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Author: Martyn Winters

The Goblin Wars by Martyn

At just after six and one-quarter owls that morning, three matters are of immediate concern to Lieutenant Camden Ironbell of the Gnome Guards. How can he defend Elizabeth Ridge from a platoon of crack Goblin commandos with no surviving troops left under his command? When are they going to attack? And what time is lunch?

The latter is the most pressing. Partly because his stomach is telling him lunch was sometime last week, but mostly because Lance Corporal “Tidy” Jones revealed to him where he hid his stash of Gala Pie as he died in Ironbell’s arms. In Ironbell’s estimation, humans brought very little to the party, other than courage and an unwillingness to admit defeat in the face of overwhelming odds. For that, he admires them, although quietly conceding even though they are the foolhardiest creatures on the planet, they made up for their shortcomings with Gala Pie, a dish unsurpassed in the annals of gourmand history. He glances at the sky and then at the shadows cast by the craggy, snowcapped rocks delineating the valley to estimate the time. Six to seven owls to lunch, he thinks. He would have to get a wriggle on.

Core Insistence

The tall, black-clad figure of Zinnai Savita Ké glinted into shape with a sigh of expanding air and a shower of portal radiation overspill, her e-familiar, Zac, following in close attendance. She never travelled on her own these days, not since being recruited by Insight anyway. Being in a world of conspiracy, unexplained tech, and poly-cortical chimeras did that to a person.

She found herself in a narrow, musky-scented corridor, with a flight of wooden steps at one end and a large stained-glass window at the other. Next to the window was a door; which was big, solid, and made of oiled oak; with an unwieldy iron handle and matching black studs decorating its surface.

“Very medieval,” she commented to Zac, raising an eyebrow. “I guess we go through there.”

The drone bobbed twice in agreement, “You want to go together, or should I take point?”

Captain Camden’s Last Day by Martyn

Part 1: Captain Camden and the General

Captain Camden’s Last Day

Part 1: Captain Camden and the General

Even more than a decade after leaving the frigid caves of Antarctica for the humid streets of Lundeinjon, Camden Ironbell, Captain in Her Majesty’s Gnome Guards, still feels the chill of early mornings deep in his bones. It is as if he were permanently afflicted by a conjuration cast by one of the long extinct wizard goblins of the southern continent. This is especially the case on dark, forbidding mornings replete with a heavy mist clinging to the quays and wharves of old Lundeinjon town. 

“Cold feet are the bane of the working soldier, sergeant,” he observes to Sergeant Major Flintbrander, as they march along the quayside to the taxi-punt which takes them to the Gnome barracks near the northern city wall. The sun has yet to rise and the residents of the leafy suburb through which they march are mostly once again ensconced in their warm beds, as freshly laid fires warm the hearths of the rickety, stilted houses lining the canals that were once bustling roads.

The arrest and detention of Lee Wung To and the introduction of Tony Boneyface by Martyn

While Lightweasel marvels at Constable Biter’s shadow walking facility, Bill Bordersack is watching Biter overpower Lee Wung To by the simple expedient of picking him up and bouncing him off the wall of the adjacent Tropical Laundry and Snack bar. Realising he is probably the next target for Biter’s enthusiastic style of arrest, he hides the sack containing the two pistols under the walkway leading to Trade Street, and darts down a side alley, between a gnome lingerie shop, and pub called “The Leering Goblin”, observing their proximity is probably not a coincidence.

On the third bounce, the door to the establishment opens, and a tall figure, seemingly wearing a mask of a human skull, appears. “Excuse me, constable. Would mind awfully not doing that? It upsets the customers.”

Dyson Deux Digits – an Inspector Ironbell Chapter. By Martyn

“If yer want my opinion,” says Bill Bordersack. He looks up at Alana, with his runtish face twisted into an expression of interest coloured by just enough salacious intent to make most women uncomfortable.

Alana isn’t most women, though.

She likes to think of herself as a professional, and as such, inured to the close attentions of the heterogametic forty-nine per cent of the population, gnomes included, although not the Fae. The Fae are different, of course. For a start, no-one is sure if they have chromosomes at all, and there are certainly no male fae, unless they are kept well out of sight. She ponders on this for a moment and decides society would be altogether better if men were not seen and not heard either. Except for opening jars, carrying heavy stuff, and a few other things they are ideally equipped to undertake, but only when strictly necessary. Alana is, however, on a mission, and Bill is not going to like it, which is something of a shame, because she and Bill have a history, and some might even mistake it for friendship. It’s more of a tolerant jousting for position, an appreciation of each other’s professional attributes, and quite occasionally, something more meaningful.

Sci-Fi Course Wk8 Writing Exercise. Martyn

Part II – Futuristic version – SciFi.

Special Marine Hua Jin rides through the lanes, the ancient Harley she stole from the Autarch Voss, straining against the tug of Voss’s traction beam, and the noise of the gathering ion storm, her left arm trailing behind her like a rag in her slipstream, a pattern of needle points in her rapidly deadening shoulder, where the darts from the Dzarb caught as she cut through their line. Her black uniform flaps noisily in the wind, as fronds from the roadside vegetation slap against her thighs. Tucked in her breast pocket below the gold and red dragon insignia of her unit, nestles the thumb drive containing the data Voss needs to set the planet-breaker device in motion.

A Dzarb soldier drone rushes from a hedge, its grasping tentacles and slavering bi-fold maw full of intent. Jin drives straight over it with her engine thundering.

With a crooked grin on her face, she yells, “Hell yeah, no-one messes with the corps.”  

The call of the void. By Martyn

The Gnome Office squad room is unpretentious; two ancient partner desks set at not quite right angles to each other, atop a threadbare carpet, which has seen better days, three one-way windows facing Number 8 Downing Street’s thronging protestors waving their “Gnomes Go Home” banners, and a surfeit of briefing papers covering every surface, each emblazoned with “Urgent: Office of the Prime Minister” and stamped in red with “PLEASE IGNORE – Office of Queen Flaxmain.” 

The noise of disco music coming from the Serious Frog Office in the adjacent room seeps through the walls as a dull thrumming, just loud enough to create compression waves in Ironbell’s Bracken-Tea.

“Umros, could you ring the frogs and tell them to turn that racket down?” Inspector Camden Ironbell says as he plumps his flattened seat cushion for the third time that morning.

Dark Sun: The Dawn of Earth’s Twilight

Chapter 2: Part 1. The Explorers

They call it the Million Year Rain. It is the clearest example of how the Zjheek implement their plans: they plan for eternity.

To the Zjheek, eternity is not a long time, as one of their most esteemed philosophers, Arkmontic Adamant Halting, says, “Eternity is right here and now. It does not have anything to do with time. Eternity is the part that cuts out time. It’s an experience of the moment. If you do not get it now, you will never feel eternity.”

When the Zjheek decide upon something it is literally for now and forever.

Which is why, when the Exploration Group enters System 7992, surveys it, and finds a planet orbiting slowly around its primary within the zone which allows liquid water to exist, they are very excited.

“The planet is arid,” says astro-biologist, Tattooed Windpipe. She pulls her feathers back from her face, where they fell while peering into her long-range telescope, and refastens the agate clip she uses to hold them. Wiping her upper hands on the front of her tunic to clean off the oil from her feathers, she bobs to the mission leader, Taupe Colouration and waits for his nod of approval to continue.

Dine – a Dune Parody – by Martyn

I’m aware that my previous effort might be too schoolboyish, so I’ve written something else. This is an attempt at parodying Dune. Let me know what you think. Mart

PS. I’ve edited it down to 849 words.

The banquet was singular in its magnificence. It wound around corners, crossed planetary horizons, and hosted everyone with even a scintilla of regard in the Atreides court of Caladan. But it was not without its ambiguities. For the Atreides were about to depart Caladan, the very basis of their burgeoning power, for lands unknown.

“More beer,” demanded Gurney Halleck, his beard and grinning teeth vying for attention in a large face covered with enough scars to simultaneously attest to his bravery and underpin the notion his skill as a swordsman had been a steep learning curve.

A gravy new world by Martyn

I’ve chosen “Brave New World by Aldous Huxley.” It’s a bit potty humour, so I have my doubts. A Gravy New World Chapter 1. A SQUAT grey building of only thirty-four stories. Over the main entrance the words GRUMP TOWERS NY, and, in a shield, the motto MAKE AMERICA WHITE AGAIN. The small room on the ground floor faced towards the north. Not that the solitary occupant would know it, for this room lacked windows of any kind, just a ceiling ventilator. And a can of deodorising spray. The light bulb has expired, which is a metaphor for the willingness…

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