It's called Van Diemen's Land. It was going to turn up here eventually.
Review replies;
unknown20troper: I'm not sure GL slash breaks reality, I just picked something totally random for the gag. XD I'm sure it exists, though. Thanks for reading!
Zim'sMostLoyalServant: Thanks! I found Zim the hardest character to write well. Glad I did alright! Thanks for reviewing.
Cartooniac55: Yeah, I saw that. It was pretty funny. :) Thanks for the review!
TweenisodeOrange: THEN YOU MUST DIE. Nah, just kidding, we can like what we want to. XD Thanks very much!
19/10/10 – Demon's Land
Thank the Dutch.
When Abel Tasman landed in what we now know as Tasmania in the mid seventeenth century, he believed he believed that it was inhabited by fifteen foot giants, and that the landmass was connected to Australia to the north. He then proceeded to sail on and mistake New Zealand for a mythical continent of spice and riches, but not before he named the new land.
He could have named it after his country – New Holland, which was the existing name of the continent of Australia at the time.
He could have named it after his leader, William II of Orange – William's Land.
Instead, he decided to name it after his superior, the governor of the Dutch East India Company – Van Diemen's Land.
Charming.
In the 1790s, the British settled the island as a dumping ground for convicts. These convicts were not just criminals – they were the scum of the Empire, the worst criminals of them all.
After nearly starving to death in the first decade of colonial rule, the British settlers and convicts expanded, with new settlements (read; prisons) being established across the island. The new prisons had a habit of earning the moniker 'dreaded.' Until 1833, convicts were generally a rowdy bunch; stealing, murdering and eating each other (yes, really.)
In 1833, Governor George Arthur took a break from murdering the aboriginal people to build a penal colony on the most miserable, dreary and depressing island he could find. The new prison would be known as Port Arthur, and it made Alcatraz look like camp.
The prisoners went through hard labour, including mining in pitch darkness for hours on end. They also received psychological punishment – badly behaved convicts were placed in a dark room, dressed in a hooded uniform and forced to sit in utter silence for days to 'reflect on their actions'. There was no hope of escape, and some convicts apparently committed capital offences so that they could escape by hanging.
It is in the setting of the Port Arthur prison that our tale takes place. Be aware, dear readers, it isn't a nice one…
It was raining when they brought her in, along with a fresh back of ne'er-do-wells from Britain and Ireland.
The red-haired girl was chained, and she didn't look up as she passed the guards outside the settlement. One such guard spared her a glance.
Private Danny Fenton raised his eyebrow.
"We don't get many women around here," he mused.
"You don't want to go after that one, mate," one of the guards leading the convicts in replied, "She's on a manslaughter charge."
He continued with the convicts.
Danny shrugged, and went back to eying the convicts going inside. His stomach growled. He ignored it.
Half-rations were better then none, after all.
The girl was Vicky Delisle, Prisoner of Her Majesty. In her first two weeks in the settlement, she proved herself to be a hard prisoner.
"Twelve floggings," Danny recounted to his superior in the barracks one night, "About two-hundred lashes all up. I think the flogger's arm is getting tired."
"He's a convict; he can live with it," shrugged Sergeant Lancer, "How many hours has she had in the Separate Prison?"
"Thirty-three," replied Danny.
"I think she qualifies for the…special mission, then," nodded Lancer, "Gather her up – we move in the morning."
The 'special mission' was also a secret one. Only Sergeant Lancer knew its full details.
For most, it was just three soldiers trudging six convicts to edge of the Tasman Peninsular, and receiving orders when they arrived at a cape, designated Cape Winslow.
It took them three days to get there. One convict attempted to escape – he got five lashes.
The area of the cape they eventually reached was a jagged cliff, with a small level bit of rock pointing out to the sea. The sun was setting in the distance, framing the rock in its light.
Lancer stepped onto the rock, and barked an order.
"Fenton, stay with the convicts!" he snapped, "You two, bring up one each."
The two other soldiers grabbed one convict each – both murderers at Port Arthur – and strolled up to the rock. There, Lancer gave them a simple order, if it could be called that.
"It's time."
The soldiers exchanged glances, and nodded.
They unfastened the bayonets from their muskets, grasped them in their hands, and thrust them into the backs of the convicts they held.
"What the hell?" demanded Danny.
The soldiers held the convicts for three seconds, before kicking them off the rock into the waves below.
Lancer stood at the edge of the rock.
"With the blood of the guilty spilled, we will now spill that of the petty," he bellowed.
The soldiers ran back, grabbing two further convicts. One – a twelve-year old child named Francis – tried to escape, but the soldier grabbed him by the neck and dragged him to the rock.
"Come on, I-I only stole a horse!" stammered Francis.
"Save it, mate," the soldier holding him growled.
Both soldiers thrust their bayonets into their stomachs this time, cutting upwards.
"What is going on?" demanded Danny, "This is barbaric!"
The soldiers ignored him, holding their convicts, still groaning from the attack, over the cliff. They held them for a second or two, and then dropped them as well.
"The blood of the petty shall be followed by the sacrifice of loyal followers!" boomed Lancer.
The soldiers gave each other a final look and nod, before hurling themselves off the cliff and into the sea.
Danny's jaw dropped.
"Lancer!" he practically screamed, "What the hell are you doing?"
Lancer paid him no attention.
"…and now," he snarled, "The death of the unsuspecting, and the staining of the earth."
He turned around, quickly aimed his pistol and fired a shot. One of the last two convicts fell, a bullet in the head. He hit the ground, blood flowing onto the soil.
Now it was just Danny, Vicky and Lancer, alone.
"What are you doing?" asked Danny, in a low voice, "You're not like this."
"I am good at making a façade," shrugged Lancer, "Let's put this simply; Private…I'm raising a god."
He turned back around.
"With these sacrifices made in your name, I command you to rise, and reclaim your place as the leader of all men and women!"
He raised his hands into the air, and the sea frothed mightily.
Lancer gave a chuckle as a bright orb of light emerged from the ocean below him. The light hovered above them, its unearthly warmth prickling on Danny's skin.
Then, Vicky smiled.
She let out a short chuckle, attracting the attention of both Danny and Lancer.
"You really think you're raising The Great Orb?" she laughed, "You really are an idiot!"
"How do you know about The Great Orb?" snapped Lancer, "That information's buried in a tomb in East Sussex!"
Vicky said nothing, simply grinning as she held out her hands.
Lancer's eyes widened. Danny gave a confused look.
"What are you…" he began.
"I am the High Priestess of the Orb," snapped Vicky, "Not you. I will possess the Orb's power, not you."
The Orb began to lower over Vicky, until it was touching her hands. Lancer stepped back, his eyes widened.
"No…n-no, you can't, I'm the…" he spluttered.
"Save it, Lancer," snarled Vicky.
She clapped her hands, absorbing the orb into her skin. She glowed a bright gold, and grinned as she grew more vibrant.
"…ascension," she whispered, somewhat drowsily, "What you wanted…what I get."
Lancer fell onto his rear, trying to crawl away from the priestess. He crawled too far, and with a yell he fell off the cliff to the rocks and waves below.
Danny gave one last glance at Vicky, shielding his eyes as she became too bright…
Danny blinked his eyes open.
He was lying under the stars, alone. The waves were still wild and unpredictable, but they felt and sounded a lot calmer and a lot more natural.
"What was that?" he asked himself, crawling to an upright position.
He dusted off his red and white uniform, and climbed to his feet. He scratched his head, wondering what had happened, and how it had happened.
Vicky was gone. Did she die? Or had she ascended? If so, was it to heaven or hell? Could it even be described?
"Private!"
Danny glanced behind him. A party of soldiers were making their way towards him from a collection of trees, their officer looking perplexed.
"What are you doing?" he demanded, "Where is Sergeant Lancer?"
"Dead, sir," he replied, "I…I think he was practising some sort of…Satanic ritual, maybe."
"Bollocks," snapped the officer, "What really happened?"
Danny sighed, knowing the man would not believe him.
"He fell off the cliff," he half-lied, "The others died on the way here."
The officer nodded.
"Very well," he sighed, "You can come back to Port Arthur for further questioning."
He pointed to the troops behind him, beckoning him to join.
Danny nodded, rejoining the troops. He still mulled over the event in his head, but found no explanation.
"You alright, mate?" a solider asked, as they walked away.
Danny shook his head, and shrugged.
"Just another day in Van Diemen's Land," he replied.
In the 1850s, transportation to Van Diemen's Land ended, and in 1856, the government changed the name to 'Tasmania' to increase potential tourist profits. Port Arthur was abandoned in 1877. It's generally a nice place these days, if you miss the fact that one of its landmarks is the 'Isle of the Dead.'
Well, it's supposed to be nice. I've never been there, so…yeah.
So don't let this little tale prevent you from going to Port Arthur and having a look around. You may just have fun, if the ghosts don't get you. Even if they do, they've never killed anyone, so you are completely safe.
You are completely safe.
You are completely safe.
You are completely safe.
Don't ask why Mr. Lancer is a cultist in this. Just roll with it.