This month’s theme has many fathers and mothers. Lady_Ty who posted the Shakespeare Adaptation Generator in the Ideas Topic on the Fantasy-Faction forum, Raptori who modified it (we kept some of their choices!), ClintACK who provided the online dice roller we used, and last but not least ScarletBea and yours truly who put it together.
With the above generator, entrants were able to roll up a plot and begin writing from there. We had lots of fun with it and I hope you enjoy reading the results!
Rules:
1. This must be prose or poetry.
2. Use seven five-sided dice on Roll Dice Online. Roll until you find your perfect theme.
3. Prose must be 500-1500 words long.
4. Poetry must be 100-500 words long.
This month’s winning story was by Lanko, with “Conan Meets Nietzsche”. Lanko rolled the following for their story:
Genre: Urban
Class: Thief
Location: Church
Object: Magic Dagger
Weakness: Superstitious
Nemesis: Evil Wizard / Evil Witch
Extra: Dinosaurs
Congrats on your win, Lanko!
You can find all our entries here.
And now on with the story!
– – –
“Conan Meets Nietzsche”
by Lanko
Hither came Nietzsche, the philosopher, narrow-eyed, mouth hidden under a huge mustache, carrying gigantic melancholies and wisdom, an ember about to ignite, a bullet in a loaded gun, ready to shatter the sacred traditions of the Earth with his fearless pen.
He walked calmly on the streets of Leipzig, in the kingdom of Prussia, until he was grabbed by an enormous arm and carried into an alley like a baby. Before him was the tallest and broadest man he’d ever seen. Black-haired, sullen-eyed, wearing a loincloth and a large fur cape, an enormous broadsword on his back. His muscles were massive, thews clearly never softened by life amid marble walls.
“W-who are you?”
“I’m Conan, from Cimmeria.”
“Never heard of it.”
Conan pulled a dagger and Nietzsche shivered. “I stole this from the temple of Dagon, unintentionally cut myself with it and here I am. Cursed witchcraft.” The dagger was red, ornamented with gold and onyx jewels, full of inscriptions that couldn’t possibly be human.
But of all the people Conan could’ve met, Nietzsche was the last who would believe such a thing. “I’ve seen priests in the asylum lie better than that.”
Conan’s face reddened. “I raided and fought with bandits, barbarians, pirates and knights. I’ve been called thief, reaver, slayer, I care not. But no one ever called me a liar.”
Nietzsche gulped. “I… I meant no offense, Conan.”
He infuriated many people over the years speaking openly about the harsh truths of the world, but now he would mind his tongue. Civilized men are actually much more discourteous towards each other than savages, but only because they know they can be impolite without having their skulls split, as a general thing.
“The dagger is drawing me towards there.”
Nietzsche frowned. “It’s only the church. If you wish to loot or raze it, please, by all means.”
Conan flinched, disturbed. “Is their god dangerous? I had enough sorcery for a day.”
Nietzsche laughed. “Nothing to worry, he was actually killed almost two thousand years ago.”
They proceeded, Conan walking very cautiously.
Nietzsche sighed. Religion claimed to be able to move mountains, but he only saw it actually placing mountains where there were none before.
“I dream of a future where we have successfully given up our longing for gods and eternal life. No more clinging to myths, but to live life to the fullest by creating our own values instead of borrowing them from some forged divinity.”
Conan thought for a moment. “I have known many gods. He who denies them is as blind as he who trusts them too deeply. But I agree with you, I seek not beyond death. I simply want to live deep while I draw breath. Let me know the rich juices of red meat and stinging wine on my palate on every meal, the hot embrace of a woman on every night, the mad exultation of battle when the blue blades flame and crimson, and I will ask for nothing more.” Conan patted Nietzsche on the back and laughed. “I will let teachers and philosophers like you brood over questions of reality and illusion.”
“If life is a lie than nothing matters.”
Conan shrugged. “I know this: if life is an illusion, then I am no less an illusion, thus the illusion is real to me. So I live, I love, I slay, and am content.”
Nietzsche actually smiled at that.
“Friedrich?”
“Wagner?” Nietzsche raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing in Leipzig?”
“The real question is: what are you doing in a church?”
“Just brought this man here to raze it.”
The red dagger flashed in Conan’s hand. “Whatever it wants, its here.”
Richard Wagner widened his eyes. “The dagger of Dagon! Guards!”
Three men entered the room, rifles in hand. Conan dragged Nietzsche out of the line of fire just in time.
Nietzsche was petrified, but Richard Wagner was merely annoyed. “There are things at stake that a barbarian cannot comprehend! The fate of nations, the very definition of man and civilization! The king is under my spell, as soon will others. This dagger is needed to unfold my plans!”
“You are right. I, who was born in a naked land and bred in the open sky, what do I know of cultured ways, the gilt, the craft and the lie? But I know this, fool: the subtle tongue, the sophist guile, they all fail when the broadswords sings. So come! Rush in and die, dogs!”
Conan cleaved one man in half with a single strike. The other two charged with their sabers. The first died impaled, the broadsword stuck in his chest. Conan let it go, dodged the attack from the other man, then hurled him into a wall with his barbaric strength. The man’s head exploded like a smashed tomato.
“Friedrich! You said religions are a fantasy! Look at this!” Wagner raised his left hand. “The ring of the Nibelung! The proof that our religion, the German religion, is true and powerful! Behold! Auferstanden aus Ruinen, Die Walküre!”
A woman, armored and armed, white wings on her back, appeared. An angel, no, a Valkyrie. And Richard Wagner was a wizard. Nietzsche almost laughed.
“I fought and laid with all kinds of women, but this is the first time I meet a fully armored one.”
“And also the last,” she replied, charging.
The broadsword met the golden spear, and the thunderous sound of the impact surprised both warriors, as neither of them staggered from what they both thought would be a mortal attack.
They attacked each other relentlessly, losing and gaining ground, an epic battle worthy of the Eddas. Conan dealt the decisive blow with the blunt part of the broadsword. The Valkyrie fell.
“What are you doing? Kill him!” Roared Wagner.
Conan grabbed him and quickly removed the ring from his finger. Wagner fainted.
“What happened?” asked Nietzsche.
“The ring was manipulating your friend.” Conan stomped it.
“You destroyed the ring,” said the Valkyrie.
“Aye. And who are you, woman? I’ve never faced such an opponent before.”
She stood. “I’m Brynhildr. I was cursed by Odin. Only the strongest warrior of the Earth could free me. But he deceived me. And then tragedy after tragedy followed. This ring could summon me from frozen Hel, and now I’m free and alive to once again walk upon the Earth. Who are you, mortal able to best a Valkyrie?”
“I’m Conan, the Cimmerian.”
“Conan, let me go with you. I was promised to the strongest warrior of the Earth, and so it shall remain. But if you prove unworthy, I will kill you myself.”
Conan’s laughter boomed. “If the day I become a weakling ever comes, then I deserve to die!”
The dagger flashed crimson. “Farewell, Nietzsche.”
“Farewell, Conan. May more free spirits like us walk this world going mad.”
* * *
Conan and Brynhildr were greeted by a massive roar of a Tyrannosaurus.
Conan charged. “I will take care of it—”
Brynhildr flew and slashed the dinosaur’s head in half.
“I killed it, so you cook it.”
Conan roared with laughter. “Oh, Brynhildr, we will soon thread all the jeweled thrones of this Earth under our sandaled feet!”
* * *
Nietzsche was in an alley, beneath the halo of a post lamp. He walked through narrow streets of cobblestone, turning his collar to the cold and damp. He was in a huge city, buildings reaching high in the sky like a collection of Babel towers.
On the highest, under the naked light of the moon, he observed the future.
He saw hundreds, thousands of people, maybe tens of thousands. People talking without speaking; people hearing without listening; people writing songs and stories that would never be shared.
He saw walls that flashed out warnings, forming words and voices of hate that boomed over huge crowds. Instead of one, now dozens of false prophets preached about famine and disaster, wars and rumors of wars to come, playing nations, races and compatriots against each other.
And to his horror he saw the people bow and pray to the neon god they made. And they discussed the blasphemies on subway stations with strangers, in dining rooms with their families and on tenement halls with their neighbors.
This was too much for him, his head hurt and darkness embraced him.
* * *
Nietzsche woke in his bed. He sighed, another one of those headaches and the craziest dream of his life.
But soon a sense of despair loomed over him. What if that future happens? Life had many fronts. So he started his battle, because to hold a pen against a blank page is to be at war.
He knew where that path would lead him, but he would walk on it anyway. His words needed to be written, to prevent humanity from drowning in the sea of ignorance and tyranny.
On his urge, he didn’t notice the faint scar on his hand, done by himself with a magical dagger left behind by a wandering barbarian.
– – –
Congratulations again to Lanko! If you’d like to enter our monthly writing contest, check out our forum for more information.
Happy Writing!
Richard Marpole
Jennie Ivins
Lanko you’re hilarious but here’s what confused me–
How is Nietzsche, the proto-Nazi, your protagonist and Richard Wagner, an anti-fascist, your rule-the-world antagonist?