General Bradley Scowled. If only the higher-ups had sent him instead of the Kommadant down south. The man was too cautious, preferring to advance with armour and mecha while using the infantry as support, not the other way around. And he was a former loyalist for Dice's sake! To his left, one of his troopers ripped his bayonet out of a newly liberated loyalist soldier. He would win the empress's praise, not the bloody aristocrat. The man had probably never worked for his job, having gone to the old military academy and all that. General bradley remembered growing up on his family farm, before the loyalists had burned it to ash after his father's anti-government sentiments had become known. He had trained the first army himself, Teaching them to be masters of any weapon they came across. Urban fighting was a joy for them, running from building to building, mowing down anything that stood in their path with their battle rifles. General bradley stood up on the hood of his jeep. "Come on, lads! They can't put up much more resistance! Show them your steel! Immolate them! Cut them into bloody chunks! First army, Charge!" The men around him cheered and shouted, tan uniforms stained by blood and grime, as they rushed toward the marble center of the city.
The Empress Minerva De Lupa di Sangue Impazzito, Bearer of the White Sun, Viceroy of the Great Sphere, Empress if the Imperium of Biancarosa, Surveyed the battle on the holomap in front of her. She settled in her throne, a grin on her face, the lighting casting nefarious shadows across her face. Her troops were winning. Who could contest her once she sat in the throne in the old city? "Della Liberta". Such a boring name. Della Vittoria, now that sounded better. She rose, and walked over to the panoramic window of her massive airship, floating over the city. Her White dress shone, the silver woven into the fabric reflecting the light so it danced around the darkened room like meteors as she walked. Soon, she thought. Soon.
"People of my Empire!" Empress Minerva shouted. One leg was up on a pockmarked, fallen pillar on top of the steps of the old capitol building. "For years, these small men" She gestured to the ruined building, "Stood on you as you worked and they reaped the profits, and you were powerless to stop them. Now, Look where you are, many of you stormed the capitol, Divine fury in your hands, sending those who stood in your way back to oblivion! The old men were content to sit by and scavenge whatever ships crashed into our dark world like petty vultures. I am not a vulture, and neither should be any of you! The ancient techsts state that our beautiful world was once an outpost of the Deadly Space men themselves! We are descendants of them! And we must carry on their legacy. Ladies, Gentlemen, A.I., The beauty of these last weeks has been tarnished by a discovery. Our Intelligence has found that there are those out there who persecute our kind because of our color! They call us "Peaches" and commit atrocities against US, the DSM's chosen! We shall smite any who stand in our path and rid the galaxy of those who oppose us! People of the Imperium! Lend me your hands, for together we shall swing the sword of our conquest, fire the rifles of our victory, and, together, hold aloft the spoils of our victory!"
As she reclined in her quarters, later, Empress Minerva thought to herself.. “Alone, we stand no chance against most of the galaxy’s denizens. We will need allies. To the rest of the superpowers, out single planet, although huge, will be nothing. The bartering chip we have is the tech from the experimental DSM facility. We need to ensure this gets into the right hands. And by right, I mean allied with me. We will make our presence known to the galaxy, but we must first gather allies. The M-throne are quite powerful, They would be a welcome ally, and we share some similar goals. I must open negotiations.”
The young, brown-haired man clutched the crumpled piece of paper in his hand as he rounded the corner on his hoverbike. Revving the throttle and pulling back on the pedals, he soared over a pile of rubble blocking the narrow street. The emerald green bike was his pride and joy, perfectly suited to the back alleys of the capitol. Finally, he reached the address his sister had given him. Parking his bike outside, he locked it up and stored it in a hoverbike locker. The alley itself did not have the most reputable appearance, trash accumulated in the street corners, and glass from the bullet-shattered neon signs mingled with the brass casings underfoot on every corner. He descended down a stone set of stairs and entered the club.
-And immediately felt out of place. The steps beneath his feet were worn, polished dark wood. Some men sat in the corner puffing cigars, playing cards, women in long dresses sipped champagne, and men and women in officer’s uniforms leaned on bannisters and sat at the bar, ordering drinks. Bookshelves lined the upper walls, tables all around the lower areas, each with a tiffany lamp adding to the moderate light cast by the brass chandeliers overhead.
“Young man, I take it you’ve never been here before?” He turned to see the bouncer, a hulking man with a white mustache and a monacle. “May I check your ID? No civilins or enlisted men in here, I’m afraid.”
“S-Sure” He stammered, harding his brand new pass over. The man Scrutinized it, squinted, made a lot of “Hmmm”-ing noises, and handed it back. “Intelligence? We don’t get a lot of you boys in here. I hope you won’t cause any trouble.”
“No trouble, Sir! I promise!” He was about to salute the man when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Hey, hey, Captain, I told you I was bringing him here!” Margo Spun him around and hugged him. “It’s been ages, Steel! Don’t worry about the Captain, he was just messing with you.” she said, leading him to a large table. The men at the table wore similar uniforms to her, brown and tan, their leather boots were still a little muddy. Margo was Captain of the 4th Rangers, who had been ambushing loyalist convoys while the battle raged in the city. “So, man, What have you been up to?” SteelValkyrie nodded over the waiter, ordering a root beer. “Well, Infiltration was pretty easy, most of the citizens had leanings toward our side, and, once I was accepted, I was the point of contact between the partizans and high command, Which, for the record, is more like herding cults. Thanks.” He took the root beer from the waiter and took a long drink before continuing. “And then I smuggled out a copy of the loyalist’s defense plan for the city, which was pretty cool in hindsight, but at the time, I was just worried about the loyalist snipers trying to cut me a new asshole. He took another drink. “And that’s how I got my promotion and a shiny medal.” He gestured to somewhere under his leather jacket. “So, I’m nothing compared to you guys.” His companions all had at least three medals, and ribbons galore. Margo smirked. “All in a day’s work, huh? How’s your brother? Had any contact with him?” Steel shrugged. “Well, you know him, got bored with the Artillery corps, and decided to put his engineering degree to good work designing Vehicles for the Army and Navy.” He downed the remainder of his bottle.
“So,” Margo smirked. “Have your connections been proving useful?” SteelValkyrie looked around a bit before continuing in a hushed tone. “Yeah. there are a lot of other civilizations out there in the ‘verse, and the brass really like the intel I’m bringing in, about other peoples and tech. All I know is that they’re pleased, I don’t know how far up it’s going.” Margo smirked. “Brass. How quaint. It still hasn’t sunk in that you’re an officer, has it? Come on, next round’s on me. Ever done a Flaming Maniac Beer shot?” “Um, I don’t even know what that is…” Margo smirked.
Form -- 6
Voice -- 5
Style -- 15
Zupponn wrote:All you have to do is flatten his head.Colette wrote:You're free to make your own map from scratch, however.
Silverdream wrote:TL;DR Be like Scratch.
Captain-Camper wrote:tl;dr I'm just going to assume don't be like voin and be more like scratch.
Form: 7 I like the jumping to multiple POVs and the overall chaotic feeling of the piece (meant to emulate the chaos of battle) but as stated above the lack of meaningful ending hurts you overall.
Voice: 8 I really liked the Kommadant and the General, these two characters seemed well-fleshed out and had their own distinct voices but the rest of the characters seemed less well thought out. I honestly thought the Empress was two different characters between paragraphs.
Style: 10 I have to mark you down on this one because of many syntax errors. For example you said the Kommandant's blood simmered in the rush of battle but simmer means to cool down. I think you meant boiled. There were a lot of similar errors that should have been picked up in editing. I liked the jump between perspectives bu ultimately I couldn't find the purpose or meaning behind them and your piece suffered as a result.
Form: 6 - I appreciate trying to do mutiple POVs. But from where I stand, it doesn't quite work here (More below). Couple that with the weird start and stop state of the narrative and it kinda falls flat. The pacing from paragraph to paragraph is fine, but the story itself sorta ends awkwardly.
Voice: 7 - Generally decent prose with some headscratchers. I generally want to know more about characters, which is a good sign, but I never really learn all that much. I kinda wish maybe there were fewer characters and you did more with each of them.
Style: 14 I don't know why, but there's just something missing here. Something falls flat, it might be that the arc isn't really there or it might be that the multiple pov mostly leaves me wishing I had more time with a character, any character.
Tzan wrote:That's what Hitler said,Semaj Nagirrac wrote:Well, I took some land without checking if it was owned by a faction or not. I'm not going to be banned, am I? I can destroy everything if need be.