Little War

This is a short story that I've had the idea of for a while. If you don't get a chance to read all of it, please tell me what you think of what you read! Any comments would be great.

Everything in the castle was shaking, thunder rumbled very near. The inside of the vast hall was dark, lit only by a few torches on the walls. Their light glimmered slightly off the stones. No one was in the room except for one hooded figure.

On either sides of the great hall were huge glass windows that peered into the pouring rain. A glimmer of steel-on-iron and a bright flash now and then were the only things that could be seen through the panes. The windows were ingrained with vivid scenes of carnage, quietly foreboding in the dark hall.

Suddenly one of the windows shattered as a body crashed through. Shards of glass streaked across the floor. The man was in armor, but he threw off his helm and sent it crashing to the stone floor.

Two small figures climbed in after him as the rain poured through the windows.

"Where is he?" asked one of them in a quivering voice. He was a short, bearded dwarf with a beak-like nose and black, beady eyes. He carried a spear in his hands and wore scale armor.

"Probably fled, the cad," the other one murmured. This dwarf was slightly larger in stature--he had wide shoulders and a broadsword glistening with rain and blood.

"No," the man whispered. "He's here. He cannot flee now."

"How do you know? Couldn't he just tele-whatever away?" the second dwarf asked.

"Tele-port, Snorro, tele-port. No, he won't leave. He won't run, after his empire has been shattered. He'll die."

Snorro looked at the other dwarf, biting his thick lip.

"We'll find him, then, Dart," said the first dwarf. "We won't let him get away without paying for the crimes he's done."

"Right, Magnus. Something tells me he's near."

A torch's flame near them was blocked for just a moment, but Dart saw it.

"We know you're here, Lorrod. Come out!"

A chuckle reverberated off the stones of the hall.

"Perceptive of you, old friend," the voice was deep and quiet, not a fraction angry or frustrated.

"You are defeated, Non Lorrod," Dart replied. "Your visions of conquest have come to an end. Now we shall give you over to the justice of the people you have fought."

The voice replied, steadily and quietly, not raising in volume or becoming angry.

"Justice? There is no thing as justice in the world, Master Forgon."

"Just the kind of thing you would say, Lorrod."

"Is it just that those who have studied magic rule the world? Is it right that kings can kill a hundred men with a swift signing of a pen? Is it just that men can rule for years, sweeping their enemies before them, and then die in ripe old age?"

"You're stalling, Lorrod."

"Justice is man's invention. There is no such thing, old friend. Have you not come to realize that?"

"Be silent, old man! You are evil and conniving, and I shall not listen to your words! Now you shall die."

The rest of the high windows were smashed as one and dwarf-soldiers and men in battle armor poured in. Torches were lit and the still figure of Non Lorrod, King of the East, was illuminated.

He was rather small in stature, and all he wore was a black cloak with a belt of crimson cloth. He had flowing white hair and a beard that wrapped a sharp, elderly face that would strike any man as very wise. He stood in front of an altar upon which a gleaming crystal was placed. He smiled at the soldiers who stood about him, hate filling their eyes.

The great double doors suddenly flew open and the edifices of the hall echoed with the wind whistling through.

"Are these men threatening you, my lord?"

All the soldiers turned. At the end of the hall stood a huge humanoid, some seven feet tall. His skin was red, the color of tomato soup, and horns grew out of his skull. He was fully clad in dark armor, his arms bare but with greaves past his wrists. With him stood five score more of his kind, ranging from six and a half to seven feet tall.

"Orks," Magnus whispered hatefully.

Lorrod's allies snarled at the men who drew away, locking their shields together. Lorrod did not seem very pleased at this turn of events, however.

"Rike, you should not have come here. However, since you have, you shall make sure that none leave this room."

Dart looked about as the mountain demons, puzzled but still loyal, guarded the doors.

"What are you planning, Lorrod?"

"You shall know soon enough."

Dart clutched his sword as Lorrod circled the altar. He was almost chanting, but he spoke to all.

"There are worlds other than this one, Forgon--this you may have heard before. No man has ever tried to breach the great gap of time and space and the very matter that is the make up of the universe to reach them. No man--before me. You do not know the extent of my power, Forgon, but soon you shall. You shall know that there is no justice--anywhere! Especially not where you're going!"

The enchanter put his finger to the ice-cold tip of the crystal.

"The ceremony has been completed already. Prepare yourselves for the greatest journey of your lives!"

And with that, he cut his finger on the razor-sharp edge of the crystal.

Everything exploded--the hall, the evil laughter of Non Lorrod, the matter of the world of Encartia, the very being of time itself exploded in Dart of Forgon's eyes as he flew through the fifth dimension.

The last thing he was aware of was him grasping for Lorrod and catching hold of something ice-cold and crisp, and then he was gone.

 

Beep--beep--beep!

The man rolled over in his bed, still wavering in a stream of slumber.

Beep--beep--beep!

No! He thought, Demon of darkness and evil beeps, do not haunt me today! The man put a pillow over his head.

Beep--beep--beep!

He did nothing, sitting there and closing his eyes tightly.

BEEP--BEEP--BEEP!

You have defeated me, evil demon, he conceded. He reached up to the alarm clock and groped for the button. The demon was silent, quietly watching him as he slowly slugged off his mattress and strode over to his bathroom. He washed his face, first of all, then took his shower. When clouds of steam had filled the small bathroom he came out and shaved. 

Twelve minutes later he found himself walking to work in a suit and a tie, whistling all the way. He didn't really know how to whistle, but he puckered his lips into an 'o' shape and that was all that mattered to the people that cared to care.

 

"Hello, Mr. James," the secretary admitted him with an acknowledging smile. He grinned back.

"Hellooo, Miss Arc. How was your weekend?"

"Good, thank you," she replied.

She gave him that smile again. The smile that said 'You're a geek, and I'm not interested in you whatsoever. Don't even think about asking me if I'm doing anything tonight.'

He got it from every young woman who knew him--all the time. He hated that smile, but heaven knows he was getting used to it.

He walked past her desk and quietly opened the door of the office. The room was very large and very decorative. So much so, in fact, that one would have been hard-pressed to find that it was an office. It looked like a display room. In the back of the room facing the wall there was a large table covered in hundreds of figurines locked in a battle. There was cut out of the Walls of Jerusalem (circa 1099) with hundreds of glittering knights and soldiers attacking it on foot, on horse and from dozens of siege towers.

It was from that old 'Feudal Combat' line. It had lasted for some ten years prosperously, but it was discontinued two years ago. People just weren't interested in history anymore, no matter how exciting.

Scattered all over the Manager's desk were more recent figures--dwarves, demons, trolls, elves and humans all in the midst of a battle for an erupting three-foot-tall volcano with a dragon at the top was what the manager displayed with pride.

"Ah, Woot," the manager looked up from his desk. "Good to see you. Come, sit down--we need you to look over some drawings for the new 'Savage Elements' line. There'll be a meeting tomorrow to discuss the rules for at least one of the factions. Be there."

...and Wooten James' day went on much the same as that. There were concept drawings to be reviewed, battle packs to be tested and rated, and wars to moderate. Woot lived miniatures, and thus the day was busy bliss.

 

He knew every step that he would take on the way home. He would walk out of the door, turn right, go down the block, swivel his head to the left to gaze in the window of the little hobby shop as he passed--

And that's where his routine was broken. He stopped. Something caught his eye. It was a box of miniatures, gold and blood red all over, and the front was open to reveal them.

He stepped inside the shop, the door making a 'ding-a-ling' sound as he entered. The man at the counter looked up but said nothing. Woot walked over to the box and took it off the shelf. The box said they were miniatures, but they were already painted--like toy soldiers. On the top of the box it said 'War of Encartia' and under that, in smaller letters, 'Battles of Enchantment'. The figures were exquisite. Not a seam, not a break anywhere, the axes were sharp; the spears shone like metal; the faces were grim.

On one side of the box were dwarves and men swathed in plastic. On the other side were big, demonic-like red beasts with stubby horns and yellow eyes.

There was a leader for both the evil and the good factions; the evil lord was huge and menacing, with a mace and a curved scimitar. The good leader was foreboding and proud, with an air of magic about his blood-scarred armor. He clutched a large crystal in his left hand.

All the figures were different in at least some little way. Who had carved these? Every single figure was unique, not just in color but in features and build.

One minute later Woot was striding out of the shop with the box under his arm and his laptop-case in the other.

When he got home he set down his case, removed his shoes and his suit jacket, and hurried down the stairs to the garage, slicing through the box tape as he did so. He opened the door to the garage and dumped the miniatures out on the nearest table.

The garage had no car in it; it was filled with tables; five or six large dining tables, fit so closely you couldn't move in between them, were placed helter-skelter across the room. They were all built of different terrains--nearest the garage door was a table that had a 19th century sprawling town near a field. That was Woot's (historically correct) Battle of Gettysburg reproduction--complete with Confederates and Yankees.

Nearer to the door was a stone-walled fortress, with dragons mounting the ramparts as elves defended valiantly. On the one nearest to Woot was a round-table reproduction of the battle of Thermophylae; the Greeks fought in a small wedge in the center against a sea of Persians.

Woot wiped them off the table and into their container. Then he opened up the box and spilled the new arrivals onto it. 

He was again struck by their amazing complexity. However, he had little time to revel in it, for his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He reached in and took the call.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Woot," it was the voice of a coworker. "We need to talk about the conference tomorrow. Would now be good?"
"Um," Woot looked over at the table and the figures he had just set up facing each other. "Sure."

 

Night had fallen before Woot thought about them anymore, and by then he was sitting on his mattress, bombarding his mouth with lard-laden foodstuffs and watching his TV. He dismissed the thought of them from his mind.

But if he had gone down to his garage, he would have seen a sight that he would not believe. For, as the moonlight filtered through the skylight and fell on the little figures laying on the table, they began to move.

Dart of Forgon had become aware of what he had grasped in those days spent, his body completely stiff and leaden in the hobby shop. He had groped for Lorrod's neck and instead grasped the crystal he had cut his finger upon. And now he still had it.

He could now feel it pulsing with power as it came alive, and hope filled him where despair and confusion had been before. He stared down at the glowing article as life came back to his hands.

Dart heard a snarl above him, and he looked up just in time to get a boot in his face. He sprawled over, dropping his sword and the crystal. Blood blighted his face.

Rike the Ork-Lord picked up the crystal and dropped it in his pouch. He had not lost his head like many of the Western Men and the dwarves, and also many of his orks. He raised his battleaxe to behead Dart.

But then Rike turned and clashed with Magnus' spear; the dwarf had charged him to save his friends' life. Snorro and the rest of the dwarves followed, shouting war cries in their belly-deep voices.

Rike was alone; he turned and rampaged away, his cape fluttering as it swept behind him. He rallied the rest of the orks to him, and, confused and frightened, they came.

"No!" Dart of Forgon staggered up from the ground, unheeding of the blood dripping from his face; the orks were heading for the gap between this table and the one with the fortress on it.

"We can't let them get away! We've got to go after them!"

"Why?" Magnus held the enchanter back. "What's so important about them?"

"They have the crystal! We might...we might get back with that crystal. I can feel it--that crystal contains power, and knowledge, beyond what we know. We have to get it back."

"Then we'll try. But I don't see how. The orks are blood-bred warriors, they're demons, basically. How will we defeat them?"

"We need help," Dart looked about the field. The trees were strange--even from a distance they looked oddly fake. The grass, too--when Dart bent down to feel it he sensed that it was not organic. He gazed about the great cavern they had been placed in, and suddenly he had an idea.

"That...man. That man that put us here. He could help us."

"Do you think he would?" Snorro asked.

"When we tell him of our plans, of course he would. He is a good man, I think, by the look of him."

"Alright," Magnus replied. "Let us go as soon as possible--I don't wish to spend another day feeling like I've been embalmed alive."

"Very well. Magnus shall come with me, but that is all. The rest of you will need to stay here. Keep an eye on the orks. Snorro, you are in charge. Round up the Westerners and see that they know we have hope."

Snorro nodded.

"Yes sir."

Dart nodded and gestured for Magnus to follow him. Across the field they went, past trees and crags that did not look like real stone, until they came to the edge. Dart looked over doubtfully.

"How will we get down off this cliff?"

"I don't know...wait, wait I think I have some rope from when we climbed up the crags to attack Lorrod's Castle. Half a moment," he searched in his pack and found what he was looking for.

"Very good, Magnus, but you can't reach all the way down with that," Dart replied.

"I know. I only need to go to there--look, there's a sort of knob in that pillar."

He pointed to the enormous table leg. Dart shrugged and held the rope while Magnus descended. When the dwarf reached the knob he clung to it with his feet and grasped onto the wood.

"Have you got it, Magnus?" Dart called down.

"Well--strangest thing, it seems to be slippery," Magnus replied, struggling to grab a hold of the finished wood.

"Can you hold on?"

"Um...yes, got it now, I think."

"Alright."

Dart tied the other end of the rope to the top of the table and slipped down it lithely. He landed on the knob and grabbed on.

"Magnus? Where are you?"

"Right down here, sir. I slipped and fell. Good thing we dwarves have thick bones."

Dart nodded and slid down the rest of the way.

"Well, onward," he said, patting his sword.

Magnus nodded.

"It seems there's a great gate or something blocking our way."

Dart looked ahead and saw a towering white gate in front of them.

"Large," he said. "We'll have to slip under it."

They slipped under the door with a bit of a squeeze, and then found themselves ankle-deep in the carpet.

"Strange vegetation here," said Magnus. He tugged at it. "Very tough, too."

But Dart had no interest in vegetation; he headed straight for the hall door.

"Come! The man is this way!"

Halfway across the hall Dart stopped in his tracks and his eyes opened wide with fear, for a black shape blocked his way. He drew his sword, backing off.

"What is it?" Magnus shouted. Then he saw it too and he clutched his spear.

"Stay back," Dart shouted, "Demon cat!"

The housecat looked down at the two warriors, interested. She flicked out a paw and Dart raised his hand. Lightning leapt out and the cat ran down the hall, screeching indignantly.

Woot heard the cat and saw it run past but paid it little mind. His eyes went back to the widescreen TV.

Dart took in the man. He was, of course, big to Dart, but that did not stop him from seeing that the man looked...well, nerdy, and not very heroic at all. He was beginning to have doubts, but pushing them away, he summoned a fireball that flew across the room, right in front of Woot's nose and landed in his bowl of chips.

Woot looked around. Was that a small fireball he had just seen. He looked down and with horror beheld that his bowl of chips was blazing.

"Ahh!" he ran into the kitchen and tossed his bowl of chips into the sink. Turning around, he frowned as he looked about the room. Then he saw them.

Two small figures standing in the middle of his carpet. One was tall, with a bruise on his cheek, and one was short and bearded.

He blinked once--they were moving!--twice--one waved at him!--three times--they began to approach...

And Woot fainted.

 

"He'll never be able to speak to us," Magnus said, sitting on the man's shoulder, "he doesn't think we exist."

"Then how will we get him to help us?"

"Perhaps..."

Woot stirred and sat up, dazed. What had happened? He had had a dream--that's right, he had fallen asleep while watching TV and had experienced a weird dream. He looked about and sat rooted in his position.

For there, in front of him, stood the magician and the dwarf--at full size.

No, no they were at the same size as before, but now the horror struck him--he was their size.

"Greetings, my good man," the magician said. "We have need of your assistance."

"This isn't happening," Woot said, getting up from the ground and shaking his head. "I'm still dreaming. That's right, I'm still dreaming."

"What's your name, fellow?" the man asked.

Woot bit his lip.

"Oh Lord...Woot."

"Lord Woot?" the dwarf snickered. "What kind of a name is that?"

The magician raised his hand to quiet the dwarf. He seemed to be in charge.

"Do you rule this land, my lord?"

"Tell me," Woot said, "I'm dreaming, right? You're that guy from that mini set."

"Actually, I am Dart of Forgon, Mage of the West. I am the Western Alliance's Chief General."

"Ah." Woot blinked several times. "I see."
"As I said before, my lord, we have need of your assistance. You see, we're from the world of Encartia."

"Encartia?"

"Yes. You know it?"

"Um...no."

"We have been wrongfully transported here by magic at the will of the evil Non Lorrod, King of Lysomir. We were transported here with many of his allies, the evil ork-demon brood, and they have stolen that which may help us get back to Encartia--a crystal."

"A crystal." Woot frowned.

"Yes, a crystal that conceals much of Lorrod's knowledge, including inter-dimensional travel, I believe. We need your help to take it back."

"What did you do to me? Did you shrink me?"

"Magic works in strange ways, my friend," Dart replied. "I may have been the catalyst, but something more powerful completed this. Probably the effect of left-over magic from our world."

"Well, can you turn me back?"

"I'm sorry, I can't reverse it until I have that crystal."

Woot clenched his teeth and put his back to Dart and Magnus.

"This has to be a dream. It has to be!"

"I assure you, my friend, none of us are dreaming," came the dwarf's voice from behind him.

He turned back around.

"How can I help? I'm just one man!"

"You know these lands," Dart replied. "More than us or the orks. You can help us a great deal."

Woot looked at Dart, studying his features. The magician was desperate, he could tell, though he kept himself well.

"O Lord Woot, I love Encartia. It is a beautiful world. I have fought for fifteen years to see that it stays free, and I...I wish to return home."

Woot looked down at the carpet.

"I suppose I will help you."

 

Rike inspected the gates of his newly procured fortress. It was a strange place; Statues were all about, statues of elves and dragons, neither of which he had ever been fond of.

"Uh, Lordship?" called an ork from behind him.

Rike turned around and cursed.

"I'm sorry, Lordship," the ork said. "I pushed it and it fell over." He was standing in front of a large section of the wall that had fallen forward.

"Alright," Rike replied. "Well, looks like we can't camp here."

 

Woot stared out at the table-land across him. The orks had staked out the town of Gettysburg as their defense place, and the dwarves and Westerners would be coming across the field to attack them. Currently they were in the forest on the opposing side.

"You do not have to go into battle, Lord Woot," Dart said. "You have given us a good strategy; you have done your part."

"But...I don't know, I've always recreated fantastical wars on this table and all the other tables in here. I want to be a part of one, for once."

Dart patted him on the shoulder. "Good man. Alright, Magnus, you're in charge of the dwarves--Lord Woot, you'll be in charge of the men."

"What? What about you?"                     

"I need to get that crystal from Rike. I can't be commanding men."

Woot shrugged.

"Alright."
Dart turned to the soldiers. The looks on their faces were grim; they were not fighting a battle that they were excited about. They were confused and unsure what to trust, now that their very lives had been replaced.

"Men and dwarves of Encartia," Dart said, "I trust in you. You have fought by my side for months, never wavering, never complaining. And now we have gone on an adventure of a different sort than I ever thought we would. I don't know how we'll come out of it, but one thing I do know--we all love to live. We want to go home to our families, our friends and our loving wives. You dwarves must want to go back to the valleys where your colonies are--I know you men wish to return to the beautiful plains that you called home before coming to the aid of the Western Lands. Please, fight for your love of life, my men and my dwarves. Let us fight for that."

Tears were filling Magnus' eyes.

"To the depths with war," he said, hefting his spear. "Let's finish these demon-spawn and go back to our lives!"

"Dart," Woot said, struck in awe with what he was seeing, "What will you return to?"

"Preparation," Dart grinned, "to be married."

And with that, the men and dwarves charged out of the trees and out onto the plain.

Woot felt strange in the armor that Dart had created out of magic for him. He was charging the orks in their trenches, sword in hand, shouting an absurd battlecry he had no idea what meant--he felt really crazy.

He had told them all he knew; where the trenches surrounding Gettysburg weren't, thus where they would need to attack. The moonlight was fading--in an hour or two the sun would be up and they would all be frozen into lead bodies once more.'

The orks leapt up with a roar and Gettysburg field was all bedlam. Man clashed with ork and ork clashed with dwarf; arrows flew first, and then swords were drawn and blows were exchanged. The orks were powerful warriors, but something drove the soldiers of the West and the dwarves of the Valleys; something that bewildered the demon-spawn and caused them to wonder.

But still they were mighty; the biceps on their arms (traditionally left uncovered except for bracers from the elbow to the wrist) were knotted and tight as they battled.

Dart was unstoppable; he was at the apex of the fighting and was the hinge of every maneuver--which were coordinated by Woot from the banner.

Rike was amazed at the tactics Dart's army had seemingly learned overnight. They were overwhelming and multi-faceted and as unpredictable as the wind. If he had studied the tactics of Wellington at Waterloo, Ivan III at Kulikovo, Nelson at Trafalgar (although that was a naval battle and shouldn't relate to this, but still) and Hannibal, he wouldn't be able to cope with half the attacks the Western Allies were giving him. He had one hope; with all their lines moving in different maneuvers, the humans and dwarves would become drawn out and the orks could crush them.

"Dart!" Wood called through the melee, "Dart!"

The magician turned from a beheaded ork and looked at Woot.

"We have to congregate in; we're becoming too drawn out."

Dart nodded and was about to give the order when the ork army stabbed into the western line from two points, orks rushing forward and slamming through the lines with fatal ferocity. The army was split into three groups.

"We must rejoin!" Woot said to Dart as chaos formed all around them.

"No, now--now we must strike and hope that we can win."

"But if we strike on chance--"

"Lord Woot, you are basing war on logic? War is not logic; war is chance. The odds may be layed towards one side or another, but who wins is decided mostly by who takes the gamble, and whether or not it pulls out for them. I'm taking the gamble," and with that he led a final charge.

Right into the miniature town of Gettysburg they struck, Dart and his Westerners. They charged into the streets, doing battle with orks all the way. The demon-spawn leapt off of the shingled roofs of houses and from the doors of municipal buildings as they attacked.

Dart dodged a sword thrust and lopped off the head of it's owner. His men drew back as ten large orks charged through the street towards them; Dart dispatched them all with a fireball from his palm.

Then Rike was on him. Dart's sword was knocked from his hand and the ork-lord shoved him in the ribs against a building. Dart fell against something hard and metal; he turned and looked into the face of a lead Confederate soldier. He stood back up as the ork circled him.

Rike had his axe, still clutched in his fists. He charged with it and Dart blasted it out of his hands with a swift kinetic spell. The huge ork grinned at him.

"Just the way I wished it--tooth and horn, hand to hand. Your magics won't help you now."

"Oh no?"

Dart flung a fireball at Rike and the spell dissipated on the ork's body.

"Ha!" Rike laughed. "All the leaders of my folk are protected against magic. We are the sons of demons, after all."

Dart grunted and leapt forward, cannoning into Rike's mailed chest and throwing them both to the ground. Rike sought for his throat with his meaty claws and Dart knew he only had a few seconds to kill the ork. His hand grasped the pouch Rike carried and drew out the crystal. It glittered of it's own light as Dart raised it above him; Rike roared in outrage.

A shout of anger was cut off by Dart's quick stab into the ork's heart. 

Woot looked about. All the orks and dwarves and men on the field were glowing. The ork whose axe was inches from Woot's neck froze in mid-swing. Whether he could move or not Woot was uncertain.

Then he saw the Crystal, glowing bright and otherworldly in the half-light of the garage. With Rike's blood staining it, the spell was activated, and an explosion leapt across the table that they were on. In an instant, all the folk of Encartia were gone.

 

Woot opened his eyes. He glanced around quickly and sat up. He was laying on his futon--the sun was shining through the window, and the TV was blaring.

So...it was all a dream. Woot stood up. Was he disappointed? Was he relieved? He rubbed his eyes. The memory was so real. He was disappointed, for in those few hours of the night, he had thought he was a hero.

He walked into his kitchen and went to wash his face in the sink. Then he stopped and the faintest edge of a smile sailed onto his face. For there, in the sink were the burned chips of last night.

And then, he thought of Dart, who now would probably be walking up the aisle with his new wife at his arm.

 

A swishing, swirling sound as of a vortex opening and repositioning matter whirled throughout the hall. Non Lorrod swore and jumped back; what was happening now? Another interstellar dumping brought on by that nasty accident? There had been enough of them in the last few days. One had threatened to swallow half the castle before he got it under control.

But no--actual identifiably humanoid shapes appeared before him. Some were wounded; some were lying on the floor, dead, but many were standing up. And at their head was...

"Dart of Forgon!" Lorrod shrieked. "How...?"

"I'm back, Lorrod," Forgon replied. He took out the crystal. "I believe this belongs to you?"

"You--you trickster! So you got it, did you?" Lorrod snarled. "Orks--get them!"

"Sorry, Lorrod," Dart replied. "Seems your allies don't like being sent to another dimension. They want to go back to their mountains. Now do you believe in justice?"

Lorrod whimpered for the first time in a long time as the orks, dwarves and men approached. Dart did not move; he was done with this war.

  

Author's Note

Just to tell any reviewers, I am nothing like Woot in this story. I do not buy into the miniature industry, and I don't think I know anyone who does. I did think, however, that this would be a great story idea. The inspiration sort of came from my past, I guess--when I was a kid I loved the book 'The Indian in the Cupboard' by Lynne Reid Banks. For anyone who hasn't read it or seen the movie, it's a book about a boy who receives this cupboard for his birthday to put his toy soldiers and things in. He finds out that when he turns the key the little plastic men he puts in there come alive. It's a kid's book, and I just loved it...I haven't read it since I was like ten, though. Anyway, I thought about changing the age of the person from a kid to an adult, and changing the genre from historical to fantasy. Anyway, it was a fun story to think up. Thank you for your comments!

Reviews

[Gregory Hill]

Love it scott:) good job always keep it up :p

[runaway smile_<3]

Vivid
I loved this piece
great job

[Danny J.H.]

it was good but I think you could do without the modern scene I believe fantasy should be based in medeivel times, besides that it was good!