May 9th New Topic is 'Remembrance of Wars`

[Tehya]

The new topic for this week is 'Remembrance of Wars'

Please place your original Art, stories, poems, and photography here.

Come back and comment on your fellow player entries, I am sure they would like it.

This does not have to be TLI based.

Enjoy

[Lozen]

A long time ago,



There was a creature that lived in the forests of amazons. These amazons were warriors all and knew death was an inevitable thing. Yet, there is a monstrosity that lived in the forest with them. It fed on their flesh, consumed villages with fire, wrecked caravans that stood out amongst the green canopy of trees. We are talking about a cousin of the dragons, a fire drake. This drake's menace had to be stopped. The amazons worked together with the nearby kingdoms, hiring their services, and attempted to thwart and corner the fire-breather to either capture or kill it. In the end, they managed to only wound the thing, with the whole expedition destroyed and burnt to a crisp. The amazon's greatest warrior decided to go alone, her intent to vanquish the drake before it could recover, after the fact of its location being the only other progress made between the joint hunt of kingdom and tribes. The two met, clashed with fire and spear, and eventually the two fought until they could not. Both too weak to lift themselves up for the task of finishing off one another. The drake's intelligence knew that this woman would eventually run off to tell the others of its own condition. With that in mind, knowing it would take some time to recover, it used what energy it had left to drag the warrior with him to its secret lair. This drake was a sadistic creature, delighting in the morbid gallery it has featured across the forest, but it also respected those with power, which was why it stayed clear of the kingdom's mighty knights and fortresses, their iron-clattering van of soldiers, and remained in the subtle shade of the forest to prey on the unarmored warrior women and their ilk. This one, their best warrior, it decided would earn a reward for her efforts, and forced itself upon her. When the beast finally rested, the warrior recovered what was left of her pride, and managed to spirit away its location and seal the thing within its home before returning to her own. The whole great forest of tribeswomen then descended upon the slumbering drake within and put it to an end... At least, they thought so, until months later, the great warrior gave birth to a son who's skin was crimson and eyes glittered in the light as fire. He grew slowly, with the drake's longevity in his hot blood, powerful too, stronger than anything anyone had seen in a human being. When he would be of age, they would have him mated with one of the warrior women, and he would stay in the village as the huntresses provided. That was not what he wanted and left the tribes behind for the respected feudal lords of the plains. There, his youthful appearance disarming, but the prowess he displayed horrific, noted by many, and gave him an easy opportunity to join ranks or expedite with mercenaries. Clad in steel, a young teen half-drake. His story doesn't flow in glorious victories and ambition, but a curse will befall him one day. With all of his unnatural might, the cage of steel protecting his red hide, and warrior upbringing meaningless against the magics of a perverse wizard. Slaying his comrades and only knocking out the half-breed from the strongest arsenal of the mystic, he captures, chains, and locks away the boy-beast. Days go by, wondering what to do with such a prize, never having come across such a potential subject, one that he desired to gather in stock for world conquest and domination. But, how would he do such? Then, the answer was plain and simple. To populate a specimen, a species like him, they had to reproduce. The boy was given a choice by the wizard. He either would accept to lay with any woman he desired or the wizard would choose who would be the victim. The drake-boy, having grown around the customs of chivalry and honor now, chose to not be the subject of scorn, and told the wizard he would have no part in hand picking helpless women. So, the wizard chose the boy to be the victim. With his arcane transmutation, he warped the red skin boy into something he was not, now a she on the inside. Not wanting to change too much of the subject for fear of causing a sorcerers malady, he carefully manipulated the form of his new toy. Shouts of pain turned to shrieks of agony as skin stretched, bones popped, flesh tore and reformed around new lustful curves, and the hard hide of his body soften to the touch. The days passed with the wizard prepared to commit his deed, wanting to wait for the prisoner to recover first, else the added shock of mutation could break or kill the specimen. With that wait, the days could not be idle, for there was a world, and time in this plane did not sit still. The kingdom, just as the tribes asked for their aid, returned the favor for a different approach of colliding with a magical enemy. Warriors of the amazon, taken to know how best to deal with unarmored foes, knew that just a scratch of their weapons would kill. All one had to do was get in close enough to deliver. The assault happened and the den of the wizard was shattered by the siege of the kingdom while the many deaths of knights and mercenaries had their vacancy filled with the shrieks of feather and leather clad amazonian. Only the archives in the kingdom could account for the numerical losses that day as storms of fire and lightning allowed the sheering torrent of wind and floods to wash away the plains drifting dead. One, at least, had been the dreaded wizard. It only took one scratch, a single splinter of a spear's shaft, for the sap of the amazonian trees were just as potent to kill. Those captives, tormented and tortured beyond recognition from the many experiments, had been either mercifully put to rest by the victors, or been given sanctuary in their rescue. A lone, red girl, filing with the rest of the freed captives, sorrowfully made her way back to a rewarded domain. Secluded and only venturing out when called upon, wearing the steel clad armor from head to toe, or at the very least, allowing the helm to be removed in respect was how he would be seen from now. Many men have questioned their sexuality at her passing, having grown into a metal wrapped beauty, and some desired to undo the steel container, driven by their urges whether they be for men or women, to touch, feel, and violate what lay beneath. He knew that his gender must be kept a secret. If word got out, his identity would be put to question, all of his achievements and honors would be misplaced, and his drake's sense of greed to plunder would not allow all that he hoarded. Such is the life of the Crimson Knight.



A Day in Captivity

The Crimson Knight's wrists were shackled in a sphere of energy about his cupped hands. This mystical ball did not cut off any circulation from his bond, but the weight of his body, the height his arms stretched to the ceiling, and the blood flowing down his tingling arms caused him to groan in discomfort. -Clickety-Clack- -Clackety-Click- The wizard's staff rapped along the bars of the boy's cell. He tilted his head, looking up and down the boy's iron clad frame. A smile of sadistic cruelty played under the arcane glow of his observing eyes. The staff lifted. The boy lifted to scrap the tips of his boots off the cobble floor. An anguished cry as the flood of prickly needles flowed down his arms and flanks from the worn hold up his muscles were in. He turned his fiery eyes to the mage and screamed out a challenge. The wizard smiled, recollecting the vast army the kingdom gifted him with, treading on the field, heading for his domain, and having a similar challenge thrown his way before he vanquished the host with a complex measure of unfiltered galactic fire. There had been a similar inferno like that one, once before, back when giants roamed, and the world was a much greener place filled with odd and massive creatures, before the cosmos decided to wipe them out. The same thing happened to every single living thing on that plain. All, except for this one. The only damage appeared on the armor, torn, ripped, the value and quality lost due to the evoked flames. Yet, the red skin shined unblemished beneath the steel, all fabric burnt into a charred ash still dusting itself around the metal cavities. He must have more like him...



The wizard backed away from the cell to return at his studies. He had a number of preparations to attend for his world domination. Yet, the image of the boy was playing with his thoughts. Such power. Unyielding. With a body that could outlast the very armor he wore. How could such a person be capable of supporting him? The thought of mind controlling the boy did sound predictable, but it only worked in giving direct commands. He needed the subject to think for himself. Choose to be His. A frown was facing his tomes within the shelves of his laboratory's library. Could there be a way to enhance the flow of control in such a person to think for himself and yet follow the instructions of such as himself? No... What was he thinking? He didn't need the boy. It was that power he wanted. The specimen itself was worthless. It was the potential within that subject he desired to harness. The seed for which to grow more like him. Spread and devour his enemies in a tide of crimson fire following at their heels. Whatever the boy is, plain that there was no flame to damage his skin, and perhaps no force to blow would break him. That would be the boy's undoing. However tough that spirited youth is, it will be put to the test, if he chooses not to obey him. The captor returns to the cell, offering the boy a chance at freedom, to follow his commands, be capable, and provide him an army of his red skinned kin. All that was required to do was choose a female. Not just one, a series, more than enough to increase the productivity of an army. Yet, the boy spat, and denied the offer. The wizard, being so very patient, asked this of him one more time, showing now that an alternative would be He who would choose the girl to bear the children to be. There was hesitation, knowing that it mattered not which you would choose, there would be innocents lost, there is to be a victim, and he would be at the center of it. But, he would not do so willingly. Again, the mage is denied obedience...



Lifting his staff high in the air, the boy too lifts up off the cobblestone floor. A bright light shone through those bars, the long shaft of his staff is twirled in salute to the valiant boy, and the shaded hue of magic glares down into the menacing face of the wizard. The twirling staff, reciting the same pattern of a torrent of wind, circles the hanging boy, stripping him of the damaged goods around his being. The figure beneath comes out and exposes the red hided body fully to the mage. He gazes up and down the curve of the boy's back, looking up to the painfully stretching limbs above the red head, and back on down along the pleasing physique of the half-breed. Winds cease to encase the flailing body of the boy, letting his swinging settle, and allowing the entertained wizard to muse at the boy's small chest huffing from the lack of air sucked from the vortex. Now, that was something he had to change. The staff slammed down to the floor and stuck there. Both hands raised up to cup under the point of view he had of the boy. He clenched his fists slowly, carefully, and the boy screamed as his chest constricted, warped, rendering from the bone breastplate beneath. Then gently, his thumbs smoothed out the flesh beneath the skin, rekindling the attachment lost between muscle and skeleton. There, now that was a fuller chest. It would need a bit more to grow into full breasts. That would come in next. With his voice low, he sang a verse of power, transmutation. The tune of his song slowly sailed from the depths of his base to the heights of screeching. At that, the poor boy felt his innards catch fire, explode, bursting with a liquid squelch and pop, causing all and any part of his last supper and more to purge from his bulging mouth out onto the floor. The wizard gripped a hold of the vision in his arcane eyes of the boy's midriff and squeezed it, held it in place, holding on to what needed to change for the boy to mature the way He desired. No longer would this red thing grow to be a man. The organic construction within him was permanently corrupted, mutated. The boy wept, crying out in agony, and begging for mercy as the wizard continued without remorse. The next stage he wanted was for this figure, maybe an hourglass would be delicious, to take shape. With his grip still in place around the visage, he relaxed the fist, slowly, gently, and utmost being careful to stroke the image of the boy's body up and then down until the skeleton yielded to his wish. If the boy's face could turn any redder from screaming at the torture, it would. Lastly, he had to do something about the thing dangling between the boys legs. Not letting go of the image in his hand, he brought up his thumb between those thighs, dipping his thumbed nail up, then digging in the obscene little tool and sack into the hips until it met up to the new womb he formed within his administration of magic. Those would provide a nice love-channel and ovaries for this brand newborn 'girl' hanging around. A noise like choking and gagging came out of the new girl, who stared down at the place where his legs meet at the crotch, having felt the mold of his member expand inward and fleshed around something hard before it disappeared into his body...



Now, the wizard had been enjoying the craft of his new toy. It would be rude not to play with the gifts he gave the former boy. Why, it was his duty to test and be sure everything worked the way they should. At last, his grip around the prison let go. Instead, he waved the cell to part the bars away from each other so he may take a step inside. A minute is taken for him to inspect every crook and cranny of the girl's hanging body. He dared not touch anything until he was absolutely certain that everything was placed back into their sockets or mended the way a regular girl's would be. He had every notion of what a girl's body should look like, plenty of cadavers littered his laboratory for experimentation, and of course this was only the tip of his insane experimentation on the path of his dominating the entire known world. Now, he needed to explore what the girl could feel. Did those sensitive nerves worked the way they should? From behind the girl, he cupped his hand up and under the perfect roundness of her cheek to caress the carefully scratching nails up. It tensed and the girl arched her back so cutely in protest of his touch. He smiled. It seemed all was in working order. He grew excited. The boy was his now, as a girl, to provide an army. He is aroused. She will feel his own seed fill her every day to begin the breeding program meant exclusively for them. His hand shifts off the bottom of his robe to pull out the aching hard member. All he had to do was thrust it in and let her feel the life pour out of him. The tip of his cock laid a smear of his precum to trail down between the valley of those swelling twin cheeks. He grabs a hold of one such small red and pliable behind open for his painfully erect cock-head to be pressed against the girl's backdoor. The memory of the boy floods in his mind, knowing he must breed with her, but he knew who and what this girl really was, and desired to show how much he wanted 'him' to obey his wish from the start. With the tip lined up, he lets go of the girl's rear, sliding those fingers around her flared hips, and cupping those digits up to curl inside of that fresh cunny. From that grip, he pulls her harshly back into his hips, plunging his engorged spear deeply into the bowels, and stirring in excited shakes of being inside of her. The wizard's mouth hangs open and salivates. Eyes of a blue hued magic roaming over the backside of the girl as she shrieks and writhes on his embedded rapture. He lets his guiding hand go off of his member to wrap an arm around her slim waist and hold onto the hanging captive. He tells her soothing words as he rocks his cock into her again and again, that 'he' was his now, that all was going to be okay, that he won't throw her away like the rest, and that they would grow a good healthy family together. He told 'him' that being a powerless girl now was punishment for disobeying Him.

[Tehya]

What a well written story! Thanks for sharing this.

[Marena]

Nicely written, a good read and very creative!

[Lozen]

Nicely written, a good read and very creative!

What a well written story! Thanks for sharing this.

Thank you both very much.

To be honest, this was an accidental story I created. Originally, I was describing an idea I had, that went further and deeper into detail, more passionately conveying my envisioning of this tale that, by the end of it, I thought and said, "Did... Did I just write a short story?"

[Tehya]

Now you should say should I write a book

[Tehya]

A Hero with no Home!

He was a veteran from World War II and remained in the nursing home since his legs that were injured in the war had got so much worse as he got older. He couldn't stay with the family since everyone worked, and he needed assisted living during the day.

Gerald Green was taken as a war prisoner, and remained in a concentration camp seeing the torture first hand done by the Nazi's. His mind was still sharp, and his only entertainment during the day was the small television attached to his bed. There was so much going on with the campaigning for president that even Gerald fell asleep during the debates, but his nightmares flared back up from the war he fought in. It was a common thing to have him call out in anguish and wake up sweating.

Gerald Green worked hard on his return home and he watched with wide eyes as the campaigning president mocked the disabled. It hurt more than some of the shrapnel in his leg that pained him continuously, but it didn't hurt as much as when he heard the delegate for president say his war heroes were the ones that came home, and didn't get captured. That delegate said it even to a member of Congress.

Generally Gerald was a good nature man, even after losing his house to pay for his residency in the nursing home. All his assets were eaten up quickly just to survive. The Veterans Hospital wasn't long term and even if they could help, it wouldn't cover an aid during the days. So he wound up in a low income nursing home that was understaffed.

Suddenly his lunch tray was flung across the room as the orange monster delegate said he could grab a ladies pussy and she'd like it. Gerald couldn't take no more from him. Nurse Maria came in to see him clenching his heart with his hand and screaming.

"What the hell has happened to this world? A good man should represent this country, and look at our allies turning their back on us after all we have done to defend this country."

The nurse cleaned up the mess and came over to calm Gerald, he was one of her favorite patients, such a kind man. In his hand he held his medal of honor and he had tears in his eyes.

"They just elected that monster."

Maybe it was the last straw for Gerald Green, because he flopped back and closed his eyes welcoming death's hand to take him and remove him from what he just witnessed.

The nurse had become attached to old Gerald and leaned over to press a kiss to his cold forehead.

"Not all of us have forgotten, we thank you for all you have done."

Silence was her answer, and his medal of honor was boxed up. Nurse Maria took it home and placed it on one of her curio shelves, never forgetting Gerald... the war hero.

[Stormbringer]

Very good work by everyone

[Stormbringer]

Not the best by any means

[Marena]

Thumbs up to Tehya, very topical and emotional and I enjoyed that one, got the heart stirring. Nice pic there too Stormbringer.

[Wadeywade]

War.

A word that stains the vocabulary of every good man, it is the bane of the peaceful and the fruits of the wrathful. War is a flux state, it showcases both the vilest, darkest streak of human nature but at the same time, it shows us at our deepest and most compassionate. For who fights wars? Not heroes and villians, though we make it out to be so black and white it is ALWAYS some shade of grey for all those mirrd in Wars' embrace. There are no heroes, NOR villians. Just a bunch of people fighting for what they believe is right or, profitable.. or both.

Wars have been fought for money, for religious purposes, for power, for land., for love..or the hell of it, too.. in the end, lives are lost; but many are saved too in some cases. The cost of war is never the lives lost but the potential of those lives lost. Truly if we honor anything it should be those innocents who just got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, and paid the ultimate price. We honor those who fought, we rarely honor those who never meant to be caught in the fight in the first place.

War is as much human nature as anything. mankind invented war, only mankind can banish it. But then what do we become? War keeps us frosty, keeps us sharp. Humanity without the ability to fight is just a slave race for someone more powerful who comes along.. but, inversely, a constant state of war would reduce us to a pile of our least components.. great wisdom and knowledge are usually the first things to die in war, for example, the burning of the Library of Alexandria. A tragedy. So, what is war? Is it an expression of our darkest selves, or is it a sharpening of the skills required for our species' survival?

In truth, to be rid of it we would have to be rid of an intergral part of our own natures, our own selves for even the most peaceful and pacifistic amongst us would quickly take up arms if what we care for is threatened. We can never be rid of it, nor should we. What we should do is, well.. thats up to you. That war, you must fight within yourself and decide your own truth; that truth and the truth of another may be diametrically opposed, but both can still be the truth. Perhaps in aknowledging this wisdom we can bring wars' true purpose to bear; my own morals, my code.. doesnt always jibe with the world around me. I strain in the chains of the morality of others especially when it conflicts with my own, and yet from time to time I can learn from it if I am truthful with myself. Ut even when this is not possible or if it is, I can still stand my ground.

I didn't mean to wax so poetic on the subject, but every fight I have ever been in ends the same, with one person on the ground, bloody and alone, and another standing over them, bloody but victorious. But are they, really? If they sacrificed their mores and their code to get there.. then no.. they lost just as badly. It always ends, and my rememberance of war is it never ends well for either party, because we usually end up sacrificing something good in ourselves to have something which is only ours for a few moments., and then its gone.

[Tehya]

Nice work of art SB she looks so alone and pensive.

Wade enjoyed your story and liked the philosophy of war you made me think.

[Ehlanna]

And here's mine:

[Tehya]

Awesome Ehl! It looks so sad, what war can do.

[Sorgram]

War. Plain and simple is about money. Who's right? who's wrong? I am not paid to care. I will fight where the money is right. My only honor is that I shall seek to win the battle and not die doing so. If the price is right, I will turn coats and stab my employer in the back. Honor is for knights and those righteous folk who have a belief in something greater. But i know the truth, nothing is gotten without money somehow, the more you have the more powerful you are and the more skill I have the more money I get. My duties lie in serving the goals of my patron until such time as a better offer comes along. One job is usually best versus a career. a war is only as good as the money behind it. if there is no money, there is no war for me. if you have coin, I will travel. No coin, no sword.

From 'Ramblings of a Mercenary'
by Greygoreh