Young Writers Society

Okay, this is a thread co-created by Myself and DQ. We have decided that there will be rules for those wishing to join. We are both sick of having stories ruined by others who dont put in the effort. So, should you wish to join we would appreciate it if you would send in (via PM) what you would like to post. Send to myself or DQ. If its a paragraph long dont bother,

with thanks, Jiggy.

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Character: Squadron Leader Shakyra Al'Monera. (last name unknown to all but herself)

Gender: female

Race: Human

Position: Squadron Leader of Army. Influential position in army. Not coveted as S. Leaders traditionally lead warriors into battle.

Description: Tall, lithe, with long freefalling raven dark hair. Toned. Cold electric blue eyes.

Backstory: Shakyra was born into poverty. Her mother died in childbirth, her father is unknown. She was an orphan, who grew up o violence, among a people and in a place generally despised by the rest of society. She lived in the LowLands, so called because the dwellings are situated on the ground, much like the ancient or near ancient 21st Century dwellers. Shakrya was, is endowed with incredible beauty, a beauty which made her the most hotly pursued person on the ground; lecherous men at the behest of gang leaders. She grew fit,strong and cunning. Sometimes though, even this was not enough; afterall,she grew up on a diet of hunger. This was her weakness; it was exploited and she was raped. Violated in her teens. Shortly after this, Shakyra swore to herself that she would fight her way out,fight her way to the top. During a regular raid on the Lowlands, she impressed the Captain of the Guard with her fighting prowess (by taking out half his men, there were only 10) prompting him to enlist her. She advanced through the ranks, despite being despised and taunted both for her origins and her gender.

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Shakyra stood silently, hands clasped behind her back; bathed in the light of the setting sun. She looked out of her high rise building, and onto the fantastic city that sprawled before her. Thousands of tall, thin skyscrapers rose into the air, with transparent tubes interlacing and crisscrossing; connecting each building to the other. The dying light glanced off the buildings, rebounded, and became more potent: each tower shone a brilliant silver. Shakyra sighed; it truly was a beautiful sight and aptly named the Shining City, the last major human city on Earth.

She directed her gaze downwards, to the ground; the Lowlands in which there lived the not-so fortunate. She was far too high up to see it, but memory supplied a vivid image, sharp enough to cut. One story buildings, clumsy vehicles that clunked by, spewing dark fumes, the gangland violence. She winced, remembering her beginning was always painful. Closing her eyes, she suppressed both the image and the memories that came with, firmly reminding herself that she’d clawed her way to the top.

Hearing a hiss, she turned; just in time to see the door rise up into the roof and a C’rinthan servant enter bearing a tray of food. Shakyra surveyed the non-human; translucent pale blue skin, a thin child like body structure and an oblong head, made these creatures both hurtful on the eye and easy to conquer. For this reason she had all her servants covered entirely in dark grey robes. Bowing it placed the tray on her mahogany desk, “Your will be done mistress”, came the soft mind whisper. Shakyra smiled softly, despite their being of another species they were likeable fellows, due in the main to their undying loyalty.

The C’rinthan turned and left silently, escorted by the hiss of the door closing. She walked over to her desk, from the window at she’d stood, and began to devour the food. One of the things she appreciated more than anything else and among the wealthy, it was the most underrated; food. Shakyra sighed and stretched contentedly, a hot meal always made her feel better. Rising to her feet, she moved over to a wall, on which there hung a gleaming sword; considered to be an archaic form of fighting nowadays, she nevertheless preferred battle by the blade. Reaching up, she gently took up the sword, and held it in front of her in combat readiness. As she did this she caught sight of her reflection: a trim, perfect figure was outlined in a tight white blouse and loose black trousers, which highlighted her pale skin. Long, raven dark hair fell down her back, offset by cold electric blue eyes.

Most would look on this picture with pleasure, but Shakyra looked on with bitterness only. She hadn’t asked for beauty and in the Lowlands, it had brought unwanted attention from lecherous men. She shuddered softly, then launched into a series of sweeping cuts and lunges; expelling the anger which had risen in her at the thought of those men, molesting, violating her. Shakyra lost herself in the glinting dance of the blade, until a disembodied metallic voice interrupted her, breaking the trance.

Incoming Hologram.

Sender ID: General Nevare.

A small figure of a portly man flickered into life, hovering above a small metal plate on her desk.

Paper pusher, she thought disgustedly. Allowing none of this to color her tone she said coolly,

“Good evening, General. May I enquire as to the reason for this call?”

“Squadron Leader Shakyra” he said formally “You are summoned to an emergency meeting of the Military Council”.

“On what grounds have you called upon an emergency meeting?” Shakyra said softly.

“The V’reshnian’s are on the move; they’ve crossed our borders” he said blandly, as if talking about the weather rather than an act that would plunge the human world into war...