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Post by Cali on Apr 1, 2017 7:11:30 GMT 1
For your convenience, here is the audiobook version of the current story. A bit over 100 words but I'd say it's a win.
Also, my mic is kinda bad. My good one got busted on mysterious circumstances.
Text version:
It was the graveyard shift in Ratchet's second precinct. Special Agent Ralk Blaprocket was wrapping up his paperwork, which proved rather dull considering the uneventful day. A squabble between horde diplomats and alliance expats here and there, rumors of petty larceny. It was nearing time he stamped his papers and called it a day. He stood up, placing the mace that was tied onto his utility on the wall near his desk. He had a good feeling about tonight, as if he would not be needing.
Humming a tune he passed by the processing area. There was a smell though, it smelled like rotten eggs. He then looked to his left to see a fellow bruiser crapping into the mouth of a gnomish criminal.
Ralk leaned over and threw up his dinner, which sounded like a screeching chipmunk. "What in the Sam Hell do you think ya'll are doing over there?!"
"Are you kidding, Ralk?" The rookie of the squad piped. "This is Cheeks Polasko, the gnome that killed five goblins in the barrens!"
Ralk immediately, and completely changed his tune. "Really?! Thought he left for the East."
"Get ready." Sarge said, unbuckling his belt, turning and baring his green asscheeks. "I knew taking this stool softener would pay off." Polasko groaned as the rookie's waste still laid in the gnome's mouth. The sergeant's shit fell from his colon and onto the gnome's face, Polasko once again screaming.
Putting his pants back on the sergeant strapped on jumper cables to his nipples and promptly electrocuted him, Polasko wailing with a mouthful of shit.
"ERR IT TASTES SO BAD. GERD MY NIPPLES!"
"Oh I'm sorry." Ralk said in a sing-song voice, before gaining maximum momentum with his foot and kicking him in the groin. Polacko reeled back, practically inhaling or swallowing the fecal punishment laid in his mouth, and one of his testicles ruptured. "ERRUGGHGHHGGHGHGHGHHEUUUGUAUURGH!" He screamed, the torture unending.
Creative measures were taken to make sure Polacko was rendered as uncomfortable as feasibly possible. He was roughed up accordingly, a bit of rolled up paperwork stuck in his anus and thrown into a wheelbarrow.
"UNHAND MNE YOU FUHX." He shouted. "LEMMEGOOAHHHA." Cheeks knew he couldn't win no matter how hard he tried. He was then kicked in the balls again, his other testicle exploding. "GWAAHHHHHH"
"This sure soothes the nerves and eases the soul." The rookie spoke, smiling.
"NNOH IT DOESN'T!" Palosko screamed, goblin shit still spewing from his mouth.
They took the fire exit, camping the wheelbarrow on the stairs while Ralk got some whale oil from the evidence locker, and poured a large sum into it. "Well, it's a bit cold here for a Kalimdor night." Ralk said, lighting a match.
"NNHUUUGHHH!" Cheeks was so pissed off at the moment he felt his anger was burning hotter than whale oil was about to. He was wrong. The whale oil burned hotter.
"Don't forget to write fucker! Haha!" Sarge shouted, rolling the wheelbarrow down the stairs, Cheeks shouting as flames danced on his body and charred his face. The wheelbarrow then went into the harbor area, ramping off a large cart and going into a ship full of munitions bound for Stormwind. There were several explosions, people were blown to crisp, a cluster of splinters blasted off the starboard side and shredded an entire family on vacation. The spectacle was visible from the entirety of the city.
"Yeah." Ralk said giggling as the other surveyed their work. "We sure saved the day."
"Nice." Sarge said.
"Nice!" The rookie retorted.
"Being a cop..." Ralk smiled. "...kinda rules."
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Post by Lily Ariel Linders on Apr 1, 2017 13:55:15 GMT 1
100 Words April 2017
April 1, 2017
(I've been on a bit of a Tudor era kick lately, re-watching the TV series The Tudors and re-reading all the books I have set in that era. As such, when I had to come up with a short 100 Word Story for today, I was inspired while watching the scene where Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn ride off together and leave Queen Katherine alone, without bidding her farewell. The lovely actress playing Katherine said "He did not even say goodbye." in such a sad tone, and inspiration hit - I had to write from her perspective during that heartbreaking realization that she has well and truly lost her husband.
And so here we go.)
He did not even say goodbye. Henry, my love, my king... my husband. He just rode away, with... that woman.
I knew he had other women, I had come to accept that. But he always came back to me. Until now... until her.
They say I cannot give the king the living son he so desperately desires, but they can never say I did not try.
I have forgotten what it is to be loved by my husband, but there is one thing I will never forget.
In the eyes of God, I will always be Katherine, Queen of England.
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Post by Cali on Apr 1, 2017 20:11:21 GMT 1
Here's my non-joke April 1st entry:
"Scotch, I'm going to go on a flimsy little limb..." The Hudson Bay company man said, pack over his shoulders, strapped to his arms and over his forehead. "And say if the French catch up to us, we're in for a proper hogging."
"Don't fret. Don't fret, don't ever fret, Raustin" Scotch replied, lugging a pack of pelts of his own as they were portaging. "I hate hearing your sorry arse fretting, I'd rather hear a wailing Iroquois child scream "God Save the Queen" into my ear."
"Letting the Iroquois say anything is why we're running from the French, you berk." Raustin snarled, all of the expedition relieved that the next bit of lakewater was up ahead.
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Post by Cali on Apr 1, 2017 20:25:51 GMT 1
April 2, 2017 (It's April 2 somewhere right now dangit)
The company sloopmaster was never seen without his trusty churchwarden pipe billowing in his mouth, standing near his canoe that was brought down by his stronger subordinate.
"Ey, skipper." Raustin asked him. "The French and their redskinned lackies have stolen two thirds of our fur. We're on board for a reamin' if we go back with what we've got."
"We're almost at Fort Kindersly, Raustin. We'll get there in once piece yet." The captain replied. "Have you seen Scotch?"
Raustin looked around him, dropping his backpack and picking up his Pennsylvania longrifle, noticing the tracks leading to the woods. "Gaw, fuck."
"Bring him back before he gets himself killed, Raustin!"
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Post by Tillian Panthesis on Apr 2, 2017 3:21:16 GMT 1
April 1st 2017
(I'm on a historical fantasy kick, so this is sets in the late 1800's in America.)
The afternoon autumn breeze blew against Analytical’s forehead, while he was kicking the rock aimlessly in the streets of Boston. He can feel the musky smell of the earth in the air and the cold chill nipping at the surface of his skin. His cheek became more pinkish than he liked.
He was in a dodgy mood. He just walked out from a failed proposal to the Massachusetts General Court to get his polytechnic school built in Back Bay.
Analytical kicked the rock again. Then it flew in a high velocity rate, much to his chagrin. The rock hits the wall, then bounces off to the first floor of the window ledge, before knocking lemonade pitcher off the window still.
The pitcher fell and landed on some unfortunate gentleman, who happened to be standing in front of Analytical. The Nottingham youth looked up in horror, as the greying gentleman took the pitcher off his head. He glared at Analytical with icy blue eyes.
“Shite and fat buggery," Analytical mumbled to himself.
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Post by Lily Ariel Linders on Apr 2, 2017 18:46:39 GMT 1
100 Words April 2017
April 2, 2017
(Continuing my current obsession with Tudor history, specifically the wives of King Henry VIII, I've decided that my first six entries into the 100 Words thread will be snippets from King Henry's six wives, from first to last. Yesterday was Katherine of Aragon, today's is Anne Boleyn. This is what I imagine would be going through Anne Boleyn's mind during her last few days in the Tower before her execution.
And so here we go.)
I should have seen this coming.
I should have known that by overthrowing a queen I had set a precedent by which no queen's position could be guaranteed.
I promised him sons, I promised I would give him the heirs the old queen could not, why could I not have the boy we both wanted so badly?
And my Elizabeth, my darling girl, what will become of you, now that I am to die? Will you be safe, my little one?
Please God, let him be kind to her and keep her safe.
I go to my death willingly, so long as she is safe.
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Post by Tillian Panthesis on Apr 3, 2017 5:39:38 GMT 1
April 2nd 2017
“Would you like some more food, my lord?” The kindly lady asked.
Analytical peered up from his plate and replied, “Yes please, madame.”
As the lady place another helping of Biscuits and Gravy onto Analytical’s plate, he earnestly added, “Please, it’s Percival. No need for formalities.”
The silver haired gentleman, who was sitting at in front of him, raised one of his eyebrows in curiosity and remarked, “Not one for titles and ceremonies?”
“Nah,” Analytical answered casually, before he gorged in.
While he was enjoying his only food for the day, when the gentleman nodded back at him, “Ah. We’re one of a kind then. So, tell me Lord Lovelace. You’re planning to open up this Academy of Arts and Science college, I’m correct?”
“Uh huh,” Analytical replied, with mouthfuls.
“I can help you with that.”
“I’m not so sure. It’s a complex procedure. Red tape and all that bullshit.”
“I’ve dealt worse,” the gentleman countered.
“Alright, make yourself comfortable, this will be a long arse discussion. Pardon me, what is your name again?”
“William Barton Rogers,” The gentleman answered.
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Post by Tillian Panthesis on Apr 3, 2017 11:23:28 GMT 1
3rd April 2017
(It's the 3rd of April on my end, let's do this.)
It was a long grueling wait, but they finally made it. The Governor finally signed the charter to build this new school, all thanks to Will’s extraordinary orator skills.
As a celebration of that achievement, they were dining on local Boston cuisine at a cafe.
While they were feasting on roast meat, Analytical looks over at Will at the table and ponder. Is he a mage? Analytical then dismissed that theory. He would have seen his aura shinning bright as nebula.
“Something wrong, Percival?” Will asked.
Analytical quickly shook his head, “What? No. Not really. I’m just thinking about our new school.
Then a news herald appeared outside the cafe and yelled, “Breaking news from the south! A civil war has been declared!”
Both Analytical and Will exchanged horrified looks.
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Post by Lily Ariel Linders on Apr 3, 2017 13:51:19 GMT 1
100 Words April 2017
April 3, 2017
(As mentioned yesterday, continuing on with the Wives of Henry VIII, I present to you, Queen Jane Seymour!)
Queen Jane. Queen of England. I can hardly believe it, I never thought I would rise so high. I don't whether to be elated, though, or terrified. The king is good and kind to me; but he was good and kind to his previous wives too – until he wasn't. Father says it will be different for me, that Queen Katherine and Queen Anne committed treason against His Majesty, but who decides what is treason?
I pray I will soon be with child, and that it is the boy the king needs, for if I cannot give him a son, how long will I be safe?
How long before his love for me fades?
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Post by Cali on Apr 4, 2017 2:52:49 GMT 1
April 3, 2017
"I know you're here..." Scotch continued to speak softly, the cooing of owls and the chirps of thrushes louder than he was in the already quiet Ontario wilderness. "...only a spot of time before I fill your arse with shot."
He heard a soft hiss in the distance. Scotch peeling back the hammer of his Brown Bess pattern musket, and creeping toward the source slowly.
"Scotch!" He heard Raustin's voice scream. "Scotch! Bloody hell boy where you did you run off to?"
"Shite." Scotch turned his head after looking toward the source of his comrade's voice, only to catch an eyeful of hissing maw.
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Post by Tillian Panthesis on Apr 4, 2017 11:15:37 GMT 1
4th of March 2017
Analytical curse at the blasted civil war. Everything went to shit since it started.
“I’ve already told you, Erastes! I’m an educator not a smuggler!” Analytical growled at the businessman.
Erastes was unfazed with Analytical's unpleasant reaction. He blew opium smoke into Analytical’s face and replied, “Really? I haven’t seen this Boston Tech appearing anywhere in Back Bay. Honestly, if I were you, I would take this offer.”
“And what if I didn't?” Analytical asked, his voice was dripping with contempt.
“Then I have to tell Mr. Rogers that you’re a busy man. That I've commission you and the rest of the Candle Crew to fetch me some gunpowder and rifles like good little boys.”
“Why you-”
Before Analytical was able to strike the fat wanker, when he saw Will at the distance, watching the whole scene. Erastes tilted his hat at Analytical and bid his farewell, “A good day to you, Lord Lovelace.”
Then Analytical yelled back, “Go fuck yourself!”
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Post by Lily Ariel Linders on Apr 4, 2017 14:19:52 GMT 1
100 Words April 2017
April 4, 2017
(Now, on to the first wife to not die during King Henry's lifetime! Princess Anna of Cleves, never actually declared Queen as her marriage to the king was unconsummated and thus declared invalid in his desire for an annulment, she agreed to the divorce / annulment settlement and made off very well, becoming welcomed in England as The King's Beloved Sister. She lived the second-longest of all Henry's wives (Katherine of Aragon lived to see the age of 50 at the time of her death in 1536), as Anne of Cleves actually lived long enough to see the coronation of Queen Mary I in 1553, and died at the age of 41 in 1557.)
Princess Anna of Cleves – I had thought I would be Queen Anne of England, but it seems the king does not love me – no, he seems to despise me. I know what happened to his last three wives, Queen Katherine, divorced against her will and banished, and Anne Boleyn , disgraced and beheaded. I wonder if Queen Jane would have lost favour in the end, had she not died in the act of giving the king the son he wanted?
I know I shall never have his son, he will not even touch me. My only hope to survive this, I think, is to take the divorce. Do what he says, and I may yet survive.
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Post by Tillian Panthesis on Apr 4, 2017 17:00:34 GMT 1
5th of April 2017
Analytical frantically tried to explain Will, hoping that he could salvage the misunderstanding. Unfortunately, Analytical realised that Will was fully aware of the Candle's unscrupulous reputation. Along with the hidden magi society.
“But that’s still constituted as law breaking,” Will retorted.
Analytical sighed. There’s no way that he can talk his way out of this one. Especially when Will was an incorruptible man.
“Look. I’m going to admit up front, that we’re a bunch of wankers at the end of the day, alright?” Analytical blurted with resignation.
“But why are you funding to the institute? There’s not much gain for doing so,” Will asked.
“It’s not about profits. It’s about coming clean. I was hoping that building this school would give us a second chance.”
There was a moment of pause.
Well, that's the end of the dream, Analytical thought glumly. He was about to excuse himself and leave, when Will finally broke the silence.
“I want to see your guild.”
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Post by Cali on Apr 5, 2017 0:01:33 GMT 1
April 4, 2017
Flint on black powder ignited in the distance. The utterly unmistakable sound of a gunshot. Raustin heard less than thirty meters away.
"Scotch!" He heard the sounds of a struggle in the distance. "You bloody muppet, what have you gotten yourself into?!"
Scotch screamed in the distance. The hair's and the chill bumps on the back of Raustin's neck must have stuck out longer than his fingers at this point. There was another gunshot, possibly from Scotch's pistol.
It was then, the creature slithered toward Raustin, obviously wounded. Its eyes glowing redder than horrid magma. The English scout merely looked up, expressionless.
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Post by Lily Ariel Linders on Apr 5, 2017 13:35:13 GMT 1
100 Words April 2017
April 5, 2017
(Announcing Katherine Howard, fifth wife of Henry VIII. Katherine Howard was cousin to Anne Boleyn, as Katherine's father was Lord Edmund Howard, whose sister Elizabeth Boleyn Countess of Wiltshire was Anne's mother.
Despite being Anne's cousin and thus likely being fully aware of the circumstances surrounding Anne's downfall and execution, Katherine allegedly entered into an affair with Thomas Culpeper, a favourite courtier to Henry VIII. Whether her infidelity was true or not, Katherine was stripped of her title as queen, and was convicted of treason and adultery. Katherine Howard was executed on February 13, 1542 at the age of only 18 or 19.
According to popular theory, her final words were, "I die a Queen, but I would rather have died the wife of Culpeper". There are, however, no eyewitness accounts back this up.
There are also mentions that she had asked for the executioner's block to be brought to her cell so she could practice laying her head upon it, thus the focus of this entry into the 100 Words collection.)
Katherine sat silently on the floor, staring blankly at the block before her. She knew she was to die tomorrow, and had the block brought to her tower cell so she could prepare herself. Her mind raced with a thousand thoughts and regrets, but one thing she could never bring herself to regret was her love for Thomas.
Thomas was dead now, executed months before, leaving Katherine alone with only her memories of him.
Katherine took a deep breath and crawled across the floor to the block. Steeling herself, she placed her hands upon the sides, and for the first time, lowered her head to the block. She would face her death with dignity in the morning.
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