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The Craftsmaster [Non-40K]
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Old 23 Nov 2006, 02:34   #1 (permalink)
Join Date: Aug 2006
Location: Long Island
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Default The Craftsmaster [Non-40K]

I wrote this up a while ago, what do you people think?

The Craftsmaster

It was a dark time for humanity, the last remnants of who was left were huddled together in large fortified camps, all being refugees of the all-consuming Great War. Each camp was in control of some sort of military official, as the army was the last source of power and trust in the world. One particular camp, the one we were in, was under the control of a rather odd man -- the Craftsmaster, as we called him. He had rather.. devious solutions for everything, and we all came to fear and love him as a father.
He was a tall, black haired man with dark facial features, though we never saw him in person but rather on giant screens located in the center of the camp. He commanded us to build many strange contraptions and devices for him, and toil in the fields, for the supply trucks stopped many summers ago. Most of our people dissapeared after building these things for him, though we grew to love the Craftsmaster and never question him.
One day, though, one of the Craftsmaster's guards came from his domicile and ordered me to come with him, as his master desired audience with me. I accepted, and entered his structure. And so I met him.
"So I see you have arrived, #11028," said he, from a dimly lit corner, in a stern voice.
"Y.. yes, Mr. Craftsmaster," said I, stuttering in his presence. I kissed the very ground beneath him, shaking in fear.
"Enough. I shall have no more of this. You shall come with me. I have much to... show you," said he, with a quiver in his voice.
I nodded in obedience, and descended down a staircase with him. I was utterly confused at what I saw.
It was a long, subterranean corridor, with windows on each side, behind each window being a small room. Each room had a chair, to which was strapped down bewildered members of our camp, the ones who dissapeared. They appeared to be harmed not physically, but psychologically.
The Craftsmaster took me to one of the windows, behind which there was a terrified old man strapped to one of those chairs.
"#11028, what do you think the children love?"
"C.. candy, sir," I stuttered.
"You are correct. And children will do anything for this precious candy, yes?"
"Y.. yes, Mr. Craftsmaster."
The Craftsmaster then pushed a button near the window, and hidden doors opened up to the sides of the old man. Behind one door was a flock of starving, mad children, and on the opposite side were several bags of candy hanging from the ceiling.
"Do you want candy, children?" the Craftsmaster said into a microphone.
They nodded.
"That old man won't let you have that candy."
Frowns. Furrowed eyebrows. Seething anger.
"He never wants you to have candy again."
Seething rage. Foaming mouths. The old man screaming in agony. Biting. Ripping. Clawing. Blood spurting. The laughter of little children -- their candy had been won.
"T.. that's.. that's.. horrible.." I said, lowly.
"I still have much to show you," said he.
I complied.
He led me down the corridor, to a room at the end. A blank, empty room. Unlike the other rooms, there was not a single chair or object, and the walls were all painted a bone white.
"Why is it.. empty?" I asked.
"Step inside."
I walked in, and then came the sound of a shot from a silenced pistol. I quickly fell to my knees, then down onto the floor, in a pool of my own blood. The door was quickly closed behind me.
"You knew too much. I am sorry," said he, as he walked away, returning to master his crafts.
Months passed. People kept dissapearing, and the numbers dwindled to two dozen left. Eventually, they started to become curious. Very curious indeed. In fact, the most curious of all was #2298, who was the rather bold type. Mr. Craftsmaster did not approve. And #2298 did not approve of Mr. Craftsmaster. It certainly was mutual.
One day, the Craftsmaster sent a summons to #2298, as happened to me. He was ushered into the same room that contained my rotting corpse, and had the gun at his head. However, before the shot was fired, he quickly turned with a swift blow to Mr. Craftsmaster's abdomen, and he quickly fell to his knees. #2298 was victorious.
The Craftsmaster awoke in one of the rooms, strapped down to a chair. Behind the glass panel in front of him were all the people of the camp, with blank looks on their faces, not entirely sure as to how to react to their tyrant in such a situation. #2298 was there too, and he was the one who pressed the button near the window. And so, a true horror came out from the door behind the Craftsmaster, a horror to behold.
There was a platform on wheels, and on this platform was a swing set, much like what was used by children before the Great War. And on the solitary swing was a cheerfully pale man in a black business suit, swinging voraciously in his mirth. Suddenly, by unknown forces, the platform was slowly pushed right behind the Craftsmaster's chair, and then came to a screeching halt.
The kicks of the jolly, unknown business man were unrelenting. It only took three quick swings forward, and the Craftsmaster was no more. It was a quick and painful death, and soon after the happy man on the swing platform was wheeled backwards, back to whatever horrible realm he was from, never to be seen again.
One by one, the people returned to the surface of the camp, and stared longingly at the gates. It is in human nature to be free, and this compelled them to bash down this horrible gates. And they were amazed at what they saw.
"My god, doc, we're losing him!"
"Quick, use the defibrillator! He's having a heart attack!"
Past the gates, there were verdant fields full of grass and forests, not at all like the horrible descriptions that the Craftsmaster fed into their minds. There was not Great War for hundreds of years, and the world was finally reborn. Slowly, the first few camp members walked out of the gates, breathing in the fresh air they had not breathed for years.
"He's not responding! The lifeline's starting to go flat!"
"Sweet Jesus.."
After an hour, the whole population of the camp was outside it. They were soon to discover that the noises of the bombs constantly dropped were merely recorded sounds played over and over on the loudspeakers, and the dark grey sky was merely caused by the smokestack coming from the heating room.
"One! Two! THREE!"
"God dammit! Increase the voltage and try again!"
Slowly, the scenery started to glow, and then everything started turning white. And then there was nothing but a feeling of numbess, as we all came to face the oblivion. One by one we stepped into it, and then everything faded into blackness.

And in an emergency room in some forgotten place and time, there were two very sullen doctors. They could not revive the young, black haired man that had been sent to them only minutes ago.
Thanks to Rapouc for Chrismas-izing my avatar!

There was a guy who had a suit / And Shas'o was his name-o. / S-H-A-S-O! / S-H-A-S-O! / S-H-A-S-O! / And Shas'o was his name-o!
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Old 07 Dec 2006, 23:28   #2 (permalink)
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Default Re: The Craftsmaster [Non-40K]

An interesting story, to be sure... Very well written, and an interesting concept.
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