Trial Primus

Hey! 2nd post. I'd just like to point out that these are only loosely proofread(I look for red lines) and not revised, as the goal is writing, not rewriting. For now. Thanks for reading : ) History Fact # The waffle can be traced back to communion wafers. In 9th and 10th century Europe, people started making fancy wafers for communion by cooking designs into them, like Jesus being crucified and other religious images(yum?), with molded irons. Sometimes simple flower designs were used, but the bread was just basic flour even when used outside communion. Then the Crusades came along and flavors began to be added from the east(like orange blossoms). It wasn't until the late 14th century, however, that a waffle-like recipe can be found. A manuscript called Le Ménagier de Paris contains instructions from a husband to a young wife and holds the recipe, which included eggs and wine. The waffle iron and recipe didn't differentiate itself for another century, however, but by then the Netherlands and Belgium were cooking up waffles, thus bringing on the Renaissance and eventually the Enlightenment and the modern age.

Specific information from Wikipedia and it's sources.

Elsewhere…

To Rin kal Nogata the rain seemed not to fall—it simply existed.  The torrents blended together into a mass of power, dwarfing any thought past awe.  The ground hid beneath a blanket of steaming sludge as the storm carried away dirt and crops alike—entire shelves of the tier hill beside them seemed to be slouching toward the basin where they stood.  Rin’s thin kimono clung to his skin and his once blue hakama was black and heavy.  Lighting struck in time with thunder, both dancing above as they fought the wind for dominance in Rin’s worried thoughts.  While Rin, having grown tall too fast to balance, stumbled and wavered beneath the monsoon, an even taller figure stood facing him—more solid than the ground around him.

“Find your place, minarai!” The figure spoke, somehow cutting through the din.  He stepped forward and stopped again, so still he seemed to have never moved.  Rivers ran down his bald scalp and through the wrinkles of his face to join his long mustaches before becoming falls.  His shoulders were broad, but stood out from his skeletal body and appeared as bones in the flashes of lightning.  His sunken eyes stared past a broad nose, as black as the clouds that hung out of side above.  

“It’s too,” Rin started, but thought better.  As threatening as the storm might be, Rin knew his master well.  “Yes, Senfu!” he yelled into the storm, only to hear his words crushed to the ground under sheets of rain.  Drawing his shoulders back and shifting his feet deeper into the muck, Rin pictured a stone, a mountain, an island, but was betrayed by his foundation.  A gust caught a wide pant leg and pulled, forcing his foot to slide through the mud.  He caught himself before his knee could land and struggled to straighten again.  He brought his eyes up to meet Senfu’s, who now stood a body’s width before him.

“Let go, minarai!  Feel the storm.  Feel the power of it, the strength.  It is beyond us—you can’t hope to battle against it.  You can not halt the storm as you can not halt the age from passing.”

“How can I stand if I let go?”

“Become the storm, minarai.”

Rin kal Nogata had heard this before.  Many times before.  He’d stood as a weed in every taifu for the past three years, straining to not be moved, straining to feel the power that drove the winds, traced the lightning, and wielded the thunder.  And he had failed.  Even weaker storms than this bested him, though he could hold his own for a time.  In a fury like this, likely to be the storm of the season, Rin suspected Senfu’s interference, blocking the hardest gales and diverting strikes.  Deaths were common for those in shelter in a storm like this, but Rin had survived many in the open fields outside their village since taking tutelage under Master Senfu.  Yet this time, something was different.  The winds tore at him, at his clothes, and moved onward to dash against the nearby hill.  Rin felt it move past him, felt it seek to defy gravity and push the streams back.  Rin felt the immensity of the taifu.  He drew a breath and smelled an imminent strike.  He turned to see it burn purple into his vision.  His spine tingled as the thunder shook his body and the storm.  He’d never felt so insignificant, yet he felt the majesty of the fury around him, each blending into frightening rush of emotions.  His eyes welled and jaw clenched before he spread his his arms, lifted his chin, and laughed.  The wind bent around him and he was still.

Intro to the Trial System

   Hey, I'm Ryan and I don't know anything about blogging.  I've only read a few, and none consistently, so I don't  know how they are normally set up.  I thought I'd start with an introduction.  I'm a recent English and history major and I plan to get an MFA in fiction writing.  I was accepted to a program with full funding+ offered, but they lost their funding, so, until the next round of submissions, I'm trying to writing on my own and failing with discipline.  In an attempt to write more, I'm planning to add weekly installments to this take on genres that I enjoy.  So I don't feel my history major is quite as useless, I'll also begin each post with an interesting and/or funny historical fact and/or story.

   


History Fact:

Robert Jenkins was a captain of a British merchant ship and a nine year war, from 1739 to 1748, was named after his ear.  The War of Jenkins' Ear.  How this isn't taught or at least mentioned in every history class, even if unrelated, I don't know.


Trial System:


 “Captain, did you hear me?” asked a young soldier.

If Captain Jacob T. Parish heard the question, he made no sign.  The two stood alone in the open gateway of a ragged palisade wall built into the perimeter homes of a village.  Rice paddies, already flooded, surrounded the village on all sides.  Parish held a sword, though he eyed it with curiosity.  Raising it to reflect the setting sun, he examined the thin, curved blade.  He ran a finger down the shaft, squinting into the shimmer.

“It feels smooth, but you can still see the folds—the hammer strikes—in the blade.  Fascinating.”  The captain lowered the sword to a forward stance and tested holding the long handle with both hands.  “It’s a beautiful weapon, don’t you think, Lt. Dubs?”

Dubs stared, his mouth tightening for a moment. “Sir, there are hundreds of them.  We might hold this gate, but we don’t have enough to defend the west of the east, much less the wall.  We have to retreat.”

Shifting to a side-facing stance,, the captain said, “Hundreds you think? I’d guess they’re shy of a single hundred.”

“Does it matter?  We have thirty and most are farmers.  They’re going to ride right over them.”

“Are you sure?  Your men have a lot of heart.”

Dubs pulled at the skin of his temple and gestured around him, awkwardly due to the weight of his thick, doubled-edged sword.  “Do you see this place?  Is this worth dying for?  Let’s get our men out of here.”

“And abandon our mission?” Parish said with a flourish, “I think not.”

“We’ll all die.  The village is dead either way.  Maybe we could take some of them with us, escape.”

Parish turned as he sheathed his sword—after a slight fumble finding the opening.  “You know my father’s saying, Lieutenant.  “Strive to the end.  And so we shall,” Parish said before allowing a suitable pause, “Strive to the end.”

The young Lt. Dubs stood straighter and saluted.  He swallowed.  “Yes. Sir.”

Down the hard-packed path that ran through the rice paddies a horsebacked figure crested the rise and stopped.  Appearing as a black silhouette against sunset, the figure’s armor dominated his appearance—all spikes and jutting plates with lopsided horns sprouting from a wide-brimmed helm.  He waved a thick, armor-clad arm forward and the skyline became a thicket of spears, horses, spikes, and swords.

With a low whistle, Jacob T. Parish hooked his thumbs behind his wide, leather belt and bounced on the balls of his feet.  “Look at all of them.  What’s that one near the end have?  A halberd?  Fascinating.”

“We’re all dead now,” said Lt. Dubs with a sigh, “You missed the chance again, sir.”

Parish gave a half snort, half laugh and said, “Nonsense.”

Thunder rose then faded into a torrent of splashes as the riders cantered forward.  The wings split off to each side while the largest group raced toward Parish’s gate.

Lt. Dubs began to back away while drawing his sword.  “Sir, permission to call up the ranks?  Sir?”

Parish waved a hand behind him and spoke, “Computer.  Admin code, there is no sheep level.”

A female voice responded, resonating from everywhere, “Code authorized.”

With a smirk, Parish continued, “Computer, please authorize use of MKS-11 and materialize for admin use.”

Like a isolated heat-wave, the air shimmered around Captain Parish’s hands before condensing into a shoulder-mounted weapon.  A wire-coiled tube formed its body with a shoulder brace, forward handles, and targeting system  as the only protrusions.  Parish hefted the cannon and aimed directly at the attacking riders, now at only 30 paces.  With an electric whine, a glow grew in the back of the weapon before spiraling up the coils.  Simultaneously, the air exploded in the middle of the riders.  Fire expanded from a single point—an empty space directly behind the forward most rider—consuming most of the group.  The fringe riders were thrown in every direction, some smashing through rows and rows of rice while others arced away before making their own muddy craters.  

The shock-wave continued outward, knocking portions of the wall down and breaking windows as well as leaving Parish and Dubs on their backs.  To each side of the main group, the remaining riders fought to out panic their horses in a ramshackle retreat.  Parish and Dubs alternated between coughing and gasping for air, but in a few moments, laughter joined Parish’s agenda.  
“Prime take me, did you see that?” Parish said between breaths. “Never seen an MKS fired have you?”

Rolling onto his knees, Lt. Dubs answered, “How did you...where did? What in Prime’s name?”

Rolling off his back and onto his feet, Parish slapped Lt. Dubs on the back, “Come now, ole boy, you don’t ask a magician something like that.”

The female voice returned.  “Simulation Kobe Maru completed. Ending links now.”

Lt. Parish, now dressed in a blue and silver uniform and sitting in a reclining chair next to many other men and women who all wore the same, lifted the opaquely visored helmet off his head and placed it on a stand beside him.
The door slammed open and a graying man stepped in.  “Parish!  Explain yourself!”