Here's a short story that I was inspired to write shortly after I found out we had a bona-fide Batman glider in vanilla Minecraft and then screwed around with it for a few hours.
Fenner's Heights. A jewel of the northern mining regions. The largest and most well-defended of the villages speckled around those drafty plains was one of the few that had managed to remain independent from the greedy claws of the Empire. Time and again hordes of men had rushed at the iron behemoths that would guard their masters as their own children, and each time they were sent back whole, but bruised and battered to their irate handlers, outmaneuvered by a clockwork legion of green and gray. Numerous strategies were employed in an attempt to break the deadlock; cannons, which were effective but blew up on themselves just as often they did the enemy - who, as it turned out, shrugged them off, or accidentally dodged them as the fairly static machines found it difficult to align quickly. Horse charges, which proved a fair bit more effective, but were nevertheless beaten back, said horses returning quite embarrassed. Pig charges, shortly after - perhaps they were getting desperate at that point. War by attrition resulted in those holding siege eating less well than the ones they were supposed to be blockading. A night attack was nothing short of impossible; those beady eyes saw everything. Eventually, treaties were signed, hands were shaken, and the the Heights received 60% of the profits that the Empire procured from the surrounding area. All was well. Peace had been won.
But Steve - ah, Steve. He couldn't bear losing a fight, especially one which resulted in him losing so much face. He had wanted to save this particular asset for such a time as his world would be lost without it, but he thought that perhaps for this one occasion he might make an exception.After all - one key topographical feature of the Heights was its excessively high mountains.
One night, the placid citizenry of Fenners Heights went to sleep to a cacophony of fire and brimstone. Lightning was striking left and right, and rain poured down on the silent guardians posted at the outskirts of the village, pitter pattering against their metal armor.
Far enough away from those watchful eyes, a force amassed. Battle-horses, trained for war, were obediently silent as their handlers shushed them.
Up on the mountain overlooking the citadel, four pious knights opened the chests of their mules with utmost reverence. They drew out the otherworldly instruments, which seemed almost detached from the violence around them.
Once the group had strapped them on, three jumped from the cliff and into the blackness. The fourth, a younger bowman, had hesitated. Lightning flashed. The vision struck him.
The three were swinging peacefully around the houses of the fortress. One swooped right over the head of a monstrosity, and another landed on a rooftop in the square.
Emboldened, he said a quick prayer, and jumped from the precipice into the void. Wind sucked his ears in, and in a panic he extended his arms.
The Faerie tech worked its magic. The wings caressed his arms just as they had with the others, and he caught his breath as he looped away from the ground and over the village. He almost whooped with excitement, but then remembered the mission at hand. He made a soft landing on the top of the village well, which still took the wind out of him.
Ten minutes later, three of the four were crouching inside the village blacksmith shop. The despicable works of thievery and sabotage they had been contracted to perform were done; the crops were gathered, the mechanical sentries dispatched, and the central chest had been looted. The bowman outside only had one final task.
He raised up his hand, against the rain, and shot up the firework. It exploded in a fiery crash, coinciding with a thunderbolt.
Dark silhouettes began to advance from the blackness. Steve's plan had indeed worked, and the whole region had been brought under his control with no bloodshed whatsoever. No more would they be villagers; now, they were citizens of the Empire.
Here's a short story that I was inspired to write shortly after I found out we had a bona-fide Batman glider in vanilla Minecraft and then screwed around with it for a few hours.
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Fenner's Heights. A jewel of the northern mining regions. The largest and most well-defended of the villages speckled around those drafty plains was one of the few that had managed to remain independent from the greedy claws of the Empire. Time and again hordes of men had rushed at the iron behemoths that would guard their masters as their own children, and each time they were sent back whole, but bruised and battered to their irate handlers, outmaneuvered by a clockwork legion of green and gray. Numerous strategies were employed in an attempt to break the deadlock; cannons, which were effective but blew up on themselves just as often they did the enemy - who, as it turned out, shrugged them off, or accidentally dodged them as the fairly static machines found it difficult to align quickly. Horse charges, which proved a fair bit more effective, but were nevertheless beaten back, said horses returning quite embarrassed. Pig charges, shortly after - perhaps they were getting desperate at that point. War by attrition resulted in those holding siege eating less well than the ones they were supposed to be blockading. A night attack was nothing short of impossible; those beady eyes saw everything. Eventually, treaties were signed, hands were shaken, and the the Heights received 60% of the profits that the Empire procured from the surrounding area. All was well. Peace had been won.
But Steve - ah, Steve. He couldn't bear losing a fight, especially one which resulted in him losing so much face. He had wanted to save this particular asset for such a time as his world would be lost without it, but he thought that perhaps for this one occasion he might make an exception.After all - one key topographical feature of the Heights was its excessively high mountains.
One night, the placid citizenry of Fenners Heights went to sleep to a cacophony of fire and brimstone. Lightning was striking left and right, and rain poured down on the silent guardians posted at the outskirts of the village, pitter pattering against their metal armor.
Far enough away from those watchful eyes, a force amassed. Battle-horses, trained for war, were obediently silent as their handlers shushed them.
Up on the mountain overlooking the citadel, four pious knights opened the chests of their mules with utmost reverence. They drew out the otherworldly instruments, which seemed almost detached from the violence around them.
Once the group had strapped them on, three jumped from the cliff and into the blackness. The fourth, a younger bowman, had hesitated. Lightning flashed. The vision struck him.
The three were swinging peacefully around the houses of the fortress. One swooped right over the head of a monstrosity, and another landed on a rooftop in the square.
Emboldened, he said a quick prayer, and jumped from the precipice into the void. Wind sucked his ears in, and in a panic he extended his arms.
The Faerie tech worked its magic. The wings caressed his arms just as they had with the others, and he caught his breath as he looped away from the ground and over the village. He almost whooped with excitement, but then remembered the mission at hand. He made a soft landing on the top of the village well, which still took the wind out of him.
Ten minutes later, three of the four were crouching inside the village blacksmith shop. The despicable works of thievery and sabotage they had been contracted to perform were done; the crops were gathered, the mechanical sentries dispatched, and the central chest had been looted. The bowman outside only had one final task.
He raised up his hand, against the rain, and shot up the firework. It exploded in a fiery crash, coinciding with a thunderbolt.
Dark silhouettes began to advance from the blackness. Steve's plan had indeed worked, and the whole region had been brought under his control with no bloodshed whatsoever. No more would they be villagers; now, they were citizens of the Empire.
No loafing.