KFR
RedBedlam
Joined: 19 Jul 2001
Posts: 8120
Location: RedBedlam
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 Posted: Thu Apr 05, 2007 4:25 am Post subject: Screenshot & Short Story competition winners |
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Screenshot Competition Winner
We all know Zakke's very fond of the grass but we felt that this screenshot was particularly atmospheric.
Short Story competition winner
We had a really hard time choosing the winner of the short story competition as the standards were very high and there were some excellent entries. However a decision had to be made and in the end we went with "Conal's Tale" by Araceli, which seemed to aptly capture life in RV.
| Araceli wrote: |
Conal's Tale
Conal squinted into the setting sun and muttered an oath. A broken axle on his cart and subsequent repairs had set him behind schedule by several hours and now the sun was sinking below the mountains. He'd never make Corstopitum by nightfall.
The clear skies, for all their celestial beauty, promised another night of bitter cold and the Roman drew his woolen cloak close around him to ward off the coming chill. The frontier lands of Caledonia bore such dreadful weather. Conal cast his memory back to his villa in Campania. How happy he was back then. Warm fragrant breezes, dark soft women. A hint of a smile played across his face.
His father's words echoed in his ears. "Go, son. Off to the provinces. There is a mountain of riches to be had in the provinces."
"True enough", thought Conal, he had made a tidy sum handling the family business in iron and timber destined for the weapons foundries. "But by 'provinces', I was thinking more along the lines of Macedonia...even Narbo. Not bloody Caledonia. And when Father said 'mountain' I didn't think he meant a literal bloody mountain!"
The steady rumble of the cartwheels, the onset of night, and the dozen other daydreams tossed about in his mind. Conal never saw the beast until it was upon him. Springing from the undergrowth, the snarling wolf paused, and for moment predator and prey surveyed each other. In the pre-dusk gloom, Conal could see the coarse, matted fur and hear the low growl emanating from deep within the beast, but his attention was fixed on the hunger-maddened eyes and glistening white fangs.
He inwardly chastised himself for even getting into this situation. This was to be nothing more than a relaxing day-trip: a chance to escape from the daily tedium in Corstopitum, a chance to breathe air that was free of the trace of sewage and fried fish which wafted on every breeze. So Conal had sent his slaves out to the southern groves to gather hardwoods for his foundry's carpentry shop, while he himself headed west to take delivery of a recently ordered cart. That the new cart had broken down on the return trip should have been an augury of misfortunes to come.
Eyes glued on the wolf, Conal inched his left hand toward the hilt of the sword dangling at his side. The wolf's muscles tensed as he moved, and in the blink of an eye the creature burst forward. Conal tried to jerk the shortsword from its scabbard, but the wolf had closed the distance too quickly. In desperation, and with no room for a proper thrust, Conal backhanded the pommel of the sword into the wolf's gaping maw, even as the creature's claws raked heavily across his bare forearm. Crimson rivulets of blood welled up from the fresh wounds on his arm, while the wolf yelped in pain from the blow. The momentum of the wolf's assault toppled both of them to the hard road; Conal rolling away from the beast; the wolf momentarily stunned from the blow to the head.
Conal scrambled to his feet and assumed a low fighting stance, keeping his sword tip aimed at the now-recovered predator. The wolf lowered its head and circled to his right, the two combatants' eyes locked on each other. Conal could see the hunger and rage in the beast's glare, and knew that there could be but a single outcome to this encounter. The wolf stopped its circling and with a growl darted toward the waiting Roman. As the wolf leapt forward, Conal thrust the blade deep into the animal's chest. The fury left the beast's eyes as they went wide with surprise, and Conal felt the hot blood spill over his hand as the animal impaled itself on his sword. The wolf collapsed to the ground, lying on its side as a growing pool of its lifeblood seeped into the packed earth of the cart-road beneath. Conal watched the beast's breathing grow irregular, its ribcage expanding and contracting in spasms, until finally the wolf was still.
As his adrenaline rush subsided, Conal dropped to his knees in the road. Gathering his wits and catching his breath, he tore a strip off the lower edge of his tunic and dabbed at the gashes on his forearm. Satisfied his wounds were not serious, he grabbed the dead animal by the hind legs, and dragged it off the path to clear the way for his cart once again.
Upon closer inspection, its ribs showed clearly along its flanks; the creature must have been outcast from its pack and nearly driven mad with hunger to attack a man by itself. Conal rummaged through his memory, trying to think back to what he must have done, which god he must have offended, to put this desperate and pitiful creature in his path. Nothing out of the ordinary sprung to mind; he had been sufficiently pious, at least to the extent it was possible given the dearth of temples in Corstopitum. No telling then, perhaps one of his rivals had cursed him? No matter, he resolved to sacrifice an extra few pigeons tomorrow and let Jupiter sort it out.
Standing to brush the dust off his clothing, Conal grasped the empty cart once again and set off down the road. He arrived at his domus well after sunset, to the horrified reactions of his slaves. They quickly bathed him, dressed his wounds, and prepared his evening meal. The sweet comfort of the wine added to the exertions of his day guaranteed that Conal slept like a stone that night.
"Master" the slave whispered urgently, rousing Conal from his slumber. "There is a messenger"
"Make him wait" Conal groaned, the cobwebs of sleep still draped across his consciousness.
"He is a Northerner, one of the woodcutters" the slave insisted, glancing at the doorway, clearly nervous.
"Give him bread and cheese; I will see him when I am dressed"
Conal emerged into his atrium to see a stout man of about thirty years old sitting on one of the benches. The man was dressed in a buckskin tunic reaching to his knees and hide boots wrapped many times around with leather thongs. He wore a necklace of braided bronze wire, thick bracelets of ornamented bronze on each wrist, and a broad leather belt around his waist. He had long copper colored hair drawn back into a pony-tail at the top of his head, hawkish blue eyes and thin lips. The Northerner wore a short beard, crumbs of bread still trapped within bore evidence that he had indeed taken advantage of Conal's hospitality.
The Celt straightened up as Conal entered and took a seat across from him.
"My lord, I am here on behalf of my brother, Lord Calraigh of the Selgovae", he began, his words thickly accented. "We wish to revisit the terms of our trade agreement."
"Go on." Conal replied, with studied indifference.
"My lord feels it would be fairer if we were to receive 800 sesterce for each wagon of timber. The forests are thin, and we must travel farther to provide the same amount of trees." The Celt's eyes darted, searching Conal's face for a reaction.
Conal's eyes narrowed "Calraigh agreed to 600 sesterces each, only 6 months ago. It will stay at 600."
"But my lord fears we will not be able to meet our commitment to provide you the timber at that price. 800 sesterce will ensure my lord can honor this agreement. We would hate to see the supply to your carpenters…interrupted. Also, the seasons change soon; there is no telling what the winter will bring." A smirk crept along the Celt's thin lips, a hint of malice in his last words. It was at that point Conal knew the man was lying. He felt his blood start to boil.
Conal inhaled deeply, and rose from his seat. He was in no mood for games today. Walking around behind the seated Celt, he leaned in and whispered into his ear.
"Now you listen to me, you insolent son of a dog." Conal hissed through clenched teeth... "Your 'Lord' has been delivering monthly shipments of those spotty twigs, we're lucky to get a dozen spear shafts per bundle. You will tell him the price remains 600. If you fail to meet your quota, I will send my man Jessaius to visit you in your village. There is indeed no telling what the winter will bring, but I assure you it will be most unpleasant with your homes reduced to a cinder. Now leave, while you still have your tongue."
"As you wish, Sire." The Celt replied and hastily moved to the door, barely pausing to cast a cursory bow in Conal's direction before exiting. Conal sank back onto one of his couches and sighed.
All things considered, he preferred the wolves on four legs to the jackals on two. |
Thanks for all your entries. There's already another screenshot competition running so if you didn't win this one, why not have another try? More details can be found here.
Our congratulations go to Zakke and Araceli who will both be receiving their very own Roma Victor T-Shirts in the post.
-KFR
Last edited by KFR on Tue Oct 09, 2007 2:02 pm; edited 1 time in total |
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