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I'm working on some original fanfiction for this site, and I'd like it to be of a higher quality than the typical Team M94 fiction that I've written so far. If anybody is interested in reading this rough draft as it progresses, and giving some feedback/suggestions/questions on the story, please do. Any and all help is appreciated. Now, unto the story...
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Stockpile
Original Fiction By Sean Roney
kwbishop@hotmail.com
"When angry, count ten before you speak; if very angry, a hundred." -Thomas Jefferson
Synopsis:
A tiny paradise town was set up on an island after the Phyrexian Invasion. A large cache of weaponry was stored there at the same time. Eventually, these two elements must mix.
I: A SOLDIER AND HIS FEARS
Gouin had been a farmer who sold his harvests to the Benalish military. His father had cultivated the land before him, as did his father, and his father before him. He had only owned the farm for a handful of years and only had two young children barely able to lift farm tools on their own.
As all things did on Dominaria, Gouin's farm ended. The Phyrexians raided Benalia and all other nations, and doing what any good citizen would do, Gouin joined the ranks of a volunteer militia. As artifice had been a great advantage for his family in the farming business, he found himself transferred to the Coalition airship force. He had hopes of becoming a deck hand on the Weatherlight, but he was assigned the menial tasks of repairing cannons and hull breeches.
With the end of the war came a painful time for Gouin, as he had to take account of all that was lost. His nation was in ruins, and his farm would be impossible to recover. Furthermore, he had lost his wife and children in the earliest days of the invasion. His friends and everyone he ever knew by face were also set to a quiet slumber in the soil during the war. Only when it was all done did he really have time to think about how much he missed everyone and everything.
Gouin used what money and favors he had remaining and bought himself a tattered old flying vessel that could hardly be called such. He sailed off into the sunset, hoping to leave behind all the pain he knew. After some years he finally docked his rickety old vessel for good at a tiny island. Other wanderers, also trying to forget the nightmares of wartime, had come to the island, and together they decided upon the name of Providence for their township.
In his voyage through the skies of the world, Gouin had picked up the hobby of weapon collecting. It started with insecurities over anybody ever threatening him again, so he bartered his services as a ship repairman in order to attain a pair of Phyrexian rifles and a month's worth of ammunition. He should have felt safe from anybody trying to sneak into his boat when it was docked, but Gouin's insecurities about another multiversal invasion grew from nightmares in his sleep to waking terror. He had to have bigger weapons. Cannons were soon installed on his vessel. Bombs eventually made up the floor of the cargo deck, sparkling in their sameness like a tiled floor. As time went on, Gouin's little vessel practically became a flying armory.
Coming to Providence had no effect on the habit. While others build a township and set up trade with neighboring island cities, Gouin was always the busy little hermit in the island's towering mountains. He permanently landed his vessel at the peak of the highest mountain, and made it into a house. Some of the weapons stayed in the boat house, but most were transferred into a nearby cave.
A wurm occupied the cave, and killing it was the only time Gouin ever used anything in his weapon collection. He used his various weapon-making machines to drain the green and black manas from the wurm before it went fully dead, and used that to make even more weapons. From his perspective, the wurm represented an evil that lurked everywhere. Though the Phyrexians had been stopped, there would always be an enemy around which required the presence of a well-armed populace. Battling the wurm only reinforced those beliefs.
About twice every year, Gouin would come down from the mountain and trade off his trinkets made from the scraps of weapon creation. He would then attain every piece of material from which he could make weapons, and then hurried off to his mountain home. As Providence grew, so grew Gouin's barter opportunies, as did the selection of materials he had to choose from.
Up in the mountain, Gouin brought all he had collected in trade and worked for half the year making everything he could. Pieces of junk he fashioned into earrings or necklaces or even toys and took down to trade for more materials. The ship became unrecognizable, as Gouin created extensions which eventually connected his house with the wurm's cave. Through Gouin's madness there came to be a labrynthine workshop at the mountaintop, where the world's most deadly weapons were built.
Phyrexian rifles, Trokin air guns, and Coalition mana cannons were tweaked in the workshop until advantages from each replaced drawbacks in the other. He savagely murdered wildlife only sometimes for food, and mostly to fulfill the mana requirements of his bombs and artillery. He even took to mining, in order to increase the storage capacity of his cave, dumping the rock and dirt around his house until it became subterrainean. On that peak, nature was defiled for purposes of saving a man from his own fears, and it was forced to surrender on a regular basis, for fear he would go to the lower parts of the island if he ever ran out of resources to victimize.
The caverns behind the little metal door to Gouin's workshop extended, and his weapons grew deadlier. After a few decades, he grew tired of going down the town and took to making materials himself. He had created the machines to craft weapons, and altering a few of them to craft mined ore into metals was no great task for his adept artificer mind. At first people missed his comings, and his eager sales of pretty pieces of jewelry. By the tenth year, everyone assumed he had fully become a hermit or had died.
Alone in the mountain, the growing town of Providence eventually forgot about Gouin. He became a faded memory in the minds of the town elders, and existed as a humorous monster tale to the children. Then those images fluttered away with time, and Gouin ceased to exist in story or memory. He died without anybody knowing he even lived at the top of the tallest mountain, his body strewn upon his most prized Phyrexian rifles.
================
Stockpile
Original Fiction By Sean Roney
kwbishop@hotmail.com
"When angry, count ten before you speak; if very angry, a hundred." -Thomas Jefferson
Synopsis:
A tiny paradise town was set up on an island after the Phyrexian Invasion. A large cache of weaponry was stored there at the same time. Eventually, these two elements must mix.
I: A SOLDIER AND HIS FEARS
Gouin had been a farmer who sold his harvests to the Benalish military. His father had cultivated the land before him, as did his father, and his father before him. He had only owned the farm for a handful of years and only had two young children barely able to lift farm tools on their own.
As all things did on Dominaria, Gouin's farm ended. The Phyrexians raided Benalia and all other nations, and doing what any good citizen would do, Gouin joined the ranks of a volunteer militia. As artifice had been a great advantage for his family in the farming business, he found himself transferred to the Coalition airship force. He had hopes of becoming a deck hand on the Weatherlight, but he was assigned the menial tasks of repairing cannons and hull breeches.
With the end of the war came a painful time for Gouin, as he had to take account of all that was lost. His nation was in ruins, and his farm would be impossible to recover. Furthermore, he had lost his wife and children in the earliest days of the invasion. His friends and everyone he ever knew by face were also set to a quiet slumber in the soil during the war. Only when it was all done did he really have time to think about how much he missed everyone and everything.
Gouin used what money and favors he had remaining and bought himself a tattered old flying vessel that could hardly be called such. He sailed off into the sunset, hoping to leave behind all the pain he knew. After some years he finally docked his rickety old vessel for good at a tiny island. Other wanderers, also trying to forget the nightmares of wartime, had come to the island, and together they decided upon the name of Providence for their township.
In his voyage through the skies of the world, Gouin had picked up the hobby of weapon collecting. It started with insecurities over anybody ever threatening him again, so he bartered his services as a ship repairman in order to attain a pair of Phyrexian rifles and a month's worth of ammunition. He should have felt safe from anybody trying to sneak into his boat when it was docked, but Gouin's insecurities about another multiversal invasion grew from nightmares in his sleep to waking terror. He had to have bigger weapons. Cannons were soon installed on his vessel. Bombs eventually made up the floor of the cargo deck, sparkling in their sameness like a tiled floor. As time went on, Gouin's little vessel practically became a flying armory.
Coming to Providence had no effect on the habit. While others build a township and set up trade with neighboring island cities, Gouin was always the busy little hermit in the island's towering mountains. He permanently landed his vessel at the peak of the highest mountain, and made it into a house. Some of the weapons stayed in the boat house, but most were transferred into a nearby cave.
A wurm occupied the cave, and killing it was the only time Gouin ever used anything in his weapon collection. He used his various weapon-making machines to drain the green and black manas from the wurm before it went fully dead, and used that to make even more weapons. From his perspective, the wurm represented an evil that lurked everywhere. Though the Phyrexians had been stopped, there would always be an enemy around which required the presence of a well-armed populace. Battling the wurm only reinforced those beliefs.
About twice every year, Gouin would come down from the mountain and trade off his trinkets made from the scraps of weapon creation. He would then attain every piece of material from which he could make weapons, and then hurried off to his mountain home. As Providence grew, so grew Gouin's barter opportunies, as did the selection of materials he had to choose from.
Up in the mountain, Gouin brought all he had collected in trade and worked for half the year making everything he could. Pieces of junk he fashioned into earrings or necklaces or even toys and took down to trade for more materials. The ship became unrecognizable, as Gouin created extensions which eventually connected his house with the wurm's cave. Through Gouin's madness there came to be a labrynthine workshop at the mountaintop, where the world's most deadly weapons were built.
Phyrexian rifles, Trokin air guns, and Coalition mana cannons were tweaked in the workshop until advantages from each replaced drawbacks in the other. He savagely murdered wildlife only sometimes for food, and mostly to fulfill the mana requirements of his bombs and artillery. He even took to mining, in order to increase the storage capacity of his cave, dumping the rock and dirt around his house until it became subterrainean. On that peak, nature was defiled for purposes of saving a man from his own fears, and it was forced to surrender on a regular basis, for fear he would go to the lower parts of the island if he ever ran out of resources to victimize.
The caverns behind the little metal door to Gouin's workshop extended, and his weapons grew deadlier. After a few decades, he grew tired of going down the town and took to making materials himself. He had created the machines to craft weapons, and altering a few of them to craft mined ore into metals was no great task for his adept artificer mind. At first people missed his comings, and his eager sales of pretty pieces of jewelry. By the tenth year, everyone assumed he had fully become a hermit or had died.
Alone in the mountain, the growing town of Providence eventually forgot about Gouin. He became a faded memory in the minds of the town elders, and existed as a humorous monster tale to the children. Then those images fluttered away with time, and Gouin ceased to exist in story or memory. He died without anybody knowing he even lived at the top of the tallest mountain, his body strewn upon his most prized Phyrexian rifles.
