Fauthurian stories - Daily life and short stories describing happenings in and around Fauthur

[Flauschi918]

ATTENTION

This, in no way should be discriminatory against any people of Esferos.

This serves as a depository for happenings in the Country of Fauthur and every action taken by certain people should be seen as an individual taking the action, not representative of the country itself. The stories are already incorporated into the roleplay and are not used for new publishings. Imagine that they happen during important posts.

 

The first few stories involve Fauthurian and Aftokratorian people not (really) living in harmony and are overall sad. Viewer discretion is advised, as the texts (mainly the first one) deal with a small bit of violence and or other things that may seem triggering for readers, not majorly, but a few things sprinkled in.

This also serves as a disclaimer for future stories to be published

 

I hereby will take appropriate action as soon as I can when messaged about errors or content if anyone expresses a problem with the stories. 
I am currently in a creative writing phase and wish to bring my thoughts on stories on (web) paper and see where they go, after all I feel them to be a great addition to imagine some life in Fauthur.

Dates and disclaimers are subject to change to fit them in with other happenings.

With that said, let’s begin, have fun reading.

Be sure to give me a review of my stuff if you want to!

 

 

Involves: violence, condescending language and slight swearing

Story 1

6th of june 1424.

 

As she arrived at the Eckford-College for Applied Sciences, the banners were already on every wall.

“Vote now for you local representative”

“Vote for Fauthur”

 

She wanted to pull down the banners right then and there but it was easy to contain oneself. Especially with armed guards at the majority of entrances into rooms. 

The sight of the navy blue combined with black-ish armor.. just something impressive about it. 

She quickly lost herself in her thoughts again. 

After all her head was all over the place today. She couldn’t concentrate.

Well, maybe the reason was the mix of painkillers and lack of sleep the last few days.

Her entire body still hurts from yesterday.

Standing there, immersed in her world of thoughts. A pretty happy place amidst a dull, concrete built hall with shabby squared windows all around. A mix of concrete-steel floor plates lining the halls.

She was suddenly interrupted by a voice that immediately sends shivers down her spine.

> “Hey!”, echoed from one of the heavily armored men standing around.

>“Get a move on.” He formed a fist with his right hand and swung it in the air to mock the 22 year old.

<“Sorry..”, she said, surprised and with a shaky voice, quickly coming back to her senses.

>“Damn Aftokratorians. Always loitering.” He said to himself, his head shaking left to right and back left.

She continued walking, searching the one specific room mentioned on her note. 

It read Just the room number and a time. 12:45. 

As she went through the rather large cafeteria in her college, she couldn’t help but feel saddened. 

“It gets worse by the day. More.. aggressive. Why? What have we done?”, she thought.

“We’re just citizens from another country. We’re just trying to live here. Work here. Study and just live life.”

The cafeteria was full of people at this time. Still 15 minutes for the lunch break. It was like the mood was washed away, leaving a sour, but quiet aftertaste in the air. Everyone was eating their lunch, not talking to anyone. It was like looking at mindless slaves. Stoic faces.

She advanced through the cafeteria, leaving it and entering the corridor that would lead to the room address. It was classroom C308. Closed off 3 months ago due to “difficulties concerning the maintenance and repair of the lights and windows.” 

“Yeah, right.” She thought.

Lots of gossip goes around the college. Lots and lots about this room. Before it was closed off, some reported they heard screams, others saw they saw blood. The college director would’ve loved if that room would’ve never existed in the first place. 

She was now standing in front of the door. She pulled out her Kalmachian manufactured F22 and looked at the time.

It was 12.47. A bit too late. An unspoken cardinal sin in Fauthur spanning generations back to the origins of the Gregorians in Northwest Fauthur.

All of a sudden, the door swung open and she was pulled into the room. It was dim. The air felt so dry that even a heavy thunderstorm couldn’t properly restore humidity. Cracked floor boards along with old, sun-yellowed paper scattered the ground. Broken windows with sharp jagged edges already seen their fair share of action. 

She looked around the room, not acknowledging the person that pulled her in. An ominous, boarded off side room peaked her immediate interest. Ceiling tiles hanging on by threads of some sort of cable and old, dusty lime green walls completed the room, creating and echoing impression. 

 

> “Done yet?”, a deep voice asked in a rather strict tone

She turned around, the voice feeling all too familiar, yet somehow strange.

A friendly, scarred face filled her vision. Brown-greyish 3 day beard, brown eyes and short hazelnut hair. 

The 3 big scars across his mouth and right side of his face almost felt natural.

< “Yes, sorry, I just never was in this room. And, you know, after all the gossip around these parts…”

> “Yeah, never gets old does it?”

She hesitates for a moment. 

< “So, why are we here?”, asking, already dismissing the clearly rhetorical question.

> “Well, first of all im glad you made it. This is the only room in what feels like the whole city that’s not equipped with some sort of microphone or cctv. You know the seriousness of our situation. I’ve heard rumors that they plan to block off campus, effectively locking us in. All access to the outside world will be controlled by the riot police. I’ve also intercepted a letter addressed to the college director. He’s in contact with the foreign affairs government branch to coordinate an effort with other schools in the area to make Aftokratorian lives miserable.”

< “…what should we do about it?”, she mutters. Almost in a depressed tone.

> “Talk with people. Organize resistance. Put up leaflets anonymously.. you know, all the stuffs.”

< “But.. wouldn’t that make them even more mad? You know, I’m scared they are just going to go around and kill us if we do that!”

> “That…is a possibility yes.. but we can hope that awareness about our situation spreads. They are practically committing war crimes without a war on us by now.”

Not really knowing what to say, she slowly nods her head.

< “Is..is that everything? Do you really think this is going to solve our problems?”

> “In the long term yes, this is clearly not all but I need you to help me get this thing star-“, his eyes widened and he put his index finger on his lips. 

In a whispering voice, he urges “Do not, under any circumstances move, don’t even talk.”

There was clearly a person behind the door. Heavy footsteps echo through the corridor outside of the room. A quick look at the watch reveals that it’s already 13:05.

A sudden thump is heard on the grey, slightly decayed door. 

Both of their hearts sank as they expected the worst.

4 minutes passed in silence. Uneasy, burning silence. 

Then there was another thump on the door, shaking it in the process.

Heavy footsteps filled the corridor behind the door once again, now getting more faint with each step.

It took one more minute for them to regain their composure.

< “Do you think it was a guard?”

> “I’m not sure.. sounded like it..maybe they just had a smoke while leaning on the door..”

> “But why the second thump?”

< “No idea.”

> “Well, you know what to do. I got to leave, still got a meeting with the librarian. Take care and don’t let yourself get bullied by those guards again on the exit.”

< “..Sure..”, her eyes sparkle, annoyed.

They both get ready to leave in silence.

The door opens with a quiet squeak and while halfway through the door, a beep is heard in the room. A beep that normally signalises the presence of a cctv camera saving footage. The model FCCTV-25 from the Fauthurian-Albrechts institute for security and infotainment is known for this simple feature that, apparently, the technician forgot to turn off.

They started to bolt out of the room, running back towards the entrance. Once they started to see the guards, they split up and continued to walk in a calm manner, hoping no one caught them discussing on what the director called “heresy”. 

Sitting down for a moment, catching her breath, she notices that she is in front of the same guard as earlier, who is now approaching in a rapid manner.

> “You!”

Fear in her eyes, she looks at the guard. Heavy, navy blue colored plate shoulder guards reflecting the sun in her eyes. The towering statue of the man, whose identification is ST-043 on the uniform, let’s an uneasy aura fill the immediate vicinity of the man. 

< “Y-yes?” She stutters, awaiting everything to come crashing down on her.

> “Why are you running around here?”. The demanding tone of the man increases her heart rate once again. 

< “Well, I-I was just…I uhm..”

> “What were you running from?”, his expression forms into a bloodthristy smile behind the dimmed riot helmet. “Is someone searching for you? What did you do?”

Perhaps it wasn’t a camera? But that beeping.. Maybe the footage was not yet viewed, she barely formed a thought.

In a sudden outburst the guard starts to scream at her.

> “TELL ME IMMEDIATELY OR…” his voice lowers into a mocking voice “Or you’ll follow me into there”. He points to the door signifying the old staff room which frankly no one uses anymore. 

< “I-…I was just exercising.. yeah, just, wanted to catch my breath..soo, n-naturally i jogged here.. I’m sorry.” 

He exhales slowly, but loud enough to be clearly heard and feel threatening at the same time. He extends his hand and rests his palm forcefully on her shoulder.

> “You’re excused. For now. And don’t think I’ll have mercy on your Aftokratorian tainted soul next time.”

He quickly pulls back his hand, forms it into a fist and punches her on her left upper arm.

The thick glove absorbs some of the impact but doesn’t make much of a difference as the force is strong enough to almost break her arm.

She repulsed back, flinching and clinging onto her arm with her right hand.

The guard swiftly returns to his post as if nothing happened.

Tears are forming in her eyes, still clinching onto her arm now pulsating with unbearable pain. 

She gets up and slowly walks toward the exit, head hanging low, tears falling to the ground.

Just yesterday another guard already used physical force on her and other students due to a too loud conversation.

 

This is psychological warfare. Just against the Aftokratorians. Slowly starting to crop up all across the nation.

No news-outlets are reporting about it. Those affected are left alone to suffer. In true apathetic Fauthurian fashion.

 

 

Story 2

Involves: Nothing needing viewer discretion

10th of June 1424

 

It was a calm, mellow wind blowing through the quiet town of Grend. 15 kilometers east of the capital city.

The leaves are brushing against each other in the densely packed forest just north of the little hamlet. 

It was around a 2 kilometer drive through the woods to a small cabin. The lights inside were lit and a radio was playing the local station. 

Other than the chirping crickets there seemed to be nothing of interest. Except… a small Campa Simpatican manufactured SUV traversing its way towards the cabin. 

It was 0150 in the morning and a dense fog was slowly starting to limp into existence. 

The mud on the off-road tires on the SUV was flung from the tires, as the SUV tires lose grip occasionally. Advancing further through the muddy path, it appears that the SUV periodically gets stuck. Probably due to the heavy laden crates in the back. 

The two men in front casually chatting along and smoking their cigarettes. Fuel indicator glowing yellow, the men arrived at the cabin and parked their grey-black SUV beside the small stack of wood lining the right side of the cabin. 

They get out of the truck, dressed in an all black attire, winter coats even though it is early fall and barely even 15C outside. 

Heavy black boots marking the muddy path with every step. 

One man starts his small strut towards the cabin while the other remains on the left back door of the vehicle. 

Once inside the heavily locked and reinforced cabin door, the use of the building was now visible. 

Maps scattering the walls, posters of famous Fauthurian politicians with the head of government at the top of a sort of pyramid, neatly sorted on the escalating back wall of the cabin. 

The maps depict sewage systems, city maps, electricity networks and some have circled governmental buildings in red with small arrows scattered around them. 

Emitting loud silence, the man inside the cabin makes his way towards the middle of the room with slow, heavy footsteps. 

Seemingly exhausted but relaxed from the drive up to the cabin. Relief strewn across his face for an unknown reason. 

Once in the middle of the dark floored cabin, he reaches under one of the pine floorboards and pulls on something with care. 

He steps back in a small hurry. 

The floor starts to creak and a passageway down to the cellar manifests itself in the glow of the dim light emanating from the old bulb hanging from the ceiling. 

Once the mechanism is done, the man flicks a switch on one of the first steps down and the sound of fluorescent yellow lights sounds from below.

He descends into the cellar. 

A damp atmosphere, mixed in with humid walls line a corridor with 3 rooms, all closed by reinforced steel doors. 

One room is half cemented shut with just a small gap left open to presumably pass something through. 

The other room to the right boasts a pristine concrete floor, littered with broken glass chunks,  smudge and the occasional spiderweb. 

In one corner of the room lays a thin moldy mattress, with a few red spots on it, looking like someone dripped wine over it. 

The walls next to the mattress reveal the gruesome story behind this room with more red seemingly glowing in the faint yellow light.

The man makes his way through the corridor to the last door, standing closed, an eerie aura surrounding it.

He pushes hard on the door, taking his entire bodily force to open it half way, then he positions himself between the frame and door and pushes it fully open with a big shunt. The room is filled with a dusty fog, the fluorescent light from the corridor the only light sources shining into the small, 7 square meter room.

Big wooden crates, reinforced by steel guards around the edges filled the small chamber. 

One of the boxes is standing open, revealing the outline of a semi automatic modern Fauthurian era rifle.

Upon opening the door to the small storage room, the man turns around, a slight smile smeared across his face. 

Yelling is heard from inside the cabin, a signalling tone for the man by the SUV. 

He opens the door carefully and picks up the box inside, struggling to keep his balance at first, he ultimately succeeds and makes his way towards the cabin. 

The box is rather big, encased in all metal and bolted shut. A small, crumbled piece of paper glued to the bottom of it giving a hint on what could be the mysterious object inside.

“Only open in case of emergency. Backup [Unintelligible]”

Panting slightly already, the man descends down the stairs, now with the help of the second man carrying the box. 

Together in silence, they traverse through the cold, moist corridor in the cellar, more resembling a bunker than anything else and set down the box with a loud thunk and a click. 

They exhale deeply almost in perfect synchrony and return to their SUV, closing everything and shutting everything down in the process. 

The cabin now resembling an old, abandoned lumberjack shack from the outside. 

With a loud tearing sound and a roar from the engine, the headlights flickered to life. The tires spun out in the mud for two seconds until the SUV moved onwards yet again to make another trip back.

It was now 0203.

 

 

Story 3

Involves: Nothing of discretion

11th of june 1424,

 

It was calm, the tweeting of several species of birds filled the sad, concrete painting that is the city of Graugh in Northern Berklozt. 

Inbetween the tall, grey buildings resembling an old 70’s building style, cracked and damaged sidewalks and streets warn of the small budget of the city. 

In a poorly maintained park amidst the city, behind the dogwalkers and homeless people sleeping on the brown, run down benches, there lay a pair of glasses. 

Damaged beyond repair, blue paint scraped of the metal handles and the glass cracked, ready to explode into a thousand small jagged pieces. 

Belonging to a friendly Fauthurian face. 

It was a quite happy face. 

A face that helped around the community, helped elderly people maintain their front yards and others rescue their cats from trees.

Everything was good.

Everything was nice.

Until…

 

It was night, standing cold air and a light mist covered the streets. 

He was on the outskirts of town, on his way back home.

One or two cars every ten minutes passing by to pursue their own goals, who knows what happens in a night.

The sidewalk is run down, tiles completely missing and big pothole scattered across all surfaces. A few trees lined the road, already dead. 

It was like walking through the ruins of a long forgotten city.

He pulled out his phone and switched to another song in his queue, earbuds already in since he left the train station 2 hours ago. 16% battery remaining.

 The only really reliable thing in the whole city was the network coverage.

Along his way, he walks past old, closed down shops, big sign of foreclosure plastered on the doors.

Some with police tape on them.

Buildings of a long gone economical golden age. 

Back when tourism was booming and the city still had the money to maintain itself.

Now corruption is densening the air that lays on this city, miserbale souls wandering around, syringes in hand.

Long in the distance, sirens make their way downtown, lighting up the black smoke rising to the sky. 

Green-blue-white flashing lights, a colorful spectacle in the otherwise grey and sad landscape.

Nonchalantly, he continued his walk, nothing he’s not used to, still either optimism glistening in his eyes, unaware of the future.

10 minutes pass before an ambulance speeds by him downtown, now unravelling deeper thoughts into what could’ve happened. The elegant white-blue paintjob on the ambulance being the only thing shining through supposed Fauthurian glory.

Wheels skidding as it turns the corner, almost spinning out of control into an old, non-commisioned phone booth. The high pitched siren now fading, although the colors getting increasingly bright and more close.

With street lights flickering, the atmosphere switches to an eerie feeling.

No exterior lights on any of the tall concrete buildings, nor a light shining within them. It was almost pitch black.

Another 10 minutes pass, still half a kilometer to the destination. The light show in the sky now more colorful than ever, commotion being heard throughout the empty streets, seemingly coordinated chaos. A bright, yellow and orange light seems to pulsate from behind the nearest building, revealing a colorful inferno of flames fully engulfing a building.

His eyes widen.

Heart suddenly beating faster, thoughts coming alive.

His house. On fire. Almost collapsing from the structural damage.

All his belongings, gone.

His pictures, electronic devices, memories, hard earned furniture, stuffed animals that’d been with him his entire life up until now. 

All burned to the ground.

His heart sank, tears forming in his eyes.

All optimism prior now being washed away, leaving a dark gloom.

The only thing remaining, his put on clothes, his wallet and his phone either earbuds. Everything else, gone.

As he turned up to the scene, he was now standing there, admiring the beauty of the flames, feeling bitter, sad and angry. 

A nearby policeman, aware of him standing there, asking for identity. 

“Sorry for your loss.” A scratchy monotone voice echoed, leaving an imprint that won’t be forgotten easily, burned into his brain. 

He was led to a nearby police van, given a small cup of coffee, left sitting there alone.

Another van was housing a handcuffed couple, ready to be transported to the nearest station, 3 kilometers away. 

Nature Aftokraftorian.

His neighbors.

Always auiet, minding their business, hatred strewn across their faces, glooming with malice.

 

Ever since the day he met them, the only cold ones towards him.

A ripped up Fauthurian flag, laying on their front yard, soaked with gasoline, intentions clear.

 

And the man left there sitting alone. No solice, no help.

 

Another light diminished.

 

[Flauschi918]

Story 4

5th October 1424,

 

It was a quiet night.

Stars shone bright at the road in front of the column of cars driving through the quite battered foundations and sharp and jagged glass of one of the decommissioned military checkpoints that were instituted before liberation day. 

 

One might think it was just some ordinary commuters, making their way to and fro from work, to work or whatever was on their minds. After all, joyrides aren’t forbidden where they are, atleast in the Apoldäer district. On closer look, one could see they were driving close behind each other, license plates missing, rear lights broken, dimmed headlights. 

 

The only thing more peculiar than the rest of oddities intermingling with the whole picture, are the dimmed windows on each car. Almost black like the 4 floor of the next bunker over with no electricity. You could see nothing, especially not in the night, through the windows of these cars. 

 

A loud bang breaks through the ever grinding tyre noises echoing through the checkpoint. The line of cars abprubtly halts, the cars almost slamming into each other. All engines and lights diminish at once.

 

Quietness. You could hear a pin drop on the sand from 10 meters distance. One minute passes. Then two.

 

Three…. Four…

 

On the fifth minute, exactly on the second, like timed, a black silhouette, resembling a tall, slim figure, dressed in all black with a fedora, emerges out of the repurposed Kalmachian Hendoff 3 car model, imported a limited amount. Once a beautiful carefully engineered car, now resembling a densely armored SUV with black metallic boxes on the sides of each door.

 

Swiftly moving around the front of the car to the right side, he ducks down in a gentle way, inspecting something. Not the tyre, nor the chassis, something else. Something, that’s requiring the mans attention to the fullest. 

 

The once clear sky was now showing thinly cut waves of light grey clouds marching on the sky, west to east, the moon still shining through the blanket. 

 

A dim light flickered to life through the destroyed windows of one of the buildings, dying off 5 seconds later in a panic. Perhaps the wire was too old, rusted or something else. 

 

The man at the car, presumably done with his inspection, now jumped up in a hurry, bolting towards the house where the light came from. Whsipering could be heard getting louder, then auieter for a couple,e of minutes, rigorous suspense filling the air around the cars, no, the whole checkpoint.

 

Suddenly, all quiet again, wind intensifying just right, that a flag would be waving for 3 seconds an intervall.

 

A minute passes with suspense, darkening the checkpoint. 

 

One after the other, as if nothing happened, the cars roared to life, scattering through the whole checkpoint, driving off road, behind buildings, slowing down at each and every window and door, no matter how destroyed and ruined the place was. Engine sounds heard from everywhere, every point at once and gone again in a blink of an eye. The cars nowhere to be found, just tyre tracks remaining where the cars once were, bound to be covered by the incoming wind in a couple of hours.

 

 

 

The only thing that can be found, is a lifeless but still warm corpse. No injuries or even a struggle detectable. A light grey shirt, with black pants and also black shoes, barely fitting, were laid folded next to it. On top of the clothes stack, a license. 

 

The license is slightly worn out, used to put into keycard holders, door openers, a long time ago.

 

It reads, what is legible

 

“Adr(non legible) G(non legible)

Administrative division 3, ministry of in(non legible)nal affairs

Rank 7 

Security (non legible)”

 

Now waiting for someone to discover it. Be it in an hour, in a day or a week..

 

Or simply, never.

 

 

Story 5 

Krüptiyd - A Fauthurian piece of folklore

 

 

Exercise caution when going to sleep.

 

Keep all your doors locked, all your windows as well,

The Krüptiyd might have its place,

Already found,

Well beneath your bed,

In your walls,

In your basement,

Or anything in between.

 

Black as night,

Jagged sharp teeth,

Tall as a tree and,

Spikes on it’s back,

Protruding its skin,

Tearing your flesh.

 

Stalking from the trees,

The bushes alike, 

Staring emotionless,

Well on sight,

Stays in the shadows,

Following your guise,

So it will know,

Who needs to go.

 

In the dead of night,

At 2:34 at morn’,

It will come,

Don’t knock,

Don’t make a sound,

For it will get you,

When you’re not around,

In your sleep,

Tightly in your bed.

 

Wrap yer’ arms around, 

Muffle your screams,

Helpess screamin’,

Angers it.

 

Close your windows,

Close your blinds,

Lock your doors,

And look behind,

‘Fore you go to sleep,

Just be sound,

No one’s around,

 

So the Krüptyid does nought enter your keep.