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"SSC 31- Blood is for the living"

"I want them dead. All of them. Dead. Let their blood flow like melt water through the valleys. No mercy can be shown by the Kutari. Justice comes through honourable battle where by we shall cleanse the earth and claim the territory which is rightfully ours", were the words of King Mao as he addressed his first officer.

King Mao constantly talked as if a scribe was noting his every word. As it was, the scribe was preparing for battle on this occasion. This vehemently expressed dialogue began with the clatter of a goblet of wine on the cold hard floor, and ended with a raised fist, clenched in anger.

In the opposing camp, Emperor Xhu expressed his sentiments through an equally aggressive passage, but there was a reservation and fear laced beneath the blunt surface of his declaration. "Retreat is not an option. We cannot lose our land. Our ancestors have lived off of this land for the past millenia. The farms that stand now have been farrowed and nurtured through all history of the Shikomi. The homes which we have built signify our strength and unity. The spirits are with us. We will fight to the death, for that is the only honourable exit to an obedient life..."

With Mao and Xhu sending these words on by mouth to be preached amongst all ranks, the two armies had war surging through their blood. It was as if soldiers had sipped from a single chalice of desire and hatred, passing it on from one to another, spreading the fatal intoxicant of blind fury into their blood streams. With every heartbeat, their blood grew thicker and darker just like the clouds overhead, which were brewing an almighty storm. Already blasts of lightning flashed in the night sky revealing a dense quilt of jet black clouds which domed over the land. A constant din of thunder echoed through the sky. Surely a sign of the Gods' passion stirring? Soon the upper echelons of Earth would come crashing down from the heavens like a 10,000 strong group of flaming arrows.

Yet the soldiers felt no fear. Nor should they, for they were warriors with a tunnel vision trained only on the single goal of murdering the enemy. Warriors are near numb, with their grip so tight on their sword, that not even a pack of wild horses straining at the reigns could prise it from their grasp. Their shields are an extension to their body and as such bare no weight. Nor does the thick clad armour or the thick leather boots which accompany the warriors whilst they tread through fields covered in corpses. A sight only comparable to that of a forest where all the trees have been felled. There is no pride in such a sight, only a rejuvenated sense of determination to march onwards and ever closer to ascension and the completion of an obedient life.

By such time as now, the world looked to have seen its darkest ever night, with the tempestuous rage of the sky unleashing surges of fury more frequently. Lightning was piercing through the thick padding of black clouds like a dagger constantly perforating leather, rebounding off of the ground only to strike through again and again.

"...and with victory on the horizon, we will never look back. For losing sight of the objective of this war would be fatal..." rang through the ears of the Kutari , as King Mao addressed his men in person. Galloping from side to side in front of the ranks on a stallion, pausing only in the midst of a sentence.

Meanwhile the Shikomi were being pumped with words as they rang out from Emperor Lei in a rather more sedate, yet equally meaningful tone. "Let not the lashings of rain discourage you, for weakness is for those who trail off of the path to ascension..."

Arms were raised. Many beat their chests and breathed heavily. No word was uttered, for the ferocious roar of the storm was belting down on the men in continual waves. However, there was the odd clank of metal as younger soldiers bent over to relieve themselves of the poison running through their blood, which by now had shown it's inescapable face as fear, having welled up in their stomachs. War was hurtling towards both armies, and in return, the ranks now began to charge at one and another. Every man howled to intimidate the opponents. But remember warriors feel nothing. Yet there were still men stumbling or lagging behind.

The forces, which now came tumbling down the slopes, were only a few metres away from clattering into each other, as spears were lowered and swords were raised.

The storm had culminated, yet instead of an apocalyptic cataclysm of pure destruction, snowflakes glided through the darkness, highlighted only by the feeblest of light stretching from an obscure moon near the horizon.

First they swayed down like a falling veil. Then with slightly more vigour. Still they glided though. Wafting through the darkness, until they eventually settled on the ground, but not before striking the capes and faces of the warriors, before falling those extra few feet to meet the grassy surface.

And as this blanket of soft white Peace fell, the warriors slowed. One by one they slowly lowered their arms and turned their gaze upwards, breaking their tunnelled vision for the first time since the war first began. The troops were tired, but not too tired to fight. Yet this sheet of Peace had come down and cast a different face over the land. All troops had stopped now, with their swords dropping to the floor, as hands were turned upwards towards the sky, towards the Gods, cupped towards the clouds to feel Peace. These cooling crystals soothed the underlying fury. The blood of these warriors thinned and regained a healthy red colour. Before this battle, half these men were already dead. The die were cast and their fates decided. They were to be the felled trees. The fallen trunks which no longer rooted into the earth. They had been revived. They had come back from the dead. There was to be no carnage. No onslaught where by ascension would follow to a mystical, unknown destiny. There was to be no blood in the snow tonight.

Good, strong writing. Plenty of tension in the build up to the battle, and a fine ending.

I really enjoyed that. Some great description in there too, such as, "It was as if soldiers had sipped from a single chalice of desire and hatred, passing it on from one to another, spreading the fatal intoxicant of blind fury into their blood streams." Yeah, superb.

I liked this a lot. I do think that in a piece like this, with no real characters or plot, you need to revise the hell out of every word you write and make sure the flow is absolutely perfect - because any bit of clumsiness jolts the reader right out of the scene. That happened a couple of times to me, like with the line "Their shields are an extension to their body and as such bare no weight", which doesn't work. In an epic, rolling, momentum-gathering description like this you really have to get those hiccups out. Very good though: I think it would make a great set-piece in a longer tale.

Thanks FFFF




(Final Fantasy Facade Fan)

I tend not to like stories like this for some strange reason ... I think I prefer individual tales, rather than those of armies and wider matters.

But for my unexplainable preferences, that was very good indeed - the moment when the snow started to fall quite touching and the ending was fresh and welcome.

It does follow suite with all of my previous stories.

I'm quite surprised I've been able to consistently come up with new ideas and new twists.

Thanks.

Another good one. This with an epic quality. I think you captured the fever in the build-up to the battle very well, and likewise the imminent moments of attack. And then the mystical snowfall... yes, the best thing you've posted on here.

"I want them dead. All of them. Dead. Let their blood flow like melt water through the valleys. No mercy can be shown by the Kutari. Justice comes through honourable battle where by we shall cleanse the earth and claim the territory which is rightfully ours", were the words of King Mao as he addressed his first officer.

King Mao constantly talked as if a scribe was noting his every word. As it was, the scribe was preparing for battle on this occasion. This vehemently expressed dialogue began with the clatter of a goblet of wine on the cold hard floor, and ended with a raised fist, clenched in anger.

In the opposing camp, Emperor Xhu expressed his sentiments through an equally aggressive passage, but there was a reservation and fear laced beneath the blunt surface of his declaration. "Retreat is not an option. We cannot lose our land. Our ancestors have lived off of this land for the past millenia. The farms that stand now have been farrowed and nurtured through all history of the Shikomi. The homes which we have built signify our strength and unity. The spirits are with us. We will fight to the death, for that is the only honourable exit to an obedient life..."

With Mao and Xhu sending these words on by mouth to be preached amongst all ranks, the two armies had war surging through their blood. It was as if soldiers had sipped from a single chalice of desire and hatred, passing it on from one to another, spreading the fatal intoxicant of blind fury into their blood streams. With every heartbeat, their blood grew thicker and darker just like the clouds overhead, which were brewing an almighty storm. Already blasts of lightning flashed in the night sky revealing a dense quilt of jet black clouds which domed over the land. A constant din of thunder echoed through the sky. Surely a sign of the Gods' passion stirring? Soon the upper echelons of Earth would come crashing down from the heavens like a 10,000 strong group of flaming arrows.

Yet the soldiers felt no fear. Nor should they, for they were warriors with a tunnel vision trained only on the single goal of murdering the enemy. Warriors are near numb, with their grip so tight on their sword, that not even a pack of wild horses straining at the reigns could prise it from their grasp. Their shields are an extension to their body and as such bare no weight. Nor does the thick clad armour or the thick leather boots which accompany the warriors whilst they tread through fields covered in corpses. A sight only comparable to that of a forest where all the trees have been felled. There is no pride in such a sight, only a rejuvenated sense of determination to march onwards and ever closer to ascension and the completion of an obedient life.

By such time as now, the world looked to have seen its darkest ever night, with the tempestuous rage of the sky unleashing surges of fury more frequently. Lightning was piercing through the thick padding of black clouds like a dagger constantly perforating leather, rebounding off of the ground only to strike through again and again.

"...and with victory on the horizon, we will never look back. For losing sight of the objective of this war would be fatal..." rang through the ears of the Kutari , as King Mao addressed his men in person. Galloping from side to side in front of the ranks on a stallion, pausing only in the midst of a sentence.

Meanwhile the Shikomi were being pumped with words as they rang out from Emperor Lei in a rather more sedate, yet equally meaningful tone. "Let not the lashings of rain discourage you, for weakness is for those who trail off of the path to ascension..."

Arms were raised. Many beat their chests and breathed heavily. No word was uttered, for the ferocious roar of the storm was belting down on the men in continual waves. However, there was the odd clank of metal as younger soldiers bent over to relieve themselves of the poison running through their blood, which by now had shown it's inescapable face as fear, having welled up in their stomachs. War was hurtling towards both armies, and in return, the ranks now began to charge at one and another. Every man howled to intimidate the opponents. But remember warriors feel nothing. Yet there were still men stumbling or lagging behind.

The forces, which now came tumbling down the slopes, were only a few metres away from clattering into each other, as spears were lowered and swords were raised.

The storm had culminated, yet instead of an apocalyptic cataclysm of pure destruction, snowflakes glided through the darkness, highlighted only by the feeblest of light stretching from an obscure moon near the horizon.

First they swayed down like a falling veil. Then with slightly more vigour. Still they glided though. Wafting through the darkness, until they eventually settled on the ground, but not before striking the capes and faces of the warriors, before falling those extra few feet to meet the grassy surface.

And as this blanket of soft white Peace fell, the warriors slowed. One by one they slowly lowered their arms and turned their gaze upwards, breaking their tunnelled vision for the first time since the war first began. The troops were tired, but not too tired to fight. Yet this sheet of Peace had come down and cast a different face over the land. All troops had stopped now, with their swords dropping to the floor, as hands were turned upwards towards the sky, towards the Gods, cupped towards the clouds to feel Peace. These cooling crystals soothed the underlying fury. The blood of these warriors thinned and regained a healthy red colour. Before this battle, half these men were already dead. The die were cast and their fates decided. They were to be the felled trees. The fallen trunks which no longer rooted into the earth. They had been revived. They had come back from the dead. There was to be no carnage. No onslaught where by ascension would follow to a mystical, unknown destiny. There was to be no blood in the snow tonight.