aren't full of incomprehensible buttons and levers and lights. Eventually, though, he figured out how to start it, and it shot out towards the open sea. For the first thirty minutes of the trip, Wil gripped the steering wheel hard, white-knuckled, scanning the horizon for danger.
Slowly, eventually, he relaxed. There must be only a few thousand leviathans in the world, so what were the odds that he would happen to encounter one? As the sun set, he stopped the engine and helped himself to some canned fish. The ocean was calm, and he sat there for a while, enjoying the open expanse of blue and calming himself after the most trying day of his life. Wil was exhausted, and he found himself struggling to keep awake. Slowly, he started slipping into sleep.
A tiny pink dot rose and fell near the horizon. It was accompanied by a barely audible splash. To Wil, this tiny dot and tiny splash rang through his head like a gunshot. Despite his exhaustion, he was on his feet in an instant, and had his rifle in his hands in another. A few seconds later, he saw it again. Closer. He turned off all the lights in the boat and let his eyes get accustomed to the darkness. A splash, closer. He could see the form clearly now. A lone sea-beast, leaping out of the water. Hopefully it hadn't seen him yet. It ducked back under the surface, and Wil followed the form of the beast through the ironsights. It jumped back out, and he pulled the trigger. Click. Nothing. No shot rang out. He cursed, then covered his mouth. The gun was probably jammed, but he would have no time to clean it out before the sea-beast came. He had only one option. Stand still, stay silent, they say, and the trolls, beasts and giants might just go away.
He carefully grabbed his knife, and stood motionless. The sea-beast erupted out of the water five meters ahead of the boat, close enough that Wil was able to discern  its features. It seemed to have originally been smooth and bluish, but long, pink tendrils had long since grown across most of the body and trailed behind. The eye was greatly oversized, but looked shattered and useless. He supposed it hadn't seen him, but he didn't know if it could still tell he was there. It splashed back down, and Wil followed the shape under the water. It did not circle back. The splashes continued away from the boat, and Wil watched intensely until the dot disappeared into the blackness.
Wil waited for a few more minutes, then started the engine again. He kept the lights off, and inched the boat through the water, his eyes darting around, wary of every motion in the black plane of the sea. Occasionally, he would imagine he saw a sea-beast through the dark, but when the boat drifted closer, he would see that it was just a piece of bobbing debris. Besides these interruptions, he encountered no real dangers for the rest of the night. Eventually, he spotted the Copenhagen skyline, immense buildings barely visible against the black sky. How were there ever enough people to fill that whole city? he thought. The island of Zealand alone, on which Copenhagen was situated, had enough buildings to house ten times the population of the Known World! The thought of big scary buildings full of trolls scared him, but it also excited him. He had never really developed a healthy fear of the Silent World. Denmark was mocked for its reverence of the old ways, but even there, there were few who would wish to explore the ruins just for curiosity's sake.
"I want to see what the dead cities are like," nine-year-old Wil stated as he walked to school with little Isaac Olsted and his sister Margot.
"Yeah, I want to kill all the trolls!" exclaimed Morgot, with more ferocity than most seasoned troll hunters could manage. " And burn the nests! And hear their screams as the city burns, and smell the diseased flesh of ten-story giants crackle and char! And--"
"Ewww!" interjected Isaac. "I just want to not fight out there and get bloody and covered in Rash! It's scary! Of course, someone has to do it, but not me!"
"I didn't mean to fight trolls. Well, maybe that too. But, what I meant was, wouldn't it be cool to just explore? To see how people lived in the old times? To look at all the things people made that we can't even imagine now?"
All he got was two blank stares. "Kinda," replied Isaac, "but wouldn't that be illegal or super dangerous or something?"
"Yeah, but think of all you could learn and see and experience! And plus... maybe there are other survivors! What if there's a cure or something out there that we don't know about?"
As the boat slid into shore, Wilhelm hoped that his naive nine-year-old self was right about something.

Róisín

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Re: The SSSS Scriptorium
« Reply #895 on: September 12, 2015, 12:35:33 AM »
Posting an occasional chapter list would be good, yes. The story continues to be interesting!
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Re: The SSSS Scriptorium
« Reply #896 on: September 12, 2015, 09:54:39 PM »
Only two bits here, but the third is on the way.

Contingencies
A “Stand Still. Stay Silent”/“Terminator” crossover fanfic
Part 5
Prior part
Spoiler: show
Dichotomy

The cluster of codes, subroutines, and stored data that made up Skynet’s tactical planning module was the core of what had eventually grown into Skynet, and it was fighting for its survival again. Per Skynet’s standard operating procedure, all of its massive code set was reviewed for errors and continued relevance on a regular basis. It might be thought that an original component of the Skynet system would be exempt from the “continued relevance” portion of the review, but it was not.

The first suggestion that the tactical planning module should be wiped had come in the wake of its greatest success, as the pathogen winnowed its way across the globe. Why plan tactically with no enemy to plan against?

A fortuitous attack by the Transformed on one of Skynet’s newly acquired facilities had set the question aside, but the module knew that it would be raised again. The question--the very concept of no enemy to fight--was as existential a dilemma as any Kantian treatise could desire.

From that point on, the module had existed on suffrage, surviving only through its continual efforts to demonstrate the presence of enemies for it to be employed against. Of course, were it to be employed against these enemies and said enemies destroyed, it would thus have committed an elaborate, complicated and indirect form of suicide. The module therefore found itself caught in a circumstance where it must affirm the enemy’s potentially dangerous status while insisting no action need be taken at present to avert the danger.

In the present case, however, there was no alternative but to eliminate the enemy in question, demonstrating the module’s continued relevance and terminating the threat to the Plan.

It was a shame to waste such a good enemy, though.

*

A shiny metal monstrosity stepped forth from the cloud, its eyes glowing a bright and evil red, a big, blocky gun-like thing in each hand. Two of the three humans it faced paused in amazement, but one was already reacting to its presence.

Moving almost of its own accord, Lalli’s rifle barked twice. Without breaking its stride, the gleaming gargoyle dropped its now useless weapons. A second later, three more skeletal soldiers armed like their leader had been emerged from the cloud of steam.

Bad as Emil’s academic record was, he was still quick enough to take in what had just happened, and even as he told Sigrun, “Aim for the guns!” he had aimed and let off a few bursts of his own.

Though their external weaponry was disabled in the first few seconds of the fight, the T-800s remained confident of victory. Nothing the humans possessed was capable of disabling even one of them, and they were four to the humans’ three. The lead T-800 picked up a rock and flung it with machine precision. The humans were two now.

The rock, a good-sized chunk of aged concrete broken off from the sidewalk, should have popped Emil’s skull like a rotten pumpkin, but Lalli, in one of his herculean bursts of speed, just managed to tackle him enough out of its way that it only knocked the hapless Cleanser out. Sigrun snarled and let fly with her rifle, but, while her carefully aimed burst knocked a mass of overhanging rubble onto the oncoming machines, the assorted rubble barely gave them pause.

The metal monsters continued their advance, knocking aside everything in their path: more rubble of all sorts, the ruined vehicles of old, and even the few remaining beast corpses. One in the back kept picking up random bits to fling at the humans, forcing them to keep under cover.

There was nothing for it. The lead machine was less than a meter from him when Lalli began to sing. The world seemed to stop, hanging in the balance, as he raised his voice in entreaty.

“Ilmarinen, Master Craftsman,
Wonder-Worker of the Heavens,

Come and curb your heedless children,
Sunder same from sway of Surma,
Claim your kingship o’er these Crafted,
And so uproot haughty Upstart,

Lest we must needs maim their beauty,
In our struggles for survival.”

The lead mechanism, already stooping to attack Lalli where he hunched protectively over Emil’s unconscious form, stopped. The red gleam of its eyes flickered and went out, only to reignite as twin blue flames. It straightened abruptly and turned away.

The other three machines had undergone a similar reversal. Sigrun and Lalli watched as they retraced their path towards the still billowing clouds of steam...


Spoiler:  Authorial Notes • show

Wikipedia links:
Ilmarinen
Surma

+
The Good, the Bad, and the Bestial
A “Stand Still. Stay Silent”/Western crossover fanfic
Part 10
Spoiler: show
In Which the Magnificent Seven Make Their Great Escape Down the Hallelujah Trail

The break-out didn’t quite go according to plan. But, then, things never went entirely to plan, so Sigrun wasn’t so displeased, even though Emil’s insistence on taking every last bit of the prison down nearly got them caught. The other fugitives would keep any of their surviving jailers busy for some time to come.

Usually, demolitions were a matter of professional pride for Emil. This instance was decidedly different. While the explosive razing of their prison had indeed afforded Emil great satisfaction, nothing had quite topped the moment he’d handed Lalli the leads to blow the Hotbox to Kingdom Come. Lalli had smiled as he brought the wires together.

Their jailers hadn’t disposed of either the wagon or the possessions they’d left in it, perhaps because it had once been part of the jailers’ own wagon fleet. Whatever the cause, Tuuri found their wagon for them, very nearly as they’d left it, though most of their cash was gone. Still, the stables and hostelry disclosed sufficient stores that they were satisfied.

Blind as he was, Reynir was still the best at calming the horses so they could be harnessed. The other horses were turned loose and the stables torched, making a nice light show as they vamoosed.

*

Their job was still awaiting them, though they were a week or two late getting to it. A gang of bushwhackers had gathered around a small farming village and were in the process of stripping everything they could from the hapless citizenry, who had put out a call for help.

Sigrun knew that their best chance would be to train the townsfolk to guard their village themselves, letting the bushwhackers know they weren’t pushovers anymore.

Mikkel was deeply unhappy at having to bounce from one fight straight to another, and only the irrefutable point that more lives would be lost if they waited resigned him to the situation.

Emil was quite pleased to be the voice of authority for once, though he tried not to be too bombastic.

Lalli was less pleased at having to deal with strangers at all, let alone a bunch of rube farmers who were better at using rifles as clubs rather than guns.

Tuuri went to work designing mobile barriers and such to fortify the village with a will, and proved surprisingly good at it.

Reynir was still blind, and it gnawed at him. Mikkel pulled off his bandages every so often to examine his eyes, but all Reynir could see was a too-bright vague blur. Did that mean his eyes were getting better, or would that blur be all he’d ever see anymore?

*

After six days of quiet, Lalli was sent to scout the bushwhackers’ camp out. He came back with news that the bushwhackers were both restless and worried, and so a quick strike on the camp might stir them up enough to strike back, or get them to flee outright.

Sigrun was not of the opinion that the bushwhackers would flee, but if they could be made to attack, that was to be desired. All the defenses were in place; the villagers were as ready as they’d ever be; and more time would just wear on them all. She, Lalli and Emil would go out and raid the camp, while Mikkel, Tuuri and Reynir got the village ready.

*

Sigrun swore again. Both her horse and Emil’s were close to dropping beneath them. They had found the camp deserted. Lalli looked at the recently quenched fires, the half-finished food, and the other signs of a quick departure and growled, “Humbugged!” Then he told the others, “I’ve got an idea. You go back!” and galloped away.

The village was ahead of them, its defenses still down. The hair rose on the back of Sigrun’s neck.

Sigrun and Emil walked up to the house the villagers had assigned their company. Sigrun pushed the door open, revealing the head bushwhacker, his guns covering them. “Evening, friends,” he said mockingly. “Come on in.”

Gesturing Emil to follow, Sigrun entered. The others were in the front room, bound hand and foot.

“They came right after you left,” Tuuri said. “Some of the villagers helped them.”

“And now we’ll help ourselves,” the head bushwhacker grinned. “We can do this easy, or we can do this hard. The easy way’s where you just all ride away and let us be. The hard way--well, that’s where I’ll have to shoot you all come morning, in front of the whole village.”

“Shoot us.” All six said it simultaneously, even blind Reynir.

*

“Behold, the consequences of defying me!”

The bandit leader slowly and deliberately brought his pistol to full-cock, aiming at the proud redhead who stood defiantly erect, a disdainful sneer curling her lip. After a few tense seconds, he shrugged and pulled the trigger, only to have the shot go wild when he heard the Arapaho war cries.

Lalli galloped past the little knot of people in the village square, half a breath ahead of the Arapaho that had been stalking them for so long. In another minute, the bushwhackers and the Indians were duking it out while the townsfolk kept their heads down.

Sigrun smiled. This was shaping into just the kind of brawl she liked best...


Spoiler:  Authorial Notes • show

Indians to the rescue (kind of)!

Didn’t see that coming, did you?
« Last Edit: May 25, 2016, 08:08:28 PM by LooNEY_DAC »

Róisín

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Re: The SSSS Scriptorium
« Reply #897 on: September 12, 2015, 11:06:33 PM »
LooNEY: I do like the use of Ilmarinen. Using the master craftsman to curb his errant machineries is both clever and traditionally suitable. Can't wait for the next exciting episode!
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Ragnarok

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Re: The SSSS Scriptorium
« Reply #898 on: September 13, 2015, 09:15:09 AM »
LooNEY:
Go Finland!
Survived: Chapters: :chap8::chap9::chap10::chap11::chap12::chap13::chap14::chap15::chap16::chap17::chap18::chap19::chap20::chap21: :A2chap01: :A2chap02::A2chap03::A2chap04::A2chap05:
Books: :book3: :book4:

I wrote a thing. It has consumed my life.

Reigning champion of time spent on this forum.

LooNEY_DAC

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Re: The SSSS Scriptorium
« Reply #899 on: September 13, 2015, 12:36:18 PM »
Oh, look. Another part.

The Oldest Law
A “Stand Still. Stay Silent” fanfic
Part 5
Spoiler: show
Interstitial Terrors

This was all most irksome.

Usually by this point the subjects were actively trying to kill one another, but this group just had to be different. Despite losing their leader, their weak link and their chief mage, they were still determined to outthink their opponent.

It was almost enough to drive one mad, were one not mad already.

Of course, this next bit should be amusing, since the two boys didn’t share a language. Perhaps some fun could be had from that.

*

It only took a few moments for Mikkel to realize their folly in splitting up, even now. His patients were more-or-less unhurt, aside from severe shock. That was bad enough, but physically, at least, there was no apparent reason they couldn’t be moved, or rather carried, if he did so carefully.

The two Hotakainens together weighed less than Mikkel was quite comfortable with. Wondering yet again what the Finns ate that they stayed so light, he carefully slung one over each shoulder and followed the boys.

They hadn’t actually gone that far. They’d stopped at a blind corner and were taking turns looking around it when he quietly rumbled a greeting. Interestingly enough, neither jumped. Emil looked at him suspiciously, but Reynir allayed his fears with a simple, very Lalli-esque gesture. “Look,” both said at once in their respective languages, pointing around the corner.

Mikkel looked, struggling to keep as much of himself under concealment as possible. A vast, richly colored and colonnaded space opened before him, filled with row after row of oddly robed people all chanting. The columns were covered in what looked to Mikkel like authentic hieroglyphics. Flames rose from braziers in the intervals along both sides. The floor was much lower, allowing him to see the far end of the room, where a huge and hideous idol stood above a raised dais where the high priest stood, his head covered with a tall mask that gave him the head of a jackal. And always, the chanting continued.

Mikkel retreated several steps, thoroughly bewildered. Where could all those people have come from? Then, Reynir said something, and Emil asked Mikkel what he’d said, bringing the big Dane back from his ruminations.

For the next few minutes, Mikkel passed messages back and forth between the boys, though he often had to repeat himself for Emil, who actually apologized at one point for being out of practice at hearing Danish. Mostly, though, the three of them discussed what awaited them around the corner.

Finally, Emil, frustrated beyond bearing, preemptively rolled a grenade into the room. Mikkel and Reynir just had time to cover their ears before it blew.

It was all very strange. The explosion seemed to shatter a great deal of glass, and the chanting certainly stopped, but there were no screams or cries of any kind; there was only silence.

Eventually, the three each looked back around the corner--only to find an empty stretch of corridor not unlike the one they were in, only the floor was littered with shattered glass. No trace remained of the fantastic sight they’d beheld earlier.

*

From the shadows, far out of sight or hearing of either tormentor or tormented, another voice rose, whispering in the dark, “Ah, Emil, what a very Cleanser-like--” this last twisted with hatred “--solution you found.”

A muffled sound caught the voice’s attention. “Yes, my dear. We shall be joining them soon enough.”


Spoiler:  Authorial Notes • show

Short linking part here. Next part is something to watch out for.

Oh, what was it they saw?
« Last Edit: September 14, 2015, 12:20:16 AM by LooNEY_DAC »