Alternate World War (Story Voilent)

[thegayhare]

Hello all

Another story start I had.

this ones set in an alternate history during world war one

I've got two story starts here I was thinking of doing something to incorporate both of them with a third char a natural zombie named Fitzhume.  He's a sniper in the British army.

_______ Kazra's part

Kazra was a young dwarf, at 85 just barely an adult, but already his face was lined and scared by age in ways he'd not seen even on the oldest men back home. His uniform stained with blood, crap, and mud just like his beard. He sat huddled in the deep trench as the shells continued to pound down on the pock marked dead land between the two lands. The powerful explosives and magery just uselessly churning up dirt, mud and bodies. One round lands particularly close by and the dwarf throws himself into the embankment as a short shower of earth, and less Identifiable debris showers down into the trench. "Damn artillery." he mutters with as much venom in his voice as he can muster for two words. To him it doesn't matter whether it was from his own side or coming from the enemy. The fat bastards just sit far back behind the lines not caring where there damn shells fell.

The shelling stops for a moment, but lately that's been worse. There was a push on this morning and this whole section of the line had gone over. We didn't gain any ground and a good portion of those who went over hadn't made it back. That's what made the bloody silences so hard, there was still some one out there. It wasn't till the shelling stopped that they could here him. Somewhere out there in that hell on earth was a brother tangled in barbwire, shot full of holes and bleeding out his life into the mud. Kazra shoulders his Enfield rifle and mount the ladder scanning the battlefield for the fallen soldier one more time. "Why doesn't he just die dark damn it!" But the wild pained howling just fills the air. All along the trench that sound causes solders to cringe and scan the horizon just wanting to make it stop. Soon though the shelling starts and Kazra drops back to the muddy floor, silently praying for those damned artillerymen to do him a favor and silence the screamer forever.

A tall human man slowly works his way down the line. He moves slowly hunched over but it's not from the weight of the large pack on his back. It's the careful creep of humans, and elves that'd spent anytime in the dwarf sections of the trenches. He stopped at each solder in passing out rations. As he got to Kazra's position he dropped his pack and flopped to the ground next to him handing over a glass bottle of water, a muddy chunk of bread (if your lucky it's just mud), and a banged up tin of meat. The man trench whispers to the dwarf, shouting to be heard over the sound of shells but hoping no one else hears, in a thick American accent. "Er you go Kaz, Johnny down the line asked me to drop this off fer ya." before passing a second bottle, still mostly full (gotta cover transportation fee's don't cha know) of the finest rot gut this side of the line before he moves on.

The dwarf grimaces down at his meal. Cracking open the tin he pours a healthy dose of booze over the meat. It's a shame to waste it but it'll help him choke down the stringy stuff, and maybe the rest would be enough to block out the screams, and shells long enough for some shuteye.

______ Redgore's part

High above the churned mud of the battlefield there was another fight going on. The young drake Redgore wheels in tight circles, barking orders into his radio headset trying to get his goblin gunner to listen. "Dark Damn it Nozd you have to keep those pegisi off my back!"

The goblin, strapped into a seat in a steal howdah on the drake's back, just whines into his headset. He's fighting not to throw up as the powerful Drake jukes and turns threw the skies. He swivels the machine gun on it's pintail mount and lays down a stream of fire in the general direction of one of the elven pegasus riders. There's a loud clatter against the steal armor followed by roar of pain from the drake. Nozd chances a look over the steal skirting and spots a neat row of quarrels stitching the wyrms left leg, dark blood streaming across the lighter red scales. Looks like those enchanted heaving repeating crossbows got lucky.

Red gives his wings a powerful pump jerking abruptly out of the sharp ark he'd been following. He tucks his wings and rolls somersaulting end over end, incidentally causing Nozd to loose his battle with his meal, before unfurling his wings as an air break. He's now behind the elf riders and he takes careful aim and a deep breath.

The lead pegasi has little time to react as the powerful gout of fire engulfs both mount and rider reducing them to a charred mass plummeting towards the battle below. The second rider banks a hard right but still the edge of the flame sears one wing stripping away flesh, bone and feathers. The elf struggles to maintain control of the panicking beast as they spiral down towards the ground. At the last moment he manages to get some modicum of control over the beast, as he finishes chanting.  A rippling web of green energy  engulfs the wounded wing allowing them to straighten out the deadly dive, barely above the blasted no mans land he turns back towards the safety of his lines. He never makes it, in an instant the whole area is engulfed in bluish white witch fire as an artillery spell detonates with devastating results.

In the skies above Redgore surveys the horizon. He can see more fighters heading his way. Elvish heavy magic eagle riders, and American solders on griffin back. There numbers are too much for the drake as he cuts his wings and banks hard, back towards his own lines. There's a loud chattering in his ears from the radio headset.

"You did it sir you did it!" Shouts Nozd.

"What the hell are you talking about you little fool." grumbles the drake.

"Those last two kills will finally pump you up to Ace sir."

"No they won't, the number for ace status was raised this morning, besides I can't claim that second kill, it was the artillery that got him not me."

"But sir, that's not fair..." whines the goblin as they land at the forward airstrip. He swoops low past the nesting grounds of the great bomber dragons, past the caves of the small fighter wyverns. The Drake lands roughly on the fighter/bomber field favoring his wounded leg. Ogre ground crews swarm over the field undoing the straps to free him from the howdah.

As a group of halfling healer mages start to remove the quarrels from his rear he feels now familiar sting in his right shoulder as Nozd tattoos the horseshoe mark of the latest kill through tough scales. He'd done his time for today, now he just had to rest up for the next mission.

[llearch n'n'daCorna]

Most impressive. Promises to be interesting...

[thegayhare]

thanks to llearch for proofing this one  for me

____Kazra part two

Kazra jerks himself awake with a snort.  Something's wrong, something's different.  He grabs his rifle and looks around.  What is it that's changed, what's wrong.  It's quiet enough that he should be able to notice something wrong right away.  The dwarf's eyes goes wide as that sinks in.  It's quiet, too damn quiet, it can't be this quiet, it's never silent on the line.  The Dwarf falls to his knees in the mud of the trench, both hands gripping his matted, tangled beard.  He's heard stories of this, of men being on the line so long, sourounded by the constant noise of shells, and guns, and bombs, and death, that one day, it's just gone.  They can't hear it anymore, or ever again. They just can't hear.  The dwarf sits back, cradling his rifle. "That can't be happening to me," he thinks, "I'm not weak like that, I wouldn't crack."  A gloved hand on his shoulder jerks the dwarf back to reality. He spins to his knees, bringing his rifle around to bear on the attacker, but the smell stops him.  Even with his nose clogged with mud, shit, and gunpowder, that stench will cut right through.

"It's all right Kaz, mate, jus calm down now." The voice is a little strained and garbled, since the speaker is missing a few of the parts considered necessary for speech, plus his accent is as thick as mustard.  The human stands there grinning down at the dwarf - 'course with most of the skin rotted off, he couldn't help but grin.  Fitzhume, the only human who never stooped when coming through the dwarf trench, simply because a dead man has very little to fear.  "You'd gone a bit wobbly there, I didn't want you to hurt yerself now. "

"So it is real.  It's stopped, yeah?" says the dwarf shaking his head, still trying to clear his mind.

"Ya, fer now anyway."  Mutters the zombie.  "I figure somewhere on the line theres a push goin on.  The brass don wan those shells screwin wit there famous charges, now, do they?"

The dwarf just grimaces, glad it's not his section that's running through the meat grinder this time.

"That don mean we can't have some fun ourselves, though, Kaz," says the dead man with a wild grin.  He grips one of the ladders, and takes step up, so he can properly survey the battlefeild.  Shouldering his rifle, he peers down the line through the scope.  "Hey Kaz, did I ever tell you why they pick zombies for their sniper corps?"

The dwarf leaning against the wall below him scratches his beard and thinks. "No, I don't think you did.  Why is that anyway?"

The dead man just leans into the gun, having found a target.  "It's all about heart beat, see, a dead man don't got one, and yer heart beat shakes the sights."  With that, theres a loud retort as the rifle kicks back.  Across the way there's a scream as some goblin officer gasps out his last, quickly followed by volleys of rifle shots and, finally, the angry roar of the machine gun emplacement.  The grinning dead man slides down into a sitting position in the trench.  "Woohoo, now that's got them stirred up something nice."  The chatter of that heavy maching gun gets him thinking.  "You know, I heard the gunners drain the hot water out of the cooling jacket fer coffee after every attack.  Why couldn't we have thought of that?"

The dwarf just shakes his head in wonder at his friend,  Sometimes he wonders if he'll ever understand the dead.  Kazra feels the bottle of hangman in his pocket and fishes it out.  "Er Fitz you take this eh.  Just my way to say thanks for talking me down."

The zombie eyes the bottle with open affection, "Aww Kaz, man, thats sweet of you." The dead man grabs the bottle quickly before the dwarf can change his mind, and pulls the cork out with his fetid teeth.  Tipping back a generous dollop into his ruined gullet, the corpse just sighs, savouring the feeling, as the rotgut seeps out of the various holes on its way down.  With the taste in his mind, Fitz splashes the rest of the bottle across his face and shoulders, doing his best to preserve what little flesh he had left, as well as to cut down on the smell.

The dwarf just nods and leans back against the wall, wondering, and not for the first time, if he survives this, will he still need the sound of gunfire to fall asleep?

[llearch n'n'daCorna]

Nuts. I missed an apostrophe.
Just before the rifle goes off.