borthax

It had been 15 years since it all began. The crowning of Emperor Albert Joseph De Gaudin was a sign for a brighter future as the young emperor swore to uphold the will of the people above his own. Several lords feared that the peasantry would be loyal to the emperor instead of various nobles that had ruled over them for centuries, a sentiment shared by the emperor’s own uncle. And so, the lords declared Archduke Joachim De Picard as their Emperor and declared Albert Joseph a pretender that was unfit and unworthy to lead them. At first the Emperor did not want to have to fight his own people, so he consulted with his council. After a day of deliberation, the Emperor walked out and drew his sword from its scabbard and declared that “for the sake of the Empire, we will go to war.” With those words, the emperor’s own professional army of men at arms rode out to the lords still loyal to him and slowly began consolidating his domain by subjugating the rebellious lords. While the Emperor

Borthax’s: How To Write War (An introductory text for new writers) Foreword: Salutations dear reader. I am but a humble amateur writer with a little knowhow on how wars should and should not be waged in the context of non-realistic settings. On that regard, I am writing this treatise in the hopes that I can convince you, my friend, that war is both a horrible thing and a fascinating topic for any self-respecting writer. Note that I will not discuss anything regarding the tactical level of warfare as it is purely up to the writer to decide what happens during pitched battles or skirmishes. That being said, I will not go too deep into both the Strategic and Operational levels either as I feel that there are people who are significantly more qualified than I to tackle such topics. Volume 1: War in Science Fiction Volume 2: War in High Fantasy Volume 3: War in Historically based settings Volume 4: Final thoughts and Opinions Volume 1: War in Science Fiction Chapter 1:

So, where do I begin? I guess it started when John was walking down a beach during one of his family's long vacations. It was night and the moon was full as he strode the sand. His mind was torn on many things, he had a crush on one of the girls back in his town, but he didn't know how to confess his feelings to her. John's face was a bright red as the possibility of rejection hit him like a truck and various scenarios began to play out, almost all of them leading to an awkward situation. He could only sigh as he pondered the infinitesimal amount of ways it cold all go south. He looked at the moon, perhaps looking to gain some sort of mystical guidance from it, to no avail. John kept on walking until he stumbled upon a mysterious object that washed up upon the shore. It glowed a vibrant blue in the darkness of the evening as the item enticed him to touch it. "What is it?" he asked himself as his hand reached out to touch it. As he picked it up from the ground he marvelled at the

Warren City; the land of opportunity; the land where anyone, regardless of their race, could find common ground with others; the land where the police never gets a chance to rest. I was there when the city's foundations were first laid out almost 40 years ago. Yes, I was young, but I remember the words of President Harding as he declared the creation of Warren County  'for the welfare of the citizens we never knew we had and the citizens who were cast out because they were different.' But those days are gone. Today Warren City is a den of thieves, corrupt politicians, and gangs. Even the police department isn't immune to the debauchery, but we do try to keep order. My work as police lieutenant puts food on the table and it does have its perks. Only if I wasn't assigned to homicide. But the darndest thing I've witnessed happened over a year ago. It was dark out and I was sleeping on my desk when I heard that the captain wanted everyone in the briefing room. I didn't have enough time to brew myself a cup of joe, but I was awake enough to know what happened. The chief broke the news to us, a murder at the Weeping Flower hotel. At first nothing seemed new except for who our vic was and what happened. A young centaur named Iohannis Papadopoulos was reportedly torn to shreds. I had to see for myself, so I volunteered to take this case on; and it looks like the captain was also going to ask me to get on it anyway. So, I made my way over there in a squad car because my car's engine decided to not work tonight. When I arrived at the scene the first thing I noted was the smell, but I just couldn't put my finger on it. It was like the scent of rancid fruit rotting under a hot sun with a just hint of bleach, I was sure I knew where I smelled it before. But that didn't matter. There were the usual people there; the coroner, crime scene photographers, beat cops, and journalists. When I saw the body with my own eyes, I couldn't believe it. They weren't exaggerating when they said, 'torn to shreds'. The lower half of his body was mangled, and his lower set of entrails were splayed out. I asked around for the first responder to the call, apparently it was a werewolf. 'Police Officer Marguerite Leclerc'. I asked her what she found on the scene earlier and said that she did see prints leading from a manhole cover hidden in the alley beside the hotel. I dispatched detective Wilson to check the inside hotel for any matches regarding the prints. And as luck would have it, he found out that there were prints in the room where Mister Papadopoulos was killed in. The prints themselves indicated that the assailant entered from the window without being detected as not even the guards noticed anything go in or out of that side of the establishment. And few things get past a pair of Jorogumo and their webs. I asked around some of the other staff and guests and they too failed to notice anything. Left with little leads, I asked officer Leclerc to help me as she also doubled as a K9 unit. Apprehensive at first due to the strong scent of garbage repulsing her, I managed to convince her that I'd put in a good word for her with the captain that and I said that it was also a direct order. I lifted the manhole cover, and we descended down below. The prints vanished in the thick layer of grime that caked the walkways of the dark, filthy tunnels. I had to rely on Officer Leclerc to watch my back while I checked every single thing that might lead me closer to the perp. I was at a loss, that was until I spotted something at the edge of a grate. Just barely visible in the corner was a gang sign of sorts. We had no idea what it meant but I quickly sent Officer Leclerc to grab the photographer. I first assumed it was some sort of mark to signify a dead drop, a small hidden stash for discrete use by a gang-member and began to think of gangs off the top of my head. The police had spies within all of the major criminal organizations of warren city, so they were going to be my go-to. The next day, after I got some sleep, I sent copies of the photo to the contacts while I planned to dig around the vic's house. So, I partnered up with Sergeant Kantorek and then we headed off into Farmer's Lane, a suburb on the east end of the city. Mister Papadopoulos' home wasn't what I expected it to be. From what I've had about him on the file, he supposedly worked in the import and export business. Importing rare Greek goods and exporting American goods in return. His house was plastered in Greek memorabilia ranging from pottery to pictures of his time in Athens. What strikes me as odd was the lack refinement you get with these types. There was little in the way of vanity, and it looked like an average bungalow, adjusted for a centaur of course. The wallpaper was plain, and the decor was a bare minimum. From this I could tell that there was no woman in Mister Papadopoulos' life. We looked deeper into his abode. Kantorek was in the garage, and I was in the kitchen looking for even the slightest bit of involvement with any sort of gang. And then I heard Kantorek yell. "Decker, get over here I found something!" I made sure to put everything back in place before going over to see what my partner had uncovered, Kantorek was standing over a hatch. Behind the hatch was a safe of some sorts and it was locked up tighter than fort Knox. I gave it a whirl, but it wouldn't budge, we knew that we had to call in the experts. While Kantorek was busying trying to send in the right people for the right job, I was going door-to-door and asking anyone if they saw something odd at Mister Papadopoulos' place. I had little luck of finding a good eyewitness but most of their alibies all mentioned some car, an old black Chrysler from the 40's by the descriptions, visiting the place last night. I jotted everything down and went back to my partner who was eager to share some news. He told me that they managed to get Warren City's best safe cracker to open it. So, we sat on our asses and waited for a while until a squad car came in with the safe cracker. And boy was he a sight to behold. He was a small man wearing a plaid vest on top of his white shirt. Small but very efficient. We showed him the lock and knew instantly how to break in. Five minutes, it took him five minutes to crack the code and we were in. We opened the door to find ledgers inside and a firearm. We had the gun ran for serial numbers while we rummaged through the pages of the ledgers. "By golly!" I exclaimed. "These don't look like regular transactions to me." It was there that I thought I saw my next lead. Mr. Nigel Cheng, some Chinese man from the 'Rising Phoenix' triad, was mentioned several times when placing orders for Sten guns and ammo to go along with them. But this was growing beyond just some murder. No, I had to bring this to the chief A.S.A.P. The whole case went under-wraps for a week or so while Commissioner Teague formed a task force alongside the FBI. It turns out that the ledgers also had mention of the gang known only as 'The Sewer Rats'. They meant business. They were all veterans of the Pacific campaign and controlled the flow of Chinese opium throughout the west coast. As a fellow veteran I could sympathize with them to some extent, but distributing drugs wasn't my style. Mister Papadopoulos wasn't the first and he wasn't going to be the last. I was assigned to lead the taskforce since I had been the lead investigator of the case and because of my record. The first thing we had to do was capture one of their hitmen. In our attempt to catch the elusive son of a gun I had to use live bait. I had an un-timely reunion with Officer Leclerc who had to go undercover as an arms dealer to the Rising Phoenix triad who was hungry for some military grade equipment. She was perfect for the task as few people outside of the government knew what she looked like as a human. We monitored her for the next three months as she was slowly gaining the trust of the triad members. I felt sorry for the kid. Three months in isolation and no contact with her family or friends. At least in France I had my buddies to keep me company. But her? She had nothing at all. One night we discovered that Officer Leclerc was going to meet with a guy named 'Frank' at the parking lot of Joshua's Diner. The FBI had sniper teams placed on every elevated surface from here to Timbuktu. And we had Officer Kohaku at the ready if things went wrong. Frank came in with a black 1948 Chrysler Town & Country. This was our guy. The moment he stepped out of the vehicle we jumped him from all sides, and I told him to put his hands where I could see them. He seemed to comply at first, but he brought back-up. Suddenly people were shooting at us with Garands and Tommy guns. The FBI snipers opened up to keep the gunmen pinned. Officer Kohaku rushed to pin Frank and managed to wrap him up in her web and kept him sedated with a tiny amount of her venom. All the mean while we were busy with a firefight. I felt like I was back in St. Vith when the krauts came at us. Images of panzers and Nazis filled my mind. The only difference was that these boys weren't krauts. They're Americans. By the time I snapped back into my senses I was on a stretcher and bound for an ambulance. I later heard that officer Leclerc was in critical condition, they said she was hit multiple times by .30-06. I also had news that Frank was now locked up and guarded to high hell. I sent Kantorek to loosen him up a bit. The man knew how to work any Kraut back in Belgium during our time in the 82nd. So, I figured that maybe he could finesse something out of this chump. Anyway, I closed my eyes and let sleep take me. No dreams came to me that night. only thoughts about what move those bastards are going to make next. The following day I was told that Leclerc was stable. They said she was lucky that it wasn't an organ that was hit. Just bone, though her being a werewolf also helped in stopping the bleeding. As for the others, three officers and an FBI agent were declared dead. Just more brave men who died to preserve peace. The sewer rats managed to squeak out of this one for now, but I'll nab 'em one day. I, sure as hell, will. To be continued...

An idyllic scene; the sun on high shining down on the streets, children running and playing, couples holding hands, and families having picnics. It was serene and calm…yes, indeed it was. As her mind is consumed by images of slaughter, Maria woke up in a cold sweat. She took deep and rapid breaths as she tries to calm herself down. She placed one hand on her chest before inhaling and exhaling at steady intervals. The nightmare was vivid but that wasn’t the most alarming detail she eyed. As she looked around, she found herself in an unfamiliar setting. She was lying alone in a spacious tent of sorts; trying to get a better sense of where she was she tried to stand up but a stinging pain hit her from every direction. Her entire body was stiff, and each movement she made felt like fighting against heavy chains that bound her to her bed. Eventually, she simply surrendered to the embrace of the cushion beneath her as the pain was unbearable. She looked up at the roof and tries to

The gentle sea-side breeze, a humble town, and a small home are the first things that come into Maria’s mind when asked on how she would describe her youth. Her hand beneath her chin as she ponders underneath a tree in the town square; she saw the milkman make his rounds, the merchants haggling, and the fishermen delivering their hauls to the market. She thinks of what kind of bread she should buy her mother for breakfast or perhaps she’ll pay her father’s grave a visit before buying herself a freshly baked cupcake from her favourite baker. She gets up and dusts her skirt before heading off into the streets. As she walked down the many lanes she couldn’t help but notice that something smelled good. Following the scent, she saw fresh loaves of Northern Cheese bread being displayed for all to see. The mere thought of sinking her teeth into the soft and rich bread made her salivate slightly. Hastily, she took out her purse to check how much she had left but her heart sank when alas she

The battlefield is no place for the faint of heart. The stench of blood and rotting corpses fill the air as the carrion creatures swarm to feast on the bounties of war. And yet men stride in them with great vigour. Men clash in hand to hand combat whilst archers pepper the foe from afar and great commanders observe the shifting tides of battle. Roland, a knight during his 32nd year, joins his lord and fellow men at arms atop a hill on the enemy's right flank. He closes his helmet's visor and holds his lance tightly, sweat forms on his brow in anticipation for what is to come. Around him are hundreds of mounted knights with a vast assortment of armour and colourful tabards which displayed the blazons of their wearers as well as their allegiances. When the sun was it its peak did the clarions sound their ear piercing call and spurring rider and steed both into the maelstrom of clashing steel. At first the pace was a trot to close the distance, then a canter to pick up speed, and it was