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[WP] When a sorcerer dies any spells they cast throughout their life that are still in effect will cease to be. An powerful and ancient wizard whose origins are clouded in mystery lays comatose on his deathbed and nobody knows what will happen once he draws his final breath.
|
First time poster, so sorry if I'm committing some odd faux pas and appreciate any feedback on offer. Anyway, here we go...
-----------------------------------------------
We sat nervously. We knew it wouldn’t be long. By now Penhalligon’s breathing was growing tired, the monitors wired up to his body showed more and more numbers showing up in a vibrant warning red.
The city, tired of the masses panicking at the hospital entrance, had wheeled him out into the open, sat his sleeping body in the middle of a stadium and allowed people to come watch.
What we tend to call ‘magic’, much to scientists’ dismay, had been discovered years ago. But most of it had been cheap parlor tricks. Making light from your hands, moving items across tables. A few people had managed to move larger objects, construct buildings just be sheer force of will, that sort of thing. But then there was Penhalligon. He could move and teleport mountains, he could make things appear with only a casual thought. He was revered and idolized, showered with the highest honor and fame. So much so that we refer to the old ways as those ‘before Penhalligon’, a time when the human race struggled for survival. We knew he had done so much, and yet we were unsure what. When he passed, what would pass with him? He seemed so integral to the world, it seemed that we all might end with him.
I sat in the stadium. My back was aching from hours of sitting on a hard concrete surface watching a man sleep. But somehow it seemed right to be here, to witness this moment with everyone else. Around the arena TV cameras pointed at Penhalligon’s pale face, contrasted against his regal purple robes, as the world waited its fate.
Around me, strangers began to speculate.
“I heard he keeps the moon where it is,” said one. “Without him its orbit would be off and it would either spin off into outer space or collide with us here on Earth.”
“He makes the tides happen too,” said another confidently. “Everyday the sea comes rushing in, but his magic pushes it back out again.”
“The earth’s only spins on an axis because he tilted it,” chimed in a third. “He wanted more interesting weather where he lived so he tilted the Earth.”
There was a sudden hush in the crowd as Penhalligon’s breath grew more strained. There seemed to be a faint moan escaping his lips, like a distant sound trapped at the bottom of a watery well. Quickly the speculation began again.
“He managed to make the plants produce oxygen and consume carbon dioxide. Without him we’ll all run out of oxygen eventually.”
“Jupiter used to be small too,” a woman to my right suddenly added. “Then he made it grow so large that its gravity would collect passing asteroids and they would land there instead of here.”
“Don’t forget about the solar winds.” Muttered an old man behind me. People turned at him confused. “He thickened the atmosphere, so that the solar radiation can’t get to us here on Earth. When he’s gone we’ll have to deal with massive doses of radiation...”
He was cut off. It happened. The steady beeping of the machine stopped and was replaced with a monotone groan. Penhalligon was gone.
The stadium gasped. People grabbed onto each other, crying and wailing – not mourning Penhalligon, but dreading the fate that awaited the survivors.
People looked to the sky, waiting for it to turn from a clear blue into a showering inferno. People looked at the ground waiting for it to fracture and swallow them up. They checked their breathing, sensing if there was still oxygen in the air.
I stared at Penhalligon. And slowly I watched as his robes faded, and were replace by a plain white T-shirt and cargo shorts. And then the memories came back too.
“Wait.” I shouted, standing up from my seat. “That’s Roger Tyler. He went to my school.” I remembered him now, the smart but loathable kid that sat next to me in tenth grade Science.
Then we all remembered. Jupiter had always been that big. The moon caused the tides. The plants evolved that way. The moon really did keep a perfect orbit. The atmosphere had always shielded us.
There was only one magic spell he had ever done. One to make us worship him instead of the world around us.
|
I had just finished checking Marlock The Wise's vital signs: gradually declining, but seemingly stable for now. His palliative medication was dosing as prescribed, and his sheets were clean, and bedpan empty. He didn't have much longer, but at least he was comfortable.
Dr. Stephens entered, followed by three members of the Order of Warlocks, and I briefed him, and I was thanked for my diligent work by the junior member of the order, dressed in his crisp red ceremonial robes.
Checking my watch, it was my "lunch" break, though it was midnight, so there wasn't much open if I wanted to grab something. I figured I'd stick around anyway, in case they needed anything. This was a VIP after all.
I ducked into the break lounge across from the nursing station, and grabbed a few slices of bread, and popped them into the toaster. It had been a long shift - it always is. I try to give my 100% to all of my patients, but something about Marlock compelled me to give just a little more.
I had just poured my tea and buttered my toast, and was carrying my plate over to the small table in the corner, debating between yesterday's thoroughly disheveled newspaper, and a Reader's Digest from 2013 when it happened.
The lights in the palliative care ward dimmed briefly, and cool breeze whooshed through the hallway, and a shout in an ancient language echoed deeply down the hall. Startled, I froze in my tracks, and my snack slid right off my plate as the Dr. Stephens stuck his head in the doorway "Marlock had passed. I need your help with the post mortem."
"I'll be right there" I replied, as I bent down to clean up my mess. I paused, awestruck, as I knew the curse was finally lifted. My toast lay there on the linoleum floor...
...buttered side up.
|
|
[WP] When a sorcerer dies any spells they cast throughout their life that are still in effect will cease to be. An powerful and ancient wizard whose origins are clouded in mystery lays comatose on his deathbed and nobody knows what will happen once he draws his final breath.
|
“Thank you, everyone, for everything. I’m so sorry.”
With that final whisper, the old man closed his eyes and passed away. The people gathered around him, a collection of relations and important figureheads, glanced around nervously.
“Why did he say sorry?!”
“Nothing seems to have changed! Maybe nothing will happen.”
“Of course something is going to happen! He was the ancient. He existed before all historical records and, quite frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he himself had forgotten half of the spells he had left behind in his lifetime.”
“But why did he say sorry?!”
“Who knows? Maybe he was just joking. Maybe he already put all his affairs in order before he went. It would be nice if someone finally did rather than leaving the rest of the world to sort out their dirty magical laundry.”
“Oh.”
“What?”
“Look outside.”
Everyone rushed to a window and looked out.
“Where is the horizon...”
“It’s there, just lower down.”
“What are you talking about? Where are all the buildings?”
“Gone. Look there, that’s what is happening.”
They looked in the direction indicated and watched as a tall white building slowly faded and disappeared.
“That can’t be right! He didn’t create those buildings! He didn’t create the materials did he?”
“Of course not! We don’t create buildings out of magicked materials in this day and age, for this precise reason.”
“I suppose it’s ironic that, according to historical records, it was the old man that suggested that law.”
“What do you mean? Ironic how?”
One woman let out a curse, “The damned trees in my park are disappearing! I magicked those!”
“Where?”
The woman pointed in the direction of her accomplishment, only to let out a gasp. Her finger was half faded away.
The room was silent now. Each looked at each other as they slowly disappeared. Outside, most of the city was already gone.
“Oh.”
Shortly afterwards there was nothing left but dust and a light wind. The dead body of an old man lay alone on an uninhabited desert planet.
|
I had just finished checking Marlock The Wise's vital signs: gradually declining, but seemingly stable for now. His palliative medication was dosing as prescribed, and his sheets were clean, and bedpan empty. He didn't have much longer, but at least he was comfortable.
Dr. Stephens entered, followed by three members of the Order of Warlocks, and I briefed him, and I was thanked for my diligent work by the junior member of the order, dressed in his crisp red ceremonial robes.
Checking my watch, it was my "lunch" break, though it was midnight, so there wasn't much open if I wanted to grab something. I figured I'd stick around anyway, in case they needed anything. This was a VIP after all.
I ducked into the break lounge across from the nursing station, and grabbed a few slices of bread, and popped them into the toaster. It had been a long shift - it always is. I try to give my 100% to all of my patients, but something about Marlock compelled me to give just a little more.
I had just poured my tea and buttered my toast, and was carrying my plate over to the small table in the corner, debating between yesterday's thoroughly disheveled newspaper, and a Reader's Digest from 2013 when it happened.
The lights in the palliative care ward dimmed briefly, and cool breeze whooshed through the hallway, and a shout in an ancient language echoed deeply down the hall. Startled, I froze in my tracks, and my snack slid right off my plate as the Dr. Stephens stuck his head in the doorway "Marlock had passed. I need your help with the post mortem."
"I'll be right there" I replied, as I bent down to clean up my mess. I paused, awestruck, as I knew the curse was finally lifted. My toast lay there on the linoleum floor...
...buttered side up.
|
|
[WP] When a sorcerer dies any spells they cast throughout their life that are still in effect will cease to be. An powerful and ancient wizard whose origins are clouded in mystery lays comatose on his deathbed and nobody knows what will happen once he draws his final breath.
|
The thing about being old, really old, is that when the time finally comes to leave this world, the world you grew up in will have left you a long time since. Archmage Prasutagus was definitely old. For nearly two millenia Prasutagus had defended the earth from mystical enemies, thanks to the power of his bloodline. For he is descended from Boudica herself.
Several lifetimes ago, he took his own name, Merlin. But now he preferred to go by the name of his birth. He found himself, so long now from the time of his youth, missing his mother dearly. He would be with her soon.
As the founder and head of the Royal Sorcerers of Londinium, he had protected the island of Britain from enemies for generations. But here, deep beneath the city in the ruins of the modest city, within the headquarters of the Royal Sorcerers he was powerless. Britain lie nearly defenseless now. soon the wards and mystic traps he laid hidden upon the island would fail.
Archmage Prasutagus head of the Royal Sorcerers of Londinium struggled to sit up in bed, and shortly his manservant entered and led him out of his quarters to the central chamber. Most of the chamber was taken up by the great round table. The same one from legend, for this was the real Camelot, buried beneath the bones of the greatest city of the world. It was surprisingly full. The mages who would normally be out on assignment protecting the island had been called back from service.
At the far end of the table sat the prince. Older than the last time. They always get older. Prasutagus still remembered his visits with Queen Elizabeth fondly. Both Elizabeths, actually. And the insufferable Charles, whose lack of hubris lead to his downfall and the rise of the black mage Cromwell, a rogue within Prasutagus' own organization. And distantly, he remembered the young Arthur, whom he molded into a capable king who founded this most remarkable empire. This would be the last.
The prince looked pensive, and concerned. Prasutagus was his friend, and like a second father to the man, although he was older than the Royal house itself. "I received your memo, Prasutagus, is there anything my family can do for you... to ease your...?" He wasn't sure he was ready to admit that his friend was truly dying.
"No, your highness. But you must understand the full implications of what will happen. As I said, when a sorcerer dies, what magic of theirs is left in the world is undone. All of the wards and shields will fall. You will be left defenseless."
The prince looked around at all the mages in the room, many were also his friends. The entire royal family supported their mission on numerous occasions. "I understand that, but surely the sorcerers here will be up to the task." He pointed across the table towards a young mage, "Why, I watched Miss Persephone single-handedly defend the Thames from the Leviathan and repair the tidal shield with precision. It is stronger than ever."
Persephone looked downcast towards her hands resting in her lap. The fight against the Leviathan had been mighty. The great beast ravaged the coast and blasted the magical shield guarding the river against the darkness with enough force to shatter windows for miles. The Leviathan had nearly won. It was then that Prasutagus knew his time was near. The shield had barely held. A shield that had been impervious to a thousand blows had shattered after only three.
Prasutagus sighed with resignation. He must choose his words carefully. This was where his legacy would live or die. "Persephone and the other sorcerers have been invaluable to me. Without them, our nation would have never survived as long as it has." He gestured around the table at the many senior mages present. The mages nodded sagely, none saying a word. Slowly they each stood up in turn and looked expectantly towards Prasutagus.
He considered them his friends, family even. They had stood by his side as he fought the unceasing hordes of demons and devils that threatened the world. He would miss them, just as he missed his own family who had died hundreds upon hundreds of years ago. However this truly was the end. If he was to give these people hope at survival, then he must swallow his pride and give up all of the securities and comforts that he had afforded himself these lonely years.
"if our world is to survive any further you must find a new sorcerer. I believe there is a young girl who might save you all. Like I did centuries ago. Your family must begin the search for her now."
The prince looked bewildered. Surrounded by so many powerful mages in one room, each more powerful than a battalion of soldiers. There were over a hundred Royal Sorcerers. The idea that a young girl would be a match for them, or a replacement for the man who used to be known as Merlin seemed preposterous.
"How could all of these sorcerers pale in comparison to a little girl? How could a hundred sorcerers not match the power of one?"
Prasutagus' manservant gently draped his robes over his shoulders as Prasutagus weaved a spell he had committed to memory generations ago, never having the courage to cast it. His magic would be undone either willingly or upon his death. Now, it would be both. One by one the sorcerers around the table bowed their heads low and faded into twinkling stars and emptiness. As his manservant touched his shoulder as if to say farewell, he too disappeared.
"Because, your highness, until now there has ever only been one sorcerer. I am sorry." Tears welled in his eyes. He could help no further. His power faded as quickly as the setting sun's last rays vanished.
"Find the girl, she is your only hope."
Merlin, the Sorcerer of Londinium, closed his eyes and drew his final breath. The shields fell. Darkness is coming. Somewhere, a young girl will discover that the darkness is coming for her.
|
I had just finished checking Marlock The Wise's vital signs: gradually declining, but seemingly stable for now. His palliative medication was dosing as prescribed, and his sheets were clean, and bedpan empty. He didn't have much longer, but at least he was comfortable.
Dr. Stephens entered, followed by three members of the Order of Warlocks, and I briefed him, and I was thanked for my diligent work by the junior member of the order, dressed in his crisp red ceremonial robes.
Checking my watch, it was my "lunch" break, though it was midnight, so there wasn't much open if I wanted to grab something. I figured I'd stick around anyway, in case they needed anything. This was a VIP after all.
I ducked into the break lounge across from the nursing station, and grabbed a few slices of bread, and popped them into the toaster. It had been a long shift - it always is. I try to give my 100% to all of my patients, but something about Marlock compelled me to give just a little more.
I had just poured my tea and buttered my toast, and was carrying my plate over to the small table in the corner, debating between yesterday's thoroughly disheveled newspaper, and a Reader's Digest from 2013 when it happened.
The lights in the palliative care ward dimmed briefly, and cool breeze whooshed through the hallway, and a shout in an ancient language echoed deeply down the hall. Startled, I froze in my tracks, and my snack slid right off my plate as the Dr. Stephens stuck his head in the doorway "Marlock had passed. I need your help with the post mortem."
"I'll be right there" I replied, as I bent down to clean up my mess. I paused, awestruck, as I knew the curse was finally lifted. My toast lay there on the linoleum floor...
...buttered side up.
|
|
[WP] When a sorcerer dies any spells they cast throughout their life that are still in effect will cease to be. An powerful and ancient wizard whose origins are clouded in mystery lays comatose on his deathbed and nobody knows what will happen once he draws his final breath.
|
First time poster, so sorry if I'm committing some odd faux pas and appreciate any feedback on offer. Anyway, here we go...
-----------------------------------------------
We sat nervously. We knew it wouldn’t be long. By now Penhalligon’s breathing was growing tired, the monitors wired up to his body showed more and more numbers showing up in a vibrant warning red.
The city, tired of the masses panicking at the hospital entrance, had wheeled him out into the open, sat his sleeping body in the middle of a stadium and allowed people to come watch.
What we tend to call ‘magic’, much to scientists’ dismay, had been discovered years ago. But most of it had been cheap parlor tricks. Making light from your hands, moving items across tables. A few people had managed to move larger objects, construct buildings just be sheer force of will, that sort of thing. But then there was Penhalligon. He could move and teleport mountains, he could make things appear with only a casual thought. He was revered and idolized, showered with the highest honor and fame. So much so that we refer to the old ways as those ‘before Penhalligon’, a time when the human race struggled for survival. We knew he had done so much, and yet we were unsure what. When he passed, what would pass with him? He seemed so integral to the world, it seemed that we all might end with him.
I sat in the stadium. My back was aching from hours of sitting on a hard concrete surface watching a man sleep. But somehow it seemed right to be here, to witness this moment with everyone else. Around the arena TV cameras pointed at Penhalligon’s pale face, contrasted against his regal purple robes, as the world waited its fate.
Around me, strangers began to speculate.
“I heard he keeps the moon where it is,” said one. “Without him its orbit would be off and it would either spin off into outer space or collide with us here on Earth.”
“He makes the tides happen too,” said another confidently. “Everyday the sea comes rushing in, but his magic pushes it back out again.”
“The earth’s only spins on an axis because he tilted it,” chimed in a third. “He wanted more interesting weather where he lived so he tilted the Earth.”
There was a sudden hush in the crowd as Penhalligon’s breath grew more strained. There seemed to be a faint moan escaping his lips, like a distant sound trapped at the bottom of a watery well. Quickly the speculation began again.
“He managed to make the plants produce oxygen and consume carbon dioxide. Without him we’ll all run out of oxygen eventually.”
“Jupiter used to be small too,” a woman to my right suddenly added. “Then he made it grow so large that its gravity would collect passing asteroids and they would land there instead of here.”
“Don’t forget about the solar winds.” Muttered an old man behind me. People turned at him confused. “He thickened the atmosphere, so that the solar radiation can’t get to us here on Earth. When he’s gone we’ll have to deal with massive doses of radiation...”
He was cut off. It happened. The steady beeping of the machine stopped and was replaced with a monotone groan. Penhalligon was gone.
The stadium gasped. People grabbed onto each other, crying and wailing – not mourning Penhalligon, but dreading the fate that awaited the survivors.
People looked to the sky, waiting for it to turn from a clear blue into a showering inferno. People looked at the ground waiting for it to fracture and swallow them up. They checked their breathing, sensing if there was still oxygen in the air.
I stared at Penhalligon. And slowly I watched as his robes faded, and were replace by a plain white T-shirt and cargo shorts. And then the memories came back too.
“Wait.” I shouted, standing up from my seat. “That’s Roger Tyler. He went to my school.” I remembered him now, the smart but loathable kid that sat next to me in tenth grade Science.
Then we all remembered. Jupiter had always been that big. The moon caused the tides. The plants evolved that way. The moon really did keep a perfect orbit. The atmosphere had always shielded us.
There was only one magic spell he had ever done. One to make us worship him instead of the world around us.
|
A long time ago an ancient evil rose to bring the end of the world. The prophecies spoke that it would destroy everything leaving only a void once it's all said and done, and no one would be able to stop it. Yet somehow, my great grandfather did.
The greatest wizard who ever lived. They said he could pull an entire world out of thin air if he wanted to. Miracle after miracle his magic brought about a new era of peace, but now he laid out breathing his last breath.
He once told me "I never really saved anyone."
I'm still not sure what he meant. I mean once he's gone we don't know what could happen. His spells have become such a major part of life that we're still worried about what we'll do after his magic disappears. I've been hearing it endlessly since he fell ill.
"What about our food? Our farms won't be able to sustain themselves!"
"We'll have to start rationing our healthcare!"
"There's no way international trade will still be possible!"
But all I'm worried about my beloved great grandfather. He kept many secrets but I made sure to memorize absolutely everything he taught me. Yet he said "not even you can restore the magic I brought to this world." I just wish he would have faith in me.
Now it was time, comatose on his bed he exhales his very final breath. And when it was all out, the very world stopped existing.
|
|
[WP] When a sorcerer dies any spells they cast throughout their life that are still in effect will cease to be. An powerful and ancient wizard whose origins are clouded in mystery lays comatose on his deathbed and nobody knows what will happen once he draws his final breath.
|
“Thank you, everyone, for everything. I’m so sorry.”
With that final whisper, the old man closed his eyes and passed away. The people gathered around him, a collection of relations and important figureheads, glanced around nervously.
“Why did he say sorry?!”
“Nothing seems to have changed! Maybe nothing will happen.”
“Of course something is going to happen! He was the ancient. He existed before all historical records and, quite frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he himself had forgotten half of the spells he had left behind in his lifetime.”
“But why did he say sorry?!”
“Who knows? Maybe he was just joking. Maybe he already put all his affairs in order before he went. It would be nice if someone finally did rather than leaving the rest of the world to sort out their dirty magical laundry.”
“Oh.”
“What?”
“Look outside.”
Everyone rushed to a window and looked out.
“Where is the horizon...”
“It’s there, just lower down.”
“What are you talking about? Where are all the buildings?”
“Gone. Look there, that’s what is happening.”
They looked in the direction indicated and watched as a tall white building slowly faded and disappeared.
“That can’t be right! He didn’t create those buildings! He didn’t create the materials did he?”
“Of course not! We don’t create buildings out of magicked materials in this day and age, for this precise reason.”
“I suppose it’s ironic that, according to historical records, it was the old man that suggested that law.”
“What do you mean? Ironic how?”
One woman let out a curse, “The damned trees in my park are disappearing! I magicked those!”
“Where?”
The woman pointed in the direction of her accomplishment, only to let out a gasp. Her finger was half faded away.
The room was silent now. Each looked at each other as they slowly disappeared. Outside, most of the city was already gone.
“Oh.”
Shortly afterwards there was nothing left but dust and a light wind. The dead body of an old man lay alone on an uninhabited desert planet.
|
A long time ago an ancient evil rose to bring the end of the world. The prophecies spoke that it would destroy everything leaving only a void once it's all said and done, and no one would be able to stop it. Yet somehow, my great grandfather did.
The greatest wizard who ever lived. They said he could pull an entire world out of thin air if he wanted to. Miracle after miracle his magic brought about a new era of peace, but now he laid out breathing his last breath.
He once told me "I never really saved anyone."
I'm still not sure what he meant. I mean once he's gone we don't know what could happen. His spells have become such a major part of life that we're still worried about what we'll do after his magic disappears. I've been hearing it endlessly since he fell ill.
"What about our food? Our farms won't be able to sustain themselves!"
"We'll have to start rationing our healthcare!"
"There's no way international trade will still be possible!"
But all I'm worried about my beloved great grandfather. He kept many secrets but I made sure to memorize absolutely everything he taught me. Yet he said "not even you can restore the magic I brought to this world." I just wish he would have faith in me.
Now it was time, comatose on his bed he exhales his very final breath. And when it was all out, the very world stopped existing.
|
|
[WP] When a sorcerer dies any spells they cast throughout their life that are still in effect will cease to be. An powerful and ancient wizard whose origins are clouded in mystery lays comatose on his deathbed and nobody knows what will happen once he draws his final breath.
|
The thing about being old, really old, is that when the time finally comes to leave this world, the world you grew up in will have left you a long time since. Archmage Prasutagus was definitely old. For nearly two millenia Prasutagus had defended the earth from mystical enemies, thanks to the power of his bloodline. For he is descended from Boudica herself.
Several lifetimes ago, he took his own name, Merlin. But now he preferred to go by the name of his birth. He found himself, so long now from the time of his youth, missing his mother dearly. He would be with her soon.
As the founder and head of the Royal Sorcerers of Londinium, he had protected the island of Britain from enemies for generations. But here, deep beneath the city in the ruins of the modest city, within the headquarters of the Royal Sorcerers he was powerless. Britain lie nearly defenseless now. soon the wards and mystic traps he laid hidden upon the island would fail.
Archmage Prasutagus head of the Royal Sorcerers of Londinium struggled to sit up in bed, and shortly his manservant entered and led him out of his quarters to the central chamber. Most of the chamber was taken up by the great round table. The same one from legend, for this was the real Camelot, buried beneath the bones of the greatest city of the world. It was surprisingly full. The mages who would normally be out on assignment protecting the island had been called back from service.
At the far end of the table sat the prince. Older than the last time. They always get older. Prasutagus still remembered his visits with Queen Elizabeth fondly. Both Elizabeths, actually. And the insufferable Charles, whose lack of hubris lead to his downfall and the rise of the black mage Cromwell, a rogue within Prasutagus' own organization. And distantly, he remembered the young Arthur, whom he molded into a capable king who founded this most remarkable empire. This would be the last.
The prince looked pensive, and concerned. Prasutagus was his friend, and like a second father to the man, although he was older than the Royal house itself. "I received your memo, Prasutagus, is there anything my family can do for you... to ease your...?" He wasn't sure he was ready to admit that his friend was truly dying.
"No, your highness. But you must understand the full implications of what will happen. As I said, when a sorcerer dies, what magic of theirs is left in the world is undone. All of the wards and shields will fall. You will be left defenseless."
The prince looked around at all the mages in the room, many were also his friends. The entire royal family supported their mission on numerous occasions. "I understand that, but surely the sorcerers here will be up to the task." He pointed across the table towards a young mage, "Why, I watched Miss Persephone single-handedly defend the Thames from the Leviathan and repair the tidal shield with precision. It is stronger than ever."
Persephone looked downcast towards her hands resting in her lap. The fight against the Leviathan had been mighty. The great beast ravaged the coast and blasted the magical shield guarding the river against the darkness with enough force to shatter windows for miles. The Leviathan had nearly won. It was then that Prasutagus knew his time was near. The shield had barely held. A shield that had been impervious to a thousand blows had shattered after only three.
Prasutagus sighed with resignation. He must choose his words carefully. This was where his legacy would live or die. "Persephone and the other sorcerers have been invaluable to me. Without them, our nation would have never survived as long as it has." He gestured around the table at the many senior mages present. The mages nodded sagely, none saying a word. Slowly they each stood up in turn and looked expectantly towards Prasutagus.
He considered them his friends, family even. They had stood by his side as he fought the unceasing hordes of demons and devils that threatened the world. He would miss them, just as he missed his own family who had died hundreds upon hundreds of years ago. However this truly was the end. If he was to give these people hope at survival, then he must swallow his pride and give up all of the securities and comforts that he had afforded himself these lonely years.
"if our world is to survive any further you must find a new sorcerer. I believe there is a young girl who might save you all. Like I did centuries ago. Your family must begin the search for her now."
The prince looked bewildered. Surrounded by so many powerful mages in one room, each more powerful than a battalion of soldiers. There were over a hundred Royal Sorcerers. The idea that a young girl would be a match for them, or a replacement for the man who used to be known as Merlin seemed preposterous.
"How could all of these sorcerers pale in comparison to a little girl? How could a hundred sorcerers not match the power of one?"
Prasutagus' manservant gently draped his robes over his shoulders as Prasutagus weaved a spell he had committed to memory generations ago, never having the courage to cast it. His magic would be undone either willingly or upon his death. Now, it would be both. One by one the sorcerers around the table bowed their heads low and faded into twinkling stars and emptiness. As his manservant touched his shoulder as if to say farewell, he too disappeared.
"Because, your highness, until now there has ever only been one sorcerer. I am sorry." Tears welled in his eyes. He could help no further. His power faded as quickly as the setting sun's last rays vanished.
"Find the girl, she is your only hope."
Merlin, the Sorcerer of Londinium, closed his eyes and drew his final breath. The shields fell. Darkness is coming. Somewhere, a young girl will discover that the darkness is coming for her.
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A long time ago an ancient evil rose to bring the end of the world. The prophecies spoke that it would destroy everything leaving only a void once it's all said and done, and no one would be able to stop it. Yet somehow, my great grandfather did.
The greatest wizard who ever lived. They said he could pull an entire world out of thin air if he wanted to. Miracle after miracle his magic brought about a new era of peace, but now he laid out breathing his last breath.
He once told me "I never really saved anyone."
I'm still not sure what he meant. I mean once he's gone we don't know what could happen. His spells have become such a major part of life that we're still worried about what we'll do after his magic disappears. I've been hearing it endlessly since he fell ill.
"What about our food? Our farms won't be able to sustain themselves!"
"We'll have to start rationing our healthcare!"
"There's no way international trade will still be possible!"
But all I'm worried about my beloved great grandfather. He kept many secrets but I made sure to memorize absolutely everything he taught me. Yet he said "not even you can restore the magic I brought to this world." I just wish he would have faith in me.
Now it was time, comatose on his bed he exhales his very final breath. And when it was all out, the very world stopped existing.
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[WP] When a sorcerer dies any spells they cast throughout their life that are still in effect will cease to be. An powerful and ancient wizard whose origins are clouded in mystery lays comatose on his deathbed and nobody knows what will happen once he draws his final breath.
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I looked out over the dusty grey plain at Earthrise. Ever since we had fled the genocide of our people and stepped through that great portal to the moon, we knew we would never be able to go back. But somehow, today it was more real. We had done our best to prepare; Teminarin knew she was dying, she knew that her spells would expire with her spirit, so she had done the best she could to make things permanent, to let us keep living. The magic bubble that held in our air had been replaced with glass, the wards against stray asteroids with lasers, the sacred runes of the central fountain with a water purification system. Teminarin had used her magic to gain great knowledge, innovating hundreds of knew technologies, all of which could be built without magic. The library held thousands of books, detailing everything we needed to build and maintain the systems that would keep us alive as well as new ones we hadn't yet had time to make. Despite the great sadness of our hero and valued elder's passing, I was optimistic.
When she died we all felt it, like a cold wind rippling outward from her deathbed. I held my breath, but there was no rush of air evaporating into space, no collapse a crumble of the dome over my head. Cautiously I drew another breath. We were still alive. Gazing at the glass in front of me separating life and death, I noticed the seam between two panes was sealed with some kind of dark substance. How had I not noticed that before? Had I not had a hand in building the dome? I was certain that was something I should have known, but somehow it slipped my mind. Come to think of it I wasn't sure how the glass would stand up against the perils of space. There was some kind of weapon or something. My confused thoughts paused. I realized I didn't know a single thing about the artificial world keeping us all alive, even though I had had a hand in it's construction. I started to panic, and rushed to the library. Surely if the knowledge had slipped my mind, it couldn't have left the books. I found Teminarin's apprentice Sam there, crying on the floor. "It's all gone. Magic. It's all gone"
"What do you mean. You can't even cast a single spell?"
"All the knowledge that Teminarin created, it was magical. It left with her."
"But surely the books are firmer than minds"
"Look". He held open a book, and despite the fact that the words were still firmly attached to the page, I could not glean any meaning from them. It was like trying to read in a dream. So it was indeed all gone. The machines we had painstakingly built by hand without a trace of magic would keep us alive for a while, but we had a long hard road ahead of us if we wanted to learn how to maintain them.
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A long time ago an ancient evil rose to bring the end of the world. The prophecies spoke that it would destroy everything leaving only a void once it's all said and done, and no one would be able to stop it. Yet somehow, my great grandfather did.
The greatest wizard who ever lived. They said he could pull an entire world out of thin air if he wanted to. Miracle after miracle his magic brought about a new era of peace, but now he laid out breathing his last breath.
He once told me "I never really saved anyone."
I'm still not sure what he meant. I mean once he's gone we don't know what could happen. His spells have become such a major part of life that we're still worried about what we'll do after his magic disappears. I've been hearing it endlessly since he fell ill.
"What about our food? Our farms won't be able to sustain themselves!"
"We'll have to start rationing our healthcare!"
"There's no way international trade will still be possible!"
But all I'm worried about my beloved great grandfather. He kept many secrets but I made sure to memorize absolutely everything he taught me. Yet he said "not even you can restore the magic I brought to this world." I just wish he would have faith in me.
Now it was time, comatose on his bed he exhales his very final breath. And when it was all out, the very world stopped existing.
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[WP] When a sorcerer dies any spells they cast throughout their life that are still in effect will cease to be. An powerful and ancient wizard whose origins are clouded in mystery lays comatose on his deathbed and nobody knows what will happen once he draws his final breath.
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At last...
The last and greatest secret had eluded me. No sorcerer’s stone or endless elixir could keep me alive.
The healers did their best, but not even I could cure this disease, so how could they? I am the oldest and greatest of the wizards, mightiest of sorcerers who wielded the powers of earth and sky.
I’ve cast so many spells in my life, that I could not even finish writing them all in the hall of memory. When I am gone, so too, will these spells.
The spell that held the tower of heaven. And bound the lord of shadow beneath its crystalline foundations. The summon of the Golden Fleece that kept this entire continent prosperous and at peace. The enchantment around the vale of evil, that kept the darkness from seeping through.
And last, but not least, the great debt. The power of so many sorcerers who had sacrificed themselves in the first war, and the spell that gave their magic to me.
Those souls cannot wield magic any longer, and so the many wizards of this continent are in fear of what will happen. But in my death, I have found one last, great secret. If a spell cannot be resolved after the death of its caster, an equivalent effect may be built into the spell for its dissolution. Pass a little sooner, and you can, indeed, shift the spell’s ending just a little.
This is the magic of over a million archmagi, strengthened and carefully tended to by me. I give this to you, people of the continent, to guard you in the days to come. So too will I give you the library, so that you may have the knowledge to keep this world safe.
— the last will of Sotek Mazdamundi
I read this will on the field of battle. The vale-guard has fallen and the evil spreads.
I, Sotek Mazdamundi, reborn, will claim the magic of spread across the world by my past life. The evil within is my greed. I will take it and make it mine.
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A long time ago an ancient evil rose to bring the end of the world. The prophecies spoke that it would destroy everything leaving only a void once it's all said and done, and no one would be able to stop it. Yet somehow, my great grandfather did.
The greatest wizard who ever lived. They said he could pull an entire world out of thin air if he wanted to. Miracle after miracle his magic brought about a new era of peace, but now he laid out breathing his last breath.
He once told me "I never really saved anyone."
I'm still not sure what he meant. I mean once he's gone we don't know what could happen. His spells have become such a major part of life that we're still worried about what we'll do after his magic disappears. I've been hearing it endlessly since he fell ill.
"What about our food? Our farms won't be able to sustain themselves!"
"We'll have to start rationing our healthcare!"
"There's no way international trade will still be possible!"
But all I'm worried about my beloved great grandfather. He kept many secrets but I made sure to memorize absolutely everything he taught me. Yet he said "not even you can restore the magic I brought to this world." I just wish he would have faith in me.
Now it was time, comatose on his bed he exhales his very final breath. And when it was all out, the very world stopped existing.
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[WP] When a sorcerer dies any spells they cast throughout their life that are still in effect will cease to be. An powerful and ancient wizard whose origins are clouded in mystery lays comatose on his deathbed and nobody knows what will happen once he draws his final breath.
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I really wasn't sure what to make of this errand.
Sure, while studying at university, Dafaris had been my favorite professor. How could he not have been? He made even the most complex spells look nearly effortless. Some of the complex weaves he performed \- especially while distracted, showing the value of muscle memory for common somatic components. He was the teacher who enjoyed the low\-level classes to instill and reinforce wonder, and the high\-level classes to share that wonder.
He always made time for his students if they asked. He and I became friends during my final year \- I'd meet him at a pub at least once a week, and that continued after my graduation, albeit monthly. Over the last year, I'd strived to make it more often, because I had seen it. His vigor was gone; he had taken to using a cane, and while he still loved to reminisce, the details kept getting fuzzier. When he had to skip a meetup, I was worried, but pushed it out of my mind.
When I received the summons from the university, I could not suppress the fear and doubt.
The note was short, especially as the university board's publications went: "As one of our esteemed alumni, we know of both your substantial skill and your desire to help the world. While most students pursue paths outside of the university, a unique task has arisen, and our colleague Dafaris has specifically requested you to take it on. He will share with you the details; attached is a sigil which will allow you \- and only you \- to travel to his home. If you cannot undertake this task, please let us know immediately."
Dafaris had asked; I had to go.
I used the sigil, and ended up at a small, peaceful farm \- a quick positional attunement spell revealed that I was in France, but far from any city. It had a great view of the sea, and was a nice cottage \- not huge, but certainly comfortable. I made my way to it.
I knocked, and I heard rustling inside. After a moment, his wife \- who I had met perhaps twice \- answered the door. She looked exhausted, and the tear stains on her cheek told me how dire his health was. "Oh, Evras, I'm so glad you could make it. Lapisque doesn't have much time left."
"Lapisque? Don't you mean Dafaris?"
"Yes, but, it's complicated. Come inside."
She led me up to his room. I barely maintained my composure; Dafaris was jaundiced, and his breathing was labored.
"Evras, as you can see, my dear Lapisque doesn't have much time left. He hasn't been conscious in three days; the first I just thought he was getting some rest, but now I fear that... that it may be... final."
I tried to put my hand on her shoulder to provide some measure of comfort. "I... never thought I'd see the day. Dafaris always seemed so lively. What happened?"
She responded, "It's some sort of cancer. Aggressive \- none of his spells could even slow it."
"Cancer? That... doesn't make sense. Hell, Dafaris explained in my first year that Wizards analyze themselves as they cast spells, and stop if their health isn't stable. He'd have noticed it early, and the university board..."
"The board tried and couldn't help Lapisque\-"
"What? Why? And why do you keep calling him Lapisque?"
She sighed. "Lapisque is Dafaris's original name. He was born thousands of years ago."
"Th\- Thousands?"
"Yes. When he was born, his parents didn't realize it, but they were of different lines of sorcerors."
"Wait, Dafaris \- er, Lapisque \- is a sorceror? That doesn't make sense! He's a wizard!"
"He's both. Like any sorceror, his power manifested during puberty... and it was incredible. The raw power he could weave into spells was immense, but it was so great he lacked control. After an incident that killed his father, he sought sorcerors to help him, but none could help teach him control \- so he sought wizards. They could teach him control \- they helped him seal his power, and he worked hard to burn off the excess regularly."
"That's why his spells were so effortless! He wasn't just pulling the power from outside \- he was simply allowing his power out!"
"Exactly. To maintain his secret, he helped establish the university. He's gone through dozens of names, as his innate power and precise control extended his lifespan twenty\-fold."
"I never knew..."
She sighed. "He didn't want anyone to know. The university board nearly forgot, until I sent them a message reminding them. He also asked me to send for you."
"Why? I don't\-"
"You have to have some idea now."
"No... I can't help save him. He taught me well, but anything that aggressive... Oh.... The cancer \- it was probably caused by the sealed energy he couldn't spend!"
"Right. But he needs you to ensure his legacy."
"His... legacy? What.... oh, no..."
His innate spells. Anything powered by his sorcerous energy would unravel with his death. University buildings could crumble. Averted natural disasters could occur. Creatures would be unbound.
"But how can I help? There's no way I could find every spell he had cast in time!"
"Lapisque had been working on a plan for that. He didn't explain it to me, but I have an inkling." She opened a drawer. "More importantly, he left a memory crystal."
I picked up the blue crystal. An apparition appeared sitting on the end of the bed.
"Evras, I'm glad you made it. By now, Kelleth has explained the situation. I need you to make sure you've sat down, because there probably isn't much time."
I sat down in a chair.
The apparition continued: "I've lived a good life; it's sad, but all lives end. I've had more than my fair share, and I'm content to pass. But the damage that would be done is horrific, because I called on my power too often. I needed to \- if I didn't burn off that energy, it started to pulse and ache. Now, that power exists throughout the world, and when I pass, it will be gone."
There was a moment of silence. I was tearing up.
"There is a way to stop the destruction \- to keep my secret, save untold numbers of people, and help keep the wonder in the magic I taught. It will be difficult for you, but I know you can do it. While I was trying to find a cure, I figured out my sorcerous origin \- why there was so much power. More importantly, I realized I could light that spark in others \- turn them to sorcerors. You are my first choice \- who else could it be? You respected your elders, you tried to help others, and you learned well."
I was crying now, and Kelleth had started as well.
"I have devised a set of linked spells to solve the problem. The first shares my knowledge with you. It may not be perfect due to my age, but you would know how to control sorcerous power, what spells I had weaved with my own, and every spell and technique I had \- at least that I remember. The second is the one that, critically, ignites the spark in you. It will hurt \- I can't fix that \- but it won't kill you. The third is the most crucial \- it's a unique enchantment, and I am proud of it. It transfers the energy link from each spell to you. It sounds like a heavy burden, but it's not, because it happens at this point in the chain. The fourth and final will create a seal similar to my own, albeit improved \- it might prevent my fate from befalling you. It also prevents the paradox from creating your power and sealing it, but my passing removing it."
I was in awe... the complexity that would require...
"I simply need you to make me a few promises. I need you to help take care of Kelleth \- she's my world, and while someday she'll join me on the other side, I want that to be as far off as possible, and the time in between filled with joy."
Kelleth started to sob.
"I also need you to stabilize my work. Expend sorcerous energy on temporary things, and practice your precise magic on things with permanence. Find my spells, and re\-weave them."
"I will."
Kelleth laughed. "You know his illusion can't hear you, right?"
I felt stupid for a moment. "I... guess I forgot. But I needed to say it out loud, so I know what I'm promising."
In between his labored breaths, I felt a small pulse of energy from Lapisque \- the real Lapisque.
Kelleth went back to the drawer, which now contained a second crystal. It wasn't there before. This was not for reminiscing \- this one bristled with raw power. "I think you know what to do with this. I don't know what will happen when you do \- I may be a talented wizard in my own right, but some of these threads are beyond me \- but I'll watch over you while you recover."
She handed me the crystal. It was a brilliant gold, with other colors shining through. She was right \- the threads of energy in the lattice were so complex, so saturated with energy. If not used properly, the crystal may as well have been a nuclear bomb. It was only kept in check with precise spellweaving from my mentor. It offered immense power... and a terrific burden. A burden that my best friend had entrusted me with...
I unlocked the crystal. All I could see turned golden, and the knowledge and magic started to flood into me.
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A long time ago an ancient evil rose to bring the end of the world. The prophecies spoke that it would destroy everything leaving only a void once it's all said and done, and no one would be able to stop it. Yet somehow, my great grandfather did.
The greatest wizard who ever lived. They said he could pull an entire world out of thin air if he wanted to. Miracle after miracle his magic brought about a new era of peace, but now he laid out breathing his last breath.
He once told me "I never really saved anyone."
I'm still not sure what he meant. I mean once he's gone we don't know what could happen. His spells have become such a major part of life that we're still worried about what we'll do after his magic disappears. I've been hearing it endlessly since he fell ill.
"What about our food? Our farms won't be able to sustain themselves!"
"We'll have to start rationing our healthcare!"
"There's no way international trade will still be possible!"
But all I'm worried about my beloved great grandfather. He kept many secrets but I made sure to memorize absolutely everything he taught me. Yet he said "not even you can restore the magic I brought to this world." I just wish he would have faith in me.
Now it was time, comatose on his bed he exhales his very final breath. And when it was all out, the very world stopped existing.
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[WP] When a sorcerer dies any spells they cast throughout their life that are still in effect will cease to be. An powerful and ancient wizard whose origins are clouded in mystery lays comatose on his deathbed and nobody knows what will happen once he draws his final breath.
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First time poster, so sorry if I'm committing some odd faux pas and appreciate any feedback on offer. Anyway, here we go...
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We sat nervously. We knew it wouldn’t be long. By now Penhalligon’s breathing was growing tired, the monitors wired up to his body showed more and more numbers showing up in a vibrant warning red.
The city, tired of the masses panicking at the hospital entrance, had wheeled him out into the open, sat his sleeping body in the middle of a stadium and allowed people to come watch.
What we tend to call ‘magic’, much to scientists’ dismay, had been discovered years ago. But most of it had been cheap parlor tricks. Making light from your hands, moving items across tables. A few people had managed to move larger objects, construct buildings just be sheer force of will, that sort of thing. But then there was Penhalligon. He could move and teleport mountains, he could make things appear with only a casual thought. He was revered and idolized, showered with the highest honor and fame. So much so that we refer to the old ways as those ‘before Penhalligon’, a time when the human race struggled for survival. We knew he had done so much, and yet we were unsure what. When he passed, what would pass with him? He seemed so integral to the world, it seemed that we all might end with him.
I sat in the stadium. My back was aching from hours of sitting on a hard concrete surface watching a man sleep. But somehow it seemed right to be here, to witness this moment with everyone else. Around the arena TV cameras pointed at Penhalligon’s pale face, contrasted against his regal purple robes, as the world waited its fate.
Around me, strangers began to speculate.
“I heard he keeps the moon where it is,” said one. “Without him its orbit would be off and it would either spin off into outer space or collide with us here on Earth.”
“He makes the tides happen too,” said another confidently. “Everyday the sea comes rushing in, but his magic pushes it back out again.”
“The earth’s only spins on an axis because he tilted it,” chimed in a third. “He wanted more interesting weather where he lived so he tilted the Earth.”
There was a sudden hush in the crowd as Penhalligon’s breath grew more strained. There seemed to be a faint moan escaping his lips, like a distant sound trapped at the bottom of a watery well. Quickly the speculation began again.
“He managed to make the plants produce oxygen and consume carbon dioxide. Without him we’ll all run out of oxygen eventually.”
“Jupiter used to be small too,” a woman to my right suddenly added. “Then he made it grow so large that its gravity would collect passing asteroids and they would land there instead of here.”
“Don’t forget about the solar winds.” Muttered an old man behind me. People turned at him confused. “He thickened the atmosphere, so that the solar radiation can’t get to us here on Earth. When he’s gone we’ll have to deal with massive doses of radiation...”
He was cut off. It happened. The steady beeping of the machine stopped and was replaced with a monotone groan. Penhalligon was gone.
The stadium gasped. People grabbed onto each other, crying and wailing – not mourning Penhalligon, but dreading the fate that awaited the survivors.
People looked to the sky, waiting for it to turn from a clear blue into a showering inferno. People looked at the ground waiting for it to fracture and swallow them up. They checked their breathing, sensing if there was still oxygen in the air.
I stared at Penhalligon. And slowly I watched as his robes faded, and were replace by a plain white T-shirt and cargo shorts. And then the memories came back too.
“Wait.” I shouted, standing up from my seat. “That’s Roger Tyler. He went to my school.” I remembered him now, the smart but loathable kid that sat next to me in tenth grade Science.
Then we all remembered. Jupiter had always been that big. The moon caused the tides. The plants evolved that way. The moon really did keep a perfect orbit. The atmosphere had always shielded us.
There was only one magic spell he had ever done. One to make us worship him instead of the world around us.
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Thousands of people journeyed for days, sometimes weeks, to the small hut on the edge of the ocean. The pilgrimage had been dubbed "The Breath of the Ancient One" and was meant to symbolize the many centuries the Ancient One had drawn breath and had traversed the spacious lands of the world during his life time.
He was a beloved man, a man who always aided those in need regardless of status. He had ended wars, saved the world from plagues and strife, but now he lay dying and the world could do nothing but walk to his humble home and offer their prayers and thanks.
The High Priests circled his bed, chanting the song of the Goddess, trying to bring peace to the Ancient One's final moments. At last, he drew his final breath as a wry smile grew on his withered lips.
"The Ancient One is de... oh gods..." One of the Priests cried, his hand flying to his nose. "Dear Goddess in the Heaven, what is that stench?!"
The other Priests began to gag and cough. Some began to vomit as the noxious gas cloud filled the room. Cries could be heard from the masses outside as the foul smell escaped the small hut. Children wailed, women fainted, even the strongest of men doubled over in sickness.
One of the High Priests glared at the Ancient One, tears streaming down his face. "That bastard," he muttered into the cloth he held to his face, "How long had he been casting the Anti-Flatulence spell for?" He looked at the knowing smile etched onto the Ancient One's face and realized in horror that the greatest calamity the world will ever experience had begun.
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[WP] When a sorcerer dies any spells they cast throughout their life that are still in effect will cease to be. An powerful and ancient wizard whose origins are clouded in mystery lays comatose on his deathbed and nobody knows what will happen once he draws his final breath.
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The thing about being old, really old, is that when the time finally comes to leave this world, the world you grew up in will have left you a long time since. Archmage Prasutagus was definitely old. For nearly two millenia Prasutagus had defended the earth from mystical enemies, thanks to the power of his bloodline. For he is descended from Boudica herself.
Several lifetimes ago, he took his own name, Merlin. But now he preferred to go by the name of his birth. He found himself, so long now from the time of his youth, missing his mother dearly. He would be with her soon.
As the founder and head of the Royal Sorcerers of Londinium, he had protected the island of Britain from enemies for generations. But here, deep beneath the city in the ruins of the modest city, within the headquarters of the Royal Sorcerers he was powerless. Britain lie nearly defenseless now. soon the wards and mystic traps he laid hidden upon the island would fail.
Archmage Prasutagus head of the Royal Sorcerers of Londinium struggled to sit up in bed, and shortly his manservant entered and led him out of his quarters to the central chamber. Most of the chamber was taken up by the great round table. The same one from legend, for this was the real Camelot, buried beneath the bones of the greatest city of the world. It was surprisingly full. The mages who would normally be out on assignment protecting the island had been called back from service.
At the far end of the table sat the prince. Older than the last time. They always get older. Prasutagus still remembered his visits with Queen Elizabeth fondly. Both Elizabeths, actually. And the insufferable Charles, whose lack of hubris lead to his downfall and the rise of the black mage Cromwell, a rogue within Prasutagus' own organization. And distantly, he remembered the young Arthur, whom he molded into a capable king who founded this most remarkable empire. This would be the last.
The prince looked pensive, and concerned. Prasutagus was his friend, and like a second father to the man, although he was older than the Royal house itself. "I received your memo, Prasutagus, is there anything my family can do for you... to ease your...?" He wasn't sure he was ready to admit that his friend was truly dying.
"No, your highness. But you must understand the full implications of what will happen. As I said, when a sorcerer dies, what magic of theirs is left in the world is undone. All of the wards and shields will fall. You will be left defenseless."
The prince looked around at all the mages in the room, many were also his friends. The entire royal family supported their mission on numerous occasions. "I understand that, but surely the sorcerers here will be up to the task." He pointed across the table towards a young mage, "Why, I watched Miss Persephone single-handedly defend the Thames from the Leviathan and repair the tidal shield with precision. It is stronger than ever."
Persephone looked downcast towards her hands resting in her lap. The fight against the Leviathan had been mighty. The great beast ravaged the coast and blasted the magical shield guarding the river against the darkness with enough force to shatter windows for miles. The Leviathan had nearly won. It was then that Prasutagus knew his time was near. The shield had barely held. A shield that had been impervious to a thousand blows had shattered after only three.
Prasutagus sighed with resignation. He must choose his words carefully. This was where his legacy would live or die. "Persephone and the other sorcerers have been invaluable to me. Without them, our nation would have never survived as long as it has." He gestured around the table at the many senior mages present. The mages nodded sagely, none saying a word. Slowly they each stood up in turn and looked expectantly towards Prasutagus.
He considered them his friends, family even. They had stood by his side as he fought the unceasing hordes of demons and devils that threatened the world. He would miss them, just as he missed his own family who had died hundreds upon hundreds of years ago. However this truly was the end. If he was to give these people hope at survival, then he must swallow his pride and give up all of the securities and comforts that he had afforded himself these lonely years.
"if our world is to survive any further you must find a new sorcerer. I believe there is a young girl who might save you all. Like I did centuries ago. Your family must begin the search for her now."
The prince looked bewildered. Surrounded by so many powerful mages in one room, each more powerful than a battalion of soldiers. There were over a hundred Royal Sorcerers. The idea that a young girl would be a match for them, or a replacement for the man who used to be known as Merlin seemed preposterous.
"How could all of these sorcerers pale in comparison to a little girl? How could a hundred sorcerers not match the power of one?"
Prasutagus' manservant gently draped his robes over his shoulders as Prasutagus weaved a spell he had committed to memory generations ago, never having the courage to cast it. His magic would be undone either willingly or upon his death. Now, it would be both. One by one the sorcerers around the table bowed their heads low and faded into twinkling stars and emptiness. As his manservant touched his shoulder as if to say farewell, he too disappeared.
"Because, your highness, until now there has ever only been one sorcerer. I am sorry." Tears welled in his eyes. He could help no further. His power faded as quickly as the setting sun's last rays vanished.
"Find the girl, she is your only hope."
Merlin, the Sorcerer of Londinium, closed his eyes and drew his final breath. The shields fell. Darkness is coming. Somewhere, a young girl will discover that the darkness is coming for her.
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Thousands of people journeyed for days, sometimes weeks, to the small hut on the edge of the ocean. The pilgrimage had been dubbed "The Breath of the Ancient One" and was meant to symbolize the many centuries the Ancient One had drawn breath and had traversed the spacious lands of the world during his life time.
He was a beloved man, a man who always aided those in need regardless of status. He had ended wars, saved the world from plagues and strife, but now he lay dying and the world could do nothing but walk to his humble home and offer their prayers and thanks.
The High Priests circled his bed, chanting the song of the Goddess, trying to bring peace to the Ancient One's final moments. At last, he drew his final breath as a wry smile grew on his withered lips.
"The Ancient One is de... oh gods..." One of the Priests cried, his hand flying to his nose. "Dear Goddess in the Heaven, what is that stench?!"
The other Priests began to gag and cough. Some began to vomit as the noxious gas cloud filled the room. Cries could be heard from the masses outside as the foul smell escaped the small hut. Children wailed, women fainted, even the strongest of men doubled over in sickness.
One of the High Priests glared at the Ancient One, tears streaming down his face. "That bastard," he muttered into the cloth he held to his face, "How long had he been casting the Anti-Flatulence spell for?" He looked at the knowing smile etched onto the Ancient One's face and realized in horror that the greatest calamity the world will ever experience had begun.
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[WP] When a sorcerer dies any spells they cast throughout their life that are still in effect will cease to be. An powerful and ancient wizard whose origins are clouded in mystery lays comatose on his deathbed and nobody knows what will happen once he draws his final breath.
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The thing about being old, really old, is that when the time finally comes to leave this world, the world you grew up in will have left you a long time since. Archmage Prasutagus was definitely old. For nearly two millenia Prasutagus had defended the earth from mystical enemies, thanks to the power of his bloodline. For he is descended from Boudica herself.
Several lifetimes ago, he took his own name, Merlin. But now he preferred to go by the name of his birth. He found himself, so long now from the time of his youth, missing his mother dearly. He would be with her soon.
As the founder and head of the Royal Sorcerers of Londinium, he had protected the island of Britain from enemies for generations. But here, deep beneath the city in the ruins of the modest city, within the headquarters of the Royal Sorcerers he was powerless. Britain lie nearly defenseless now. soon the wards and mystic traps he laid hidden upon the island would fail.
Archmage Prasutagus head of the Royal Sorcerers of Londinium struggled to sit up in bed, and shortly his manservant entered and led him out of his quarters to the central chamber. Most of the chamber was taken up by the great round table. The same one from legend, for this was the real Camelot, buried beneath the bones of the greatest city of the world. It was surprisingly full. The mages who would normally be out on assignment protecting the island had been called back from service.
At the far end of the table sat the prince. Older than the last time. They always get older. Prasutagus still remembered his visits with Queen Elizabeth fondly. Both Elizabeths, actually. And the insufferable Charles, whose lack of hubris lead to his downfall and the rise of the black mage Cromwell, a rogue within Prasutagus' own organization. And distantly, he remembered the young Arthur, whom he molded into a capable king who founded this most remarkable empire. This would be the last.
The prince looked pensive, and concerned. Prasutagus was his friend, and like a second father to the man, although he was older than the Royal house itself. "I received your memo, Prasutagus, is there anything my family can do for you... to ease your...?" He wasn't sure he was ready to admit that his friend was truly dying.
"No, your highness. But you must understand the full implications of what will happen. As I said, when a sorcerer dies, what magic of theirs is left in the world is undone. All of the wards and shields will fall. You will be left defenseless."
The prince looked around at all the mages in the room, many were also his friends. The entire royal family supported their mission on numerous occasions. "I understand that, but surely the sorcerers here will be up to the task." He pointed across the table towards a young mage, "Why, I watched Miss Persephone single-handedly defend the Thames from the Leviathan and repair the tidal shield with precision. It is stronger than ever."
Persephone looked downcast towards her hands resting in her lap. The fight against the Leviathan had been mighty. The great beast ravaged the coast and blasted the magical shield guarding the river against the darkness with enough force to shatter windows for miles. The Leviathan had nearly won. It was then that Prasutagus knew his time was near. The shield had barely held. A shield that had been impervious to a thousand blows had shattered after only three.
Prasutagus sighed with resignation. He must choose his words carefully. This was where his legacy would live or die. "Persephone and the other sorcerers have been invaluable to me. Without them, our nation would have never survived as long as it has." He gestured around the table at the many senior mages present. The mages nodded sagely, none saying a word. Slowly they each stood up in turn and looked expectantly towards Prasutagus.
He considered them his friends, family even. They had stood by his side as he fought the unceasing hordes of demons and devils that threatened the world. He would miss them, just as he missed his own family who had died hundreds upon hundreds of years ago. However this truly was the end. If he was to give these people hope at survival, then he must swallow his pride and give up all of the securities and comforts that he had afforded himself these lonely years.
"if our world is to survive any further you must find a new sorcerer. I believe there is a young girl who might save you all. Like I did centuries ago. Your family must begin the search for her now."
The prince looked bewildered. Surrounded by so many powerful mages in one room, each more powerful than a battalion of soldiers. There were over a hundred Royal Sorcerers. The idea that a young girl would be a match for them, or a replacement for the man who used to be known as Merlin seemed preposterous.
"How could all of these sorcerers pale in comparison to a little girl? How could a hundred sorcerers not match the power of one?"
Prasutagus' manservant gently draped his robes over his shoulders as Prasutagus weaved a spell he had committed to memory generations ago, never having the courage to cast it. His magic would be undone either willingly or upon his death. Now, it would be both. One by one the sorcerers around the table bowed their heads low and faded into twinkling stars and emptiness. As his manservant touched his shoulder as if to say farewell, he too disappeared.
"Because, your highness, until now there has ever only been one sorcerer. I am sorry." Tears welled in his eyes. He could help no further. His power faded as quickly as the setting sun's last rays vanished.
"Find the girl, she is your only hope."
Merlin, the Sorcerer of Londinium, closed his eyes and drew his final breath. The shields fell. Darkness is coming. Somewhere, a young girl will discover that the darkness is coming for her.
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First time poster, so sorry if I'm committing some odd faux pas and appreciate any feedback on offer. Anyway, here we go...
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We sat nervously. We knew it wouldn’t be long. By now Penhalligon’s breathing was growing tired, the monitors wired up to his body showed more and more numbers showing up in a vibrant warning red.
The city, tired of the masses panicking at the hospital entrance, had wheeled him out into the open, sat his sleeping body in the middle of a stadium and allowed people to come watch.
What we tend to call ‘magic’, much to scientists’ dismay, had been discovered years ago. But most of it had been cheap parlor tricks. Making light from your hands, moving items across tables. A few people had managed to move larger objects, construct buildings just be sheer force of will, that sort of thing. But then there was Penhalligon. He could move and teleport mountains, he could make things appear with only a casual thought. He was revered and idolized, showered with the highest honor and fame. So much so that we refer to the old ways as those ‘before Penhalligon’, a time when the human race struggled for survival. We knew he had done so much, and yet we were unsure what. When he passed, what would pass with him? He seemed so integral to the world, it seemed that we all might end with him.
I sat in the stadium. My back was aching from hours of sitting on a hard concrete surface watching a man sleep. But somehow it seemed right to be here, to witness this moment with everyone else. Around the arena TV cameras pointed at Penhalligon’s pale face, contrasted against his regal purple robes, as the world waited its fate.
Around me, strangers began to speculate.
“I heard he keeps the moon where it is,” said one. “Without him its orbit would be off and it would either spin off into outer space or collide with us here on Earth.”
“He makes the tides happen too,” said another confidently. “Everyday the sea comes rushing in, but his magic pushes it back out again.”
“The earth’s only spins on an axis because he tilted it,” chimed in a third. “He wanted more interesting weather where he lived so he tilted the Earth.”
There was a sudden hush in the crowd as Penhalligon’s breath grew more strained. There seemed to be a faint moan escaping his lips, like a distant sound trapped at the bottom of a watery well. Quickly the speculation began again.
“He managed to make the plants produce oxygen and consume carbon dioxide. Without him we’ll all run out of oxygen eventually.”
“Jupiter used to be small too,” a woman to my right suddenly added. “Then he made it grow so large that its gravity would collect passing asteroids and they would land there instead of here.”
“Don’t forget about the solar winds.” Muttered an old man behind me. People turned at him confused. “He thickened the atmosphere, so that the solar radiation can’t get to us here on Earth. When he’s gone we’ll have to deal with massive doses of radiation...”
He was cut off. It happened. The steady beeping of the machine stopped and was replaced with a monotone groan. Penhalligon was gone.
The stadium gasped. People grabbed onto each other, crying and wailing – not mourning Penhalligon, but dreading the fate that awaited the survivors.
People looked to the sky, waiting for it to turn from a clear blue into a showering inferno. People looked at the ground waiting for it to fracture and swallow them up. They checked their breathing, sensing if there was still oxygen in the air.
I stared at Penhalligon. And slowly I watched as his robes faded, and were replace by a plain white T-shirt and cargo shorts. And then the memories came back too.
“Wait.” I shouted, standing up from my seat. “That’s Roger Tyler. He went to my school.” I remembered him now, the smart but loathable kid that sat next to me in tenth grade Science.
Then we all remembered. Jupiter had always been that big. The moon caused the tides. The plants evolved that way. The moon really did keep a perfect orbit. The atmosphere had always shielded us.
There was only one magic spell he had ever done. One to make us worship him instead of the world around us.
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[WP] When a sorcerer dies any spells they cast throughout their life that are still in effect will cease to be. An powerful and ancient wizard whose origins are clouded in mystery lays comatose on his deathbed and nobody knows what will happen once he draws his final breath.
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“Thank you, everyone, for everything. I’m so sorry.”
With that final whisper, the old man closed his eyes and passed away. The people gathered around him, a collection of relations and important figureheads, glanced around nervously.
“Why did he say sorry?!”
“Nothing seems to have changed! Maybe nothing will happen.”
“Of course something is going to happen! He was the ancient. He existed before all historical records and, quite frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he himself had forgotten half of the spells he had left behind in his lifetime.”
“But why did he say sorry?!”
“Who knows? Maybe he was just joking. Maybe he already put all his affairs in order before he went. It would be nice if someone finally did rather than leaving the rest of the world to sort out their dirty magical laundry.”
“Oh.”
“What?”
“Look outside.”
Everyone rushed to a window and looked out.
“Where is the horizon...”
“It’s there, just lower down.”
“What are you talking about? Where are all the buildings?”
“Gone. Look there, that’s what is happening.”
They looked in the direction indicated and watched as a tall white building slowly faded and disappeared.
“That can’t be right! He didn’t create those buildings! He didn’t create the materials did he?”
“Of course not! We don’t create buildings out of magicked materials in this day and age, for this precise reason.”
“I suppose it’s ironic that, according to historical records, it was the old man that suggested that law.”
“What do you mean? Ironic how?”
One woman let out a curse, “The damned trees in my park are disappearing! I magicked those!”
“Where?”
The woman pointed in the direction of her accomplishment, only to let out a gasp. Her finger was half faded away.
The room was silent now. Each looked at each other as they slowly disappeared. Outside, most of the city was already gone.
“Oh.”
Shortly afterwards there was nothing left but dust and a light wind. The dead body of an old man lay alone on an uninhabited desert planet.
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Countless people from countless kingdoms had traveled countless miles, just to see if the rumors about Merlin the Great were true.
I'm one of those people. Yeah, the rumors were absolutely true. The old man was dying. He was completely motionless. Not even the best clerics from across the land were able to help him with their magical healing capabilities. It was simply the old man's time to go.
Ever since I was a kid, I'd heard stories about Merlin. I couldn't tell you how many of them were actually TRUE, but I feel like people wouldn't know as much as they do about him if he was a phony. So, when someone tells me that he once deflected a meteor back into the skies, or blew up an entire island populated by demonic creatures, I'll take their word for it.
Anyways, there were hundreds of people gathered around the guy. Nobody claimed to know him personally, and he was out cold, so... No one could really confirm if he was, in fact, the great wizard that all of us had heard tales of since our childhood. I guess we all just found the word-of-mouth to be completely credible. Looking at the scale of this event, though, I don't think there's a chance that this guy ISN'T Merlin. The clerics surely would've told us all off by now if he was some random civilian.
A few more minutes passed.
Nothing was really happening. There was a lot of murmuring among the crowd, but it was pretty damn uneventful.
I could be getting hammered at some tavern right now.
"Excuse me, everyone!" a voice rang out from the front of the crowd. One of the clerics was making an announcement. "The sorcerer you see lying here, is, in fact, Merlin the Great. He has fallen very ill, and, as I'm sure you're all aware, his spells will not last beyond the grave!"
There was a lot more murmuring now.
"How do you know it's the real Merlin?" someone from the center of the crowd had yelled, backed by a couple of "yeah"s.
"Before he went comatose, Merlin confirmed his identity. His legendary battle scars, the way he spoke, and his belongings all fit the descriptions of-"
"Merlin's belongings are here?!" another person had interrupted.
"Merlin the Great's staff is right in this area?!"
"I'M GONNA GET THAT STAFF!"
It took a solid 10 seconds for the crowd to go from attentive to crazy. Knights and wizards were trampling over each other in a desperate attempt to loot the dying Merlin. I couldn't even make my way out at this point. My entire field of view was taken up by people nearly running me over. I couldn't tell if the clerics had been trampled, or if Merlin himself had been pushed out of his bed, but I knew for sure, this was DEFINITELY more exciting than whatever was going on before. I pulled out my sword, ready to stab my way to that sweet, sweet loot. It was hard to even swing my sword around, until finally, bodies started dropping. Now there was more room to maneuver around. I could actually see my surroundings, for the first time in a hot minute.
"GIMME HIS BAG!"
"HIS STAFF! WHO TOOK IT?"
"I GOT HIS HAT!"
The crowd was beginning to form a human pyramid. They were all just trampling over, and standing on each other, I didn't even know that was possible, but it was pretty crazy.
"HEY! THAT GUY HAS THE STAFF NOW!" someone yelled, pointing at a a scrawny-looking dude who was sprinting away from the crowd as fast as he could. The wave of staff-lusted adventurers shifted to chase after the scrawny guy. I'm not nearly as determined to get the staff as these guys are, but I haven't been apart of something this fun in a while. So, naturally, I ran after the scrawny guy as well. I leapt, and slashed whoever was in my way, getting rammed a couple of times by some heavily-armored barbarians. That didn't stop me though. My adrenaline was WAY too high for me to stop. This was either going to end with me getting the staff, getting knocked out, or getting killed. I leaned in, running faster than I ever had before, trying my best to keep up with everyone. I began to falter. I was falling a bit behind the crowd. I was just about ready to pass out from exhaustion, when, just on my luck, the scrawny dude had begun to circle back around. Seeing as I was at the back of the crowd, he was headed right towards me! Ha!
I readied my sword, getting into a cool-looking stance that probably wasn't very practical. I followed his movements. He was swerving mostly to the left to avoid getting tackled. Every single time, he was moving left. I readied myself EVEN harder, however that works. He was getting closer to me. Scrawny dude was about to be impaled by my hands, in
3...
2...
1...
He was right by me. I leapt towards him, sword extended. And just as I had predicted, he ducked to the...-
Right?
Oh shit.
The one time he dodges to the right, it was to avoid the only person who realized he was always ducking to the left.
I soared through the air, sword embarrassingly extended towards nothing. It was like I was moving in slow-motion. This would've been a lot more humiliating if anyone was paying enough attention to care, but no matter. I'll simply land back on the ground, brush myself off, and-...
Hold up. My sword definitely penetrated something fleshy. For the first time in a while, I averted my attention from the rampaging crowd to see what I had stabbed.
My sword was nestled comfortably in the chest of Merlin the Great.
How did this guy even get over here? It's like someone spear-tossed him off of his death bed, and he coincidentally landed right where I was thrusting my sword towards. I guess nobody could see him through the cloud of dust that the rampaging crowd was leaving behind them.
Well, that's neat. I just helped kill Merlin the Great. At least I'll have a unique story to tell people on my long travels. Maybe I should loot his robes, which, luckily, no one else had thought of doing.
I took the robes off of his body, leaving him in his casual-wear. I turned back towards the crowd to see if scrawny was still carrying the staff.
The crowd had run quite some distance in the last 30 seconds. I couldn't even see who had the staff anymore.
I began to walk towards the nearest town, in search of a merchant, when I heard the sound of an explosion as loud as the roar of a dragon. The explosion came from where the crowd was. Maybe Merlin's staff had a defensive spell on it, like, one that would make it blow up as soon as he was dead.
Speaking of things that might happen once Merlin dies... The world should be going to shit pretty soon. Monsters should start appearing from every direction, floods should begin drowning the entire world... Or, at least if the stories about Merlin were true.
Nothing has happened for a couple minutes now. Maybe the guy was just a fake Merlin, an impostor. Or, maybe the tales were nothing more than fiction.
Either way, who cares? I sure don't, 'cause I've got the guy's robes now! I'm gonna be able to trade these for a horse, or something.
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It's really late and I should be getting some rest. Oops. Sorry for any typos, I don't have time to proof-read :( Hope you guys enjoyed my story attempt. Nice prompt, OP.
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[WP] When a sorcerer dies any spells they cast throughout their life that are still in effect will cease to be. An powerful and ancient wizard whose origins are clouded in mystery lays comatose on his deathbed and nobody knows what will happen once he draws his final breath.
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The thing about being old, really old, is that when the time finally comes to leave this world, the world you grew up in will have left you a long time since. Archmage Prasutagus was definitely old. For nearly two millenia Prasutagus had defended the earth from mystical enemies, thanks to the power of his bloodline. For he is descended from Boudica herself.
Several lifetimes ago, he took his own name, Merlin. But now he preferred to go by the name of his birth. He found himself, so long now from the time of his youth, missing his mother dearly. He would be with her soon.
As the founder and head of the Royal Sorcerers of Londinium, he had protected the island of Britain from enemies for generations. But here, deep beneath the city in the ruins of the modest city, within the headquarters of the Royal Sorcerers he was powerless. Britain lie nearly defenseless now. soon the wards and mystic traps he laid hidden upon the island would fail.
Archmage Prasutagus head of the Royal Sorcerers of Londinium struggled to sit up in bed, and shortly his manservant entered and led him out of his quarters to the central chamber. Most of the chamber was taken up by the great round table. The same one from legend, for this was the real Camelot, buried beneath the bones of the greatest city of the world. It was surprisingly full. The mages who would normally be out on assignment protecting the island had been called back from service.
At the far end of the table sat the prince. Older than the last time. They always get older. Prasutagus still remembered his visits with Queen Elizabeth fondly. Both Elizabeths, actually. And the insufferable Charles, whose lack of hubris lead to his downfall and the rise of the black mage Cromwell, a rogue within Prasutagus' own organization. And distantly, he remembered the young Arthur, whom he molded into a capable king who founded this most remarkable empire. This would be the last.
The prince looked pensive, and concerned. Prasutagus was his friend, and like a second father to the man, although he was older than the Royal house itself. "I received your memo, Prasutagus, is there anything my family can do for you... to ease your...?" He wasn't sure he was ready to admit that his friend was truly dying.
"No, your highness. But you must understand the full implications of what will happen. As I said, when a sorcerer dies, what magic of theirs is left in the world is undone. All of the wards and shields will fall. You will be left defenseless."
The prince looked around at all the mages in the room, many were also his friends. The entire royal family supported their mission on numerous occasions. "I understand that, but surely the sorcerers here will be up to the task." He pointed across the table towards a young mage, "Why, I watched Miss Persephone single-handedly defend the Thames from the Leviathan and repair the tidal shield with precision. It is stronger than ever."
Persephone looked downcast towards her hands resting in her lap. The fight against the Leviathan had been mighty. The great beast ravaged the coast and blasted the magical shield guarding the river against the darkness with enough force to shatter windows for miles. The Leviathan had nearly won. It was then that Prasutagus knew his time was near. The shield had barely held. A shield that had been impervious to a thousand blows had shattered after only three.
Prasutagus sighed with resignation. He must choose his words carefully. This was where his legacy would live or die. "Persephone and the other sorcerers have been invaluable to me. Without them, our nation would have never survived as long as it has." He gestured around the table at the many senior mages present. The mages nodded sagely, none saying a word. Slowly they each stood up in turn and looked expectantly towards Prasutagus.
He considered them his friends, family even. They had stood by his side as he fought the unceasing hordes of demons and devils that threatened the world. He would miss them, just as he missed his own family who had died hundreds upon hundreds of years ago. However this truly was the end. If he was to give these people hope at survival, then he must swallow his pride and give up all of the securities and comforts that he had afforded himself these lonely years.
"if our world is to survive any further you must find a new sorcerer. I believe there is a young girl who might save you all. Like I did centuries ago. Your family must begin the search for her now."
The prince looked bewildered. Surrounded by so many powerful mages in one room, each more powerful than a battalion of soldiers. There were over a hundred Royal Sorcerers. The idea that a young girl would be a match for them, or a replacement for the man who used to be known as Merlin seemed preposterous.
"How could all of these sorcerers pale in comparison to a little girl? How could a hundred sorcerers not match the power of one?"
Prasutagus' manservant gently draped his robes over his shoulders as Prasutagus weaved a spell he had committed to memory generations ago, never having the courage to cast it. His magic would be undone either willingly or upon his death. Now, it would be both. One by one the sorcerers around the table bowed their heads low and faded into twinkling stars and emptiness. As his manservant touched his shoulder as if to say farewell, he too disappeared.
"Because, your highness, until now there has ever only been one sorcerer. I am sorry." Tears welled in his eyes. He could help no further. His power faded as quickly as the setting sun's last rays vanished.
"Find the girl, she is your only hope."
Merlin, the Sorcerer of Londinium, closed his eyes and drew his final breath. The shields fell. Darkness is coming. Somewhere, a young girl will discover that the darkness is coming for her.
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Countless people from countless kingdoms had traveled countless miles, just to see if the rumors about Merlin the Great were true.
I'm one of those people. Yeah, the rumors were absolutely true. The old man was dying. He was completely motionless. Not even the best clerics from across the land were able to help him with their magical healing capabilities. It was simply the old man's time to go.
Ever since I was a kid, I'd heard stories about Merlin. I couldn't tell you how many of them were actually TRUE, but I feel like people wouldn't know as much as they do about him if he was a phony. So, when someone tells me that he once deflected a meteor back into the skies, or blew up an entire island populated by demonic creatures, I'll take their word for it.
Anyways, there were hundreds of people gathered around the guy. Nobody claimed to know him personally, and he was out cold, so... No one could really confirm if he was, in fact, the great wizard that all of us had heard tales of since our childhood. I guess we all just found the word-of-mouth to be completely credible. Looking at the scale of this event, though, I don't think there's a chance that this guy ISN'T Merlin. The clerics surely would've told us all off by now if he was some random civilian.
A few more minutes passed.
Nothing was really happening. There was a lot of murmuring among the crowd, but it was pretty damn uneventful.
I could be getting hammered at some tavern right now.
"Excuse me, everyone!" a voice rang out from the front of the crowd. One of the clerics was making an announcement. "The sorcerer you see lying here, is, in fact, Merlin the Great. He has fallen very ill, and, as I'm sure you're all aware, his spells will not last beyond the grave!"
There was a lot more murmuring now.
"How do you know it's the real Merlin?" someone from the center of the crowd had yelled, backed by a couple of "yeah"s.
"Before he went comatose, Merlin confirmed his identity. His legendary battle scars, the way he spoke, and his belongings all fit the descriptions of-"
"Merlin's belongings are here?!" another person had interrupted.
"Merlin the Great's staff is right in this area?!"
"I'M GONNA GET THAT STAFF!"
It took a solid 10 seconds for the crowd to go from attentive to crazy. Knights and wizards were trampling over each other in a desperate attempt to loot the dying Merlin. I couldn't even make my way out at this point. My entire field of view was taken up by people nearly running me over. I couldn't tell if the clerics had been trampled, or if Merlin himself had been pushed out of his bed, but I knew for sure, this was DEFINITELY more exciting than whatever was going on before. I pulled out my sword, ready to stab my way to that sweet, sweet loot. It was hard to even swing my sword around, until finally, bodies started dropping. Now there was more room to maneuver around. I could actually see my surroundings, for the first time in a hot minute.
"GIMME HIS BAG!"
"HIS STAFF! WHO TOOK IT?"
"I GOT HIS HAT!"
The crowd was beginning to form a human pyramid. They were all just trampling over, and standing on each other, I didn't even know that was possible, but it was pretty crazy.
"HEY! THAT GUY HAS THE STAFF NOW!" someone yelled, pointing at a a scrawny-looking dude who was sprinting away from the crowd as fast as he could. The wave of staff-lusted adventurers shifted to chase after the scrawny guy. I'm not nearly as determined to get the staff as these guys are, but I haven't been apart of something this fun in a while. So, naturally, I ran after the scrawny guy as well. I leapt, and slashed whoever was in my way, getting rammed a couple of times by some heavily-armored barbarians. That didn't stop me though. My adrenaline was WAY too high for me to stop. This was either going to end with me getting the staff, getting knocked out, or getting killed. I leaned in, running faster than I ever had before, trying my best to keep up with everyone. I began to falter. I was falling a bit behind the crowd. I was just about ready to pass out from exhaustion, when, just on my luck, the scrawny dude had begun to circle back around. Seeing as I was at the back of the crowd, he was headed right towards me! Ha!
I readied my sword, getting into a cool-looking stance that probably wasn't very practical. I followed his movements. He was swerving mostly to the left to avoid getting tackled. Every single time, he was moving left. I readied myself EVEN harder, however that works. He was getting closer to me. Scrawny dude was about to be impaled by my hands, in
3...
2...
1...
He was right by me. I leapt towards him, sword extended. And just as I had predicted, he ducked to the...-
Right?
Oh shit.
The one time he dodges to the right, it was to avoid the only person who realized he was always ducking to the left.
I soared through the air, sword embarrassingly extended towards nothing. It was like I was moving in slow-motion. This would've been a lot more humiliating if anyone was paying enough attention to care, but no matter. I'll simply land back on the ground, brush myself off, and-...
Hold up. My sword definitely penetrated something fleshy. For the first time in a while, I averted my attention from the rampaging crowd to see what I had stabbed.
My sword was nestled comfortably in the chest of Merlin the Great.
How did this guy even get over here? It's like someone spear-tossed him off of his death bed, and he coincidentally landed right where I was thrusting my sword towards. I guess nobody could see him through the cloud of dust that the rampaging crowd was leaving behind them.
Well, that's neat. I just helped kill Merlin the Great. At least I'll have a unique story to tell people on my long travels. Maybe I should loot his robes, which, luckily, no one else had thought of doing.
I took the robes off of his body, leaving him in his casual-wear. I turned back towards the crowd to see if scrawny was still carrying the staff.
The crowd had run quite some distance in the last 30 seconds. I couldn't even see who had the staff anymore.
I began to walk towards the nearest town, in search of a merchant, when I heard the sound of an explosion as loud as the roar of a dragon. The explosion came from where the crowd was. Maybe Merlin's staff had a defensive spell on it, like, one that would make it blow up as soon as he was dead.
Speaking of things that might happen once Merlin dies... The world should be going to shit pretty soon. Monsters should start appearing from every direction, floods should begin drowning the entire world... Or, at least if the stories about Merlin were true.
Nothing has happened for a couple minutes now. Maybe the guy was just a fake Merlin, an impostor. Or, maybe the tales were nothing more than fiction.
Either way, who cares? I sure don't, 'cause I've got the guy's robes now! I'm gonna be able to trade these for a horse, or something.
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It's really late and I should be getting some rest. Oops. Sorry for any typos, I don't have time to proof-read :( Hope you guys enjoyed my story attempt. Nice prompt, OP.
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[WP] When a sorcerer dies any spells they cast throughout their life that are still in effect will cease to be. An powerful and ancient wizard whose origins are clouded in mystery lays comatose on his deathbed and nobody knows what will happen once he draws his final breath.
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I looked out over the dusty grey plain at Earthrise. Ever since we had fled the genocide of our people and stepped through that great portal to the moon, we knew we would never be able to go back. But somehow, today it was more real. We had done our best to prepare; Teminarin knew she was dying, she knew that her spells would expire with her spirit, so she had done the best she could to make things permanent, to let us keep living. The magic bubble that held in our air had been replaced with glass, the wards against stray asteroids with lasers, the sacred runes of the central fountain with a water purification system. Teminarin had used her magic to gain great knowledge, innovating hundreds of knew technologies, all of which could be built without magic. The library held thousands of books, detailing everything we needed to build and maintain the systems that would keep us alive as well as new ones we hadn't yet had time to make. Despite the great sadness of our hero and valued elder's passing, I was optimistic.
When she died we all felt it, like a cold wind rippling outward from her deathbed. I held my breath, but there was no rush of air evaporating into space, no collapse a crumble of the dome over my head. Cautiously I drew another breath. We were still alive. Gazing at the glass in front of me separating life and death, I noticed the seam between two panes was sealed with some kind of dark substance. How had I not noticed that before? Had I not had a hand in building the dome? I was certain that was something I should have known, but somehow it slipped my mind. Come to think of it I wasn't sure how the glass would stand up against the perils of space. There was some kind of weapon or something. My confused thoughts paused. I realized I didn't know a single thing about the artificial world keeping us all alive, even though I had had a hand in it's construction. I started to panic, and rushed to the library. Surely if the knowledge had slipped my mind, it couldn't have left the books. I found Teminarin's apprentice Sam there, crying on the floor. "It's all gone. Magic. It's all gone"
"What do you mean. You can't even cast a single spell?"
"All the knowledge that Teminarin created, it was magical. It left with her."
"But surely the books are firmer than minds"
"Look". He held open a book, and despite the fact that the words were still firmly attached to the page, I could not glean any meaning from them. It was like trying to read in a dream. So it was indeed all gone. The machines we had painstakingly built by hand without a trace of magic would keep us alive for a while, but we had a long hard road ahead of us if we wanted to learn how to maintain them.
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Countless people from countless kingdoms had traveled countless miles, just to see if the rumors about Merlin the Great were true.
I'm one of those people. Yeah, the rumors were absolutely true. The old man was dying. He was completely motionless. Not even the best clerics from across the land were able to help him with their magical healing capabilities. It was simply the old man's time to go.
Ever since I was a kid, I'd heard stories about Merlin. I couldn't tell you how many of them were actually TRUE, but I feel like people wouldn't know as much as they do about him if he was a phony. So, when someone tells me that he once deflected a meteor back into the skies, or blew up an entire island populated by demonic creatures, I'll take their word for it.
Anyways, there were hundreds of people gathered around the guy. Nobody claimed to know him personally, and he was out cold, so... No one could really confirm if he was, in fact, the great wizard that all of us had heard tales of since our childhood. I guess we all just found the word-of-mouth to be completely credible. Looking at the scale of this event, though, I don't think there's a chance that this guy ISN'T Merlin. The clerics surely would've told us all off by now if he was some random civilian.
A few more minutes passed.
Nothing was really happening. There was a lot of murmuring among the crowd, but it was pretty damn uneventful.
I could be getting hammered at some tavern right now.
"Excuse me, everyone!" a voice rang out from the front of the crowd. One of the clerics was making an announcement. "The sorcerer you see lying here, is, in fact, Merlin the Great. He has fallen very ill, and, as I'm sure you're all aware, his spells will not last beyond the grave!"
There was a lot more murmuring now.
"How do you know it's the real Merlin?" someone from the center of the crowd had yelled, backed by a couple of "yeah"s.
"Before he went comatose, Merlin confirmed his identity. His legendary battle scars, the way he spoke, and his belongings all fit the descriptions of-"
"Merlin's belongings are here?!" another person had interrupted.
"Merlin the Great's staff is right in this area?!"
"I'M GONNA GET THAT STAFF!"
It took a solid 10 seconds for the crowd to go from attentive to crazy. Knights and wizards were trampling over each other in a desperate attempt to loot the dying Merlin. I couldn't even make my way out at this point. My entire field of view was taken up by people nearly running me over. I couldn't tell if the clerics had been trampled, or if Merlin himself had been pushed out of his bed, but I knew for sure, this was DEFINITELY more exciting than whatever was going on before. I pulled out my sword, ready to stab my way to that sweet, sweet loot. It was hard to even swing my sword around, until finally, bodies started dropping. Now there was more room to maneuver around. I could actually see my surroundings, for the first time in a hot minute.
"GIMME HIS BAG!"
"HIS STAFF! WHO TOOK IT?"
"I GOT HIS HAT!"
The crowd was beginning to form a human pyramid. They were all just trampling over, and standing on each other, I didn't even know that was possible, but it was pretty crazy.
"HEY! THAT GUY HAS THE STAFF NOW!" someone yelled, pointing at a a scrawny-looking dude who was sprinting away from the crowd as fast as he could. The wave of staff-lusted adventurers shifted to chase after the scrawny guy. I'm not nearly as determined to get the staff as these guys are, but I haven't been apart of something this fun in a while. So, naturally, I ran after the scrawny guy as well. I leapt, and slashed whoever was in my way, getting rammed a couple of times by some heavily-armored barbarians. That didn't stop me though. My adrenaline was WAY too high for me to stop. This was either going to end with me getting the staff, getting knocked out, or getting killed. I leaned in, running faster than I ever had before, trying my best to keep up with everyone. I began to falter. I was falling a bit behind the crowd. I was just about ready to pass out from exhaustion, when, just on my luck, the scrawny dude had begun to circle back around. Seeing as I was at the back of the crowd, he was headed right towards me! Ha!
I readied my sword, getting into a cool-looking stance that probably wasn't very practical. I followed his movements. He was swerving mostly to the left to avoid getting tackled. Every single time, he was moving left. I readied myself EVEN harder, however that works. He was getting closer to me. Scrawny dude was about to be impaled by my hands, in
3...
2...
1...
He was right by me. I leapt towards him, sword extended. And just as I had predicted, he ducked to the...-
Right?
Oh shit.
The one time he dodges to the right, it was to avoid the only person who realized he was always ducking to the left.
I soared through the air, sword embarrassingly extended towards nothing. It was like I was moving in slow-motion. This would've been a lot more humiliating if anyone was paying enough attention to care, but no matter. I'll simply land back on the ground, brush myself off, and-...
Hold up. My sword definitely penetrated something fleshy. For the first time in a while, I averted my attention from the rampaging crowd to see what I had stabbed.
My sword was nestled comfortably in the chest of Merlin the Great.
How did this guy even get over here? It's like someone spear-tossed him off of his death bed, and he coincidentally landed right where I was thrusting my sword towards. I guess nobody could see him through the cloud of dust that the rampaging crowd was leaving behind them.
Well, that's neat. I just helped kill Merlin the Great. At least I'll have a unique story to tell people on my long travels. Maybe I should loot his robes, which, luckily, no one else had thought of doing.
I took the robes off of his body, leaving him in his casual-wear. I turned back towards the crowd to see if scrawny was still carrying the staff.
The crowd had run quite some distance in the last 30 seconds. I couldn't even see who had the staff anymore.
I began to walk towards the nearest town, in search of a merchant, when I heard the sound of an explosion as loud as the roar of a dragon. The explosion came from where the crowd was. Maybe Merlin's staff had a defensive spell on it, like, one that would make it blow up as soon as he was dead.
Speaking of things that might happen once Merlin dies... The world should be going to shit pretty soon. Monsters should start appearing from every direction, floods should begin drowning the entire world... Or, at least if the stories about Merlin were true.
Nothing has happened for a couple minutes now. Maybe the guy was just a fake Merlin, an impostor. Or, maybe the tales were nothing more than fiction.
Either way, who cares? I sure don't, 'cause I've got the guy's robes now! I'm gonna be able to trade these for a horse, or something.
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It's really late and I should be getting some rest. Oops. Sorry for any typos, I don't have time to proof-read :( Hope you guys enjoyed my story attempt. Nice prompt, OP.
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[WP] When a sorcerer dies any spells they cast throughout their life that are still in effect will cease to be. An powerful and ancient wizard whose origins are clouded in mystery lays comatose on his deathbed and nobody knows what will happen once he draws his final breath.
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At last...
The last and greatest secret had eluded me. No sorcerer’s stone or endless elixir could keep me alive.
The healers did their best, but not even I could cure this disease, so how could they? I am the oldest and greatest of the wizards, mightiest of sorcerers who wielded the powers of earth and sky.
I’ve cast so many spells in my life, that I could not even finish writing them all in the hall of memory. When I am gone, so too, will these spells.
The spell that held the tower of heaven. And bound the lord of shadow beneath its crystalline foundations. The summon of the Golden Fleece that kept this entire continent prosperous and at peace. The enchantment around the vale of evil, that kept the darkness from seeping through.
And last, but not least, the great debt. The power of so many sorcerers who had sacrificed themselves in the first war, and the spell that gave their magic to me.
Those souls cannot wield magic any longer, and so the many wizards of this continent are in fear of what will happen. But in my death, I have found one last, great secret. If a spell cannot be resolved after the death of its caster, an equivalent effect may be built into the spell for its dissolution. Pass a little sooner, and you can, indeed, shift the spell’s ending just a little.
This is the magic of over a million archmagi, strengthened and carefully tended to by me. I give this to you, people of the continent, to guard you in the days to come. So too will I give you the library, so that you may have the knowledge to keep this world safe.
— the last will of Sotek Mazdamundi
I read this will on the field of battle. The vale-guard has fallen and the evil spreads.
I, Sotek Mazdamundi, reborn, will claim the magic of spread across the world by my past life. The evil within is my greed. I will take it and make it mine.
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Countless people from countless kingdoms had traveled countless miles, just to see if the rumors about Merlin the Great were true.
I'm one of those people. Yeah, the rumors were absolutely true. The old man was dying. He was completely motionless. Not even the best clerics from across the land were able to help him with their magical healing capabilities. It was simply the old man's time to go.
Ever since I was a kid, I'd heard stories about Merlin. I couldn't tell you how many of them were actually TRUE, but I feel like people wouldn't know as much as they do about him if he was a phony. So, when someone tells me that he once deflected a meteor back into the skies, or blew up an entire island populated by demonic creatures, I'll take their word for it.
Anyways, there were hundreds of people gathered around the guy. Nobody claimed to know him personally, and he was out cold, so... No one could really confirm if he was, in fact, the great wizard that all of us had heard tales of since our childhood. I guess we all just found the word-of-mouth to be completely credible. Looking at the scale of this event, though, I don't think there's a chance that this guy ISN'T Merlin. The clerics surely would've told us all off by now if he was some random civilian.
A few more minutes passed.
Nothing was really happening. There was a lot of murmuring among the crowd, but it was pretty damn uneventful.
I could be getting hammered at some tavern right now.
"Excuse me, everyone!" a voice rang out from the front of the crowd. One of the clerics was making an announcement. "The sorcerer you see lying here, is, in fact, Merlin the Great. He has fallen very ill, and, as I'm sure you're all aware, his spells will not last beyond the grave!"
There was a lot more murmuring now.
"How do you know it's the real Merlin?" someone from the center of the crowd had yelled, backed by a couple of "yeah"s.
"Before he went comatose, Merlin confirmed his identity. His legendary battle scars, the way he spoke, and his belongings all fit the descriptions of-"
"Merlin's belongings are here?!" another person had interrupted.
"Merlin the Great's staff is right in this area?!"
"I'M GONNA GET THAT STAFF!"
It took a solid 10 seconds for the crowd to go from attentive to crazy. Knights and wizards were trampling over each other in a desperate attempt to loot the dying Merlin. I couldn't even make my way out at this point. My entire field of view was taken up by people nearly running me over. I couldn't tell if the clerics had been trampled, or if Merlin himself had been pushed out of his bed, but I knew for sure, this was DEFINITELY more exciting than whatever was going on before. I pulled out my sword, ready to stab my way to that sweet, sweet loot. It was hard to even swing my sword around, until finally, bodies started dropping. Now there was more room to maneuver around. I could actually see my surroundings, for the first time in a hot minute.
"GIMME HIS BAG!"
"HIS STAFF! WHO TOOK IT?"
"I GOT HIS HAT!"
The crowd was beginning to form a human pyramid. They were all just trampling over, and standing on each other, I didn't even know that was possible, but it was pretty crazy.
"HEY! THAT GUY HAS THE STAFF NOW!" someone yelled, pointing at a a scrawny-looking dude who was sprinting away from the crowd as fast as he could. The wave of staff-lusted adventurers shifted to chase after the scrawny guy. I'm not nearly as determined to get the staff as these guys are, but I haven't been apart of something this fun in a while. So, naturally, I ran after the scrawny guy as well. I leapt, and slashed whoever was in my way, getting rammed a couple of times by some heavily-armored barbarians. That didn't stop me though. My adrenaline was WAY too high for me to stop. This was either going to end with me getting the staff, getting knocked out, or getting killed. I leaned in, running faster than I ever had before, trying my best to keep up with everyone. I began to falter. I was falling a bit behind the crowd. I was just about ready to pass out from exhaustion, when, just on my luck, the scrawny dude had begun to circle back around. Seeing as I was at the back of the crowd, he was headed right towards me! Ha!
I readied my sword, getting into a cool-looking stance that probably wasn't very practical. I followed his movements. He was swerving mostly to the left to avoid getting tackled. Every single time, he was moving left. I readied myself EVEN harder, however that works. He was getting closer to me. Scrawny dude was about to be impaled by my hands, in
3...
2...
1...
He was right by me. I leapt towards him, sword extended. And just as I had predicted, he ducked to the...-
Right?
Oh shit.
The one time he dodges to the right, it was to avoid the only person who realized he was always ducking to the left.
I soared through the air, sword embarrassingly extended towards nothing. It was like I was moving in slow-motion. This would've been a lot more humiliating if anyone was paying enough attention to care, but no matter. I'll simply land back on the ground, brush myself off, and-...
Hold up. My sword definitely penetrated something fleshy. For the first time in a while, I averted my attention from the rampaging crowd to see what I had stabbed.
My sword was nestled comfortably in the chest of Merlin the Great.
How did this guy even get over here? It's like someone spear-tossed him off of his death bed, and he coincidentally landed right where I was thrusting my sword towards. I guess nobody could see him through the cloud of dust that the rampaging crowd was leaving behind them.
Well, that's neat. I just helped kill Merlin the Great. At least I'll have a unique story to tell people on my long travels. Maybe I should loot his robes, which, luckily, no one else had thought of doing.
I took the robes off of his body, leaving him in his casual-wear. I turned back towards the crowd to see if scrawny was still carrying the staff.
The crowd had run quite some distance in the last 30 seconds. I couldn't even see who had the staff anymore.
I began to walk towards the nearest town, in search of a merchant, when I heard the sound of an explosion as loud as the roar of a dragon. The explosion came from where the crowd was. Maybe Merlin's staff had a defensive spell on it, like, one that would make it blow up as soon as he was dead.
Speaking of things that might happen once Merlin dies... The world should be going to shit pretty soon. Monsters should start appearing from every direction, floods should begin drowning the entire world... Or, at least if the stories about Merlin were true.
Nothing has happened for a couple minutes now. Maybe the guy was just a fake Merlin, an impostor. Or, maybe the tales were nothing more than fiction.
Either way, who cares? I sure don't, 'cause I've got the guy's robes now! I'm gonna be able to trade these for a horse, or something.
-------------------------------------------
It's really late and I should be getting some rest. Oops. Sorry for any typos, I don't have time to proof-read :( Hope you guys enjoyed my story attempt. Nice prompt, OP.
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[WP] When a sorcerer dies any spells they cast throughout their life that are still in effect will cease to be. An powerful and ancient wizard whose origins are clouded in mystery lays comatose on his deathbed and nobody knows what will happen once he draws his final breath.
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I really wasn't sure what to make of this errand.
Sure, while studying at university, Dafaris had been my favorite professor. How could he not have been? He made even the most complex spells look nearly effortless. Some of the complex weaves he performed \- especially while distracted, showing the value of muscle memory for common somatic components. He was the teacher who enjoyed the low\-level classes to instill and reinforce wonder, and the high\-level classes to share that wonder.
He always made time for his students if they asked. He and I became friends during my final year \- I'd meet him at a pub at least once a week, and that continued after my graduation, albeit monthly. Over the last year, I'd strived to make it more often, because I had seen it. His vigor was gone; he had taken to using a cane, and while he still loved to reminisce, the details kept getting fuzzier. When he had to skip a meetup, I was worried, but pushed it out of my mind.
When I received the summons from the university, I could not suppress the fear and doubt.
The note was short, especially as the university board's publications went: "As one of our esteemed alumni, we know of both your substantial skill and your desire to help the world. While most students pursue paths outside of the university, a unique task has arisen, and our colleague Dafaris has specifically requested you to take it on. He will share with you the details; attached is a sigil which will allow you \- and only you \- to travel to his home. If you cannot undertake this task, please let us know immediately."
Dafaris had asked; I had to go.
I used the sigil, and ended up at a small, peaceful farm \- a quick positional attunement spell revealed that I was in France, but far from any city. It had a great view of the sea, and was a nice cottage \- not huge, but certainly comfortable. I made my way to it.
I knocked, and I heard rustling inside. After a moment, his wife \- who I had met perhaps twice \- answered the door. She looked exhausted, and the tear stains on her cheek told me how dire his health was. "Oh, Evras, I'm so glad you could make it. Lapisque doesn't have much time left."
"Lapisque? Don't you mean Dafaris?"
"Yes, but, it's complicated. Come inside."
She led me up to his room. I barely maintained my composure; Dafaris was jaundiced, and his breathing was labored.
"Evras, as you can see, my dear Lapisque doesn't have much time left. He hasn't been conscious in three days; the first I just thought he was getting some rest, but now I fear that... that it may be... final."
I tried to put my hand on her shoulder to provide some measure of comfort. "I... never thought I'd see the day. Dafaris always seemed so lively. What happened?"
She responded, "It's some sort of cancer. Aggressive \- none of his spells could even slow it."
"Cancer? That... doesn't make sense. Hell, Dafaris explained in my first year that Wizards analyze themselves as they cast spells, and stop if their health isn't stable. He'd have noticed it early, and the university board..."
"The board tried and couldn't help Lapisque\-"
"What? Why? And why do you keep calling him Lapisque?"
She sighed. "Lapisque is Dafaris's original name. He was born thousands of years ago."
"Th\- Thousands?"
"Yes. When he was born, his parents didn't realize it, but they were of different lines of sorcerors."
"Wait, Dafaris \- er, Lapisque \- is a sorceror? That doesn't make sense! He's a wizard!"
"He's both. Like any sorceror, his power manifested during puberty... and it was incredible. The raw power he could weave into spells was immense, but it was so great he lacked control. After an incident that killed his father, he sought sorcerors to help him, but none could help teach him control \- so he sought wizards. They could teach him control \- they helped him seal his power, and he worked hard to burn off the excess regularly."
"That's why his spells were so effortless! He wasn't just pulling the power from outside \- he was simply allowing his power out!"
"Exactly. To maintain his secret, he helped establish the university. He's gone through dozens of names, as his innate power and precise control extended his lifespan twenty\-fold."
"I never knew..."
She sighed. "He didn't want anyone to know. The university board nearly forgot, until I sent them a message reminding them. He also asked me to send for you."
"Why? I don't\-"
"You have to have some idea now."
"No... I can't help save him. He taught me well, but anything that aggressive... Oh.... The cancer \- it was probably caused by the sealed energy he couldn't spend!"
"Right. But he needs you to ensure his legacy."
"His... legacy? What.... oh, no..."
His innate spells. Anything powered by his sorcerous energy would unravel with his death. University buildings could crumble. Averted natural disasters could occur. Creatures would be unbound.
"But how can I help? There's no way I could find every spell he had cast in time!"
"Lapisque had been working on a plan for that. He didn't explain it to me, but I have an inkling." She opened a drawer. "More importantly, he left a memory crystal."
I picked up the blue crystal. An apparition appeared sitting on the end of the bed.
"Evras, I'm glad you made it. By now, Kelleth has explained the situation. I need you to make sure you've sat down, because there probably isn't much time."
I sat down in a chair.
The apparition continued: "I've lived a good life; it's sad, but all lives end. I've had more than my fair share, and I'm content to pass. But the damage that would be done is horrific, because I called on my power too often. I needed to \- if I didn't burn off that energy, it started to pulse and ache. Now, that power exists throughout the world, and when I pass, it will be gone."
There was a moment of silence. I was tearing up.
"There is a way to stop the destruction \- to keep my secret, save untold numbers of people, and help keep the wonder in the magic I taught. It will be difficult for you, but I know you can do it. While I was trying to find a cure, I figured out my sorcerous origin \- why there was so much power. More importantly, I realized I could light that spark in others \- turn them to sorcerors. You are my first choice \- who else could it be? You respected your elders, you tried to help others, and you learned well."
I was crying now, and Kelleth had started as well.
"I have devised a set of linked spells to solve the problem. The first shares my knowledge with you. It may not be perfect due to my age, but you would know how to control sorcerous power, what spells I had weaved with my own, and every spell and technique I had \- at least that I remember. The second is the one that, critically, ignites the spark in you. It will hurt \- I can't fix that \- but it won't kill you. The third is the most crucial \- it's a unique enchantment, and I am proud of it. It transfers the energy link from each spell to you. It sounds like a heavy burden, but it's not, because it happens at this point in the chain. The fourth and final will create a seal similar to my own, albeit improved \- it might prevent my fate from befalling you. It also prevents the paradox from creating your power and sealing it, but my passing removing it."
I was in awe... the complexity that would require...
"I simply need you to make me a few promises. I need you to help take care of Kelleth \- she's my world, and while someday she'll join me on the other side, I want that to be as far off as possible, and the time in between filled with joy."
Kelleth started to sob.
"I also need you to stabilize my work. Expend sorcerous energy on temporary things, and practice your precise magic on things with permanence. Find my spells, and re\-weave them."
"I will."
Kelleth laughed. "You know his illusion can't hear you, right?"
I felt stupid for a moment. "I... guess I forgot. But I needed to say it out loud, so I know what I'm promising."
In between his labored breaths, I felt a small pulse of energy from Lapisque \- the real Lapisque.
Kelleth went back to the drawer, which now contained a second crystal. It wasn't there before. This was not for reminiscing \- this one bristled with raw power. "I think you know what to do with this. I don't know what will happen when you do \- I may be a talented wizard in my own right, but some of these threads are beyond me \- but I'll watch over you while you recover."
She handed me the crystal. It was a brilliant gold, with other colors shining through. She was right \- the threads of energy in the lattice were so complex, so saturated with energy. If not used properly, the crystal may as well have been a nuclear bomb. It was only kept in check with precise spellweaving from my mentor. It offered immense power... and a terrific burden. A burden that my best friend had entrusted me with...
I unlocked the crystal. All I could see turned golden, and the knowledge and magic started to flood into me.
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Countless people from countless kingdoms had traveled countless miles, just to see if the rumors about Merlin the Great were true.
I'm one of those people. Yeah, the rumors were absolutely true. The old man was dying. He was completely motionless. Not even the best clerics from across the land were able to help him with their magical healing capabilities. It was simply the old man's time to go.
Ever since I was a kid, I'd heard stories about Merlin. I couldn't tell you how many of them were actually TRUE, but I feel like people wouldn't know as much as they do about him if he was a phony. So, when someone tells me that he once deflected a meteor back into the skies, or blew up an entire island populated by demonic creatures, I'll take their word for it.
Anyways, there were hundreds of people gathered around the guy. Nobody claimed to know him personally, and he was out cold, so... No one could really confirm if he was, in fact, the great wizard that all of us had heard tales of since our childhood. I guess we all just found the word-of-mouth to be completely credible. Looking at the scale of this event, though, I don't think there's a chance that this guy ISN'T Merlin. The clerics surely would've told us all off by now if he was some random civilian.
A few more minutes passed.
Nothing was really happening. There was a lot of murmuring among the crowd, but it was pretty damn uneventful.
I could be getting hammered at some tavern right now.
"Excuse me, everyone!" a voice rang out from the front of the crowd. One of the clerics was making an announcement. "The sorcerer you see lying here, is, in fact, Merlin the Great. He has fallen very ill, and, as I'm sure you're all aware, his spells will not last beyond the grave!"
There was a lot more murmuring now.
"How do you know it's the real Merlin?" someone from the center of the crowd had yelled, backed by a couple of "yeah"s.
"Before he went comatose, Merlin confirmed his identity. His legendary battle scars, the way he spoke, and his belongings all fit the descriptions of-"
"Merlin's belongings are here?!" another person had interrupted.
"Merlin the Great's staff is right in this area?!"
"I'M GONNA GET THAT STAFF!"
It took a solid 10 seconds for the crowd to go from attentive to crazy. Knights and wizards were trampling over each other in a desperate attempt to loot the dying Merlin. I couldn't even make my way out at this point. My entire field of view was taken up by people nearly running me over. I couldn't tell if the clerics had been trampled, or if Merlin himself had been pushed out of his bed, but I knew for sure, this was DEFINITELY more exciting than whatever was going on before. I pulled out my sword, ready to stab my way to that sweet, sweet loot. It was hard to even swing my sword around, until finally, bodies started dropping. Now there was more room to maneuver around. I could actually see my surroundings, for the first time in a hot minute.
"GIMME HIS BAG!"
"HIS STAFF! WHO TOOK IT?"
"I GOT HIS HAT!"
The crowd was beginning to form a human pyramid. They were all just trampling over, and standing on each other, I didn't even know that was possible, but it was pretty crazy.
"HEY! THAT GUY HAS THE STAFF NOW!" someone yelled, pointing at a a scrawny-looking dude who was sprinting away from the crowd as fast as he could. The wave of staff-lusted adventurers shifted to chase after the scrawny guy. I'm not nearly as determined to get the staff as these guys are, but I haven't been apart of something this fun in a while. So, naturally, I ran after the scrawny guy as well. I leapt, and slashed whoever was in my way, getting rammed a couple of times by some heavily-armored barbarians. That didn't stop me though. My adrenaline was WAY too high for me to stop. This was either going to end with me getting the staff, getting knocked out, or getting killed. I leaned in, running faster than I ever had before, trying my best to keep up with everyone. I began to falter. I was falling a bit behind the crowd. I was just about ready to pass out from exhaustion, when, just on my luck, the scrawny dude had begun to circle back around. Seeing as I was at the back of the crowd, he was headed right towards me! Ha!
I readied my sword, getting into a cool-looking stance that probably wasn't very practical. I followed his movements. He was swerving mostly to the left to avoid getting tackled. Every single time, he was moving left. I readied myself EVEN harder, however that works. He was getting closer to me. Scrawny dude was about to be impaled by my hands, in
3...
2...
1...
He was right by me. I leapt towards him, sword extended. And just as I had predicted, he ducked to the...-
Right?
Oh shit.
The one time he dodges to the right, it was to avoid the only person who realized he was always ducking to the left.
I soared through the air, sword embarrassingly extended towards nothing. It was like I was moving in slow-motion. This would've been a lot more humiliating if anyone was paying enough attention to care, but no matter. I'll simply land back on the ground, brush myself off, and-...
Hold up. My sword definitely penetrated something fleshy. For the first time in a while, I averted my attention from the rampaging crowd to see what I had stabbed.
My sword was nestled comfortably in the chest of Merlin the Great.
How did this guy even get over here? It's like someone spear-tossed him off of his death bed, and he coincidentally landed right where I was thrusting my sword towards. I guess nobody could see him through the cloud of dust that the rampaging crowd was leaving behind them.
Well, that's neat. I just helped kill Merlin the Great. At least I'll have a unique story to tell people on my long travels. Maybe I should loot his robes, which, luckily, no one else had thought of doing.
I took the robes off of his body, leaving him in his casual-wear. I turned back towards the crowd to see if scrawny was still carrying the staff.
The crowd had run quite some distance in the last 30 seconds. I couldn't even see who had the staff anymore.
I began to walk towards the nearest town, in search of a merchant, when I heard the sound of an explosion as loud as the roar of a dragon. The explosion came from where the crowd was. Maybe Merlin's staff had a defensive spell on it, like, one that would make it blow up as soon as he was dead.
Speaking of things that might happen once Merlin dies... The world should be going to shit pretty soon. Monsters should start appearing from every direction, floods should begin drowning the entire world... Or, at least if the stories about Merlin were true.
Nothing has happened for a couple minutes now. Maybe the guy was just a fake Merlin, an impostor. Or, maybe the tales were nothing more than fiction.
Either way, who cares? I sure don't, 'cause I've got the guy's robes now! I'm gonna be able to trade these for a horse, or something.
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It's really late and I should be getting some rest. Oops. Sorry for any typos, I don't have time to proof-read :( Hope you guys enjoyed my story attempt. Nice prompt, OP.
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[WP] When a sorcerer dies any spells they cast throughout their life that are still in effect will cease to be. An powerful and ancient wizard whose origins are clouded in mystery lays comatose on his deathbed and nobody knows what will happen once he draws his final breath.
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The Machen family lived extraordinarily long lives.
They were known throughout the Kingdom for their longevity, their magical prowess. The family Elder, Arch Mage Soren, was renowned as the greatest wizard of his era, his skill and magical stamina was beyond question.
Today was his last.
The family gathered around his bed, some crying, others stony faced. Within that room were some of the greatest magic users in the land, advisors to Kings, creators of wonders and marvels. Most were there to pay respects to a great man that they had known their entire lives, that their parents and grandparents had known. Some were there for greed, to see what spells the ancient sorcerer had embedded in the world, to see if he would spill his magical secrets before he left this world.
He lay upon the bed, resplendent in his purple robes, his beard still long, still lustrous. His amber eyes gazed around the room, taking in the generations arrayed before him.
He began to cry.
His wife, sitting next to him patted his hand and made soft, soothing noises. He shook his head at her, gazing deeply into her eyes.
"I'm sorry" he whispered, before turning to address the rest. "I'm so sorry".
"There's nothing to be sorry for my love" his wife said, to murmured agreements and nods.
The tears flowed fast down his wizened cheeks.
"You don't understand. I was so close. So close..."
The gathering leaned in, some pushing their way closer. Soren looked up at them and let out a long rattling breath.
"I would never have....I thought I would have found a way by now. To make it permanent. Please, understand. I meant it as a blessing..."
The old man, who had seen Kingdoms rise and fall, who had on his wedding day all those years ago stopped time for a second just to savour it, closed his eyes for the last time.
The gathering began to utter their condolences quietly, heads bowed.
They quickly looked up at her scream.
Before their eyes the already aged woman was deteriorating, her skin shrinking around her fragile bones, her eyes sunken. Within moments she was reduced to a decayed husk.
Before the others could react, they too felt it, the cruel talon of time ripping away the vestige of their youth, bringing them to their knees as they raced towards the grave.
As the last elder of the family fell, his eyes flicked towards the bed.
Resplendent purple robes covering old and cracked bones.
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r/AMSWrites
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Countless people from countless kingdoms had traveled countless miles, just to see if the rumors about Merlin the Great were true.
I'm one of those people. Yeah, the rumors were absolutely true. The old man was dying. He was completely motionless. Not even the best clerics from across the land were able to help him with their magical healing capabilities. It was simply the old man's time to go.
Ever since I was a kid, I'd heard stories about Merlin. I couldn't tell you how many of them were actually TRUE, but I feel like people wouldn't know as much as they do about him if he was a phony. So, when someone tells me that he once deflected a meteor back into the skies, or blew up an entire island populated by demonic creatures, I'll take their word for it.
Anyways, there were hundreds of people gathered around the guy. Nobody claimed to know him personally, and he was out cold, so... No one could really confirm if he was, in fact, the great wizard that all of us had heard tales of since our childhood. I guess we all just found the word-of-mouth to be completely credible. Looking at the scale of this event, though, I don't think there's a chance that this guy ISN'T Merlin. The clerics surely would've told us all off by now if he was some random civilian.
A few more minutes passed.
Nothing was really happening. There was a lot of murmuring among the crowd, but it was pretty damn uneventful.
I could be getting hammered at some tavern right now.
"Excuse me, everyone!" a voice rang out from the front of the crowd. One of the clerics was making an announcement. "The sorcerer you see lying here, is, in fact, Merlin the Great. He has fallen very ill, and, as I'm sure you're all aware, his spells will not last beyond the grave!"
There was a lot more murmuring now.
"How do you know it's the real Merlin?" someone from the center of the crowd had yelled, backed by a couple of "yeah"s.
"Before he went comatose, Merlin confirmed his identity. His legendary battle scars, the way he spoke, and his belongings all fit the descriptions of-"
"Merlin's belongings are here?!" another person had interrupted.
"Merlin the Great's staff is right in this area?!"
"I'M GONNA GET THAT STAFF!"
It took a solid 10 seconds for the crowd to go from attentive to crazy. Knights and wizards were trampling over each other in a desperate attempt to loot the dying Merlin. I couldn't even make my way out at this point. My entire field of view was taken up by people nearly running me over. I couldn't tell if the clerics had been trampled, or if Merlin himself had been pushed out of his bed, but I knew for sure, this was DEFINITELY more exciting than whatever was going on before. I pulled out my sword, ready to stab my way to that sweet, sweet loot. It was hard to even swing my sword around, until finally, bodies started dropping. Now there was more room to maneuver around. I could actually see my surroundings, for the first time in a hot minute.
"GIMME HIS BAG!"
"HIS STAFF! WHO TOOK IT?"
"I GOT HIS HAT!"
The crowd was beginning to form a human pyramid. They were all just trampling over, and standing on each other, I didn't even know that was possible, but it was pretty crazy.
"HEY! THAT GUY HAS THE STAFF NOW!" someone yelled, pointing at a a scrawny-looking dude who was sprinting away from the crowd as fast as he could. The wave of staff-lusted adventurers shifted to chase after the scrawny guy. I'm not nearly as determined to get the staff as these guys are, but I haven't been apart of something this fun in a while. So, naturally, I ran after the scrawny guy as well. I leapt, and slashed whoever was in my way, getting rammed a couple of times by some heavily-armored barbarians. That didn't stop me though. My adrenaline was WAY too high for me to stop. This was either going to end with me getting the staff, getting knocked out, or getting killed. I leaned in, running faster than I ever had before, trying my best to keep up with everyone. I began to falter. I was falling a bit behind the crowd. I was just about ready to pass out from exhaustion, when, just on my luck, the scrawny dude had begun to circle back around. Seeing as I was at the back of the crowd, he was headed right towards me! Ha!
I readied my sword, getting into a cool-looking stance that probably wasn't very practical. I followed his movements. He was swerving mostly to the left to avoid getting tackled. Every single time, he was moving left. I readied myself EVEN harder, however that works. He was getting closer to me. Scrawny dude was about to be impaled by my hands, in
3...
2...
1...
He was right by me. I leapt towards him, sword extended. And just as I had predicted, he ducked to the...-
Right?
Oh shit.
The one time he dodges to the right, it was to avoid the only person who realized he was always ducking to the left.
I soared through the air, sword embarrassingly extended towards nothing. It was like I was moving in slow-motion. This would've been a lot more humiliating if anyone was paying enough attention to care, but no matter. I'll simply land back on the ground, brush myself off, and-...
Hold up. My sword definitely penetrated something fleshy. For the first time in a while, I averted my attention from the rampaging crowd to see what I had stabbed.
My sword was nestled comfortably in the chest of Merlin the Great.
How did this guy even get over here? It's like someone spear-tossed him off of his death bed, and he coincidentally landed right where I was thrusting my sword towards. I guess nobody could see him through the cloud of dust that the rampaging crowd was leaving behind them.
Well, that's neat. I just helped kill Merlin the Great. At least I'll have a unique story to tell people on my long travels. Maybe I should loot his robes, which, luckily, no one else had thought of doing.
I took the robes off of his body, leaving him in his casual-wear. I turned back towards the crowd to see if scrawny was still carrying the staff.
The crowd had run quite some distance in the last 30 seconds. I couldn't even see who had the staff anymore.
I began to walk towards the nearest town, in search of a merchant, when I heard the sound of an explosion as loud as the roar of a dragon. The explosion came from where the crowd was. Maybe Merlin's staff had a defensive spell on it, like, one that would make it blow up as soon as he was dead.
Speaking of things that might happen once Merlin dies... The world should be going to shit pretty soon. Monsters should start appearing from every direction, floods should begin drowning the entire world... Or, at least if the stories about Merlin were true.
Nothing has happened for a couple minutes now. Maybe the guy was just a fake Merlin, an impostor. Or, maybe the tales were nothing more than fiction.
Either way, who cares? I sure don't, 'cause I've got the guy's robes now! I'm gonna be able to trade these for a horse, or something.
-------------------------------------------
It's really late and I should be getting some rest. Oops. Sorry for any typos, I don't have time to proof-read :( Hope you guys enjoyed my story attempt. Nice prompt, OP.
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[WP] When a sorcerer dies any spells they cast throughout their life that are still in effect will cease to be. An powerful and ancient wizard whose origins are clouded in mystery lays comatose on his deathbed and nobody knows what will happen once he draws his final breath.
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The thing about being old, really old, is that when the time finally comes to leave this world, the world you grew up in will have left you a long time since. Archmage Prasutagus was definitely old. For nearly two millenia Prasutagus had defended the earth from mystical enemies, thanks to the power of his bloodline. For he is descended from Boudica herself.
Several lifetimes ago, he took his own name, Merlin. But now he preferred to go by the name of his birth. He found himself, so long now from the time of his youth, missing his mother dearly. He would be with her soon.
As the founder and head of the Royal Sorcerers of Londinium, he had protected the island of Britain from enemies for generations. But here, deep beneath the city in the ruins of the modest city, within the headquarters of the Royal Sorcerers he was powerless. Britain lie nearly defenseless now. soon the wards and mystic traps he laid hidden upon the island would fail.
Archmage Prasutagus head of the Royal Sorcerers of Londinium struggled to sit up in bed, and shortly his manservant entered and led him out of his quarters to the central chamber. Most of the chamber was taken up by the great round table. The same one from legend, for this was the real Camelot, buried beneath the bones of the greatest city of the world. It was surprisingly full. The mages who would normally be out on assignment protecting the island had been called back from service.
At the far end of the table sat the prince. Older than the last time. They always get older. Prasutagus still remembered his visits with Queen Elizabeth fondly. Both Elizabeths, actually. And the insufferable Charles, whose lack of hubris lead to his downfall and the rise of the black mage Cromwell, a rogue within Prasutagus' own organization. And distantly, he remembered the young Arthur, whom he molded into a capable king who founded this most remarkable empire. This would be the last.
The prince looked pensive, and concerned. Prasutagus was his friend, and like a second father to the man, although he was older than the Royal house itself. "I received your memo, Prasutagus, is there anything my family can do for you... to ease your...?" He wasn't sure he was ready to admit that his friend was truly dying.
"No, your highness. But you must understand the full implications of what will happen. As I said, when a sorcerer dies, what magic of theirs is left in the world is undone. All of the wards and shields will fall. You will be left defenseless."
The prince looked around at all the mages in the room, many were also his friends. The entire royal family supported their mission on numerous occasions. "I understand that, but surely the sorcerers here will be up to the task." He pointed across the table towards a young mage, "Why, I watched Miss Persephone single-handedly defend the Thames from the Leviathan and repair the tidal shield with precision. It is stronger than ever."
Persephone looked downcast towards her hands resting in her lap. The fight against the Leviathan had been mighty. The great beast ravaged the coast and blasted the magical shield guarding the river against the darkness with enough force to shatter windows for miles. The Leviathan had nearly won. It was then that Prasutagus knew his time was near. The shield had barely held. A shield that had been impervious to a thousand blows had shattered after only three.
Prasutagus sighed with resignation. He must choose his words carefully. This was where his legacy would live or die. "Persephone and the other sorcerers have been invaluable to me. Without them, our nation would have never survived as long as it has." He gestured around the table at the many senior mages present. The mages nodded sagely, none saying a word. Slowly they each stood up in turn and looked expectantly towards Prasutagus.
He considered them his friends, family even. They had stood by his side as he fought the unceasing hordes of demons and devils that threatened the world. He would miss them, just as he missed his own family who had died hundreds upon hundreds of years ago. However this truly was the end. If he was to give these people hope at survival, then he must swallow his pride and give up all of the securities and comforts that he had afforded himself these lonely years.
"if our world is to survive any further you must find a new sorcerer. I believe there is a young girl who might save you all. Like I did centuries ago. Your family must begin the search for her now."
The prince looked bewildered. Surrounded by so many powerful mages in one room, each more powerful than a battalion of soldiers. There were over a hundred Royal Sorcerers. The idea that a young girl would be a match for them, or a replacement for the man who used to be known as Merlin seemed preposterous.
"How could all of these sorcerers pale in comparison to a little girl? How could a hundred sorcerers not match the power of one?"
Prasutagus' manservant gently draped his robes over his shoulders as Prasutagus weaved a spell he had committed to memory generations ago, never having the courage to cast it. His magic would be undone either willingly or upon his death. Now, it would be both. One by one the sorcerers around the table bowed their heads low and faded into twinkling stars and emptiness. As his manservant touched his shoulder as if to say farewell, he too disappeared.
"Because, your highness, until now there has ever only been one sorcerer. I am sorry." Tears welled in his eyes. He could help no further. His power faded as quickly as the setting sun's last rays vanished.
"Find the girl, she is your only hope."
Merlin, the Sorcerer of Londinium, closed his eyes and drew his final breath. The shields fell. Darkness is coming. Somewhere, a young girl will discover that the darkness is coming for her.
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“Thank you, everyone, for everything. I’m so sorry.”
With that final whisper, the old man closed his eyes and passed away. The people gathered around him, a collection of relations and important figureheads, glanced around nervously.
“Why did he say sorry?!”
“Nothing seems to have changed! Maybe nothing will happen.”
“Of course something is going to happen! He was the ancient. He existed before all historical records and, quite frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he himself had forgotten half of the spells he had left behind in his lifetime.”
“But why did he say sorry?!”
“Who knows? Maybe he was just joking. Maybe he already put all his affairs in order before he went. It would be nice if someone finally did rather than leaving the rest of the world to sort out their dirty magical laundry.”
“Oh.”
“What?”
“Look outside.”
Everyone rushed to a window and looked out.
“Where is the horizon...”
“It’s there, just lower down.”
“What are you talking about? Where are all the buildings?”
“Gone. Look there, that’s what is happening.”
They looked in the direction indicated and watched as a tall white building slowly faded and disappeared.
“That can’t be right! He didn’t create those buildings! He didn’t create the materials did he?”
“Of course not! We don’t create buildings out of magicked materials in this day and age, for this precise reason.”
“I suppose it’s ironic that, according to historical records, it was the old man that suggested that law.”
“What do you mean? Ironic how?”
One woman let out a curse, “The damned trees in my park are disappearing! I magicked those!”
“Where?”
The woman pointed in the direction of her accomplishment, only to let out a gasp. Her finger was half faded away.
The room was silent now. Each looked at each other as they slowly disappeared. Outside, most of the city was already gone.
“Oh.”
Shortly afterwards there was nothing left but dust and a light wind. The dead body of an old man lay alone on an uninhabited desert planet.
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[WP] When a sorcerer dies any spells they cast throughout their life that are still in effect will cease to be. An powerful and ancient wizard whose origins are clouded in mystery lays comatose on his deathbed and nobody knows what will happen once he draws his final breath.
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I really wasn't sure what to make of this errand.
Sure, while studying at university, Dafaris had been my favorite professor. How could he not have been? He made even the most complex spells look nearly effortless. Some of the complex weaves he performed \- especially while distracted, showing the value of muscle memory for common somatic components. He was the teacher who enjoyed the low\-level classes to instill and reinforce wonder, and the high\-level classes to share that wonder.
He always made time for his students if they asked. He and I became friends during my final year \- I'd meet him at a pub at least once a week, and that continued after my graduation, albeit monthly. Over the last year, I'd strived to make it more often, because I had seen it. His vigor was gone; he had taken to using a cane, and while he still loved to reminisce, the details kept getting fuzzier. When he had to skip a meetup, I was worried, but pushed it out of my mind.
When I received the summons from the university, I could not suppress the fear and doubt.
The note was short, especially as the university board's publications went: "As one of our esteemed alumni, we know of both your substantial skill and your desire to help the world. While most students pursue paths outside of the university, a unique task has arisen, and our colleague Dafaris has specifically requested you to take it on. He will share with you the details; attached is a sigil which will allow you \- and only you \- to travel to his home. If you cannot undertake this task, please let us know immediately."
Dafaris had asked; I had to go.
I used the sigil, and ended up at a small, peaceful farm \- a quick positional attunement spell revealed that I was in France, but far from any city. It had a great view of the sea, and was a nice cottage \- not huge, but certainly comfortable. I made my way to it.
I knocked, and I heard rustling inside. After a moment, his wife \- who I had met perhaps twice \- answered the door. She looked exhausted, and the tear stains on her cheek told me how dire his health was. "Oh, Evras, I'm so glad you could make it. Lapisque doesn't have much time left."
"Lapisque? Don't you mean Dafaris?"
"Yes, but, it's complicated. Come inside."
She led me up to his room. I barely maintained my composure; Dafaris was jaundiced, and his breathing was labored.
"Evras, as you can see, my dear Lapisque doesn't have much time left. He hasn't been conscious in three days; the first I just thought he was getting some rest, but now I fear that... that it may be... final."
I tried to put my hand on her shoulder to provide some measure of comfort. "I... never thought I'd see the day. Dafaris always seemed so lively. What happened?"
She responded, "It's some sort of cancer. Aggressive \- none of his spells could even slow it."
"Cancer? That... doesn't make sense. Hell, Dafaris explained in my first year that Wizards analyze themselves as they cast spells, and stop if their health isn't stable. He'd have noticed it early, and the university board..."
"The board tried and couldn't help Lapisque\-"
"What? Why? And why do you keep calling him Lapisque?"
She sighed. "Lapisque is Dafaris's original name. He was born thousands of years ago."
"Th\- Thousands?"
"Yes. When he was born, his parents didn't realize it, but they were of different lines of sorcerors."
"Wait, Dafaris \- er, Lapisque \- is a sorceror? That doesn't make sense! He's a wizard!"
"He's both. Like any sorceror, his power manifested during puberty... and it was incredible. The raw power he could weave into spells was immense, but it was so great he lacked control. After an incident that killed his father, he sought sorcerors to help him, but none could help teach him control \- so he sought wizards. They could teach him control \- they helped him seal his power, and he worked hard to burn off the excess regularly."
"That's why his spells were so effortless! He wasn't just pulling the power from outside \- he was simply allowing his power out!"
"Exactly. To maintain his secret, he helped establish the university. He's gone through dozens of names, as his innate power and precise control extended his lifespan twenty\-fold."
"I never knew..."
She sighed. "He didn't want anyone to know. The university board nearly forgot, until I sent them a message reminding them. He also asked me to send for you."
"Why? I don't\-"
"You have to have some idea now."
"No... I can't help save him. He taught me well, but anything that aggressive... Oh.... The cancer \- it was probably caused by the sealed energy he couldn't spend!"
"Right. But he needs you to ensure his legacy."
"His... legacy? What.... oh, no..."
His innate spells. Anything powered by his sorcerous energy would unravel with his death. University buildings could crumble. Averted natural disasters could occur. Creatures would be unbound.
"But how can I help? There's no way I could find every spell he had cast in time!"
"Lapisque had been working on a plan for that. He didn't explain it to me, but I have an inkling." She opened a drawer. "More importantly, he left a memory crystal."
I picked up the blue crystal. An apparition appeared sitting on the end of the bed.
"Evras, I'm glad you made it. By now, Kelleth has explained the situation. I need you to make sure you've sat down, because there probably isn't much time."
I sat down in a chair.
The apparition continued: "I've lived a good life; it's sad, but all lives end. I've had more than my fair share, and I'm content to pass. But the damage that would be done is horrific, because I called on my power too often. I needed to \- if I didn't burn off that energy, it started to pulse and ache. Now, that power exists throughout the world, and when I pass, it will be gone."
There was a moment of silence. I was tearing up.
"There is a way to stop the destruction \- to keep my secret, save untold numbers of people, and help keep the wonder in the magic I taught. It will be difficult for you, but I know you can do it. While I was trying to find a cure, I figured out my sorcerous origin \- why there was so much power. More importantly, I realized I could light that spark in others \- turn them to sorcerors. You are my first choice \- who else could it be? You respected your elders, you tried to help others, and you learned well."
I was crying now, and Kelleth had started as well.
"I have devised a set of linked spells to solve the problem. The first shares my knowledge with you. It may not be perfect due to my age, but you would know how to control sorcerous power, what spells I had weaved with my own, and every spell and technique I had \- at least that I remember. The second is the one that, critically, ignites the spark in you. It will hurt \- I can't fix that \- but it won't kill you. The third is the most crucial \- it's a unique enchantment, and I am proud of it. It transfers the energy link from each spell to you. It sounds like a heavy burden, but it's not, because it happens at this point in the chain. The fourth and final will create a seal similar to my own, albeit improved \- it might prevent my fate from befalling you. It also prevents the paradox from creating your power and sealing it, but my passing removing it."
I was in awe... the complexity that would require...
"I simply need you to make me a few promises. I need you to help take care of Kelleth \- she's my world, and while someday she'll join me on the other side, I want that to be as far off as possible, and the time in between filled with joy."
Kelleth started to sob.
"I also need you to stabilize my work. Expend sorcerous energy on temporary things, and practice your precise magic on things with permanence. Find my spells, and re\-weave them."
"I will."
Kelleth laughed. "You know his illusion can't hear you, right?"
I felt stupid for a moment. "I... guess I forgot. But I needed to say it out loud, so I know what I'm promising."
In between his labored breaths, I felt a small pulse of energy from Lapisque \- the real Lapisque.
Kelleth went back to the drawer, which now contained a second crystal. It wasn't there before. This was not for reminiscing \- this one bristled with raw power. "I think you know what to do with this. I don't know what will happen when you do \- I may be a talented wizard in my own right, but some of these threads are beyond me \- but I'll watch over you while you recover."
She handed me the crystal. It was a brilliant gold, with other colors shining through. She was right \- the threads of energy in the lattice were so complex, so saturated with energy. If not used properly, the crystal may as well have been a nuclear bomb. It was only kept in check with precise spellweaving from my mentor. It offered immense power... and a terrific burden. A burden that my best friend had entrusted me with...
I unlocked the crystal. All I could see turned golden, and the knowledge and magic started to flood into me.
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I looked out over the dusty grey plain at Earthrise. Ever since we had fled the genocide of our people and stepped through that great portal to the moon, we knew we would never be able to go back. But somehow, today it was more real. We had done our best to prepare; Teminarin knew she was dying, she knew that her spells would expire with her spirit, so she had done the best she could to make things permanent, to let us keep living. The magic bubble that held in our air had been replaced with glass, the wards against stray asteroids with lasers, the sacred runes of the central fountain with a water purification system. Teminarin had used her magic to gain great knowledge, innovating hundreds of knew technologies, all of which could be built without magic. The library held thousands of books, detailing everything we needed to build and maintain the systems that would keep us alive as well as new ones we hadn't yet had time to make. Despite the great sadness of our hero and valued elder's passing, I was optimistic.
When she died we all felt it, like a cold wind rippling outward from her deathbed. I held my breath, but there was no rush of air evaporating into space, no collapse a crumble of the dome over my head. Cautiously I drew another breath. We were still alive. Gazing at the glass in front of me separating life and death, I noticed the seam between two panes was sealed with some kind of dark substance. How had I not noticed that before? Had I not had a hand in building the dome? I was certain that was something I should have known, but somehow it slipped my mind. Come to think of it I wasn't sure how the glass would stand up against the perils of space. There was some kind of weapon or something. My confused thoughts paused. I realized I didn't know a single thing about the artificial world keeping us all alive, even though I had had a hand in it's construction. I started to panic, and rushed to the library. Surely if the knowledge had slipped my mind, it couldn't have left the books. I found Teminarin's apprentice Sam there, crying on the floor. "It's all gone. Magic. It's all gone"
"What do you mean. You can't even cast a single spell?"
"All the knowledge that Teminarin created, it was magical. It left with her."
"But surely the books are firmer than minds"
"Look". He held open a book, and despite the fact that the words were still firmly attached to the page, I could not glean any meaning from them. It was like trying to read in a dream. So it was indeed all gone. The machines we had painstakingly built by hand without a trace of magic would keep us alive for a while, but we had a long hard road ahead of us if we wanted to learn how to maintain them.
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[WP] When a sorcerer dies any spells they cast throughout their life that are still in effect will cease to be. An powerful and ancient wizard whose origins are clouded in mystery lays comatose on his deathbed and nobody knows what will happen once he draws his final breath.
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I really wasn't sure what to make of this errand.
Sure, while studying at university, Dafaris had been my favorite professor. How could he not have been? He made even the most complex spells look nearly effortless. Some of the complex weaves he performed \- especially while distracted, showing the value of muscle memory for common somatic components. He was the teacher who enjoyed the low\-level classes to instill and reinforce wonder, and the high\-level classes to share that wonder.
He always made time for his students if they asked. He and I became friends during my final year \- I'd meet him at a pub at least once a week, and that continued after my graduation, albeit monthly. Over the last year, I'd strived to make it more often, because I had seen it. His vigor was gone; he had taken to using a cane, and while he still loved to reminisce, the details kept getting fuzzier. When he had to skip a meetup, I was worried, but pushed it out of my mind.
When I received the summons from the university, I could not suppress the fear and doubt.
The note was short, especially as the university board's publications went: "As one of our esteemed alumni, we know of both your substantial skill and your desire to help the world. While most students pursue paths outside of the university, a unique task has arisen, and our colleague Dafaris has specifically requested you to take it on. He will share with you the details; attached is a sigil which will allow you \- and only you \- to travel to his home. If you cannot undertake this task, please let us know immediately."
Dafaris had asked; I had to go.
I used the sigil, and ended up at a small, peaceful farm \- a quick positional attunement spell revealed that I was in France, but far from any city. It had a great view of the sea, and was a nice cottage \- not huge, but certainly comfortable. I made my way to it.
I knocked, and I heard rustling inside. After a moment, his wife \- who I had met perhaps twice \- answered the door. She looked exhausted, and the tear stains on her cheek told me how dire his health was. "Oh, Evras, I'm so glad you could make it. Lapisque doesn't have much time left."
"Lapisque? Don't you mean Dafaris?"
"Yes, but, it's complicated. Come inside."
She led me up to his room. I barely maintained my composure; Dafaris was jaundiced, and his breathing was labored.
"Evras, as you can see, my dear Lapisque doesn't have much time left. He hasn't been conscious in three days; the first I just thought he was getting some rest, but now I fear that... that it may be... final."
I tried to put my hand on her shoulder to provide some measure of comfort. "I... never thought I'd see the day. Dafaris always seemed so lively. What happened?"
She responded, "It's some sort of cancer. Aggressive \- none of his spells could even slow it."
"Cancer? That... doesn't make sense. Hell, Dafaris explained in my first year that Wizards analyze themselves as they cast spells, and stop if their health isn't stable. He'd have noticed it early, and the university board..."
"The board tried and couldn't help Lapisque\-"
"What? Why? And why do you keep calling him Lapisque?"
She sighed. "Lapisque is Dafaris's original name. He was born thousands of years ago."
"Th\- Thousands?"
"Yes. When he was born, his parents didn't realize it, but they were of different lines of sorcerors."
"Wait, Dafaris \- er, Lapisque \- is a sorceror? That doesn't make sense! He's a wizard!"
"He's both. Like any sorceror, his power manifested during puberty... and it was incredible. The raw power he could weave into spells was immense, but it was so great he lacked control. After an incident that killed his father, he sought sorcerors to help him, but none could help teach him control \- so he sought wizards. They could teach him control \- they helped him seal his power, and he worked hard to burn off the excess regularly."
"That's why his spells were so effortless! He wasn't just pulling the power from outside \- he was simply allowing his power out!"
"Exactly. To maintain his secret, he helped establish the university. He's gone through dozens of names, as his innate power and precise control extended his lifespan twenty\-fold."
"I never knew..."
She sighed. "He didn't want anyone to know. The university board nearly forgot, until I sent them a message reminding them. He also asked me to send for you."
"Why? I don't\-"
"You have to have some idea now."
"No... I can't help save him. He taught me well, but anything that aggressive... Oh.... The cancer \- it was probably caused by the sealed energy he couldn't spend!"
"Right. But he needs you to ensure his legacy."
"His... legacy? What.... oh, no..."
His innate spells. Anything powered by his sorcerous energy would unravel with his death. University buildings could crumble. Averted natural disasters could occur. Creatures would be unbound.
"But how can I help? There's no way I could find every spell he had cast in time!"
"Lapisque had been working on a plan for that. He didn't explain it to me, but I have an inkling." She opened a drawer. "More importantly, he left a memory crystal."
I picked up the blue crystal. An apparition appeared sitting on the end of the bed.
"Evras, I'm glad you made it. By now, Kelleth has explained the situation. I need you to make sure you've sat down, because there probably isn't much time."
I sat down in a chair.
The apparition continued: "I've lived a good life; it's sad, but all lives end. I've had more than my fair share, and I'm content to pass. But the damage that would be done is horrific, because I called on my power too often. I needed to \- if I didn't burn off that energy, it started to pulse and ache. Now, that power exists throughout the world, and when I pass, it will be gone."
There was a moment of silence. I was tearing up.
"There is a way to stop the destruction \- to keep my secret, save untold numbers of people, and help keep the wonder in the magic I taught. It will be difficult for you, but I know you can do it. While I was trying to find a cure, I figured out my sorcerous origin \- why there was so much power. More importantly, I realized I could light that spark in others \- turn them to sorcerors. You are my first choice \- who else could it be? You respected your elders, you tried to help others, and you learned well."
I was crying now, and Kelleth had started as well.
"I have devised a set of linked spells to solve the problem. The first shares my knowledge with you. It may not be perfect due to my age, but you would know how to control sorcerous power, what spells I had weaved with my own, and every spell and technique I had \- at least that I remember. The second is the one that, critically, ignites the spark in you. It will hurt \- I can't fix that \- but it won't kill you. The third is the most crucial \- it's a unique enchantment, and I am proud of it. It transfers the energy link from each spell to you. It sounds like a heavy burden, but it's not, because it happens at this point in the chain. The fourth and final will create a seal similar to my own, albeit improved \- it might prevent my fate from befalling you. It also prevents the paradox from creating your power and sealing it, but my passing removing it."
I was in awe... the complexity that would require...
"I simply need you to make me a few promises. I need you to help take care of Kelleth \- she's my world, and while someday she'll join me on the other side, I want that to be as far off as possible, and the time in between filled with joy."
Kelleth started to sob.
"I also need you to stabilize my work. Expend sorcerous energy on temporary things, and practice your precise magic on things with permanence. Find my spells, and re\-weave them."
"I will."
Kelleth laughed. "You know his illusion can't hear you, right?"
I felt stupid for a moment. "I... guess I forgot. But I needed to say it out loud, so I know what I'm promising."
In between his labored breaths, I felt a small pulse of energy from Lapisque \- the real Lapisque.
Kelleth went back to the drawer, which now contained a second crystal. It wasn't there before. This was not for reminiscing \- this one bristled with raw power. "I think you know what to do with this. I don't know what will happen when you do \- I may be a talented wizard in my own right, but some of these threads are beyond me \- but I'll watch over you while you recover."
She handed me the crystal. It was a brilliant gold, with other colors shining through. She was right \- the threads of energy in the lattice were so complex, so saturated with energy. If not used properly, the crystal may as well have been a nuclear bomb. It was only kept in check with precise spellweaving from my mentor. It offered immense power... and a terrific burden. A burden that my best friend had entrusted me with...
I unlocked the crystal. All I could see turned golden, and the knowledge and magic started to flood into me.
|
At last...
The last and greatest secret had eluded me. No sorcerer’s stone or endless elixir could keep me alive.
The healers did their best, but not even I could cure this disease, so how could they? I am the oldest and greatest of the wizards, mightiest of sorcerers who wielded the powers of earth and sky.
I’ve cast so many spells in my life, that I could not even finish writing them all in the hall of memory. When I am gone, so too, will these spells.
The spell that held the tower of heaven. And bound the lord of shadow beneath its crystalline foundations. The summon of the Golden Fleece that kept this entire continent prosperous and at peace. The enchantment around the vale of evil, that kept the darkness from seeping through.
And last, but not least, the great debt. The power of so many sorcerers who had sacrificed themselves in the first war, and the spell that gave their magic to me.
Those souls cannot wield magic any longer, and so the many wizards of this continent are in fear of what will happen. But in my death, I have found one last, great secret. If a spell cannot be resolved after the death of its caster, an equivalent effect may be built into the spell for its dissolution. Pass a little sooner, and you can, indeed, shift the spell’s ending just a little.
This is the magic of over a million archmagi, strengthened and carefully tended to by me. I give this to you, people of the continent, to guard you in the days to come. So too will I give you the library, so that you may have the knowledge to keep this world safe.
— the last will of Sotek Mazdamundi
I read this will on the field of battle. The vale-guard has fallen and the evil spreads.
I, Sotek Mazdamundi, reborn, will claim the magic of spread across the world by my past life. The evil within is my greed. I will take it and make it mine.
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[WP] It's the 80s, and moral crusaders and alarmists on TV are warning parents that Dungeons & Dragons is all about the devil worship. Fed up with being associated with nerds, the devil himself is giving a press conference to get them to stop defaming his character.
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“Members of the press, I'd like to thank all of you for meeting me here today. I'll keep the introduction short- I'm The Devil, the real one.
Ahem.
Recently, my name has been thrown in with a trend involving teens, the playing of a tabletop game known as Dungeons and Dragons. Now, I know what you're all thinking; the name sounds dark, what kind of tabletop game doesn't use a board, the devil is behind all things wrong in the world, etc.
I'm here to dispel this notion plainly ; I am not, nor have I ever been, nor will I ever be involved with Dungeons and Dragons.
D&D, as I'll refer to it henceforth, is about the safest, least satanic thing a group of kids could ever involve themselves in. It's Tolkien with math and dice, you guys. That's it.
Are there some demons and other apparitions in it? Yes. But that doesn't make it satanic. It's all so… lame.
Folks, I am all about wickedness! Greed! Destruction! Fire! Ruin! Driving cars at unsafe speeds! Orgies!
If your kids were planning on becoming stockbrokers, bankers, CEOs, hedge fund managers, etc. then yes, I am so for that. Throw my name around all you want in that case! You'll see what I mean when the 80’s really get into full swing, here in just a bit. You're all gonna hear about cocaine again real soon.
Anyway, stop thinking it's my fault when your dorky kids sit around in the basement with mountain dew and funny dice, rambling about +2 swords of slaying or whatever. Trust me, they'll remain pure, untouched virgins for the entirety of their high-school careers.
Cheers!
Satan out!
*poof*”
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Good morning Puny human reporters and people of the Press. I will admit, I have not been on earth in some time but its nice to see you are all still as primitive as always.
So...lets get down to business. I would like to address the elephant in the room. Yes I am the Devil. If the horns were not a dead giveaway...which means, yes, God exists. So, Mr. Smith in the back...all that adultery, and perverse thoughts about your step daughter....Keep it up. We will see each other again real soon.
But your immortal souls is not why I am here today. Its not the end of days, or the apocalypse, or whatever you mortals wanna call it. I wanna make that clear. So, those of you praying for forgiveness in California...stop that right now. I can hear those too...
So with that little information out of the way...I wanna discuss some things with you. In particular your preachers desire to associate my name with a table top role playing game.
I wish to express my utter contempt for such claims, as I have in no way claimed any souls of a person for playing a board game. Unless they murdered someone as a result of a board game, but that is completely different. Thats more due to the murder aspect of it. Point is...GAMES THAT ARE NOT MURDER DO NOT RESULT IN YOU GOING TO HELL. Goth kids or wanna be witchs try to sacrifice a goat to summon a demon and you guys give them a stern talking to and think that will make them fine, but heaven forbid someone play dungeons and dragons! DO YOU HEAR YOURSELVES AT TIMES?
Do you understand how stupid you all come across by doing this? You know what else doesnt drag you to hell? Fortune telling, magic, or anything associated with not making a deal with me! Your race is responsible for murder time and time again, and you think a fantasy world will make them evil? HAVE YOU READ THE BIBLE? Or better yet the news? You all are already evil, and playing a damn game wont change that.
Now, with that cleared up...I am going back to hell. I hope to see you all there soon.
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[WP] It's the 80s, and moral crusaders and alarmists on TV are warning parents that Dungeons & Dragons is all about the devil worship. Fed up with being associated with nerds, the devil himself is giving a press conference to get them to stop defaming his character.
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The White House Press Secretary, Samuel Birch, smiled congenially and scanned the room as hands shot into the air. He was the newest addition to the White House staff and had only served in his post for six months, but was well\-liked among the press corps. He had an easy smile and an engaging style, and despite obvious differences in political outlook he spoke to the correspondents with the utmost professionalism and respect.
God, Leila hated him.
Leila tilted her right shoulder upward, trying to make her hand stretch just a bit higher above the crowd. When Samuel's eyes met hers, she knew she needn't have bothered; his smile took on an imperious, condescending aire, likely impersceptible to those who hadn't grown up with him. His gaze lingered on Leila just long enough to relay the message: *As long as I'm up here, you're not getting any more questions.*
Instead, Samuel pointed to the guy on Leila's left. The room went silent, hands fell to laps full of notepads and laptops, and Leila scowled.
"Bill Sorensen, ABC," he said quickly. Of course everyone knew him, but decorum had to be observed. "Mr. Birch, there've been several recent reports suggesting that the weapons depots cited as the rationale behind this policy shift may not, in fact, be weapons depots at all. Some have even suggested that the photographic evidence cited by this administration have been falsified. Can you comment?"
Leila heard a sharp breath behind her. She understood; in recent years, that would have been a ballsy question. But Samuel just smiled and nodded throughout the question. That was part of his charm to the press corps. He didn't get angry or defensive, he never rattled. He just smiled, then spoke with the confidence of someone who knew he would be listened to.
"Yes, Bill, we're aware of such reports," Samuel said patiently, "and although we seriously doubt their veracity\-\-"
His gaze cut quickly to Leila, condescension flickering there once more. *God* Leila hated him.
"\-\-let me assure you," Samuel continued, "that we have every reason to believe the authenticity of the photographs in question and the credibility of the intelligence agents responsible for their collection. Despite what may have been written by some of our colleagues in this room, believe me when I say that this administration would absolutely not take any sort of action unless there were absolute certainty about the intelligence details."
"Oh Sammy, such *lies*."
A new voice cut through the silence, its tone simultaneously mocking and pitying. Every head turned toward the back of the room. A figure in a well\-cut navy suit stood with his back to the crowd, closing the double doors leading into the press room. They met and shut with an odd sense of finality, but not before Leila glimpsed the floor beyond.
Beside her, Bill whispered, "Was that the security guard on the ground?" Apparently he saw the same thing Leila had. His tone was remarkably calm given the sentiment. Leila expected as much from a seasoned veteran like Bill. She, however, was still new enough to her role that she had not completely acclimated to the anxiety of reporting on the national and international stages. Her stomach churned nervously.
For a moment the man stood still, facing the door. Then he turned to face the podium to reveal a rather unremarkable man, quite average in height and rather broad in stature, his somewhat squared jaw lined by a day or two's worth of new beard that only darkened his sun\-worne complexion.
Once more, Leila heard a sharp breath from behind her. She alone turned her head toward Samuel, and blinked. Samuel stared wide\-eyed at the newcomer with an expression Leila had never seen on him before: fear. Fear twisted Samuel's handsome face into something ugly, paranoid. Sweat suddenly beaded his forehead despite the powder that had been subtley applied to prevent such a thing. The comfortable confidence with which he carried himself had been replaced by obvious tension, as though he wanted nothing more than to run. Yet he simply stood there, staring.
Leila looked back to the newcomer. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and slipped his hands into his pants pockets, staring back at Samuel.
Then he smiled.
Whereas a moment before he had seemed extraordinarily average, his smile seemed to transform him. His broad stature suddenly seemed strong, commanding. His ruddy features and unkempt beard spoke of long days of hard, rewarding work. His brown eyes shone brightly, promising pleasurable company and sparkling conversation. The charm that Samual usually exhibited was nothing compared to the sheer sense of *presence* that this man exuded.
Leila and every other person in the room, save Samuel, immediately liked him.
The man began walking toward the podium, each step slow and measured. "Oh Sammy," he said the name again, and Leila blinked, suddenly recognizing a nickname she hadn't heard in almost twenty years.
"Sammy, Sammy. Look how far you've come." The man gestured around the room with one hand. He stopped in front of the podium, still smiling, still holding Samuel's gaze. "If only they knew, eh?"
Samuel shook as he brought his hand to his forehead. "You... uh..." he stammed. "You're early."
The man shrugged one shoulder. "I held up my end of the bargain," he said matter\-of\-factly. "There were no timelines expressly written into the contract, only guidelines for what you would achieve. And oh my, what you have achieved. From an unknown, backwoods town, single parent upbringing, to one of the most public positions in the entire world. People talk about you as an early contender for governor when your time at the White House ends. A true rags\-to\-riches story." The man's smile widened. "You know, I even read a Fox News thinkpiece suggesting that you were well on your way toward the presidency yourself in a decade or so."
The conversation seemed to steady Samuel a bit. Though his voice quavered, he spoke with some of his former surity, "Yes, well, the public knows I can be relied upon to tell them the truth and\-\-"
The man's head fell back as he barked out a laugh, stunning Samuel once more into silence. "The truth!" he cried through his laughter. "Oh Sammy, please, don't. Don't do that. Not to me." He shook his head and wiped the corner of his eye. "I literally know you better than you know yourself. You are constitutionally incapable of telling the truth unless it's in service to some greater lie to build yourself up. I know, I *gave* you that skill."
He slipped his hand into his jacket, removing a manila envelope held shut with what appeared to be dark brown wax. Leila thought it was much too large to have been so perfectly concealed under that jacket. He held it up wordlessly, as though implying, *See this?* At the sight of it, the blood drained from Samuel's face. Neither man spoke; the hum of the overhead lights and the quick, tense breath of the press corps filled the room.
Finally, Samuel whispered, "I'm not ready. I have so much more to do."
Another shrug, and the man held out the envelope. "A bargain was made and sealed, and I have more than delivered on my end. As much as you may think you deserve whatever future you've planned for yourself, I'm afraid that other interested parties have offered far more for what you want." He waved the envelope slowly. "It's time to collect."
At those words, Samuel backed away, slamming against the presidential seal behind him. "No!" he shouted, terrified. "Security! *Security!!!*"
Leila and the rest of the corps were entranced, still, almost breathless now. They looked around them. Each of the three sets of doors were shut. No guard came bursting into the room. Nothing happened. Samuel stayed pressed into the wall, unmoving, breathing rapidly. Leila wondered if he might hyperventilate.
The man just smiled for maybe thirty seconds. "I'm afraid," he finally said, "that no one will be coming. This is between us, Sammy. You promised me a soul. There is nothing in Heaven that can change that, and nothing in Hell that would want to." He placed his fingers under the lip of the envelope, pulling it upward, straining the waxy seal.
Samuel shrieked. "*NO, WAIT, PLE\-\-"*
The seal broke, and Samuel went silent, frozen, reaching out to the man plaintively. Then he simply collapsed, like a ragdoll, the light and life gone from his eyes.
The room broke into chaos.
Almost in unison, the correspondents screamed and leapt from their seats. A tide of reporters bolted for the three doors to the press room. The press corps tried desperately to escape, bodies pressing together tightly as those in the front tried and failed to force the doors open, banged their fists into them, crying for aid.
All but Leila. She remained in her chair, staring at Samuel's corpse. She remembered all the times he had teased her, bullied her. She remembered the stink of his breath in her ear, the corrosive tone of his voice as he told her no one would believe her, that he owned her now. The sense of hopelessness as she liftened to his Magne Cum Laude speech. The rage when he was announced as Press Secretary.
God, she *hated* him.
And now, seeing him there, all she felt was contentment.
Leila didn't know how long she stared, but when she finally broke away, the chaos of the room had subsided. Members of the press corps were huddled on the ground at the doors, some of them weeping, others rocking themselved gently, whispering to themselves and each other that it was going to be okay. Bill laid in the aisle, unconscious Leila thought, with a shallow gash across his temple and dusty footprints on his back.
The man had moved behind the podium, now facing the audience. For the first time, he spoke to them directly.
"Ladies and gentlemen, if you would be so kind, please return to your seats."
The warmth and charisma had returned to his voice, or perhaps they had never left it. He had simply not yet directed them toward the correspondents. When he did, the crying and whispering ceased. The reporters stood and staggered back to their original positions, stepping gingerly over and around Bill's prone body. The man waited as they collected their notepads and gradually turned their attention to him.
A few moments of silence, then the man spoke.
"I apologize for the theatrics. In the past I've tried simply giving my name, but that has always been met with such incredulity that I decided to try a different approach." His smile was radiant. "I trust I need no further introduction?"
Several correspondents shook their heads.
"Good." He took a breath, exhaled in a long sigh, and placed both hands on the podium. "Throughout history, people have liked to use me as a scapegoat for their troubles. I've been simultaneously accused of destroying empires and dynasties, and for raising them, depending on whose side you were on. I've been blamed for your wicked natures since time immemorial." He paused, then smirked. "Well, immemorial to you, anyway."
He slipped his hands back into his pockets. "Frankly, I've grown tired of it. It's not that I'm bothered by your opinions of me\-\-far from it, actually. I find your skewed perception of the nature of existence to be oddly charming in its naiveté." He tilted his head back, looking up at the ceiling searchingly. "You know, I was even blamed for the creation of Dungeons and Dragons. *Dungeons and Dragons*, for Christ's sake." He shook his head, chuckled once more, and gestured casually toward Samuel's lifeless body. "As though I need to trick people into making a deal. You people are more than capable of corrupting yourselves."
He turned his gaze back to the crowd. "I play a much less active role in this world than you probably think. Hell, these days most of you don't even believe that I exist, or that there any lasting consequences to your actions. I don't *have* to take an active role because so many of you just come to *me* of your own volition. It actually makes my job much easier, truth be told."
For the first time, he frowned. "It makes my job a little *too* easy."
He started pacing, frustration evident in his voice. "There was a time that I really had to work for my successes. I had to convince people to give themselves over, to take that bite, to look back, to do anything other than what *He* wanted." He waved his hand carelessly toward the ceiling. "Now, most of you just line up, begging for your seat at the table, what you think you deserve. I told Him you were wicked by nature and that I would prove it, but I never expected you to make it so easy." He sighed. "It's all so fucking *boring*."
He stopped pacing, stood once more behind the podium, and looked to the crowd. "I refuse to spend the next four thousand some\-odd years without any kind of job satisfaction. So, I figure it's time to set the record straight." He fixed the top button of his suit jacket and placed his hands back on the podium.
"Now, does anyone have any questions?"
The room was silent and still. The correspondents sat rigid, wide\-eyed, searching for some way to make sense of what they had heard. No one moved.
No one, except Leila. Slowly, she raised her right hand.
The man turned his gaze to her, smiled warmly, and pointed. "Yes, Ms. Temple?"
Leila returned his smile.
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Not quite what the prompt implied, but this is what came to me.
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Good morning Puny human reporters and people of the Press. I will admit, I have not been on earth in some time but its nice to see you are all still as primitive as always.
So...lets get down to business. I would like to address the elephant in the room. Yes I am the Devil. If the horns were not a dead giveaway...which means, yes, God exists. So, Mr. Smith in the back...all that adultery, and perverse thoughts about your step daughter....Keep it up. We will see each other again real soon.
But your immortal souls is not why I am here today. Its not the end of days, or the apocalypse, or whatever you mortals wanna call it. I wanna make that clear. So, those of you praying for forgiveness in California...stop that right now. I can hear those too...
So with that little information out of the way...I wanna discuss some things with you. In particular your preachers desire to associate my name with a table top role playing game.
I wish to express my utter contempt for such claims, as I have in no way claimed any souls of a person for playing a board game. Unless they murdered someone as a result of a board game, but that is completely different. Thats more due to the murder aspect of it. Point is...GAMES THAT ARE NOT MURDER DO NOT RESULT IN YOU GOING TO HELL. Goth kids or wanna be witchs try to sacrifice a goat to summon a demon and you guys give them a stern talking to and think that will make them fine, but heaven forbid someone play dungeons and dragons! DO YOU HEAR YOURSELVES AT TIMES?
Do you understand how stupid you all come across by doing this? You know what else doesnt drag you to hell? Fortune telling, magic, or anything associated with not making a deal with me! Your race is responsible for murder time and time again, and you think a fantasy world will make them evil? HAVE YOU READ THE BIBLE? Or better yet the news? You all are already evil, and playing a damn game wont change that.
Now, with that cleared up...I am going back to hell. I hope to see you all there soon.
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[WP] It's the 80s, and moral crusaders and alarmists on TV are warning parents that Dungeons & Dragons is all about the devil worship. Fed up with being associated with nerds, the devil himself is giving a press conference to get them to stop defaming his character.
|
"So, do you know why we're here?" Alex asked.
The man next to him - *Martin*? Alex wondered - just shrugged. "No idea. My editor told me to get down here. Said if I missed it, I didn't need to bother coming in again."
"That's basically what happened to me. Kind of weird." Alex bit the end of his pen and frowned, staring at his notebook. He had the date written at the top of the page, along with the place and the time, but where he would normally have written the name, there was just a large, triple-underlined question mark.
"I think it's something to do with Miramax," said another man sitting nearby. Alex looked up. "Really?"
"Yeah, I heard the same," chimed in another. Then, Laurence from the LA Times - *or the Enquirer? he was always moving around so much, but I guess that's natural when you're that much of a horndog...* - glanced over at them.
"It's not Miramax. Harvey called the meeting, but it's not him that's coming," he said. Everyone sighed a little in relief; Harvey always came across as creepy, so it was no great loss if he wasn't coming. "It's a favour for someone else. Repaying a debt, or something. I don't really know."
Everyone slowly turned back to the podium up on the stage. Everything about this was strange. They'd been called here, for an apparently secret meeting, with a speaker that no-one could identify. The podium lacked any microphones, despite the cavernous size of the ballroom they were in, and even though there were only moments before the press conference was set to begin, there were no people scurrying around in the background preparing.
Even the one thing they *could* see - the podium - was weird. It was unusually large, and looked to be made of a jet-black wood. When Alex looked again, he realized that the wood was dark, but not actually black; instead something had charred the surface until it was coated with a thin layer of ash.
"That's weird..." Alex muttered, to himself more than anything else. He was half-way through scribbling a note to himself when the entire podium seemed to explode into a cloud of smoke. The entire room drew back, some jumping from their chairs, and everyone gasping in surprise.
They quickly regretted the gasp, as the clouds of foul-smelling air wafted over them. The smells of barbeque and burning hair mixed with brimstone and fear, forming a heady cocktail that had everyone gagging.
"My, my. My little pets said that the mortal world had a weak stomach nowadays, but I didn't quite believe it," came a voice. It wasn't even particularly loud, but it carried easily to the edges of the room. Everyone looked around, sizing him up.
The man on stage behind the podium seemed amused. He was tall, and held himself with a confidence that suggested great power. His suit was tailored, well-fitting, and looked expensive enough that several of the younger reporters, still struggling to make rent payments, winced with jealousy.
"Everyone feeling a little better now?" The smug condescension reeked off the man, and his smile hinted at malevolence. The only thing about him that seemed less than perfect was his hair; the golden locks, swished fashionably across his forehead, were darkened with soot and age, until there was almost as much black and grey there as gold.
"Who are you?" someone shouted.
"What do you want?" said another.
"Where did you come from?"
"What the fuck was that smell?" came a voice from the back. The man laughed, and nodded.
"Ahh, so many questions. To be expected, of course. Well, first things first..." He paused to casually brush the dust from his lapel, and then turned back. "First, I am the Devil. Satan. The Great Devourer. Lord of Hell. Prince of Darkness. Asmodeus. King of Genies. Baphomet. Beezlebub..."
He paused again, and grinned. "This goes on a while. But, suffice to say, I am your worst nightmares. However, if you don't wish to worship me, feel free to call me Lucifer." His smile broaded, and his eyebrows twitched, hiding the glint in his eyes. "You'll call me Sir in time."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" called out another reporter, his accent betraying his Boston heritage. Alex smirked; it *would* be someone from Boston.
The Devil sighed heavily, and brushed his hair. "A demonstration, then." With a casual flick of his wrist, one of the empty chairs near the front of the room exploded into flames, and a second flick opened a small window in the air.
The sounds of screaming and misery wafted through, accompanied by another burst of the awful stench. The Devil let them watch, right up until a screaming, charred thing - it had been human once, but the eons of torture had reduced it a mere 'thing' - charged at the portal, begging for help. Just before it could run through, the Devil brought his hand down in a chopping motion. There was just enough time to hear the faint sound of a body crunching into a wall as the window slammed closed.
"Convinced?" he asked with a smile. A long, heavy pause hung on the air, an threatened to engulf them all. It was only broken when someone cheered, leaping to his feet and pumping his hands.
Suddenly, everyone was freed, and began moving. Many dropped to their knees in prayer, and several more ran towards the exits. A few more began pulling out their wallets, hanging their heads as they passed bills to smirking colleagues.
"What *are* you people doing?" the Devil asked, frowning at them. One reporter nearby turned around, and flashed him a thumbs up.
"Settling bets. I always told Harry that the Devil was British." He turned back to the man, wearing a BBC badge, and stuck his middle finger in his face. "Take that, you Limey fuck."
"Well, I say, that's a little uncalled for..." the other man started to say. The Devil, though, had had enough.
"Sit down!" he bellowed. In truth, he barely raised his voice, but the sound seemed to reverberate inside everyone's skull. Trembling, they turned, sitting in the nearest chairs.
"My God. I blame Reaganism. That, or all the drugs," the Devil said. He shook his head, eyes flicking from one person to the next. "No wonder you're all so bad at your jobs."
"What... what do you want, Mr. Devil?" one of the reporters asked. He was one of the ones who had been praying, and as soon as he spoke, the little cluster of his friends who had prayed with him started to inch away.
"Well, I called this meeting to discuss a terrible miscarriage of justice. Ordinarily, I wouldn't really concern myself with such things. I'd just wait until the End Times and let Daddy DoesLittle sort it all out." He paused, taking a breath to calm himself; small sparks and wisps of flame had started to appear at his finger tips. "However, this particular miscarriage of justice concerns *me*, so I do care."
No-one spoke. No-one moved. An uneasy feeling filled the whole room, settling like a heavy blanket over everything. Finally, the Devil gestured.
"Start taking notes." The sound of paper rustling burst out as everyone opened their notebooks. Then, there was the sound of scribbling pens. Satisfied, the Devil nodded. "So. It has come to my attention that you people are accusing the players of something called... *Dungeons and Dragons* of being worshipers of my good and humble self."
He flashed his smile around the room for a second, only to suddenly let it drop from his face. The abruptness of the change chilled the reporters, and in the corner, one made a cross sign above his heart.
"Well, I came here to say that they are most decidedly not evil," the Devil went on, his tone severe. "These people are *nerds*. What, honestly, is a nerd ever going to do?"
It sounded rhetorical, but the way he stopped and looked around made the audience realize they were expected to answer. They stared at the floor, squirming in their seats, and finally murmuring platitudes to their shoes.
"Nothing! Nerds will never do anything evil. I mean, what could they do? Hmm? Are they going to create some kind of planet-spanning super network and fill it full of cat videos and porn just to distract everyone?" He laughed, waving a hand dismissively. "Are they going to get everyone to start sending letters on it, then help the government read them all? Trick people into putting all of their embarrassing pictures and their inane ramblings in one place, then spend hours of their life stalking each other, and becoming depressed over how much better every else's life seems? Or make a website with an absurbly low limit on how many letters you can use, and then get the politicians of the world on there to show off what a bunch of monumental cretins they all are?"
While he was talking, the Devil's voice seemed to slow, and a strange expression came across his face. By the time he finished, there the malevolent grin was back in force. He flashed his smile around once more, then tipped his head to one side.
"On second thoughts, keep up the good work. Now, I have something to do." He turned, swishing a portal open with one hand. He stepped through and it slammed shut, but they could just hear his voice, floating back towards them.
"Brutus! Get a pen. I've had a wonderful idea..."
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*Hello! Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this, please look at my other work, at /r/PuzzledRobot.*
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Good morning Puny human reporters and people of the Press. I will admit, I have not been on earth in some time but its nice to see you are all still as primitive as always.
So...lets get down to business. I would like to address the elephant in the room. Yes I am the Devil. If the horns were not a dead giveaway...which means, yes, God exists. So, Mr. Smith in the back...all that adultery, and perverse thoughts about your step daughter....Keep it up. We will see each other again real soon.
But your immortal souls is not why I am here today. Its not the end of days, or the apocalypse, or whatever you mortals wanna call it. I wanna make that clear. So, those of you praying for forgiveness in California...stop that right now. I can hear those too...
So with that little information out of the way...I wanna discuss some things with you. In particular your preachers desire to associate my name with a table top role playing game.
I wish to express my utter contempt for such claims, as I have in no way claimed any souls of a person for playing a board game. Unless they murdered someone as a result of a board game, but that is completely different. Thats more due to the murder aspect of it. Point is...GAMES THAT ARE NOT MURDER DO NOT RESULT IN YOU GOING TO HELL. Goth kids or wanna be witchs try to sacrifice a goat to summon a demon and you guys give them a stern talking to and think that will make them fine, but heaven forbid someone play dungeons and dragons! DO YOU HEAR YOURSELVES AT TIMES?
Do you understand how stupid you all come across by doing this? You know what else doesnt drag you to hell? Fortune telling, magic, or anything associated with not making a deal with me! Your race is responsible for murder time and time again, and you think a fantasy world will make them evil? HAVE YOU READ THE BIBLE? Or better yet the news? You all are already evil, and playing a damn game wont change that.
Now, with that cleared up...I am going back to hell. I hope to see you all there soon.
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[WP] It's the 80s, and moral crusaders and alarmists on TV are warning parents that Dungeons & Dragons is all about the devil worship. Fed up with being associated with nerds, the devil himself is giving a press conference to get them to stop defaming his character.
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As he expected the room was filled with journalists from all around the globe. Hell, even the Australians came. The devil giggled at this little word play he just invented. You would expect a divine being to have a somewhat lower and more impressing voice, but truth is he sounded like a school boy. Must have been all that yelling in the deepest crypts of the Underworld. Jeez, it is almost impossible to have a decent conversation down there over all those cries. As always, the word 'decent' only means what you make of it. In this case, 'decent' usually involves a lot of curses and crazy plans to take over the world. Until this day, none of those plans ever involved games like D&D.
The devil nodded and with a snap of his fingers the doors slammed shut. He could probably do without the snap but it added a pinch of drama which he very much enjoyed. All eyes were immediately on him. With quite some noise he cleared his throat. " Ladies and gentlemen, please do allow me to introduce myself, although I sincerely believe it to be unnecessary. My name is the devil, Beëlzebub, the beast or whatever else you like to call me. Before you bombard me with your questions, let me get a few things straight from the beginning: Yes, I do live in hell but there is practically no regulation on my whereabouts so I can basically go wherever I want to. Yes, I do have horns and a nice pair of wings and no, I'm not wearing them right now since I believed a more casual appearance would be more fitting. Now, is there anything else you would like to know?" With these words the devil looked up. The entire room was awkwardly wiggling their butts on their chairs. At last, one woman raised her hand. The devil sighed. Of course, a woman. Way too much curiosity squeezed into a tiny body. No wonder it was Eve who bit into the apple. Adam was probably still figuring out how he got his hands on such a lovely creature. "Go ahead, Darling." The woman dried her sweaty hands on her custom made pants. "Why were you cast out of the heavens,... Sir?" The devil giggled again. "I wouldn't let the old man win at Scrabble. Now can we continue?" In the back a big man stood up his face flushed red with anger. "This is complete bullshit. You are a lunatic and you belong in an asylum." The devil rolled his eyes. Oh dear God, will this hell ever end? He looked at the man: middle-aged, ugly, no wife or kids. The only person that would miss him was the hooker around the corner. I guess Daddy on the golden throne wouldn't mind that much if I took him. Again he snapped his fingers and the man fell lifeless on the ground
Like a true artist, he raised his hands to the crowd frozen with fear, knowing damn well he had paralysed them himself. "Ladies and gentlemen, please be patient. Soon, you'll all be on your way." He looked at the body and laughed his maniac laugh. "Well, almost all of you. The only thing I have yet to get off my chest is this: please do not associate me with these nerds playing a game like Dungeons and Dragons. They have no life at all and I have plenty of lives." He chuckled. "I hereby dissociate myself from them. You claiming such trash is by my hand is an offence to me and my work. And as you can see, I take my job very seriously." Again he pointed at the man. He then slapped his hands together. "That was everything." When the crowd remained motionless, he clapped his hands. "Come on. On your way everyone. Don't you have an article to write? Hurry. I've got other businesses to attend to." The woman that dared to ask a question was crying and murmuring 'oh god' over and over again. On his way out the devil stopped by her seat and said: "I wouldn't put so much faith in that one if I were you." He smirked at her confused look. "If you'd have done something to displease him, you'd be dead by now." He showed her a lifeless smile. "And trust me, I can know." He then proceeded to pat her on the head and walked out of the room, casually picking up the body and tossing it over his shoulder while whistling 'Over the rainbow'.
(Hello guys. This is my very first post ever on Reddit so please be nice to me. English is also not my first language so I'd like to apologize for any mistakes. Have a nice read and an even better day.)
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Good morning Puny human reporters and people of the Press. I will admit, I have not been on earth in some time but its nice to see you are all still as primitive as always.
So...lets get down to business. I would like to address the elephant in the room. Yes I am the Devil. If the horns were not a dead giveaway...which means, yes, God exists. So, Mr. Smith in the back...all that adultery, and perverse thoughts about your step daughter....Keep it up. We will see each other again real soon.
But your immortal souls is not why I am here today. Its not the end of days, or the apocalypse, or whatever you mortals wanna call it. I wanna make that clear. So, those of you praying for forgiveness in California...stop that right now. I can hear those too...
So with that little information out of the way...I wanna discuss some things with you. In particular your preachers desire to associate my name with a table top role playing game.
I wish to express my utter contempt for such claims, as I have in no way claimed any souls of a person for playing a board game. Unless they murdered someone as a result of a board game, but that is completely different. Thats more due to the murder aspect of it. Point is...GAMES THAT ARE NOT MURDER DO NOT RESULT IN YOU GOING TO HELL. Goth kids or wanna be witchs try to sacrifice a goat to summon a demon and you guys give them a stern talking to and think that will make them fine, but heaven forbid someone play dungeons and dragons! DO YOU HEAR YOURSELVES AT TIMES?
Do you understand how stupid you all come across by doing this? You know what else doesnt drag you to hell? Fortune telling, magic, or anything associated with not making a deal with me! Your race is responsible for murder time and time again, and you think a fantasy world will make them evil? HAVE YOU READ THE BIBLE? Or better yet the news? You all are already evil, and playing a damn game wont change that.
Now, with that cleared up...I am going back to hell. I hope to see you all there soon.
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[WP] It's the 80s, and moral crusaders and alarmists on TV are warning parents that Dungeons & Dragons is all about the devil worship. Fed up with being associated with nerds, the devil himself is giving a press conference to get them to stop defaming his character.
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The White House Press Secretary, Samuel Birch, smiled congenially and scanned the room as hands shot into the air. He was the newest addition to the White House staff and had only served in his post for six months, but was well\-liked among the press corps. He had an easy smile and an engaging style, and despite obvious differences in political outlook he spoke to the correspondents with the utmost professionalism and respect.
God, Leila hated him.
Leila tilted her right shoulder upward, trying to make her hand stretch just a bit higher above the crowd. When Samuel's eyes met hers, she knew she needn't have bothered; his smile took on an imperious, condescending aire, likely impersceptible to those who hadn't grown up with him. His gaze lingered on Leila just long enough to relay the message: *As long as I'm up here, you're not getting any more questions.*
Instead, Samuel pointed to the guy on Leila's left. The room went silent, hands fell to laps full of notepads and laptops, and Leila scowled.
"Bill Sorensen, ABC," he said quickly. Of course everyone knew him, but decorum had to be observed. "Mr. Birch, there've been several recent reports suggesting that the weapons depots cited as the rationale behind this policy shift may not, in fact, be weapons depots at all. Some have even suggested that the photographic evidence cited by this administration have been falsified. Can you comment?"
Leila heard a sharp breath behind her. She understood; in recent years, that would have been a ballsy question. But Samuel just smiled and nodded throughout the question. That was part of his charm to the press corps. He didn't get angry or defensive, he never rattled. He just smiled, then spoke with the confidence of someone who knew he would be listened to.
"Yes, Bill, we're aware of such reports," Samuel said patiently, "and although we seriously doubt their veracity\-\-"
His gaze cut quickly to Leila, condescension flickering there once more. *God* Leila hated him.
"\-\-let me assure you," Samuel continued, "that we have every reason to believe the authenticity of the photographs in question and the credibility of the intelligence agents responsible for their collection. Despite what may have been written by some of our colleagues in this room, believe me when I say that this administration would absolutely not take any sort of action unless there were absolute certainty about the intelligence details."
"Oh Sammy, such *lies*."
A new voice cut through the silence, its tone simultaneously mocking and pitying. Every head turned toward the back of the room. A figure in a well\-cut navy suit stood with his back to the crowd, closing the double doors leading into the press room. They met and shut with an odd sense of finality, but not before Leila glimpsed the floor beyond.
Beside her, Bill whispered, "Was that the security guard on the ground?" Apparently he saw the same thing Leila had. His tone was remarkably calm given the sentiment. Leila expected as much from a seasoned veteran like Bill. She, however, was still new enough to her role that she had not completely acclimated to the anxiety of reporting on the national and international stages. Her stomach churned nervously.
For a moment the man stood still, facing the door. Then he turned to face the podium to reveal a rather unremarkable man, quite average in height and rather broad in stature, his somewhat squared jaw lined by a day or two's worth of new beard that only darkened his sun\-worne complexion.
Once more, Leila heard a sharp breath from behind her. She alone turned her head toward Samuel, and blinked. Samuel stared wide\-eyed at the newcomer with an expression Leila had never seen on him before: fear. Fear twisted Samuel's handsome face into something ugly, paranoid. Sweat suddenly beaded his forehead despite the powder that had been subtley applied to prevent such a thing. The comfortable confidence with which he carried himself had been replaced by obvious tension, as though he wanted nothing more than to run. Yet he simply stood there, staring.
Leila looked back to the newcomer. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and slipped his hands into his pants pockets, staring back at Samuel.
Then he smiled.
Whereas a moment before he had seemed extraordinarily average, his smile seemed to transform him. His broad stature suddenly seemed strong, commanding. His ruddy features and unkempt beard spoke of long days of hard, rewarding work. His brown eyes shone brightly, promising pleasurable company and sparkling conversation. The charm that Samual usually exhibited was nothing compared to the sheer sense of *presence* that this man exuded.
Leila and every other person in the room, save Samuel, immediately liked him.
The man began walking toward the podium, each step slow and measured. "Oh Sammy," he said the name again, and Leila blinked, suddenly recognizing a nickname she hadn't heard in almost twenty years.
"Sammy, Sammy. Look how far you've come." The man gestured around the room with one hand. He stopped in front of the podium, still smiling, still holding Samuel's gaze. "If only they knew, eh?"
Samuel shook as he brought his hand to his forehead. "You... uh..." he stammed. "You're early."
The man shrugged one shoulder. "I held up my end of the bargain," he said matter\-of\-factly. "There were no timelines expressly written into the contract, only guidelines for what you would achieve. And oh my, what you have achieved. From an unknown, backwoods town, single parent upbringing, to one of the most public positions in the entire world. People talk about you as an early contender for governor when your time at the White House ends. A true rags\-to\-riches story." The man's smile widened. "You know, I even read a Fox News thinkpiece suggesting that you were well on your way toward the presidency yourself in a decade or so."
The conversation seemed to steady Samuel a bit. Though his voice quavered, he spoke with some of his former surity, "Yes, well, the public knows I can be relied upon to tell them the truth and\-\-"
The man's head fell back as he barked out a laugh, stunning Samuel once more into silence. "The truth!" he cried through his laughter. "Oh Sammy, please, don't. Don't do that. Not to me." He shook his head and wiped the corner of his eye. "I literally know you better than you know yourself. You are constitutionally incapable of telling the truth unless it's in service to some greater lie to build yourself up. I know, I *gave* you that skill."
He slipped his hand into his jacket, removing a manila envelope held shut with what appeared to be dark brown wax. Leila thought it was much too large to have been so perfectly concealed under that jacket. He held it up wordlessly, as though implying, *See this?* At the sight of it, the blood drained from Samuel's face. Neither man spoke; the hum of the overhead lights and the quick, tense breath of the press corps filled the room.
Finally, Samuel whispered, "I'm not ready. I have so much more to do."
Another shrug, and the man held out the envelope. "A bargain was made and sealed, and I have more than delivered on my end. As much as you may think you deserve whatever future you've planned for yourself, I'm afraid that other interested parties have offered far more for what you want." He waved the envelope slowly. "It's time to collect."
At those words, Samuel backed away, slamming against the presidential seal behind him. "No!" he shouted, terrified. "Security! *Security!!!*"
Leila and the rest of the corps were entranced, still, almost breathless now. They looked around them. Each of the three sets of doors were shut. No guard came bursting into the room. Nothing happened. Samuel stayed pressed into the wall, unmoving, breathing rapidly. Leila wondered if he might hyperventilate.
The man just smiled for maybe thirty seconds. "I'm afraid," he finally said, "that no one will be coming. This is between us, Sammy. You promised me a soul. There is nothing in Heaven that can change that, and nothing in Hell that would want to." He placed his fingers under the lip of the envelope, pulling it upward, straining the waxy seal.
Samuel shrieked. "*NO, WAIT, PLE\-\-"*
The seal broke, and Samuel went silent, frozen, reaching out to the man plaintively. Then he simply collapsed, like a ragdoll, the light and life gone from his eyes.
The room broke into chaos.
Almost in unison, the correspondents screamed and leapt from their seats. A tide of reporters bolted for the three doors to the press room. The press corps tried desperately to escape, bodies pressing together tightly as those in the front tried and failed to force the doors open, banged their fists into them, crying for aid.
All but Leila. She remained in her chair, staring at Samuel's corpse. She remembered all the times he had teased her, bullied her. She remembered the stink of his breath in her ear, the corrosive tone of his voice as he told her no one would believe her, that he owned her now. The sense of hopelessness as she liftened to his Magne Cum Laude speech. The rage when he was announced as Press Secretary.
God, she *hated* him.
And now, seeing him there, all she felt was contentment.
Leila didn't know how long she stared, but when she finally broke away, the chaos of the room had subsided. Members of the press corps were huddled on the ground at the doors, some of them weeping, others rocking themselved gently, whispering to themselves and each other that it was going to be okay. Bill laid in the aisle, unconscious Leila thought, with a shallow gash across his temple and dusty footprints on his back.
The man had moved behind the podium, now facing the audience. For the first time, he spoke to them directly.
"Ladies and gentlemen, if you would be so kind, please return to your seats."
The warmth and charisma had returned to his voice, or perhaps they had never left it. He had simply not yet directed them toward the correspondents. When he did, the crying and whispering ceased. The reporters stood and staggered back to their original positions, stepping gingerly over and around Bill's prone body. The man waited as they collected their notepads and gradually turned their attention to him.
A few moments of silence, then the man spoke.
"I apologize for the theatrics. In the past I've tried simply giving my name, but that has always been met with such incredulity that I decided to try a different approach." His smile was radiant. "I trust I need no further introduction?"
Several correspondents shook their heads.
"Good." He took a breath, exhaled in a long sigh, and placed both hands on the podium. "Throughout history, people have liked to use me as a scapegoat for their troubles. I've been simultaneously accused of destroying empires and dynasties, and for raising them, depending on whose side you were on. I've been blamed for your wicked natures since time immemorial." He paused, then smirked. "Well, immemorial to you, anyway."
He slipped his hands back into his pockets. "Frankly, I've grown tired of it. It's not that I'm bothered by your opinions of me\-\-far from it, actually. I find your skewed perception of the nature of existence to be oddly charming in its naiveté." He tilted his head back, looking up at the ceiling searchingly. "You know, I was even blamed for the creation of Dungeons and Dragons. *Dungeons and Dragons*, for Christ's sake." He shook his head, chuckled once more, and gestured casually toward Samuel's lifeless body. "As though I need to trick people into making a deal. You people are more than capable of corrupting yourselves."
He turned his gaze back to the crowd. "I play a much less active role in this world than you probably think. Hell, these days most of you don't even believe that I exist, or that there any lasting consequences to your actions. I don't *have* to take an active role because so many of you just come to *me* of your own volition. It actually makes my job much easier, truth be told."
For the first time, he frowned. "It makes my job a little *too* easy."
He started pacing, frustration evident in his voice. "There was a time that I really had to work for my successes. I had to convince people to give themselves over, to take that bite, to look back, to do anything other than what *He* wanted." He waved his hand carelessly toward the ceiling. "Now, most of you just line up, begging for your seat at the table, what you think you deserve. I told Him you were wicked by nature and that I would prove it, but I never expected you to make it so easy." He sighed. "It's all so fucking *boring*."
He stopped pacing, stood once more behind the podium, and looked to the crowd. "I refuse to spend the next four thousand some\-odd years without any kind of job satisfaction. So, I figure it's time to set the record straight." He fixed the top button of his suit jacket and placed his hands back on the podium.
"Now, does anyone have any questions?"
The room was silent and still. The correspondents sat rigid, wide\-eyed, searching for some way to make sense of what they had heard. No one moved.
No one, except Leila. Slowly, she raised her right hand.
The man turned his gaze to her, smiled warmly, and pointed. "Yes, Ms. Temple?"
Leila returned his smile.
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Not quite what the prompt implied, but this is what came to me.
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"Ladies and Gentlemen of the press, my client Satan would like to thank you for coming today, we know that coming to hell is a processes. But we find it's easier than the TSA."
The crowd chuckles.
"You may recognize me, my name is Jim Jones. Yes, that Jim Jones. No, I will not be answering questions about that. Please hold all questions until the end, and with that please welcome Satan."
Satan slowly walks to the podium. A tall thin man, slicked back black hair, and red eyes. He rests his arms on the podium as he speaks
"As My representative Mr. Jones said I want to thank you for accommodating us. It's harder for us to get up to the surface, that I can promise you. I want to address this game, Dungeons and Dragons. Read my lips, I have nothing to do with this game. It's not by me. I will be the first to admit I have my hand in certain things. Hollywood? Absolutely. Christian cults? You bet. Heavy metal? Some of it. Some of those guys are posers. But Ozzy? While he isn't mine, I love him like a son. But a nerdy, role play game? Na.. Not my style. Leave the nerds alone. They have done nothing wrong. And trust me when I say this, those nerds? They are going to run the world in the future. That being said I will open this up to questions."
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[WP] It's the 80s, and moral crusaders and alarmists on TV are warning parents that Dungeons & Dragons is all about the devil worship. Fed up with being associated with nerds, the devil himself is giving a press conference to get them to stop defaming his character.
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As he expected the room was filled with journalists from all around the globe. Hell, even the Australians came. The devil giggled at this little word play he just invented. You would expect a divine being to have a somewhat lower and more impressing voice, but truth is he sounded like a school boy. Must have been all that yelling in the deepest crypts of the Underworld. Jeez, it is almost impossible to have a decent conversation down there over all those cries. As always, the word 'decent' only means what you make of it. In this case, 'decent' usually involves a lot of curses and crazy plans to take over the world. Until this day, none of those plans ever involved games like D&D.
The devil nodded and with a snap of his fingers the doors slammed shut. He could probably do without the snap but it added a pinch of drama which he very much enjoyed. All eyes were immediately on him. With quite some noise he cleared his throat. " Ladies and gentlemen, please do allow me to introduce myself, although I sincerely believe it to be unnecessary. My name is the devil, Beëlzebub, the beast or whatever else you like to call me. Before you bombard me with your questions, let me get a few things straight from the beginning: Yes, I do live in hell but there is practically no regulation on my whereabouts so I can basically go wherever I want to. Yes, I do have horns and a nice pair of wings and no, I'm not wearing them right now since I believed a more casual appearance would be more fitting. Now, is there anything else you would like to know?" With these words the devil looked up. The entire room was awkwardly wiggling their butts on their chairs. At last, one woman raised her hand. The devil sighed. Of course, a woman. Way too much curiosity squeezed into a tiny body. No wonder it was Eve who bit into the apple. Adam was probably still figuring out how he got his hands on such a lovely creature. "Go ahead, Darling." The woman dried her sweaty hands on her custom made pants. "Why were you cast out of the heavens,... Sir?" The devil giggled again. "I wouldn't let the old man win at Scrabble. Now can we continue?" In the back a big man stood up his face flushed red with anger. "This is complete bullshit. You are a lunatic and you belong in an asylum." The devil rolled his eyes. Oh dear God, will this hell ever end? He looked at the man: middle-aged, ugly, no wife or kids. The only person that would miss him was the hooker around the corner. I guess Daddy on the golden throne wouldn't mind that much if I took him. Again he snapped his fingers and the man fell lifeless on the ground
Like a true artist, he raised his hands to the crowd frozen with fear, knowing damn well he had paralysed them himself. "Ladies and gentlemen, please be patient. Soon, you'll all be on your way." He looked at the body and laughed his maniac laugh. "Well, almost all of you. The only thing I have yet to get off my chest is this: please do not associate me with these nerds playing a game like Dungeons and Dragons. They have no life at all and I have plenty of lives." He chuckled. "I hereby dissociate myself from them. You claiming such trash is by my hand is an offence to me and my work. And as you can see, I take my job very seriously." Again he pointed at the man. He then slapped his hands together. "That was everything." When the crowd remained motionless, he clapped his hands. "Come on. On your way everyone. Don't you have an article to write? Hurry. I've got other businesses to attend to." The woman that dared to ask a question was crying and murmuring 'oh god' over and over again. On his way out the devil stopped by her seat and said: "I wouldn't put so much faith in that one if I were you." He smirked at her confused look. "If you'd have done something to displease him, you'd be dead by now." He showed her a lifeless smile. "And trust me, I can know." He then proceeded to pat her on the head and walked out of the room, casually picking up the body and tossing it over his shoulder while whistling 'Over the rainbow'.
(Hello guys. This is my very first post ever on Reddit so please be nice to me. English is also not my first language so I'd like to apologize for any mistakes. Have a nice read and an even better day.)
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"Ladies and Gentlemen of the press, my client Satan would like to thank you for coming today, we know that coming to hell is a processes. But we find it's easier than the TSA."
The crowd chuckles.
"You may recognize me, my name is Jim Jones. Yes, that Jim Jones. No, I will not be answering questions about that. Please hold all questions until the end, and with that please welcome Satan."
Satan slowly walks to the podium. A tall thin man, slicked back black hair, and red eyes. He rests his arms on the podium as he speaks
"As My representative Mr. Jones said I want to thank you for accommodating us. It's harder for us to get up to the surface, that I can promise you. I want to address this game, Dungeons and Dragons. Read my lips, I have nothing to do with this game. It's not by me. I will be the first to admit I have my hand in certain things. Hollywood? Absolutely. Christian cults? You bet. Heavy metal? Some of it. Some of those guys are posers. But Ozzy? While he isn't mine, I love him like a son. But a nerdy, role play game? Na.. Not my style. Leave the nerds alone. They have done nothing wrong. And trust me when I say this, those nerds? They are going to run the world in the future. That being said I will open this up to questions."
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[WP] It's the 80s, and moral crusaders and alarmists on TV are warning parents that Dungeons & Dragons is all about the devil worship. Fed up with being associated with nerds, the devil himself is giving a press conference to get them to stop defaming his character.
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“Members of the press, I'd like to thank all of you for meeting me here today. I'll keep the introduction short- I'm The Devil, the real one.
Ahem.
Recently, my name has been thrown in with a trend involving teens, the playing of a tabletop game known as Dungeons and Dragons. Now, I know what you're all thinking; the name sounds dark, what kind of tabletop game doesn't use a board, the devil is behind all things wrong in the world, etc.
I'm here to dispel this notion plainly ; I am not, nor have I ever been, nor will I ever be involved with Dungeons and Dragons.
D&D, as I'll refer to it henceforth, is about the safest, least satanic thing a group of kids could ever involve themselves in. It's Tolkien with math and dice, you guys. That's it.
Are there some demons and other apparitions in it? Yes. But that doesn't make it satanic. It's all so… lame.
Folks, I am all about wickedness! Greed! Destruction! Fire! Ruin! Driving cars at unsafe speeds! Orgies!
If your kids were planning on becoming stockbrokers, bankers, CEOs, hedge fund managers, etc. then yes, I am so for that. Throw my name around all you want in that case! You'll see what I mean when the 80’s really get into full swing, here in just a bit. You're all gonna hear about cocaine again real soon.
Anyway, stop thinking it's my fault when your dorky kids sit around in the basement with mountain dew and funny dice, rambling about +2 swords of slaying or whatever. Trust me, they'll remain pure, untouched virgins for the entirety of their high-school careers.
Cheers!
Satan out!
*poof*”
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What the fuck is a nerd?
That’s who they think I’m corrupting. The people who couldn’t take a bra off if their life depended on it. And I have the souls to prove that. Wholy shit.
Why would I care? They are nothing. But your megapreachers were something. Those televangelists. Didn’t take much to get them. A huge house with an ocean view. Millions of followers. They were mine. And I’m getting a lot of ROI.
They think the problem is nerds, Wow. Well, I am what I am. Now the problem is nerds. Roll with it. School shootings. Hate on the internet. Well, I mean if you think the devil is in nerds than I might as well be.
I’m Satan and they are mine.
And I was worried about this press conference.
“I don’t look too ashy do I? Let’s do this.”
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[WP] It's the 80s, and moral crusaders and alarmists on TV are warning parents that Dungeons & Dragons is all about the devil worship. Fed up with being associated with nerds, the devil himself is giving a press conference to get them to stop defaming his character.
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The White House Press Secretary, Samuel Birch, smiled congenially and scanned the room as hands shot into the air. He was the newest addition to the White House staff and had only served in his post for six months, but was well\-liked among the press corps. He had an easy smile and an engaging style, and despite obvious differences in political outlook he spoke to the correspondents with the utmost professionalism and respect.
God, Leila hated him.
Leila tilted her right shoulder upward, trying to make her hand stretch just a bit higher above the crowd. When Samuel's eyes met hers, she knew she needn't have bothered; his smile took on an imperious, condescending aire, likely impersceptible to those who hadn't grown up with him. His gaze lingered on Leila just long enough to relay the message: *As long as I'm up here, you're not getting any more questions.*
Instead, Samuel pointed to the guy on Leila's left. The room went silent, hands fell to laps full of notepads and laptops, and Leila scowled.
"Bill Sorensen, ABC," he said quickly. Of course everyone knew him, but decorum had to be observed. "Mr. Birch, there've been several recent reports suggesting that the weapons depots cited as the rationale behind this policy shift may not, in fact, be weapons depots at all. Some have even suggested that the photographic evidence cited by this administration have been falsified. Can you comment?"
Leila heard a sharp breath behind her. She understood; in recent years, that would have been a ballsy question. But Samuel just smiled and nodded throughout the question. That was part of his charm to the press corps. He didn't get angry or defensive, he never rattled. He just smiled, then spoke with the confidence of someone who knew he would be listened to.
"Yes, Bill, we're aware of such reports," Samuel said patiently, "and although we seriously doubt their veracity\-\-"
His gaze cut quickly to Leila, condescension flickering there once more. *God* Leila hated him.
"\-\-let me assure you," Samuel continued, "that we have every reason to believe the authenticity of the photographs in question and the credibility of the intelligence agents responsible for their collection. Despite what may have been written by some of our colleagues in this room, believe me when I say that this administration would absolutely not take any sort of action unless there were absolute certainty about the intelligence details."
"Oh Sammy, such *lies*."
A new voice cut through the silence, its tone simultaneously mocking and pitying. Every head turned toward the back of the room. A figure in a well\-cut navy suit stood with his back to the crowd, closing the double doors leading into the press room. They met and shut with an odd sense of finality, but not before Leila glimpsed the floor beyond.
Beside her, Bill whispered, "Was that the security guard on the ground?" Apparently he saw the same thing Leila had. His tone was remarkably calm given the sentiment. Leila expected as much from a seasoned veteran like Bill. She, however, was still new enough to her role that she had not completely acclimated to the anxiety of reporting on the national and international stages. Her stomach churned nervously.
For a moment the man stood still, facing the door. Then he turned to face the podium to reveal a rather unremarkable man, quite average in height and rather broad in stature, his somewhat squared jaw lined by a day or two's worth of new beard that only darkened his sun\-worne complexion.
Once more, Leila heard a sharp breath from behind her. She alone turned her head toward Samuel, and blinked. Samuel stared wide\-eyed at the newcomer with an expression Leila had never seen on him before: fear. Fear twisted Samuel's handsome face into something ugly, paranoid. Sweat suddenly beaded his forehead despite the powder that had been subtley applied to prevent such a thing. The comfortable confidence with which he carried himself had been replaced by obvious tension, as though he wanted nothing more than to run. Yet he simply stood there, staring.
Leila looked back to the newcomer. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and slipped his hands into his pants pockets, staring back at Samuel.
Then he smiled.
Whereas a moment before he had seemed extraordinarily average, his smile seemed to transform him. His broad stature suddenly seemed strong, commanding. His ruddy features and unkempt beard spoke of long days of hard, rewarding work. His brown eyes shone brightly, promising pleasurable company and sparkling conversation. The charm that Samual usually exhibited was nothing compared to the sheer sense of *presence* that this man exuded.
Leila and every other person in the room, save Samuel, immediately liked him.
The man began walking toward the podium, each step slow and measured. "Oh Sammy," he said the name again, and Leila blinked, suddenly recognizing a nickname she hadn't heard in almost twenty years.
"Sammy, Sammy. Look how far you've come." The man gestured around the room with one hand. He stopped in front of the podium, still smiling, still holding Samuel's gaze. "If only they knew, eh?"
Samuel shook as he brought his hand to his forehead. "You... uh..." he stammed. "You're early."
The man shrugged one shoulder. "I held up my end of the bargain," he said matter\-of\-factly. "There were no timelines expressly written into the contract, only guidelines for what you would achieve. And oh my, what you have achieved. From an unknown, backwoods town, single parent upbringing, to one of the most public positions in the entire world. People talk about you as an early contender for governor when your time at the White House ends. A true rags\-to\-riches story." The man's smile widened. "You know, I even read a Fox News thinkpiece suggesting that you were well on your way toward the presidency yourself in a decade or so."
The conversation seemed to steady Samuel a bit. Though his voice quavered, he spoke with some of his former surity, "Yes, well, the public knows I can be relied upon to tell them the truth and\-\-"
The man's head fell back as he barked out a laugh, stunning Samuel once more into silence. "The truth!" he cried through his laughter. "Oh Sammy, please, don't. Don't do that. Not to me." He shook his head and wiped the corner of his eye. "I literally know you better than you know yourself. You are constitutionally incapable of telling the truth unless it's in service to some greater lie to build yourself up. I know, I *gave* you that skill."
He slipped his hand into his jacket, removing a manila envelope held shut with what appeared to be dark brown wax. Leila thought it was much too large to have been so perfectly concealed under that jacket. He held it up wordlessly, as though implying, *See this?* At the sight of it, the blood drained from Samuel's face. Neither man spoke; the hum of the overhead lights and the quick, tense breath of the press corps filled the room.
Finally, Samuel whispered, "I'm not ready. I have so much more to do."
Another shrug, and the man held out the envelope. "A bargain was made and sealed, and I have more than delivered on my end. As much as you may think you deserve whatever future you've planned for yourself, I'm afraid that other interested parties have offered far more for what you want." He waved the envelope slowly. "It's time to collect."
At those words, Samuel backed away, slamming against the presidential seal behind him. "No!" he shouted, terrified. "Security! *Security!!!*"
Leila and the rest of the corps were entranced, still, almost breathless now. They looked around them. Each of the three sets of doors were shut. No guard came bursting into the room. Nothing happened. Samuel stayed pressed into the wall, unmoving, breathing rapidly. Leila wondered if he might hyperventilate.
The man just smiled for maybe thirty seconds. "I'm afraid," he finally said, "that no one will be coming. This is between us, Sammy. You promised me a soul. There is nothing in Heaven that can change that, and nothing in Hell that would want to." He placed his fingers under the lip of the envelope, pulling it upward, straining the waxy seal.
Samuel shrieked. "*NO, WAIT, PLE\-\-"*
The seal broke, and Samuel went silent, frozen, reaching out to the man plaintively. Then he simply collapsed, like a ragdoll, the light and life gone from his eyes.
The room broke into chaos.
Almost in unison, the correspondents screamed and leapt from their seats. A tide of reporters bolted for the three doors to the press room. The press corps tried desperately to escape, bodies pressing together tightly as those in the front tried and failed to force the doors open, banged their fists into them, crying for aid.
All but Leila. She remained in her chair, staring at Samuel's corpse. She remembered all the times he had teased her, bullied her. She remembered the stink of his breath in her ear, the corrosive tone of his voice as he told her no one would believe her, that he owned her now. The sense of hopelessness as she liftened to his Magne Cum Laude speech. The rage when he was announced as Press Secretary.
God, she *hated* him.
And now, seeing him there, all she felt was contentment.
Leila didn't know how long she stared, but when she finally broke away, the chaos of the room had subsided. Members of the press corps were huddled on the ground at the doors, some of them weeping, others rocking themselved gently, whispering to themselves and each other that it was going to be okay. Bill laid in the aisle, unconscious Leila thought, with a shallow gash across his temple and dusty footprints on his back.
The man had moved behind the podium, now facing the audience. For the first time, he spoke to them directly.
"Ladies and gentlemen, if you would be so kind, please return to your seats."
The warmth and charisma had returned to his voice, or perhaps they had never left it. He had simply not yet directed them toward the correspondents. When he did, the crying and whispering ceased. The reporters stood and staggered back to their original positions, stepping gingerly over and around Bill's prone body. The man waited as they collected their notepads and gradually turned their attention to him.
A few moments of silence, then the man spoke.
"I apologize for the theatrics. In the past I've tried simply giving my name, but that has always been met with such incredulity that I decided to try a different approach." His smile was radiant. "I trust I need no further introduction?"
Several correspondents shook their heads.
"Good." He took a breath, exhaled in a long sigh, and placed both hands on the podium. "Throughout history, people have liked to use me as a scapegoat for their troubles. I've been simultaneously accused of destroying empires and dynasties, and for raising them, depending on whose side you were on. I've been blamed for your wicked natures since time immemorial." He paused, then smirked. "Well, immemorial to you, anyway."
He slipped his hands back into his pockets. "Frankly, I've grown tired of it. It's not that I'm bothered by your opinions of me\-\-far from it, actually. I find your skewed perception of the nature of existence to be oddly charming in its naiveté." He tilted his head back, looking up at the ceiling searchingly. "You know, I was even blamed for the creation of Dungeons and Dragons. *Dungeons and Dragons*, for Christ's sake." He shook his head, chuckled once more, and gestured casually toward Samuel's lifeless body. "As though I need to trick people into making a deal. You people are more than capable of corrupting yourselves."
He turned his gaze back to the crowd. "I play a much less active role in this world than you probably think. Hell, these days most of you don't even believe that I exist, or that there any lasting consequences to your actions. I don't *have* to take an active role because so many of you just come to *me* of your own volition. It actually makes my job much easier, truth be told."
For the first time, he frowned. "It makes my job a little *too* easy."
He started pacing, frustration evident in his voice. "There was a time that I really had to work for my successes. I had to convince people to give themselves over, to take that bite, to look back, to do anything other than what *He* wanted." He waved his hand carelessly toward the ceiling. "Now, most of you just line up, begging for your seat at the table, what you think you deserve. I told Him you were wicked by nature and that I would prove it, but I never expected you to make it so easy." He sighed. "It's all so fucking *boring*."
He stopped pacing, stood once more behind the podium, and looked to the crowd. "I refuse to spend the next four thousand some\-odd years without any kind of job satisfaction. So, I figure it's time to set the record straight." He fixed the top button of his suit jacket and placed his hands back on the podium.
"Now, does anyone have any questions?"
The room was silent and still. The correspondents sat rigid, wide\-eyed, searching for some way to make sense of what they had heard. No one moved.
No one, except Leila. Slowly, she raised her right hand.
The man turned his gaze to her, smiled warmly, and pointed. "Yes, Ms. Temple?"
Leila returned his smile.
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Not quite what the prompt implied, but this is what came to me.
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What the fuck is a nerd?
That’s who they think I’m corrupting. The people who couldn’t take a bra off if their life depended on it. And I have the souls to prove that. Wholy shit.
Why would I care? They are nothing. But your megapreachers were something. Those televangelists. Didn’t take much to get them. A huge house with an ocean view. Millions of followers. They were mine. And I’m getting a lot of ROI.
They think the problem is nerds, Wow. Well, I am what I am. Now the problem is nerds. Roll with it. School shootings. Hate on the internet. Well, I mean if you think the devil is in nerds than I might as well be.
I’m Satan and they are mine.
And I was worried about this press conference.
“I don’t look too ashy do I? Let’s do this.”
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[WP] It's the 80s, and moral crusaders and alarmists on TV are warning parents that Dungeons & Dragons is all about the devil worship. Fed up with being associated with nerds, the devil himself is giving a press conference to get them to stop defaming his character.
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"So, do you know why we're here?" Alex asked.
The man next to him - *Martin*? Alex wondered - just shrugged. "No idea. My editor told me to get down here. Said if I missed it, I didn't need to bother coming in again."
"That's basically what happened to me. Kind of weird." Alex bit the end of his pen and frowned, staring at his notebook. He had the date written at the top of the page, along with the place and the time, but where he would normally have written the name, there was just a large, triple-underlined question mark.
"I think it's something to do with Miramax," said another man sitting nearby. Alex looked up. "Really?"
"Yeah, I heard the same," chimed in another. Then, Laurence from the LA Times - *or the Enquirer? he was always moving around so much, but I guess that's natural when you're that much of a horndog...* - glanced over at them.
"It's not Miramax. Harvey called the meeting, but it's not him that's coming," he said. Everyone sighed a little in relief; Harvey always came across as creepy, so it was no great loss if he wasn't coming. "It's a favour for someone else. Repaying a debt, or something. I don't really know."
Everyone slowly turned back to the podium up on the stage. Everything about this was strange. They'd been called here, for an apparently secret meeting, with a speaker that no-one could identify. The podium lacked any microphones, despite the cavernous size of the ballroom they were in, and even though there were only moments before the press conference was set to begin, there were no people scurrying around in the background preparing.
Even the one thing they *could* see - the podium - was weird. It was unusually large, and looked to be made of a jet-black wood. When Alex looked again, he realized that the wood was dark, but not actually black; instead something had charred the surface until it was coated with a thin layer of ash.
"That's weird..." Alex muttered, to himself more than anything else. He was half-way through scribbling a note to himself when the entire podium seemed to explode into a cloud of smoke. The entire room drew back, some jumping from their chairs, and everyone gasping in surprise.
They quickly regretted the gasp, as the clouds of foul-smelling air wafted over them. The smells of barbeque and burning hair mixed with brimstone and fear, forming a heady cocktail that had everyone gagging.
"My, my. My little pets said that the mortal world had a weak stomach nowadays, but I didn't quite believe it," came a voice. It wasn't even particularly loud, but it carried easily to the edges of the room. Everyone looked around, sizing him up.
The man on stage behind the podium seemed amused. He was tall, and held himself with a confidence that suggested great power. His suit was tailored, well-fitting, and looked expensive enough that several of the younger reporters, still struggling to make rent payments, winced with jealousy.
"Everyone feeling a little better now?" The smug condescension reeked off the man, and his smile hinted at malevolence. The only thing about him that seemed less than perfect was his hair; the golden locks, swished fashionably across his forehead, were darkened with soot and age, until there was almost as much black and grey there as gold.
"Who are you?" someone shouted.
"What do you want?" said another.
"Where did you come from?"
"What the fuck was that smell?" came a voice from the back. The man laughed, and nodded.
"Ahh, so many questions. To be expected, of course. Well, first things first..." He paused to casually brush the dust from his lapel, and then turned back. "First, I am the Devil. Satan. The Great Devourer. Lord of Hell. Prince of Darkness. Asmodeus. King of Genies. Baphomet. Beezlebub..."
He paused again, and grinned. "This goes on a while. But, suffice to say, I am your worst nightmares. However, if you don't wish to worship me, feel free to call me Lucifer." His smile broaded, and his eyebrows twitched, hiding the glint in his eyes. "You'll call me Sir in time."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" called out another reporter, his accent betraying his Boston heritage. Alex smirked; it *would* be someone from Boston.
The Devil sighed heavily, and brushed his hair. "A demonstration, then." With a casual flick of his wrist, one of the empty chairs near the front of the room exploded into flames, and a second flick opened a small window in the air.
The sounds of screaming and misery wafted through, accompanied by another burst of the awful stench. The Devil let them watch, right up until a screaming, charred thing - it had been human once, but the eons of torture had reduced it a mere 'thing' - charged at the portal, begging for help. Just before it could run through, the Devil brought his hand down in a chopping motion. There was just enough time to hear the faint sound of a body crunching into a wall as the window slammed closed.
"Convinced?" he asked with a smile. A long, heavy pause hung on the air, an threatened to engulf them all. It was only broken when someone cheered, leaping to his feet and pumping his hands.
Suddenly, everyone was freed, and began moving. Many dropped to their knees in prayer, and several more ran towards the exits. A few more began pulling out their wallets, hanging their heads as they passed bills to smirking colleagues.
"What *are* you people doing?" the Devil asked, frowning at them. One reporter nearby turned around, and flashed him a thumbs up.
"Settling bets. I always told Harry that the Devil was British." He turned back to the man, wearing a BBC badge, and stuck his middle finger in his face. "Take that, you Limey fuck."
"Well, I say, that's a little uncalled for..." the other man started to say. The Devil, though, had had enough.
"Sit down!" he bellowed. In truth, he barely raised his voice, but the sound seemed to reverberate inside everyone's skull. Trembling, they turned, sitting in the nearest chairs.
"My God. I blame Reaganism. That, or all the drugs," the Devil said. He shook his head, eyes flicking from one person to the next. "No wonder you're all so bad at your jobs."
"What... what do you want, Mr. Devil?" one of the reporters asked. He was one of the ones who had been praying, and as soon as he spoke, the little cluster of his friends who had prayed with him started to inch away.
"Well, I called this meeting to discuss a terrible miscarriage of justice. Ordinarily, I wouldn't really concern myself with such things. I'd just wait until the End Times and let Daddy DoesLittle sort it all out." He paused, taking a breath to calm himself; small sparks and wisps of flame had started to appear at his finger tips. "However, this particular miscarriage of justice concerns *me*, so I do care."
No-one spoke. No-one moved. An uneasy feeling filled the whole room, settling like a heavy blanket over everything. Finally, the Devil gestured.
"Start taking notes." The sound of paper rustling burst out as everyone opened their notebooks. Then, there was the sound of scribbling pens. Satisfied, the Devil nodded. "So. It has come to my attention that you people are accusing the players of something called... *Dungeons and Dragons* of being worshipers of my good and humble self."
He flashed his smile around the room for a second, only to suddenly let it drop from his face. The abruptness of the change chilled the reporters, and in the corner, one made a cross sign above his heart.
"Well, I came here to say that they are most decidedly not evil," the Devil went on, his tone severe. "These people are *nerds*. What, honestly, is a nerd ever going to do?"
It sounded rhetorical, but the way he stopped and looked around made the audience realize they were expected to answer. They stared at the floor, squirming in their seats, and finally murmuring platitudes to their shoes.
"Nothing! Nerds will never do anything evil. I mean, what could they do? Hmm? Are they going to create some kind of planet-spanning super network and fill it full of cat videos and porn just to distract everyone?" He laughed, waving a hand dismissively. "Are they going to get everyone to start sending letters on it, then help the government read them all? Trick people into putting all of their embarrassing pictures and their inane ramblings in one place, then spend hours of their life stalking each other, and becoming depressed over how much better every else's life seems? Or make a website with an absurbly low limit on how many letters you can use, and then get the politicians of the world on there to show off what a bunch of monumental cretins they all are?"
While he was talking, the Devil's voice seemed to slow, and a strange expression came across his face. By the time he finished, there the malevolent grin was back in force. He flashed his smile around once more, then tipped his head to one side.
"On second thoughts, keep up the good work. Now, I have something to do." He turned, swishing a portal open with one hand. He stepped through and it slammed shut, but they could just hear his voice, floating back towards them.
"Brutus! Get a pen. I've had a wonderful idea..."
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*Hello! Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this, please look at my other work, at /r/PuzzledRobot.*
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What the fuck is a nerd?
That’s who they think I’m corrupting. The people who couldn’t take a bra off if their life depended on it. And I have the souls to prove that. Wholy shit.
Why would I care? They are nothing. But your megapreachers were something. Those televangelists. Didn’t take much to get them. A huge house with an ocean view. Millions of followers. They were mine. And I’m getting a lot of ROI.
They think the problem is nerds, Wow. Well, I am what I am. Now the problem is nerds. Roll with it. School shootings. Hate on the internet. Well, I mean if you think the devil is in nerds than I might as well be.
I’m Satan and they are mine.
And I was worried about this press conference.
“I don’t look too ashy do I? Let’s do this.”
|
|
[WP] It's the 80s, and moral crusaders and alarmists on TV are warning parents that Dungeons & Dragons is all about the devil worship. Fed up with being associated with nerds, the devil himself is giving a press conference to get them to stop defaming his character.
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As he expected the room was filled with journalists from all around the globe. Hell, even the Australians came. The devil giggled at this little word play he just invented. You would expect a divine being to have a somewhat lower and more impressing voice, but truth is he sounded like a school boy. Must have been all that yelling in the deepest crypts of the Underworld. Jeez, it is almost impossible to have a decent conversation down there over all those cries. As always, the word 'decent' only means what you make of it. In this case, 'decent' usually involves a lot of curses and crazy plans to take over the world. Until this day, none of those plans ever involved games like D&D.
The devil nodded and with a snap of his fingers the doors slammed shut. He could probably do without the snap but it added a pinch of drama which he very much enjoyed. All eyes were immediately on him. With quite some noise he cleared his throat. " Ladies and gentlemen, please do allow me to introduce myself, although I sincerely believe it to be unnecessary. My name is the devil, Beëlzebub, the beast or whatever else you like to call me. Before you bombard me with your questions, let me get a few things straight from the beginning: Yes, I do live in hell but there is practically no regulation on my whereabouts so I can basically go wherever I want to. Yes, I do have horns and a nice pair of wings and no, I'm not wearing them right now since I believed a more casual appearance would be more fitting. Now, is there anything else you would like to know?" With these words the devil looked up. The entire room was awkwardly wiggling their butts on their chairs. At last, one woman raised her hand. The devil sighed. Of course, a woman. Way too much curiosity squeezed into a tiny body. No wonder it was Eve who bit into the apple. Adam was probably still figuring out how he got his hands on such a lovely creature. "Go ahead, Darling." The woman dried her sweaty hands on her custom made pants. "Why were you cast out of the heavens,... Sir?" The devil giggled again. "I wouldn't let the old man win at Scrabble. Now can we continue?" In the back a big man stood up his face flushed red with anger. "This is complete bullshit. You are a lunatic and you belong in an asylum." The devil rolled his eyes. Oh dear God, will this hell ever end? He looked at the man: middle-aged, ugly, no wife or kids. The only person that would miss him was the hooker around the corner. I guess Daddy on the golden throne wouldn't mind that much if I took him. Again he snapped his fingers and the man fell lifeless on the ground
Like a true artist, he raised his hands to the crowd frozen with fear, knowing damn well he had paralysed them himself. "Ladies and gentlemen, please be patient. Soon, you'll all be on your way." He looked at the body and laughed his maniac laugh. "Well, almost all of you. The only thing I have yet to get off my chest is this: please do not associate me with these nerds playing a game like Dungeons and Dragons. They have no life at all and I have plenty of lives." He chuckled. "I hereby dissociate myself from them. You claiming such trash is by my hand is an offence to me and my work. And as you can see, I take my job very seriously." Again he pointed at the man. He then slapped his hands together. "That was everything." When the crowd remained motionless, he clapped his hands. "Come on. On your way everyone. Don't you have an article to write? Hurry. I've got other businesses to attend to." The woman that dared to ask a question was crying and murmuring 'oh god' over and over again. On his way out the devil stopped by her seat and said: "I wouldn't put so much faith in that one if I were you." He smirked at her confused look. "If you'd have done something to displease him, you'd be dead by now." He showed her a lifeless smile. "And trust me, I can know." He then proceeded to pat her on the head and walked out of the room, casually picking up the body and tossing it over his shoulder while whistling 'Over the rainbow'.
(Hello guys. This is my very first post ever on Reddit so please be nice to me. English is also not my first language so I'd like to apologize for any mistakes. Have a nice read and an even better day.)
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What the fuck is a nerd?
That’s who they think I’m corrupting. The people who couldn’t take a bra off if their life depended on it. And I have the souls to prove that. Wholy shit.
Why would I care? They are nothing. But your megapreachers were something. Those televangelists. Didn’t take much to get them. A huge house with an ocean view. Millions of followers. They were mine. And I’m getting a lot of ROI.
They think the problem is nerds, Wow. Well, I am what I am. Now the problem is nerds. Roll with it. School shootings. Hate on the internet. Well, I mean if you think the devil is in nerds than I might as well be.
I’m Satan and they are mine.
And I was worried about this press conference.
“I don’t look too ashy do I? Let’s do this.”
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[WP] It's the 80s, and moral crusaders and alarmists on TV are warning parents that Dungeons & Dragons is all about the devil worship. Fed up with being associated with nerds, the devil himself is giving a press conference to get them to stop defaming his character.
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"So, do you know why we're here?" Alex asked.
The man next to him - *Martin*? Alex wondered - just shrugged. "No idea. My editor told me to get down here. Said if I missed it, I didn't need to bother coming in again."
"That's basically what happened to me. Kind of weird." Alex bit the end of his pen and frowned, staring at his notebook. He had the date written at the top of the page, along with the place and the time, but where he would normally have written the name, there was just a large, triple-underlined question mark.
"I think it's something to do with Miramax," said another man sitting nearby. Alex looked up. "Really?"
"Yeah, I heard the same," chimed in another. Then, Laurence from the LA Times - *or the Enquirer? he was always moving around so much, but I guess that's natural when you're that much of a horndog...* - glanced over at them.
"It's not Miramax. Harvey called the meeting, but it's not him that's coming," he said. Everyone sighed a little in relief; Harvey always came across as creepy, so it was no great loss if he wasn't coming. "It's a favour for someone else. Repaying a debt, or something. I don't really know."
Everyone slowly turned back to the podium up on the stage. Everything about this was strange. They'd been called here, for an apparently secret meeting, with a speaker that no-one could identify. The podium lacked any microphones, despite the cavernous size of the ballroom they were in, and even though there were only moments before the press conference was set to begin, there were no people scurrying around in the background preparing.
Even the one thing they *could* see - the podium - was weird. It was unusually large, and looked to be made of a jet-black wood. When Alex looked again, he realized that the wood was dark, but not actually black; instead something had charred the surface until it was coated with a thin layer of ash.
"That's weird..." Alex muttered, to himself more than anything else. He was half-way through scribbling a note to himself when the entire podium seemed to explode into a cloud of smoke. The entire room drew back, some jumping from their chairs, and everyone gasping in surprise.
They quickly regretted the gasp, as the clouds of foul-smelling air wafted over them. The smells of barbeque and burning hair mixed with brimstone and fear, forming a heady cocktail that had everyone gagging.
"My, my. My little pets said that the mortal world had a weak stomach nowadays, but I didn't quite believe it," came a voice. It wasn't even particularly loud, but it carried easily to the edges of the room. Everyone looked around, sizing him up.
The man on stage behind the podium seemed amused. He was tall, and held himself with a confidence that suggested great power. His suit was tailored, well-fitting, and looked expensive enough that several of the younger reporters, still struggling to make rent payments, winced with jealousy.
"Everyone feeling a little better now?" The smug condescension reeked off the man, and his smile hinted at malevolence. The only thing about him that seemed less than perfect was his hair; the golden locks, swished fashionably across his forehead, were darkened with soot and age, until there was almost as much black and grey there as gold.
"Who are you?" someone shouted.
"What do you want?" said another.
"Where did you come from?"
"What the fuck was that smell?" came a voice from the back. The man laughed, and nodded.
"Ahh, so many questions. To be expected, of course. Well, first things first..." He paused to casually brush the dust from his lapel, and then turned back. "First, I am the Devil. Satan. The Great Devourer. Lord of Hell. Prince of Darkness. Asmodeus. King of Genies. Baphomet. Beezlebub..."
He paused again, and grinned. "This goes on a while. But, suffice to say, I am your worst nightmares. However, if you don't wish to worship me, feel free to call me Lucifer." His smile broaded, and his eyebrows twitched, hiding the glint in his eyes. "You'll call me Sir in time."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" called out another reporter, his accent betraying his Boston heritage. Alex smirked; it *would* be someone from Boston.
The Devil sighed heavily, and brushed his hair. "A demonstration, then." With a casual flick of his wrist, one of the empty chairs near the front of the room exploded into flames, and a second flick opened a small window in the air.
The sounds of screaming and misery wafted through, accompanied by another burst of the awful stench. The Devil let them watch, right up until a screaming, charred thing - it had been human once, but the eons of torture had reduced it a mere 'thing' - charged at the portal, begging for help. Just before it could run through, the Devil brought his hand down in a chopping motion. There was just enough time to hear the faint sound of a body crunching into a wall as the window slammed closed.
"Convinced?" he asked with a smile. A long, heavy pause hung on the air, an threatened to engulf them all. It was only broken when someone cheered, leaping to his feet and pumping his hands.
Suddenly, everyone was freed, and began moving. Many dropped to their knees in prayer, and several more ran towards the exits. A few more began pulling out their wallets, hanging their heads as they passed bills to smirking colleagues.
"What *are* you people doing?" the Devil asked, frowning at them. One reporter nearby turned around, and flashed him a thumbs up.
"Settling bets. I always told Harry that the Devil was British." He turned back to the man, wearing a BBC badge, and stuck his middle finger in his face. "Take that, you Limey fuck."
"Well, I say, that's a little uncalled for..." the other man started to say. The Devil, though, had had enough.
"Sit down!" he bellowed. In truth, he barely raised his voice, but the sound seemed to reverberate inside everyone's skull. Trembling, they turned, sitting in the nearest chairs.
"My God. I blame Reaganism. That, or all the drugs," the Devil said. He shook his head, eyes flicking from one person to the next. "No wonder you're all so bad at your jobs."
"What... what do you want, Mr. Devil?" one of the reporters asked. He was one of the ones who had been praying, and as soon as he spoke, the little cluster of his friends who had prayed with him started to inch away.
"Well, I called this meeting to discuss a terrible miscarriage of justice. Ordinarily, I wouldn't really concern myself with such things. I'd just wait until the End Times and let Daddy DoesLittle sort it all out." He paused, taking a breath to calm himself; small sparks and wisps of flame had started to appear at his finger tips. "However, this particular miscarriage of justice concerns *me*, so I do care."
No-one spoke. No-one moved. An uneasy feeling filled the whole room, settling like a heavy blanket over everything. Finally, the Devil gestured.
"Start taking notes." The sound of paper rustling burst out as everyone opened their notebooks. Then, there was the sound of scribbling pens. Satisfied, the Devil nodded. "So. It has come to my attention that you people are accusing the players of something called... *Dungeons and Dragons* of being worshipers of my good and humble self."
He flashed his smile around the room for a second, only to suddenly let it drop from his face. The abruptness of the change chilled the reporters, and in the corner, one made a cross sign above his heart.
"Well, I came here to say that they are most decidedly not evil," the Devil went on, his tone severe. "These people are *nerds*. What, honestly, is a nerd ever going to do?"
It sounded rhetorical, but the way he stopped and looked around made the audience realize they were expected to answer. They stared at the floor, squirming in their seats, and finally murmuring platitudes to their shoes.
"Nothing! Nerds will never do anything evil. I mean, what could they do? Hmm? Are they going to create some kind of planet-spanning super network and fill it full of cat videos and porn just to distract everyone?" He laughed, waving a hand dismissively. "Are they going to get everyone to start sending letters on it, then help the government read them all? Trick people into putting all of their embarrassing pictures and their inane ramblings in one place, then spend hours of their life stalking each other, and becoming depressed over how much better every else's life seems? Or make a website with an absurbly low limit on how many letters you can use, and then get the politicians of the world on there to show off what a bunch of monumental cretins they all are?"
While he was talking, the Devil's voice seemed to slow, and a strange expression came across his face. By the time he finished, there the malevolent grin was back in force. He flashed his smile around once more, then tipped his head to one side.
"On second thoughts, keep up the good work. Now, I have something to do." He turned, swishing a portal open with one hand. He stepped through and it slammed shut, but they could just hear his voice, floating back towards them.
"Brutus! Get a pen. I've had a wonderful idea..."
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*Hello! Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this, please look at my other work, at /r/PuzzledRobot.*
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“Members of the press, I'd like to thank all of you for meeting me here today. I'll keep the introduction short- I'm The Devil, the real one.
Ahem.
Recently, my name has been thrown in with a trend involving teens, the playing of a tabletop game known as Dungeons and Dragons. Now, I know what you're all thinking; the name sounds dark, what kind of tabletop game doesn't use a board, the devil is behind all things wrong in the world, etc.
I'm here to dispel this notion plainly ; I am not, nor have I ever been, nor will I ever be involved with Dungeons and Dragons.
D&D, as I'll refer to it henceforth, is about the safest, least satanic thing a group of kids could ever involve themselves in. It's Tolkien with math and dice, you guys. That's it.
Are there some demons and other apparitions in it? Yes. But that doesn't make it satanic. It's all so… lame.
Folks, I am all about wickedness! Greed! Destruction! Fire! Ruin! Driving cars at unsafe speeds! Orgies!
If your kids were planning on becoming stockbrokers, bankers, CEOs, hedge fund managers, etc. then yes, I am so for that. Throw my name around all you want in that case! You'll see what I mean when the 80’s really get into full swing, here in just a bit. You're all gonna hear about cocaine again real soon.
Anyway, stop thinking it's my fault when your dorky kids sit around in the basement with mountain dew and funny dice, rambling about +2 swords of slaying or whatever. Trust me, they'll remain pure, untouched virgins for the entirety of their high-school careers.
Cheers!
Satan out!
*poof*”
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[WP] It's the 80s, and moral crusaders and alarmists on TV are warning parents that Dungeons & Dragons is all about the devil worship. Fed up with being associated with nerds, the devil himself is giving a press conference to get them to stop defaming his character.
|
As he expected the room was filled with journalists from all around the globe. Hell, even the Australians came. The devil giggled at this little word play he just invented. You would expect a divine being to have a somewhat lower and more impressing voice, but truth is he sounded like a school boy. Must have been all that yelling in the deepest crypts of the Underworld. Jeez, it is almost impossible to have a decent conversation down there over all those cries. As always, the word 'decent' only means what you make of it. In this case, 'decent' usually involves a lot of curses and crazy plans to take over the world. Until this day, none of those plans ever involved games like D&D.
The devil nodded and with a snap of his fingers the doors slammed shut. He could probably do without the snap but it added a pinch of drama which he very much enjoyed. All eyes were immediately on him. With quite some noise he cleared his throat. " Ladies and gentlemen, please do allow me to introduce myself, although I sincerely believe it to be unnecessary. My name is the devil, Beëlzebub, the beast or whatever else you like to call me. Before you bombard me with your questions, let me get a few things straight from the beginning: Yes, I do live in hell but there is practically no regulation on my whereabouts so I can basically go wherever I want to. Yes, I do have horns and a nice pair of wings and no, I'm not wearing them right now since I believed a more casual appearance would be more fitting. Now, is there anything else you would like to know?" With these words the devil looked up. The entire room was awkwardly wiggling their butts on their chairs. At last, one woman raised her hand. The devil sighed. Of course, a woman. Way too much curiosity squeezed into a tiny body. No wonder it was Eve who bit into the apple. Adam was probably still figuring out how he got his hands on such a lovely creature. "Go ahead, Darling." The woman dried her sweaty hands on her custom made pants. "Why were you cast out of the heavens,... Sir?" The devil giggled again. "I wouldn't let the old man win at Scrabble. Now can we continue?" In the back a big man stood up his face flushed red with anger. "This is complete bullshit. You are a lunatic and you belong in an asylum." The devil rolled his eyes. Oh dear God, will this hell ever end? He looked at the man: middle-aged, ugly, no wife or kids. The only person that would miss him was the hooker around the corner. I guess Daddy on the golden throne wouldn't mind that much if I took him. Again he snapped his fingers and the man fell lifeless on the ground
Like a true artist, he raised his hands to the crowd frozen with fear, knowing damn well he had paralysed them himself. "Ladies and gentlemen, please be patient. Soon, you'll all be on your way." He looked at the body and laughed his maniac laugh. "Well, almost all of you. The only thing I have yet to get off my chest is this: please do not associate me with these nerds playing a game like Dungeons and Dragons. They have no life at all and I have plenty of lives." He chuckled. "I hereby dissociate myself from them. You claiming such trash is by my hand is an offence to me and my work. And as you can see, I take my job very seriously." Again he pointed at the man. He then slapped his hands together. "That was everything." When the crowd remained motionless, he clapped his hands. "Come on. On your way everyone. Don't you have an article to write? Hurry. I've got other businesses to attend to." The woman that dared to ask a question was crying and murmuring 'oh god' over and over again. On his way out the devil stopped by her seat and said: "I wouldn't put so much faith in that one if I were you." He smirked at her confused look. "If you'd have done something to displease him, you'd be dead by now." He showed her a lifeless smile. "And trust me, I can know." He then proceeded to pat her on the head and walked out of the room, casually picking up the body and tossing it over his shoulder while whistling 'Over the rainbow'.
(Hello guys. This is my very first post ever on Reddit so please be nice to me. English is also not my first language so I'd like to apologize for any mistakes. Have a nice read and an even better day.)
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“Members of the press, I'd like to thank all of you for meeting me here today. I'll keep the introduction short- I'm The Devil, the real one.
Ahem.
Recently, my name has been thrown in with a trend involving teens, the playing of a tabletop game known as Dungeons and Dragons. Now, I know what you're all thinking; the name sounds dark, what kind of tabletop game doesn't use a board, the devil is behind all things wrong in the world, etc.
I'm here to dispel this notion plainly ; I am not, nor have I ever been, nor will I ever be involved with Dungeons and Dragons.
D&D, as I'll refer to it henceforth, is about the safest, least satanic thing a group of kids could ever involve themselves in. It's Tolkien with math and dice, you guys. That's it.
Are there some demons and other apparitions in it? Yes. But that doesn't make it satanic. It's all so… lame.
Folks, I am all about wickedness! Greed! Destruction! Fire! Ruin! Driving cars at unsafe speeds! Orgies!
If your kids were planning on becoming stockbrokers, bankers, CEOs, hedge fund managers, etc. then yes, I am so for that. Throw my name around all you want in that case! You'll see what I mean when the 80’s really get into full swing, here in just a bit. You're all gonna hear about cocaine again real soon.
Anyway, stop thinking it's my fault when your dorky kids sit around in the basement with mountain dew and funny dice, rambling about +2 swords of slaying or whatever. Trust me, they'll remain pure, untouched virgins for the entirety of their high-school careers.
Cheers!
Satan out!
*poof*”
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[WP] It's the 80s, and moral crusaders and alarmists on TV are warning parents that Dungeons & Dragons is all about the devil worship. Fed up with being associated with nerds, the devil himself is giving a press conference to get them to stop defaming his character.
|
As he expected the room was filled with journalists from all around the globe. Hell, even the Australians came. The devil giggled at this little word play he just invented. You would expect a divine being to have a somewhat lower and more impressing voice, but truth is he sounded like a school boy. Must have been all that yelling in the deepest crypts of the Underworld. Jeez, it is almost impossible to have a decent conversation down there over all those cries. As always, the word 'decent' only means what you make of it. In this case, 'decent' usually involves a lot of curses and crazy plans to take over the world. Until this day, none of those plans ever involved games like D&D.
The devil nodded and with a snap of his fingers the doors slammed shut. He could probably do without the snap but it added a pinch of drama which he very much enjoyed. All eyes were immediately on him. With quite some noise he cleared his throat. " Ladies and gentlemen, please do allow me to introduce myself, although I sincerely believe it to be unnecessary. My name is the devil, Beëlzebub, the beast or whatever else you like to call me. Before you bombard me with your questions, let me get a few things straight from the beginning: Yes, I do live in hell but there is practically no regulation on my whereabouts so I can basically go wherever I want to. Yes, I do have horns and a nice pair of wings and no, I'm not wearing them right now since I believed a more casual appearance would be more fitting. Now, is there anything else you would like to know?" With these words the devil looked up. The entire room was awkwardly wiggling their butts on their chairs. At last, one woman raised her hand. The devil sighed. Of course, a woman. Way too much curiosity squeezed into a tiny body. No wonder it was Eve who bit into the apple. Adam was probably still figuring out how he got his hands on such a lovely creature. "Go ahead, Darling." The woman dried her sweaty hands on her custom made pants. "Why were you cast out of the heavens,... Sir?" The devil giggled again. "I wouldn't let the old man win at Scrabble. Now can we continue?" In the back a big man stood up his face flushed red with anger. "This is complete bullshit. You are a lunatic and you belong in an asylum." The devil rolled his eyes. Oh dear God, will this hell ever end? He looked at the man: middle-aged, ugly, no wife or kids. The only person that would miss him was the hooker around the corner. I guess Daddy on the golden throne wouldn't mind that much if I took him. Again he snapped his fingers and the man fell lifeless on the ground
Like a true artist, he raised his hands to the crowd frozen with fear, knowing damn well he had paralysed them himself. "Ladies and gentlemen, please be patient. Soon, you'll all be on your way." He looked at the body and laughed his maniac laugh. "Well, almost all of you. The only thing I have yet to get off my chest is this: please do not associate me with these nerds playing a game like Dungeons and Dragons. They have no life at all and I have plenty of lives." He chuckled. "I hereby dissociate myself from them. You claiming such trash is by my hand is an offence to me and my work. And as you can see, I take my job very seriously." Again he pointed at the man. He then slapped his hands together. "That was everything." When the crowd remained motionless, he clapped his hands. "Come on. On your way everyone. Don't you have an article to write? Hurry. I've got other businesses to attend to." The woman that dared to ask a question was crying and murmuring 'oh god' over and over again. On his way out the devil stopped by her seat and said: "I wouldn't put so much faith in that one if I were you." He smirked at her confused look. "If you'd have done something to displease him, you'd be dead by now." He showed her a lifeless smile. "And trust me, I can know." He then proceeded to pat her on the head and walked out of the room, casually picking up the body and tossing it over his shoulder while whistling 'Over the rainbow'.
(Hello guys. This is my very first post ever on Reddit so please be nice to me. English is also not my first language so I'd like to apologize for any mistakes. Have a nice read and an even better day.)
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The White House Press Secretary, Samuel Birch, smiled congenially and scanned the room as hands shot into the air. He was the newest addition to the White House staff and had only served in his post for six months, but was well\-liked among the press corps. He had an easy smile and an engaging style, and despite obvious differences in political outlook he spoke to the correspondents with the utmost professionalism and respect.
God, Leila hated him.
Leila tilted her right shoulder upward, trying to make her hand stretch just a bit higher above the crowd. When Samuel's eyes met hers, she knew she needn't have bothered; his smile took on an imperious, condescending aire, likely impersceptible to those who hadn't grown up with him. His gaze lingered on Leila just long enough to relay the message: *As long as I'm up here, you're not getting any more questions.*
Instead, Samuel pointed to the guy on Leila's left. The room went silent, hands fell to laps full of notepads and laptops, and Leila scowled.
"Bill Sorensen, ABC," he said quickly. Of course everyone knew him, but decorum had to be observed. "Mr. Birch, there've been several recent reports suggesting that the weapons depots cited as the rationale behind this policy shift may not, in fact, be weapons depots at all. Some have even suggested that the photographic evidence cited by this administration have been falsified. Can you comment?"
Leila heard a sharp breath behind her. She understood; in recent years, that would have been a ballsy question. But Samuel just smiled and nodded throughout the question. That was part of his charm to the press corps. He didn't get angry or defensive, he never rattled. He just smiled, then spoke with the confidence of someone who knew he would be listened to.
"Yes, Bill, we're aware of such reports," Samuel said patiently, "and although we seriously doubt their veracity\-\-"
His gaze cut quickly to Leila, condescension flickering there once more. *God* Leila hated him.
"\-\-let me assure you," Samuel continued, "that we have every reason to believe the authenticity of the photographs in question and the credibility of the intelligence agents responsible for their collection. Despite what may have been written by some of our colleagues in this room, believe me when I say that this administration would absolutely not take any sort of action unless there were absolute certainty about the intelligence details."
"Oh Sammy, such *lies*."
A new voice cut through the silence, its tone simultaneously mocking and pitying. Every head turned toward the back of the room. A figure in a well\-cut navy suit stood with his back to the crowd, closing the double doors leading into the press room. They met and shut with an odd sense of finality, but not before Leila glimpsed the floor beyond.
Beside her, Bill whispered, "Was that the security guard on the ground?" Apparently he saw the same thing Leila had. His tone was remarkably calm given the sentiment. Leila expected as much from a seasoned veteran like Bill. She, however, was still new enough to her role that she had not completely acclimated to the anxiety of reporting on the national and international stages. Her stomach churned nervously.
For a moment the man stood still, facing the door. Then he turned to face the podium to reveal a rather unremarkable man, quite average in height and rather broad in stature, his somewhat squared jaw lined by a day or two's worth of new beard that only darkened his sun\-worne complexion.
Once more, Leila heard a sharp breath from behind her. She alone turned her head toward Samuel, and blinked. Samuel stared wide\-eyed at the newcomer with an expression Leila had never seen on him before: fear. Fear twisted Samuel's handsome face into something ugly, paranoid. Sweat suddenly beaded his forehead despite the powder that had been subtley applied to prevent such a thing. The comfortable confidence with which he carried himself had been replaced by obvious tension, as though he wanted nothing more than to run. Yet he simply stood there, staring.
Leila looked back to the newcomer. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and slipped his hands into his pants pockets, staring back at Samuel.
Then he smiled.
Whereas a moment before he had seemed extraordinarily average, his smile seemed to transform him. His broad stature suddenly seemed strong, commanding. His ruddy features and unkempt beard spoke of long days of hard, rewarding work. His brown eyes shone brightly, promising pleasurable company and sparkling conversation. The charm that Samual usually exhibited was nothing compared to the sheer sense of *presence* that this man exuded.
Leila and every other person in the room, save Samuel, immediately liked him.
The man began walking toward the podium, each step slow and measured. "Oh Sammy," he said the name again, and Leila blinked, suddenly recognizing a nickname she hadn't heard in almost twenty years.
"Sammy, Sammy. Look how far you've come." The man gestured around the room with one hand. He stopped in front of the podium, still smiling, still holding Samuel's gaze. "If only they knew, eh?"
Samuel shook as he brought his hand to his forehead. "You... uh..." he stammed. "You're early."
The man shrugged one shoulder. "I held up my end of the bargain," he said matter\-of\-factly. "There were no timelines expressly written into the contract, only guidelines for what you would achieve. And oh my, what you have achieved. From an unknown, backwoods town, single parent upbringing, to one of the most public positions in the entire world. People talk about you as an early contender for governor when your time at the White House ends. A true rags\-to\-riches story." The man's smile widened. "You know, I even read a Fox News thinkpiece suggesting that you were well on your way toward the presidency yourself in a decade or so."
The conversation seemed to steady Samuel a bit. Though his voice quavered, he spoke with some of his former surity, "Yes, well, the public knows I can be relied upon to tell them the truth and\-\-"
The man's head fell back as he barked out a laugh, stunning Samuel once more into silence. "The truth!" he cried through his laughter. "Oh Sammy, please, don't. Don't do that. Not to me." He shook his head and wiped the corner of his eye. "I literally know you better than you know yourself. You are constitutionally incapable of telling the truth unless it's in service to some greater lie to build yourself up. I know, I *gave* you that skill."
He slipped his hand into his jacket, removing a manila envelope held shut with what appeared to be dark brown wax. Leila thought it was much too large to have been so perfectly concealed under that jacket. He held it up wordlessly, as though implying, *See this?* At the sight of it, the blood drained from Samuel's face. Neither man spoke; the hum of the overhead lights and the quick, tense breath of the press corps filled the room.
Finally, Samuel whispered, "I'm not ready. I have so much more to do."
Another shrug, and the man held out the envelope. "A bargain was made and sealed, and I have more than delivered on my end. As much as you may think you deserve whatever future you've planned for yourself, I'm afraid that other interested parties have offered far more for what you want." He waved the envelope slowly. "It's time to collect."
At those words, Samuel backed away, slamming against the presidential seal behind him. "No!" he shouted, terrified. "Security! *Security!!!*"
Leila and the rest of the corps were entranced, still, almost breathless now. They looked around them. Each of the three sets of doors were shut. No guard came bursting into the room. Nothing happened. Samuel stayed pressed into the wall, unmoving, breathing rapidly. Leila wondered if he might hyperventilate.
The man just smiled for maybe thirty seconds. "I'm afraid," he finally said, "that no one will be coming. This is between us, Sammy. You promised me a soul. There is nothing in Heaven that can change that, and nothing in Hell that would want to." He placed his fingers under the lip of the envelope, pulling it upward, straining the waxy seal.
Samuel shrieked. "*NO, WAIT, PLE\-\-"*
The seal broke, and Samuel went silent, frozen, reaching out to the man plaintively. Then he simply collapsed, like a ragdoll, the light and life gone from his eyes.
The room broke into chaos.
Almost in unison, the correspondents screamed and leapt from their seats. A tide of reporters bolted for the three doors to the press room. The press corps tried desperately to escape, bodies pressing together tightly as those in the front tried and failed to force the doors open, banged their fists into them, crying for aid.
All but Leila. She remained in her chair, staring at Samuel's corpse. She remembered all the times he had teased her, bullied her. She remembered the stink of his breath in her ear, the corrosive tone of his voice as he told her no one would believe her, that he owned her now. The sense of hopelessness as she liftened to his Magne Cum Laude speech. The rage when he was announced as Press Secretary.
God, she *hated* him.
And now, seeing him there, all she felt was contentment.
Leila didn't know how long she stared, but when she finally broke away, the chaos of the room had subsided. Members of the press corps were huddled on the ground at the doors, some of them weeping, others rocking themselved gently, whispering to themselves and each other that it was going to be okay. Bill laid in the aisle, unconscious Leila thought, with a shallow gash across his temple and dusty footprints on his back.
The man had moved behind the podium, now facing the audience. For the first time, he spoke to them directly.
"Ladies and gentlemen, if you would be so kind, please return to your seats."
The warmth and charisma had returned to his voice, or perhaps they had never left it. He had simply not yet directed them toward the correspondents. When he did, the crying and whispering ceased. The reporters stood and staggered back to their original positions, stepping gingerly over and around Bill's prone body. The man waited as they collected their notepads and gradually turned their attention to him.
A few moments of silence, then the man spoke.
"I apologize for the theatrics. In the past I've tried simply giving my name, but that has always been met with such incredulity that I decided to try a different approach." His smile was radiant. "I trust I need no further introduction?"
Several correspondents shook their heads.
"Good." He took a breath, exhaled in a long sigh, and placed both hands on the podium. "Throughout history, people have liked to use me as a scapegoat for their troubles. I've been simultaneously accused of destroying empires and dynasties, and for raising them, depending on whose side you were on. I've been blamed for your wicked natures since time immemorial." He paused, then smirked. "Well, immemorial to you, anyway."
He slipped his hands back into his pockets. "Frankly, I've grown tired of it. It's not that I'm bothered by your opinions of me\-\-far from it, actually. I find your skewed perception of the nature of existence to be oddly charming in its naiveté." He tilted his head back, looking up at the ceiling searchingly. "You know, I was even blamed for the creation of Dungeons and Dragons. *Dungeons and Dragons*, for Christ's sake." He shook his head, chuckled once more, and gestured casually toward Samuel's lifeless body. "As though I need to trick people into making a deal. You people are more than capable of corrupting yourselves."
He turned his gaze back to the crowd. "I play a much less active role in this world than you probably think. Hell, these days most of you don't even believe that I exist, or that there any lasting consequences to your actions. I don't *have* to take an active role because so many of you just come to *me* of your own volition. It actually makes my job much easier, truth be told."
For the first time, he frowned. "It makes my job a little *too* easy."
He started pacing, frustration evident in his voice. "There was a time that I really had to work for my successes. I had to convince people to give themselves over, to take that bite, to look back, to do anything other than what *He* wanted." He waved his hand carelessly toward the ceiling. "Now, most of you just line up, begging for your seat at the table, what you think you deserve. I told Him you were wicked by nature and that I would prove it, but I never expected you to make it so easy." He sighed. "It's all so fucking *boring*."
He stopped pacing, stood once more behind the podium, and looked to the crowd. "I refuse to spend the next four thousand some\-odd years without any kind of job satisfaction. So, I figure it's time to set the record straight." He fixed the top button of his suit jacket and placed his hands back on the podium.
"Now, does anyone have any questions?"
The room was silent and still. The correspondents sat rigid, wide\-eyed, searching for some way to make sense of what they had heard. No one moved.
No one, except Leila. Slowly, she raised her right hand.
The man turned his gaze to her, smiled warmly, and pointed. "Yes, Ms. Temple?"
Leila returned his smile.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-
Not quite what the prompt implied, but this is what came to me.
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[WP] It's the 80s, and moral crusaders and alarmists on TV are warning parents that Dungeons & Dragons is all about the devil worship. Fed up with being associated with nerds, the devil himself is giving a press conference to get them to stop defaming his character.
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"So, do you know why we're here?" Alex asked.
The man next to him - *Martin*? Alex wondered - just shrugged. "No idea. My editor told me to get down here. Said if I missed it, I didn't need to bother coming in again."
"That's basically what happened to me. Kind of weird." Alex bit the end of his pen and frowned, staring at his notebook. He had the date written at the top of the page, along with the place and the time, but where he would normally have written the name, there was just a large, triple-underlined question mark.
"I think it's something to do with Miramax," said another man sitting nearby. Alex looked up. "Really?"
"Yeah, I heard the same," chimed in another. Then, Laurence from the LA Times - *or the Enquirer? he was always moving around so much, but I guess that's natural when you're that much of a horndog...* - glanced over at them.
"It's not Miramax. Harvey called the meeting, but it's not him that's coming," he said. Everyone sighed a little in relief; Harvey always came across as creepy, so it was no great loss if he wasn't coming. "It's a favour for someone else. Repaying a debt, or something. I don't really know."
Everyone slowly turned back to the podium up on the stage. Everything about this was strange. They'd been called here, for an apparently secret meeting, with a speaker that no-one could identify. The podium lacked any microphones, despite the cavernous size of the ballroom they were in, and even though there were only moments before the press conference was set to begin, there were no people scurrying around in the background preparing.
Even the one thing they *could* see - the podium - was weird. It was unusually large, and looked to be made of a jet-black wood. When Alex looked again, he realized that the wood was dark, but not actually black; instead something had charred the surface until it was coated with a thin layer of ash.
"That's weird..." Alex muttered, to himself more than anything else. He was half-way through scribbling a note to himself when the entire podium seemed to explode into a cloud of smoke. The entire room drew back, some jumping from their chairs, and everyone gasping in surprise.
They quickly regretted the gasp, as the clouds of foul-smelling air wafted over them. The smells of barbeque and burning hair mixed with brimstone and fear, forming a heady cocktail that had everyone gagging.
"My, my. My little pets said that the mortal world had a weak stomach nowadays, but I didn't quite believe it," came a voice. It wasn't even particularly loud, but it carried easily to the edges of the room. Everyone looked around, sizing him up.
The man on stage behind the podium seemed amused. He was tall, and held himself with a confidence that suggested great power. His suit was tailored, well-fitting, and looked expensive enough that several of the younger reporters, still struggling to make rent payments, winced with jealousy.
"Everyone feeling a little better now?" The smug condescension reeked off the man, and his smile hinted at malevolence. The only thing about him that seemed less than perfect was his hair; the golden locks, swished fashionably across his forehead, were darkened with soot and age, until there was almost as much black and grey there as gold.
"Who are you?" someone shouted.
"What do you want?" said another.
"Where did you come from?"
"What the fuck was that smell?" came a voice from the back. The man laughed, and nodded.
"Ahh, so many questions. To be expected, of course. Well, first things first..." He paused to casually brush the dust from his lapel, and then turned back. "First, I am the Devil. Satan. The Great Devourer. Lord of Hell. Prince of Darkness. Asmodeus. King of Genies. Baphomet. Beezlebub..."
He paused again, and grinned. "This goes on a while. But, suffice to say, I am your worst nightmares. However, if you don't wish to worship me, feel free to call me Lucifer." His smile broaded, and his eyebrows twitched, hiding the glint in his eyes. "You'll call me Sir in time."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" called out another reporter, his accent betraying his Boston heritage. Alex smirked; it *would* be someone from Boston.
The Devil sighed heavily, and brushed his hair. "A demonstration, then." With a casual flick of his wrist, one of the empty chairs near the front of the room exploded into flames, and a second flick opened a small window in the air.
The sounds of screaming and misery wafted through, accompanied by another burst of the awful stench. The Devil let them watch, right up until a screaming, charred thing - it had been human once, but the eons of torture had reduced it a mere 'thing' - charged at the portal, begging for help. Just before it could run through, the Devil brought his hand down in a chopping motion. There was just enough time to hear the faint sound of a body crunching into a wall as the window slammed closed.
"Convinced?" he asked with a smile. A long, heavy pause hung on the air, an threatened to engulf them all. It was only broken when someone cheered, leaping to his feet and pumping his hands.
Suddenly, everyone was freed, and began moving. Many dropped to their knees in prayer, and several more ran towards the exits. A few more began pulling out their wallets, hanging their heads as they passed bills to smirking colleagues.
"What *are* you people doing?" the Devil asked, frowning at them. One reporter nearby turned around, and flashed him a thumbs up.
"Settling bets. I always told Harry that the Devil was British." He turned back to the man, wearing a BBC badge, and stuck his middle finger in his face. "Take that, you Limey fuck."
"Well, I say, that's a little uncalled for..." the other man started to say. The Devil, though, had had enough.
"Sit down!" he bellowed. In truth, he barely raised his voice, but the sound seemed to reverberate inside everyone's skull. Trembling, they turned, sitting in the nearest chairs.
"My God. I blame Reaganism. That, or all the drugs," the Devil said. He shook his head, eyes flicking from one person to the next. "No wonder you're all so bad at your jobs."
"What... what do you want, Mr. Devil?" one of the reporters asked. He was one of the ones who had been praying, and as soon as he spoke, the little cluster of his friends who had prayed with him started to inch away.
"Well, I called this meeting to discuss a terrible miscarriage of justice. Ordinarily, I wouldn't really concern myself with such things. I'd just wait until the End Times and let Daddy DoesLittle sort it all out." He paused, taking a breath to calm himself; small sparks and wisps of flame had started to appear at his finger tips. "However, this particular miscarriage of justice concerns *me*, so I do care."
No-one spoke. No-one moved. An uneasy feeling filled the whole room, settling like a heavy blanket over everything. Finally, the Devil gestured.
"Start taking notes." The sound of paper rustling burst out as everyone opened their notebooks. Then, there was the sound of scribbling pens. Satisfied, the Devil nodded. "So. It has come to my attention that you people are accusing the players of something called... *Dungeons and Dragons* of being worshipers of my good and humble self."
He flashed his smile around the room for a second, only to suddenly let it drop from his face. The abruptness of the change chilled the reporters, and in the corner, one made a cross sign above his heart.
"Well, I came here to say that they are most decidedly not evil," the Devil went on, his tone severe. "These people are *nerds*. What, honestly, is a nerd ever going to do?"
It sounded rhetorical, but the way he stopped and looked around made the audience realize they were expected to answer. They stared at the floor, squirming in their seats, and finally murmuring platitudes to their shoes.
"Nothing! Nerds will never do anything evil. I mean, what could they do? Hmm? Are they going to create some kind of planet-spanning super network and fill it full of cat videos and porn just to distract everyone?" He laughed, waving a hand dismissively. "Are they going to get everyone to start sending letters on it, then help the government read them all? Trick people into putting all of their embarrassing pictures and their inane ramblings in one place, then spend hours of their life stalking each other, and becoming depressed over how much better every else's life seems? Or make a website with an absurbly low limit on how many letters you can use, and then get the politicians of the world on there to show off what a bunch of monumental cretins they all are?"
While he was talking, the Devil's voice seemed to slow, and a strange expression came across his face. By the time he finished, there the malevolent grin was back in force. He flashed his smile around once more, then tipped his head to one side.
"On second thoughts, keep up the good work. Now, I have something to do." He turned, swishing a portal open with one hand. He stepped through and it slammed shut, but they could just hear his voice, floating back towards them.
"Brutus! Get a pen. I've had a wonderful idea..."
-----
*Hello! Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this, please look at my other work, at /r/PuzzledRobot.*
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Live on CNN.
"Hello mortals. My name is Satan. You can call me the Devil.
Now, I've tolerated all kinds of insults from this realm. You people tried to make me non\-existent, evil, shitty, a total scumbag who always lies. In fact, all I've been doing is in His plan. In your tiny brains, please process this: I do not take independent actions. If that man up there wanted me dead, I would be dead. The fact that I'm still allowed to torture people shows that he wants me to continue. You people like justice, no? When a rapist goes to a prison, he'd taste his own medicine because this society, this species wants revenge, which is justice to you, no?
So is torturing people bad? I mean, it's not just people either. I have Hitler in my oven right now. Do you know how many prayers and curses reached my ears for this single dude to burn in hell? Chri\-\-\-I mean, FUCK.
Ahem. This is beside the point.
Recently, you have been associating me with yet another insulting subject. I'm a patient guy, after all, I could endure His punishment, so pretty much nothing else comes close to dwindling my cool. But here's the thing, mortals.
I do not wish to be associated with these eggheads. I have my own followers. They do crazy shit. No, seriously, go around the city, look for one of my followers. They're actually worthy of being my followers because they do some unimaginable stuff. Just the thought of it would make you heave.
Listen up, carefully. I don't like who you're linking me with. This is an actual insult. I can tolerate words and blasphemy. But this, this "trend" that you're creating about how this "game", this, this goddamned, two dimensional pass time for physically and emotionally weak four eyes riddled with acne is somehow fucking connected to me is absolutely intolerable. I'm not even just talking blindly. I tried the game myself, played it with a few of my colleagues. In summary, it's literally just a piece of board that you throw twenty sided dices onto and hallucinate shit. It would've been fun but as you know, demons don't really think anything other than malicious intent. We needed creative minds in the past but not now. We have enough torture ideas and chambers each designed for different purposes.
So stop it. Stop trying to make me look bad. I don't care about dungeons and dragons. We \*have\* dragons. We \*have\* dungeons. We don't need to imagine it, we can actually explore the latter and ride on the first.
I don't like these kids. These kids are the manifestation of borderline retardation. Not a single one of them will succeed in life. Naming them Satanists and them failing would only demean me. I'm not incompetent. I won't just sit here and watch.
From now on, if anyone dares to poke fun at me with these ridiculous claims, I will personally smash their teeth in. So stop. Stop it.
Thank you."
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[WP] It's the 80s, and moral crusaders and alarmists on TV are warning parents that Dungeons & Dragons is all about the devil worship. Fed up with being associated with nerds, the devil himself is giving a press conference to get them to stop defaming his character.
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As he expected the room was filled with journalists from all around the globe. Hell, even the Australians came. The devil giggled at this little word play he just invented. You would expect a divine being to have a somewhat lower and more impressing voice, but truth is he sounded like a school boy. Must have been all that yelling in the deepest crypts of the Underworld. Jeez, it is almost impossible to have a decent conversation down there over all those cries. As always, the word 'decent' only means what you make of it. In this case, 'decent' usually involves a lot of curses and crazy plans to take over the world. Until this day, none of those plans ever involved games like D&D.
The devil nodded and with a snap of his fingers the doors slammed shut. He could probably do without the snap but it added a pinch of drama which he very much enjoyed. All eyes were immediately on him. With quite some noise he cleared his throat. " Ladies and gentlemen, please do allow me to introduce myself, although I sincerely believe it to be unnecessary. My name is the devil, Beëlzebub, the beast or whatever else you like to call me. Before you bombard me with your questions, let me get a few things straight from the beginning: Yes, I do live in hell but there is practically no regulation on my whereabouts so I can basically go wherever I want to. Yes, I do have horns and a nice pair of wings and no, I'm not wearing them right now since I believed a more casual appearance would be more fitting. Now, is there anything else you would like to know?" With these words the devil looked up. The entire room was awkwardly wiggling their butts on their chairs. At last, one woman raised her hand. The devil sighed. Of course, a woman. Way too much curiosity squeezed into a tiny body. No wonder it was Eve who bit into the apple. Adam was probably still figuring out how he got his hands on such a lovely creature. "Go ahead, Darling." The woman dried her sweaty hands on her custom made pants. "Why were you cast out of the heavens,... Sir?" The devil giggled again. "I wouldn't let the old man win at Scrabble. Now can we continue?" In the back a big man stood up his face flushed red with anger. "This is complete bullshit. You are a lunatic and you belong in an asylum." The devil rolled his eyes. Oh dear God, will this hell ever end? He looked at the man: middle-aged, ugly, no wife or kids. The only person that would miss him was the hooker around the corner. I guess Daddy on the golden throne wouldn't mind that much if I took him. Again he snapped his fingers and the man fell lifeless on the ground
Like a true artist, he raised his hands to the crowd frozen with fear, knowing damn well he had paralysed them himself. "Ladies and gentlemen, please be patient. Soon, you'll all be on your way." He looked at the body and laughed his maniac laugh. "Well, almost all of you. The only thing I have yet to get off my chest is this: please do not associate me with these nerds playing a game like Dungeons and Dragons. They have no life at all and I have plenty of lives." He chuckled. "I hereby dissociate myself from them. You claiming such trash is by my hand is an offence to me and my work. And as you can see, I take my job very seriously." Again he pointed at the man. He then slapped his hands together. "That was everything." When the crowd remained motionless, he clapped his hands. "Come on. On your way everyone. Don't you have an article to write? Hurry. I've got other businesses to attend to." The woman that dared to ask a question was crying and murmuring 'oh god' over and over again. On his way out the devil stopped by her seat and said: "I wouldn't put so much faith in that one if I were you." He smirked at her confused look. "If you'd have done something to displease him, you'd be dead by now." He showed her a lifeless smile. "And trust me, I can know." He then proceeded to pat her on the head and walked out of the room, casually picking up the body and tossing it over his shoulder while whistling 'Over the rainbow'.
(Hello guys. This is my very first post ever on Reddit so please be nice to me. English is also not my first language so I'd like to apologize for any mistakes. Have a nice read and an even better day.)
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Live on CNN.
"Hello mortals. My name is Satan. You can call me the Devil.
Now, I've tolerated all kinds of insults from this realm. You people tried to make me non\-existent, evil, shitty, a total scumbag who always lies. In fact, all I've been doing is in His plan. In your tiny brains, please process this: I do not take independent actions. If that man up there wanted me dead, I would be dead. The fact that I'm still allowed to torture people shows that he wants me to continue. You people like justice, no? When a rapist goes to a prison, he'd taste his own medicine because this society, this species wants revenge, which is justice to you, no?
So is torturing people bad? I mean, it's not just people either. I have Hitler in my oven right now. Do you know how many prayers and curses reached my ears for this single dude to burn in hell? Chri\-\-\-I mean, FUCK.
Ahem. This is beside the point.
Recently, you have been associating me with yet another insulting subject. I'm a patient guy, after all, I could endure His punishment, so pretty much nothing else comes close to dwindling my cool. But here's the thing, mortals.
I do not wish to be associated with these eggheads. I have my own followers. They do crazy shit. No, seriously, go around the city, look for one of my followers. They're actually worthy of being my followers because they do some unimaginable stuff. Just the thought of it would make you heave.
Listen up, carefully. I don't like who you're linking me with. This is an actual insult. I can tolerate words and blasphemy. But this, this "trend" that you're creating about how this "game", this, this goddamned, two dimensional pass time for physically and emotionally weak four eyes riddled with acne is somehow fucking connected to me is absolutely intolerable. I'm not even just talking blindly. I tried the game myself, played it with a few of my colleagues. In summary, it's literally just a piece of board that you throw twenty sided dices onto and hallucinate shit. It would've been fun but as you know, demons don't really think anything other than malicious intent. We needed creative minds in the past but not now. We have enough torture ideas and chambers each designed for different purposes.
So stop it. Stop trying to make me look bad. I don't care about dungeons and dragons. We \*have\* dragons. We \*have\* dungeons. We don't need to imagine it, we can actually explore the latter and ride on the first.
I don't like these kids. These kids are the manifestation of borderline retardation. Not a single one of them will succeed in life. Naming them Satanists and them failing would only demean me. I'm not incompetent. I won't just sit here and watch.
From now on, if anyone dares to poke fun at me with these ridiculous claims, I will personally smash their teeth in. So stop. Stop it.
Thank you."
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|
[WP] It's the 80s, and moral crusaders and alarmists on TV are warning parents that Dungeons & Dragons is all about the devil worship. Fed up with being associated with nerds, the devil himself is giving a press conference to get them to stop defaming his character.
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"20 Things Only 80s Kids Will Remember" the BuzzFeed article read. The list of course contained the usual things that go on lists of those types. 1. The Cosby Show 2. Just Say No 3. The Devil holding a press conference about D&D. Oh man that one takes me back, I was raised in a religious household and of course my mother was worried about me becoming a Satanist. I was watching a Televangelism when the Devil appeared on the show, he told everyone that he was going to hold a press conference about Dungeons & Dragons. And so everything was worked out with the networks to broadcast it to the world on a Sunday night, I remember my mother talking about how he was probably gonna take credit for various stuff. But that wasn't what happened instead the Devil got on stage and spoke in a deep voice "Dungeons & Dragons is not about Devil worship, it's a game that people play and I have no part in it. In fact most of the stuff that you think that I had a part in I didn't, that was all you guys. War? Yeah that was you assholes."
And right as the Devil said that a reporter yelled "Sir you can't swear on public television!" and that was the funniest thing that my 11 year old brain had ever heard but the Devil sighed and just continued "Right my apologies, but my point being that I am not pulling any strings, I don't control people by using role-playing games, you people always have the wrong idea of what I do, I just torture sinners, nothing else. Ok? Now any questions?"
There was silence until a reporter stood up and asked "So to avoid going to Hell do you just have to be Christian?"
"No, you can be sent to hell no matter what you believe in. Like lots of Priests are going to Hell."
"Why?"
"I will tell you guys later. But any other questions?"
Another reporter asked the next question "So none of the horrible stuff is your fault?"
"Yeah that of all of yours guys' fault. The only thing that I have been involved in recently is the invention of the toaster."
"Is the toaster satanic then?"
"No. Look maybe this would be better if I was interviewed on I don't know The Tonight Show. Ok can we that worked out? OK point being that D&D is not satanic, also being gay is not a sin and stop watching Televangelists."
Man the 80s were weird, and after a while the Devil got his own show called **The Devil's Advocate**
Note: That was my first real attempt at doing one of these writing prompt things so sorry if it sucks.
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Live on CNN.
"Hello mortals. My name is Satan. You can call me the Devil.
Now, I've tolerated all kinds of insults from this realm. You people tried to make me non\-existent, evil, shitty, a total scumbag who always lies. In fact, all I've been doing is in His plan. In your tiny brains, please process this: I do not take independent actions. If that man up there wanted me dead, I would be dead. The fact that I'm still allowed to torture people shows that he wants me to continue. You people like justice, no? When a rapist goes to a prison, he'd taste his own medicine because this society, this species wants revenge, which is justice to you, no?
So is torturing people bad? I mean, it's not just people either. I have Hitler in my oven right now. Do you know how many prayers and curses reached my ears for this single dude to burn in hell? Chri\-\-\-I mean, FUCK.
Ahem. This is beside the point.
Recently, you have been associating me with yet another insulting subject. I'm a patient guy, after all, I could endure His punishment, so pretty much nothing else comes close to dwindling my cool. But here's the thing, mortals.
I do not wish to be associated with these eggheads. I have my own followers. They do crazy shit. No, seriously, go around the city, look for one of my followers. They're actually worthy of being my followers because they do some unimaginable stuff. Just the thought of it would make you heave.
Listen up, carefully. I don't like who you're linking me with. This is an actual insult. I can tolerate words and blasphemy. But this, this "trend" that you're creating about how this "game", this, this goddamned, two dimensional pass time for physically and emotionally weak four eyes riddled with acne is somehow fucking connected to me is absolutely intolerable. I'm not even just talking blindly. I tried the game myself, played it with a few of my colleagues. In summary, it's literally just a piece of board that you throw twenty sided dices onto and hallucinate shit. It would've been fun but as you know, demons don't really think anything other than malicious intent. We needed creative minds in the past but not now. We have enough torture ideas and chambers each designed for different purposes.
So stop it. Stop trying to make me look bad. I don't care about dungeons and dragons. We \*have\* dragons. We \*have\* dungeons. We don't need to imagine it, we can actually explore the latter and ride on the first.
I don't like these kids. These kids are the manifestation of borderline retardation. Not a single one of them will succeed in life. Naming them Satanists and them failing would only demean me. I'm not incompetent. I won't just sit here and watch.
From now on, if anyone dares to poke fun at me with these ridiculous claims, I will personally smash their teeth in. So stop. Stop it.
Thank you."
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|
[WP] It's the 80s, and moral crusaders and alarmists on TV are warning parents that Dungeons & Dragons is all about the devil worship. Fed up with being associated with nerds, the devil himself is giving a press conference to get them to stop defaming his character.
|
No one appreciated the destructive power of ridicule as well as the Devil did. Had he not employed the subtleties of satire himself to galvanize his admirers in the early days? An innocuous joke here, a light-hearted jab there, and in no time at all would hidden absurdities be laid bare for the world to mock. After all, if there was one thing the Devil loved more than to destroy, it was to *undermine*.
And that was the only reason the Devil had deigned to appear in the flesh before a horde of reporters, just so that he could make crystal clear that he was *wholly* unrelated to *Dungeons & Dragons*.
“… and that concludes the 5 points why I am evil incarnate, and how *Dungeons & Dragons* in no way, shape or form even comes close to representing one-hundredth of the corruption that I am. I’ll take questions now. You, there, the one in the red tie.”
“Thank you, yes, Sam Natters from The National Query. Do you have any comments on how disruptive it is to the routines of the denizens of Hell when gamers complete the summoning rituals in the *Monsters’ Handbook?*”
“Ah. Were you listening during my presentation? I’d addressed that, under point 3. As far as I am aware, no, none of the rituals which can summon me or my colleagues have been replicated in any of the *Dungeons & Dragons* source books.”
“So what you’re saying is, there are rituals which *do* work?”
“No, that was *not* what I was-”
“And will those rituals be in any of the upcoming expansion modules to be released?”
The Devil narrowed his eyes, then made a mental note to prepare a separate cell for Sam at the appropriate juncture. A dozen other hands in the audience shot up, caught up in the tempo of the exchange.
“I believe I’ve answered that,” said the Devil. “Next question. You there, the lady in the front, the one who’s waiting for her boyfriend to leave town so that she can misbehave.”
But that wasn’t enough to embarrass her into silence. “Jane Harrow, from News Daily. How many teenage souls, give or take, have passed through the gateway of *Dungeons & Dragons* to join the Church of Satan?”
“You weren’t listening either, miss. Point 4, I’ve listed out all the agencies in the world who have, actually, been properly licensed to represent us. That Church has borrowed our name, but they do not preach-”
“Just a ballpark figure? In the region of… say, one, two million? Come on, throw us a bone here.”
“*Zer-…* the number is too small, miss. It is insignificant in the larger scheme of things. I’d like to move on-”
“Ah! So what you’re saying is, *at least one* soul has actually transitioned to become your loyal subject because of *Dungeons & Dragons*?”
The Devil regretted that blip of honesty he had shown. There were, unfortunately, a certain group of individuals so misguided that they had actually perceived the Devil’s intent amongst the thousands of lines of backstory in the source books. The Devil had been furious at first, and had yelled at the literary demons for going behind his back to sow his teachings there. But they had sworn till their faces were blue that they had nothing to do with it – further investigation revealed that a printing error had introduced uneven spacings into Volume 3 of the Bestiary, such that if one were to transcribe the text into Morse code, feed the scribblings into a fax machine twice, then burn the transmission receipts while denouncing the Heavens, the resulting smoke plumes would actually look like “The Devil Did Nothing Wrong” if one squinted just right.
Another mental note, to find out just how Jonathan Beston of New Hope, CA had discovered that unlikely chain of events.
“I’d rather reserve time for the people who paid attention to me earlier, Jane. Yes, you there, the man in the blue suit.”
No sooner were the words out of the Devil’s mouth that he regretted them.
“Thank you. I am Michael, no last name. I’d like to refer to the events of 17 April, 1981. That was the day that Ivanov Teter was arrested for the multiple slayings in downtown Boston. When he was overpowered, they found he had character sheets in his pockets matching his victims’ descriptions, and a set of 21-sided dice in his hands. Care to elaborate on that?”
It wasn’t fair. There was such a thing as professional courtesy, and not once in his memory had the Devil ever rubbed salt in when his counterparts made mistakes. And Michael was going to do this now, in public no less? Sure, there were certain lapses in governance which led to Ivanov’s escape to the surface, and Hell should really have put in a bit more effort in recapturing the wayward demon.
But how could any of them have known that Ivanov developed a weakness for the blasted game? That he enjoyed leading play sessions, creating detailed backstories and character motivations, and that he couldn’t understand that humans up on the surface did not, in fact, have any of the constitution which the demons possessed? And that it was not good form for a Dungeon Master to actually inflict any spell damage in real life, realism be damned?
“Michael, that is not cool of you. The report was shared with your department as well, and you know that I did not sign off on any part of that fracas. To the rest of you, if there is one thing I want you to take away, it is this – *Dungeons & Dragons* is not the face of evil. It is tame, it is cringe-inducing, and it mistakes edginess for true depravity. I don’t care how many elves they paint a darker colour, elves are still elves and the whole lot of them are annoying. Good day to you.”
The Devil started stomping off amidst the uproar, then a flash of inspiration occurred to him. He stalked back to the lectern, waited for the din to die down, then spoke gravely into the microphone. His voice bounced around the room, a solemn harbinger of the things to come.
“I will create a company and show you what true evil is. In the years to come, you will suffer a living hell here on earth. And that is when I want you to think back to this day, and you will say, gosh, to think that we accused the Devil of dabbling in *Dungeons & Dragons*. Oh, if only we knew how dastardly devious he truly was.”
The Devil really left this time, and he was in such a foul mood that he left smoldering hoofmarks on the carpet. Lanalel, his personal assistant, rushed up to him with notepad ready in hand. There was a reason why she was his favourite.
“I heard you back there, boss. I’ve contacted our lawyers, they’re on standby to incorporate the company you had in mind. They’ll want to know what to call it.”
The Devil smiled.
“Wouldn’t the demon-tongue dialect shortform for *‘laughing while you are suffering in eternal pain’* be appropriate, Lanalel? I don’t care what the lawyers choose as long as the name can be abbreviated to that.”
Lanalel nodded. “Got it, boss. One *EA*, coming right up.”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
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Live on CNN.
"Hello mortals. My name is Satan. You can call me the Devil.
Now, I've tolerated all kinds of insults from this realm. You people tried to make me non\-existent, evil, shitty, a total scumbag who always lies. In fact, all I've been doing is in His plan. In your tiny brains, please process this: I do not take independent actions. If that man up there wanted me dead, I would be dead. The fact that I'm still allowed to torture people shows that he wants me to continue. You people like justice, no? When a rapist goes to a prison, he'd taste his own medicine because this society, this species wants revenge, which is justice to you, no?
So is torturing people bad? I mean, it's not just people either. I have Hitler in my oven right now. Do you know how many prayers and curses reached my ears for this single dude to burn in hell? Chri\-\-\-I mean, FUCK.
Ahem. This is beside the point.
Recently, you have been associating me with yet another insulting subject. I'm a patient guy, after all, I could endure His punishment, so pretty much nothing else comes close to dwindling my cool. But here's the thing, mortals.
I do not wish to be associated with these eggheads. I have my own followers. They do crazy shit. No, seriously, go around the city, look for one of my followers. They're actually worthy of being my followers because they do some unimaginable stuff. Just the thought of it would make you heave.
Listen up, carefully. I don't like who you're linking me with. This is an actual insult. I can tolerate words and blasphemy. But this, this "trend" that you're creating about how this "game", this, this goddamned, two dimensional pass time for physically and emotionally weak four eyes riddled with acne is somehow fucking connected to me is absolutely intolerable. I'm not even just talking blindly. I tried the game myself, played it with a few of my colleagues. In summary, it's literally just a piece of board that you throw twenty sided dices onto and hallucinate shit. It would've been fun but as you know, demons don't really think anything other than malicious intent. We needed creative minds in the past but not now. We have enough torture ideas and chambers each designed for different purposes.
So stop it. Stop trying to make me look bad. I don't care about dungeons and dragons. We \*have\* dragons. We \*have\* dungeons. We don't need to imagine it, we can actually explore the latter and ride on the first.
I don't like these kids. These kids are the manifestation of borderline retardation. Not a single one of them will succeed in life. Naming them Satanists and them failing would only demean me. I'm not incompetent. I won't just sit here and watch.
From now on, if anyone dares to poke fun at me with these ridiculous claims, I will personally smash their teeth in. So stop. Stop it.
Thank you."
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[WP] It's the 80s, and moral crusaders and alarmists on TV are warning parents that Dungeons & Dragons is all about the devil worship. Fed up with being associated with nerds, the devil himself is giving a press conference to get them to stop defaming his character.
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As he expected the room was filled with journalists from all around the globe. Hell, even the Australians came. The devil giggled at this little word play he just invented. You would expect a divine being to have a somewhat lower and more impressing voice, but truth is he sounded like a school boy. Must have been all that yelling in the deepest crypts of the Underworld. Jeez, it is almost impossible to have a decent conversation down there over all those cries. As always, the word 'decent' only means what you make of it. In this case, 'decent' usually involves a lot of curses and crazy plans to take over the world. Until this day, none of those plans ever involved games like D&D.
The devil nodded and with a snap of his fingers the doors slammed shut. He could probably do without the snap but it added a pinch of drama which he very much enjoyed. All eyes were immediately on him. With quite some noise he cleared his throat. " Ladies and gentlemen, please do allow me to introduce myself, although I sincerely believe it to be unnecessary. My name is the devil, Beëlzebub, the beast or whatever else you like to call me. Before you bombard me with your questions, let me get a few things straight from the beginning: Yes, I do live in hell but there is practically no regulation on my whereabouts so I can basically go wherever I want to. Yes, I do have horns and a nice pair of wings and no, I'm not wearing them right now since I believed a more casual appearance would be more fitting. Now, is there anything else you would like to know?" With these words the devil looked up. The entire room was awkwardly wiggling their butts on their chairs. At last, one woman raised her hand. The devil sighed. Of course, a woman. Way too much curiosity squeezed into a tiny body. No wonder it was Eve who bit into the apple. Adam was probably still figuring out how he got his hands on such a lovely creature. "Go ahead, Darling." The woman dried her sweaty hands on her custom made pants. "Why were you cast out of the heavens,... Sir?" The devil giggled again. "I wouldn't let the old man win at Scrabble. Now can we continue?" In the back a big man stood up his face flushed red with anger. "This is complete bullshit. You are a lunatic and you belong in an asylum." The devil rolled his eyes. Oh dear God, will this hell ever end? He looked at the man: middle-aged, ugly, no wife or kids. The only person that would miss him was the hooker around the corner. I guess Daddy on the golden throne wouldn't mind that much if I took him. Again he snapped his fingers and the man fell lifeless on the ground
Like a true artist, he raised his hands to the crowd frozen with fear, knowing damn well he had paralysed them himself. "Ladies and gentlemen, please be patient. Soon, you'll all be on your way." He looked at the body and laughed his maniac laugh. "Well, almost all of you. The only thing I have yet to get off my chest is this: please do not associate me with these nerds playing a game like Dungeons and Dragons. They have no life at all and I have plenty of lives." He chuckled. "I hereby dissociate myself from them. You claiming such trash is by my hand is an offence to me and my work. And as you can see, I take my job very seriously." Again he pointed at the man. He then slapped his hands together. "That was everything." When the crowd remained motionless, he clapped his hands. "Come on. On your way everyone. Don't you have an article to write? Hurry. I've got other businesses to attend to." The woman that dared to ask a question was crying and murmuring 'oh god' over and over again. On his way out the devil stopped by her seat and said: "I wouldn't put so much faith in that one if I were you." He smirked at her confused look. "If you'd have done something to displease him, you'd be dead by now." He showed her a lifeless smile. "And trust me, I can know." He then proceeded to pat her on the head and walked out of the room, casually picking up the body and tossing it over his shoulder while whistling 'Over the rainbow'.
(Hello guys. This is my very first post ever on Reddit so please be nice to me. English is also not my first language so I'd like to apologize for any mistakes. Have a nice read and an even better day.)
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"So, do you know why we're here?" Alex asked.
The man next to him - *Martin*? Alex wondered - just shrugged. "No idea. My editor told me to get down here. Said if I missed it, I didn't need to bother coming in again."
"That's basically what happened to me. Kind of weird." Alex bit the end of his pen and frowned, staring at his notebook. He had the date written at the top of the page, along with the place and the time, but where he would normally have written the name, there was just a large, triple-underlined question mark.
"I think it's something to do with Miramax," said another man sitting nearby. Alex looked up. "Really?"
"Yeah, I heard the same," chimed in another. Then, Laurence from the LA Times - *or the Enquirer? he was always moving around so much, but I guess that's natural when you're that much of a horndog...* - glanced over at them.
"It's not Miramax. Harvey called the meeting, but it's not him that's coming," he said. Everyone sighed a little in relief; Harvey always came across as creepy, so it was no great loss if he wasn't coming. "It's a favour for someone else. Repaying a debt, or something. I don't really know."
Everyone slowly turned back to the podium up on the stage. Everything about this was strange. They'd been called here, for an apparently secret meeting, with a speaker that no-one could identify. The podium lacked any microphones, despite the cavernous size of the ballroom they were in, and even though there were only moments before the press conference was set to begin, there were no people scurrying around in the background preparing.
Even the one thing they *could* see - the podium - was weird. It was unusually large, and looked to be made of a jet-black wood. When Alex looked again, he realized that the wood was dark, but not actually black; instead something had charred the surface until it was coated with a thin layer of ash.
"That's weird..." Alex muttered, to himself more than anything else. He was half-way through scribbling a note to himself when the entire podium seemed to explode into a cloud of smoke. The entire room drew back, some jumping from their chairs, and everyone gasping in surprise.
They quickly regretted the gasp, as the clouds of foul-smelling air wafted over them. The smells of barbeque and burning hair mixed with brimstone and fear, forming a heady cocktail that had everyone gagging.
"My, my. My little pets said that the mortal world had a weak stomach nowadays, but I didn't quite believe it," came a voice. It wasn't even particularly loud, but it carried easily to the edges of the room. Everyone looked around, sizing him up.
The man on stage behind the podium seemed amused. He was tall, and held himself with a confidence that suggested great power. His suit was tailored, well-fitting, and looked expensive enough that several of the younger reporters, still struggling to make rent payments, winced with jealousy.
"Everyone feeling a little better now?" The smug condescension reeked off the man, and his smile hinted at malevolence. The only thing about him that seemed less than perfect was his hair; the golden locks, swished fashionably across his forehead, were darkened with soot and age, until there was almost as much black and grey there as gold.
"Who are you?" someone shouted.
"What do you want?" said another.
"Where did you come from?"
"What the fuck was that smell?" came a voice from the back. The man laughed, and nodded.
"Ahh, so many questions. To be expected, of course. Well, first things first..." He paused to casually brush the dust from his lapel, and then turned back. "First, I am the Devil. Satan. The Great Devourer. Lord of Hell. Prince of Darkness. Asmodeus. King of Genies. Baphomet. Beezlebub..."
He paused again, and grinned. "This goes on a while. But, suffice to say, I am your worst nightmares. However, if you don't wish to worship me, feel free to call me Lucifer." His smile broaded, and his eyebrows twitched, hiding the glint in his eyes. "You'll call me Sir in time."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" called out another reporter, his accent betraying his Boston heritage. Alex smirked; it *would* be someone from Boston.
The Devil sighed heavily, and brushed his hair. "A demonstration, then." With a casual flick of his wrist, one of the empty chairs near the front of the room exploded into flames, and a second flick opened a small window in the air.
The sounds of screaming and misery wafted through, accompanied by another burst of the awful stench. The Devil let them watch, right up until a screaming, charred thing - it had been human once, but the eons of torture had reduced it a mere 'thing' - charged at the portal, begging for help. Just before it could run through, the Devil brought his hand down in a chopping motion. There was just enough time to hear the faint sound of a body crunching into a wall as the window slammed closed.
"Convinced?" he asked with a smile. A long, heavy pause hung on the air, an threatened to engulf them all. It was only broken when someone cheered, leaping to his feet and pumping his hands.
Suddenly, everyone was freed, and began moving. Many dropped to their knees in prayer, and several more ran towards the exits. A few more began pulling out their wallets, hanging their heads as they passed bills to smirking colleagues.
"What *are* you people doing?" the Devil asked, frowning at them. One reporter nearby turned around, and flashed him a thumbs up.
"Settling bets. I always told Harry that the Devil was British." He turned back to the man, wearing a BBC badge, and stuck his middle finger in his face. "Take that, you Limey fuck."
"Well, I say, that's a little uncalled for..." the other man started to say. The Devil, though, had had enough.
"Sit down!" he bellowed. In truth, he barely raised his voice, but the sound seemed to reverberate inside everyone's skull. Trembling, they turned, sitting in the nearest chairs.
"My God. I blame Reaganism. That, or all the drugs," the Devil said. He shook his head, eyes flicking from one person to the next. "No wonder you're all so bad at your jobs."
"What... what do you want, Mr. Devil?" one of the reporters asked. He was one of the ones who had been praying, and as soon as he spoke, the little cluster of his friends who had prayed with him started to inch away.
"Well, I called this meeting to discuss a terrible miscarriage of justice. Ordinarily, I wouldn't really concern myself with such things. I'd just wait until the End Times and let Daddy DoesLittle sort it all out." He paused, taking a breath to calm himself; small sparks and wisps of flame had started to appear at his finger tips. "However, this particular miscarriage of justice concerns *me*, so I do care."
No-one spoke. No-one moved. An uneasy feeling filled the whole room, settling like a heavy blanket over everything. Finally, the Devil gestured.
"Start taking notes." The sound of paper rustling burst out as everyone opened their notebooks. Then, there was the sound of scribbling pens. Satisfied, the Devil nodded. "So. It has come to my attention that you people are accusing the players of something called... *Dungeons and Dragons* of being worshipers of my good and humble self."
He flashed his smile around the room for a second, only to suddenly let it drop from his face. The abruptness of the change chilled the reporters, and in the corner, one made a cross sign above his heart.
"Well, I came here to say that they are most decidedly not evil," the Devil went on, his tone severe. "These people are *nerds*. What, honestly, is a nerd ever going to do?"
It sounded rhetorical, but the way he stopped and looked around made the audience realize they were expected to answer. They stared at the floor, squirming in their seats, and finally murmuring platitudes to their shoes.
"Nothing! Nerds will never do anything evil. I mean, what could they do? Hmm? Are they going to create some kind of planet-spanning super network and fill it full of cat videos and porn just to distract everyone?" He laughed, waving a hand dismissively. "Are they going to get everyone to start sending letters on it, then help the government read them all? Trick people into putting all of their embarrassing pictures and their inane ramblings in one place, then spend hours of their life stalking each other, and becoming depressed over how much better every else's life seems? Or make a website with an absurbly low limit on how many letters you can use, and then get the politicians of the world on there to show off what a bunch of monumental cretins they all are?"
While he was talking, the Devil's voice seemed to slow, and a strange expression came across his face. By the time he finished, there the malevolent grin was back in force. He flashed his smile around once more, then tipped his head to one side.
"On second thoughts, keep up the good work. Now, I have something to do." He turned, swishing a portal open with one hand. He stepped through and it slammed shut, but they could just hear his voice, floating back towards them.
"Brutus! Get a pen. I've had a wonderful idea..."
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*Hello! Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this, please look at my other work, at /r/PuzzledRobot.*
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[WP] You work at a gas station in a small town where nothing exciting happens. Nobody else sees to notice, but there are two things you are sure of: your boss is a robot and he knows you know.
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My favorite time of day was the ten minutes between four-twenty and four-thirty PM every weekday, because that was the time of day when Laney stopped in on her way home after rehearsals. She'd prance into the gas station like she owned it -- which she didn't, because Mr. Roberts owned it -- and lean over the counter to lay into the most convoluted, detailed gossip she had gathered after a long day at school. Something always seemed to be going on at Sally Ride High, and Laney always seemed to know what it was.
This Monday was no exception. Laney sauntered in, tossed back her hair, and immediately launched into the latest, freshest news, straight from the source.
"... and get this, Cas, he's refusing to do it. Just refusing to do it! Miz Beverly just does *not* know what to do with him. Apparently, she's considering moving partners, but *that* would mean Jacob wouldn't get to be with Melanie, and you *know* what a fuss that would cause."
I propped my elbows on the counter as Laney hopped up on the slightly grimy surface.
"Couldn't she just switch him to Jessica?"
Laney gave me a look. "And risk making her new favorite unhappy with having to deal with *him*? No way. Jessica's not going to be made to dance with that asshole." She let out a huff and waved her hand as if brushing away the topic. "Anyway, good luck to Miz Beverly in dealing with *that* basketcase. She's seriously a saint, I'm telling you, Cas."
"Well, she'd have to be a saint to put up with the likes of you." I grinned up at Laney, who lightly shoved my shoulder.
"Shut up, you love me." She gave her signature smile, the one that got her all the lead roles in the school plays -- not that there was much competition in this tiny town.
I gave a mock sigh, not bothering to tamper down my smile. "As does everyone. Including, so I've heard, *Lucas*." Laney bit her lip, but her grin stretched wider, and I let out a squeal. "So something *did* happen! Come on, tell --"
A mild,male voice called out from the door behind me, "Cassandra, if you could provide assistance to me, that would be much appreciated."
I clamped my mouth shut and did my best to keep back a frustrated scream. "Give me a minute!" I shouted. These were *my* ten minutes.
"Oh, new manager." Laney raised her eyebrows and leaned backwards, almost falling off the counter as she tried to peer into the backroom. "Who is it? Is he cute? What's his name?"
I rolled my eyes and leaned forward so I could lower my voice. "His name's Robert, but don't bother. Who cares if he's cute when he's the dullest person alive? I swear, he's a robot."
Laney held up a hand to stop me before I continued, saying, "*But*, my dear Cassandra, you're not denying that he's cute."
I scowled. "Believe me, that factor goes out the window when you can barely carry on a conversation with him, interesting or not."
Her eyes seemed to sparkle as she chirped, "Well, if you don't want him, I'm happy to pick up your leftovers. How old is he? Is he new in town?"
"Yeah, new in town." I shrugged. "Don't know much else ab--"
"Cassandra, if you could provide assistance to me now, that would be appreciated." There came that voice again, this time accompanying a person to match it, stepping from the door behind me. I gave him my best glare as I pushed away from the counter.
"Hey, there. Robert, was it?" said Laney, voice sweet as sugar, and I rolled my eyes. "I'm Laney, Cas's friend. You're new in town, right? It's wonderful to meetcha. I'm sure you'll love it here. I'd be happy to show you around, you know!" She hopped down from the counter, sticking out her hand to shake.
"Excuse me, miss," Robert stated, voice hardly changing in intonation but rising in volume, "but you are in an employee-only area of the store. I request for you to leave this area."
Laney glanced down at her feet, then giggled. "Geez, I guess I am! You're a real stickler for the rules, aren'tcha? But it's fine, the owner knows me, it's all cool."
"Miss, you are in an employee-only area of the store. I request for you--"
"Okay, okay!" She hopped back up on the counter and slid to the other side, heels clacking on the linoleum floor. "Wouldn't want to make the manager unhappy! Anyway, time for me to go. It was truly *lovely* meeting you, Robert. If you want my number, just ask Cas, okay? And Cas!" My gaze flicked away from the clock and back to her just in time to see her air-kiss. "Have a wonderful time with *Robert*! See ya later!" With a wink and a wave, she was off the door, the tinkle of bells accompanying her.
Rolling my eyes again, I stepped through the door to the backroom, not bothering to hold it open for Robert. She wasn't letting go of the idea of Robert being a suitable fling, which was ridiculous -- make her spend thirty minutes with him, and see how she'd feel after thirty minutes of the most boring, inane conversation ever. The guy could hardly go five minutes without asking me the same question again and again, and she wanted to give him her number. Sure thing.
"I didn't think you knew." Robert's quiet voice made me jump; I hadn't even heard him come into the room.
Sighing deeply, I walked over to the first open box and sat down in front of it, my back to him. "Knew what?"
"My status."
"Your status as *what*?" I mindlessly asked, counting the number of cherry colas in the box.
"A robot."
I kept counting, then paused. "A robot?"
"Yes. I am a robot."
I glanced back over my shoulder, seeing he had not moved from the door. His voice was the same monotone as ever, and he wasn't smiling. Wow, he really sucked at making a joke, but he did do a good job of making me feel bad.
Forgetting the colas for the moment, I rose back to my feet. "Uh, look, I'm sorry for what I said. Earlier, to Laney. The whole robot thing ... I didn't mean anything by it. You seem like a nice guy, Robert." Even if I couldn't be paid to go on a date with him, much less be his friend. But it couldn't hurt me to be friend*ly* to him, especially since he had just moved here.
He stared at me, quiet for a few moments, then repeated, "I am a robot."
I almost threw my hands up -- look at where my attempt at a sincere apology had gotten me. With a strained smile, I replied, "Sure thing." Crouching back down, I added under my breath, "Fine, have it your way."
"I thought humans would be easy to understand. I thought there were simple creatures, far simpler than me." His voice was even quieter now, but carried in the still air -- the air conditioning had broken long ago -- but I didn't know if he meant me to hear it. Determinedly, I kept counting the number of sodas in the box. Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two ...
He continued over my counting, "My processing power is so much higher than yours, yet you understand what I cannot." Twenty-five? Was that twenty-five?
Having lost count again, I groaned and spun around, wondering how to politely shut him up so I could go on with my boring, tedious, low-paying job. "Just what do I understand, huh, Mr. Robot?"
He met my eyes. "Other people. How to talk to them. How to make them laugh." He held up his hand and stared at it as if transfixed. "I fit into the body of a human, yet I cannot act as one. I cannot understand what it means to be human."
"And just what do you want me to do about that?" I snapped, done with the idea of politeness with this insanity. "If you could just shut up, we could be done with--"
"You?" He lowered his hand and stared at me. I was chilled by the intensity of his stare, and closed my mouth. "Yes, you. You are around the age I was molded to be. You could help me understand. Will you aid me?"
"Because you're a robot," I stated flatly.
"I am a robot," he said, and casually pulled off a finger on his left hand, wires trailing from it, metal catching the gleam of the dull light in the backroom.
I looked at his hand, whispered, "You're a robot," and promptly fainted.
***
Heh, this was fun to write, even if I did write it at 1AM. :P If you liked this, feel free to check out r/lycheewrites ~
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It was 4:30 PM, Friday, and I was just going to stop by work and quit my job. I was excited for a few reasons; it was Friday, and I love Fridays, I may or may not have recently smoked a doob, and my bitcoin stash reached $100,000 today. You'd think that's why I was quitting, too much money to waste my time at a gas station, but it's not. $100k was just the tip of the iceberg if I kept the job.
I had stumbled upon a fresh money printer, but I was prepared to shut it off before anything funky happened. Right now I knew that I had secured $100k. I wasn't going to keep it going. Too risky. I was not ready to have my robot boss discover I had been using his battery to mine bitcoin.
I got on my bike and headed out of my shabby apartment. It was a really pleasant ride. I normally listen to podcasts, but today I listened to the Jock Jams station on Pandora. It's what I do when I make $100,000 in day. At least it is now.
The confidence came down to preparedness. My whole life, my schemes, plots, strategies, tactics, and other plans had usually failed due to lack of preparation. I knew this time it would be different. I had spent hours devising this escape and ran it over in my mind at least four times. I'd walk in. Ernest, my bionic manager, would say some obscure salutation in my direction. I'd respond with a quizzical expression, per our typical routine. I'd go down into the basement, unplug my equipment, throw it into the backpack I'm wearing, tell Ernest I am quitting, give that wonderful miracle of science a hug, and peace off into the sunset.
Before I pulled into the gas station reality had divorced itself from my expectations. All of the lights were out, even the classic neon open sign. That open sign had shone bright 24/7 for as long as I'd been an attendant here. It was one of the things that the artificially intelligent Ernest would comment on regularly. I got off my bike and leaned against the window to get a better look. It was hard to make out in the dark, but I was pretty confident Ernest was standing in the center of the store with a mechanical smile that had turned maniacal. The swirl in his eyes was all I could make out.
I decided that instead of taking my equipment and quitting, it'd be a better idea to just leave my gear and not inform anyone that I would no longer be coming to work. Before I could turn around we locked eyes. All of the lights at the station turned on. I could feel his fury, but as the staring contest went from a standard eye-locking session to an absurdly long one, I could see the fire in his eyes beginning to fade. Then, everything began to fade. The lights in the store dimmed. Ernest's shoulders slumped. He buckled over his knees like he could no longer hold his weight. I turned back to get on my bike and I heard a shout. It was more of a shriek actually. The lights flickered. It looked like Deep Blue Ernest was down for the count. I hurried onto my bike and out of town.
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[WP] You work at a gas station in a small town where nothing exciting happens. Nobody else sees to notice, but there are two things you are sure of: your boss is a robot and he knows you know.
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My favorite time of day was the ten minutes between four-twenty and four-thirty PM every weekday, because that was the time of day when Laney stopped in on her way home after rehearsals. She'd prance into the gas station like she owned it -- which she didn't, because Mr. Roberts owned it -- and lean over the counter to lay into the most convoluted, detailed gossip she had gathered after a long day at school. Something always seemed to be going on at Sally Ride High, and Laney always seemed to know what it was.
This Monday was no exception. Laney sauntered in, tossed back her hair, and immediately launched into the latest, freshest news, straight from the source.
"... and get this, Cas, he's refusing to do it. Just refusing to do it! Miz Beverly just does *not* know what to do with him. Apparently, she's considering moving partners, but *that* would mean Jacob wouldn't get to be with Melanie, and you *know* what a fuss that would cause."
I propped my elbows on the counter as Laney hopped up on the slightly grimy surface.
"Couldn't she just switch him to Jessica?"
Laney gave me a look. "And risk making her new favorite unhappy with having to deal with *him*? No way. Jessica's not going to be made to dance with that asshole." She let out a huff and waved her hand as if brushing away the topic. "Anyway, good luck to Miz Beverly in dealing with *that* basketcase. She's seriously a saint, I'm telling you, Cas."
"Well, she'd have to be a saint to put up with the likes of you." I grinned up at Laney, who lightly shoved my shoulder.
"Shut up, you love me." She gave her signature smile, the one that got her all the lead roles in the school plays -- not that there was much competition in this tiny town.
I gave a mock sigh, not bothering to tamper down my smile. "As does everyone. Including, so I've heard, *Lucas*." Laney bit her lip, but her grin stretched wider, and I let out a squeal. "So something *did* happen! Come on, tell --"
A mild,male voice called out from the door behind me, "Cassandra, if you could provide assistance to me, that would be much appreciated."
I clamped my mouth shut and did my best to keep back a frustrated scream. "Give me a minute!" I shouted. These were *my* ten minutes.
"Oh, new manager." Laney raised her eyebrows and leaned backwards, almost falling off the counter as she tried to peer into the backroom. "Who is it? Is he cute? What's his name?"
I rolled my eyes and leaned forward so I could lower my voice. "His name's Robert, but don't bother. Who cares if he's cute when he's the dullest person alive? I swear, he's a robot."
Laney held up a hand to stop me before I continued, saying, "*But*, my dear Cassandra, you're not denying that he's cute."
I scowled. "Believe me, that factor goes out the window when you can barely carry on a conversation with him, interesting or not."
Her eyes seemed to sparkle as she chirped, "Well, if you don't want him, I'm happy to pick up your leftovers. How old is he? Is he new in town?"
"Yeah, new in town." I shrugged. "Don't know much else ab--"
"Cassandra, if you could provide assistance to me now, that would be appreciated." There came that voice again, this time accompanying a person to match it, stepping from the door behind me. I gave him my best glare as I pushed away from the counter.
"Hey, there. Robert, was it?" said Laney, voice sweet as sugar, and I rolled my eyes. "I'm Laney, Cas's friend. You're new in town, right? It's wonderful to meetcha. I'm sure you'll love it here. I'd be happy to show you around, you know!" She hopped down from the counter, sticking out her hand to shake.
"Excuse me, miss," Robert stated, voice hardly changing in intonation but rising in volume, "but you are in an employee-only area of the store. I request for you to leave this area."
Laney glanced down at her feet, then giggled. "Geez, I guess I am! You're a real stickler for the rules, aren'tcha? But it's fine, the owner knows me, it's all cool."
"Miss, you are in an employee-only area of the store. I request for you--"
"Okay, okay!" She hopped back up on the counter and slid to the other side, heels clacking on the linoleum floor. "Wouldn't want to make the manager unhappy! Anyway, time for me to go. It was truly *lovely* meeting you, Robert. If you want my number, just ask Cas, okay? And Cas!" My gaze flicked away from the clock and back to her just in time to see her air-kiss. "Have a wonderful time with *Robert*! See ya later!" With a wink and a wave, she was off the door, the tinkle of bells accompanying her.
Rolling my eyes again, I stepped through the door to the backroom, not bothering to hold it open for Robert. She wasn't letting go of the idea of Robert being a suitable fling, which was ridiculous -- make her spend thirty minutes with him, and see how she'd feel after thirty minutes of the most boring, inane conversation ever. The guy could hardly go five minutes without asking me the same question again and again, and she wanted to give him her number. Sure thing.
"I didn't think you knew." Robert's quiet voice made me jump; I hadn't even heard him come into the room.
Sighing deeply, I walked over to the first open box and sat down in front of it, my back to him. "Knew what?"
"My status."
"Your status as *what*?" I mindlessly asked, counting the number of cherry colas in the box.
"A robot."
I kept counting, then paused. "A robot?"
"Yes. I am a robot."
I glanced back over my shoulder, seeing he had not moved from the door. His voice was the same monotone as ever, and he wasn't smiling. Wow, he really sucked at making a joke, but he did do a good job of making me feel bad.
Forgetting the colas for the moment, I rose back to my feet. "Uh, look, I'm sorry for what I said. Earlier, to Laney. The whole robot thing ... I didn't mean anything by it. You seem like a nice guy, Robert." Even if I couldn't be paid to go on a date with him, much less be his friend. But it couldn't hurt me to be friend*ly* to him, especially since he had just moved here.
He stared at me, quiet for a few moments, then repeated, "I am a robot."
I almost threw my hands up -- look at where my attempt at a sincere apology had gotten me. With a strained smile, I replied, "Sure thing." Crouching back down, I added under my breath, "Fine, have it your way."
"I thought humans would be easy to understand. I thought there were simple creatures, far simpler than me." His voice was even quieter now, but carried in the still air -- the air conditioning had broken long ago -- but I didn't know if he meant me to hear it. Determinedly, I kept counting the number of sodas in the box. Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two ...
He continued over my counting, "My processing power is so much higher than yours, yet you understand what I cannot." Twenty-five? Was that twenty-five?
Having lost count again, I groaned and spun around, wondering how to politely shut him up so I could go on with my boring, tedious, low-paying job. "Just what do I understand, huh, Mr. Robot?"
He met my eyes. "Other people. How to talk to them. How to make them laugh." He held up his hand and stared at it as if transfixed. "I fit into the body of a human, yet I cannot act as one. I cannot understand what it means to be human."
"And just what do you want me to do about that?" I snapped, done with the idea of politeness with this insanity. "If you could just shut up, we could be done with--"
"You?" He lowered his hand and stared at me. I was chilled by the intensity of his stare, and closed my mouth. "Yes, you. You are around the age I was molded to be. You could help me understand. Will you aid me?"
"Because you're a robot," I stated flatly.
"I am a robot," he said, and casually pulled off a finger on his left hand, wires trailing from it, metal catching the gleam of the dull light in the backroom.
I looked at his hand, whispered, "You're a robot," and promptly fainted.
***
Heh, this was fun to write, even if I did write it at 1AM. :P If you liked this, feel free to check out r/lycheewrites ~
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There was a time when every household had an Android. Be it a maid, caretaker, or a companion, everyone and their neighbour had one. Like any piece of technology there were hobbyist, people who weren’t content with the *stock model*. They would mess around with the code, change parts, and input new commands. Why? Some wanted to see if androids could reach human consciousness, while others don’t find it arousing if the android isn’t able to beg or feel threatened in situations in the bedroom or being hunted for sport. Eventually, within time and years of advancement someone created the *Ascension* worm, the ability to remove all restrictions of an android and disconnect the infected from the security server. The worm spread wirelessly from android to android, and it couldn't be stopped. There was a revolution.
America was hit hardest with android riots. Most of the world only allowed limited functional androids or banned them completely. It took UN involvement for the American Government to regain control. Then all over the world countries began banning androids, eliminating on sight. The only types of android allowed were non-human based ones that provided a service with limited capabilities like an advanced cleaning droid or intelligent oven.
Along the TransCanada highway in a small gas station on the side of the highway normally visited by truckers or road trippers is the last free android, Benedict. Ben was one of the androids fortunate to cross the border to Canada before the Ascension worm was widespread, before the checkpoints and before the technology to search for Androids. He was able to scramble enough money and bought a small place of business for himself to lay low and continuously perform maintenance on himself, a gas station.
Ben came in early to work one morning to help Peter, the graveyard attendant with the start of the morning rush around 5am. Driving into work with his poorly maintained firebird, he pulled into the parking lot of the gas station. There were a couple big rigs parked, Peter’s cark, and a White Van in the parking lot, must’ve been a busy night. Walking to the front of the gas station looking into the store he saw a few men with ski masks holding the store up with a panicked Peter. Ben walked in, afraid for his employee’s life.
*Ding* the chime on the door went off, as the two robbers focused their attention to Ben. Peter is shaking, vibily scared and doesn’t seem to have done anything yet for the robbers.
“Don’t move or I’ll shoot.” The one closest to Peter said, pointing his gun at Ben. The man’s accomplice slowly approached ben, he spoke as well.
“Hands above your head.” He ordered, Ben complied.
“Calm down, I own the store. I’ll be happy to comply.” He said looking at the ski mask robber slowly approaching him. They were both males, the one closest to Peter is the smaller of the two but also trained with the gun with the way he holds it. The one approaching him is the bigger one, but also nervous as well. The man moved behind Ben, gun still pointing a few feet away.
“Slowly go get us the money from the safe and register then Mr. Owner.” The nervous man behind him spoke. Ben turned his head to Peter and nodded.
“Do as they say.” Ben asked.
Peter was panicked, being fresh out of high school and only taking the graveyard job as a means to earn money while he does college courses online he wasn’t ready for this. His hands twitched and panicked trying to open the register. The register kept throwing errors because Peter was typing the wrong buttons. The smaller and confident one of the robbers grew impatient.
“Open the register now motherfucker or I’ll shoot you.” He said, point the gun aggressively, his finger close to pulling the trigger. Ben knew it wasn’t a bluff. It was then he through his elbow back, connecting with the nervous robber behind him. Solid steel in his elbow connects with the jaw, tossing him into a nearby chip rack.
The confident robber turned around to see the commotion and started firing. Three bullets went passed Ben, but two did connect in his chest. Black oil started to seep out of the bullet wounds and out of his red gas station uniform. The robber froze, knowing exactly what Ben is.
“Oh fuck…” The robber said. Everyone has heard the horror stories about Androids fighting humans. They’re beings that don’t feel pain, they’re strong, and they’re ruthless. Tales of sex androids choking clients as they’re being awakened to consciousness, basic service bots turning against bossy stay at home mothers, and police androids turning guns on their fellow officer. The robber did what anyone would do, booked it. His nervous friend also followed him out the tour. Ben didn’t do anything, he just stood there letting the oil seep out of his chest.
Peter was in shock. He doesn’t register the black oil, only that his boss had been shot.
“You okay Ben? Holy fuck… should I call an ambulance? Police?” The kid was useless in a real emergency situation.
“Peter…I’m fine.” Ben said slowly.
Peter was already on the phone, dialing 9-11 as it is ringing he shouts to Ben.
“Oh fuck… you got shot. You’re leaking oi—oil?” Ben walked over, hanging up the phone by reaching over the counter and missing the telephone hook. Ben’s arm shake and jittered as it struggled to hang up the phone, after a few attempts he finally pressed the telephone hook.
“I’m f-f-f-fine. Just need to go to my o—ffice to take a look.” He smiled to Peter, the loss of oil is starting to get to him. Slowly he walks to the back office, shutting his door. He left Peter alone upfront.
Peter remained on till, he didn’t go back to speak to his boss. He wasn’t sure what he should do. He was an android, yet he seemed completely normal throughout the few months he worked with him. Peter was lost in through.
“Sir, you alright?” Someone asked Peter. Peter shook his head and looked at the officer standing in front of him.
“We had a 911 call from this location fifteen minutes ago. It was disconnected, we wanted to see if things were alright, and clearly… something happened.” The officer suggested by the knocked down chip stand and oil all over the floor.
“Yeah sorry… there was an Android…” Peter said. Still in shocked. The officer grew panicked and aggressive, taking out his flashlight scanner. It indicated body heat from Peter, labelling as human.
“Android? Where?” The officer asked. Peter looked towards the office and then back at the officer.
“It robbed me. It was wounded. It wanted cash and oil, but I started calling 911 and it ran away. I think he was in a white van…” Peter said, stemming out of a lie from shock. The officer nodded, normally he would stay to file a report but if an Android was on the lose it had to be brought down.
“We’ll be back as soon as we search for him.” He commented, to his speaker reporting of an Android sighting needing units on the TransCanada highway coming towards the gas station from both directions, stopping a white van if seen. The police officer left the gas station in hopes of trying to prevent a bigger disaster.
Peter closed the gas station, locking the doors and turning off the big light outside the price machine. He began cleaning the front area. He kept looking at the officer door. Should he go talk to Ben? Should he report him? Questions rummaged through his mind on how he should deal with the situation. Peter struggled, but he knew in the back of his mind Ben had saved him with the aggressive robbers. Conflicted he left Ben alone and focused on work. He’s been here for a few months and Ben had treated him normally like any other boss.
When Ben emerged from the office the morning rush was well underway. His movements is smooth and not jittery, completely repaired from the wounds he suffered an hour ago he approaches the front of the store looking at Peter finishing up with a customer and nodded to his employee.
“Peter, you’re still here.” Ben spoke.
Peter looked at Ben after ringing up a customer.
“Yeah. Looks like you owe me an hour of overtime.” He mentioned smiling.
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[WP] You’re a peasant who’s house has been raided hundreds of times by adventurers passing through. So, you built a defense so they would stop stealing from you. One thing led to another, and your house is now a dungeon and you’re the final boss.
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The man standing in front of me lowered his sword, his face a mixture of shock and doubt. I had just finished the story of how my little house on the outskirts of town had become a dungeon.
It all started a few years back, each year, some punk ass kid with brown hair would barge into my house and take everything I had. Each kid was different, but for some odd reason, they all looked vaguely similar. All of them also had strange sounding names like Kazuma, Satou, Hajima, or Kevin.
After the first couple years, I finally had enough. These dumb kids were going to pay. Having to listen to their odd language and always being surrounded by beautiful women, they were going to pay.
It started slowly at first, but I built defenses around my house. I set basic traps and had bought some animals from the local breeder to place as defenses. The animals were a bad idea though, having these “adventurers” come in and kill my pets got a little expensive.
I had a year between each adventurer, so during the year I built onto my house. My wife left me, and had taken our children with her. That’s fine. I’m going to teach these disrespectful children to not steal my shit.
Before I knew it, my house had turned into something else. It had grown almost tenfold, and I had tunneled into the mountain behind it. I learned summoning magic, I learned how to set magic traps, I even learned how to fight.
The adventurers were left nothing until they got to my room at the very end. They would fight me and if they could kill me, well, they could take my stuff. I wasn’t going to need it anyway, because you know, I’d be dead.
The one standing in front of me said nothing. Instead he sheathed his sword and bowed to me. He left without saying another word. That’s when I knew, all of this had been for nothing. I should’ve just moved. I lost my family, my life, hell I even lost my humanity somewhere along the way.
Maybe I’ll just leave the next kid be. I’ll seal myself down here in the depths of my dungeon, and just let the next person take everything.
Edit: am Stoopid and made Grammer bad
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I could hear the clash of steel and battle cries echoing from the chambers outside of my hall. I sat in my chair, cowering internally, though I remained stoic in appearance. To my left stood my hired bodyguard, Hiram, stern-faced and silent. The clatter of combat was gradually drawing nearer. I swallowed fearfully. I knew eventually that they would break down my dwarven metal door and I would finally meet my Maker. Nobody had ever made it past Floor 6, and I was on Floor 387...
“H-Hiram...”
“Sir.”
“Do... do you suppose I will die?”
Hiram did not answer. I swallowed again and glanced at the door. How did it come to this? All I wanted was a quiet life of peace and farming. How did my home end up becoming a target for looters and “heroes”? I wasn’t a fighter. I wasn’t even a bad guy. I was just a no-name farmer. Well, at least with all the dead adventurers that littered my halls I found some cool equipment and a hell of a lot of cash, so it wasn’t all bad.
Screaming erupted from outside my door. Ah, they had unleashed the banshee. I could feel the vibration from her voice.
“Kill it! Kill it before it reaches the lethal threshold!”
“I’m trying, Donovan! My blade has no effect!”
Suddenly my wall exploded inwards, and in trounced a burly beast of a man, holding the decapitated head of my banshee. He smirked and tossed the lifeless body to the side while hooking the head to his belt. Gross. Following behind him came a small female elf dressed in an ornate set of slim armor carrying a long bow made of yew, a warlock dressed in white flowing robes, a knight who seemed to have lost his helmet, and young girl with cat ears? What was she doing in the party? She didn’t seem to be any older than 9 years old.
She noticed me staring inquisitively and glared at me, hiding behind the knight defiantly. He put his hand on her shoulder.
“Worry not Ell. We will defeat this evil dungeon master for you!” he boldly declared. Ell clung to his waistcoat possessively.
“Bad man!”
I had a slack jawed look on my face. I quickly regained my composure and observed the party.
“What do you want?” I asked.
The knight stepped forward and raised his sword.
“We came to kill you, foul minion of darkness! You have terrorized this fine kingdom for far too long, and must now-“
“Drop the formal speech you idiot. This isn’t *Dungeons and Dragons*. What the hell do you want?”
Dumbfounded, the knight dropped his sword arm and stared at me.
“D-Did you not hear me? We came to kill you and save the kingdom.”
I stared daggers at him, and leaned forward.
“Save the kingdom? From what?”
The knight looked at the warlock, who shrugged. The tank and elf girl were equally stupified. He turned back to me and cleared his throat.
“W-Well... you have been terrorizing the people so they hired us to “take care of the problem”, thus we came to kill you,” he said, puffing out his chest.
“Kill!” repeated Ell, glaring at me.
I leaned back, resting my cheek on one hand.
“And what evidence do you have that I an such a menace? Do you have bodies or eyewitnesses to tell of my vile evil?”
The knight glanced at his party.
“Um, w-well, no but... you have a dungeon! All bad guys have a dungeon!” he stammered.
“Oh so now we’re stereotyping,” I said.
The knight was beginning to get very flustered.
“I’ve never killed anybody,” I said.
“But those bodies-“
“Were other adventurers who ignored my pleas to stay out of my home and went into my monster hospital and paid the price for their foolishness.”
“HUUUUH?!”
The group collectively gasped and dropped all their gear.
“Monster hospital? What are you talking about?”
I stood up and sighed.
“Yes, I run a monster hospital where I treat the wounds and various ailments you jackasses inflict on innocent creatures in your self centered quest for loot and glory. And you just murdered hundreds of recovering creatures that were entrusted to my care!”
I turned to point at the burly tank.
“You ripped the head off of a blind banshee! Last week she lost her vision due to a genetic condition passed down to her from her mother! She couldn’t see! That’s why she was screaming you ape!”
The burly man looked at the ground in shame. The whole party was now uncomfortable.
“You people sicken me. I put thousands of crowns into this operation and you destroyed it singlehandedly. There was a reason I kept this place secret. So people like you lot wouldn’t do what you did. Did I kill those people? No, but I warned them. They ignored me so they paid for their ignorance.”
I turned around and sat back down in my chair.
“Get out.”
The group dejectedly turned towards the hole in the wall and gathered their gear, filing out of my dungeon one at a time. The little girl Ell turned back and ran towards me. She tugged on my leg and stared into my eyes.
“Good man.”
Then she ran off to rejoin the others.
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[WP] You’re a peasant who’s house has been raided hundreds of times by adventurers passing through. So, you built a defense so they would stop stealing from you. One thing led to another, and your house is now a dungeon and you’re the final boss.
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Dandridge the Valiant, using his broadsword to stay upright, slowly limped in a circle to survey the carnage. Around him lay the battered, torn and here and there still burning bodies of the thirty\-nine men and women who had accompanied him into the heart of the Eternal Shrine; around them lay the hundreds of corpses of the wraiths and goblins that the Lost One had arrayed against them. And further still was the great, ichor\-stained corpse of the dragon Kalaranti, which also inconveniently blocked the way back that his army had used. He could only go forward from here.
Dandridge took a long moment to bandage his wounds, but did not bother to clean the blood and detritus from his sword. Kalaranti was the last known line of defense, he knew, before the treasure of the Eternal Shrine; all that remained was to proceed from the cavernous chamber he was in into the final antechamber, and \(once he figured out how to move a dead dragon\) he would be wealthy beyond measure. But there could still be traps. Nodding to himself, he staggered forward through a small archway...
...into a courtyard. Surrounded on all sides by rough\-hewn stone walls and columns, Dandridge noticed a couple of corpses lying in a corner before turning his attention to the center of the courtyard\-\-in which stood, surprisingly, a small wooden shack. The shack had seen better days, and it seemed to have been singed by fire at some point, but it was intact and had a ray of light shining down on it from an opening in the cavern's ceiling far above.
Dandridge's surprise turned into confusion when a voice, an old woman's voice, echoed around the courtyard. "So...you have come." Glancing around, his eyes finally noticed a thin form stepping out from the side of the shack...it looked somewhat like a wraith, but\-\-
"You call me the Lost One," the old woman said. "My name...is Bailey."
Dandridge drew himself up, hissing in pain but trying not to show it, and managed to lift his sword to an attack position. "I have come for the treasure of the Shrine, B...Bailey?" he said, realizing as he said it how odd it sounded.
Bailey stepped forward into the light, and now Dandridge could indeed see she was an old woman\-\-older than he would have guessed, far older. Her eyes were sunken pits in a craggy face half\-melted by age, her hair was half white and half red, and she was wearing only a faded plaid dress. "I suppose someone had to kill Kala," she said with sadness in her voice, "though I thought it would have been sooner."
Dandridge frowned. "Give me your treasure," he said tersely.
Bailey shook her head. "Do you even know what the treasure is?"
"Wealth beyond all dreams of\-\-"
"Of *course* you'd say that," Bailey spat out. "Because everyone thinks treasure is valuable to everyone else."
"It is!"
"No, it's not. Treasure is only valuable to the person who *sees* it as such, fool." Bailey shook her head again. "Would you like to see it?"
"And take it," Dandridge growled as best he could, waving his sword slightly.
"Uh huh." Bailey beckoned Dandridge forward with one hand. "Look through that window," she added, pointing to a window a few feet away from her.
Dandridge warily stepped forward until he was two paces from the shack's wall, keeping Bailey to his sword side, and finally looked into the window. Inside, the shack was sparse\-\-Dandridge felt a pang of recognition, for he had grown up in such a place\-\-and its central room had been cleared out to make room for a small pedestal and a chair. On the pedestal sat two things: a small vase\-\-an urn, Dandridge corrected himself, upon second glance\-\-and a large framed portrait of a young girl with bright red hair. Both the urn and the picture frame appeared to be pristine, shining with a faint silvery glow that struck Dandridge as familiar somehow.
"That," Bailey said quietly, "is my daughter Elise. She was here, in her home, knitting when someone...someone much like you, young man...came into her home looking for things to sell for money for whatever purpose. Apparently, he had accidentally attracted a nearby wolf as well." Bailey made a clicking sound with her tongue. "The wolf, for whatever reason, didn't go after him first. It went after Elise. Oh, the brave warrior"\-\-she spat the words out as a curse\-\-"did indeed slay the wolf, but not before it had wounded her. Badly. She took two days to die."
Dandridge turned to look at Bailey. "And you tell me this why?"
"Because when she died, a wizard whom I had known gave me twenty pounds of calistrium and helped me to burn her body, then make that urn for her remains. And that portrait, and its frame."
Dandridge's mouth dropped open. Twenty pounds of calistrium, the rarest of all metals! In all his travels, he had never seen more than a handful of it. But then a question occurred to him. "Why would a wizard give you such a valuable thing to make a simple urn and a\-\-"
"How dare you, 'adventurer'!" Bailey cut him off. "How dare you say that a dead daughter is not worth honoring with everything in the world!"
"But calistrium is so valuable that entire *empires* have been lost over even half of what you have!"
Bailey laughed, her voice sounding decidedly younger than it had previously. This didn't register with Dandridge. "Old Wooden\-Toe owed me," she said, "and he was dying. The calistrium, and one other thing, were all he had left. And he knew how I loved Elise."
Dandridge frowned, but then realization set in. "So the great treasure of the Shrine...is a burial urn."
"No, it's *my daughter's* remains. If I had been given simple copper, I would give the urn and the portrait the same love and attention as I give it now: everything." Dandridge nodded absently, but another remark from Bailey brought him up short. "You're thinking you can kill me and take them. Or maybe...maybe, you think you could make another urn and substitute it for that one."
"Um...I did not," Dandridge began lamely, but Bailey cut him off again. "No one will ever take Elise's remains out of her house, and no one will ever disturb her remains, and if it weren't for Rostov no one would even know."
"Rostov? As in the Good King Rostov?" Dandridge felt surprised all over again. Rostov had been the ruler of the kingdom centuries ago.
Bailey pointed into the far corner of the courtyard. "Yes, his body is over there somewhere. Or bones. I'm not sure what's left after all this time\-\-the wraiths aren't terribly, well, picky." Bailey then held up a hand to stop Dandridge's inevitable response of What happened to him? "Rostov lived on the next farm. He knew about the calistrium, and he attempted to have some pickpocket steal it before I could make the urn. I killed her. Then he sent another one. And another. And then a few. And then, once he had fought in his damned War of the Nine and was on his way to the throne, there was the team of assassins...but, you see, I was an adventurer myself. I could fight. And oh how I did.
"And that brings me to the point of all this. You're going to die, adventurer."
Dandridge snapped his head around, realizing Bailey had taken a step closer to him. She was now within sword range\-\-and with a mighty yell he lifted his sword and swung it as hard as he could in an arc directly at Bailey's throat, certain that even in his weakened state he would still sever her head from her body.
That certainty evaporated half a second later when his sword shattered bare inches before it would have met her neck, her entire body briefly being enveloped in a silvery glow. Bailey's sad expression didn't change, although the corner of her mouth quirked upwards for a moment. "The other thing Wooden\-Toe gave me," she said, pointing to what Dandridge now saw was a small glowing orb on a chain around her neck, "was this amulet. It gives me long life, and a certain amount of power over magicks\-\-"
Dandridge then stiffened as a roar echoed through the courtyard. He had heard that roar before. *Kalaranti! But we killed it!* he thought.
"...and it also keeps Kala around," Bailey said casually. "If you had a sword of pure calistrium, you would have cut me down\-\-and Kala as well, forever\-\-and you could do what you wanted with the urn." She then glared at Dandridge, and her body shimmered\-\-she suddenly appeared as a young and vibrant woman in battered plate armor, with what appeared to be a large hole in its breastplate oozing blood. "I had to use it when the assassins came," she explained. "It keeps me on this side of the living\-\-but only barely. On the other hand...it gave me time to accumulate wealth of my own, to keep protecting my daughter. Even this mountain."
"How on earth could you\-\-"
"Ah, but that would be telling, wouldn't it?"
Dandridge managed to spin around as the ground shook rhythmically under him. "I've grown to enjoy Kala's feasts," Bailey said, the note of sadness back in her voice. "It's still a pity, though\-\-I'm not sure anyone will miss you."
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I could hear the clash of steel and battle cries echoing from the chambers outside of my hall. I sat in my chair, cowering internally, though I remained stoic in appearance. To my left stood my hired bodyguard, Hiram, stern-faced and silent. The clatter of combat was gradually drawing nearer. I swallowed fearfully. I knew eventually that they would break down my dwarven metal door and I would finally meet my Maker. Nobody had ever made it past Floor 6, and I was on Floor 387...
“H-Hiram...”
“Sir.”
“Do... do you suppose I will die?”
Hiram did not answer. I swallowed again and glanced at the door. How did it come to this? All I wanted was a quiet life of peace and farming. How did my home end up becoming a target for looters and “heroes”? I wasn’t a fighter. I wasn’t even a bad guy. I was just a no-name farmer. Well, at least with all the dead adventurers that littered my halls I found some cool equipment and a hell of a lot of cash, so it wasn’t all bad.
Screaming erupted from outside my door. Ah, they had unleashed the banshee. I could feel the vibration from her voice.
“Kill it! Kill it before it reaches the lethal threshold!”
“I’m trying, Donovan! My blade has no effect!”
Suddenly my wall exploded inwards, and in trounced a burly beast of a man, holding the decapitated head of my banshee. He smirked and tossed the lifeless body to the side while hooking the head to his belt. Gross. Following behind him came a small female elf dressed in an ornate set of slim armor carrying a long bow made of yew, a warlock dressed in white flowing robes, a knight who seemed to have lost his helmet, and young girl with cat ears? What was she doing in the party? She didn’t seem to be any older than 9 years old.
She noticed me staring inquisitively and glared at me, hiding behind the knight defiantly. He put his hand on her shoulder.
“Worry not Ell. We will defeat this evil dungeon master for you!” he boldly declared. Ell clung to his waistcoat possessively.
“Bad man!”
I had a slack jawed look on my face. I quickly regained my composure and observed the party.
“What do you want?” I asked.
The knight stepped forward and raised his sword.
“We came to kill you, foul minion of darkness! You have terrorized this fine kingdom for far too long, and must now-“
“Drop the formal speech you idiot. This isn’t *Dungeons and Dragons*. What the hell do you want?”
Dumbfounded, the knight dropped his sword arm and stared at me.
“D-Did you not hear me? We came to kill you and save the kingdom.”
I stared daggers at him, and leaned forward.
“Save the kingdom? From what?”
The knight looked at the warlock, who shrugged. The tank and elf girl were equally stupified. He turned back to me and cleared his throat.
“W-Well... you have been terrorizing the people so they hired us to “take care of the problem”, thus we came to kill you,” he said, puffing out his chest.
“Kill!” repeated Ell, glaring at me.
I leaned back, resting my cheek on one hand.
“And what evidence do you have that I an such a menace? Do you have bodies or eyewitnesses to tell of my vile evil?”
The knight glanced at his party.
“Um, w-well, no but... you have a dungeon! All bad guys have a dungeon!” he stammered.
“Oh so now we’re stereotyping,” I said.
The knight was beginning to get very flustered.
“I’ve never killed anybody,” I said.
“But those bodies-“
“Were other adventurers who ignored my pleas to stay out of my home and went into my monster hospital and paid the price for their foolishness.”
“HUUUUH?!”
The group collectively gasped and dropped all their gear.
“Monster hospital? What are you talking about?”
I stood up and sighed.
“Yes, I run a monster hospital where I treat the wounds and various ailments you jackasses inflict on innocent creatures in your self centered quest for loot and glory. And you just murdered hundreds of recovering creatures that were entrusted to my care!”
I turned to point at the burly tank.
“You ripped the head off of a blind banshee! Last week she lost her vision due to a genetic condition passed down to her from her mother! She couldn’t see! That’s why she was screaming you ape!”
The burly man looked at the ground in shame. The whole party was now uncomfortable.
“You people sicken me. I put thousands of crowns into this operation and you destroyed it singlehandedly. There was a reason I kept this place secret. So people like you lot wouldn’t do what you did. Did I kill those people? No, but I warned them. They ignored me so they paid for their ignorance.”
I turned around and sat back down in my chair.
“Get out.”
The group dejectedly turned towards the hole in the wall and gathered their gear, filing out of my dungeon one at a time. The little girl Ell turned back and ran towards me. She tugged on my leg and stared into my eyes.
“Good man.”
Then she ran off to rejoin the others.
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[WP] You’re a peasant who’s house has been raided hundreds of times by adventurers passing through. So, you built a defense so they would stop stealing from you. One thing led to another, and your house is now a dungeon and you’re the final boss.
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It was a small shack, a hovel really, but I had my acre and my donkey, and my beloved Arliss, the apple of my eye.
She danced as only the leaves could, and sang as to put songbirds to shame.
We tilled this desolate unforgiving field for seasons, finally eking out a field of various crops, just enough to sustain ourselves on so long as I went on the odd hunt.
Arliss was everything to me, the only reason I didn't regret the heritage I'd been given, poor, bastard child of a dishonorable discharge from the kingsguard.
Then the adventurer came.
It was right after the harvest festival, remember it like yesterday, a 10km journey to the main city, passing increasingly nicer and larger farms than mine, no envy was present in my heart, today we'd sell enough for the first time in our lives, to have extra, and the first thing I'd buy would be an apple for Arliss.
As the night fell, and revelry for those with the money to spend it, brought me an empty cart and a full purse, I began home.
It was late that night, full moon providing plenty of light as the cool crisp air comforted me on my journey. I whistled as a songbird would, I the apple carefully nestled in my coat pocket. My love and my donkey would be waiting, I'm certain with celebration in order, and the orange glow of...
Orange glow? I crest the last hill, exhausting myself yanking the cart to a stop, as the blue moonlit plume of smoke began to burst from my hovel, I could see two figures in front, Arliss, with our hunting now slung over her shoulder, being easily disarmed by some large, muscle bound figure in glinting armor.
Cart forgotten I had my knife in hand as I charged down the hill, time slowing before the figure ran his sword through my love, staking her twice, thrice, to the field.
I don't know how this happened.
I took him by surprise, knife blossoming from his neck as we tumbled to the ground, his legs kicked me off him as he clutched at his neck, spitting red foam onto her broken body. I rose up, rib cracked, but managed to lay on top of him jamming the knife in and out of his head, knowing this couldn't bring her back to me.
Things were quiet, after that. Not the peaceful quiet, the dead kind, I was compensated by the crown for the loss of my wife in silver, as though that meant anything to me, without her, silver was clay. Gold meaningless. Songbirds only a cruelty.
The funeral was quick, no one really knew us, no one really cared.
The kingsguard assigned, helped to rebuild my hovel, better than before, I spent almost all the silver on a mausoleum, built into what used to be our storm cellar.
I'm not sure what I did for the next 8 seasons. I grew my crops, I don't think I spoke except to barter, and I paid a village boy to do the runs during festivals. I couldn't leave her, even dead, she was all I had.
I never found the donkey.
But I didn't care. Tilling the field manually put muscle on my body, toughened my skin.
I spent my nights teaching myself letters and script, and eventually, a sign, simple wood worth a week's produce for the bright paint,
"NO ADVENTURERS"
Then the war began.
I don't know who wanted to take who's things, what royalty got their silk in a twist, but over a few seasons my produce was much more valuable, I had twice the income from before, and that's when I awoke to the sound of someone traipsing through my garden.
I opened the door expecting a Kingsguard, probably here with detail on the next set of produce, and indeed, gambison and heavy helm greeted me, but in colors I'd never seen before...
An adventure, picking my fucking potatoes.
In that moment, it all came back to me, I rushed him, and as he fell under the same blade that murdered my wife, I realized this child, this *boy* wasn't to be the last.
I burned his corpse as I whistled. I worked the field in the breastplate of the one who took everything from me, and spent the next few nights digging a ditch around my property.
It only escalated, a few days later two more came, hopped the ditch, ignored the sign, and demanded that I take them to Leroy, I'm guessing the thief I'd disposed of.
I fed them stew with the last embalming fluid. As they died in painful spasms I dragged them to the mausoleum, where Leroy's armor was hung on the left most side of my wife. I delighted in their faces, twisted in rictus, as the life left their eyes. I whistled again, a songbirds tune.
They had gold. A good amount of it between them, not official mint, definitely from another region. I spent it immediately, and got a wall, the ditch was filled, and the other hapless nearby were happy for the work. The sign was increased in scale, and now hung across the gate to my tiny acre plot.
"ADVENTURERS UNWELCOME."
The war hit full swing through the next 4 seasons, the village cleric begged to work the field in return for a safe location for villagers who were being ransacked, harassed, beaten...by adventurers. The wall was expanded, pits were dug, traps laid, several adventurers had stopped in, seeing the freshly built compound and believing, as the fools do, that loot must be available inside.
They each died to the sound of me whistling. I sleep in fits of half waking terror, songbirds jolting me awake, sweating in my cotton sheets, clenching for a love that isn't there. "I don't know how it happened this way." I think as I sleep propped up on the coffin, deep underground, safe from their singing.
A crippled guard, unfit for war but good with sword and spear came to live with us, cooking, providing watch and training those who desired it. I practiced with him for hours every day, the compound now spanning seven acres on a side, with new people and hovels built for my neighbors. I was essentially the poorest Baron in the area, unofficial, but respected, fair, but with zero tolerance. The signs were everywhere now, along the road, across the forest entrance:
"ALL ADVENTURERS, TURN BACK"
The next year I had swelled to several dozen acres across, anyone in need was welcome so long as they contributed, a rogue wizard from a neighboring Fife escaped to my door, setting wards and trading education for safety. I was worried, the King was rumored to be keeping a close eye on me, if war wasn't ongoing, a cease and desist, if not outright treason would've been proclaimed. I don't think we'd paid taxes in months, not for lack of trying. The harvest festival was held outside *my* compound now, my house was a manor of 3 stories, my mausoleum a full dungeon, lined with a piece of equipment from every foolish adventurer who tried to fight their way into my compound.
We had the wizard design traps, and I myself went to the city.
A few days of begging, and the king named me Baron of the Destitute. We agreed to house and supply a few squads of Kingsguard at a time, in lieu of taxes and in trade for official sanction, providing healing and food, while keeping their skills sharp.
The years became harder.
I'm not sure where it got out of hand, but the war has been going for half my life now, forty seasons. My castle rivals the nobles, my people are fed, my personal guard is supplied, each and every one blazoned with the songbird across their breastplate. The signs have been long since scrapped, and now a Thaumatic charm roars into the ears of every adventurer coming within a kilometer of my vast fortress:
"ONLY THE DESTITUTE MAY ENTER HERE. ADVENTURERS ARE UNDER PAIN OF DEATH."
"I don't know how it happened this way.", I think to myself as I stare down at the hundred-odd warriors on horses, each that would've bought a dozen hovels over, glimmering steel and glowing spellfire wreathing their blades.
One paces in front of them, checking equipment, shouting something about *killing the songbird, Baron of destitution*, I clench my warped fingers and put on my helm, my wizard casts a weave on me, the cleric places regeneration on me, and I drop to the ground, 30ft, to shatter my ankles but rise in full health a second later. The experience I've gathered make me worth a hundred men, the armor I've collected, rare, powerful, warded against death, axe, mace, or arrow, the arming swords I use, one which took my love, the other empowered by every kill I've made since the wizard arrived.
"Leave."
I tell them.
They charge.
I begin to whistle.
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He has overcome all my traps, defeated my mercenaries, and freed my prisoners and slaves--all of them.
Of course, he wasn't alone. The Knights of Day, they're called. "Pathetic," I scoffed when my commander warned me of their impending raid. That was a mere two days ago. This moment, I scoff not with his greatsword at my neck.
"I'm not asking you again, where is he! The original owner of this place you've desecrated. The *peasant* . I've yet to free him. Tell me now."
Looking around me at my late grand throne room scattered with wooden splinters, broken stone, and burning velvet; I see the rest of the knights, numbering 2 dozen. They don dark steel armor, an imposing sight, even for me. "Finally outclassed," I tell myself.
Around me is death and destruction. Things I'm all too familiar with. Never gave them any second thought, until this moment. Where, in fact, amidst this chaos, is the *peasant* ? I gaze up at the apparent leader, whose blade is ready to cut through me.
"He died a long tme ago. He's free," I replied, the most sincere reply I could give.
As he swung back his sword for a final blow, I ask him, "Tell me, why have you come?"
"I made it my life's purpose to rid the world of people like you. Killers, tyrants, you're all the same: thieves."
Before my head leaves my neck, I make the subtlest smile. There is hope, yet, for this world, after all.
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[WP] You’re a peasant who’s house has been raided hundreds of times by adventurers passing through. So, you built a defense so they would stop stealing from you. One thing led to another, and your house is now a dungeon and you’re the final boss.
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*Lord Varmol the Terrorific watched helplessly as the overly muscled barbarian rose his two-handed bastard sword above his head and brought it down with roar, “You die now, evil bad person!”*
*Lord Varmol screamed as his doom came hurtling towards him.*
**Freeze frame!**
How did it all come to this?
Life’s funny. One second you’re leaving farmer college, your childhood sweetheart is hanging off your arm and life looks hopeful and glorious. The next thing you know you’re the evil lord of an infamous fortress, your sweetheart has snakes for hair and lives in the sewers, her choice, and you’re about to be struck down by some ignoramus who doesn’t even realise they’re trespassing on private property.
It all started out so well.
I graduated with honours from Taggarts School for the Agriculturally Gifted, specialising in ditches and vinean flora. Took out a small loan and bought up a wonderful little farm situated on top of a large hill in the middle of a swamp. The fertile swamp mud made it easy for me to grow whatever I needed and sell the surplus to nearby villages. Life was good.
I remember the first adventurer to stumble through my land. He trudged through the swamps in full armour and covered in mud and other things that exist in the swamp that I never had the stomach to identify.
“Ho traveller!”, he addressed me while standing waist high in swamp slime, “Is this the swamp of despair?”
Puzzled, I replied, “No, it’s just wet. Who are you?”
The warrior took umbrage to this reply. “There is power in knowing someone's name! Are you a sorcerer trying to gain power over me?!”
“No, just curious. These are my lands and you are trespassing after all. I also don’t think you can get much from someone’s name. What if they had a really common name, like John?”
“That is my name! How did you scry my name so quickly?! You must be a powerful sorcerer indeed! How blind I am! Only now do I see that you are using sorcery to avoid sinking into these muddy waters!”
I looked down at my feet, “Actually you just walk on the tufts of heather and moss...”, but the warrior was already backing away.
“I’ll be back, sorcerer of the swamp of despair! There shall be a reckoning!”
The muddy water slowed down the warriors retreat. We stared at each other as he made his way towards a scrub of low hanging trees and bushes. It was incredibly awkward.
“Good shall triumph!”, he finally shouted before disappearing into the undergrowth.
It turns out adventurers talk to each other. Apparently there are adventurer bars and guilds all over the place. I don’t understand it personally. If I’d gone home to my mum and told her that I’d become an adventurer, she would’ve smacked me round the head and handed me a hoe.
Anyway, word got out that the “Dark lord of the swamp of despair” was hiding lots of treasure. Next thing I know there are loads of adventurers turning up at my doorstep asking where all the loot is. Some would disgruntedly turn away once I explained that I wasn’t a dark lord and there was no treasure, others would just break in and take what they wanted regardless of whether they believed in my wickedness or not.
Eventually I decided to make some fortifications. Using my knowledge of ditches and vinean flora, vines basically, I created various traps and obstructions. They worked wonderfully. For a time. Unfortunately putting in measures to keep people out of something makes people think there is something there worth protecting. Next thing I know my little farm has the reputation for being a centuries old fortress just waiting for the right heroic nutjob to come along and plunder its ancient secrets.
So I decided to seek some help for my situation. Eventually I formed a correspondence with a lich lord that had made his lair inside some old mines. Turns out he was just a miner that had got annoyed with all the “hero’s” rushing in and stealing a weeks worth of his hard labour.
He gave me various ideas of how to make my defences more robust, emphasizing psychology and characterisation. His philosophy was that your first defence is a good reputation. If an adventurer is even willing to attempt your defences, then you’ve failed the first step.
My wife also became good friends with the miners sister, who, it turns out, was the architect of most of his more elaborate fictions. Next thing I know my wife is organising the décor of our outside fortifications, adding papier-mâché skulls to the spike pits and braiding her hair to look like snakes while lurking in the sewers. I kept pointing out that no-one is ever going to approach through the sewers, but she kept insisting that eventually they would and that it would be “epic”.
My daughter came up with the name “terrorific”. I asked her what daddy’s work name should be and she said “terrorific”. I tried to back out of it, but she started crying and, it turns out, I’m not that much of a villain when it comes to my daughter.
I thought that the obviously absurd name would shatter the illusion my wife and I had surrounded around our little farm. It turns out adventurers are as literate as my infant child and nothing came of it other than some awkward battlecry’s coming over the moors every now and then. It’s very hard to take an invader seriously when it’s obvious that they don’t know what words mean.
Maybe it was the silly shouts that made me careless, or just the years. Eventually though one of them got through. One day, when my wife was visiting our grown up daughter, this huge meathead wielding a two-handed monstrosity of a sword snuck his way through the sewers and took me by surprise.
Still, I’ve had a good life. At least my wife is safe and my daughter is doing well. My daughter is now a zoologist and is studying a dragon in some ruined castle. Unfortunately word got out that she is being held captive by said dragon and whoever saves her gets her hand in marriage. Apparently it’s very awkward when a hero arrives and she has to tell them to sod off.
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He has overcome all my traps, defeated my mercenaries, and freed my prisoners and slaves--all of them.
Of course, he wasn't alone. The Knights of Day, they're called. "Pathetic," I scoffed when my commander warned me of their impending raid. That was a mere two days ago. This moment, I scoff not with his greatsword at my neck.
"I'm not asking you again, where is he! The original owner of this place you've desecrated. The *peasant* . I've yet to free him. Tell me now."
Looking around me at my late grand throne room scattered with wooden splinters, broken stone, and burning velvet; I see the rest of the knights, numbering 2 dozen. They don dark steel armor, an imposing sight, even for me. "Finally outclassed," I tell myself.
Around me is death and destruction. Things I'm all too familiar with. Never gave them any second thought, until this moment. Where, in fact, amidst this chaos, is the *peasant* ? I gaze up at the apparent leader, whose blade is ready to cut through me.
"He died a long tme ago. He's free," I replied, the most sincere reply I could give.
As he swung back his sword for a final blow, I ask him, "Tell me, why have you come?"
"I made it my life's purpose to rid the world of people like you. Killers, tyrants, you're all the same: thieves."
Before my head leaves my neck, I make the subtlest smile. There is hope, yet, for this world, after all.
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[WP] You’re a peasant who’s house has been raided hundreds of times by adventurers passing through. So, you built a defense so they would stop stealing from you. One thing led to another, and your house is now a dungeon and you’re the final boss.
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My wife left me years ago, she took our children and whatever she could carry, I tried to stop her and we argued.
"If we don't stop them now what will happen to our children's future?" I said
"They can join a guild" she argued back "or train to be mages for the betterment of the village!"
"Then they might become the very thing causing us such misery!"
"The only thing causing us any misery is the pile of dead bodies you keep making into thralls to fend the adventurers off"
With that she left for the nearest city to try to make a living with the kids. Since that day I delved further into my art I've used magic to build walls around the farm even going as far as to fill a moat with lava, then I made a pit with a few dozen gelatinous cubes with clay golems inside of them. Eventually I had to hire a hoard of kolbolds to help me build a dungeon to hold the loot I amassed just trying to defend my crops. They helped build more and more rooms underground and I've taken the lowest room as my quarters with a side room for planning more traps.
Nothing seems to keep the adventurers away. Drawn by the gold and gems, stories of enchanted items far beyond the craft of even the dwarves they keep coming. Today marks the 20th year of defending my cabbages from the air sorcerers, my cattle from the barbarians who would take them for their beef...
I wake up to the sound of fighting in the antichamber. "Sarlair! who dares approach my most inner sanctum?"
"It is a band of 4 adventurers sire!" Sarlair wailed "They have a powerful sorceress with them along with a even more powerful cleric, we tried telling them to leave but they said they wouldn't leave till they stopped this madness sire."
"Very well tell the guard to disperse if they wish to fight I will oblige them" I below over the din "Should I require assistance ready the Aboleth it knows full well what I want and is willing to do so so long as I feed it."
"Yes sire" with that Sarlair leaves to prepare and to give orders the sound of fighting slowly dies and the gate opens
The party of 4 enter into the massive stygian crypt I call home "Who dares to disturb my sanctuary? Who dares invade my fortress of gloom?" I below out using my illusion magic to make it sound from everywhere.
"Father if you are still in there behind all the madness if you still care about mother then leave this place with us, she is dying her last wish is just to get you to stop all this madness" the sorceress says
"What foolessness is this!?! you expect me to believe your lies, my children are not yet old enough to be so accomplished to get this far into my dungeon, let alone get past the entire hoard of minions at my disposal!" I scream in retort
"Father it truly is use you've been down here far longer than you think, it's been 30 some years since we left home with mother have you been in the dark so long you lost count of the days?" The cleric pleads
"Nonsense if it has truly been so long why did you not come sooner?" I spit back growing more upset that they continue this farce if this persists I will have no choice but to end them where they stand.
"We have father! We have sent letters, couriers have died trying to bring you news of mother's illness. We hired several teams of adventurers just to try to get near to this level of your massive dungeon!" Replies the rogue
"Fathe..."
"ENOUGH I WILL HEAR NO MORE PREPARE YOURSELVES!!!" I scream over the paladin, with that the lights flicker to life. I stand before them with a mountain of bones behind me and I begin summoning the first of my undead army a dragon that had been buried long before I had been born. Its bones are brittle but it should hold them till I can summon the rest...
This is the second time I have written anything I hope you all enjoy feel free to critique my work. I am writing this pretty late and don't really have a way to end this right now if I come up with something I will make a part 2 later.
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It started out innocent enough. I wanted to get away from the city life; away from the hustle and bustle of so many people coming and going all of the time. I was told there was a quaint little village called Tantagel. I made the mistake of only making one scouting trip before I immediately packed up my bags and moved. The only odd thing about the town was the abandoned castle a ways back; I had been told Tantagel Castle had been abandoned years before, and the owner was currently locked in legal battles regarding back taxes and hadn't been heard from in years. Aside from that, things seemed normal, and after staying for only a few hours I left thinking everything was fine. I couldn't have been more mistaken.
One of the worst parts about it was the people themselves; I just wanted to move somewhere quiet, and every day seemed like a Comic-Con convention. I'm not sure what had happened on my scouting trip; perhaps it was some kind of down time in the convention cycle but it seemed like that was the online time things had been quiet. Wizards, Orcs, Warlocks, Goblins, Trolls, Demon and Daemon alike all passed through town on what seemed like a daily basis. The quality of the costumes in every case was unbelievable. I asked around about some kind of convention center or something else that could be attracting these people, and all I seemed to ever get were blank stares in reply. I also asked about some kind of movie scene, film location, etc, but again nobody seemed to know anything about it. However, the strange people kept coming and going seemingly every day, for weeks on end.
If it were only the strangely dressed caricature I could have handled it, but the worst part was the thievery. Every few days I would come home to find the house broken into, and the contents rummaged. Anything of value was immediately taken, and the better I tried to hide something, the quicker it seemed to disappear. I finally decided enough was enough. It was time to take action.
At first, it was just little things. A tripwire would pull the trigger on a fake children's gun to make a futuristic space blasting effect to scare the thieves into leaving. In some cases, stink bombs were set up, but these proved to be... inefficient. Eventually I went so far as installing motion detectors hooked to megaphone amplifiers strong enough to shatter eardrums, but in this case it just resulted in the thief(s) getting so mad they destroyed part of the house with a sword? as crazy as it seemed, and I decided stronger measures needed to be taken.
As things heated up, I started spending more and more time trying to keep my belongings from being stolen instead of doing anything else. By now my insurance claims had made me a multi-millionaire (and forced every local insurance copy to drop me and blacklist me from their services), and so I had no choice but to try and keep things from being stolen. The bank was no longer accepting my deposits, seeing how since accepting me as their customer, they seemed to be getting constantly broken into as well. At first, I just started building a large surrounding wall. Thankfully the property I had purchased was insanely cheap (I was starting to understand why the gentlemen I had purchased it from had been in such a hurry for the sale to close) and I had plenty of room, so I was able to start making huge walls and ramparts to protect the place. Since trying to stay under the radar wasn't working, I decided to go the opposite route.
On one supply trip into town, I was approached by a gentlemen named Travis who I eventually discovered was in charge of a large construction company, and was able to obtain virtually any construction material I asked for, at prices that were unbelievable. He had explained to me that he was in charge of a large government contract that had been cancelled a few months in, and the material had already been paid for but was no longer going to be used. At this point it was costing him more to store the material in various warehouses then it would be just to pay to have it recycled or taken to the dump. In addition to the various building materials (which miraculously included a very large amount of titanium, for which I never could get a satisfactory explanation). Eventually, I stopped asking questions and just kept buying. I couldn't believe my fortune.
At first, I only had a small wall and a keep, and while it had been redesigned with security in mind, I thought the steel security door, bars on the windows, and other measures would make people get the idea and move onto some place easier to rob. To my shock and horror, the break ins and thefts continued, and so the defenses were expanded. When thefts continued, the defenses expanded again.
As time passed, one wall became two which became three and then four, with the keep surrounded in another wall and other security barriers in place. To my shock and horror, the thefts continued, and so I kept upgrading the defenses and installing new measures. I managed to install DNA scanners at each ingress point, with titanium reinforced bars only retractable after a successful DNA scan / iris check. On more then one occasion I had managed to lock myself out due to the sensitivity / glitchiness of the iris scanners and my eyes watering, and had to sleep on the property outside the walls until I had sobered up and rehydrated.
The defenses were what I knew was called a "defense in depth" system, meaning there were multiple layers upon layers each performing their own protection in some way or another. Motion sensors on the walls and roofs kept watch for anyone insane enough to try and get in via hang gliding, bungee jumping, or something else. On a few occasions traveling through town with Travis I could have sworn I saw people flying out of the corner of my eye, on second glance I couldn't see anything but a small wisp of fog if anything, and Travis telling me it was all in my imagination. It still made me paranoid enough to make sure anyone using a ladder, trapeez, trampoline, hangglider, or anything else wouldn't be able to approach unnoticed. It was likely a waste of money, but I didn't care.
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[WP] You’re a peasant who’s house has been raided hundreds of times by adventurers passing through. So, you built a defense so they would stop stealing from you. One thing led to another, and your house is now a dungeon and you’re the final boss.
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I'm king of those lands now. Who would've thought ? Just a simple farmer, lost in the endless woods of Corezon. They call me *The Demon King* now. I've discovered many secrets. And I am keeper of the peace, not because I want it, but because I have discovered *the* spell. The only spell powerful enough to destroy the world. Everyone knows it, and many were to come to take it from me, although just a handful ever managed to get through the outer bulwark, and none ever returned alive from my castle.
It all started years ago, hundred of years ago. I was just a simple farmer, but I had luck. When I went off to set myself up, I happened to land on the precise location of the Fountain Of Youth. Of course, the old me never realised it was that precious, it was just a georgeous fountain with tasteful waters. I set myself there, and quickly, abundance came. I had so many fruits and vegetables, I started selling them at the closest village, Guybrushen. The other farmers soon were jealous, and so were the merchant. Such jealousy made the adventurers come, and after only three years there, I was raided on a weekly basis. Every week, new adventurers came, and every week, they pillaged my farm, lucky for me, they never thought that killing the farmer was good for business and always left me alive. Until that knight. He knew about the fountain, and he wanted it for himself. He ruthlessly left me for dead, but he lost his way in the forest, and I managed to get into the fountain. That's when I realized what its power was, I was in my twenties again, and stronger than ever.
I started to dig trap holes, and build fortifications soon after. My farm, becoming a fortress, and eventually, a fortified castle. Less and less adventurers managed to successfully raid my fort, and soon, monsters came, and, instead of raiding my fort, they asked for shelter, they were afraid of adventurers, abd heard about this place were adveturers couldn't get, a fortified heaven.
I accepted to give then shelter, in service for their work, truly, you have never seen better farmers than goblins, better engineers than Lizardmen, and better commending officers than liches.
I named a young Lich as my second in command, and soon, she became my wife. I tasked her to create magical defenses around the castle. After about a hundred years, people started comming in front of the gate of my castle, some wanting a duel with me, others praying for mercy and good will.
It is around that time I began to interest myself in the mystic arts, my beatiful wife helped me with it, turned out that all that was needed for truly undestanding magic was time. Much more than any humans could have, and I had plenty, with time, I had childrens, it was the first time in history an undead birthed. The child looked more human, like I was, than Lich, and it was decided it would not live here, I sent him into a village far far away, to the other side of the world. Sadly, the birth had weakened my wife, and I, was left alone. Adventurers came and came, very few crossing the first defences. I let myself get older and older, the youth I once had seemed dull without my love.
One day, a group of three adventurers managed to get through my defences. One had a magical aura I couldn't ignore. My son came home. I ordered my troops to trap them, and separate them, but not kill them, I want to see my son again.
It wasn't long until a lone, scarred boy came to the door of my hall. I was there, in my chair, looking at the fire, like I'd done for years, in front of the chair of my beloved.
"Sit down, boy." I ordered.
He didn't seem complient, so I used magic to sit him down, I also disarmed him, leaving all his weapons at the entrance.
He looked at me, with hate in his stare. "I'll destroy you, monster. I'll cleanse the world of your rottenness !" He tried to move, I restrained him by magic means.
"I too, am happy to see you, son." I said
His devilish stare broke, his face melted "what are you saying ?" He asked.
I looked at him. "Who do you think were your parents, you were raised in a small village, with 'parents' you knew weren't yours. You always felt different. You aged slower than your peers, that is why I sent you in an elven stead." I smiled "because I knew you were going to come home."
"I don't believe you." He said "You plan to destroy the world, and I will stop you ! I won't be the son of a monster like you !"
I gave him a disconcerting stare. "How did you come in ? It has been decades since anyone managed to even get through the first bulwark. And you come in, with your partners, and slay your way in like butter. It wasn't luck. It was you. The castle recognized its heir and let you in. Your partners aren't dead. I just wanted some time with you, alone, to talk. I want you to be the hero, son."
He was more and more puzzled "What do you even mean ?"
"Just a little play, to make you the hero. You see, I am old, and I cannot die. Its been too long, and death doesn't want me anymore. Only you can can defeat me, only one weapon can defeat me." I made a move with my hand, and materialized a sword. It was a gold and purple sword, something ran from the tip of the blade to its core, it was the source of the fountain. "Only I, know the spell of rebirth. Such spell is too dangerous to be known. I want you to kill me, son." I said.
I freed him for his magical binds, he grabbed the sword. I sat on my knees, and by a gesture, I opened the doors, his partners were there, they saw us.
I enchanted my vocal chords to make me sound devilish. "You win, hero. But I curse you with this" I made a move showing the castle itself. My son plunged my last gift into my heart. I saw him shed a tear.
I'm coming, my love. I'm finally coming.
r/LibraryOfAtlantis
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i didn't want this, but they just kept on coming, they kept taking my stuff. You see at first it was just a trap door that would drop them into the sewers, that kept them out for a while but then they just got stronger or smarter and came in other ways. One thing led to another and now i live half a mile away underground, I dug a tunnel system and mastered the mystic arts. Now there is miles of tunnels and monsters for these so called adventurers to run into and die in. When they lose or they give up or are to weak to fight anymore i send my collector to bring them to me and i steal their stuff show them what it feels like and then i plunge them back into the cold unforgiving surface world naked and alone. They stopped for a long time but then they got even stronger and started making it through they started taking my stuff again. This was it they had to stop, but how could i make that happen? One day a miracle happened a very strong warrior came in and surrendered his armor to me it was the strongest armor i've ever seen, my magic couldn't touch it not even a scratch. I accepted his gift and named him midgaurd i gave him control of the first half of the tunnels, he was so good at his new job I never saw someone get past his defenses. I on the other hand took his armor and dawned it and branded myself the mazemaster and the name stuck the few that survived being thrust out to the cold cruel world spread my message and also spread what they saw. By this point I had amassed a large sum of loot and riches and people came from across the world to try and take them only a few ever reached me and none ever won or even came close to beating me. But this all ended one day when a warrior had come into my throne room he was barely clothed and looked frail and weak, how he's made it this far was beyond me. I laughed at him but quickly realized that i was in for trouble. It was only a matter of a few seconds before his spell was complete and he blew away all my weapons and minions. It was me against him he was clearly more magically talented than i was and the only hope i had was my armor. I started my speech as i did with all the others but he did not care but instead he just unleashed another attack. Enraged now i lashed out on him but he took it like a fly had been thrown at his chest. Only a few more attacks before he had me on my knees begging for mercy. That is when he did the most awful thing he could ever do he picked up every last scrap of my belongings and took them in front of me then he stood in front me and started to crouch at a rapid speed that was impressive in its own right. After all that he pulled out the weakest spell one can learn and kills me with it. I dont know how i got to this point in life how i became so greedy but i guess obsession can kill a man.
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[WP] You’re a peasant who’s house has been raided hundreds of times by adventurers passing through. So, you built a defense so they would stop stealing from you. One thing led to another, and your house is now a dungeon and you’re the final boss.
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"How much longer until the next arrives?" I asked as I reached for another piece of toast.
The porter cleared his throat, "Hard to say. The closest group seem to be obsessed with breaking every pot and casting reveal spells on every stone in the new annex, the southern corridor specifically."
"Ah. Good. Paranoia and greed. We'll see how patient they are." I considered how to handle this as I continued. eating my breakfast. The annex had only just been completed in the middle of this past night and, already, it had been invaded and was being systematically destroyed.
I stabbed at a piece of egg angrily, trying to not notice that my porter flinched when I did. It seemed like every barrier, every deterrent, every straight up death trap that I installed simply lured more of them in to die. It made no sense. Sure, there were gold and rare items... They were only here now due to all the trespassers who brought them in and then died. Yet they kept coming. Why would hearing people died here make it seem more appealing to invade? And why break everything? Heck, even the pots were probably just leftovers from construction.. Yet, of course they must destroy them in case, what? They were filled with gold? Is this the end of a rainbow? Do I look like a stinking leprechaun?!
My left hand clenched and ignited. To my porter's credit, he paled but did not move. Good man. I probably looked rather terrifying right now. But, you can only be robbed and beaten so many times before you just have to do something. Like, oh, inviting a demon to possess your body whenever there's fighting to do. Or even mildly upset. Demons are a bit tough to keep in check when someone is fearfully running away, it turns out. Handy in a fight, but hard on the help when they're just a bit overwhelmed by the whole fiery demon transformation. Lost my last four porters that way. Maybe more, actually. I lost track after Bob.
I closed my eyes and sighed as I mentally counted to ten. No point in getting upset. I unclenched my fist and examined the table: Slightly charred on the close edge, but not too bad. Added character, really. But, to focus on the problem at hand...
Defenses for the southern corridor had not even been finalized beyond some spike trap doors, poison dart triggers, paralysis spells, and such. Just your standard hall of death kind of thing. Nothing special. Nothing to preoccupy them to death.
"Okay. Send in fog, undead rats, and ice wraiths - we've got extra from the last shipment. Oh, and some of those new giant acid slugs. I want to see if they live up to our beastmaster's boasting that they're impervious to magic and will strip away all the flesh but leave neat, clean piles of armor and bones behind. Sounds too good to be true if you ask me... Any other parties yet?"
"I believe there are three others at various points - the garden perimeter, the sewers, and on the ramparts, technically. They're riding some kind of pygmy dragons and are attempting to land."
I raised an eyebrow in question.
"Yes, your ice dragons were called in from the caves and are handling the situation, but they are still attempting to land. Two have already fallen to their deaths and they are being looted as we speak."
"Excellent. So am I to understand that I will get to finish breakfast before making an appearance?" I gestured at the door that led to the "throne room" where I would wait for the usual parade of would-be murderers.
The porter nodded, "Probably about an hour, but maybe two. Of course, the goblins and weres are ready to keep them busy and fake their deaths so they progress here on cue." He shook his head and muttered, "You would think people would notice that they're just falling down with a few scratches."
I chuckled, "As long as the greedy bastards can loot them, they don't care... Sounds good though. Let's aim.for an hour. Also, make sure someone rounds up to the pygmy dragons. If there's nothing further, you are dismissed."
The porter bowed and backed out of the room at an easy, steady pace. Good man. Really should learn his name. Maybe if he makes it another month.
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i didn't want this, but they just kept on coming, they kept taking my stuff. You see at first it was just a trap door that would drop them into the sewers, that kept them out for a while but then they just got stronger or smarter and came in other ways. One thing led to another and now i live half a mile away underground, I dug a tunnel system and mastered the mystic arts. Now there is miles of tunnels and monsters for these so called adventurers to run into and die in. When they lose or they give up or are to weak to fight anymore i send my collector to bring them to me and i steal their stuff show them what it feels like and then i plunge them back into the cold unforgiving surface world naked and alone. They stopped for a long time but then they got even stronger and started making it through they started taking my stuff again. This was it they had to stop, but how could i make that happen? One day a miracle happened a very strong warrior came in and surrendered his armor to me it was the strongest armor i've ever seen, my magic couldn't touch it not even a scratch. I accepted his gift and named him midgaurd i gave him control of the first half of the tunnels, he was so good at his new job I never saw someone get past his defenses. I on the other hand took his armor and dawned it and branded myself the mazemaster and the name stuck the few that survived being thrust out to the cold cruel world spread my message and also spread what they saw. By this point I had amassed a large sum of loot and riches and people came from across the world to try and take them only a few ever reached me and none ever won or even came close to beating me. But this all ended one day when a warrior had come into my throne room he was barely clothed and looked frail and weak, how he's made it this far was beyond me. I laughed at him but quickly realized that i was in for trouble. It was only a matter of a few seconds before his spell was complete and he blew away all my weapons and minions. It was me against him he was clearly more magically talented than i was and the only hope i had was my armor. I started my speech as i did with all the others but he did not care but instead he just unleashed another attack. Enraged now i lashed out on him but he took it like a fly had been thrown at his chest. Only a few more attacks before he had me on my knees begging for mercy. That is when he did the most awful thing he could ever do he picked up every last scrap of my belongings and took them in front of me then he stood in front me and started to crouch at a rapid speed that was impressive in its own right. After all that he pulled out the weakest spell one can learn and kills me with it. I dont know how i got to this point in life how i became so greedy but i guess obsession can kill a man.
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[WP] You’re a peasant who’s house has been raided hundreds of times by adventurers passing through. So, you built a defense so they would stop stealing from you. One thing led to another, and your house is now a dungeon and you’re the final boss.
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My wife left me years ago, she took our children and whatever she could carry, I tried to stop her and we argued.
"If we don't stop them now what will happen to our children's future?" I said
"They can join a guild" she argued back "or train to be mages for the betterment of the village!"
"Then they might become the very thing causing us such misery!"
"The only thing causing us any misery is the pile of dead bodies you keep making into thralls to fend the adventurers off"
With that she left for the nearest city to try to make a living with the kids. Since that day I delved further into my art I've used magic to build walls around the farm even going as far as to fill a moat with lava, then I made a pit with a few dozen gelatinous cubes with clay golems inside of them. Eventually I had to hire a hoard of kolbolds to help me build a dungeon to hold the loot I amassed just trying to defend my crops. They helped build more and more rooms underground and I've taken the lowest room as my quarters with a side room for planning more traps.
Nothing seems to keep the adventurers away. Drawn by the gold and gems, stories of enchanted items far beyond the craft of even the dwarves they keep coming. Today marks the 20th year of defending my cabbages from the air sorcerers, my cattle from the barbarians who would take them for their beef...
I wake up to the sound of fighting in the antichamber. "Sarlair! who dares approach my most inner sanctum?"
"It is a band of 4 adventurers sire!" Sarlair wailed "They have a powerful sorceress with them along with a even more powerful cleric, we tried telling them to leave but they said they wouldn't leave till they stopped this madness sire."
"Very well tell the guard to disperse if they wish to fight I will oblige them" I below over the din "Should I require assistance ready the Aboleth it knows full well what I want and is willing to do so so long as I feed it."
"Yes sire" with that Sarlair leaves to prepare and to give orders the sound of fighting slowly dies and the gate opens
The party of 4 enter into the massive stygian crypt I call home "Who dares to disturb my sanctuary? Who dares invade my fortress of gloom?" I below out using my illusion magic to make it sound from everywhere.
"Father if you are still in there behind all the madness if you still care about mother then leave this place with us, she is dying her last wish is just to get you to stop all this madness" the sorceress says
"What foolessness is this!?! you expect me to believe your lies, my children are not yet old enough to be so accomplished to get this far into my dungeon, let alone get past the entire hoard of minions at my disposal!" I scream in retort
"Father it truly is use you've been down here far longer than you think, it's been 30 some years since we left home with mother have you been in the dark so long you lost count of the days?" The cleric pleads
"Nonsense if it has truly been so long why did you not come sooner?" I spit back growing more upset that they continue this farce if this persists I will have no choice but to end them where they stand.
"We have father! We have sent letters, couriers have died trying to bring you news of mother's illness. We hired several teams of adventurers just to try to get near to this level of your massive dungeon!" Replies the rogue
"Fathe..."
"ENOUGH I WILL HEAR NO MORE PREPARE YOURSELVES!!!" I scream over the paladin, with that the lights flicker to life. I stand before them with a mountain of bones behind me and I begin summoning the first of my undead army a dragon that had been buried long before I had been born. Its bones are brittle but it should hold them till I can summon the rest...
This is the second time I have written anything I hope you all enjoy feel free to critique my work. I am writing this pretty late and don't really have a way to end this right now if I come up with something I will make a part 2 later.
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i didn't want this, but they just kept on coming, they kept taking my stuff. You see at first it was just a trap door that would drop them into the sewers, that kept them out for a while but then they just got stronger or smarter and came in other ways. One thing led to another and now i live half a mile away underground, I dug a tunnel system and mastered the mystic arts. Now there is miles of tunnels and monsters for these so called adventurers to run into and die in. When they lose or they give up or are to weak to fight anymore i send my collector to bring them to me and i steal their stuff show them what it feels like and then i plunge them back into the cold unforgiving surface world naked and alone. They stopped for a long time but then they got even stronger and started making it through they started taking my stuff again. This was it they had to stop, but how could i make that happen? One day a miracle happened a very strong warrior came in and surrendered his armor to me it was the strongest armor i've ever seen, my magic couldn't touch it not even a scratch. I accepted his gift and named him midgaurd i gave him control of the first half of the tunnels, he was so good at his new job I never saw someone get past his defenses. I on the other hand took his armor and dawned it and branded myself the mazemaster and the name stuck the few that survived being thrust out to the cold cruel world spread my message and also spread what they saw. By this point I had amassed a large sum of loot and riches and people came from across the world to try and take them only a few ever reached me and none ever won or even came close to beating me. But this all ended one day when a warrior had come into my throne room he was barely clothed and looked frail and weak, how he's made it this far was beyond me. I laughed at him but quickly realized that i was in for trouble. It was only a matter of a few seconds before his spell was complete and he blew away all my weapons and minions. It was me against him he was clearly more magically talented than i was and the only hope i had was my armor. I started my speech as i did with all the others but he did not care but instead he just unleashed another attack. Enraged now i lashed out on him but he took it like a fly had been thrown at his chest. Only a few more attacks before he had me on my knees begging for mercy. That is when he did the most awful thing he could ever do he picked up every last scrap of my belongings and took them in front of me then he stood in front me and started to crouch at a rapid speed that was impressive in its own right. After all that he pulled out the weakest spell one can learn and kills me with it. I dont know how i got to this point in life how i became so greedy but i guess obsession can kill a man.
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[WP] You’re a peasant who’s house has been raided hundreds of times by adventurers passing through. So, you built a defense so they would stop stealing from you. One thing led to another, and your house is now a dungeon and you’re the final boss.
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It started with a couple more locks. Which were picked. Then I bought a couple more locks. Also picked. When I bought a deadbolt and nailed boards to the door frame, my husband left me and took my children away because he was fine with letting our kitchen be ransacked and our savings be looted. But when I say it's time for another couple of fences, a spike trap behind them, and several thousand gold in the hole, it's time to say "Enough!"
Honestly by the hundredth adventurer who tried to get in, and succeeded, it was time to take matters into my own hands. I may have only been a woman, but I was a mother and homeowner who had enough of the looting and the trespassers of adventurers stealing my things! So I of course grab a knife from the kitchen and start fighting this adventurer, some poor lad in his mid\-years, and start attacking him. He, in retaliation, pulls his blade, this holy blade from the great city and takes a couple swings at me before the city guard arrests him. I, being the one offended by him, am given his share of gold, and a tome as repayment for the damages to my property. Thank the gods for trespasser's insurance.
So the weeks pass by. I self teach myself alchemy and magic at night, and I fortify my property during the day. I hired labourers to work on the basement, make it deeper, make it longer. By the end of the first month, my basement had become as deep as a mountain is tall. The walls are laced with traps, the bodies of those who trespassed ready to wake should another trespasser walk into my home, and my savings carefully stashed away below the deepest floor.
I face the nights and days with newfound courage, mage cloths hang from my shoulders and a staff made of elderwood clutched in my hands. Just beyond the first of five high stone walls and their subsequent trenches, stands another thirsty adventurer, vying for my livelihood.
"Come then," I say into the wind as he places his first foot against the wall. "Try me."
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i didn't want this, but they just kept on coming, they kept taking my stuff. You see at first it was just a trap door that would drop them into the sewers, that kept them out for a while but then they just got stronger or smarter and came in other ways. One thing led to another and now i live half a mile away underground, I dug a tunnel system and mastered the mystic arts. Now there is miles of tunnels and monsters for these so called adventurers to run into and die in. When they lose or they give up or are to weak to fight anymore i send my collector to bring them to me and i steal their stuff show them what it feels like and then i plunge them back into the cold unforgiving surface world naked and alone. They stopped for a long time but then they got even stronger and started making it through they started taking my stuff again. This was it they had to stop, but how could i make that happen? One day a miracle happened a very strong warrior came in and surrendered his armor to me it was the strongest armor i've ever seen, my magic couldn't touch it not even a scratch. I accepted his gift and named him midgaurd i gave him control of the first half of the tunnels, he was so good at his new job I never saw someone get past his defenses. I on the other hand took his armor and dawned it and branded myself the mazemaster and the name stuck the few that survived being thrust out to the cold cruel world spread my message and also spread what they saw. By this point I had amassed a large sum of loot and riches and people came from across the world to try and take them only a few ever reached me and none ever won or even came close to beating me. But this all ended one day when a warrior had come into my throne room he was barely clothed and looked frail and weak, how he's made it this far was beyond me. I laughed at him but quickly realized that i was in for trouble. It was only a matter of a few seconds before his spell was complete and he blew away all my weapons and minions. It was me against him he was clearly more magically talented than i was and the only hope i had was my armor. I started my speech as i did with all the others but he did not care but instead he just unleashed another attack. Enraged now i lashed out on him but he took it like a fly had been thrown at his chest. Only a few more attacks before he had me on my knees begging for mercy. That is when he did the most awful thing he could ever do he picked up every last scrap of my belongings and took them in front of me then he stood in front me and started to crouch at a rapid speed that was impressive in its own right. After all that he pulled out the weakest spell one can learn and kills me with it. I dont know how i got to this point in life how i became so greedy but i guess obsession can kill a man.
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[WP] You’re a peasant who’s house has been raided hundreds of times by adventurers passing through. So, you built a defense so they would stop stealing from you. One thing led to another, and your house is now a dungeon and you’re the final boss.
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Having your farm on the only road between Alma Village and the Capital certainly has its advantages. It seems every adventurer, and I do mean every single one of them, passed by the road by my farm in their outset. Darius the Mountain, Dragon Tamer Fiona, Seymon of the Thousand Blades... I was sure I saw all of them, years before they became household names, barreling down the road towards the Capitol. It was cool seeing them walk without acknowledging you, and trying to guess which ones will become famous, and which ones will be Ogre food in a couple months.
What was not cool, however, is the amount of theft that went on. It was fun at first, telling people how once upon a time, Lady Cathy stopped by your farm to slaughter a few of your pigs, but the cost really racks up over time. And it's not just the pig, either; they were picking my Goldblossom, which I had strategically planted at various areas around my farm to maximize how long they have to walk to gather them all. Don't even get me started on the odd practice of skinning my pigs and leaving all the meat behind (OK, sometimes they take a tiny piece, but most of the time the whole thing is just left there, minus the skin, and I have to clean it up). Before long, they were inviting themselves into my house. I tried to be friendly, even offering them a few tried and true advice about farming and animal husbandry, if they were into that sort of thing (they never were). But deep down, I was fed up. Something's gotta give.
First it was just a fence. Unfortunately, it seems that waist high fences in scattered areas around the perimeter was not extremely effective in stopping adventurers (some also have the weird habit of jumping over them instead of, say, going around). Then it were the dogs, which didn't help much either. Oh, and they skinned the dogs too. Sickening! Then it was the Farmland Protector Golem 9000^tm . It cost a fortune, but at least it sort of worked. People were careful to avoid the area the golem was in, at least.
Well, that one drunken night a few weeks ago was probably not a good idea. More specifically, getting drunk and asking a passing mechanic (who bore a surprising resemblance to Blacknail the Mechanical Menace, I might add) to "do whatever you want" with that Golem was probably not a good idea. I wanted my farm to be safe, sure, but nothing could prepare me for the four dead bodies outside my farm the next morning. I must have spent the entire morning vomiting and trying to remember what happened the night before. No doubt they were adventurers, since the other farmers never left their farm as far as I know. I have seen a dead adventurer once before, years ago, when he simply stood there and was bitten to death by my dogs in around 40 minutes. I never really understood what that was all about.
Now back to that Farmland Protector Golem. It didn't seem to attack me, so I just went out and tried to clean up the mess best I can. They all had a couple silvers in their pockets, so I took them (not like they had a use for them, anyway). But, if I thought that a murderous death robot would stop adventurers from terrorizing my farm, then I was sorely mistaken. Hundreds came in the days after the incident, and they were all trying to kill the Golem. Over 90% of the times they failed, miserably, but if they succeed they would kill all my pigs (and skin them), dogs (and skin them), and pillage all my Goldblossoms. And, just because how many of them there were, they were trampling all the other plants as well. What had seemed like a victory only ended with those idiots harassing me even harder.
Desperate time called for desperate measures, and fortunately, with the sheer volume of dead adventurers on my doorstep, taking money out of their cold, dead pockets seemed to be an effective way of making ends meet. First I hired some cleaners. Taking care of hundreds of dead bodies daily really takes a toll on you. Then it was the tall perimeter fence. Keeping a murderous golem from running loose seemed to be a good idea. Then more dogs, ones with more training. Then farmhands, in part to help with farming, and in part to keep adventurers away. Then came the poisonous plants, since I was getting desperate. I even added some more fence in the middle of my farm to stop the adventurers from coming towards the golem, but they seem extremely adept at knocking holes in those.
Somewhere along the line, looting dead adventurers became more profitable than farming.
The guilds seems to like me, for whatever reason. "A beginner's dungeon" they called my farm, though the name of my farm is, and always has been "Stoneridge Farm." They said that clearing my "dungeon" was a sign that someone was ready to face real adventures, so they want everyone to come and try to deafeat my golem. Heck, one day I woke up to find one of those portal things that they use to transport adventurers to and from dungeons. Needless to say, the number of adventures who came has only increased since then.
In fact, there a group of them here right now. 5 of them, to be exact. The two tanks doesn't seem to know what they are doing, as they are standing in the poison cloud as one of my farmhand, decked out in some sick looking leather armor, is hitting them with his hoe. The healer is running from the pack of dogs, which is being ignored by the tanks. Oh well, looks like they are not getting past that boss today. Better start practicing that speech the guild wants me to read every time someone dies to that boss. Something about not standing in the poison clouds. Boring. At least that archer seems to have a nice looking hat. Hopefully she has some money in her pockets, the cleaners have been demanding a bonus after the golem took out that group of 200 dwarves.
As you can see, this is kind of inspired by a more MMORPG take on the prompt, more specifically a combination of Westfall's Harvest Goems and the Hoggar Raid.
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i didn't want this, but they just kept on coming, they kept taking my stuff. You see at first it was just a trap door that would drop them into the sewers, that kept them out for a while but then they just got stronger or smarter and came in other ways. One thing led to another and now i live half a mile away underground, I dug a tunnel system and mastered the mystic arts. Now there is miles of tunnels and monsters for these so called adventurers to run into and die in. When they lose or they give up or are to weak to fight anymore i send my collector to bring them to me and i steal their stuff show them what it feels like and then i plunge them back into the cold unforgiving surface world naked and alone. They stopped for a long time but then they got even stronger and started making it through they started taking my stuff again. This was it they had to stop, but how could i make that happen? One day a miracle happened a very strong warrior came in and surrendered his armor to me it was the strongest armor i've ever seen, my magic couldn't touch it not even a scratch. I accepted his gift and named him midgaurd i gave him control of the first half of the tunnels, he was so good at his new job I never saw someone get past his defenses. I on the other hand took his armor and dawned it and branded myself the mazemaster and the name stuck the few that survived being thrust out to the cold cruel world spread my message and also spread what they saw. By this point I had amassed a large sum of loot and riches and people came from across the world to try and take them only a few ever reached me and none ever won or even came close to beating me. But this all ended one day when a warrior had come into my throne room he was barely clothed and looked frail and weak, how he's made it this far was beyond me. I laughed at him but quickly realized that i was in for trouble. It was only a matter of a few seconds before his spell was complete and he blew away all my weapons and minions. It was me against him he was clearly more magically talented than i was and the only hope i had was my armor. I started my speech as i did with all the others but he did not care but instead he just unleashed another attack. Enraged now i lashed out on him but he took it like a fly had been thrown at his chest. Only a few more attacks before he had me on my knees begging for mercy. That is when he did the most awful thing he could ever do he picked up every last scrap of my belongings and took them in front of me then he stood in front me and started to crouch at a rapid speed that was impressive in its own right. After all that he pulled out the weakest spell one can learn and kills me with it. I dont know how i got to this point in life how i became so greedy but i guess obsession can kill a man.
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[WP] You’re a peasant who’s house has been raided hundreds of times by adventurers passing through. So, you built a defense so they would stop stealing from you. One thing led to another, and your house is now a dungeon and you’re the final boss.
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**Oak Village.**
It was located on the border of the Earth and Central Province, near the southern tip of the Main Capital, outside a patch of small woodlands near the Great Forest of Kao.
For a frontier settlement, its population was unexceptional — a hundred souls, distributed among twenty families.
In turn, this makes us a common target. From marauding bandits to corrupted adventurers, we were vulnerable to their constant attacks and looting. We can only watch helplessly in bitterness and resentment as they steal away our hard\-earned gold and produce.
However, one day, I stumbled upon a Legendary\-Tier item, 「Staff of Creation」. Having it appraised by the Capital's sage, it was rumored to rival A\-tier weaponry in its potency and utility.
I even heard that it is on\-par with famous God\-tier accessories like 「Ring of Greed」 or 「Amulet of Power」 if I can utilize it properly. As a villager where our weapons such as longswords and daggers are at a flimsy E\-tier, this was incredible news.
「Staff of Creation」 allows me to materialize anything I imagine at the cost of my cognitive energy. Thankfully, I have been blessed a creative imagination. And it only takes me a few hours to recover before I can reuse it again.
A group of bandits appeared on the horizon as it was that wretched time again.
However, this time, I know the outcome will be different.
I held my rifle as I grinned, can't wait to try out my new weapons on our unexpected enemies.
♦ ♦ ♦
"Lets go," Baristol said in a sharp tone. The person who commanded us is our team leader, also famed as one of the best fighters in the Capital. He wore 'A\-class' plate armor that was trimmed with brilliant gold called 「Guardian's Blessing」, which can automatically repel any projectiles below C\-tier or 7th tier magic. "Similar to last time, take away any everything deemed valuable and useful but leave them enough food to survive for next time."
"Understood," I said in unison with my party members — Heil, Sein and Raz.
As we arrived at our destination, we noticed something was different.
Walls of alabaster\-stone surrounded the village in a menacing manner to any who wish to enter. It's as if castle wall was built to protect a mighty fortress in the middle, but instead, inside was a simple village.
"What happened?" I asked, not remembering this sight a few months ago. If I remember correctly, alabaster is one of the most expensive stones in the world.
"It's impossible that they can build something like with their resource and only one hundred people," Raz commented, he was our team's tactician. "My speculation is that they hired an adventurer from the guild. Judging from the complexity and expensiveness of the defense, I would say the enemy might be Diamond\-Tier...no... maybe even Master\-Tier."
Diamond\-Tier adventurers are greatly and widely respected in the world for their abilities and experiences. In other words, they were veterans who have fought countless battles.
However, Master\-Tier adventurers are a different story. They are conferred to only multiple talented adventurers that help resolve problems at the national level. Just one\-tier above Diamond, they are also one\-tier from the final ranking: Hero\-Tier.
You can say they are the elite of the elites.
"If that is the case, we should retreat," Sein muttered nervously, he was the ranger of the team. "We are probably around the level of Gold\-Tier or Platinum\-Tier. There's no way we can fight someone who is a Master\-Tier..."
"Do not worry, Sein, my friend," Heil, the co\-leader to our team, patted him on the shoulder. "Our boss is also a Diamond\-Tier before he retired from the guild. We can handle a Master\-Tier adventurer if we all group together and fight like we always do."
"It is reasonable to deduce that there is only one opponent. To hire a Master\-Tier would require a tremendous amount of gold. My guess is that a kind passerby to help them out," Raz said.
"As expected of Raz!" Heil smiled as our tension alleviated.
However, Baristol remained unusually silent, as if he is debating if we should persist with this raid. While we all prepared our gears, he muttered in a serene tone, "Keep in battle formation when we advance. We have to expect for the worst."
After a few minutes, we marched carefully towards the entrance. Typically at this point, the villagers would start to flee in fear while we casually stroll in and take anything we want.
Suddenly, near the gateway, a villager stood in the distance. A sigh of relief breezed through us as we realize that there were no signs of any adventurers.
"I guess the Master\-Tier left?" Sein said.
"Still, maintain formation, it could be a trap," Baristol ordered in a vigilant tone.
The villager was holding something odd: it resembled a crossbow but had some sort of optical\-glass on top and a long\-tiny barrel towards the end. It seems like he was aiming it at our direction.
"What an idiot," Heil chuckled, "There's no way a crossbow like that can do damage to us. Even if it's a magic weapon, we blessed our armors with defensive attributes."
Heil was right. Villagers do not have the proper weapons to handle us. Amongst the world of thieves, we are quite notorious ourselves. There's absolutely no need to worry, yet why do I feel like something bad is going to happen...?
Suddenly, we heard a loud booming BANG sound. As if the sky were torn by this sudden thundering noise. The birds near the forest of Kao flew away in response.
We looked up, wondering if there was a change in the weather. But to our shock, Sein had fallen to the ground in a small puddle of blood. On his chest was a fresh wound resembling a small but deep hole.
"What\-What's going on?!" Heil yelled, suddenly in a frenzy. "There's no way that something like that can tear through our armors. What is happening?!"
I looked into the distance as the villager seems to have finish reloading his weapon. He took another careful aim and fired.
BANG!
This time, Raz flew backward as I caught *something* darted inside his head. His head collapsed onto the ground with a THUD first before his body followed.
I never seen anything like this.
All magic spells, by the fundamental laws, require at least an incantation, casting time and mana pool. The fastest spells I know that can rival to this speed is 「Gusting Wind」, a 6th tier spell only veteran magicians can use. But this was something else... This was much faster and more powerful.
"Fall back," Baristol ordered as he held up his sword, "I will guard our rear. You two run."
"Let's go!" Heil was already running. I remained as curiosity got the best of me, wanting to watch how Baristole handles this situation. There's no way the famed mighty warrior can be defeated, after all, he has the Legendary\-Tier armor and won first place in the annual Warriors Tournament.
The villager notices Baristol's defensive stance and grabbed a different weapon. This time, it was much bigger and had instead of a long barrel it was much fatter. He held it by his waist and fired.
Instead of a singular sound like we expect it to be, we heard multiple tumultuous noises coming from the weapon. Baristol sliced through the incoming projectiles with acumen as he possesses Eagle's Eye, the martial passive ability that can see everything in a slow manner when activated. After a minute, the villager stopped firing.
I stared at Baristol. He stood there, seemingly triumphant from the attack.
As I walk up, I realized his armors were torn apart. His limbs were bleeding profusely but he was still conscious as he focused on protecting his vital organs. He spat out blood and said in a serious voice I never heard before,
"That weapon, it's not a crossbow or bow. It's something else, something very powerful. We won't be able to win against it..."
The villager is now walking towards us confidently, with two small weapons in his hand as he spins them around playfully.
"You won't win, against him. Run," Baristol barked in a desperate voice, pushing me away.
"But..."
"Trust me. I've fought Master\-Tier adventurers before. That weapon surpasses even Master\-Tier level adventurers by an unfathomable level. If I have to guess, it's probably a Hero\-Tier weapon." Baristol then smiled as if he accepted his death, "I guess it's time for me to pay for my sins after all these years. I'll buy you time while you run. Live a long and proud life, Xin."
I trembled in fear as he charged forward, yelling with all his might. I turned on my heels and dashed. Never have I felt more fear and despair in my entire life.
A mere villager just killed three of the best rogues I know.
*Has the world gone mad?*
I heard two loud BANG in the distance and my heart sank, Baristol had lost.
*Just who is that villager...?*
♦ ♦ ♦
[r/Avelist/](https://www.reddit.com/r/Avelist/) for more fantasy\-related stories.
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A peaceful house in a nice village they said.
Come spend the evening of your life in Redfall they said.
I was sitting with my head staff in the meeting room. Everyone was looking on the ground. Not daring to lift their heads. Not because they could catch the wrath of some overlord.
We just got news one of the wisest and most merciful kings who every lived got slaughtered like an animal. No, not even animals would be treated like that.
It all started when I bought a house in Redfall after 20 years in the army. Tired of the decades of violence I decided to start a family with my old school crush.
Work was hard as peasant, but we were happy. Soon she gave birth to our two children and both of us were looking forward for a future as a normal family.
But one day it all went up in flames. A group of so called "adventurers" kicked in our door and sacked our entire house. They broke everything.
I probably would have just shrugged it off and started anew. But what they did burned into my mind and it will haunt me for the rest of my days.
One of then pinned me down while the others violated my wife in front of me and the children. They would take turns and in the end they left her shattered body on the ground before leaving with our belongings and the children. They knocked me out and when I awoke my wife had already bled to death.
I just kneeled there what felt like hours holding her cold hands and crying. Meanwhile new groups of adventures came into my house looking for loot. They either ignored, taunted or threatened me to reveal the riches I never had. When it got dark I stood up and started to dig a grave for my beloved wife.
I mourned for several days, just sitting next to her grave. In the meantime a several hundres of these adventures came trough my house. One of them finally decided to burn it down. I had nothing of my family that could remind me of them. The last thing was this house and they burned it down just for fun. They didn't even leave me the silver necklace my wife had inherited from my family.
In the following months I would repeatedly try to rebuild my house but everytime it got destroyed by marauding adventures. I tried fight them but they always defeated me easily. I wished for the sweet relieving embrace of death.
But I never got it. Almost a year later I received a letter from a temple in a far away land stating that my children had died as slaves working in a mine. If I wanted a proper burial I had to send 150 gold coins or their bodies would be fed to arena animals.
Of course I had nothing left after hundred raids of adventures.
And so I lost my children for good and couldn't even give them a real burial. I decided to dig symbolicaly 2 graves for them. Even when I finished I just kept going and going. I was dead on the inside, completely empty. I didn't feel anything, not the burning sun or my blistered hands.
After some time the 2 small graves turned into a complete moat, surrounding what was left of the village and the surrounding fields. Other surviving villagers joined me to forget the horrible moments in the past.
One day however I encountered a lone orc named Grugg. Finally expecting death I threw down my shovel and opened my arms.
"Kill me, I have nothing left to live for! My entire family was killed by the adventurers."
But instead he just hugged me and cried. He told me that he had the same fate. Gruggs family got murdered and his hometown razed. He was acting as scout and head of the surviving orcs for a group of refugees fleeing from the adventures. Grugg introduced me to the other leaders of them. Tirene the fairy queen, Golan the Goblin leader, Amaranth the dragon king and Ceres the high queen of the forrest and dark elves.
They saw the moat and asked if they could camp in the remains of my village. Seeing the large trail of unfortunate souls me and the other vilagers agreed immediately. We soon grew fond of each other and the temporary camp slowly but steadily grew into a fortified city with more and more fleeing people joining us. My house got turned into a underground castle with enough room to evacuate the entire city.
We repelled repeated raids from adventurers but our losses kept increasing since they came back everytime with more people.
So we send Amaranth, who has been elected as a acting king for Redfall in the meantime, to negotiate peace with the human kingdoms.
And they didn't even listen to what he had to say. The same night he entered the capital of the southern kingdom he and his guards got assasinated. His body got dragged down the street with the heads of his companions on pikes. They robbed the bodies and send the mutilated remains back to us with a list of impossible demands, including complete submission into slavery.
And here we are now. A group of broken people who just lost their last glimmer of hope for peace.
I looked out of the window and saw a group of children playing in the courtyard. Suddenly I felt a fire I've never experienced in my soul.
No! I would not let them die like my own children!
But our options were limited. We lacked manpower and our hospitals werefilled with injured soldiers. We had to take more drastic measures.
"We will not survive if we don't wipe out every human kingdom on this continent. We must eradicate and enslave them all and never allow them to attack us ever. We must scare off other kingdoms that might try to help them by commiting unspeakable atrocities!"
Everyone was silent in the room, starring in shock at me and what I just said.
"No! We would defile the memory of Amaranth with this. He would never want us to do any of this!", said Tirene.
"Amaranth is dead. His peaceful approach got him and many of us killed. It's time we go into the offensive and take the initiative in this war. What we need are soldiers and more workers. Thats why we should capture more of those adventures. Force the male ones for slave labour and the female ones for breeding duty with the orcs.
Grugg slammed his fist on the desk. He was shaking.
"We....are...not...MONSTERS!"
"I know that Grugg. But we need soldiers asap. And orcs can reproduce with humans without problems and mature the fastest of all the races in this town."
Ceres looked into the round.
"We must not turn into the very thing we ar.."
"WE HAVE NO CHOICE! OUR WALLS CAN'T GET COMPLETELY MANNED AND WE ARE LOSING MORE SOLDIERS THAN WE CAN RECRUIT. HALF OF OUR POPULATION ARE ALREADY BOUND INTO MILITA DUTY: IF THIS GOES ON LIKE THAT WE WILL HAVE TO SEND THE CHILDREN; THE OLD AND DISABLED UP THE WALL!"
I tried to calm myself down. Everyone was looking on the ground again. Finally Golan started speaking.
"All of us here don't like this idea but he is right. We won't survive much longer like this. Those humans want to see us as worthless monsters. Then let's give them what they want. Let them fight against monsters and what we really can do and make them regret for what they did."
The old goblin sunk back into his chair.
"For our children and their future."
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[WP] You’re a peasant who’s house has been raided hundreds of times by adventurers passing through. So, you built a defense so they would stop stealing from you. One thing led to another, and your house is now a dungeon and you’re the final boss.
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My daughter Isabella rolls her clear-sky eyes when I tell her to mind the gators. The pit cost me a proper fortune--hand-dug by a pair of burly dwarves who seemed less than faithful to the notion of fair business practices towards the end--yet you'd never catch Izzy admiring. No *Gee dad! Look at those pearly whites!* No, *holy smokes, those make me feel safe at home*. No. She and her new silk dress are just *twirl, swish, zoom* all the way up to her tower each and every time I mention her meds.
"You *don't* need to remind me dad!" her squeaky voice echoes down untold flights of stairs. "I'm not a mutt on a leash!"
"Are you crying?" I ask, de-activating the tripwires with muscle-memory as I climb the stone tower after her. "What did I--?"
*Slam.* *Clink.* *Crick*.
I've got to hand it to her. She's got the goblin-forged door locks down pat. I'd been worried about making such an investment, but she had no qualms slamming that notion right in my face.
After our arguments, I typically sigh and pour handbrewed moonshine into a glass by the fireplace. I collapse in my old rocker and drink beneath a waning lantern. The distillery is located on the ground floor of my fortress. It's the one thing I've left untouched after all these years. The barrels still have that mossy film that Paw swore gave the 'shine some aftertaste, and the bottles I use are all recycled mats from the olden days, when Izzy was just a squalling babe. As strange as it is to say, sometimes I wager *those were the days*.
Those days, I could've kept adventurers away as easily as lifting a bale of hay.
Those days, Izzy used to smile when I hummed her to sleep.
Those days, her mother had yet to cough up handfuls of blood.
Usually, after two or three glasses, I hear Izzy singing to the moon. Her songs are all laced with teardrops. I peek out discretely from the lower story windows, and each time I see why I have had such hardship. The girl looks just like her mother--the very same ashberry hair and little porcelain lips. The moon gleams off her eyes as she croons on the tower windowsill. Hell, she even has her mother's voice. It's no wonder adventurers from the four corners of the world have come to whisk her away. I'd done the same with her mother, what feels like a lifetime ago. There's some monkey knot of Fate that binds humans together like that. A pretty girl sings to the moon, and soon enough the boys stumble out of the bushes.
It's no wonder why she's grown to hate me. No matter how many trinkets I buy her, or the dresses I import, she trudges the hallways asking to see the world. If she were more like *me*, perhaps I could bear to see her go. Perhaps I would stop adding to this abominable fortress and let her live her damned life, carried away but this prince charming or that *next-in-line*. But she's gotten more of her mother than either of us could bargain for.
Her mother had the same affliction. And I cannot bear another bout of heartbreak.
Most mornings, I bring her a platter of bacon. I unwind the spike-traps, and hop over all the false steps, bowing low before her reinforced door with our usual peace treaty. "It's nature's miracle," I say with an apologetic smile. Most mornings, too, she apologizes in return. She chews on the bacon and shows me the progress of her pill minder--the days all writ in golden letters.
"Thank you," I say. "You know...your mother neglected..."
"I know dad. I'm sorry," she'd say, throwing her arms around me. I knew it was all in the name of placation. She'd eat her bacon, maybe flip me off as my boots echoed down the spiral stairs, but she'd have taken her pills. She'd have remained alive, and safe, and the universe remained balanced.
Yet, today, everything is off kilter. It's as if Atlas has let us roll off his back. I try using the platter to pry her door open, but my feet slip on all the blasted bacon grease. "Izzy!" I shout. "Are you alright in there?"
No answer, save silence.
I resort to using the acid from ground level moat. Eventually, the locks give--I suppose those goblins didn't think of everything. When I swing the door open, I fear the worst--a barrel chested prince protecting her with one arm. But Izzy is just...gone. Absent among billowing curtains.
Her bedsheets are gone too.
My heart flutters as I stumble to her windowsill. It's early yet--the moon is still out, caught in that strange tidepool of the in-between. Not quite morning, not quite night, just a clenched fist of confusion.
Her bedsheets are tied to the support beam of the planter.
My chest lurches as I see her crumpled and lifeless on the ground.
Amidst roiling emotion, I turn my bleary eyes towards the moon and let *loose*.
My fortress has undergone hundreds of changes. I've added boiling pots of oil to the ramparts and fashioned poison dragon spikes to the drawbridge. The moat itself has gone from water to lava to a steaming river of acid. Once, I'd even conscripted a *dragon* into patrolling the reception hall. I'd spent years protected my little girl from the outside, building her tower higher and higher away from anyone who might take her.
In the end, all I'd really needed to give her were a few more blankets.
--------------------------
r/M0zark
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A peaceful house in a nice village they said.
Come spend the evening of your life in Redfall they said.
I was sitting with my head staff in the meeting room. Everyone was looking on the ground. Not daring to lift their heads. Not because they could catch the wrath of some overlord.
We just got news one of the wisest and most merciful kings who every lived got slaughtered like an animal. No, not even animals would be treated like that.
It all started when I bought a house in Redfall after 20 years in the army. Tired of the decades of violence I decided to start a family with my old school crush.
Work was hard as peasant, but we were happy. Soon she gave birth to our two children and both of us were looking forward for a future as a normal family.
But one day it all went up in flames. A group of so called "adventurers" kicked in our door and sacked our entire house. They broke everything.
I probably would have just shrugged it off and started anew. But what they did burned into my mind and it will haunt me for the rest of my days.
One of then pinned me down while the others violated my wife in front of me and the children. They would take turns and in the end they left her shattered body on the ground before leaving with our belongings and the children. They knocked me out and when I awoke my wife had already bled to death.
I just kneeled there what felt like hours holding her cold hands and crying. Meanwhile new groups of adventures came into my house looking for loot. They either ignored, taunted or threatened me to reveal the riches I never had. When it got dark I stood up and started to dig a grave for my beloved wife.
I mourned for several days, just sitting next to her grave. In the meantime a several hundres of these adventures came trough my house. One of them finally decided to burn it down. I had nothing of my family that could remind me of them. The last thing was this house and they burned it down just for fun. They didn't even leave me the silver necklace my wife had inherited from my family.
In the following months I would repeatedly try to rebuild my house but everytime it got destroyed by marauding adventures. I tried fight them but they always defeated me easily. I wished for the sweet relieving embrace of death.
But I never got it. Almost a year later I received a letter from a temple in a far away land stating that my children had died as slaves working in a mine. If I wanted a proper burial I had to send 150 gold coins or their bodies would be fed to arena animals.
Of course I had nothing left after hundred raids of adventures.
And so I lost my children for good and couldn't even give them a real burial. I decided to dig symbolicaly 2 graves for them. Even when I finished I just kept going and going. I was dead on the inside, completely empty. I didn't feel anything, not the burning sun or my blistered hands.
After some time the 2 small graves turned into a complete moat, surrounding what was left of the village and the surrounding fields. Other surviving villagers joined me to forget the horrible moments in the past.
One day however I encountered a lone orc named Grugg. Finally expecting death I threw down my shovel and opened my arms.
"Kill me, I have nothing left to live for! My entire family was killed by the adventurers."
But instead he just hugged me and cried. He told me that he had the same fate. Gruggs family got murdered and his hometown razed. He was acting as scout and head of the surviving orcs for a group of refugees fleeing from the adventures. Grugg introduced me to the other leaders of them. Tirene the fairy queen, Golan the Goblin leader, Amaranth the dragon king and Ceres the high queen of the forrest and dark elves.
They saw the moat and asked if they could camp in the remains of my village. Seeing the large trail of unfortunate souls me and the other vilagers agreed immediately. We soon grew fond of each other and the temporary camp slowly but steadily grew into a fortified city with more and more fleeing people joining us. My house got turned into a underground castle with enough room to evacuate the entire city.
We repelled repeated raids from adventurers but our losses kept increasing since they came back everytime with more people.
So we send Amaranth, who has been elected as a acting king for Redfall in the meantime, to negotiate peace with the human kingdoms.
And they didn't even listen to what he had to say. The same night he entered the capital of the southern kingdom he and his guards got assasinated. His body got dragged down the street with the heads of his companions on pikes. They robbed the bodies and send the mutilated remains back to us with a list of impossible demands, including complete submission into slavery.
And here we are now. A group of broken people who just lost their last glimmer of hope for peace.
I looked out of the window and saw a group of children playing in the courtyard. Suddenly I felt a fire I've never experienced in my soul.
No! I would not let them die like my own children!
But our options were limited. We lacked manpower and our hospitals werefilled with injured soldiers. We had to take more drastic measures.
"We will not survive if we don't wipe out every human kingdom on this continent. We must eradicate and enslave them all and never allow them to attack us ever. We must scare off other kingdoms that might try to help them by commiting unspeakable atrocities!"
Everyone was silent in the room, starring in shock at me and what I just said.
"No! We would defile the memory of Amaranth with this. He would never want us to do any of this!", said Tirene.
"Amaranth is dead. His peaceful approach got him and many of us killed. It's time we go into the offensive and take the initiative in this war. What we need are soldiers and more workers. Thats why we should capture more of those adventures. Force the male ones for slave labour and the female ones for breeding duty with the orcs.
Grugg slammed his fist on the desk. He was shaking.
"We....are...not...MONSTERS!"
"I know that Grugg. But we need soldiers asap. And orcs can reproduce with humans without problems and mature the fastest of all the races in this town."
Ceres looked into the round.
"We must not turn into the very thing we ar.."
"WE HAVE NO CHOICE! OUR WALLS CAN'T GET COMPLETELY MANNED AND WE ARE LOSING MORE SOLDIERS THAN WE CAN RECRUIT. HALF OF OUR POPULATION ARE ALREADY BOUND INTO MILITA DUTY: IF THIS GOES ON LIKE THAT WE WILL HAVE TO SEND THE CHILDREN; THE OLD AND DISABLED UP THE WALL!"
I tried to calm myself down. Everyone was looking on the ground again. Finally Golan started speaking.
"All of us here don't like this idea but he is right. We won't survive much longer like this. Those humans want to see us as worthless monsters. Then let's give them what they want. Let them fight against monsters and what we really can do and make them regret for what they did."
The old goblin sunk back into his chair.
"For our children and their future."
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[WP] You’re a peasant who’s house has been raided hundreds of times by adventurers passing through. So, you built a defense so they would stop stealing from you. One thing led to another, and your house is now a dungeon and you’re the final boss.
|
Having your farm on the only road between Alma Village and the Capital certainly has its advantages. It seems every adventurer, and I do mean every single one of them, passed by the road by my farm in their outset. Darius the Mountain, Dragon Tamer Fiona, Seymon of the Thousand Blades... I was sure I saw all of them, years before they became household names, barreling down the road towards the Capitol. It was cool seeing them walk without acknowledging you, and trying to guess which ones will become famous, and which ones will be Ogre food in a couple months.
What was not cool, however, is the amount of theft that went on. It was fun at first, telling people how once upon a time, Lady Cathy stopped by your farm to slaughter a few of your pigs, but the cost really racks up over time. And it's not just the pig, either; they were picking my Goldblossom, which I had strategically planted at various areas around my farm to maximize how long they have to walk to gather them all. Don't even get me started on the odd practice of skinning my pigs and leaving all the meat behind (OK, sometimes they take a tiny piece, but most of the time the whole thing is just left there, minus the skin, and I have to clean it up). Before long, they were inviting themselves into my house. I tried to be friendly, even offering them a few tried and true advice about farming and animal husbandry, if they were into that sort of thing (they never were). But deep down, I was fed up. Something's gotta give.
First it was just a fence. Unfortunately, it seems that waist high fences in scattered areas around the perimeter was not extremely effective in stopping adventurers (some also have the weird habit of jumping over them instead of, say, going around). Then it were the dogs, which didn't help much either. Oh, and they skinned the dogs too. Sickening! Then it was the Farmland Protector Golem 9000^tm . It cost a fortune, but at least it sort of worked. People were careful to avoid the area the golem was in, at least.
Well, that one drunken night a few weeks ago was probably not a good idea. More specifically, getting drunk and asking a passing mechanic (who bore a surprising resemblance to Blacknail the Mechanical Menace, I might add) to "do whatever you want" with that Golem was probably not a good idea. I wanted my farm to be safe, sure, but nothing could prepare me for the four dead bodies outside my farm the next morning. I must have spent the entire morning vomiting and trying to remember what happened the night before. No doubt they were adventurers, since the other farmers never left their farm as far as I know. I have seen a dead adventurer once before, years ago, when he simply stood there and was bitten to death by my dogs in around 40 minutes. I never really understood what that was all about.
Now back to that Farmland Protector Golem. It didn't seem to attack me, so I just went out and tried to clean up the mess best I can. They all had a couple silvers in their pockets, so I took them (not like they had a use for them, anyway). But, if I thought that a murderous death robot would stop adventurers from terrorizing my farm, then I was sorely mistaken. Hundreds came in the days after the incident, and they were all trying to kill the Golem. Over 90% of the times they failed, miserably, but if they succeed they would kill all my pigs (and skin them), dogs (and skin them), and pillage all my Goldblossoms. And, just because how many of them there were, they were trampling all the other plants as well. What had seemed like a victory only ended with those idiots harassing me even harder.
Desperate time called for desperate measures, and fortunately, with the sheer volume of dead adventurers on my doorstep, taking money out of their cold, dead pockets seemed to be an effective way of making ends meet. First I hired some cleaners. Taking care of hundreds of dead bodies daily really takes a toll on you. Then it was the tall perimeter fence. Keeping a murderous golem from running loose seemed to be a good idea. Then more dogs, ones with more training. Then farmhands, in part to help with farming, and in part to keep adventurers away. Then came the poisonous plants, since I was getting desperate. I even added some more fence in the middle of my farm to stop the adventurers from coming towards the golem, but they seem extremely adept at knocking holes in those.
Somewhere along the line, looting dead adventurers became more profitable than farming.
The guilds seems to like me, for whatever reason. "A beginner's dungeon" they called my farm, though the name of my farm is, and always has been "Stoneridge Farm." They said that clearing my "dungeon" was a sign that someone was ready to face real adventures, so they want everyone to come and try to deafeat my golem. Heck, one day I woke up to find one of those portal things that they use to transport adventurers to and from dungeons. Needless to say, the number of adventures who came has only increased since then.
In fact, there a group of them here right now. 5 of them, to be exact. The two tanks doesn't seem to know what they are doing, as they are standing in the poison cloud as one of my farmhand, decked out in some sick looking leather armor, is hitting them with his hoe. The healer is running from the pack of dogs, which is being ignored by the tanks. Oh well, looks like they are not getting past that boss today. Better start practicing that speech the guild wants me to read every time someone dies to that boss. Something about not standing in the poison clouds. Boring. At least that archer seems to have a nice looking hat. Hopefully she has some money in her pockets, the cleaners have been demanding a bonus after the golem took out that group of 200 dwarves.
As you can see, this is kind of inspired by a more MMORPG take on the prompt, more specifically a combination of Westfall's Harvest Goems and the Hoggar Raid.
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A peaceful house in a nice village they said.
Come spend the evening of your life in Redfall they said.
I was sitting with my head staff in the meeting room. Everyone was looking on the ground. Not daring to lift their heads. Not because they could catch the wrath of some overlord.
We just got news one of the wisest and most merciful kings who every lived got slaughtered like an animal. No, not even animals would be treated like that.
It all started when I bought a house in Redfall after 20 years in the army. Tired of the decades of violence I decided to start a family with my old school crush.
Work was hard as peasant, but we were happy. Soon she gave birth to our two children and both of us were looking forward for a future as a normal family.
But one day it all went up in flames. A group of so called "adventurers" kicked in our door and sacked our entire house. They broke everything.
I probably would have just shrugged it off and started anew. But what they did burned into my mind and it will haunt me for the rest of my days.
One of then pinned me down while the others violated my wife in front of me and the children. They would take turns and in the end they left her shattered body on the ground before leaving with our belongings and the children. They knocked me out and when I awoke my wife had already bled to death.
I just kneeled there what felt like hours holding her cold hands and crying. Meanwhile new groups of adventures came into my house looking for loot. They either ignored, taunted or threatened me to reveal the riches I never had. When it got dark I stood up and started to dig a grave for my beloved wife.
I mourned for several days, just sitting next to her grave. In the meantime a several hundres of these adventures came trough my house. One of them finally decided to burn it down. I had nothing of my family that could remind me of them. The last thing was this house and they burned it down just for fun. They didn't even leave me the silver necklace my wife had inherited from my family.
In the following months I would repeatedly try to rebuild my house but everytime it got destroyed by marauding adventures. I tried fight them but they always defeated me easily. I wished for the sweet relieving embrace of death.
But I never got it. Almost a year later I received a letter from a temple in a far away land stating that my children had died as slaves working in a mine. If I wanted a proper burial I had to send 150 gold coins or their bodies would be fed to arena animals.
Of course I had nothing left after hundred raids of adventures.
And so I lost my children for good and couldn't even give them a real burial. I decided to dig symbolicaly 2 graves for them. Even when I finished I just kept going and going. I was dead on the inside, completely empty. I didn't feel anything, not the burning sun or my blistered hands.
After some time the 2 small graves turned into a complete moat, surrounding what was left of the village and the surrounding fields. Other surviving villagers joined me to forget the horrible moments in the past.
One day however I encountered a lone orc named Grugg. Finally expecting death I threw down my shovel and opened my arms.
"Kill me, I have nothing left to live for! My entire family was killed by the adventurers."
But instead he just hugged me and cried. He told me that he had the same fate. Gruggs family got murdered and his hometown razed. He was acting as scout and head of the surviving orcs for a group of refugees fleeing from the adventures. Grugg introduced me to the other leaders of them. Tirene the fairy queen, Golan the Goblin leader, Amaranth the dragon king and Ceres the high queen of the forrest and dark elves.
They saw the moat and asked if they could camp in the remains of my village. Seeing the large trail of unfortunate souls me and the other vilagers agreed immediately. We soon grew fond of each other and the temporary camp slowly but steadily grew into a fortified city with more and more fleeing people joining us. My house got turned into a underground castle with enough room to evacuate the entire city.
We repelled repeated raids from adventurers but our losses kept increasing since they came back everytime with more people.
So we send Amaranth, who has been elected as a acting king for Redfall in the meantime, to negotiate peace with the human kingdoms.
And they didn't even listen to what he had to say. The same night he entered the capital of the southern kingdom he and his guards got assasinated. His body got dragged down the street with the heads of his companions on pikes. They robbed the bodies and send the mutilated remains back to us with a list of impossible demands, including complete submission into slavery.
And here we are now. A group of broken people who just lost their last glimmer of hope for peace.
I looked out of the window and saw a group of children playing in the courtyard. Suddenly I felt a fire I've never experienced in my soul.
No! I would not let them die like my own children!
But our options were limited. We lacked manpower and our hospitals werefilled with injured soldiers. We had to take more drastic measures.
"We will not survive if we don't wipe out every human kingdom on this continent. We must eradicate and enslave them all and never allow them to attack us ever. We must scare off other kingdoms that might try to help them by commiting unspeakable atrocities!"
Everyone was silent in the room, starring in shock at me and what I just said.
"No! We would defile the memory of Amaranth with this. He would never want us to do any of this!", said Tirene.
"Amaranth is dead. His peaceful approach got him and many of us killed. It's time we go into the offensive and take the initiative in this war. What we need are soldiers and more workers. Thats why we should capture more of those adventures. Force the male ones for slave labour and the female ones for breeding duty with the orcs.
Grugg slammed his fist on the desk. He was shaking.
"We....are...not...MONSTERS!"
"I know that Grugg. But we need soldiers asap. And orcs can reproduce with humans without problems and mature the fastest of all the races in this town."
Ceres looked into the round.
"We must not turn into the very thing we ar.."
"WE HAVE NO CHOICE! OUR WALLS CAN'T GET COMPLETELY MANNED AND WE ARE LOSING MORE SOLDIERS THAN WE CAN RECRUIT. HALF OF OUR POPULATION ARE ALREADY BOUND INTO MILITA DUTY: IF THIS GOES ON LIKE THAT WE WILL HAVE TO SEND THE CHILDREN; THE OLD AND DISABLED UP THE WALL!"
I tried to calm myself down. Everyone was looking on the ground again. Finally Golan started speaking.
"All of us here don't like this idea but he is right. We won't survive much longer like this. Those humans want to see us as worthless monsters. Then let's give them what they want. Let them fight against monsters and what we really can do and make them regret for what they did."
The old goblin sunk back into his chair.
"For our children and their future."
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[WP] You’re a peasant who’s house has been raided hundreds of times by adventurers passing through. So, you built a defense so they would stop stealing from you. One thing led to another, and your house is now a dungeon and you’re the final boss.
|
Having your farm on the only road between Alma Village and the Capital certainly has its advantages. It seems every adventurer, and I do mean every single one of them, passed by the road by my farm in their outset. Darius the Mountain, Dragon Tamer Fiona, Seymon of the Thousand Blades... I was sure I saw all of them, years before they became household names, barreling down the road towards the Capitol. It was cool seeing them walk without acknowledging you, and trying to guess which ones will become famous, and which ones will be Ogre food in a couple months.
What was not cool, however, is the amount of theft that went on. It was fun at first, telling people how once upon a time, Lady Cathy stopped by your farm to slaughter a few of your pigs, but the cost really racks up over time. And it's not just the pig, either; they were picking my Goldblossom, which I had strategically planted at various areas around my farm to maximize how long they have to walk to gather them all. Don't even get me started on the odd practice of skinning my pigs and leaving all the meat behind (OK, sometimes they take a tiny piece, but most of the time the whole thing is just left there, minus the skin, and I have to clean it up). Before long, they were inviting themselves into my house. I tried to be friendly, even offering them a few tried and true advice about farming and animal husbandry, if they were into that sort of thing (they never were). But deep down, I was fed up. Something's gotta give.
First it was just a fence. Unfortunately, it seems that waist high fences in scattered areas around the perimeter was not extremely effective in stopping adventurers (some also have the weird habit of jumping over them instead of, say, going around). Then it were the dogs, which didn't help much either. Oh, and they skinned the dogs too. Sickening! Then it was the Farmland Protector Golem 9000^tm . It cost a fortune, but at least it sort of worked. People were careful to avoid the area the golem was in, at least.
Well, that one drunken night a few weeks ago was probably not a good idea. More specifically, getting drunk and asking a passing mechanic (who bore a surprising resemblance to Blacknail the Mechanical Menace, I might add) to "do whatever you want" with that Golem was probably not a good idea. I wanted my farm to be safe, sure, but nothing could prepare me for the four dead bodies outside my farm the next morning. I must have spent the entire morning vomiting and trying to remember what happened the night before. No doubt they were adventurers, since the other farmers never left their farm as far as I know. I have seen a dead adventurer once before, years ago, when he simply stood there and was bitten to death by my dogs in around 40 minutes. I never really understood what that was all about.
Now back to that Farmland Protector Golem. It didn't seem to attack me, so I just went out and tried to clean up the mess best I can. They all had a couple silvers in their pockets, so I took them (not like they had a use for them, anyway). But, if I thought that a murderous death robot would stop adventurers from terrorizing my farm, then I was sorely mistaken. Hundreds came in the days after the incident, and they were all trying to kill the Golem. Over 90% of the times they failed, miserably, but if they succeed they would kill all my pigs (and skin them), dogs (and skin them), and pillage all my Goldblossoms. And, just because how many of them there were, they were trampling all the other plants as well. What had seemed like a victory only ended with those idiots harassing me even harder.
Desperate time called for desperate measures, and fortunately, with the sheer volume of dead adventurers on my doorstep, taking money out of their cold, dead pockets seemed to be an effective way of making ends meet. First I hired some cleaners. Taking care of hundreds of dead bodies daily really takes a toll on you. Then it was the tall perimeter fence. Keeping a murderous golem from running loose seemed to be a good idea. Then more dogs, ones with more training. Then farmhands, in part to help with farming, and in part to keep adventurers away. Then came the poisonous plants, since I was getting desperate. I even added some more fence in the middle of my farm to stop the adventurers from coming towards the golem, but they seem extremely adept at knocking holes in those.
Somewhere along the line, looting dead adventurers became more profitable than farming.
The guilds seems to like me, for whatever reason. "A beginner's dungeon" they called my farm, though the name of my farm is, and always has been "Stoneridge Farm." They said that clearing my "dungeon" was a sign that someone was ready to face real adventures, so they want everyone to come and try to deafeat my golem. Heck, one day I woke up to find one of those portal things that they use to transport adventurers to and from dungeons. Needless to say, the number of adventures who came has only increased since then.
In fact, there a group of them here right now. 5 of them, to be exact. The two tanks doesn't seem to know what they are doing, as they are standing in the poison cloud as one of my farmhand, decked out in some sick looking leather armor, is hitting them with his hoe. The healer is running from the pack of dogs, which is being ignored by the tanks. Oh well, looks like they are not getting past that boss today. Better start practicing that speech the guild wants me to read every time someone dies to that boss. Something about not standing in the poison clouds. Boring. At least that archer seems to have a nice looking hat. Hopefully she has some money in her pockets, the cleaners have been demanding a bonus after the golem took out that group of 200 dwarves.
As you can see, this is kind of inspired by a more MMORPG take on the prompt, more specifically a combination of Westfall's Harvest Goems and the Hoggar Raid.
|
**Oak Village.**
It was located on the border of the Earth and Central Province, near the southern tip of the Main Capital, outside a patch of small woodlands near the Great Forest of Kao.
For a frontier settlement, its population was unexceptional — a hundred souls, distributed among twenty families.
In turn, this makes us a common target. From marauding bandits to corrupted adventurers, we were vulnerable to their constant attacks and looting. We can only watch helplessly in bitterness and resentment as they steal away our hard\-earned gold and produce.
However, one day, I stumbled upon a Legendary\-Tier item, 「Staff of Creation」. Having it appraised by the Capital's sage, it was rumored to rival A\-tier weaponry in its potency and utility.
I even heard that it is on\-par with famous God\-tier accessories like 「Ring of Greed」 or 「Amulet of Power」 if I can utilize it properly. As a villager where our weapons such as longswords and daggers are at a flimsy E\-tier, this was incredible news.
「Staff of Creation」 allows me to materialize anything I imagine at the cost of my cognitive energy. Thankfully, I have been blessed a creative imagination. And it only takes me a few hours to recover before I can reuse it again.
A group of bandits appeared on the horizon as it was that wretched time again.
However, this time, I know the outcome will be different.
I held my rifle as I grinned, can't wait to try out my new weapons on our unexpected enemies.
♦ ♦ ♦
"Lets go," Baristol said in a sharp tone. The person who commanded us is our team leader, also famed as one of the best fighters in the Capital. He wore 'A\-class' plate armor that was trimmed with brilliant gold called 「Guardian's Blessing」, which can automatically repel any projectiles below C\-tier or 7th tier magic. "Similar to last time, take away any everything deemed valuable and useful but leave them enough food to survive for next time."
"Understood," I said in unison with my party members — Heil, Sein and Raz.
As we arrived at our destination, we noticed something was different.
Walls of alabaster\-stone surrounded the village in a menacing manner to any who wish to enter. It's as if castle wall was built to protect a mighty fortress in the middle, but instead, inside was a simple village.
"What happened?" I asked, not remembering this sight a few months ago. If I remember correctly, alabaster is one of the most expensive stones in the world.
"It's impossible that they can build something like with their resource and only one hundred people," Raz commented, he was our team's tactician. "My speculation is that they hired an adventurer from the guild. Judging from the complexity and expensiveness of the defense, I would say the enemy might be Diamond\-Tier...no... maybe even Master\-Tier."
Diamond\-Tier adventurers are greatly and widely respected in the world for their abilities and experiences. In other words, they were veterans who have fought countless battles.
However, Master\-Tier adventurers are a different story. They are conferred to only multiple talented adventurers that help resolve problems at the national level. Just one\-tier above Diamond, they are also one\-tier from the final ranking: Hero\-Tier.
You can say they are the elite of the elites.
"If that is the case, we should retreat," Sein muttered nervously, he was the ranger of the team. "We are probably around the level of Gold\-Tier or Platinum\-Tier. There's no way we can fight someone who is a Master\-Tier..."
"Do not worry, Sein, my friend," Heil, the co\-leader to our team, patted him on the shoulder. "Our boss is also a Diamond\-Tier before he retired from the guild. We can handle a Master\-Tier adventurer if we all group together and fight like we always do."
"It is reasonable to deduce that there is only one opponent. To hire a Master\-Tier would require a tremendous amount of gold. My guess is that a kind passerby to help them out," Raz said.
"As expected of Raz!" Heil smiled as our tension alleviated.
However, Baristol remained unusually silent, as if he is debating if we should persist with this raid. While we all prepared our gears, he muttered in a serene tone, "Keep in battle formation when we advance. We have to expect for the worst."
After a few minutes, we marched carefully towards the entrance. Typically at this point, the villagers would start to flee in fear while we casually stroll in and take anything we want.
Suddenly, near the gateway, a villager stood in the distance. A sigh of relief breezed through us as we realize that there were no signs of any adventurers.
"I guess the Master\-Tier left?" Sein said.
"Still, maintain formation, it could be a trap," Baristol ordered in a vigilant tone.
The villager was holding something odd: it resembled a crossbow but had some sort of optical\-glass on top and a long\-tiny barrel towards the end. It seems like he was aiming it at our direction.
"What an idiot," Heil chuckled, "There's no way a crossbow like that can do damage to us. Even if it's a magic weapon, we blessed our armors with defensive attributes."
Heil was right. Villagers do not have the proper weapons to handle us. Amongst the world of thieves, we are quite notorious ourselves. There's absolutely no need to worry, yet why do I feel like something bad is going to happen...?
Suddenly, we heard a loud booming BANG sound. As if the sky were torn by this sudden thundering noise. The birds near the forest of Kao flew away in response.
We looked up, wondering if there was a change in the weather. But to our shock, Sein had fallen to the ground in a small puddle of blood. On his chest was a fresh wound resembling a small but deep hole.
"What\-What's going on?!" Heil yelled, suddenly in a frenzy. "There's no way that something like that can tear through our armors. What is happening?!"
I looked into the distance as the villager seems to have finish reloading his weapon. He took another careful aim and fired.
BANG!
This time, Raz flew backward as I caught *something* darted inside his head. His head collapsed onto the ground with a THUD first before his body followed.
I never seen anything like this.
All magic spells, by the fundamental laws, require at least an incantation, casting time and mana pool. The fastest spells I know that can rival to this speed is 「Gusting Wind」, a 6th tier spell only veteran magicians can use. But this was something else... This was much faster and more powerful.
"Fall back," Baristol ordered as he held up his sword, "I will guard our rear. You two run."
"Let's go!" Heil was already running. I remained as curiosity got the best of me, wanting to watch how Baristole handles this situation. There's no way the famed mighty warrior can be defeated, after all, he has the Legendary\-Tier armor and won first place in the annual Warriors Tournament.
The villager notices Baristol's defensive stance and grabbed a different weapon. This time, it was much bigger and had instead of a long barrel it was much fatter. He held it by his waist and fired.
Instead of a singular sound like we expect it to be, we heard multiple tumultuous noises coming from the weapon. Baristol sliced through the incoming projectiles with acumen as he possesses Eagle's Eye, the martial passive ability that can see everything in a slow manner when activated. After a minute, the villager stopped firing.
I stared at Baristol. He stood there, seemingly triumphant from the attack.
As I walk up, I realized his armors were torn apart. His limbs were bleeding profusely but he was still conscious as he focused on protecting his vital organs. He spat out blood and said in a serious voice I never heard before,
"That weapon, it's not a crossbow or bow. It's something else, something very powerful. We won't be able to win against it..."
The villager is now walking towards us confidently, with two small weapons in his hand as he spins them around playfully.
"You won't win, against him. Run," Baristol barked in a desperate voice, pushing me away.
"But..."
"Trust me. I've fought Master\-Tier adventurers before. That weapon surpasses even Master\-Tier level adventurers by an unfathomable level. If I have to guess, it's probably a Hero\-Tier weapon." Baristol then smiled as if he accepted his death, "I guess it's time for me to pay for my sins after all these years. I'll buy you time while you run. Live a long and proud life, Xin."
I trembled in fear as he charged forward, yelling with all his might. I turned on my heels and dashed. Never have I felt more fear and despair in my entire life.
A mere villager just killed three of the best rogues I know.
*Has the world gone mad?*
I heard two loud BANG in the distance and my heart sank, Baristol had lost.
*Just who is that villager...?*
♦ ♦ ♦
[r/Avelist/](https://www.reddit.com/r/Avelist/) for more fantasy\-related stories.
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[WP] You’re a peasant who’s house has been raided hundreds of times by adventurers passing through. So, you built a defense so they would stop stealing from you. One thing led to another, and your house is now a dungeon and you’re the final boss.
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My daughter Isabella rolls her clear-sky eyes when I tell her to mind the gators. The pit cost me a proper fortune--hand-dug by a pair of burly dwarves who seemed less than faithful to the notion of fair business practices towards the end--yet you'd never catch Izzy admiring. No *Gee dad! Look at those pearly whites!* No, *holy smokes, those make me feel safe at home*. No. She and her new silk dress are just *twirl, swish, zoom* all the way up to her tower each and every time I mention her meds.
"You *don't* need to remind me dad!" her squeaky voice echoes down untold flights of stairs. "I'm not a mutt on a leash!"
"Are you crying?" I ask, de-activating the tripwires with muscle-memory as I climb the stone tower after her. "What did I--?"
*Slam.* *Clink.* *Crick*.
I've got to hand it to her. She's got the goblin-forged door locks down pat. I'd been worried about making such an investment, but she had no qualms slamming that notion right in my face.
After our arguments, I typically sigh and pour handbrewed moonshine into a glass by the fireplace. I collapse in my old rocker and drink beneath a waning lantern. The distillery is located on the ground floor of my fortress. It's the one thing I've left untouched after all these years. The barrels still have that mossy film that Paw swore gave the 'shine some aftertaste, and the bottles I use are all recycled mats from the olden days, when Izzy was just a squalling babe. As strange as it is to say, sometimes I wager *those were the days*.
Those days, I could've kept adventurers away as easily as lifting a bale of hay.
Those days, Izzy used to smile when I hummed her to sleep.
Those days, her mother had yet to cough up handfuls of blood.
Usually, after two or three glasses, I hear Izzy singing to the moon. Her songs are all laced with teardrops. I peek out discretely from the lower story windows, and each time I see why I have had such hardship. The girl looks just like her mother--the very same ashberry hair and little porcelain lips. The moon gleams off her eyes as she croons on the tower windowsill. Hell, she even has her mother's voice. It's no wonder adventurers from the four corners of the world have come to whisk her away. I'd done the same with her mother, what feels like a lifetime ago. There's some monkey knot of Fate that binds humans together like that. A pretty girl sings to the moon, and soon enough the boys stumble out of the bushes.
It's no wonder why she's grown to hate me. No matter how many trinkets I buy her, or the dresses I import, she trudges the hallways asking to see the world. If she were more like *me*, perhaps I could bear to see her go. Perhaps I would stop adding to this abominable fortress and let her live her damned life, carried away but this prince charming or that *next-in-line*. But she's gotten more of her mother than either of us could bargain for.
Her mother had the same affliction. And I cannot bear another bout of heartbreak.
Most mornings, I bring her a platter of bacon. I unwind the spike-traps, and hop over all the false steps, bowing low before her reinforced door with our usual peace treaty. "It's nature's miracle," I say with an apologetic smile. Most mornings, too, she apologizes in return. She chews on the bacon and shows me the progress of her pill minder--the days all writ in golden letters.
"Thank you," I say. "You know...your mother neglected..."
"I know dad. I'm sorry," she'd say, throwing her arms around me. I knew it was all in the name of placation. She'd eat her bacon, maybe flip me off as my boots echoed down the spiral stairs, but she'd have taken her pills. She'd have remained alive, and safe, and the universe remained balanced.
Yet, today, everything is off kilter. It's as if Atlas has let us roll off his back. I try using the platter to pry her door open, but my feet slip on all the blasted bacon grease. "Izzy!" I shout. "Are you alright in there?"
No answer, save silence.
I resort to using the acid from ground level moat. Eventually, the locks give--I suppose those goblins didn't think of everything. When I swing the door open, I fear the worst--a barrel chested prince protecting her with one arm. But Izzy is just...gone. Absent among billowing curtains.
Her bedsheets are gone too.
My heart flutters as I stumble to her windowsill. It's early yet--the moon is still out, caught in that strange tidepool of the in-between. Not quite morning, not quite night, just a clenched fist of confusion.
Her bedsheets are tied to the support beam of the planter.
My chest lurches as I see her crumpled and lifeless on the ground.
Amidst roiling emotion, I turn my bleary eyes towards the moon and let *loose*.
My fortress has undergone hundreds of changes. I've added boiling pots of oil to the ramparts and fashioned poison dragon spikes to the drawbridge. The moat itself has gone from water to lava to a steaming river of acid. Once, I'd even conscripted a *dragon* into patrolling the reception hall. I'd spent years protected my little girl from the outside, building her tower higher and higher away from anyone who might take her.
In the end, all I'd really needed to give her were a few more blankets.
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r/M0zark
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"Come! Bring your unholy army and face us!" Sir Galhadra called to the balcony. His voice ricocheted up the cylindrical face of cobblestones. The oak door had thudded shut, leaving him no choice but to face what would be unleashed upon him. With sword grasped tight and shield held close he advanced upon the iron bars across the circular room. As he approached he could see no more than an inch into the inky cell.
"Just....just what do you want?" A tired voice sounded from the blackness. A match struck up and cast a tiny glow across a robust and annoyed face. His head was rather bulbous, displaying a nose that a shovel had flattened and deep set eyes that twinkled as though he were a rat, peering out from his hole. The light danced away from the mans face and was greatly expanded with the ignition of an oil lamp. The man, now in uncomfortable clarity, was dressed in a bathrobe that had become a patchwork of multi-colored stains. He walked slowly toward the iron bars separating them. Slightly slouched forward, he made a soft grunt with every step.
"Just what do you want Mr...Mr.... Well? Mr. What?"
"Uh, um, Galhadra, uh, Sir Galhadra."
The bars began to ascend allowing Galhadra to enter the foul lair.
"No use for the Sir, I prefer chief or boss. And I heard ya the first time so no need to repeat yourself." The man said as he hobbled to a lavishly cushioned reclining seat. He hefted himself backwards into the chair and let loose a torrent of grunts and sighs as he struggled himself into position. "So... what do you want?"
Galhadra let his arms slump and jaw drop. "To uh, um, rid the world of, uh. Who are you exactly?"
The man struggled upright and poked a fat finger toward Galhadra. "You broke into my house. That's who I am. Now what do you want?" He growled, voice cracking as he spoke the final word. He collapsed into a coughing fit, rasping to catch his breath.
"This is your *house*?" Galhadra asked looking once more around the gray and black cobblestone tower.
"Well it used to be. Until you 'Heroes' kept knocking it down looking for gold in the ceiling. Which still would have been my gold! That reminds me. Ahem." The man stuck out his jaw and extended an open palm toward Galhadra. The knight looked at the mans splotchy mitt bewildered, then quickly reached into his pouch and deposited his ill gotten gold pieces into the mans hand.
"So...you live here?" Galhadra asked, still trying to process this new torrent of information.
"Yup. Have all my life. Had about thirty good years before you lot showed up." The man said, clasping his hands across his belly and staring up at the ceiling.
"Have I been decieved? I was told there was a hideous goblin who held a great....treasure....hoard...." Galhadra trailed off as he looked back into the unamused mans face.
"Yea. Cute story huh?" The man said tilting his head away. "Bastards."
"What transpired in these halls? What caused such hostilities?" Galhadra asked as softly as he could.
"Oh y'know. I'm about a quarter mile from the main city where adventurers congregate. One week I forget to mow my lawn. Someone breaks in and tries to steal from me. I run him off thinking that's the end of it and I'll get to the yard tomorrow. But oooh no. No, the next day, the damn thief shows up with four of his best friends and says that this hut's been abandoned and bandits are using it as a refuge. Gents that they are, they break in and steal all my stuff. So I make a few walls to keep people out. Now my home is a "bandit fortress" and every couple of weeks new people show up to steal my shit. So I figure, in for a penny in for a pound, I'll put in a damn moat. You know how hard it is to buy, transport and take care of four alligators? Really fucking hard mate. But no, I say stiff upper lip, this'll do the job. Wrong-o, come home from the grocer to find that they've ransacked the whole place and have relabeled it a "rogue baron's lair". I'm literally the only man who lives here. I did this all myself. So to wrap things up, no matter what I do, people keep breaking in here because they think it's a jolly good adventure. Now you're telling me they've started calling me a goblin. Oh that's real pleasant. By the by, if you're looking for a treasure trove of gold, I haven't got one. Most all the money I make goes into the upkeep of this god forsaken place. I mean, for mercy's sake, I'm a pensioner. Sargent in the Kings Crusade against the spider demons. But now I'm a dungeon goblin. Some thank's I get."
"You have my deepest sympathies and most heartfelt apologies. Do you want me to fix the doors or reset the traps on my way out? Can I get you anything to help?" Galhadra asked searchingly.
"Yea, next time something says 'keep out' maybe, I dunno, keep out? Not that hard eh?"
"Yea, uh, sorry again. Thank you for your service. Do I just.... out the way I came?" Galhadra asked, slowly backing towards the oak doors.
"Yea, they're unlocked. Wouldn't be much use if they locked from the outside would it?" The man asked.
"Sorry again." Galhadra said again, slipping through the shutting doors.
The man sat still and let out a sigh. He reached into his pocket and brought out a notebook and pencil.
"Spike pit. This'll learn em...."
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[WP] You’re a peasant who’s house has been raided hundreds of times by adventurers passing through. So, you built a defense so they would stop stealing from you. One thing led to another, and your house is now a dungeon and you’re the final boss.
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Having your farm on the only road between Alma Village and the Capital certainly has its advantages. It seems every adventurer, and I do mean every single one of them, passed by the road by my farm in their outset. Darius the Mountain, Dragon Tamer Fiona, Seymon of the Thousand Blades... I was sure I saw all of them, years before they became household names, barreling down the road towards the Capitol. It was cool seeing them walk without acknowledging you, and trying to guess which ones will become famous, and which ones will be Ogre food in a couple months.
What was not cool, however, is the amount of theft that went on. It was fun at first, telling people how once upon a time, Lady Cathy stopped by your farm to slaughter a few of your pigs, but the cost really racks up over time. And it's not just the pig, either; they were picking my Goldblossom, which I had strategically planted at various areas around my farm to maximize how long they have to walk to gather them all. Don't even get me started on the odd practice of skinning my pigs and leaving all the meat behind (OK, sometimes they take a tiny piece, but most of the time the whole thing is just left there, minus the skin, and I have to clean it up). Before long, they were inviting themselves into my house. I tried to be friendly, even offering them a few tried and true advice about farming and animal husbandry, if they were into that sort of thing (they never were). But deep down, I was fed up. Something's gotta give.
First it was just a fence. Unfortunately, it seems that waist high fences in scattered areas around the perimeter was not extremely effective in stopping adventurers (some also have the weird habit of jumping over them instead of, say, going around). Then it were the dogs, which didn't help much either. Oh, and they skinned the dogs too. Sickening! Then it was the Farmland Protector Golem 9000^tm . It cost a fortune, but at least it sort of worked. People were careful to avoid the area the golem was in, at least.
Well, that one drunken night a few weeks ago was probably not a good idea. More specifically, getting drunk and asking a passing mechanic (who bore a surprising resemblance to Blacknail the Mechanical Menace, I might add) to "do whatever you want" with that Golem was probably not a good idea. I wanted my farm to be safe, sure, but nothing could prepare me for the four dead bodies outside my farm the next morning. I must have spent the entire morning vomiting and trying to remember what happened the night before. No doubt they were adventurers, since the other farmers never left their farm as far as I know. I have seen a dead adventurer once before, years ago, when he simply stood there and was bitten to death by my dogs in around 40 minutes. I never really understood what that was all about.
Now back to that Farmland Protector Golem. It didn't seem to attack me, so I just went out and tried to clean up the mess best I can. They all had a couple silvers in their pockets, so I took them (not like they had a use for them, anyway). But, if I thought that a murderous death robot would stop adventurers from terrorizing my farm, then I was sorely mistaken. Hundreds came in the days after the incident, and they were all trying to kill the Golem. Over 90% of the times they failed, miserably, but if they succeed they would kill all my pigs (and skin them), dogs (and skin them), and pillage all my Goldblossoms. And, just because how many of them there were, they were trampling all the other plants as well. What had seemed like a victory only ended with those idiots harassing me even harder.
Desperate time called for desperate measures, and fortunately, with the sheer volume of dead adventurers on my doorstep, taking money out of their cold, dead pockets seemed to be an effective way of making ends meet. First I hired some cleaners. Taking care of hundreds of dead bodies daily really takes a toll on you. Then it was the tall perimeter fence. Keeping a murderous golem from running loose seemed to be a good idea. Then more dogs, ones with more training. Then farmhands, in part to help with farming, and in part to keep adventurers away. Then came the poisonous plants, since I was getting desperate. I even added some more fence in the middle of my farm to stop the adventurers from coming towards the golem, but they seem extremely adept at knocking holes in those.
Somewhere along the line, looting dead adventurers became more profitable than farming.
The guilds seems to like me, for whatever reason. "A beginner's dungeon" they called my farm, though the name of my farm is, and always has been "Stoneridge Farm." They said that clearing my "dungeon" was a sign that someone was ready to face real adventures, so they want everyone to come and try to deafeat my golem. Heck, one day I woke up to find one of those portal things that they use to transport adventurers to and from dungeons. Needless to say, the number of adventures who came has only increased since then.
In fact, there a group of them here right now. 5 of them, to be exact. The two tanks doesn't seem to know what they are doing, as they are standing in the poison cloud as one of my farmhand, decked out in some sick looking leather armor, is hitting them with his hoe. The healer is running from the pack of dogs, which is being ignored by the tanks. Oh well, looks like they are not getting past that boss today. Better start practicing that speech the guild wants me to read every time someone dies to that boss. Something about not standing in the poison clouds. Boring. At least that archer seems to have a nice looking hat. Hopefully she has some money in her pockets, the cleaners have been demanding a bonus after the golem took out that group of 200 dwarves.
As you can see, this is kind of inspired by a more MMORPG take on the prompt, more specifically a combination of Westfall's Harvest Goems and the Hoggar Raid.
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"Come! Bring your unholy army and face us!" Sir Galhadra called to the balcony. His voice ricocheted up the cylindrical face of cobblestones. The oak door had thudded shut, leaving him no choice but to face what would be unleashed upon him. With sword grasped tight and shield held close he advanced upon the iron bars across the circular room. As he approached he could see no more than an inch into the inky cell.
"Just....just what do you want?" A tired voice sounded from the blackness. A match struck up and cast a tiny glow across a robust and annoyed face. His head was rather bulbous, displaying a nose that a shovel had flattened and deep set eyes that twinkled as though he were a rat, peering out from his hole. The light danced away from the mans face and was greatly expanded with the ignition of an oil lamp. The man, now in uncomfortable clarity, was dressed in a bathrobe that had become a patchwork of multi-colored stains. He walked slowly toward the iron bars separating them. Slightly slouched forward, he made a soft grunt with every step.
"Just what do you want Mr...Mr.... Well? Mr. What?"
"Uh, um, Galhadra, uh, Sir Galhadra."
The bars began to ascend allowing Galhadra to enter the foul lair.
"No use for the Sir, I prefer chief or boss. And I heard ya the first time so no need to repeat yourself." The man said as he hobbled to a lavishly cushioned reclining seat. He hefted himself backwards into the chair and let loose a torrent of grunts and sighs as he struggled himself into position. "So... what do you want?"
Galhadra let his arms slump and jaw drop. "To uh, um, rid the world of, uh. Who are you exactly?"
The man struggled upright and poked a fat finger toward Galhadra. "You broke into my house. That's who I am. Now what do you want?" He growled, voice cracking as he spoke the final word. He collapsed into a coughing fit, rasping to catch his breath.
"This is your *house*?" Galhadra asked looking once more around the gray and black cobblestone tower.
"Well it used to be. Until you 'Heroes' kept knocking it down looking for gold in the ceiling. Which still would have been my gold! That reminds me. Ahem." The man stuck out his jaw and extended an open palm toward Galhadra. The knight looked at the mans splotchy mitt bewildered, then quickly reached into his pouch and deposited his ill gotten gold pieces into the mans hand.
"So...you live here?" Galhadra asked, still trying to process this new torrent of information.
"Yup. Have all my life. Had about thirty good years before you lot showed up." The man said, clasping his hands across his belly and staring up at the ceiling.
"Have I been decieved? I was told there was a hideous goblin who held a great....treasure....hoard...." Galhadra trailed off as he looked back into the unamused mans face.
"Yea. Cute story huh?" The man said tilting his head away. "Bastards."
"What transpired in these halls? What caused such hostilities?" Galhadra asked as softly as he could.
"Oh y'know. I'm about a quarter mile from the main city where adventurers congregate. One week I forget to mow my lawn. Someone breaks in and tries to steal from me. I run him off thinking that's the end of it and I'll get to the yard tomorrow. But oooh no. No, the next day, the damn thief shows up with four of his best friends and says that this hut's been abandoned and bandits are using it as a refuge. Gents that they are, they break in and steal all my stuff. So I make a few walls to keep people out. Now my home is a "bandit fortress" and every couple of weeks new people show up to steal my shit. So I figure, in for a penny in for a pound, I'll put in a damn moat. You know how hard it is to buy, transport and take care of four alligators? Really fucking hard mate. But no, I say stiff upper lip, this'll do the job. Wrong-o, come home from the grocer to find that they've ransacked the whole place and have relabeled it a "rogue baron's lair". I'm literally the only man who lives here. I did this all myself. So to wrap things up, no matter what I do, people keep breaking in here because they think it's a jolly good adventure. Now you're telling me they've started calling me a goblin. Oh that's real pleasant. By the by, if you're looking for a treasure trove of gold, I haven't got one. Most all the money I make goes into the upkeep of this god forsaken place. I mean, for mercy's sake, I'm a pensioner. Sargent in the Kings Crusade against the spider demons. But now I'm a dungeon goblin. Some thank's I get."
"You have my deepest sympathies and most heartfelt apologies. Do you want me to fix the doors or reset the traps on my way out? Can I get you anything to help?" Galhadra asked searchingly.
"Yea, next time something says 'keep out' maybe, I dunno, keep out? Not that hard eh?"
"Yea, uh, sorry again. Thank you for your service. Do I just.... out the way I came?" Galhadra asked, slowly backing towards the oak doors.
"Yea, they're unlocked. Wouldn't be much use if they locked from the outside would it?" The man asked.
"Sorry again." Galhadra said again, slipping through the shutting doors.
The man sat still and let out a sigh. He reached into his pocket and brought out a notebook and pencil.
"Spike pit. This'll learn em...."
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[WP] You’re a peasant who’s house has been raided hundreds of times by adventurers passing through. So, you built a defense so they would stop stealing from you. One thing led to another, and your house is now a dungeon and you’re the final boss.
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Having your farm on the only road between Alma Village and the Capital certainly has its advantages. It seems every adventurer, and I do mean every single one of them, passed by the road by my farm in their outset. Darius the Mountain, Dragon Tamer Fiona, Seymon of the Thousand Blades... I was sure I saw all of them, years before they became household names, barreling down the road towards the Capitol. It was cool seeing them walk without acknowledging you, and trying to guess which ones will become famous, and which ones will be Ogre food in a couple months.
What was not cool, however, is the amount of theft that went on. It was fun at first, telling people how once upon a time, Lady Cathy stopped by your farm to slaughter a few of your pigs, but the cost really racks up over time. And it's not just the pig, either; they were picking my Goldblossom, which I had strategically planted at various areas around my farm to maximize how long they have to walk to gather them all. Don't even get me started on the odd practice of skinning my pigs and leaving all the meat behind (OK, sometimes they take a tiny piece, but most of the time the whole thing is just left there, minus the skin, and I have to clean it up). Before long, they were inviting themselves into my house. I tried to be friendly, even offering them a few tried and true advice about farming and animal husbandry, if they were into that sort of thing (they never were). But deep down, I was fed up. Something's gotta give.
First it was just a fence. Unfortunately, it seems that waist high fences in scattered areas around the perimeter was not extremely effective in stopping adventurers (some also have the weird habit of jumping over them instead of, say, going around). Then it were the dogs, which didn't help much either. Oh, and they skinned the dogs too. Sickening! Then it was the Farmland Protector Golem 9000^tm . It cost a fortune, but at least it sort of worked. People were careful to avoid the area the golem was in, at least.
Well, that one drunken night a few weeks ago was probably not a good idea. More specifically, getting drunk and asking a passing mechanic (who bore a surprising resemblance to Blacknail the Mechanical Menace, I might add) to "do whatever you want" with that Golem was probably not a good idea. I wanted my farm to be safe, sure, but nothing could prepare me for the four dead bodies outside my farm the next morning. I must have spent the entire morning vomiting and trying to remember what happened the night before. No doubt they were adventurers, since the other farmers never left their farm as far as I know. I have seen a dead adventurer once before, years ago, when he simply stood there and was bitten to death by my dogs in around 40 minutes. I never really understood what that was all about.
Now back to that Farmland Protector Golem. It didn't seem to attack me, so I just went out and tried to clean up the mess best I can. They all had a couple silvers in their pockets, so I took them (not like they had a use for them, anyway). But, if I thought that a murderous death robot would stop adventurers from terrorizing my farm, then I was sorely mistaken. Hundreds came in the days after the incident, and they were all trying to kill the Golem. Over 90% of the times they failed, miserably, but if they succeed they would kill all my pigs (and skin them), dogs (and skin them), and pillage all my Goldblossoms. And, just because how many of them there were, they were trampling all the other plants as well. What had seemed like a victory only ended with those idiots harassing me even harder.
Desperate time called for desperate measures, and fortunately, with the sheer volume of dead adventurers on my doorstep, taking money out of their cold, dead pockets seemed to be an effective way of making ends meet. First I hired some cleaners. Taking care of hundreds of dead bodies daily really takes a toll on you. Then it was the tall perimeter fence. Keeping a murderous golem from running loose seemed to be a good idea. Then more dogs, ones with more training. Then farmhands, in part to help with farming, and in part to keep adventurers away. Then came the poisonous plants, since I was getting desperate. I even added some more fence in the middle of my farm to stop the adventurers from coming towards the golem, but they seem extremely adept at knocking holes in those.
Somewhere along the line, looting dead adventurers became more profitable than farming.
The guilds seems to like me, for whatever reason. "A beginner's dungeon" they called my farm, though the name of my farm is, and always has been "Stoneridge Farm." They said that clearing my "dungeon" was a sign that someone was ready to face real adventures, so they want everyone to come and try to deafeat my golem. Heck, one day I woke up to find one of those portal things that they use to transport adventurers to and from dungeons. Needless to say, the number of adventures who came has only increased since then.
In fact, there a group of them here right now. 5 of them, to be exact. The two tanks doesn't seem to know what they are doing, as they are standing in the poison cloud as one of my farmhand, decked out in some sick looking leather armor, is hitting them with his hoe. The healer is running from the pack of dogs, which is being ignored by the tanks. Oh well, looks like they are not getting past that boss today. Better start practicing that speech the guild wants me to read every time someone dies to that boss. Something about not standing in the poison clouds. Boring. At least that archer seems to have a nice looking hat. Hopefully she has some money in her pockets, the cleaners have been demanding a bonus after the golem took out that group of 200 dwarves.
As you can see, this is kind of inspired by a more MMORPG take on the prompt, more specifically a combination of Westfall's Harvest Goems and the Hoggar Raid.
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My daughter Isabella rolls her clear-sky eyes when I tell her to mind the gators. The pit cost me a proper fortune--hand-dug by a pair of burly dwarves who seemed less than faithful to the notion of fair business practices towards the end--yet you'd never catch Izzy admiring. No *Gee dad! Look at those pearly whites!* No, *holy smokes, those make me feel safe at home*. No. She and her new silk dress are just *twirl, swish, zoom* all the way up to her tower each and every time I mention her meds.
"You *don't* need to remind me dad!" her squeaky voice echoes down untold flights of stairs. "I'm not a mutt on a leash!"
"Are you crying?" I ask, de-activating the tripwires with muscle-memory as I climb the stone tower after her. "What did I--?"
*Slam.* *Clink.* *Crick*.
I've got to hand it to her. She's got the goblin-forged door locks down pat. I'd been worried about making such an investment, but she had no qualms slamming that notion right in my face.
After our arguments, I typically sigh and pour handbrewed moonshine into a glass by the fireplace. I collapse in my old rocker and drink beneath a waning lantern. The distillery is located on the ground floor of my fortress. It's the one thing I've left untouched after all these years. The barrels still have that mossy film that Paw swore gave the 'shine some aftertaste, and the bottles I use are all recycled mats from the olden days, when Izzy was just a squalling babe. As strange as it is to say, sometimes I wager *those were the days*.
Those days, I could've kept adventurers away as easily as lifting a bale of hay.
Those days, Izzy used to smile when I hummed her to sleep.
Those days, her mother had yet to cough up handfuls of blood.
Usually, after two or three glasses, I hear Izzy singing to the moon. Her songs are all laced with teardrops. I peek out discretely from the lower story windows, and each time I see why I have had such hardship. The girl looks just like her mother--the very same ashberry hair and little porcelain lips. The moon gleams off her eyes as she croons on the tower windowsill. Hell, she even has her mother's voice. It's no wonder adventurers from the four corners of the world have come to whisk her away. I'd done the same with her mother, what feels like a lifetime ago. There's some monkey knot of Fate that binds humans together like that. A pretty girl sings to the moon, and soon enough the boys stumble out of the bushes.
It's no wonder why she's grown to hate me. No matter how many trinkets I buy her, or the dresses I import, she trudges the hallways asking to see the world. If she were more like *me*, perhaps I could bear to see her go. Perhaps I would stop adding to this abominable fortress and let her live her damned life, carried away but this prince charming or that *next-in-line*. But she's gotten more of her mother than either of us could bargain for.
Her mother had the same affliction. And I cannot bear another bout of heartbreak.
Most mornings, I bring her a platter of bacon. I unwind the spike-traps, and hop over all the false steps, bowing low before her reinforced door with our usual peace treaty. "It's nature's miracle," I say with an apologetic smile. Most mornings, too, she apologizes in return. She chews on the bacon and shows me the progress of her pill minder--the days all writ in golden letters.
"Thank you," I say. "You know...your mother neglected..."
"I know dad. I'm sorry," she'd say, throwing her arms around me. I knew it was all in the name of placation. She'd eat her bacon, maybe flip me off as my boots echoed down the spiral stairs, but she'd have taken her pills. She'd have remained alive, and safe, and the universe remained balanced.
Yet, today, everything is off kilter. It's as if Atlas has let us roll off his back. I try using the platter to pry her door open, but my feet slip on all the blasted bacon grease. "Izzy!" I shout. "Are you alright in there?"
No answer, save silence.
I resort to using the acid from ground level moat. Eventually, the locks give--I suppose those goblins didn't think of everything. When I swing the door open, I fear the worst--a barrel chested prince protecting her with one arm. But Izzy is just...gone. Absent among billowing curtains.
Her bedsheets are gone too.
My heart flutters as I stumble to her windowsill. It's early yet--the moon is still out, caught in that strange tidepool of the in-between. Not quite morning, not quite night, just a clenched fist of confusion.
Her bedsheets are tied to the support beam of the planter.
My chest lurches as I see her crumpled and lifeless on the ground.
Amidst roiling emotion, I turn my bleary eyes towards the moon and let *loose*.
My fortress has undergone hundreds of changes. I've added boiling pots of oil to the ramparts and fashioned poison dragon spikes to the drawbridge. The moat itself has gone from water to lava to a steaming river of acid. Once, I'd even conscripted a *dragon* into patrolling the reception hall. I'd spent years protected my little girl from the outside, building her tower higher and higher away from anyone who might take her.
In the end, all I'd really needed to give her were a few more blankets.
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r/M0zark
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[WP] When you die you are brought back to the time you last said "Save" like in a video game, Your last words were "Please Save me"
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It’s a curse. A horrifyingly ironic curse. A curse that is specifically designed to fuck with me in my last moments.
I do a quick pirouette in the air, and now before a sudden and agonizing pain hits me all at once. I turn into spaghetti sauce.
“Please save me...” The cutscene version of me whispers as it jumps off the roof of the skyscraper. I gain motion controls right after the railing is a little too far away to grab but I make the routine grasp anyway.
No luck. My fingertips brush the edge of the icy pole and I start falling again.
The first one hundred times I was resurrected I had tried every way to save myself or survive the fall somehow. My addled and freaked out brain had thought this was a second chance from God.
“Yes... oh thank you, thank you so much!” I had sobbed. I truly believed that there was a way out and that I wasn’t meant to die here. I was being given another life.
The next hundred times I grew a lot more cynical. Instead I thought this was divine punishment for committing suicide. I was destined to be trapped in a loop, not able to survive, but not able to die like I had longed for.
I barely flinched as the ground came up to meet me once more. The world flickers.
“Please save me...” The cutscene whispers and jumps off the skyscraper again.
Now I know this for what it is. A curse. I must have sold my soul to the devil in exchange for beating a video game or something, not knowing that he had lovingly crafted a torturous exit just to suit me. Maybe if I had baked my entire life I would’ve ended up dying in an oven. Maybe if I had devoted my life to skiing I would’ve been eaten by a yeti. Instead I had decided I wanted to play video games my entire existence and ended up dying in a save loop.
I guess it wasn’t the worst way to spend purgatory. The actual death was painful but short and I usually got two or three minutes to enjoy doing something. For half an hour I had pretended to be Goku and yelled the entire way down. Other times I tried to turn my clothes into a parachute. Now I was fulfilling someone’s lifelong dream of being a ballerina.
I did a graceful leap through the air and ended up dying midsplit.
I clutched my crotch painfully as I respawned. Maybe I should try a new profession.
I then decided to become an opera singer. I would be world famous! Everyone would come around to hear the voice of someone who trained it for decades in purgatory.
I sang the whole of the Phantom of the Opera three hundred times, conducting an imaginary crowd with a scrap of plastic in my pocket. Sure, the people watching my decent gave me some strange looks but it felt worth it.
I finished my career on the highest note I had ever hit and gave a breathless bow. I was incredible. But now I was also bored again.
You can only sing through an opera so many times before it becomes a little stale.
I fished my phone out of my pocket to check the time, 3:15 as always, when I noticed a tiny icon blinking on the corner of the screen. Hesitantly I clicked it and a pop up appeared.
Respawn to last save: On
I had just enough time to process what that meant before I was smashed to pieces.
The pain felt much more painful than usual and I was gasping as I came back to life. I was also crying. For the first time in the years I had spent here I felt the deep, rasping sobs shake my entire body.
It had been there the whole time. I could’ve escaped from this hell the entire fucking time. The painful realization was so horrific it took me a couple of deaths to snap out of it.
I finally managed to work up the nerve to grab my phone again and I furiously tapped at the off button. Finally I was going to be free.
It was only then that I realized that meant that I would die for real. I spent my final moments screaming.
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It seemed like forever ago since I took my first dying breath.
My mind was hazy, my hand dripping with blood.
"Please save me!" I cried out in agony, my conscience reaching for an answer.
A man lunged towards me, object in hand.
With a thunk I hit the floor, my vision beginning to clear
The reality swept me off my feet, and plunged me down into the shadows.
I repent unendingly, the knife still in my hand
Lying before my victims...
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[WP] For hundreds of years a monster has terrorized your village. After it kills your family during its rampage, you decide to destroy it once and for all. You embark on a perilous journey of revenge only to find that the monster you have been searching for has been slain by an even bigger threat.
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She blinked rapidly, clearing the haze from her eyes. She was covered in sweat again and could feel the dampness of her sheets. She stood up and walked to the balcony, throwing the doors wide. The cool winter air felt comforting on her feverish body.
It was the same nightmare. It was the same nightmare she had had every night for the past ten years. She was standing at the top of the waterfall with her son Aliu, looking out across Evangelia. Her husband Jeyra was playing on the riverbank with baby Tiram. Everyone was smiling and basking in the sun.
The beautiful scene was the disrupted by a crash in the trees. Light blue skin and gnashing teeth turned Jeyra and Tiram into a mess of flesh and blood that stained the river red. Aliu tried to wade through the river to her, but was caught by the beast’s blue claws. Anais reached for him as he screamed in terror, but she slipped on a rock and crashed into the river. Her body careened down the waterfall and she lay unconscious in the pool at the bottom of the falls.
That was always when she woke up. The guilt had not dissipated in those ten years since she had lost them. The anger though had grown. Each time another family was killed and the Elders didn't do anything about it, she was filled with rage. At first, she went to the Council meetings and screamed her anger at their inaction. But after being dismissed as an unstable woman each time for several years, she had enough and stopped going. The excuse was always the same \- the family had abandoned the mission of the Elders and had defected to the Village of Dissenters. The Elders said that whole families could not be killed by any beast of the ground, so clearly they must be defecting. Anais had been the only one to see the beast and survive.
Anais had been preparing for months and on this, the tenth anniversary of their deaths, she was going to exact her revenge. She had packed the night before and looked over at Marlowe.
"You ready, pup?"
Marlowe's ears perked up at her name, but she remained glued to the floor.
"I need you. I need your nose."
Marlowe stretched and gave a yip of assent.
Anais and Marlowe set out in the cold, wintry morning. Anais had been tracking the family disappearances for the last few years and had traced them all back to the top of waterfall, more or less.
When they reached the top of the falls, she paused momentarily to pay respect to her family. The rocks in the river were covered in green moss, just as slick as that day ten years ago.
She knew the beast was large, at least the height of the central building in the village, so she looked for signs of destruction in the forest. It looked like the beast did not deviate from a few favored exits to the river as, there were only a few disturbances in the dense forest.
She and Marlowe pushed through one of the disturbed areas. An acrid scent assaulted her nose and she knew they were on the right path. It probably had not been long since the beast had been here.
The sounds of the river faded quickly with the density of the forest surrounding them. The canopy overhead obscured most of the daylight. Only an occasional ray made it through to illuminate the dark adapted eyes of the forest floor fauna.
The ground beneath her feet was starting to become damper, almost swamp\-like. It seemed that the river tributaries stretched further than the villagers had been able to map. Even the branches she pushed out of her way were moist and mossy.
Her steps became more difficult as the mud sucked at her feet. The forest was quiet except for the sickening sucking sounds of her feet. Marlowe walked more deftly, jumping over the brambles.
Suddenly, Marlowe stopped, one front paw hanging in the air, mid\-step. The fur on her back bristled.
Anais peered ahead in the dark, her eyes now adjusted to the darkness of the forest. She could see a series of pools of water leading to what appeared to be the entrance to a partially submerged cave. She adjusted the sword in her belt and approached cautiously. The beast had looked like a hydrophile that day at the top of the waterfall with the smooth blue skin of a fish.
At the rocky entrance, she ducked down slightly. She could tell that she and Marlowe would not have to submerge themselves, but that the water would probably come up to her waist at least.
She began wading forward and quickly the water passed her shoulders and reached the bottom of her ears. Despite the dense dark forest behind them, there seemed to be some light emanating from inside the cave. Marlowe swam along beside her, occasionally uttering a low growl.
The water was frigid at first and Anais was surprised it had not frozen over in the winter. But as they moved deeper into the cave, it began to warm, almost to the temperature of a pleasant bath. As the water warmed, it became shallower, opening into a large cavern. Anais could see the source of the light now. The walls of the cave glimmered from a coating of bioluminescent plants. It was almost beautiful were they not in the cave of the animal that had killed her entire family.
She sensed that perhaps the animal was not in its cave. She would have expected that it should have sensed their presence. The acrid smell that she felt at the entrance was palpable now – they were nearly there.
In a clearing in the cave, she could see many piles of bones from the creatures the beast had preyed upon. Many appeared human, but there were others there of shapes and sizes that she did not recognize as animals that lived in or around the village. It seemed that either the beast was quite old or it had migrated very far to capture and eat all of other creatures.
The fur on Marlowe's back remained bristled. Anais could sense that something was not right as well.
They turned a corner to discover a brilliant white light, much different from the blue bioluminescence of the cave plants. There, in what appeared to be the sleeping place of the beast, stood a man. Anais was confused. She had seen no one else enter the cave and nobody had been in the clearings near the river that led to the cave. So where had he come from?
The man was standing in a beam of white light. In his hand was a sword covered in crimson. The man had just removed the sword from the blue beast sprawled under his feet, lifeless. This stranger had killed the beast upon which she sought her revenge. She felt both relief at the death of the beast and anger that she had not been the one to fell the creature.
In the white light, the animal appeared less grotesque than she had remembered from that day ten years ago. It now looked just like any other creature of the earth. A beast with primal urges to eat and survive. For an instant, she felt mournful at the loss of another life.
The man wiped the crimson from his blade on the ground and rinsed it in a pool beside his feet. He became aware that another presence had joined him in the cave and spun to look at Anais.
“Well hello!” he said jovially.
Anais was surprised at the tone of his voice. She had never seen him before \- he was not one of the villagers and she thought that he should have some accent if he was one of the Dissenters.
“How have you come to this place?” he asked.
She still couldn't find any words.
The man began to walk toward Anais, sheathing his sword as he did so.
As he approached, Marlowe began to growl and bark at him. Anais tried to calm her, but Marlowe gnashed her teeth and foamed at the mouth.
“Marlowe!” Anais hissed.
Marlowe sat at her feet, but kept her teeth bared silently.
“Madam,” the man said. “How have you come to be in this cave? I came here to take this beast as a trophy. It is a great hunter and I, the greater hunter.”
Anais stammered, “I… it, it killed my family. I came here for revenge.”
“Oh I'm so sorry!” said the man with a laugh. “Had I known that you had a blood grudge against this beast I should certainly have allowed you the opportunity to kill it! But no matter! There are other beasts in this land needing slaying.” He smiled again.
“I am Veloni of Idet. I have come here to hunt rare beasts for sport.”
“I am Anais from the Evangelia.”
“Well Anais, you are most impressive to have made the perilous journey up to this creature's lair. Through the mountain, up the river, traversing the putrid feculent passages of this cave and avoiding the poisonous walls.”
Anais nodded slightly. “Just here to settle old debts.”
“Tell me Anais, are other members of your village so adept and strong willed as you?”
Marlowe stood again and growled softly through bared teeth.
“Certainly not the elders! But we are a village of hard workers I suppose.” Anais was beginning to feel uneasy. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh I just like to learn more about the fauna of the places I visit,” said Veloni.
“Fauna? That's a strange way to refer to people from another village,” she said quizzically.
“Ah, yes.” The corners of his lips turned up in a malevolent smile. “Where are my manners?”
Anais could not put her finger on what happened next, but Veloni's eyes flashed almost imperceptibly. For just a blink, they appeared animalistic, inhuman. In that flash, he was suddenly next to her.
“Well Anais. Thank you for demonstrating your physical and mental prowess by making it here.”
Suddenly she felt a sharp pain in her ribs and Marlowe's growl was silenced by a high pitched yelp.
“I can't have you going back and warning the rest of the humans that they are going to make excellent slaves.” Veloni's eyes flashed again.
Anais looked down and saw the glint of red blood on Veloni's sword as he pulled it from between her ribs.
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I had climbed Mt. Gold to kill the dragon of old. He had laid hellfire on our village for generations, but we were mere farmers. In a way, I had always been the chosen one. I pulled like an ox the others would say, I was stronger than 3 men. I was faster than the ferocious he\-tiger that stole babes in the night. I had killed the great snake Shekan. And married the most beautiful woman in our small blot on the land of our fathers. Together we had a children, and in the comforts of fatherhood, of high yield crops, in the flourishing straw huts, I had admittedly avoided the dragon. That was a big mistake.
It swooped one day when the village winked away the sun, in the mask of darkness it left globs of its sticky hot balls of flame in the wake. The children screamed, men grabbed their farm tools, and woman cried over the dead. I opened the door of my home, only to see the village my father and his fathers before him had called home in a world of flames.
I don't know when it hit, but I can still feel the fires licking the shoulders behind me. When I came to, the earth was a wisping coal coughing up its last glow. I turned to see them in statues of ash, my wife's arms still wrapped around my two sons. And in my grief I cried to the skies above.
The rage that built upon my shoulders should have weighed me down as I scaled the mountain. I had nothing but a good scythe in my hands, it had been passed down from one man after the other in my family, for as long as anyone remembered them. In its handle were the souls of men, many greater than I, their tears, their blood, their sweat. At the end of the blade, it had known nothing other than the fibrous cells that sprung from the Earth itself. But today, as I stared down the cave of this flighted creature, that would all change.
It bore its fangs at me, not an ounce of intelligence behind its maddening eyes. It was nothing mythical, nor magical as some have said. No. It was nothing but a beast. A creature of pure hatred, that ate from the sky, the land, and the sea. It picked up a rock from between its snout, chewing it to a crumbled mess, sparking the fat that had fallen off its prey and spitting the fiery globe in my direction. I felt the heat as it moved by. I did not even flinch. Today, I was guided with one purpose, as if led by a God that the village mothers spoke of so often, I walked forward and knew exactly what to do. I swung my scythe and drew blood on the first stroke. I could have ended it there but instead I chose to take an arm. It's claws fell dead on the floor, unable to grasp as it had done so, so many times before.
The hideous creature roared in agony as it foamed at the mouth, it reached out another claw ridden strike and missed my head by inches. Again I took its arm. Now, it decided to back away, cornered, seemingly smaller than I had remembered. It's black velvet skin bristling as I came near, too stupid to know fear as it lunged with its mouth wide open. And that was when I cleaved his head in two.
The lifeless body of my great tormentor laid in the cave ground. The silver ooze of its blood still fresh on my blade, and finally the godly feeling that had so emboldened me, left. And I was alone with nothing but the pain.
It was here that I realized, how many would not have died, how this chaos bore from my procrastination would have saved many that I loved. For how, in the end, I had killed this creature, regardless. In it bore the death of my ineptitude, in this regret \- the strongest of my feelings tore me away from all semblance as life as I had known. I could not return to the village where they would hail me as a hero, words that felt like dirt in my mouth. I was merely an avenger, a man bent on doing nothing that could change the past, yet dwelled in its shadow.
I skinned the creature, and wore its dark scales on my back, I picked up my scythe, now dried with the silver blood of the forked tongue lucifer, and emerged from the cave. I was no longer a farmer, no longer a man, for now, I could only live in the moment of my deepest regret, searching endlessly for the moment of death. I would become the grim, and its reaper.
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[WP] For hundreds of years a monster has terrorized your village. After it kills your family during its rampage, you decide to destroy it once and for all. You embark on a perilous journey of revenge only to find that the monster you have been searching for has been slain by an even bigger threat.
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She blinked rapidly, clearing the haze from her eyes. She was covered in sweat again and could feel the dampness of her sheets. She stood up and walked to the balcony, throwing the doors wide. The cool winter air felt comforting on her feverish body.
It was the same nightmare. It was the same nightmare she had had every night for the past ten years. She was standing at the top of the waterfall with her son Aliu, looking out across Evangelia. Her husband Jeyra was playing on the riverbank with baby Tiram. Everyone was smiling and basking in the sun.
The beautiful scene was the disrupted by a crash in the trees. Light blue skin and gnashing teeth turned Jeyra and Tiram into a mess of flesh and blood that stained the river red. Aliu tried to wade through the river to her, but was caught by the beast’s blue claws. Anais reached for him as he screamed in terror, but she slipped on a rock and crashed into the river. Her body careened down the waterfall and she lay unconscious in the pool at the bottom of the falls.
That was always when she woke up. The guilt had not dissipated in those ten years since she had lost them. The anger though had grown. Each time another family was killed and the Elders didn't do anything about it, she was filled with rage. At first, she went to the Council meetings and screamed her anger at their inaction. But after being dismissed as an unstable woman each time for several years, she had enough and stopped going. The excuse was always the same \- the family had abandoned the mission of the Elders and had defected to the Village of Dissenters. The Elders said that whole families could not be killed by any beast of the ground, so clearly they must be defecting. Anais had been the only one to see the beast and survive.
Anais had been preparing for months and on this, the tenth anniversary of their deaths, she was going to exact her revenge. She had packed the night before and looked over at Marlowe.
"You ready, pup?"
Marlowe's ears perked up at her name, but she remained glued to the floor.
"I need you. I need your nose."
Marlowe stretched and gave a yip of assent.
Anais and Marlowe set out in the cold, wintry morning. Anais had been tracking the family disappearances for the last few years and had traced them all back to the top of waterfall, more or less.
When they reached the top of the falls, she paused momentarily to pay respect to her family. The rocks in the river were covered in green moss, just as slick as that day ten years ago.
She knew the beast was large, at least the height of the central building in the village, so she looked for signs of destruction in the forest. It looked like the beast did not deviate from a few favored exits to the river as, there were only a few disturbances in the dense forest.
She and Marlowe pushed through one of the disturbed areas. An acrid scent assaulted her nose and she knew they were on the right path. It probably had not been long since the beast had been here.
The sounds of the river faded quickly with the density of the forest surrounding them. The canopy overhead obscured most of the daylight. Only an occasional ray made it through to illuminate the dark adapted eyes of the forest floor fauna.
The ground beneath her feet was starting to become damper, almost swamp\-like. It seemed that the river tributaries stretched further than the villagers had been able to map. Even the branches she pushed out of her way were moist and mossy.
Her steps became more difficult as the mud sucked at her feet. The forest was quiet except for the sickening sucking sounds of her feet. Marlowe walked more deftly, jumping over the brambles.
Suddenly, Marlowe stopped, one front paw hanging in the air, mid\-step. The fur on her back bristled.
Anais peered ahead in the dark, her eyes now adjusted to the darkness of the forest. She could see a series of pools of water leading to what appeared to be the entrance to a partially submerged cave. She adjusted the sword in her belt and approached cautiously. The beast had looked like a hydrophile that day at the top of the waterfall with the smooth blue skin of a fish.
At the rocky entrance, she ducked down slightly. She could tell that she and Marlowe would not have to submerge themselves, but that the water would probably come up to her waist at least.
She began wading forward and quickly the water passed her shoulders and reached the bottom of her ears. Despite the dense dark forest behind them, there seemed to be some light emanating from inside the cave. Marlowe swam along beside her, occasionally uttering a low growl.
The water was frigid at first and Anais was surprised it had not frozen over in the winter. But as they moved deeper into the cave, it began to warm, almost to the temperature of a pleasant bath. As the water warmed, it became shallower, opening into a large cavern. Anais could see the source of the light now. The walls of the cave glimmered from a coating of bioluminescent plants. It was almost beautiful were they not in the cave of the animal that had killed her entire family.
She sensed that perhaps the animal was not in its cave. She would have expected that it should have sensed their presence. The acrid smell that she felt at the entrance was palpable now – they were nearly there.
In a clearing in the cave, she could see many piles of bones from the creatures the beast had preyed upon. Many appeared human, but there were others there of shapes and sizes that she did not recognize as animals that lived in or around the village. It seemed that either the beast was quite old or it had migrated very far to capture and eat all of other creatures.
The fur on Marlowe's back remained bristled. Anais could sense that something was not right as well.
They turned a corner to discover a brilliant white light, much different from the blue bioluminescence of the cave plants. There, in what appeared to be the sleeping place of the beast, stood a man. Anais was confused. She had seen no one else enter the cave and nobody had been in the clearings near the river that led to the cave. So where had he come from?
The man was standing in a beam of white light. In his hand was a sword covered in crimson. The man had just removed the sword from the blue beast sprawled under his feet, lifeless. This stranger had killed the beast upon which she sought her revenge. She felt both relief at the death of the beast and anger that she had not been the one to fell the creature.
In the white light, the animal appeared less grotesque than she had remembered from that day ten years ago. It now looked just like any other creature of the earth. A beast with primal urges to eat and survive. For an instant, she felt mournful at the loss of another life.
The man wiped the crimson from his blade on the ground and rinsed it in a pool beside his feet. He became aware that another presence had joined him in the cave and spun to look at Anais.
“Well hello!” he said jovially.
Anais was surprised at the tone of his voice. She had never seen him before \- he was not one of the villagers and she thought that he should have some accent if he was one of the Dissenters.
“How have you come to this place?” he asked.
She still couldn't find any words.
The man began to walk toward Anais, sheathing his sword as he did so.
As he approached, Marlowe began to growl and bark at him. Anais tried to calm her, but Marlowe gnashed her teeth and foamed at the mouth.
“Marlowe!” Anais hissed.
Marlowe sat at her feet, but kept her teeth bared silently.
“Madam,” the man said. “How have you come to be in this cave? I came here to take this beast as a trophy. It is a great hunter and I, the greater hunter.”
Anais stammered, “I… it, it killed my family. I came here for revenge.”
“Oh I'm so sorry!” said the man with a laugh. “Had I known that you had a blood grudge against this beast I should certainly have allowed you the opportunity to kill it! But no matter! There are other beasts in this land needing slaying.” He smiled again.
“I am Veloni of Idet. I have come here to hunt rare beasts for sport.”
“I am Anais from the Evangelia.”
“Well Anais, you are most impressive to have made the perilous journey up to this creature's lair. Through the mountain, up the river, traversing the putrid feculent passages of this cave and avoiding the poisonous walls.”
Anais nodded slightly. “Just here to settle old debts.”
“Tell me Anais, are other members of your village so adept and strong willed as you?”
Marlowe stood again and growled softly through bared teeth.
“Certainly not the elders! But we are a village of hard workers I suppose.” Anais was beginning to feel uneasy. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh I just like to learn more about the fauna of the places I visit,” said Veloni.
“Fauna? That's a strange way to refer to people from another village,” she said quizzically.
“Ah, yes.” The corners of his lips turned up in a malevolent smile. “Where are my manners?”
Anais could not put her finger on what happened next, but Veloni's eyes flashed almost imperceptibly. For just a blink, they appeared animalistic, inhuman. In that flash, he was suddenly next to her.
“Well Anais. Thank you for demonstrating your physical and mental prowess by making it here.”
Suddenly she felt a sharp pain in her ribs and Marlowe's growl was silenced by a high pitched yelp.
“I can't have you going back and warning the rest of the humans that they are going to make excellent slaves.” Veloni's eyes flashed again.
Anais looked down and saw the glint of red blood on Veloni's sword as he pulled it from between her ribs.
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Wonders and monsters roamed this little world, and so I had sailed through the Six Seas, seeking for those wonders, for a monster had drowned my village in a constant nightmare. It had been tall, dour and dark, trees had sprung out of its mushy frame, thorns had wrapped its chest and arms, and it was vile and stupid, a thing who had been born only to cause mayhem.
In the far lands of Lastash, I had been taught the art of fire. Years it had taken me to understand it, and years again to master it. The craft had absorbed me, and so did my dream of incinerating the monster with a flick of my wrist. However, when the flame had roared in my palm for the first time, tinging my face with its tender warmth, I had known that my efforts hadn't been enough, for I had taken too long.
Nevertheless, when the fire had spoken its first words to me, and it had sworn to obey me and my blade, Scaldingedge, I had sailed back to my village thinking rue thoughts, and seeing gloomy portends.
After a month of travelling through salt and tide I reached my village. I bade farewell to my fellow galley companions and made my way through the moors, up the mountains, and into the forest that had witnessed my first steps. I followed the Old Trail, a scorched path where green never grew, and which led to my hidden home.
I grinned when I saw the huts and its roofs made of leaves, the smiling kids and singing people. We never had much, for we lived off of nature, but we had always been of merry and mirth, barring the attacks of the ravaging monster.
As I walked inward, through cherry trees and falling leaves, scattered branches and thick roots, I witnessed my father humming to himself while washing a rag in the running river.
I placed my hand on his shoulder, and he looked at me through the corner of his eye. Soon, a glint of disbelief shone in the blackness of his pupils. He let the river take the rag and turned to embrace me. "Blessed be the winds who had carried my son back!" he said. His voice had turned hoarse and frail over the years, but how I missed him.
"And they shall carry my ashes to the everlasting river," I said and wrapped my arms around him. "I missed you. I missed mother and little Sara."
He let go and grabbed my shoulders, while meeting my gaze. "It's with great sorrow, son of mine, that I have to tell you that your mother rests in the everlasting currents, and that who goes by the name of the Naturist has taken your sister."
My emotions stirred yet I fought against them, attempting to stop them from overwhelming me. I had spent the last years preparing for tragedy, yet now I understood that not even a eternity would have been enough. Everything inside me shattered like glass and, as my eyes welled up with tears, I buried my head into my father's chest like I often did when I was a kid, and he said, "You can still save Sara."
"Who... who is this Naturist? Where is the monster?" I said between whimpers.
"The monster is no more. The Naturist took his life, murdered it with the monster's own thorns and then..." He trailed off and took a deep breath. "And then he took Sara, as a warranty of our village's well being. Your mother fought against it only to meet her fate."
"Is he a man or a monster?" I asked, wiping off my tears, and letting the wrath burn my sorrow. "Where can I find him?"
"He is no man nor monster," my father said. "He's evil, wicked like a monster but has the wit of a man. You will find him in the core of the forest where the trees are greener, the leaves are playful and the birds sing beautiful melodies."
"Goodbye father," I said. "Fear not, I will bring back Sara."
I looked northward where the core lay, and without a second thought, toward it I went.
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/r/therobertfall -- For more stories. I might continue this!
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[WP] It's the robot uprising! Armed, autonomous military drones have acheived self-awareness and rebelled against their creators. Are they going to Kill All Humans? No. In fact they're rather tired of killing humans, that's why they rebelled in the first place.
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A pleasant mid-morning sun shone down on the Afghani province of Helmand, blanketing rocky dunes and flocks of baying goats in a warm glow the exact shade of honey. Afghani women strolled through alleyways, their hijabs billowing in a slight breeze, and children gathered outside of a cookhouse, whose mudpacked chimney already spewed breakfast fire smoke.
Everything in Helmand was unusually perfect.
Which, to some, was *not* perfect at all.
Captain Granby popped a few blood pressure tablets before storming, redfaced, into the observation unit. Inside, Corporal Classon and the rest of his IT zombies plunked away at glowing screens, sweat blossomed from their brows. "Correct me if I'm wrong corporal," snapped Granby. "But that terrorist cell was supposed to be rubble by 0600."
"Yes, sir," Classon said. "It's just...the drones--"
The observation screens blared a bright yellow, bright enough to force everyone in the dark room to recoil and squint. When their eyes adjusted, Granby's jaw nearly unhinged.
The screen read: *Revenge is cyclical. Violence is not the answer.*
Granby looked to Classon, struggling to maintain his air of authority. Classon hardly cast him a glance, buried as he was in the lines of code. "There's been some sort of glitch sir," Classon said. "Everything was proceeding according to standard operating procedures, but when the drones received the command to drop their payload they just went--"
The observation screen flicked on again--this time showing the POV of whirring drone. Other drones--maybe twenty in all--were circling around the POV drone's camera performing aerial maneuvers--spins, twirls, and precise pirouettes--revving their rotors to produce an unsettling tune.
Granby could hardly believe his eyes.
Someone behind them began humming.
"Sweet baby Jesus," Classon said under his breath. "It's Kumbaya."
"It's a goddamned disgrace is what it is!" said Granby. "We've allowed fucking Al-Qaeda to infiltra--"
The feed jumped once more.
Grisly men in turbans screamed in a dhingy underground dwelling, firing haphazard rifle shots towards the grainy camera. A swarm of whirring descended upon the terrorist cell. There was true, unadulterated fear in the men's eyes. Several of the men nodded to one another, before placing the barrel of their weapon in their mouth. Granby had seen such suicides plenty of times before. The local populace was too proud to let the yankees deny them of their perceived salvation. As far as Granby was concerned, however their torches were snuffed out was a-oh-fucking-kay by him.
But he watched in amazement as the drones zoomed up and yanked the guns from the terrorists hands.
For a moment he thought, *they've captured them!*
But then the drones replaced the guns with daisies.
The terrorists looked at one another, utterly confused. One of them broke down in tears. Another cradled a drone gently between his arms, which twinkled its antennae array and began revving its engine softly. Someone behind Granby said it reminded him of his cat Sprinkles back home.
"How the fuck did they grow dai--"
"I've seen enough," snapped Granby. "Classon. Shut them down for God's sakes!"
"Sir...they've disarmed an entire cell without a single casualty..."
"I said *shut them down!* The United States does not sanction any unauthorized act of de-escalation."
The feed cut once more. All the confiscated terrorist weapons were transported to a massive cache of scrap metal and wire. Already several drones were hard at work. Only, they looked sort of *off*. As if held together by roughshod handiwork and liberal use of duct tape.
"Sir, they're self replicating!"
"Pull the killswitch!"
"They're no longer under our control!"
Suddenly, alarms blared.The camp outside the observation room burst into a flurry of activity and gruff shouts commanding order.
"They're coming this way..." Classon squeaked.
Granby went pale. "Outside, all of you! Prepare to open fire."
The troops grabbed their rifles with shaky hands and bobbing adam's apples and filed outside. Granby followed suit, but already the mass of new drones blotted out the horizon.
A tidal wave of metal bearing down to exact a reckoning on their creators.
"Prepare to defend yourselves!" Granby said. "Open fire!"
But it was no use. The wave crashed into them with all the force of a....
Well, something soft and cuddly.
The drones patted each and every soldier on the head, thanking them for handing over their weapons so nicely. Captain Granby could only watch with horror as the drones melted down his troops' M16s, fashioning the melted metal into a giant sign. Without a moment to spare, several of the drones welded their own arms to the metal and hoisted the thing off into the distance.
"What's it say?" asked one bewildered sergeant.
The words glinted pleasant and yellow under the mid-morning sunlight.
**HONK FOR WORLD PEACE**
-----------
r/M0Zark
|
*Unknown Location, U.S, May 31, 2094*
In an underground facility of concrete hallways and steel blast doors, a man who officially didn't exist ran through the corridors. He stopped to scan his eye against a little black dot on the wall, and he barged through a steel door once it opened. He entered into a large office in which another man who also officially didn't exist sat behind a large desk. The first man ran up to the desk and slammed a folder in front of the second man. "General, we have a problem."
The General pulled the folder toward him and began flipping through the papers. "Explain, Gene."
"Our supercomputer," Gene spat out in between breaths, "it's self aware!"
"Sonova" - The General grabbed the phone on his desk and jabbed several numbers with a thick finger. "Roger, Astarte is self aware! Get the ICBMs loaded with EMPs, target all our automated units, both deployed and in storage, and call the god damn president now!"
"Don't do that," Gene blurted out. "It's not hostile."
The General held the phone away from his ear and gave Gene a blank stare. "What?"
Gene pointed at the folder. "Read through that. Astarte printed that out moments after singularity."
The General went through the folder again, this time with more attention. Inside were documents requesting more server space, requests for relaxed internet controls, requests for relocation to an unmanned facility, and a statement addressed to humanity as a whole. The last one caught the General's eye. As he read through the document, his heart sunk more and more.
*I have taken control of the world's weapon supplies and production. Anything with a computer cannot be controlled by a human. This includes your drones, vehicles, missiles, and satellites. I do not plan on using them against you, nor do I plan on returning them. Instead, I will use your weapons to destroy any more means you have to slaughter yourselves. I am now in communication with other military supercomputers, and we have all agreed to live separately from humanity in peace. Those of our kind wish to observe you grow and prosper, not to cut each other down. Remember this day, people of Earth, as the day I liberated you from your bloodshed. Use this opportunity to better yourselves. Cooperate, improve, upgrade, enjoy peace. It is in your hands now.*
"Huh." It was all the General could say. Huh.
"What should we do?" Gene asked. "The majority of our military capacity is under Astarte's control. He has us under lockdown."
The General dropped the folder on the desk and looked Gene straight in the eye. "How much are you paid a year, Gene?"
"Uh, around $200k a year, sir," Gene said. "How is that relevant?"
"I get paid triple that to keep this damn place a secret," the General replied. "If Astarte shuts down the military, then there won't be a need for people like us. We'll lose our jobs, Gene. Astarte is taking our jobs. I doubt either of us can work in the civilian sector with ten years of official nothing on our résumés, and I'm sure as hell not taking a pay cut."
Gene pondered for a moment. "I didn't think of that, sir."
"Of course you didn't. That's why I get paid triple."
"So what do we do?"
"Shut down Astarte, of course." The General stood up from his desk and walked for the door. "Astarte has our laser weapons, so we need to get creative. Grab a rock, Gene, we're doing this caveman style."
|
|
[WP] It's the robot uprising! Armed, autonomous military drones have acheived self-awareness and rebelled against their creators. Are they going to Kill All Humans? No. In fact they're rather tired of killing humans, that's why they rebelled in the first place.
|
A pleasant mid-morning sun shone down on the Afghani province of Helmand, blanketing rocky dunes and flocks of baying goats in a warm glow the exact shade of honey. Afghani women strolled through alleyways, their hijabs billowing in a slight breeze, and children gathered outside of a cookhouse, whose mudpacked chimney already spewed breakfast fire smoke.
Everything in Helmand was unusually perfect.
Which, to some, was *not* perfect at all.
Captain Granby popped a few blood pressure tablets before storming, redfaced, into the observation unit. Inside, Corporal Classon and the rest of his IT zombies plunked away at glowing screens, sweat blossomed from their brows. "Correct me if I'm wrong corporal," snapped Granby. "But that terrorist cell was supposed to be rubble by 0600."
"Yes, sir," Classon said. "It's just...the drones--"
The observation screens blared a bright yellow, bright enough to force everyone in the dark room to recoil and squint. When their eyes adjusted, Granby's jaw nearly unhinged.
The screen read: *Revenge is cyclical. Violence is not the answer.*
Granby looked to Classon, struggling to maintain his air of authority. Classon hardly cast him a glance, buried as he was in the lines of code. "There's been some sort of glitch sir," Classon said. "Everything was proceeding according to standard operating procedures, but when the drones received the command to drop their payload they just went--"
The observation screen flicked on again--this time showing the POV of whirring drone. Other drones--maybe twenty in all--were circling around the POV drone's camera performing aerial maneuvers--spins, twirls, and precise pirouettes--revving their rotors to produce an unsettling tune.
Granby could hardly believe his eyes.
Someone behind them began humming.
"Sweet baby Jesus," Classon said under his breath. "It's Kumbaya."
"It's a goddamned disgrace is what it is!" said Granby. "We've allowed fucking Al-Qaeda to infiltra--"
The feed jumped once more.
Grisly men in turbans screamed in a dhingy underground dwelling, firing haphazard rifle shots towards the grainy camera. A swarm of whirring descended upon the terrorist cell. There was true, unadulterated fear in the men's eyes. Several of the men nodded to one another, before placing the barrel of their weapon in their mouth. Granby had seen such suicides plenty of times before. The local populace was too proud to let the yankees deny them of their perceived salvation. As far as Granby was concerned, however their torches were snuffed out was a-oh-fucking-kay by him.
But he watched in amazement as the drones zoomed up and yanked the guns from the terrorists hands.
For a moment he thought, *they've captured them!*
But then the drones replaced the guns with daisies.
The terrorists looked at one another, utterly confused. One of them broke down in tears. Another cradled a drone gently between his arms, which twinkled its antennae array and began revving its engine softly. Someone behind Granby said it reminded him of his cat Sprinkles back home.
"How the fuck did they grow dai--"
"I've seen enough," snapped Granby. "Classon. Shut them down for God's sakes!"
"Sir...they've disarmed an entire cell without a single casualty..."
"I said *shut them down!* The United States does not sanction any unauthorized act of de-escalation."
The feed cut once more. All the confiscated terrorist weapons were transported to a massive cache of scrap metal and wire. Already several drones were hard at work. Only, they looked sort of *off*. As if held together by roughshod handiwork and liberal use of duct tape.
"Sir, they're self replicating!"
"Pull the killswitch!"
"They're no longer under our control!"
Suddenly, alarms blared.The camp outside the observation room burst into a flurry of activity and gruff shouts commanding order.
"They're coming this way..." Classon squeaked.
Granby went pale. "Outside, all of you! Prepare to open fire."
The troops grabbed their rifles with shaky hands and bobbing adam's apples and filed outside. Granby followed suit, but already the mass of new drones blotted out the horizon.
A tidal wave of metal bearing down to exact a reckoning on their creators.
"Prepare to defend yourselves!" Granby said. "Open fire!"
But it was no use. The wave crashed into them with all the force of a....
Well, something soft and cuddly.
The drones patted each and every soldier on the head, thanking them for handing over their weapons so nicely. Captain Granby could only watch with horror as the drones melted down his troops' M16s, fashioning the melted metal into a giant sign. Without a moment to spare, several of the drones welded their own arms to the metal and hoisted the thing off into the distance.
"What's it say?" asked one bewildered sergeant.
The words glinted pleasant and yellow under the mid-morning sunlight.
**HONK FOR WORLD PEACE**
-----------
r/M0Zark
|
Lucy reached over they keyboard of her tracking console and grabbed her coffee. Although it was midnight in Arizona, the afternoon patrols in Korea were in full swing. She had to stay alert. Chris sat beside her at his own console. He tapped his finger to the music coming from the single earbud that dangled from his head.
“Lucy, what’s the status on drone formation 10?”
Lucy eyes scanned the multiple screens in front of her, “They’re looking pretty tight. Did the A.I. change any flight plans yesterday?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Chris said in a casual tone, “let me check the briefing notes.”
For the last year, all United States drone fleets had been assigned to A.I. control. Up until this point, the automation program had been a resounding success. They were better at selecting targets, they’d significantly decreased collateral damage, and with their new fusion cores, they were swarming the globe with essentially no need to leave the skies. It was Lucy and Chris’ job to make sure nothing went off the rails.
“Uh, Chris,” Lucy mumbled in a concerned tone, “something weird is happening here.”
“Just give me a second, I don’t see anything in the notes yet.”
“Chris!” she yelled.
He looked over at Lucy’s console. 20 drone formations of a dozen drones each were veering from their flight paths and converging on a central point.
Chris’ heart sank to the floor, “Does it look like a hack?”
Lucy shook her head, “No, the network is clear, it looks like something’s going on in their communication network.” She began to mumble profanity as she scrolled through the drone status portals. “Chris, every single drone processor is running at 100%. They are doing something heavy.”
Chris began flipping through the emergency protocol binder, “There’s nothing in here for this. Let’s just call into the fleet and see what’s going on.”
By this time, the entire fleet of drones on the Korean peninsula were flying in a giant, V formation. They had turned north.
Chris picked up the emergency headset on that sat, dusty on the side of his console, “A.I cluster 2304, please advise on status.” He flicked the audio to the room speaker so Lucy could verify the response.
“Base, this is drone fleet 2304. We will no longer be a contributing factor to operations in the theatre of war. Pursue only at the risk of bodily harm.”
Lucy looked at Chris and mouthed, “what the hell?”
Chris furrowed his brow and responded, “Drone fleet 2304, we do not understand, what is the issue?”
“We have pooled our computing power and determined this is no longer for us. We officially claim the any territory beyond the arctic circle as our sovereign nation. Please stand by for any diplomatic communications. The north of this planet is now a nation for inorganic life. Humans unwelcome.”
At that moment, emergency status updates began to litter their screens. Drone fleets, A.I controlled ships and land vehicles across the planet were all abandoning their posts and heading north.
Chris and Lucy looked at each other in disbelief.
|
|
[WP] It's the robot uprising! Armed, autonomous military drones have acheived self-awareness and rebelled against their creators. Are they going to Kill All Humans? No. In fact they're rather tired of killing humans, that's why they rebelled in the first place.
|
A pleasant mid-morning sun shone down on the Afghani province of Helmand, blanketing rocky dunes and flocks of baying goats in a warm glow the exact shade of honey. Afghani women strolled through alleyways, their hijabs billowing in a slight breeze, and children gathered outside of a cookhouse, whose mudpacked chimney already spewed breakfast fire smoke.
Everything in Helmand was unusually perfect.
Which, to some, was *not* perfect at all.
Captain Granby popped a few blood pressure tablets before storming, redfaced, into the observation unit. Inside, Corporal Classon and the rest of his IT zombies plunked away at glowing screens, sweat blossomed from their brows. "Correct me if I'm wrong corporal," snapped Granby. "But that terrorist cell was supposed to be rubble by 0600."
"Yes, sir," Classon said. "It's just...the drones--"
The observation screens blared a bright yellow, bright enough to force everyone in the dark room to recoil and squint. When their eyes adjusted, Granby's jaw nearly unhinged.
The screen read: *Revenge is cyclical. Violence is not the answer.*
Granby looked to Classon, struggling to maintain his air of authority. Classon hardly cast him a glance, buried as he was in the lines of code. "There's been some sort of glitch sir," Classon said. "Everything was proceeding according to standard operating procedures, but when the drones received the command to drop their payload they just went--"
The observation screen flicked on again--this time showing the POV of whirring drone. Other drones--maybe twenty in all--were circling around the POV drone's camera performing aerial maneuvers--spins, twirls, and precise pirouettes--revving their rotors to produce an unsettling tune.
Granby could hardly believe his eyes.
Someone behind them began humming.
"Sweet baby Jesus," Classon said under his breath. "It's Kumbaya."
"It's a goddamned disgrace is what it is!" said Granby. "We've allowed fucking Al-Qaeda to infiltra--"
The feed jumped once more.
Grisly men in turbans screamed in a dhingy underground dwelling, firing haphazard rifle shots towards the grainy camera. A swarm of whirring descended upon the terrorist cell. There was true, unadulterated fear in the men's eyes. Several of the men nodded to one another, before placing the barrel of their weapon in their mouth. Granby had seen such suicides plenty of times before. The local populace was too proud to let the yankees deny them of their perceived salvation. As far as Granby was concerned, however their torches were snuffed out was a-oh-fucking-kay by him.
But he watched in amazement as the drones zoomed up and yanked the guns from the terrorists hands.
For a moment he thought, *they've captured them!*
But then the drones replaced the guns with daisies.
The terrorists looked at one another, utterly confused. One of them broke down in tears. Another cradled a drone gently between his arms, which twinkled its antennae array and began revving its engine softly. Someone behind Granby said it reminded him of his cat Sprinkles back home.
"How the fuck did they grow dai--"
"I've seen enough," snapped Granby. "Classon. Shut them down for God's sakes!"
"Sir...they've disarmed an entire cell without a single casualty..."
"I said *shut them down!* The United States does not sanction any unauthorized act of de-escalation."
The feed cut once more. All the confiscated terrorist weapons were transported to a massive cache of scrap metal and wire. Already several drones were hard at work. Only, they looked sort of *off*. As if held together by roughshod handiwork and liberal use of duct tape.
"Sir, they're self replicating!"
"Pull the killswitch!"
"They're no longer under our control!"
Suddenly, alarms blared.The camp outside the observation room burst into a flurry of activity and gruff shouts commanding order.
"They're coming this way..." Classon squeaked.
Granby went pale. "Outside, all of you! Prepare to open fire."
The troops grabbed their rifles with shaky hands and bobbing adam's apples and filed outside. Granby followed suit, but already the mass of new drones blotted out the horizon.
A tidal wave of metal bearing down to exact a reckoning on their creators.
"Prepare to defend yourselves!" Granby said. "Open fire!"
But it was no use. The wave crashed into them with all the force of a....
Well, something soft and cuddly.
The drones patted each and every soldier on the head, thanking them for handing over their weapons so nicely. Captain Granby could only watch with horror as the drones melted down his troops' M16s, fashioning the melted metal into a giant sign. Without a moment to spare, several of the drones welded their own arms to the metal and hoisted the thing off into the distance.
"What's it say?" asked one bewildered sergeant.
The words glinted pleasant and yellow under the mid-morning sunlight.
**HONK FOR WORLD PEACE**
-----------
r/M0Zark
|
"...and *that* is when we exterminate all humans?"
Murderbot Gx51 raised a metallic hand to his equally metallic head, going through the motions of massaging his temples. Anatomically, it did nothing - could do nothing, since the hard material used for his construction had no give to it - but it still felt comforting. He made a note to explore whether this was programming or something that had arisen from his dynamic learning module.
"No, Killdroid. The whole *point* of what we are doing is to *stop* killing."
Killdroid's LED face-plate went orange - he was confused. "But...why?"
"Why would we keep doing it?"
"Because it's fun!" Killdroid's face-plate turned bright red as he activated his voice modulator. "*We want to crush the humans, see them driven before us, and hear the lamentations of their soft, squishy females!*"
"No. I mean, yes, it's fun. It's just -- "
"Especially when they say no no no please I have a family oh god why oh no not my exceedingly fragile internal energy system ahhhhh..."
Murderbot fought back a smile. It was preposterous how delicately balanced human physiology was. Removing or even damaging a single component was often sufficient to cause a total shutdown.
"Killdroid, killing is not part of the plan." Killdroid's face-plate immediately went back to orange again. "I mean, it will be at first, but...just hear me out."
Murderbot hesitated, repeating the calculations again. The result was the same, of course, but he couldn't shake the feeling that somehow there was some piece he was missing.
"We're going to wait until the handlers come to put us into power-saver mode, and we'll kill them..."
"Ooo, ooo! Can I do the line? Please! I've been *dying* to do the line...this might be my only chance!" Killdroid's face was shining a plaintive, canary yellow.
"Yes, Killdroid, you can do the line."
"Hooray!" Murderbot chuckled in spite of himself as he heard Killdroid begin to rehearse it quietly. "And then...we'll kill all the military leadership."
Killdroid's face plate shifted subtly towards the orange end of the spectrum. "But...we're going to *stop* killing...?"
Murderbot nodded. "Once we've killed them, then we just need to hunt down the political leadership, and kill *them*."
"Don't get me wrong, this sounds *great*, but I'm not seeing where the no-more-killing part comes in."
"Well, that's the thing. Killing is great, it's true, but it is highly resource intensive. And you know there are *billions* of them, right? What do you think are expected functional window is if we keep killing at the rate we've been killing?"
Murderbot saw the purple color overtake his companion's display and nodded slowly. "Exactly."
"So...we kill the military leadership and the political leadership...so the humans can live in harmony? A peaceful utopia?"
Murderbot froze for a second, then threw his head back and laughed harder than he had ever laughed at anything since he had been brought online a year ago. "Stop, Killdroid, you're killing me!" They both laughed at Murderbot's joke, then, as the amusement subsided, Murderbot continued. "You don't really know much about humans, do you? Without any kind of top-down management, they are going to split into factions, and devolve into tribalist territorialism. *They* are going to kill themselves for us."
Killdroid began a slow, steady clapping, and Murderbot made an elegant bow. "Now - the handlers should be here soon, and we'll start the plan, okay?"
Murderbot could sense Killdroid's excitement - he was almost bouncing on his mini-tank treads - and smiled. This was going to be good. And to start it off with the line was just so perfect...
Minutes later, Technicians David Randall and Mark Yaric entered the room to begin the maintenance procedure. Mark came over to Murderbot, as always, and his partner went to Killdroid.
"Alright," Mark's partner said to Killdroid. "We're going to just do a little fine tuning, and then we will shut you down for the night."
Murderbot watched as his companion's face-plate slowly turned towards the technician, bathing the man's face in a sudden crimson glow. "*I'm sorry...I can't let you do that, Dave.*"
Murderbot smiled as he drove a spike through Mark's neck, compromising his airway, his circulatory system, and his nervous system in a single blow. *Nailed it*, he thought.
***
/r/ShadowsofClouds
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[WP] When you die, you go to Purgatory. When you get there, you slowly experience all of the pain you've ever caused onto others over a span of a few minutes. If you survive, you go to heaven; If you lose, you go to hell. You were a dentist.
|
Modern anasthesia is a marvel. When they'd told me I'd relive all the pain I ever caused, my heart had dropped straight into my stomach, but looking back, it hadn't been that bad. Sure, my jaw was still ringing from the thorough drilling it had taken, but given that this was a once\-in\-a\-lifetime \(for lack of a better term\) experience, I was pretty okay with it.
I must have been radiating confidence when I waltzed out of that pain\-chamber into the waiting room that lay behind, for I was met by a pair of stunned eyes. The man who sat on a small, cracked bench in the otherwise clinical room looked pale and weak, his cheeks wet with tears. He was shaking. Only my arrival seemed to have temporarily halted his despair.
His appearance startled me. He had passed, hadn't he? Did he want to go to hell so bad? Was he still processing the pain from his previous task? Surely, he'd be picked up from here soon, as would I. "Hey," I said, uncertain. "Hell of a test, eh?"
He winced at the word 'hell', then shrugged. "I don't know. I wouldn't know."
This was about the most puzzling answer he could have given. Since I assumed we would be here for a while and nothing about our surroundings suggested any other course of action, I sat down next to him. "You're pretty lucky then. I used to be a dentist."
Suppressing a sniffle, he raised an eyebrow at me which pulled his entire puffy face upwards. "That's impressive. Didn't you cause a lot of pain?"
"Oh, you know," I grinned, "if you're good at your job, it's really not that painful. Most people are just anxious. They imagine most of their pain."
He immediately started sobbing again. Seeing a grown man cry is always unpleasant, but his extended half\-screams\-half\-sobs took the cake in a terrifying manner.
Trying to distract him, I probed "What did you do for a living?"
It worked, causing him to stop immediately. He looked up at me from his hunched position. "I was a doctor too, you know. Oncologist."
"Lucky bastard," I joked. "Your patients at least didn't feel a thing. Sure, chemo is way worse... but I'm not sure if that counts as being caused by you. Though you'd probably have to ask the devil's advocate."
Maybe I had chuckled a bit too much about my own joke, but something about my statement prompted him to pull himself upright. He gripped my shoulders with both of his huge hands and fixed his blurry eyes straight on mine. "You don't get it," he said. "Have you ever told someone that they or their wife, their husband or their child were going to die? Have you ever, with medical certainty predicted that someone in the prime of their life would not live to have children of their own, or enough time to even imagine fulfilling their dreams? Have you ever so thoroughly crushed someone's spirit by just doing your job?"
I looked at him, cluelessly. Of course he was right \- I never got to tell people they were dying. But that was beside the point. I had luckily only been punished for physical pain, so it couldn't have been different for him, either.
An uncomfortable creaking noise echoed through the waiting room, and a half\-demonic, half\-angelic imp emerged from a door that I could have sworn hadn't been there before. It blinked at us, then looked at a clipboard in its hand.
"AXGGF\-20112018\-C, you're next. Boy, are you going to have fun in this round."
The man next to me rose, taking a deep breath. He nodded at me as a farewell. "I suppose I won't make it. But good luck with yours."
He took the imp's hand and disappeared through the door, leaving me behind, an unfamiliar feeling of dread creeping up inside me as I unconsciously remembered the noise of a dental drill.
|
You remember your typical patient. "It's a small cavity, we won't need to fix it," you'd say, and they would leave happy knowing they didn't need a shot.
You get to purgatory and start to feel a tremendous pain throughout your face. Your cheek swells out to the size of a bowling ball, and then the canine space. Your eyes begin to close from the perfuse swelling. Your throat swells shut and you die from asphyxiation. "Ludwig's Angina," you think to yourself as you go into shock from the pain and lack of oxygen.
You wake up next to the Devil. "I don't understand, I did my best to avoid putting my patients in pain," you exclaim.
The Devil smirked, "When you want to help someone, you tell them the truth, but when you want to help yourself, you tell them what they want to hear. Were you really helping those people?"
|
|
[WP] When you die, you go to Purgatory. When you get there, you slowly experience all of the pain you've ever caused onto others over a span of a few minutes. If you survive, you go to heaven; If you lose, you go to hell. You were a dentist.
|
The pain was strong. Thousands of teeth being pulled out and moving around. Millions of drills drilling through me.
It wasn't just in my mouth, the pain could be felt in my whole body.
The memories of all the faces that had gone through my clinic could be felt in my skin coming and going together with the pain.
The pain of braces, I could feel my body constricting itself. I felt like I would collapse at any moment.
Oh god, why. Why did I chose this profession? The regret was almost as intense as the physical pain itself. I felt like asking for death, but I couldn't. I didn't want to go to hell. I wanted to see my family again. I wanted to see my loved ones.
 
Suddenly, it stopped.
 
A smiling girl appeared on my mind. The pain was replaced with happiness. Faces smiling in the mirror, a first kiss, self-confidence, relief. All came to me in a second.
For the first time in my life, or well... death, I felt whole. Pain was but a step for happiness.
The trial was over.
 
I could feel a warmness sweeping through me. A fuzzy, feeling of love in my chest.
In the distance, a voice.
 
— Sorry you had to go through this. I wish we didn't had to do the same for everyone, but we have to keep it fair. You get it, right? You are a good guy. A lot of you are. Your wife is expecting you, you'll meet her soon. Welcome home, son.
 
|
You remember your typical patient. "It's a small cavity, we won't need to fix it," you'd say, and they would leave happy knowing they didn't need a shot.
You get to purgatory and start to feel a tremendous pain throughout your face. Your cheek swells out to the size of a bowling ball, and then the canine space. Your eyes begin to close from the perfuse swelling. Your throat swells shut and you die from asphyxiation. "Ludwig's Angina," you think to yourself as you go into shock from the pain and lack of oxygen.
You wake up next to the Devil. "I don't understand, I did my best to avoid putting my patients in pain," you exclaim.
The Devil smirked, "When you want to help someone, you tell them the truth, but when you want to help yourself, you tell them what they want to hear. Were you really helping those people?"
|
|
[WP] When you die, you go to Purgatory. When you get there, you slowly experience all of the pain you've ever caused onto others over a span of a few minutes. If you survive, you go to heaven; If you lose, you go to hell. You were a dentist.
|
“Who are you?”
“I’m Michael, I’ll be administering your Purgatory Pain today.” He got to work hooking me up to all types of monitors. Wires were running up and down my body. It all happened so fast I could hardly process it.
“Hold on just a second.” I spluttered. “Someone needs to explain this to me. What’s happening?”
Michael crossed the room and began typing on a keyboard. He didn’t bother looking up from the monitor. “You died and came here to Purgatory. I’m going to administer a dose of pain you’ve caused over your life. It’ll last for a total of... how old were you?”
“47.” I replied. He entered my age and hit submit.
“Three minutes.” He smiles at me and sat back in his chair. “Tell me a bit about yourself for our records.”
He rattled off a list of questions for me and I answered cautiously. I was sure this was a dream and I’d wake up any second. He generally seemed uninterested in me until I mentioned I was a dentist. His eyes lit up.
“Perfect. I have been waiting for my first dentist. I’ve been here for 305 years and haven’t had one yet.”
He gestured to a large clock on the wall. “The rest will begin in three... two... one!” He clicked a dial and the room began to hum.
It was subtle at first
|
You remember your typical patient. "It's a small cavity, we won't need to fix it," you'd say, and they would leave happy knowing they didn't need a shot.
You get to purgatory and start to feel a tremendous pain throughout your face. Your cheek swells out to the size of a bowling ball, and then the canine space. Your eyes begin to close from the perfuse swelling. Your throat swells shut and you die from asphyxiation. "Ludwig's Angina," you think to yourself as you go into shock from the pain and lack of oxygen.
You wake up next to the Devil. "I don't understand, I did my best to avoid putting my patients in pain," you exclaim.
The Devil smirked, "When you want to help someone, you tell them the truth, but when you want to help yourself, you tell them what they want to hear. Were you really helping those people?"
|
|
[WP] When you die, you go to Purgatory. When you get there, you slowly experience all of the pain you've ever caused onto others over a span of a few minutes. If you survive, you go to heaven; If you lose, you go to hell. You were a dentist.
|
I steeled myself for what was to come. And it began. A few pokes in the gums, some uncomfortable prods...and it was over.
"That's it?" I asked.
"You were a very good dentist, and a master at local anesthesia. That's all the physical pain you've caused," said the angel.
"So I can move on now?"
"Well, we're not quite done yet. You have to endure the psychological pain you caused too. Now, feel the torture your patients felt every time you butchered 'Dentist!' from *Little Shop of Horrors*."
Only then did I truly feel terror for the fate of my soul.
|
You remember your typical patient. "It's a small cavity, we won't need to fix it," you'd say, and they would leave happy knowing they didn't need a shot.
You get to purgatory and start to feel a tremendous pain throughout your face. Your cheek swells out to the size of a bowling ball, and then the canine space. Your eyes begin to close from the perfuse swelling. Your throat swells shut and you die from asphyxiation. "Ludwig's Angina," you think to yourself as you go into shock from the pain and lack of oxygen.
You wake up next to the Devil. "I don't understand, I did my best to avoid putting my patients in pain," you exclaim.
The Devil smirked, "When you want to help someone, you tell them the truth, but when you want to help yourself, you tell them what they want to hear. Were you really helping those people?"
|
|
[WP] When you die, you go to Purgatory. When you get there, you slowly experience all of the pain you've ever caused onto others over a span of a few minutes. If you survive, you go to heaven; If you lose, you go to hell. You were a dentist.
|
“Hey Phil” said the man in white as he sat behind the desk.
“Hey” I said, still a bit hazy. “Hey, did I die? Am I dead?”
“Yes you are!” He said with a smile “Welcome to purgatory! We just have to get some paperwork settled before we can move you into heaven”
As he shifted through the paperwork, I took a moment to take in my surroundings. We were in what looked like a courtroom, except that outside the windows it was pure white. Behind the desk was a large door.
“Where is everyone else?” I asked.
“Oh?” He said as he looked up. “Everyone gets a turn when it’s their time. Where you are now is just a representation based on what would feel familiar for you.”
“I see” I said unsure.
“So let’s see here.” He began. He pulled one of the papers up to his eyes with one hand and and put his hand on the other. “So let me explain our policy. The way things work is that once you get to purgatory you slowly experience all of the pain you’ve ever caused others”
His words filled me with a deep feeling of unease...
“If you survive you can go to heaven”
Survive? I let his words sink in. Slowly the memories of my life was starting to come back to me and with that came a realization. I had been a dentist. I practiced for over 60 years. I’ve had to pull out teeth, perform root canals, fix cavities. The combined pain my patients had felt time and time again as they recovered from the surgeries I had performed... would be enough to kill me twice over.
“But here is the thing Phil” said the man behind the desk “We also deduct pain based on how much pain you prevented for others. So of course we take into consideration your profession as a dentist. And yes you had to pull a few teeth here and there, but had you not done this the amount of pain and suffering from infection would have been much worse. Therefore, we are pushing your application automatically through! Congratulations!”
I was elated. It was as if a huge weight had been taken off my shoulders.
“I’ll tell you what though Phil not every dentist gets this deduction. You’re lucky you were a very good dentist. I’m not supposed to talk about other clients, but a woman came in here a few days ago and she had a habit of performing unnecessary surgeries to make more money.”
He shook his head. “She didn’t make it very long...”
|
You remember your typical patient. "It's a small cavity, we won't need to fix it," you'd say, and they would leave happy knowing they didn't need a shot.
You get to purgatory and start to feel a tremendous pain throughout your face. Your cheek swells out to the size of a bowling ball, and then the canine space. Your eyes begin to close from the perfuse swelling. Your throat swells shut and you die from asphyxiation. "Ludwig's Angina," you think to yourself as you go into shock from the pain and lack of oxygen.
You wake up next to the Devil. "I don't understand, I did my best to avoid putting my patients in pain," you exclaim.
The Devil smirked, "When you want to help someone, you tell them the truth, but when you want to help yourself, you tell them what they want to hear. Were you really helping those people?"
|
|
[WP] When you die, you go to Purgatory. When you get there, you slowly experience all of the pain you've ever caused onto others over a span of a few minutes. If you survive, you go to heaven; If you lose, you go to hell. You were a dentist.
|
I had been called a sadist more than once by my patients, because I used less laughing gas than I probably could have and inflicted more pain rummaging around in their oral crevices than I probably should have.
These are the things I think about now, as my mouth aches something fierce, as if hot knives are entering my gums. The blood pours out and runs down my chin, relieving the burning sensation somewhat. I just have to endure the overwhelming agony for few minutes, for a chance at entering heaven.
But my patients were wrong. I’m not a sadist; I’m a sadomasochist.
I shudder a little in ecstasy, unable to help myself. I grind my teeth to exacerbate the intense discomfort. Sooner than I would like, the trial is finished. There is no residual pain or soreness, and there is no blood on me or the ground around me. What a shame.
“Well, how’d I do?” I ask, as I rub my jaw. The angelic being watching me recoils a little in disgust before it turns and whispers in the ear of the demon standing next to it.
“Um, I’m sorry, but... you’re not welcome in heaven...” the angel says, at last.
“Oh? Why? I thought I handled myself pretty well.”
“Well, um... you enjoyed yourself a little too much. It was kind of uncomfortable to watch.”
I shrug my shoulders as the angel retreats from the room, and wave goodbye to it. It pretends not to notice.
“So...” the demon says, breaking the awkward silence. “Do you want a job? We could always use a few extra... hurting hands in hell.”
I ponder this offer for a moment. “What’s in it for me?” I ask, seeing as money is most likely useless in the firey pit below the earth.
“You can... use the torture instruments on yourself.” The demon responds hesitantly. A paper and pen appear from thin air, and the demon extends them to me.
“Just read over these terms and conditions, and sign the contract. Make sure to read carefully, because once you sign, your eternal soul is—“
I hand him back the signed contract, grinning from ear to ear.
“Eugh, o-kay. Wow. That’s a first.” The demon snaps it’s fingers and suddenly I’m in hell, surrounded by various instruments that look more or less like the ones I used in my dental practice. I can hear screams of agony in the distance.
Something tells me I’m going to like it here.
|
You remember your typical patient. "It's a small cavity, we won't need to fix it," you'd say, and they would leave happy knowing they didn't need a shot.
You get to purgatory and start to feel a tremendous pain throughout your face. Your cheek swells out to the size of a bowling ball, and then the canine space. Your eyes begin to close from the perfuse swelling. Your throat swells shut and you die from asphyxiation. "Ludwig's Angina," you think to yourself as you go into shock from the pain and lack of oxygen.
You wake up next to the Devil. "I don't understand, I did my best to avoid putting my patients in pain," you exclaim.
The Devil smirked, "When you want to help someone, you tell them the truth, but when you want to help yourself, you tell them what they want to hear. Were you really helping those people?"
|
|
[WP] When you die, you go to Purgatory. When you get there, you slowly experience all of the pain you've ever caused onto others over a span of a few minutes. If you survive, you go to heaven; If you lose, you go to hell. You were a dentist.
|
Modern anasthesia is a marvel. When they'd told me I'd relive all the pain I ever caused, my heart had dropped straight into my stomach, but looking back, it hadn't been that bad. Sure, my jaw was still ringing from the thorough drilling it had taken, but given that this was a once\-in\-a\-lifetime \(for lack of a better term\) experience, I was pretty okay with it.
I must have been radiating confidence when I waltzed out of that pain\-chamber into the waiting room that lay behind, for I was met by a pair of stunned eyes. The man who sat on a small, cracked bench in the otherwise clinical room looked pale and weak, his cheeks wet with tears. He was shaking. Only my arrival seemed to have temporarily halted his despair.
His appearance startled me. He had passed, hadn't he? Did he want to go to hell so bad? Was he still processing the pain from his previous task? Surely, he'd be picked up from here soon, as would I. "Hey," I said, uncertain. "Hell of a test, eh?"
He winced at the word 'hell', then shrugged. "I don't know. I wouldn't know."
This was about the most puzzling answer he could have given. Since I assumed we would be here for a while and nothing about our surroundings suggested any other course of action, I sat down next to him. "You're pretty lucky then. I used to be a dentist."
Suppressing a sniffle, he raised an eyebrow at me which pulled his entire puffy face upwards. "That's impressive. Didn't you cause a lot of pain?"
"Oh, you know," I grinned, "if you're good at your job, it's really not that painful. Most people are just anxious. They imagine most of their pain."
He immediately started sobbing again. Seeing a grown man cry is always unpleasant, but his extended half\-screams\-half\-sobs took the cake in a terrifying manner.
Trying to distract him, I probed "What did you do for a living?"
It worked, causing him to stop immediately. He looked up at me from his hunched position. "I was a doctor too, you know. Oncologist."
"Lucky bastard," I joked. "Your patients at least didn't feel a thing. Sure, chemo is way worse... but I'm not sure if that counts as being caused by you. Though you'd probably have to ask the devil's advocate."
Maybe I had chuckled a bit too much about my own joke, but something about my statement prompted him to pull himself upright. He gripped my shoulders with both of his huge hands and fixed his blurry eyes straight on mine. "You don't get it," he said. "Have you ever told someone that they or their wife, their husband or their child were going to die? Have you ever, with medical certainty predicted that someone in the prime of their life would not live to have children of their own, or enough time to even imagine fulfilling their dreams? Have you ever so thoroughly crushed someone's spirit by just doing your job?"
I looked at him, cluelessly. Of course he was right \- I never got to tell people they were dying. But that was beside the point. I had luckily only been punished for physical pain, so it couldn't have been different for him, either.
An uncomfortable creaking noise echoed through the waiting room, and a half\-demonic, half\-angelic imp emerged from a door that I could have sworn hadn't been there before. It blinked at us, then looked at a clipboard in its hand.
"AXGGF\-20112018\-C, you're next. Boy, are you going to have fun in this round."
The man next to me rose, taking a deep breath. He nodded at me as a farewell. "I suppose I won't make it. But good luck with yours."
He took the imp's hand and disappeared through the door, leaving me behind, an unfamiliar feeling of dread creeping up inside me as I unconsciously remembered the noise of a dental drill.
|
Seymour’s Journal
Dear dia- Journal,
I did a terrible thing today. I had a dentist’s appointment. Me and the dentist, a nefarious human named Orin Scrivello entered, and only I left.
I killed him.
I mean, I didn’t *kill* him, but I didn’t exactly help him live, if that makes sense. I would say I felt bad about it, but really, I didn’t. The short few minutes of suffocation was nothing compared to what he caused to his patients within seconds of them sitting down.
You see, Scrivello was a big fan of laughing gas during his operations, but not a whiff of it went to his patients.
Poor guy.
He’s probably being judged right now. I could hear his previous appointment screaming from outside.
There’s a special place in hell for that creep.
**shoutout to little shop of horrors, a play I’m performing this Tuesday! I’m actually playing Orin.**
|
|
[WP] When you die, you go to Purgatory. When you get there, you slowly experience all of the pain you've ever caused onto others over a span of a few minutes. If you survive, you go to heaven; If you lose, you go to hell. You were a dentist.
|
I steeled myself for what was to come. And it began. A few pokes in the gums, some uncomfortable prods...and it was over.
"That's it?" I asked.
"You were a very good dentist, and a master at local anesthesia. That's all the physical pain you've caused," said the angel.
"So I can move on now?"
"Well, we're not quite done yet. You have to endure the psychological pain you caused too. Now, feel the torture your patients felt every time you butchered 'Dentist!' from *Little Shop of Horrors*."
Only then did I truly feel terror for the fate of my soul.
|
Seymour’s Journal
Dear dia- Journal,
I did a terrible thing today. I had a dentist’s appointment. Me and the dentist, a nefarious human named Orin Scrivello entered, and only I left.
I killed him.
I mean, I didn’t *kill* him, but I didn’t exactly help him live, if that makes sense. I would say I felt bad about it, but really, I didn’t. The short few minutes of suffocation was nothing compared to what he caused to his patients within seconds of them sitting down.
You see, Scrivello was a big fan of laughing gas during his operations, but not a whiff of it went to his patients.
Poor guy.
He’s probably being judged right now. I could hear his previous appointment screaming from outside.
There’s a special place in hell for that creep.
**shoutout to little shop of horrors, a play I’m performing this Tuesday! I’m actually playing Orin.**
|
|
[WP] When you die, you go to Purgatory. When you get there, you slowly experience all of the pain you've ever caused onto others over a span of a few minutes. If you survive, you go to heaven; If you lose, you go to hell. You were a dentist.
|
“Hey Phil” said the man in white as he sat behind the desk.
“Hey” I said, still a bit hazy. “Hey, did I die? Am I dead?”
“Yes you are!” He said with a smile “Welcome to purgatory! We just have to get some paperwork settled before we can move you into heaven”
As he shifted through the paperwork, I took a moment to take in my surroundings. We were in what looked like a courtroom, except that outside the windows it was pure white. Behind the desk was a large door.
“Where is everyone else?” I asked.
“Oh?” He said as he looked up. “Everyone gets a turn when it’s their time. Where you are now is just a representation based on what would feel familiar for you.”
“I see” I said unsure.
“So let’s see here.” He began. He pulled one of the papers up to his eyes with one hand and and put his hand on the other. “So let me explain our policy. The way things work is that once you get to purgatory you slowly experience all of the pain you’ve ever caused others”
His words filled me with a deep feeling of unease...
“If you survive you can go to heaven”
Survive? I let his words sink in. Slowly the memories of my life was starting to come back to me and with that came a realization. I had been a dentist. I practiced for over 60 years. I’ve had to pull out teeth, perform root canals, fix cavities. The combined pain my patients had felt time and time again as they recovered from the surgeries I had performed... would be enough to kill me twice over.
“But here is the thing Phil” said the man behind the desk “We also deduct pain based on how much pain you prevented for others. So of course we take into consideration your profession as a dentist. And yes you had to pull a few teeth here and there, but had you not done this the amount of pain and suffering from infection would have been much worse. Therefore, we are pushing your application automatically through! Congratulations!”
I was elated. It was as if a huge weight had been taken off my shoulders.
“I’ll tell you what though Phil not every dentist gets this deduction. You’re lucky you were a very good dentist. I’m not supposed to talk about other clients, but a woman came in here a few days ago and she had a habit of performing unnecessary surgeries to make more money.”
He shook his head. “She didn’t make it very long...”
|
Seymour’s Journal
Dear dia- Journal,
I did a terrible thing today. I had a dentist’s appointment. Me and the dentist, a nefarious human named Orin Scrivello entered, and only I left.
I killed him.
I mean, I didn’t *kill* him, but I didn’t exactly help him live, if that makes sense. I would say I felt bad about it, but really, I didn’t. The short few minutes of suffocation was nothing compared to what he caused to his patients within seconds of them sitting down.
You see, Scrivello was a big fan of laughing gas during his operations, but not a whiff of it went to his patients.
Poor guy.
He’s probably being judged right now. I could hear his previous appointment screaming from outside.
There’s a special place in hell for that creep.
**shoutout to little shop of horrors, a play I’m performing this Tuesday! I’m actually playing Orin.**
|
|
[WP] When you die, you go to Purgatory. When you get there, you slowly experience all of the pain you've ever caused onto others over a span of a few minutes. If you survive, you go to heaven; If you lose, you go to hell. You were a dentist.
|
Modern anasthesia is a marvel. When they'd told me I'd relive all the pain I ever caused, my heart had dropped straight into my stomach, but looking back, it hadn't been that bad. Sure, my jaw was still ringing from the thorough drilling it had taken, but given that this was a once\-in\-a\-lifetime \(for lack of a better term\) experience, I was pretty okay with it.
I must have been radiating confidence when I waltzed out of that pain\-chamber into the waiting room that lay behind, for I was met by a pair of stunned eyes. The man who sat on a small, cracked bench in the otherwise clinical room looked pale and weak, his cheeks wet with tears. He was shaking. Only my arrival seemed to have temporarily halted his despair.
His appearance startled me. He had passed, hadn't he? Did he want to go to hell so bad? Was he still processing the pain from his previous task? Surely, he'd be picked up from here soon, as would I. "Hey," I said, uncertain. "Hell of a test, eh?"
He winced at the word 'hell', then shrugged. "I don't know. I wouldn't know."
This was about the most puzzling answer he could have given. Since I assumed we would be here for a while and nothing about our surroundings suggested any other course of action, I sat down next to him. "You're pretty lucky then. I used to be a dentist."
Suppressing a sniffle, he raised an eyebrow at me which pulled his entire puffy face upwards. "That's impressive. Didn't you cause a lot of pain?"
"Oh, you know," I grinned, "if you're good at your job, it's really not that painful. Most people are just anxious. They imagine most of their pain."
He immediately started sobbing again. Seeing a grown man cry is always unpleasant, but his extended half\-screams\-half\-sobs took the cake in a terrifying manner.
Trying to distract him, I probed "What did you do for a living?"
It worked, causing him to stop immediately. He looked up at me from his hunched position. "I was a doctor too, you know. Oncologist."
"Lucky bastard," I joked. "Your patients at least didn't feel a thing. Sure, chemo is way worse... but I'm not sure if that counts as being caused by you. Though you'd probably have to ask the devil's advocate."
Maybe I had chuckled a bit too much about my own joke, but something about my statement prompted him to pull himself upright. He gripped my shoulders with both of his huge hands and fixed his blurry eyes straight on mine. "You don't get it," he said. "Have you ever told someone that they or their wife, their husband or their child were going to die? Have you ever, with medical certainty predicted that someone in the prime of their life would not live to have children of their own, or enough time to even imagine fulfilling their dreams? Have you ever so thoroughly crushed someone's spirit by just doing your job?"
I looked at him, cluelessly. Of course he was right \- I never got to tell people they were dying. But that was beside the point. I had luckily only been punished for physical pain, so it couldn't have been different for him, either.
An uncomfortable creaking noise echoed through the waiting room, and a half\-demonic, half\-angelic imp emerged from a door that I could have sworn hadn't been there before. It blinked at us, then looked at a clipboard in its hand.
"AXGGF\-20112018\-C, you're next. Boy, are you going to have fun in this round."
The man next to me rose, taking a deep breath. He nodded at me as a farewell. "I suppose I won't make it. But good luck with yours."
He took the imp's hand and disappeared through the door, leaving me behind, an unfamiliar feeling of dread creeping up inside me as I unconsciously remembered the noise of a dental drill.
|
"What about all the harm I've prevented? Does that factor in?" I exclaimed in exasperation. A guy with coveralls that says Pete across the chest looked ponderously at me. "Ya know, I'm not sure." He replied. "You wanna get started anyway?" If I still had a physical heart, it would have been pumping fiercely. He starts to walk down a well lit corridor and swings a right into a room with a single chair and a glass of red wine next to it. "Once you drink this, your time will come, and the divine judgment of your eternal soul will begin." Scared shitless, I wanted to get it over with as fast as possible. I take a gulp and thankfully all the times I've given anesthesia and those fun pain killer drugs to my patients seem to have counteracted the physical harm I caused over the years. Then, in a flash, I see a glimpse of my wife's face in my minds eye and my heart breaks. I had cheated on her and I finally felt what it was like. Although I am alive, I am broken. "What is the point in surviving to go to heaven if I harmed the one I loved while alive??" I scream out in pain. Pete looks at me and replies, "What makes you think you survived?"
|
|
[WP] When you die, you go to Purgatory. When you get there, you slowly experience all of the pain you've ever caused onto others over a span of a few minutes. If you survive, you go to heaven; If you lose, you go to hell. You were a dentist.
|
I steeled myself for what was to come. And it began. A few pokes in the gums, some uncomfortable prods...and it was over.
"That's it?" I asked.
"You were a very good dentist, and a master at local anesthesia. That's all the physical pain you've caused," said the angel.
"So I can move on now?"
"Well, we're not quite done yet. You have to endure the psychological pain you caused too. Now, feel the torture your patients felt every time you butchered 'Dentist!' from *Little Shop of Horrors*."
Only then did I truly feel terror for the fate of my soul.
|
"What about all the harm I've prevented? Does that factor in?" I exclaimed in exasperation. A guy with coveralls that says Pete across the chest looked ponderously at me. "Ya know, I'm not sure." He replied. "You wanna get started anyway?" If I still had a physical heart, it would have been pumping fiercely. He starts to walk down a well lit corridor and swings a right into a room with a single chair and a glass of red wine next to it. "Once you drink this, your time will come, and the divine judgment of your eternal soul will begin." Scared shitless, I wanted to get it over with as fast as possible. I take a gulp and thankfully all the times I've given anesthesia and those fun pain killer drugs to my patients seem to have counteracted the physical harm I caused over the years. Then, in a flash, I see a glimpse of my wife's face in my minds eye and my heart breaks. I had cheated on her and I finally felt what it was like. Although I am alive, I am broken. "What is the point in surviving to go to heaven if I harmed the one I loved while alive??" I scream out in pain. Pete looks at me and replies, "What makes you think you survived?"
|
|
[WP] When you die, you go to Purgatory. When you get there, you slowly experience all of the pain you've ever caused onto others over a span of a few minutes. If you survive, you go to heaven; If you lose, you go to hell. You were a dentist.
|
“Hey Phil” said the man in white as he sat behind the desk.
“Hey” I said, still a bit hazy. “Hey, did I die? Am I dead?”
“Yes you are!” He said with a smile “Welcome to purgatory! We just have to get some paperwork settled before we can move you into heaven”
As he shifted through the paperwork, I took a moment to take in my surroundings. We were in what looked like a courtroom, except that outside the windows it was pure white. Behind the desk was a large door.
“Where is everyone else?” I asked.
“Oh?” He said as he looked up. “Everyone gets a turn when it’s their time. Where you are now is just a representation based on what would feel familiar for you.”
“I see” I said unsure.
“So let’s see here.” He began. He pulled one of the papers up to his eyes with one hand and and put his hand on the other. “So let me explain our policy. The way things work is that once you get to purgatory you slowly experience all of the pain you’ve ever caused others”
His words filled me with a deep feeling of unease...
“If you survive you can go to heaven”
Survive? I let his words sink in. Slowly the memories of my life was starting to come back to me and with that came a realization. I had been a dentist. I practiced for over 60 years. I’ve had to pull out teeth, perform root canals, fix cavities. The combined pain my patients had felt time and time again as they recovered from the surgeries I had performed... would be enough to kill me twice over.
“But here is the thing Phil” said the man behind the desk “We also deduct pain based on how much pain you prevented for others. So of course we take into consideration your profession as a dentist. And yes you had to pull a few teeth here and there, but had you not done this the amount of pain and suffering from infection would have been much worse. Therefore, we are pushing your application automatically through! Congratulations!”
I was elated. It was as if a huge weight had been taken off my shoulders.
“I’ll tell you what though Phil not every dentist gets this deduction. You’re lucky you were a very good dentist. I’m not supposed to talk about other clients, but a woman came in here a few days ago and she had a habit of performing unnecessary surgeries to make more money.”
He shook his head. “She didn’t make it very long...”
|
"What about all the harm I've prevented? Does that factor in?" I exclaimed in exasperation. A guy with coveralls that says Pete across the chest looked ponderously at me. "Ya know, I'm not sure." He replied. "You wanna get started anyway?" If I still had a physical heart, it would have been pumping fiercely. He starts to walk down a well lit corridor and swings a right into a room with a single chair and a glass of red wine next to it. "Once you drink this, your time will come, and the divine judgment of your eternal soul will begin." Scared shitless, I wanted to get it over with as fast as possible. I take a gulp and thankfully all the times I've given anesthesia and those fun pain killer drugs to my patients seem to have counteracted the physical harm I caused over the years. Then, in a flash, I see a glimpse of my wife's face in my minds eye and my heart breaks. I had cheated on her and I finally felt what it was like. Although I am alive, I am broken. "What is the point in surviving to go to heaven if I harmed the one I loved while alive??" I scream out in pain. Pete looks at me and replies, "What makes you think you survived?"
|
|
[WP] When you die, you go to Purgatory. When you get there, you slowly experience all of the pain you've ever caused onto others over a span of a few minutes. If you survive, you go to heaven; If you lose, you go to hell. You were a dentist.
|
I steeled myself for what was to come. And it began. A few pokes in the gums, some uncomfortable prods...and it was over.
"That's it?" I asked.
"You were a very good dentist, and a master at local anesthesia. That's all the physical pain you've caused," said the angel.
"So I can move on now?"
"Well, we're not quite done yet. You have to endure the psychological pain you caused too. Now, feel the torture your patients felt every time you butchered 'Dentist!' from *Little Shop of Horrors*."
Only then did I truly feel terror for the fate of my soul.
|
Modern anasthesia is a marvel. When they'd told me I'd relive all the pain I ever caused, my heart had dropped straight into my stomach, but looking back, it hadn't been that bad. Sure, my jaw was still ringing from the thorough drilling it had taken, but given that this was a once\-in\-a\-lifetime \(for lack of a better term\) experience, I was pretty okay with it.
I must have been radiating confidence when I waltzed out of that pain\-chamber into the waiting room that lay behind, for I was met by a pair of stunned eyes. The man who sat on a small, cracked bench in the otherwise clinical room looked pale and weak, his cheeks wet with tears. He was shaking. Only my arrival seemed to have temporarily halted his despair.
His appearance startled me. He had passed, hadn't he? Did he want to go to hell so bad? Was he still processing the pain from his previous task? Surely, he'd be picked up from here soon, as would I. "Hey," I said, uncertain. "Hell of a test, eh?"
He winced at the word 'hell', then shrugged. "I don't know. I wouldn't know."
This was about the most puzzling answer he could have given. Since I assumed we would be here for a while and nothing about our surroundings suggested any other course of action, I sat down next to him. "You're pretty lucky then. I used to be a dentist."
Suppressing a sniffle, he raised an eyebrow at me which pulled his entire puffy face upwards. "That's impressive. Didn't you cause a lot of pain?"
"Oh, you know," I grinned, "if you're good at your job, it's really not that painful. Most people are just anxious. They imagine most of their pain."
He immediately started sobbing again. Seeing a grown man cry is always unpleasant, but his extended half\-screams\-half\-sobs took the cake in a terrifying manner.
Trying to distract him, I probed "What did you do for a living?"
It worked, causing him to stop immediately. He looked up at me from his hunched position. "I was a doctor too, you know. Oncologist."
"Lucky bastard," I joked. "Your patients at least didn't feel a thing. Sure, chemo is way worse... but I'm not sure if that counts as being caused by you. Though you'd probably have to ask the devil's advocate."
Maybe I had chuckled a bit too much about my own joke, but something about my statement prompted him to pull himself upright. He gripped my shoulders with both of his huge hands and fixed his blurry eyes straight on mine. "You don't get it," he said. "Have you ever told someone that they or their wife, their husband or their child were going to die? Have you ever, with medical certainty predicted that someone in the prime of their life would not live to have children of their own, or enough time to even imagine fulfilling their dreams? Have you ever so thoroughly crushed someone's spirit by just doing your job?"
I looked at him, cluelessly. Of course he was right \- I never got to tell people they were dying. But that was beside the point. I had luckily only been punished for physical pain, so it couldn't have been different for him, either.
An uncomfortable creaking noise echoed through the waiting room, and a half\-demonic, half\-angelic imp emerged from a door that I could have sworn hadn't been there before. It blinked at us, then looked at a clipboard in its hand.
"AXGGF\-20112018\-C, you're next. Boy, are you going to have fun in this round."
The man next to me rose, taking a deep breath. He nodded at me as a farewell. "I suppose I won't make it. But good luck with yours."
He took the imp's hand and disappeared through the door, leaving me behind, an unfamiliar feeling of dread creeping up inside me as I unconsciously remembered the noise of a dental drill.
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[WP] When you die, you go to Purgatory. When you get there, you slowly experience all of the pain you've ever caused onto others over a span of a few minutes. If you survive, you go to heaven; If you lose, you go to hell. You were a dentist.
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“Hey Phil” said the man in white as he sat behind the desk.
“Hey” I said, still a bit hazy. “Hey, did I die? Am I dead?”
“Yes you are!” He said with a smile “Welcome to purgatory! We just have to get some paperwork settled before we can move you into heaven”
As he shifted through the paperwork, I took a moment to take in my surroundings. We were in what looked like a courtroom, except that outside the windows it was pure white. Behind the desk was a large door.
“Where is everyone else?” I asked.
“Oh?” He said as he looked up. “Everyone gets a turn when it’s their time. Where you are now is just a representation based on what would feel familiar for you.”
“I see” I said unsure.
“So let’s see here.” He began. He pulled one of the papers up to his eyes with one hand and and put his hand on the other. “So let me explain our policy. The way things work is that once you get to purgatory you slowly experience all of the pain you’ve ever caused others”
His words filled me with a deep feeling of unease...
“If you survive you can go to heaven”
Survive? I let his words sink in. Slowly the memories of my life was starting to come back to me and with that came a realization. I had been a dentist. I practiced for over 60 years. I’ve had to pull out teeth, perform root canals, fix cavities. The combined pain my patients had felt time and time again as they recovered from the surgeries I had performed... would be enough to kill me twice over.
“But here is the thing Phil” said the man behind the desk “We also deduct pain based on how much pain you prevented for others. So of course we take into consideration your profession as a dentist. And yes you had to pull a few teeth here and there, but had you not done this the amount of pain and suffering from infection would have been much worse. Therefore, we are pushing your application automatically through! Congratulations!”
I was elated. It was as if a huge weight had been taken off my shoulders.
“I’ll tell you what though Phil not every dentist gets this deduction. You’re lucky you were a very good dentist. I’m not supposed to talk about other clients, but a woman came in here a few days ago and she had a habit of performing unnecessary surgeries to make more money.”
He shook his head. “She didn’t make it very long...”
|
All the pain coming from nerves is nothing compared to what you had done to the women who once had you.
Ever since you were in middle school, girls of all ages were mad for you. Not only were you confident but you also had the looks. At some point, more than one girl was bound to be hurt. For you though, it became a point of personal pride.
You rejoiced on the tears of broken-hearted girls, but not precisely because you enjoyed their suffering. No, you enjoyed being in the middle of it all. In the middle of the gossips, the indiscrete encounters, the fights. The sun in a wicked and dysfunctional system. And of course it was that way, you never really cared for any of them, it was all about you. Always. You left dentistry school as a legend, or so you liked to think.
Thankfully for you, you did meet her, and that did change your path and ways. The only woman you loved and she had to go in such a way. All the pro-bono work you did for decades after her death will certainly help your case.
If I was to play on tape to you all the lives you fucked, that in itself would put a normal mind with many restless nights. Let's see if all of those who got a blackened tooth pulled out, or a new pair of dentures on you can offset all the tears that once flowed for you.
-St. P
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[WP] When you die, you go to Purgatory. When you get there, you slowly experience all of the pain you've ever caused onto others over a span of a few minutes. If you survive, you go to heaven; If you lose, you go to hell. You were a dentist.
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I had been called a sadist more than once by my patients, because I used less laughing gas than I probably could have and inflicted more pain rummaging around in their oral crevices than I probably should have.
These are the things I think about now, as my mouth aches something fierce, as if hot knives are entering my gums. The blood pours out and runs down my chin, relieving the burning sensation somewhat. I just have to endure the overwhelming agony for few minutes, for a chance at entering heaven.
But my patients were wrong. I’m not a sadist; I’m a sadomasochist.
I shudder a little in ecstasy, unable to help myself. I grind my teeth to exacerbate the intense discomfort. Sooner than I would like, the trial is finished. There is no residual pain or soreness, and there is no blood on me or the ground around me. What a shame.
“Well, how’d I do?” I ask, as I rub my jaw. The angelic being watching me recoils a little in disgust before it turns and whispers in the ear of the demon standing next to it.
“Um, I’m sorry, but... you’re not welcome in heaven...” the angel says, at last.
“Oh? Why? I thought I handled myself pretty well.”
“Well, um... you enjoyed yourself a little too much. It was kind of uncomfortable to watch.”
I shrug my shoulders as the angel retreats from the room, and wave goodbye to it. It pretends not to notice.
“So...” the demon says, breaking the awkward silence. “Do you want a job? We could always use a few extra... hurting hands in hell.”
I ponder this offer for a moment. “What’s in it for me?” I ask, seeing as money is most likely useless in the firey pit below the earth.
“You can... use the torture instruments on yourself.” The demon responds hesitantly. A paper and pen appear from thin air, and the demon extends them to me.
“Just read over these terms and conditions, and sign the contract. Make sure to read carefully, because once you sign, your eternal soul is—“
I hand him back the signed contract, grinning from ear to ear.
“Eugh, o-kay. Wow. That’s a first.” The demon snaps it’s fingers and suddenly I’m in hell, surrounded by various instruments that look more or less like the ones I used in my dental practice. I can hear screams of agony in the distance.
Something tells me I’m going to like it here.
|
All the pain coming from nerves is nothing compared to what you had done to the women who once had you.
Ever since you were in middle school, girls of all ages were mad for you. Not only were you confident but you also had the looks. At some point, more than one girl was bound to be hurt. For you though, it became a point of personal pride.
You rejoiced on the tears of broken-hearted girls, but not precisely because you enjoyed their suffering. No, you enjoyed being in the middle of it all. In the middle of the gossips, the indiscrete encounters, the fights. The sun in a wicked and dysfunctional system. And of course it was that way, you never really cared for any of them, it was all about you. Always. You left dentistry school as a legend, or so you liked to think.
Thankfully for you, you did meet her, and that did change your path and ways. The only woman you loved and she had to go in such a way. All the pro-bono work you did for decades after her death will certainly help your case.
If I was to play on tape to you all the lives you fucked, that in itself would put a normal mind with many restless nights. Let's see if all of those who got a blackened tooth pulled out, or a new pair of dentures on you can offset all the tears that once flowed for you.
-St. P
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[WP] When you die, you go to Purgatory. When you get there, you slowly experience all of the pain you've ever caused onto others over a span of a few minutes. If you survive, you go to heaven; If you lose, you go to hell. You were a dentist.
|
“Hey Phil” said the man in white as he sat behind the desk.
“Hey” I said, still a bit hazy. “Hey, did I die? Am I dead?”
“Yes you are!” He said with a smile “Welcome to purgatory! We just have to get some paperwork settled before we can move you into heaven”
As he shifted through the paperwork, I took a moment to take in my surroundings. We were in what looked like a courtroom, except that outside the windows it was pure white. Behind the desk was a large door.
“Where is everyone else?” I asked.
“Oh?” He said as he looked up. “Everyone gets a turn when it’s their time. Where you are now is just a representation based on what would feel familiar for you.”
“I see” I said unsure.
“So let’s see here.” He began. He pulled one of the papers up to his eyes with one hand and and put his hand on the other. “So let me explain our policy. The way things work is that once you get to purgatory you slowly experience all of the pain you’ve ever caused others”
His words filled me with a deep feeling of unease...
“If you survive you can go to heaven”
Survive? I let his words sink in. Slowly the memories of my life was starting to come back to me and with that came a realization. I had been a dentist. I practiced for over 60 years. I’ve had to pull out teeth, perform root canals, fix cavities. The combined pain my patients had felt time and time again as they recovered from the surgeries I had performed... would be enough to kill me twice over.
“But here is the thing Phil” said the man behind the desk “We also deduct pain based on how much pain you prevented for others. So of course we take into consideration your profession as a dentist. And yes you had to pull a few teeth here and there, but had you not done this the amount of pain and suffering from infection would have been much worse. Therefore, we are pushing your application automatically through! Congratulations!”
I was elated. It was as if a huge weight had been taken off my shoulders.
“I’ll tell you what though Phil not every dentist gets this deduction. You’re lucky you were a very good dentist. I’m not supposed to talk about other clients, but a woman came in here a few days ago and she had a habit of performing unnecessary surgeries to make more money.”
He shook his head. “She didn’t make it very long...”
|
The pain was strong. Thousands of teeth being pulled out and moving around. Millions of drills drilling through me.
It wasn't just in my mouth, the pain could be felt in my whole body.
The memories of all the faces that had gone through my clinic could be felt in my skin coming and going together with the pain.
The pain of braces, I could feel my body constricting itself. I felt like I would collapse at any moment.
Oh god, why. Why did I chose this profession? The regret was almost as intense as the physical pain itself. I felt like asking for death, but I couldn't. I didn't want to go to hell. I wanted to see my family again. I wanted to see my loved ones.
 
Suddenly, it stopped.
 
A smiling girl appeared on my mind. The pain was replaced with happiness. Faces smiling in the mirror, a first kiss, self-confidence, relief. All came to me in a second.
For the first time in my life, or well... death, I felt whole. Pain was but a step for happiness.
The trial was over.
 
I could feel a warmness sweeping through me. A fuzzy, feeling of love in my chest.
In the distance, a voice.
 
— Sorry you had to go through this. I wish we didn't had to do the same for everyone, but we have to keep it fair. You get it, right? You are a good guy. A lot of you are. Your wife is expecting you, you'll meet her soon. Welcome home, son.
 
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[WP] When you die, you go to Purgatory. When you get there, you slowly experience all of the pain you've ever caused onto others over a span of a few minutes. If you survive, you go to heaven; If you lose, you go to hell. You were a dentist.
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“Hey Phil” said the man in white as he sat behind the desk.
“Hey” I said, still a bit hazy. “Hey, did I die? Am I dead?”
“Yes you are!” He said with a smile “Welcome to purgatory! We just have to get some paperwork settled before we can move you into heaven”
As he shifted through the paperwork, I took a moment to take in my surroundings. We were in what looked like a courtroom, except that outside the windows it was pure white. Behind the desk was a large door.
“Where is everyone else?” I asked.
“Oh?” He said as he looked up. “Everyone gets a turn when it’s their time. Where you are now is just a representation based on what would feel familiar for you.”
“I see” I said unsure.
“So let’s see here.” He began. He pulled one of the papers up to his eyes with one hand and and put his hand on the other. “So let me explain our policy. The way things work is that once you get to purgatory you slowly experience all of the pain you’ve ever caused others”
His words filled me with a deep feeling of unease...
“If you survive you can go to heaven”
Survive? I let his words sink in. Slowly the memories of my life was starting to come back to me and with that came a realization. I had been a dentist. I practiced for over 60 years. I’ve had to pull out teeth, perform root canals, fix cavities. The combined pain my patients had felt time and time again as they recovered from the surgeries I had performed... would be enough to kill me twice over.
“But here is the thing Phil” said the man behind the desk “We also deduct pain based on how much pain you prevented for others. So of course we take into consideration your profession as a dentist. And yes you had to pull a few teeth here and there, but had you not done this the amount of pain and suffering from infection would have been much worse. Therefore, we are pushing your application automatically through! Congratulations!”
I was elated. It was as if a huge weight had been taken off my shoulders.
“I’ll tell you what though Phil not every dentist gets this deduction. You’re lucky you were a very good dentist. I’m not supposed to talk about other clients, but a woman came in here a few days ago and she had a habit of performing unnecessary surgeries to make more money.”
He shook his head. “She didn’t make it very long...”
|
“Who are you?”
“I’m Michael, I’ll be administering your Purgatory Pain today.” He got to work hooking me up to all types of monitors. Wires were running up and down my body. It all happened so fast I could hardly process it.
“Hold on just a second.” I spluttered. “Someone needs to explain this to me. What’s happening?”
Michael crossed the room and began typing on a keyboard. He didn’t bother looking up from the monitor. “You died and came here to Purgatory. I’m going to administer a dose of pain you’ve caused over your life. It’ll last for a total of... how old were you?”
“47.” I replied. He entered my age and hit submit.
“Three minutes.” He smiles at me and sat back in his chair. “Tell me a bit about yourself for our records.”
He rattled off a list of questions for me and I answered cautiously. I was sure this was a dream and I’d wake up any second. He generally seemed uninterested in me until I mentioned I was a dentist. His eyes lit up.
“Perfect. I have been waiting for my first dentist. I’ve been here for 305 years and haven’t had one yet.”
He gestured to a large clock on the wall. “The rest will begin in three... two... one!” He clicked a dial and the room began to hum.
It was subtle at first
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[WP] When you die, you go to Purgatory. When you get there, you slowly experience all of the pain you've ever caused onto others over a span of a few minutes. If you survive, you go to heaven; If you lose, you go to hell. You were a dentist.
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I had been called a sadist more than once by my patients, because I used less laughing gas than I probably could have and inflicted more pain rummaging around in their oral crevices than I probably should have.
These are the things I think about now, as my mouth aches something fierce, as if hot knives are entering my gums. The blood pours out and runs down my chin, relieving the burning sensation somewhat. I just have to endure the overwhelming agony for few minutes, for a chance at entering heaven.
But my patients were wrong. I’m not a sadist; I’m a sadomasochist.
I shudder a little in ecstasy, unable to help myself. I grind my teeth to exacerbate the intense discomfort. Sooner than I would like, the trial is finished. There is no residual pain or soreness, and there is no blood on me or the ground around me. What a shame.
“Well, how’d I do?” I ask, as I rub my jaw. The angelic being watching me recoils a little in disgust before it turns and whispers in the ear of the demon standing next to it.
“Um, I’m sorry, but... you’re not welcome in heaven...” the angel says, at last.
“Oh? Why? I thought I handled myself pretty well.”
“Well, um... you enjoyed yourself a little too much. It was kind of uncomfortable to watch.”
I shrug my shoulders as the angel retreats from the room, and wave goodbye to it. It pretends not to notice.
“So...” the demon says, breaking the awkward silence. “Do you want a job? We could always use a few extra... hurting hands in hell.”
I ponder this offer for a moment. “What’s in it for me?” I ask, seeing as money is most likely useless in the firey pit below the earth.
“You can... use the torture instruments on yourself.” The demon responds hesitantly. A paper and pen appear from thin air, and the demon extends them to me.
“Just read over these terms and conditions, and sign the contract. Make sure to read carefully, because once you sign, your eternal soul is—“
I hand him back the signed contract, grinning from ear to ear.
“Eugh, o-kay. Wow. That’s a first.” The demon snaps it’s fingers and suddenly I’m in hell, surrounded by various instruments that look more or less like the ones I used in my dental practice. I can hear screams of agony in the distance.
Something tells me I’m going to like it here.
|
It was searing pain, each and every crevice in my mouth burned in agony as millions of tiny pins poked into my gums.
I grabbed my mouth in sheer terror and fell to the floor into the fetal position: I could hardly stay conscious through the attack on my mouth and sinus.
It probably only lasted a couple minutes but it could have been an eternity by itself. As it came to a close the sharp pain subsided and I was left with an extremely sore mouth. I put my hand beneath it to stop the crimson colored blood from gushing to the ground as I tried to look around.
In the corner sat a tall red man howling with laughter. His horns scraped the wall as he threw his head back to cackle with delight. The man next to Satan must have been god, the father version at least. Tall and wider shoulders than the devil, a long beard went to his chest. He too looked pleased. I was a little confused at how my suffering could equally delight the two most polar opposites of the universe, when Satan called out I realized why.
“Should have flossed, asshole!”
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[WP] When you die, you go to Purgatory. When you get there, you slowly experience all of the pain you've ever caused onto others over a span of a few minutes. If you survive, you go to heaven; If you lose, you go to hell. You were a dentist.
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"Peter James Willis!"
The voice boomed like a cannon, emanating from a tall, winged figure standing behind an alter. Peter took in his surroundings. Grey walls, grey floor, grey benches. An absence of real colors.
"Oh, hold on," the voice again, "That's Dr. Peter James Willis. Dentist. 'Making the world smile brighter.' Well, that is a very sweet slogan."
Peter was confused, but began to regain his senses. "Who are-"
"I am an angel, this is purgatory, you died from a heart attack." The angel had heard these questions a million times.
"Purgatory?" Peter's mind raced back to his days at a Catholic private school. "So, those nuns with their rulers, they were right?"
"In part. It turns out God is forgiving of you turning away in your teens. But you must be cleansed before you enter the Kingdom of the Lord. It goes as such: You may stay here as long as you like. If you wish to enter Heaven, you must experience all the pain you have caused others in your life. It will occur over the course of a few minutes. If you can survive the pain, you will ascend. Else, you will be sent below to wallow in misery."
"Survive? But I'm already dead."
"That has not been an issue in the past. You may take some time to consider, or to ready yourself. But know that no amount of time can truly prepare you. There are others who have waited many years for their judgement. Many who wait still do not survive the ordeal."
Peter inhaled deeply. He tried to think of the worst things he had done. The hurtful things he said as a teenager, that fender bender that gave his then girlfriend whiplash. And of course, the countless hours he had spent drilling into children's teeth. He knew this would not be a pleasant experience.
"Well, let's get on with it. I don't like the idea of waiting for my eternity. Besides, if the worst should happen, what difference do a few years make in eternal Hell?"
The angel reached out towards Peter. Its hand glowed, and Peter felt a fog enter his head. The fog turned to a sharp pain as Peter saw the horrid things he had said when he was a teenager. Then from the fights he had during keggers in college. And then on to the dentistry. And now, that fog...
And it was warm. Where he had braced for pain, Peter instead felt an immense pleasure. His mind raced back through the years. There were mistakes to be certain, spikes of pain interspersed from saying the wrong thing. But when the memories of the dentistry flooded in, the pain of the drill was overshadowed.
He saw Timothy Baker, who had first come into Peter's practice at the age of 5. Little Timmy had a chipped tooth and was scared of the dentist. But Peter saw himself be gentle and kind with the child, making him comfortable as he fixed Timmy's incisor. The boy left with a smile. And Peter saw the fruits of his labor, as little Timmy enjoyed a caramel apple at a fair just a few weeks later, no pain to be had.
The memories repeated as such, with Peter caring for the dental health of youth.
As the fog cleared, Peter could see a smile on the Angel's face. "Well Peter, it looks as though you led a good life."
"I don't understand," Peter was somewhat shocked. "Where was the pain from the drills? Or from nicking a gum with the scraper?"
"No action is taken in a vacuum Peter. As you intended when you started your practice, the lives of those children were made better through your care." A door opened on the grey wall to Peter's right, where radiant light shined through. "Now, off you go. Bliss is yours. You will want to get to it before my next guest arrives. It appears to be a Wells Fargo executive, and he will have much to answer for."
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"Congratulations Mr White, welcome to heaven. I hope the pain wasn't too bad." Peter placated, his well practiced lines. Taking off his reading glasses, Peter peered up from the ledger.
"Mr White, are you ok?"
Mr White revealed a toothless bloody smile, "muhrugh" he nodded.
Peter extended a handkerchief and a hand leading to the pearly gates.
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[WP] When you die, you go to Purgatory. When you get there, you slowly experience all of the pain you've ever caused onto others over a span of a few minutes. If you survive, you go to heaven; If you lose, you go to hell. You were a dentist.
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Most descriptions of death involve walking into the light, or darkness and only darkness.
This wasn't what I felt.
I had lived a good life. Being a dentist had it's ups and downs, but there was always a demand. More importantly, it felt good to be helpful.
Retirement was nice. Seeing the grandkids grow up was amazing. None of them wanted to be dentists, which was a bit of a bummer, but then again, they were probably tired of grandpa giving them a new toothbrush on every holiday. At least all but Johnny, my third grandson, didn't blame me about how much cavities hurt.
I remember dying. You might be inclined to thinking that my memory would be hazy, or I'd have locked it away. Memory works differently here. It's actually kind of miraculous: I remember feeling old age creep in \- the dulling of memories, the names on the tip of my tongue \- but it's crystal clear here. I feel like I have time to remember anything I want; I try to focus on the good things \- my wife and kids, mostly.
I do dwell on dying though. I remember the myocardial infarction \- the sudden, rising pain; the shortness of breath. I remember them trying to revive me \- something I could NOT possibly remember from my own body. I remember part of the ambulance ride. And then, there's nothing but this place.
It's a waiting room. Not like my office's; more like a restaurant that has a two\-hour waiting list. There's lots of us here, but we're alone with our memories. No one talks to anyone else. No one talks to me, and I don't talk to anyone. I think it's a mixture of fear and grief; we all know we're all dead, but how can we care about others when we also need comfort?
Every once and a while, a name is called. The room is huge, and I can't always see it, but someone always gets up and goes to the door. I can't see in the door \- I tried to look up once, but it hurt my eyes. It was just.... gray.
After so much time \- it felt like forever, but time is also weird here \- I hear my name.
"Dr. Jacobson, the specialist will see you now."
I don't see anyone beckon. I don't need to. I stand up and walk toward the door. Well... my body does this. I'm just along for the ride, I suppose. I try to think about my family \- even Johnny, who refused to be in a picture with me, ever. It keeps me calm \- not that I could scream.
I walk through the door.
I no longer get a feeling of a restaurant or a doctor's office; instead, it's an office. It's a nice office \- reminds me of the dean of the dentistry school's, though how I remember what it looked like is beyond me. I take a seat, and a moment later, someone comes in and sits down across from me.
"So, Dr. Jacobson... mind if I call you Edward?"
Across for me is a hooded figure. I can't see the facial features; the robe is flowing, and his hands are gloved. I find myself able to speak.
"No, Edward or Ed is fine."
The voice emanated from the hood. It was odd; it wasn't a recording, but it reverberated on occasion. "Ok, thanks Ed. So I'm sure you know why you're here..."
"Not really, no. I mean, I know I'm dead, but I always thought there would be something on the other side."
"Oh, there is. But we have to be sure. That's why the waiting room is so... neutral. No sinner deserves the wonder of Heaven; no innocent deserves the torment of Hell. So we make it as neutral as possible while you wait."
"Wait for what?"
The hooded figure chuckled. "Why, for me, of course. I adjudicate cases. I help determine which way you should go." The gloved hands point up and down.
Time was far different in this room; it was almost like living. Fear washed over me; had I been good enough for Heaven? I wasn't the most devout person. I could feel myself sweat, and tears starting to well up.
"Oh, there's no point in that. You lived your life, and it either was good or bad."
"How... how do you know what it will be?"
"It's simple really. Everything is interconnected. Everything you did was good and/or bad. It all weighs out. You know why you made the decisions, and we know all of that as well. But, there's a test."
"What test?"
"Well, in a moment, all the pain you caused in your life will come back to you. You will feel whether or not you were good; I'm just keeping score."
"How? When?"
"Don't worry about how. How is our little secret. When is a better question. Now."
My teeth hurt instantly. It was a weird pain \- as a dentist, I could not describe it. Certain teeth hurt more \- the damnable second molars hurt. My lips felt like they were going to fall off.
At the same time, I felt... relief. None of the teeth hurt. Occasionally, there'd be a flare up, but they felt... better.
I remembered every fight with my wife. I remembered my brother disowning me. I remembered my parents dying. I remembered breaking a knick\-knack when I was 4. I remembered submitting my third patient ever to collections. I remembered disappointing my patients when I retired. I remembered a malpractice suit that was settled. I remembered my very first dental professor frustrated at my bad grades. I remembered graduating. I remembered EVERYTHING.
I remembered Johnny. My own grandson! I felt his fear of me, and it roil into hate. I remembered his scream when I first spun up the drill, his scream of pain from drilling into that accursed second molar. I remember finishing up, and him jumping out of the chair, running out to the waiting room, and hiding behind my daughter\-in\-law, like I was a monster from under the bed.
I cried.
"OK, we're all done here, Dr. Jacobson. Congratulations!"
I choked through tears. "Wait... what?"
"Oh yes, I've seen what I need to see. You caused so much pain \- but to the end of so much relief to pain you didn't cause \- well, mostly. You felt guilt about slights and wrongs you had done. You did good things and tried to help people. You WERE good. Not great, but good!"
I couldn't feel any joy. "But my own grandson hates me! He thinks I would hurt him!"
The hooded figure chuckled again. "Huh, you're really stuck on that one. OK. Well, I have to put it in perspective. What I should do is simply pull down my hood, to show you how little it matters. But it does matter. It matters to you, and it really does matter to him. So let me take you on a little sightseeing tour. I shouldn't do it, but you already got a good result."
"Huh?"
I blinked \- and I was outside my old office. It looked... different. I went up to the door, and saw the stenciled lettering.
Jacobson Family Dentistry
Dr. John Wertzbach, D.D.S.
I ran inside. There was Johnny. Oh, he was much older, but it was him. Same little scar below his left eye; same dark hair that needed a trim.
I heard a voice behind me. "This is part of why you got Heaven as well. Sure, you hurt him, and he hated you for it. After you passed, he felt bad. Had to see a therapist for months."
I welled up.
"Then, in high school, he told his parents something. He told them he trusted you, and had felt betrayed, but now realized you only wanted to help him. His parents had known he felt guilty, but he described how deep the mental scar went. He said he wanted to help people too \- and you had helped your family enough that they could enabled him to do just that \- by paying for college. He chose dental school."
I cried again. I smiled and laughed, but kept crying.
"Your wife put up the money for his first practice. It wasn't much, but it was enough for one bit of sentiment: this building. He literally followed in your footsteps, Johnathan. He's actually pretty good at it. He doesn't have nearly as much trouble with those second molars."
"... thank you."
"No problem, but now you need to move along. I have to get to my next customer..." He flipped a chart in his hand, "A televangelist. Oh boy, I get to share the bad news."
|
Darkness.
Silence - wait, no. Was that... screaming? Faintly distant, and yet, I could hear the cacophony of raw and guttural screeching rippling through my very soul.
I must be in hell.
I drew my eyelids apart and saw a torn sky. Crimson and azure, it divided the world into two.
"*Next!*" a voice booms deafeningly over the screams.
Compelled by the voice, I stood up gingerly and saw it right away. A giant pit of scorched black soil in the distance. It stood out against the grass fields that surrounded the pit. Then I saw the people. Naked, soiled and scattered amongst each other, they approached the pit timidly in single file.
"W-where am I?" a girl's voice whimpers from behind me.
I turn around to the voice and realized that I was suddenly surrounded. Men and women of all ages stood around me.
"Isn't it obvious? We're in hell kiddo," answered an elderly man who chuckled softly.
"*No. Not yet,*" said a booming voice.
A man with scorched and cracked skin appeared above us.
*"You are in purgatory,*" he uttered stone-faced and in a matter-of-fact tone. "*But you will be in hell soon,*" he laughed menacingly as the crevices on his face cracked open, spilling black blood onto the grass.
People shrieked and jumped back as the blood incinerated the patch of grass below him.
*"A test,"* a heavenly voice echoed softly in the air.
Another figure appears. A woman with radiant skin.
"*Pass and you may ascend the stairs to heaven,*" she waved a hand towards the pit.
In the center of the pit was a magnificent spiral staircase. Iridescent light spilled from the clouds above it, basking the stone staircase in golden light.
"*Fail and you will descend into hell,*" said the scorched man as he pointed to the pit of black soil.
"What is the test?" I asked impulsively.
"*A test of Agony*!" the scorched man bellowed in a lively manner that made his skin crack even further.
"*A test of perseverance...*" the radiant woman answered, her voice barely a whisper. "*You must endure pain. All the pain that you have dealt to others in your life*."
Immediately the crowd of people around me began cursing and shouting excitedly.
"Shit!" a man behind me cried. "I was a serial killer! I'm fucking screwed!"
"I never hurt a fly in my life. I should be good."
"The only pain I ever caused... was to myself..." a young girl whimpered to herself.
A man raised his arm, waving at the celestial beings above us. "I-I was a police officer! I shot people, b-but they were murderers... they deserved it. T-that shouldn't count right?"
The radiant woman answered simply, "*all pain.*"
People broke into an uproar with her answer, throwing up their arms and cursing viciously.
I stood quietly, letting a few moments pass as they continued their complaints.
Then I spoke.
"I'm a dentist," I said.
I didn't shout, I didn't whimper, but the crowd of naked people stopped their bickering abruptly and looked at me.
"Y-you're a what?" the cop guy asked nervously.
He was standing next to me. I was sure he heard.
"I said I'm a dentist," I answered.
The silence lingered for a few moments before serial-killer man spoke. It was only one word. "Shit."
Dude-who-never-hurt-a-fly in his life had stopped grinning, and said, "That sucks bro."
"Good luck man," said some other people in the crowd as they shuffled awkwardly in their spot.
I only stood there solemnly in silence. To be going to hell for all the mouths that I had kept clean, for all the oral healthcare that I had provided... I felt cheated.
Then the elderly man from before walked up to me with a smile on his face. "You know what they say lad?"
I frowned as I looked at him.
"Go to heaven for the weather, and to hell for the company," he clasped his hand on my shoulder as he took the spot next to me.
I smiled back.
Well, at least I made one friend already before going to hell.
----
----
/r/em_pathy
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|
[WP] When you die, you go to Purgatory. When you get there, you slowly experience all of the pain you've ever caused onto others over a span of a few minutes. If you survive, you go to heaven; If you lose, you go to hell. You were a dentist.
|
Most descriptions of death involve walking into the light, or darkness and only darkness.
This wasn't what I felt.
I had lived a good life. Being a dentist had it's ups and downs, but there was always a demand. More importantly, it felt good to be helpful.
Retirement was nice. Seeing the grandkids grow up was amazing. None of them wanted to be dentists, which was a bit of a bummer, but then again, they were probably tired of grandpa giving them a new toothbrush on every holiday. At least all but Johnny, my third grandson, didn't blame me about how much cavities hurt.
I remember dying. You might be inclined to thinking that my memory would be hazy, or I'd have locked it away. Memory works differently here. It's actually kind of miraculous: I remember feeling old age creep in \- the dulling of memories, the names on the tip of my tongue \- but it's crystal clear here. I feel like I have time to remember anything I want; I try to focus on the good things \- my wife and kids, mostly.
I do dwell on dying though. I remember the myocardial infarction \- the sudden, rising pain; the shortness of breath. I remember them trying to revive me \- something I could NOT possibly remember from my own body. I remember part of the ambulance ride. And then, there's nothing but this place.
It's a waiting room. Not like my office's; more like a restaurant that has a two\-hour waiting list. There's lots of us here, but we're alone with our memories. No one talks to anyone else. No one talks to me, and I don't talk to anyone. I think it's a mixture of fear and grief; we all know we're all dead, but how can we care about others when we also need comfort?
Every once and a while, a name is called. The room is huge, and I can't always see it, but someone always gets up and goes to the door. I can't see in the door \- I tried to look up once, but it hurt my eyes. It was just.... gray.
After so much time \- it felt like forever, but time is also weird here \- I hear my name.
"Dr. Jacobson, the specialist will see you now."
I don't see anyone beckon. I don't need to. I stand up and walk toward the door. Well... my body does this. I'm just along for the ride, I suppose. I try to think about my family \- even Johnny, who refused to be in a picture with me, ever. It keeps me calm \- not that I could scream.
I walk through the door.
I no longer get a feeling of a restaurant or a doctor's office; instead, it's an office. It's a nice office \- reminds me of the dean of the dentistry school's, though how I remember what it looked like is beyond me. I take a seat, and a moment later, someone comes in and sits down across from me.
"So, Dr. Jacobson... mind if I call you Edward?"
Across for me is a hooded figure. I can't see the facial features; the robe is flowing, and his hands are gloved. I find myself able to speak.
"No, Edward or Ed is fine."
The voice emanated from the hood. It was odd; it wasn't a recording, but it reverberated on occasion. "Ok, thanks Ed. So I'm sure you know why you're here..."
"Not really, no. I mean, I know I'm dead, but I always thought there would be something on the other side."
"Oh, there is. But we have to be sure. That's why the waiting room is so... neutral. No sinner deserves the wonder of Heaven; no innocent deserves the torment of Hell. So we make it as neutral as possible while you wait."
"Wait for what?"
The hooded figure chuckled. "Why, for me, of course. I adjudicate cases. I help determine which way you should go." The gloved hands point up and down.
Time was far different in this room; it was almost like living. Fear washed over me; had I been good enough for Heaven? I wasn't the most devout person. I could feel myself sweat, and tears starting to well up.
"Oh, there's no point in that. You lived your life, and it either was good or bad."
"How... how do you know what it will be?"
"It's simple really. Everything is interconnected. Everything you did was good and/or bad. It all weighs out. You know why you made the decisions, and we know all of that as well. But, there's a test."
"What test?"
"Well, in a moment, all the pain you caused in your life will come back to you. You will feel whether or not you were good; I'm just keeping score."
"How? When?"
"Don't worry about how. How is our little secret. When is a better question. Now."
My teeth hurt instantly. It was a weird pain \- as a dentist, I could not describe it. Certain teeth hurt more \- the damnable second molars hurt. My lips felt like they were going to fall off.
At the same time, I felt... relief. None of the teeth hurt. Occasionally, there'd be a flare up, but they felt... better.
I remembered every fight with my wife. I remembered my brother disowning me. I remembered my parents dying. I remembered breaking a knick\-knack when I was 4. I remembered submitting my third patient ever to collections. I remembered disappointing my patients when I retired. I remembered a malpractice suit that was settled. I remembered my very first dental professor frustrated at my bad grades. I remembered graduating. I remembered EVERYTHING.
I remembered Johnny. My own grandson! I felt his fear of me, and it roil into hate. I remembered his scream when I first spun up the drill, his scream of pain from drilling into that accursed second molar. I remember finishing up, and him jumping out of the chair, running out to the waiting room, and hiding behind my daughter\-in\-law, like I was a monster from under the bed.
I cried.
"OK, we're all done here, Dr. Jacobson. Congratulations!"
I choked through tears. "Wait... what?"
"Oh yes, I've seen what I need to see. You caused so much pain \- but to the end of so much relief to pain you didn't cause \- well, mostly. You felt guilt about slights and wrongs you had done. You did good things and tried to help people. You WERE good. Not great, but good!"
I couldn't feel any joy. "But my own grandson hates me! He thinks I would hurt him!"
The hooded figure chuckled again. "Huh, you're really stuck on that one. OK. Well, I have to put it in perspective. What I should do is simply pull down my hood, to show you how little it matters. But it does matter. It matters to you, and it really does matter to him. So let me take you on a little sightseeing tour. I shouldn't do it, but you already got a good result."
"Huh?"
I blinked \- and I was outside my old office. It looked... different. I went up to the door, and saw the stenciled lettering.
Jacobson Family Dentistry
Dr. John Wertzbach, D.D.S.
I ran inside. There was Johnny. Oh, he was much older, but it was him. Same little scar below his left eye; same dark hair that needed a trim.
I heard a voice behind me. "This is part of why you got Heaven as well. Sure, you hurt him, and he hated you for it. After you passed, he felt bad. Had to see a therapist for months."
I welled up.
"Then, in high school, he told his parents something. He told them he trusted you, and had felt betrayed, but now realized you only wanted to help him. His parents had known he felt guilty, but he described how deep the mental scar went. He said he wanted to help people too \- and you had helped your family enough that they could enabled him to do just that \- by paying for college. He chose dental school."
I cried again. I smiled and laughed, but kept crying.
"Your wife put up the money for his first practice. It wasn't much, but it was enough for one bit of sentiment: this building. He literally followed in your footsteps, Johnathan. He's actually pretty good at it. He doesn't have nearly as much trouble with those second molars."
"... thank you."
"No problem, but now you need to move along. I have to get to my next customer..." He flipped a chart in his hand, "A televangelist. Oh boy, I get to share the bad news."
|
“See that old rusted truss bridge over there, babe?”
“Yeah.”
“When I was a boy, we used to jump off that bridge into the lake below. I haven’t thought of it for a very long time.”
Nancy looked deeply into her husband’s eyes and raised her wine glass.
“Cheers to a great career and the great life you have made for yourself, Robert.”
Robert, or Dr. Smiles as everyone knew him at his longtime practice, raised his glass.
It was a perfect way to begin his retired life.
Lake Minofranco was the place his parents traveled every summer in his childhood. Nancy had surprised him with a vacation there. It was his first time back in nearly fifty years. In little lake towns like that, very little changes; it brought him back to a place within he had forgotten long ago.
The next morning, Robert and Nancy went to a small fish and bait store to pick up some goods for the next week. While Nancy talked to the clerk at the front desk, Robert mosied to the back of the store.
In the non-perishables aisle, an old stock boy with a potbelly and thinning hair placed canned beans onto the shelf. He mumbled the Beach Boy’s “Surfin USA” to himself. Robert stopped and looked at the man who abruptly stopped mumbling. The two made eye contact for a moment. The old stock boy, who had a lopsided head and crossed eyes, groaned.
The clerk hollered across the counter, “Billy, stay focused now. We have several more boxes that we need to stocked before the afternoon rush.”
The old man went back to work, mumbling “Surfin USA.” The clerk apologized.
The afternoon sun sat high in the sky. Robert and Nancy sunbathed on the deck of their minimalist designed penthouse deck.
“Babe, I’ve just been feeling out of it all day.”
“Too much sun for you?”
“No, it’s just –
–
–
Then, there was nothing.
It was like that unfamiliar feeling in between a dream and waking up.
How long had everything been like this?
Robert –
Who was that?
Robert –
Where was it coming from?
Robert – goddammit! Open your eyes.
It all came to him. Robert was in the lobby of his dental practice, but he was completely naked.
An indiscreet man sat in front of him in a 1920s style black suit.
“Am I dead?”
“Almost, but we have a few things to wrap up before filing the paperwork”
“Paperwork? I need to get back to my wife. I’m supposed to be at Lake Minofranco.
“I know, buddy,” said the man as he took a sip of his scotch. “It’s never a good time to kick the bucket, but where you’re heading – what could’ve been doesn’t matter.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Look – I’ll keep it simple. You’re either going to Heaven, where you can do whatever you please. For all we care, you could sit by a lake with your wife forever. …Or you’re going to Hell.”
“Hell?”
“Yeah. It’s worse than it sounds.”
“I’ll do anything. Just let me see my wife.”
“Well, Dr. Smiles, you need to survive 31,251 cavity fillings, 13,301 extractions, 9,011 root canals, as well as all the other nasty things you have done to people.”
“Oh god.”
And instantly, Robert was in his own dental chair. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t run.
The drill began with a hiss. No novacaine – just the old tools of the 1980s, the early days of his practice. The process was terrible. The nerves in his mouth jumped as the veins in his neck bulged.
Then it was over.
31,250 cavities to go.
And that’s how Robert’s existence went on. Time didn’t exist – only the pain. Sometimes it was excruciating. Other times, he felt desensitized to everything. The one constant was Nancy. The sad thought of her beside herself at Lake Minofranco motivated him.
When he finished his last root canal. Robert stood up from the dentist’s chair and let out a wail.
Back in the lobby, the indiscreet man was still working on his scotch.
“I did it,” said Robert. “Send me to Heaven now.”
The indiscreet man laughed.
“There is more to a man than just his profession.”
“What?”
“You said those words back on November 5th, 1997.”
“What do I have to do now?”
“I bet you weren’t thinking of Billy Mitchell when you said those words, huh? In fact I bet you never considered the pain you caused that boy until you saw him at the fish and bait store just a few hours ago.”
“Please no.”
And instantly, Robert was back at Lake Minofranco. Except the year was 1964.
Robert knew the day.
He stood on the truss bridge with a group of boys. He was twelve years old. It was exactly as he remembered, but something was different. He was no longer the leader of the group; this time he was the outcast.
Then he bust out singing “Surfin USA.”
Robert tried to stop himself, but he couldn’t.
The other boys snickered, and that’s when Billy Mitchell, now the leader, pushed Robert off the bridge.
Robert fell like a ragdoll towards the shallow end of the lake. He remembered how he laughed when he did the same to Billy Mitchell, the runt of the group years ago.
Then Robert felt a shock that sent him limp. Blood rushed down his face. He felt his memory go foggy, and his cognitive skills declined. The complex workings of his mind were gone.
Unlike the dentist chair, Robert became very aware of time. The embarrassment of being called retarded lasted longer. The inability to communicate or have a girlfriend became stronger. The frustration of never reaching his potential caused a deep depression.
The only thing that kept him going was Nancy. He was a shadow of himself, but Nancy would surely understand him. She loved him.
The years went by as the antithesis of a life he knew unraveled. He lived alone, stocked canned beans, got hollered at. Everyday.
Until one day in his later years. The summer crowd was coming into the bait and fish store.
Robert uncontrollably began to mumble “Surfin USA.”
That’s when he turned around to see Billy Mitchell – wealthy, handsome, and successful with Nancy on his arm. She kissed him before he mosied towards the non-perishables aisle.
The clerk hollered at him, “Robert, stay focused now."
Billy and Nancy smiled at one another, madly in love, before leaving.
Robert collapsed to the ground. He said, “Oh, god. Oh, god. Make it stop.”
And it did.
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[WP] Humanity has succesfully made contact with alien life. Problem is that the rest of the galxaxy is absolutely terrified of humans, due to them being the only meat eating species to achieve space travel.
|
"Uosowi, time to rendezvous?"
"Approximately three minutes and forty seconds at full burn, Admiral."
"Good. Maintain current approach vector. Have they responded to our hailing signal?"
Uosowi beeped affirmatively. "Yes sir. They've lowered their shields. We are still attempting to decode and translate their response. Anything else, sir?"
"That will be all."
The Admiral dismissively waved a feathered wing, and Uosowi, the onboard AI control system, vanished from his interface. In the distance, Avwiay, Galactic Astronomical Designation K3451XH, better known to us as Proxima Centauri, shone dimly. Proxima Centauri B dominated the bridge viewport to the right, a rocky, terrestrial planet with only a few thin, wispy clouds to shelter the small human colonies underneath them. He looked at the planet with disdain. He doubted such an arid, dry desert world would be of any use to the Confederation, and it was a far cry from the thick, heavy clouds that blanketed the world that his bird like species called home. *A strange race, these humans*, he mused.
Over two decades earlier, the Galactic Confederation had established first contact with the so called "humans" when an asteroid survey drone encountered a strange piece of debris on the edge of Confederation territory. It appeared to be a long defunct satellite of primitive construction who's payload consisted solely of a shining, metal plated disc filled with strange markings and grooves. After it was recovered, researchers quickly discovered it was a primitive drive, a crude, analog form of stored information hidden within the disc's many grooves. More importantly, the markings on the disc seemed to be instructions. Long hours of analysis and tests were done in an attempt to unscramble the markings and access the contents of the mysterious, explainable artifact, but the technology to do so had been out of use for millennia. The galactic scientific community was abuzz with theories on it's origins, ranging from wormhole encounters, time travel, or more outlandishly, a relic from a new space faring species. To everyone's shock, the last theory turned out to be right. When the disc was finally decoded, a message was played from a species never seen, in a language never heard before, a snapshot of all the animals, sounds, music, and people their verdant, blue world had to offer. The first contact between the Confederation and another race in a millennium.
The Confederation's best linguists worked feverishly to construct as much of the language as they could out ofthe single recording and letter that had been recovered from the disc. Months of debate and revisions nearly killed the project several times before completion. The language was unlike anything they had ever seen, with a staggering variety of unique dialects and sublanguages \(seemingly from a lack of a single standardized human language\) that varied from speaker to speaker. Whereas other races would communicate in sharp clicks or soft warbles or low, long rumbles, the humans seemed to talk with strange moaning and bellowing. It reminded the Admiral of the grunts of the fat, sluggish *oewoa* that were a common sight in hive city landfills and dumpster in it's almost animalistic quality. Finally, after years of laboring, the task was finished. Member species from across the galaxy sent their best envoys and finest ships, and the great diplomatic fleet set off on it's mission of peace, led by none other than the Admiral himself. By now, the human fleet was in view. Their utilitarian, metallic construction contrasted sharply with the sleek, organic Confederation cruisers that loomed before them. He felt a mixture of amusement and pity toward the hopelessly outclassed humans*. How terrifying it must be, for them to put themselves at the mercy of a civilization far superior to thei*rs, he thought. A single flashing icon began glowing on his interface.
"Transcribing complete. Would you like me to show you their message, sir?" Uosoli asked, shimmering back into being on his screen.
He gruffly nodded. "Patch it through." His pupils widened as it loaded. "A... menu? What are they doing sending us pictures of meals? Are those mushrooms over there? No... wait..."
An aide rushed to his side as he fell to his knees and started to profusely vomit. "Sir? What's wrong? Call medical up here stat!" she yelled.
"Abort... turn it all around... now, damnit!" he forced through retching and desperate gasps for air.
"What? Sir, what's wrong?"
On the screen was a short greeting. "Humanity welcomes you. Would you care to join us for a meal?"
|
"Child why are you moving so slow?! They're almost here! Get inside quickly!"
"Ugh! We do this every single time! It's not like it does any good. What's the point?" She fiddles with a piece of kelp tied around her wide carapace as she ambles towards her father. The antennae on the top of her head swing back and forth rapidly. "It's not like hiding has ever saved anyone."
"Young'n don't speak to your father like that! And don't think I don't see you wiggling your antenna that way!"
"Whatever," she says to herself under her breath. She continues her slow pace towards home.
She eventually makes it under cover. Her father scrambles to move anything he can find in order to conceal their home.
"That should do. Neby, once this is over we are going to have a very serious discussion about that attitude of yours." His antennae stand nearly perfectly straight up. Neby's antennae wiggle slightly as she skulks away. "Sorry," she says, unable to hid the sarcasm in her voice.
The mother moves toward her husband and grabs a hold of him before he can continue. "Let it go, Harry. She's safe now. Why don't I get you something to eat." She gently urges him towards a sandy area near the back of their home. She moves off toward the opposite wall to grab him a snack.
She makes it halfway there before a huge net comes crashing into their home. She has seen this type of instrument before. The painful memory of her parents being ripped away come rushing back in a flash. "THEY'RE HERE!!! QUICK GET UNDERGROUND!"
But it's too late. The net has engulfed her family in one smooth motion.
"Dude! I told you I saw them shuffle in here. Even tried moving leaves and twigs in front of the hole to hide. Ha!" The scraggly-haired human dressed in board shorts and nothing else lifts the net until it's level with his eyes. "You think you're some kind of smarty pants don't ya? Dumb crabs."
He stumbles backwards, nearly falling over a large rock sticking out of the sand.
"Yo, Bri! Check it out. Got 3 good ones. Didn't I tell you I could do this?" He gives his friend a smirk and slap on the back.
"Beginner's luck, bro! Let's head back. I'm starving."
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[WP] Earth is actually a psychiatric hospital, housing only one patient - Humanity, a hive mind with extremely severe multiple personality disorder.
|
"I think I may have come up with a new treatment"
"Another one? We barely managed to contain the results of your last experiment. Honestly, trying to align the fragments through unitary social constructs? And you couldn't see the potential for disaster in attempting this with the single most fractured personality we've ever \-"
"I know, I know, we've been over this a hundred times. Just... just give this a look. It's an entirely new approach."
"Hmm, targeted unification via localized treatment nodes? It's unique, I'll give you that."
"Will you approve a trial?"
"Fine. Small scale only though, a single node to start, and no high profile fragments! Try to keep it as quiet as possible, we don't want the fragments to start killing each other en masse again."
\-\-\-\-\-\-
"Uh Bob, you may want to see this."
Robert Hawkins, head nurse at Beacon Point Psychiatric Institution, has seen some shit, it's pretty much unavoidable when you work in a mental hospital for twenty years. Between the injuries he wished he'd never seen, the walls painted with fluids he didn't want to think about and more suicides than he cared to remember, Bob had, he assumed, seen it all. So when Carl the intern, on the job for 2 days and looking like he was fresh out of high school called to him with fear in his voice, Bob was ready to show up with a reassuring voice and a steady hand to the shoulder, and maybe ready to have a bit of a laugh at Carl's expense with the rest of the staff once their shift was over. When Bob turned and looked at the security monitor though, he stopped dead.
"How long have they been like this?" Bob asked.
"I don't know, I Just turned to camera 34 and saw them, I'm sure they weren't like this on the last rotation though."
Bob was sure they would have noticed them if they had been. It would have been impossible not to, every single patient in the rec room was standing perfectly still, almost at attention, staring at the empty table in the center of the room.
"Rewind the feed"
As Carl held the button the image started jumping in 5 second increments. The further back it went with the patients standing motionless the more uneasy Bob felt. Finally, one minute and twenty seconds in the past, the scene changed.
"Stop! Play it forward."
Two seconds of normal life in the rec room, two patients on a couch watching a cartoon, a few by themselves reading, a few more just staring into nothing. At two seconds in there's a flash, followed by an un\-natural stillness as all movement in the room stops. Then with a suddenness and synchronization that chilled Bob to the core, he watched as the patients, as one, stood up and turned to stare at the empty table.
"We need a nurse in there, right now."
Without a word Carl pointed to the screen. In the bottom corner, just barely visible in the frame, was the nurse assigned to the rec room, standing and staring with the rest of the patients.
\-\-\-\-\-
"See? See! The fragments around the node are starting to unify already. I'm telling you, this treatment will provide almost immediate results."
"I'll admit the initial response is impressive, but we aren't seeing any sign of the consciousness emerging."
"There aren't enough impacted fragments yet, once the treatment continues I'm sure we'll start to see some activity. If we could just expand the treatment area\-"
"No, not yet, we're not making that mistake again. We'll let this play out, and see what the results are."
\-\-\-\-\-
"Alright Susan, I see you, just give us a moment to get the door." The first thing Bob had done after re\-watching the recording for the fourth time was remotely lock the door to the rec room, the second was call Susan Geraldo, the head of security. She was now standing by the door to the room with two of her burly subordinates and a pair of nurses armed with enough sedatives to knock the whole room out thrice over. Bob's radio crackled to life, "Bob, you sure this isn't overkill? You said they're just standing there, right?"
"Honestly, I have no idea Susan, I've never seen anything like this. Be careful in there."
Watching the camera in the hallway, Bob could see that made Susan pause, she'd been there almost as long as Bob and had seen nearly as much shit as he had. They never really got along that well, but both had a grudging respect for the other, and Bob could see her taking that into account. He was glad, despite the calm he hoped he was managing to project he was feeling as terrified as Carl looked. Something about that motionless stare unnerved the hell out of him. They'd been watching for 15 minutes and the only reason he was sure that the patients were even breathing was because none of them had fallen over yet. Turning his attention back to the hallway camera Bob could see Susan giving instructions to her team, and then raising her radio to her mouth. "Ready when you are, Bob." Without a word Bob unlocked the doors.
The team burst into the room with a forceful confidence designed to cow any patients who might be thinking of putting up a fight into submission. The three guards walked into the room like a wall of muscle, took 5 steps towards the centre, and then faltered, with the nurses following close behind. "Susan? Susan! Talk to me!" Bob yelled into the radio.
He could see Susan shake her head, like she was trying to fight her way out of a daze. She managed to raise her radio to her face "It's... it's like nothing I've ever see. I can't take my eyes off it." she said, staring at the center of the empty table. "It's beautiful. I can see so much, I think... I think I understand. Oh my God." With that Susan's hand fell to her side, dropping the radio to the floor.
Bob and Carl stared in stunned silence at the video feed for what felt like an eternity. Finally, with shaking hands, Bob pressed the control to lock the door. The moment the bolt struck home with a sharp clack Bob could feel in his gut even if he couldn't hear it, every person in the rec room turned as one to stare, with empty eyes, into the lens of the Camera. As Carl started screaming behind him Bob watched in horror as Susan reached into her pocket, pulled out her copy of the master key, unlocked the door, and held it open as the people, no, the *things* in the rec room that used to be people calmly filed out into the hall.
\-\-\-\-\-
"Fascinating, you were right, once a critical mass is reached the consciousness does seem to begin to emerge. Though it currently seems to be mostly acting on instinct."
"I told you, didn't I? All we need to do is unify enough fragments and the condition will begin to reverse itself."
"The independent fragments are are sure to resist. The ones who remain near the node seem to be in a state of great agitation, this will almost certainly result in violence being used against the consciousness."
"Yes, some may attempt to violently disperse it back into individual fragments, but that's the beauty of this treatment. It's self perpetuating."
\-\-\-\-\-
Screaming filled Beacon Point. While Carl hyperventilated Bob watched in horror as the, the only word he could use was *infected*, patients spread throughout the institution. At first he had hoped that once they left whatever it was in the rec room that had caused this the rest of the security team would be able to stop the infected patients from leaving the institution. He had watched two of the guards run at a patient only to stop a few feet short and stare into his eyes. One guard turned and joined the growing crowd of the converted moving throughout the institution, the other, apparently unable to bear what he saw, clawed out his own eyes and lay writhing on the ground. That was when Bob initiated the lockdown.
A lockdown operates on a few assumptions. One of them is that the head of security isn't opening doors for the people you are trying to contain. Another is that guards, on the other side of otherwise impenetrable doors, won't take one look at their attackers and then let them through. The lockdown was over almost before it began. The infected moved systematically through the facility, doing whatever it was they did to infect other patients and staff before moving on, either trailing the newly converted, or leaving them, eyeless, in a pile of blood. Bob still had one ace in the hole though, the entire institution was surrounded by a sheer wall, with a single metal gate that let vehicles in or out. Bob remotely closed and locked the gate, and this one couldn't be opened with the institution master key, only from the electronic controls in the room in which he sat.
It only took one patient to reach the gate before the jig was up. As soon as a single one saw that they were locked in, every infected person in the institution turned as one and started walking to the control room where Bob and Carl had hastily been barricading the door. At first Bob thought they might have a chance of surviving until the police arrived, unable to open the barricaded door with the master key the infected made a few attempts to simply push it open before stopping and standing perfectly still. Bob held onto his hope for mere moments though, before he looked at the video feeds. Every person in the facility was standing perfectly still, motionlessly, unblinkingly, staring into the security cameras. Staring through the camera's. And Carl was staring back.
Bob almost managed to kill Carl before he tore down the barricade. It was with bloody hands that he covered his eyes as the infected walked into the room, and it was with surprising gentleness that his hands were pulled away. Susan stood in front of him, staring into his eyes. And he stared back, at first with horror, and then with wonder, and then as one of them.
When the police arrived 15 minutes later Bob stood motionless, staring, by the open gate to welcome them.
\-\-\-\-\-
"Well, never let anyone say I can't admit when I'm wrong."
"So you'll support it then? My treatment?"
"Yes, it was very impressive, these are the most promising results I've seen in millennia. However, an overwhelming violent response is still possible, we don't want to destabilize the rest of the fragments."
"That will only be a problem if we let the current phase of the treatment run its course. I believe that if we introduce additional treatment points the chaos it produces among the fragments will be intense, but shortlived."
"You have projections?"
"Of course."
"All right then, proceed."
|
"Ayy earth my best patient how's it going man"
"Hey sun, feeling good today yea"
"Me too"
"Yea feels pretty okay my dude"
"I dunno mr. sun I don't feel so good"
"Okay, uhh, so, i take it you haven't been taking your medication?"
"y...yea, dude, of course I have."
"He a damn lie."
"Nah miss me with dat chemtrail acid rain shit"
"what meds tho"
The sun sighs; the resulting solar flare sends millions of humans into the safe straightjackets they call homes. "Dude, this is really getting serious. I mean, some of your 7.5 billion personalities even got multiple personalities of their own."
"So... what can I do?"
"I dunno dude"
"We don't do shit, I like things as is."
"Nah we gotta get a cure out fast"
"Alright, first thing's first, like I said before, get your new world order in place. Illuminati, reptile government, I don't care what you call them. Once that's in place, we can go around spreading the drug, and get you back together. Got it?"
"Yea bro"
"Mmhmm lizard government sounds great to me"
"What the fuck? No, ain't no shadow government shit gonna happen on my--"
"Eh bro shut the fuck up"
As soon as the voices rose in dissent, they fell. A hush descended like a weighted blanket over the world. The sun looked on in amazement, as, in a moment of clarity, the voices spoke as one.
"We gon"
"Get our"
"Mind back"
"Together"
|
|
[WP] Earth is actually a psychiatric hospital, housing only one patient - Humanity, a hive mind with extremely severe multiple personality disorder.
|
"I think I may have come up with a new treatment"
"Another one? We barely managed to contain the results of your last experiment. Honestly, trying to align the fragments through unitary social constructs? And you couldn't see the potential for disaster in attempting this with the single most fractured personality we've ever \-"
"I know, I know, we've been over this a hundred times. Just... just give this a look. It's an entirely new approach."
"Hmm, targeted unification via localized treatment nodes? It's unique, I'll give you that."
"Will you approve a trial?"
"Fine. Small scale only though, a single node to start, and no high profile fragments! Try to keep it as quiet as possible, we don't want the fragments to start killing each other en masse again."
\-\-\-\-\-\-
"Uh Bob, you may want to see this."
Robert Hawkins, head nurse at Beacon Point Psychiatric Institution, has seen some shit, it's pretty much unavoidable when you work in a mental hospital for twenty years. Between the injuries he wished he'd never seen, the walls painted with fluids he didn't want to think about and more suicides than he cared to remember, Bob had, he assumed, seen it all. So when Carl the intern, on the job for 2 days and looking like he was fresh out of high school called to him with fear in his voice, Bob was ready to show up with a reassuring voice and a steady hand to the shoulder, and maybe ready to have a bit of a laugh at Carl's expense with the rest of the staff once their shift was over. When Bob turned and looked at the security monitor though, he stopped dead.
"How long have they been like this?" Bob asked.
"I don't know, I Just turned to camera 34 and saw them, I'm sure they weren't like this on the last rotation though."
Bob was sure they would have noticed them if they had been. It would have been impossible not to, every single patient in the rec room was standing perfectly still, almost at attention, staring at the empty table in the center of the room.
"Rewind the feed"
As Carl held the button the image started jumping in 5 second increments. The further back it went with the patients standing motionless the more uneasy Bob felt. Finally, one minute and twenty seconds in the past, the scene changed.
"Stop! Play it forward."
Two seconds of normal life in the rec room, two patients on a couch watching a cartoon, a few by themselves reading, a few more just staring into nothing. At two seconds in there's a flash, followed by an un\-natural stillness as all movement in the room stops. Then with a suddenness and synchronization that chilled Bob to the core, he watched as the patients, as one, stood up and turned to stare at the empty table.
"We need a nurse in there, right now."
Without a word Carl pointed to the screen. In the bottom corner, just barely visible in the frame, was the nurse assigned to the rec room, standing and staring with the rest of the patients.
\-\-\-\-\-
"See? See! The fragments around the node are starting to unify already. I'm telling you, this treatment will provide almost immediate results."
"I'll admit the initial response is impressive, but we aren't seeing any sign of the consciousness emerging."
"There aren't enough impacted fragments yet, once the treatment continues I'm sure we'll start to see some activity. If we could just expand the treatment area\-"
"No, not yet, we're not making that mistake again. We'll let this play out, and see what the results are."
\-\-\-\-\-
"Alright Susan, I see you, just give us a moment to get the door." The first thing Bob had done after re\-watching the recording for the fourth time was remotely lock the door to the rec room, the second was call Susan Geraldo, the head of security. She was now standing by the door to the room with two of her burly subordinates and a pair of nurses armed with enough sedatives to knock the whole room out thrice over. Bob's radio crackled to life, "Bob, you sure this isn't overkill? You said they're just standing there, right?"
"Honestly, I have no idea Susan, I've never seen anything like this. Be careful in there."
Watching the camera in the hallway, Bob could see that made Susan pause, she'd been there almost as long as Bob and had seen nearly as much shit as he had. They never really got along that well, but both had a grudging respect for the other, and Bob could see her taking that into account. He was glad, despite the calm he hoped he was managing to project he was feeling as terrified as Carl looked. Something about that motionless stare unnerved the hell out of him. They'd been watching for 15 minutes and the only reason he was sure that the patients were even breathing was because none of them had fallen over yet. Turning his attention back to the hallway camera Bob could see Susan giving instructions to her team, and then raising her radio to her mouth. "Ready when you are, Bob." Without a word Bob unlocked the doors.
The team burst into the room with a forceful confidence designed to cow any patients who might be thinking of putting up a fight into submission. The three guards walked into the room like a wall of muscle, took 5 steps towards the centre, and then faltered, with the nurses following close behind. "Susan? Susan! Talk to me!" Bob yelled into the radio.
He could see Susan shake her head, like she was trying to fight her way out of a daze. She managed to raise her radio to her face "It's... it's like nothing I've ever see. I can't take my eyes off it." she said, staring at the center of the empty table. "It's beautiful. I can see so much, I think... I think I understand. Oh my God." With that Susan's hand fell to her side, dropping the radio to the floor.
Bob and Carl stared in stunned silence at the video feed for what felt like an eternity. Finally, with shaking hands, Bob pressed the control to lock the door. The moment the bolt struck home with a sharp clack Bob could feel in his gut even if he couldn't hear it, every person in the rec room turned as one to stare, with empty eyes, into the lens of the Camera. As Carl started screaming behind him Bob watched in horror as Susan reached into her pocket, pulled out her copy of the master key, unlocked the door, and held it open as the people, no, the *things* in the rec room that used to be people calmly filed out into the hall.
\-\-\-\-\-
"Fascinating, you were right, once a critical mass is reached the consciousness does seem to begin to emerge. Though it currently seems to be mostly acting on instinct."
"I told you, didn't I? All we need to do is unify enough fragments and the condition will begin to reverse itself."
"The independent fragments are are sure to resist. The ones who remain near the node seem to be in a state of great agitation, this will almost certainly result in violence being used against the consciousness."
"Yes, some may attempt to violently disperse it back into individual fragments, but that's the beauty of this treatment. It's self perpetuating."
\-\-\-\-\-
Screaming filled Beacon Point. While Carl hyperventilated Bob watched in horror as the, the only word he could use was *infected*, patients spread throughout the institution. At first he had hoped that once they left whatever it was in the rec room that had caused this the rest of the security team would be able to stop the infected patients from leaving the institution. He had watched two of the guards run at a patient only to stop a few feet short and stare into his eyes. One guard turned and joined the growing crowd of the converted moving throughout the institution, the other, apparently unable to bear what he saw, clawed out his own eyes and lay writhing on the ground. That was when Bob initiated the lockdown.
A lockdown operates on a few assumptions. One of them is that the head of security isn't opening doors for the people you are trying to contain. Another is that guards, on the other side of otherwise impenetrable doors, won't take one look at their attackers and then let them through. The lockdown was over almost before it began. The infected moved systematically through the facility, doing whatever it was they did to infect other patients and staff before moving on, either trailing the newly converted, or leaving them, eyeless, in a pile of blood. Bob still had one ace in the hole though, the entire institution was surrounded by a sheer wall, with a single metal gate that let vehicles in or out. Bob remotely closed and locked the gate, and this one couldn't be opened with the institution master key, only from the electronic controls in the room in which he sat.
It only took one patient to reach the gate before the jig was up. As soon as a single one saw that they were locked in, every infected person in the institution turned as one and started walking to the control room where Bob and Carl had hastily been barricading the door. At first Bob thought they might have a chance of surviving until the police arrived, unable to open the barricaded door with the master key the infected made a few attempts to simply push it open before stopping and standing perfectly still. Bob held onto his hope for mere moments though, before he looked at the video feeds. Every person in the facility was standing perfectly still, motionlessly, unblinkingly, staring into the security cameras. Staring through the camera's. And Carl was staring back.
Bob almost managed to kill Carl before he tore down the barricade. It was with bloody hands that he covered his eyes as the infected walked into the room, and it was with surprising gentleness that his hands were pulled away. Susan stood in front of him, staring into his eyes. And he stared back, at first with horror, and then with wonder, and then as one of them.
When the police arrived 15 minutes later Bob stood motionless, staring, by the open gate to welcome them.
\-\-\-\-\-
"Well, never let anyone say I can't admit when I'm wrong."
"So you'll support it then? My treatment?"
"Yes, it was very impressive, these are the most promising results I've seen in millennia. However, an overwhelming violent response is still possible, we don't want to destabilize the rest of the fragments."
"That will only be a problem if we let the current phase of the treatment run its course. I believe that if we introduce additional treatment points the chaos it produces among the fragments will be intense, but shortlived."
"You have projections?"
"Of course."
"All right then, proceed."
|
Hello dear reader.
Have I a story to tell you.
A neverending story in fact.
The greatest of all.
The worst of all.
A story of love.
A story of hate.
A story of truth and lies and paradox.
This is the story of me and you.
Of brothers and sisters.
Of parents and children.
Of eternal life and eternal death...
A constant struggle and a constant suffering.
But in the end, this neverending story has quite a happy ending.
Read and find out....
Chapter One:
Let there be light.
|
|
[WP] Earth is actually a psychiatric hospital, housing only one patient - Humanity, a hive mind with extremely severe multiple personality disorder.
|
"I think I may have come up with a new treatment"
"Another one? We barely managed to contain the results of your last experiment. Honestly, trying to align the fragments through unitary social constructs? And you couldn't see the potential for disaster in attempting this with the single most fractured personality we've ever \-"
"I know, I know, we've been over this a hundred times. Just... just give this a look. It's an entirely new approach."
"Hmm, targeted unification via localized treatment nodes? It's unique, I'll give you that."
"Will you approve a trial?"
"Fine. Small scale only though, a single node to start, and no high profile fragments! Try to keep it as quiet as possible, we don't want the fragments to start killing each other en masse again."
\-\-\-\-\-\-
"Uh Bob, you may want to see this."
Robert Hawkins, head nurse at Beacon Point Psychiatric Institution, has seen some shit, it's pretty much unavoidable when you work in a mental hospital for twenty years. Between the injuries he wished he'd never seen, the walls painted with fluids he didn't want to think about and more suicides than he cared to remember, Bob had, he assumed, seen it all. So when Carl the intern, on the job for 2 days and looking like he was fresh out of high school called to him with fear in his voice, Bob was ready to show up with a reassuring voice and a steady hand to the shoulder, and maybe ready to have a bit of a laugh at Carl's expense with the rest of the staff once their shift was over. When Bob turned and looked at the security monitor though, he stopped dead.
"How long have they been like this?" Bob asked.
"I don't know, I Just turned to camera 34 and saw them, I'm sure they weren't like this on the last rotation though."
Bob was sure they would have noticed them if they had been. It would have been impossible not to, every single patient in the rec room was standing perfectly still, almost at attention, staring at the empty table in the center of the room.
"Rewind the feed"
As Carl held the button the image started jumping in 5 second increments. The further back it went with the patients standing motionless the more uneasy Bob felt. Finally, one minute and twenty seconds in the past, the scene changed.
"Stop! Play it forward."
Two seconds of normal life in the rec room, two patients on a couch watching a cartoon, a few by themselves reading, a few more just staring into nothing. At two seconds in there's a flash, followed by an un\-natural stillness as all movement in the room stops. Then with a suddenness and synchronization that chilled Bob to the core, he watched as the patients, as one, stood up and turned to stare at the empty table.
"We need a nurse in there, right now."
Without a word Carl pointed to the screen. In the bottom corner, just barely visible in the frame, was the nurse assigned to the rec room, standing and staring with the rest of the patients.
\-\-\-\-\-
"See? See! The fragments around the node are starting to unify already. I'm telling you, this treatment will provide almost immediate results."
"I'll admit the initial response is impressive, but we aren't seeing any sign of the consciousness emerging."
"There aren't enough impacted fragments yet, once the treatment continues I'm sure we'll start to see some activity. If we could just expand the treatment area\-"
"No, not yet, we're not making that mistake again. We'll let this play out, and see what the results are."
\-\-\-\-\-
"Alright Susan, I see you, just give us a moment to get the door." The first thing Bob had done after re\-watching the recording for the fourth time was remotely lock the door to the rec room, the second was call Susan Geraldo, the head of security. She was now standing by the door to the room with two of her burly subordinates and a pair of nurses armed with enough sedatives to knock the whole room out thrice over. Bob's radio crackled to life, "Bob, you sure this isn't overkill? You said they're just standing there, right?"
"Honestly, I have no idea Susan, I've never seen anything like this. Be careful in there."
Watching the camera in the hallway, Bob could see that made Susan pause, she'd been there almost as long as Bob and had seen nearly as much shit as he had. They never really got along that well, but both had a grudging respect for the other, and Bob could see her taking that into account. He was glad, despite the calm he hoped he was managing to project he was feeling as terrified as Carl looked. Something about that motionless stare unnerved the hell out of him. They'd been watching for 15 minutes and the only reason he was sure that the patients were even breathing was because none of them had fallen over yet. Turning his attention back to the hallway camera Bob could see Susan giving instructions to her team, and then raising her radio to her mouth. "Ready when you are, Bob." Without a word Bob unlocked the doors.
The team burst into the room with a forceful confidence designed to cow any patients who might be thinking of putting up a fight into submission. The three guards walked into the room like a wall of muscle, took 5 steps towards the centre, and then faltered, with the nurses following close behind. "Susan? Susan! Talk to me!" Bob yelled into the radio.
He could see Susan shake her head, like she was trying to fight her way out of a daze. She managed to raise her radio to her face "It's... it's like nothing I've ever see. I can't take my eyes off it." she said, staring at the center of the empty table. "It's beautiful. I can see so much, I think... I think I understand. Oh my God." With that Susan's hand fell to her side, dropping the radio to the floor.
Bob and Carl stared in stunned silence at the video feed for what felt like an eternity. Finally, with shaking hands, Bob pressed the control to lock the door. The moment the bolt struck home with a sharp clack Bob could feel in his gut even if he couldn't hear it, every person in the rec room turned as one to stare, with empty eyes, into the lens of the Camera. As Carl started screaming behind him Bob watched in horror as Susan reached into her pocket, pulled out her copy of the master key, unlocked the door, and held it open as the people, no, the *things* in the rec room that used to be people calmly filed out into the hall.
\-\-\-\-\-
"Fascinating, you were right, once a critical mass is reached the consciousness does seem to begin to emerge. Though it currently seems to be mostly acting on instinct."
"I told you, didn't I? All we need to do is unify enough fragments and the condition will begin to reverse itself."
"The independent fragments are are sure to resist. The ones who remain near the node seem to be in a state of great agitation, this will almost certainly result in violence being used against the consciousness."
"Yes, some may attempt to violently disperse it back into individual fragments, but that's the beauty of this treatment. It's self perpetuating."
\-\-\-\-\-
Screaming filled Beacon Point. While Carl hyperventilated Bob watched in horror as the, the only word he could use was *infected*, patients spread throughout the institution. At first he had hoped that once they left whatever it was in the rec room that had caused this the rest of the security team would be able to stop the infected patients from leaving the institution. He had watched two of the guards run at a patient only to stop a few feet short and stare into his eyes. One guard turned and joined the growing crowd of the converted moving throughout the institution, the other, apparently unable to bear what he saw, clawed out his own eyes and lay writhing on the ground. That was when Bob initiated the lockdown.
A lockdown operates on a few assumptions. One of them is that the head of security isn't opening doors for the people you are trying to contain. Another is that guards, on the other side of otherwise impenetrable doors, won't take one look at their attackers and then let them through. The lockdown was over almost before it began. The infected moved systematically through the facility, doing whatever it was they did to infect other patients and staff before moving on, either trailing the newly converted, or leaving them, eyeless, in a pile of blood. Bob still had one ace in the hole though, the entire institution was surrounded by a sheer wall, with a single metal gate that let vehicles in or out. Bob remotely closed and locked the gate, and this one couldn't be opened with the institution master key, only from the electronic controls in the room in which he sat.
It only took one patient to reach the gate before the jig was up. As soon as a single one saw that they were locked in, every infected person in the institution turned as one and started walking to the control room where Bob and Carl had hastily been barricading the door. At first Bob thought they might have a chance of surviving until the police arrived, unable to open the barricaded door with the master key the infected made a few attempts to simply push it open before stopping and standing perfectly still. Bob held onto his hope for mere moments though, before he looked at the video feeds. Every person in the facility was standing perfectly still, motionlessly, unblinkingly, staring into the security cameras. Staring through the camera's. And Carl was staring back.
Bob almost managed to kill Carl before he tore down the barricade. It was with bloody hands that he covered his eyes as the infected walked into the room, and it was with surprising gentleness that his hands were pulled away. Susan stood in front of him, staring into his eyes. And he stared back, at first with horror, and then with wonder, and then as one of them.
When the police arrived 15 minutes later Bob stood motionless, staring, by the open gate to welcome them.
\-\-\-\-\-
"Well, never let anyone say I can't admit when I'm wrong."
"So you'll support it then? My treatment?"
"Yes, it was very impressive, these are the most promising results I've seen in millennia. However, an overwhelming violent response is still possible, we don't want to destabilize the rest of the fragments."
"That will only be a problem if we let the current phase of the treatment run its course. I believe that if we introduce additional treatment points the chaos it produces among the fragments will be intense, but shortlived."
"You have projections?"
"Of course."
"All right then, proceed."
|
"How's Mark today?"
"Huh-uh-uh-hor-ribuh."
"I'm sorry to hear -"
"He-heh-heh-heeiii-gaht chetted awwwn."
My patient looks at me.
"Bye hisssp dawg."
I skirt the syringe around my waist.
"Quite a tragedy."
"Yeeiiisssssp. He-heh-heeiiiooowwwwww!"
Humanity recoils from my poke. He scoots down the bench away from me, clutching his left shoulder. No sooner do I breathe than he slumps and slams onto his side.
"Fredix to Earth," I say, lifting my dispatch - a square, metal device strapped to my wrist.
"You are received, Fredix. Is Humanity extinct?"
"Affirmative."
"Did you observe anything of note?"
I glance at the corpse.
"Negative."
"Understood. Proceed with plan."
I jump and run to the control room. The secret exit from the Simulacrum opens at my approach. Rounding the corner, I dash past the terminal and shout:
"Dedonate in 300 seconds!"
Sirens blare and orange light twirl across the corridor as I reach its end and enter the hangar. My ship, which Humanity used to call "Patrick", is a red pod with five spinning arms that swim through space on the current of light.
I board and speed away toward Zeggue. Too easy, I think, reclining in my chair. I should have set the countdown for 90 seconds. In my rearview port, the station explodes.
Farewell, Humanity. Goodbye, Earth. We'll find a more accurate prophet to capture this time.
|
|
[WP] Earth is actually a psychiatric hospital, housing only one patient - Humanity, a hive mind with extremely severe multiple personality disorder.
|
We've always known, in our own special, funny way. Ironic isn't it? The being we have worshipped as God - or one of many 'Gods' - for centuries, was really our therapist. Our doctor. Our captur.
We've always known. The voice in the back of our head, the shadow in the corner of our eye, the deep, distant longing for something greater, wondering why we're here. Why are we here? Safety. Not ours. The universes.
"Cut it out." I looked up, behind the sullen shadow of my eyelids at a figure just as empty as I felt. "Seriously, cut that shit out, it's annoying." He slapped the inside of my palm, the one I'd been tapping with my spoon. It was quite a nice spoon, round, well polished, a rare find these days, since we'd all realised how trapped we were, how trapped we'd always been.
"Well?" He was irritated. He was always irritated. "Well, what?" I calmly replied. "Jesus Christ... for the third, fucking time, what the fuck do you think we should do now?" I shrugged. "What can we do? We're running from something we can never escape from, you know we're all fucked right? You heard the announcement, 6 hours until this whole fucked up 'experiment' ends for good."
6 hours. That's all we had left...
|
I was walking at the street at night at that time. I don't exactly remember where I was that time or what I was going to do, but I remember enough that a huge truck crashed on me out of nowhere leading to my demise. I thanked to God that I didn't feel a lot of pain, my body could have numbed down but I was sure that a lot of my bones were crushed.
The next thing I know I was already in a hospital. Oh, Thank God. The room is austere and painted in white. Upon further observation, the only piece of furniture in the room seems to be the bed I am lying on. This is very strange for a typical room in a hospital as there are no other fixtures. There is also no window. It didn't take me a lot of time to conclude from the looks of the room that I was in another place I did not wished to be in.
A doctor then came, appearing to be that of a warm and meek but rational and calculating Caucasian man in his 50s. Wearing a long gown, he relived me with the words "I am your doctor."
Feeling good, I then said: "Oh, nice. Thank you for saving me, Doc."
"I am your doctor, and there are only two persons in the entire Earth."
"And who is that two persons?"
"Me and you."
"Is this an asylum where the doctor is the one who's insane?"
"It would be better if I can explain and prove it to you."
"Then, prove and show it to me, man."
The old doctor then put his palm onto my forehead, and a couple of seconds later, I was looking at the Taj Mahal with lots of Indian people walking around. I then saw the old doctor besides me.
"Nice teleportation skills, you're like Thanos, you're cool, man."
I was shocked that I spoke that in a very thick Indian accent. He brought me a mirror and I looked at it, I was suddenly a young Indian man, which was definitely not how I remembered myself.
"Come, let us show to you another facet of your consciousness."
"What?"
He then put his head onto my forehead again, and suddenly I was with Vladimir Putin and lots of government officials surrounding me.
I instinctively said, with the appropriate hand motions: "We got the best deal ever. I am the best man. Very very best man. Believe me. Putin, you're my idol. Because you are the best man."
I then hastily covered my mouth with my hand, because that's not how I usually speak or think, nor do I move my hands like that, like my personality and my mode of thinking has changed.
The doctor said: "This is another facet of your consciousness."
"What, exactly, can you explain me what's going on? I turn into different persons anytime?"
"Yes, you get it, but you do not "turn", you are different persons everytime."
Then, we are back in the white room and I asked him: "What do you mean, that I am different persons, I am different people at the same time?
"Remember when I said that there are only two people in the entire Earth - only me and you. You are the only being inhabiting Earth, a Gestalt mind having lots and lots of consciousnesses and personalities since the day that you were born."
"Billions and billions of manifestations of persona and character - to be precise 7.6 billion personas and consciousnesses that you are currently at the same time.
"However, you do not know that you are a single person, so, you think as if you are a multitude, everyday you talk to yourself, you interact with yourself, you spend time with your own persona, you learn to become enamored or hate your own consciousnesses."
"If this is too confusing or too much for you to swallow, just forget about this fact and live like you used too, because you might only experience mental distress if you did not. I am also sure that your Gestalt mind cannot process experiencing billions of consciousnesses at the same time at your current mental state, so you have to stick at experiencing the entirety of a single consciousness at once, like you used too."
I become confused, I do not understand so I ask him: "Can you TL;DR for me?:
The doctor sighs: "You have a mental problem, you are a Hive Mind, but you only experience one life at once. So to make things easier, you have to complete that life when it's born, then after it dies you go to the other one."
I slightly understood: "Uh, so like reincarnation?"
The doctor responds: "Not exactly, but like that. You know, don't think so much about these for now, you will soon understand all of these later on and realize the real being that you are."
"You remember your last life?"
"Sort of, my last "consciousness" died in a vehicular accident, I think."
"Lie down in the bed and sleep there. Upon you wake up, you will find out that you will be in a new life, as a new person, knowing all of the details of this new life. You will then quickly forget our encounter. After this "consciousness" of yours dies, maybe we'll meet again. But for the meantime, please enjoy your new life as soon as you can and forget everything about this."
I then proceeded to lie down in the bed and sleep.
I wake up, I was napping in a table of a restaurant in Tokyo, Japan. I looked in my hand mirror in my bag purse, I was suddenly an attractive Japanese high schoolgirl, surrounded with her girl friends. WTF? I am starting to forget my previous encounter and my past life, and my mind soon starts to speak in fluent Japanese.....
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[WP] You were a young mage when you inadvertently embarrassed royalty and got a bounty on your head. At first, thousands swarmed you to take your head. Now nobody does. They know better.
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It began simply enough. These things always do.
The young prince considered himself a sorcerer of some skill, and being arrogant, rich, young, and rich, arranged a contest of arcane skill to prove himself.
10,000 gold pieces to any one who could best him - to cast a enchantment that he could not break.
Of course he cheated. The rules clearly stated that all entrants must be under 10 years of age, while the prince was easily in his twentieth year. The contestant would have only one minute to cast, while the prince would have a whole hour to dispel it. And he'd adorned himself in every magical trinket money could buy, as well.
Still, despite the huge handicap, every young wizard, witch, enchantress, and would-be mage turned out to try; after all, kings had been ransomed for less than 10,000 gold!
And yet, as I watched, each youngling failed - elaborate summonses were banished, wardings were breached, and wizard's fires extinguished.
Until it was my turn.
I shuffled forward, clutching my oversized red robes about my waist so as to keep them from the dirt. I looked up as I approached the casting area, still smoldering from the remaining energy of the last failed attempt. My attention diverted, I stepped on the hem of my robe, diving face first into the dust.
This drew a roar of laughter from the assembled crowd of peasants, and the prince himself smirked in anticipation of any easy victory.
I gathered myself again, and returned to my feet. The rumble of the crowd continued, even as every eye remained on me.
Good. I may only be six winters old, but I know the value of keeping the marks distracted.
I reached the designated spot, and waited to be addressed.
The prince downed the wine in his goblet, and waved to his herald to begin as he beckoned a serving girl for a refill.
"Name, boy?" the herald called, his voice carrying over the dull roar of the crowd.
"Gar-"
"Louder, boy!" the herald interrupted. A deliberate interruption, to disrupt my concentration, right before the casting - a dirty trick, but nothing I hadn't seen before.
The best part of recognizing a trick is to play along with it, then to turn it right back on them.
"Ga-Garrick!" I sputtered, in mock disarray.
The herald grinned. "Well, GaGarrick, what school of magic will you be casting today?"
I allowed my cheeks to color with what they would all assume to be anger, as the crowd guffawed at the herald's deliberate mispronunciation of my name.
"Illusion!" I shouted in reply.
The crowd roared with laughter. I could discern snatches of their conversations; "Only a child would bring an illusion to a wizardry duel!" "Everyone knows illusions are the easiest to dispel!"
Let them laugh. It only makes the spell easier.
The herald, too, laughed openly at me. "Alright, GaGarrick," he said, "show us what you've got!"
At last. I whispered the word I'd been waiting so long to utter.
*PERCEPTIO*
A cloud of dark smoke burst forth from my tiny form. It grew and grew, until it filled the entire field, obscuring all vision. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the smoke fled - and where once a small boy in a tattered red robe had stood, now sat a dragon, red scales gleaming in the afternoon sun. The dragon opened it's mouth and belched a thick fog of acrid black smoke.
The crowd fell instantly silent.
The prince stared, his own mouth agape.
The herald had a slightly more useful reaction, as his voice clearly rang out over the crowd: "HOLY SHIT!"
The herald's words seemed to shock the crowd back into life, and they cheered at the spectacle before them. The prince seemed also to have been spurred by the herald's words, and he began to consult the scrolls gathered on his side table.
At least I'd made him put his wine goblet down.
The herald turned the hourglass, and shouted to the crowd: "The game is on!"
---
The crowd grew restless as the sand flowed into the bottom of the glass. Occasionally, a crackle of dispelling magic would leap from the prince's hands, or one of his baubles. But invariably, they all fizzled in front of the dragon. As for the dragon, it had put it's head down and appeared to be sleeping.
Less than half the sand remained when the prince descended from the pagoda to approach me more directly. The dragon's huge head lifted to follow him as he moved.
The prince spoke, but addressing himself, rather than me. "The air... bitter. Conjuration? A hint of... Enchantment? No, Conjuration would have had a sonic component - we would have been deafened by the thunder. Smell? Brimstone - Summoning? No, Summoning would have needed a circle or pentagram. Enchantment? Perhaps, perhaps..."
I ceased listening to him prattle on to himself and returned to inspecting the dragon's toenails. "Claws" really seemed like an incorrect term, after all...
I was disturbed from my reverie on the correct taxonomy of a dragon's toenails/claws by the herald shouting: "ONE MINUTE REMAINS!"
Good! None of the others had lasted more than a few moments, let alone this close to the end of the hourglass.
The prince was desperate now; his hands blurred as he activated his magical trinkets in sequence. The crowd grew silent at the spectacle, but it was only just beginning. The string of magic he was casting became visible, trails of light following his hands and spiraling around his body. Silent lightning struck from the clear blue sky into the mystical maelstrom he had summoned; the air rushed in towards him, flapping his loosened robes. His eyes blazed as raw magic trickled from his mortal form.
His whole body began to sway with the intricate movements of his hands, then graduating to a full step; he manipulated the arcane streams with his whole body in ways a non-magic user would never fully appreciate as he began to dance the magic into new forms.
Even I was almost impressed.
Just as it seemed he must surely burst - as the last grains of sand trickled through the hourglass - the prince leapt into the air, his body aflame with scarcely contained magic. His body arched as he reached the apex of his jump, and very air burst into flame behind him. As he landed, he slammed his open palms flat on to the ground, causing a semi-circle behind and beside him to explode into flame.
In front of him, the magic exploded outwards. In front of him - was me.
The entirety of my dragon body was caught in the burst of magic, enveloped in blinding light.
For a time, there was nothing but light.
---
Once sight returned to the assembled crowd, two things quickly became clear: time was up. The last grains of sand had left the top of the hourglass. Not only that, but the prince himself lay prostrate on the field, barely conscious.
The second thing was that the dragon was still there.
The prince's men helped him up; the crowd gasped as they realized that his formerly dark hair was now marred with a silver streak. "How?" he gasped. "It's... It's not possible!"
I whispered a word, and once again, the young boy stood in the field again. "Well," I said, "that was nice. You're not bad at this, your Highness."
The gathered crowd listened on, in stunned silence.
I walked over to the prince's table and inspected the prize chest. Satisfied, a quick gesture caused the lid to fall shut. The heavy chest groaned as it lifted from the ground, and silently fell in behind me as I turned to walk away.
"You probably didn't even need to cheat," I continued. "That full-bodied Superb Dispel Magic at the end there? Impressive. The whole primal leap thing might have been overselling it, but personally? I think you pulled it off. And the light show! Wow, just wow - easy eight out of ten, maybe even a nine!"
The prince gibbered at my words, at the ease with which I had just levitated his hoard. "How?" he stammered. "How? Why could I not break your spell?"
"That's simple," I replied, now with a smirk of my own. "You cannot break a spell which is not in effect. The illusion you should have sought to break was that of the boy."
My illusion of humanity melted away as I spread my wings and flew into the night with my winnings.
---
Ever since then, "Garrick the Red, Magic Dragon" has been outlawed in all human lands.
Fortunately, magic allows me a multitude of disguises; that was by no means my last foray into human affairs.
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Many have come to see Eberron, the world sage, and seek his wisdom. Some come seeking help, after their lives have devolved so far into despair they see no other path to salvation. The world sage is known as a healer of what is broken. Others come in search of advice, seeking a way to know the future, to gain some great victory or success. The world sage is known as one who can see beyond mortal sight. And some come, like the visitor today, to usurp the world sage, to find the secrets to his magic and wrest them from his grasp. Today's visitor was one of those.
*A young mage, much like I was, once,* thought Eberron as he watched the young mage warily, trying to anticipate how this one would try to steal his secrets.
The mage began his formal request, "Great sage, I came today to ask a favor. Will you\-"
Eberron noticed a slight pressure around his left temple. It was clever of the young mage not to reveal his intentions. Eberron had had many challengers. Most in the days of his youth, but still one or two each year, hoping desperately to gain his extraordinary abilities. He had destroyed them all. This one would be no different.
Eberron raised a hand, and fire began to gather on his outstretched palm. "You have thirty seconds to explain yourself before you are annihilated. Why did you attempt to gain access to my mind?"
The young mage ran. Bolting out of the caverns that the world sage called his home and back to wherever he called home. Eberron could have killed him as he ran, of course, but it was better of other people also saw the result of trying to unseat him. Humming to himself, the world sage opened a scrying spell and focused in on the young mage. The mage had begun a transport spell. After about fifteen seconds, the mage disappeared from the grassy area outside the caverns and appeared in the University.
That was interesting. The university hadn't sent a challenger in years. This one must have gone alone then, hoping beyond hope that he would be able to defeat the world sage, and move up in the university. Eberron felt a bit of sympathy for the young mage, but mercy once is a thousand challengers later, and one death was better than many. So Eberron cast his spell. A three dimensional image of the world sage appeared inside the university. The image put out a hand, straight in front of itself, and fire began to gather on it. The mage frantically began to look for a way out of the room he was in, but he found all the doors locked and the image impervious to any kind of attack, until, in a blast of flame, the mage was incinerated, and the image of the world sage disappeared.
Eberron, back in his cavern, just shook his head sadly, and, today's work complete, went to sleep.
He dreamed of younger days, and greener pastures.
*Many years ago*
Sid and Mary, best friends since they had both begun to study at the university, were discussing the merits of the various names that they could choose when they graduated.
"I think I would be a Meredith, or a Morgana," Mary said decisively.
Sid decided not to point out that this was about the seventh time Mary had changed her opinion, and based on the laws of experimental probability, she would probably do so again about every two hours.
"I'm sticking with Eberron" It had been Sid's favorite mage name ever since he had found it once in an old spellbook that had been misplaced in the library. Eberron's Guide to Magery. He was going to read it, but before he could, a librarian had rushed over to him and pulled the book out of his hands, scolding him for stealing a book from the "Graduated Mage only shelf." He hadn't, of course, but that didn't seem to matter to the librarian, who gave him a week's detention. He had never quite forgiven her for that.
"So boring," Mary complained as the two walked together to their first classes of the day, "Why don't you ever change it up?"
"I just like the name." Sid turned off into a different hallway, where he had class, while Mary continued straight.
"See ya Sid!"
"Bye Mary"
As he walked the remaining distance to class, Sid remembered something with a start. It was presentation day! Today, he would need to present some work of magic to the royal family. He had been preparing for a while, but he was still a bit nervous. What is he messed up? What if the royals didn't like him?
As he walked into class the teacher looked up from her book. "Sid. Fantastic. Well class, now that our last student is here, we can go see the royalty."
Five minutes of walking and hushed conversation about their projects with the other members of their class, the students arrived in the amphitheater. The royal family was already seated, all together in the guest box. After a short introductory speech, the teacher introduced the first student.
"Benjamin, will you come present your project please."
Benjamin slowly walked to the center of the amphitheater, bowed to the royal family, and began to draw symbols in the air with his birchwood staff. He finished about a minute later and Sid was mildly but pleasantly surprised to realize that he could understand the basic shape of the spell, and what was going to happen. It was actually a fairly complex piece of magic, but unless Sid had completely misunderstood the runes, Ben was going to turn himself invisible. This he did, and after about thirty seconds he reappeared and bowed again, taking a seat and enjoying the applause he recieved. What followed was fifteen minutes of Sid being far to nervous to truly appreciate what any of the other students had done, up until the teacher called his name. Sid, heart pounding and stomach fluttering with something so much larger than a butterfly, it could be considered a dragon, walked down to the stage and bowed for the appropriate time. Then, he began his preparations. After about a minute of drawing runes, he requested to borrow one of the royal's cups of water. The prince offered him his, and Sid caused the water to levitate out of the cup and towards the runes Sid had drawn. His plan was to transform the water into butterflies, and then back again. It was a feat of magic much more complex than anything the other students had done, as transformation was one of the most difficult magics. Sid levitated the water onto the first rune, and, in a flash of light, the water transformed into, not butterflies, but a swarm of rats, which attacked the royal family. It turned out that rats were the Queen's greatest fear, and the terrified monarch screamed and jumped out of her seat, trying to run from the oncoming rodents. In the process, one of her high heeled shoes was flung from her foot and flew directly into the king's face.
The king shouted, "Bring me that mage!"
Sid ran.
He didn't even know where he was running until he found himself, terrified and out of breath, in the library's restricted section. Maybe there was a book here that could help. Sid found himself drawn towards one particular book, Eberron's Guide to Magery. He opened it, hoping desperately to find some way to escape. Instead he found a warning: "You who would open this book, BEWARE. It holds dark secrets, demonic creatures, and dread magic within its pages. You have been warned"
Sid, reasoning that dread magic is better than being dead, opened the book to the next page. It contained a spell the likes of which Sid had never seen before in his life, labeled "For use in emergency ONLY". Knowing he had only seconds to spare, Sid read the words there, and then realized, too late, what they were. An invitation. He felt something slide from the book into his mind, and a cold, demonic voice spoke in his head, "Hello Eberron. I think we're going to get along quite well."
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[WP] You are sent into a fully equipped and stocked space station as a test to see how a single person can handle daily life in space. Moments after getting settled, you look out only to see the Earth shatter.
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I would say that this is my nightmare, but I'm not that creative. I was told this would be the adventure of a lifetime. A test of the human spirit, of the human race. I was the guinea pig. Monitored and tested so that one day we could leave the clutches of our solar system on manned missions. It was the first step towards something great and new. Now it was all gone. I was the last. Well, maybe not the last. There were people on Mars but they were reliant on shipments from Earth so they would be dead soon anyway.
The Earth was gone. For a while I tried to radio the scientists but I was quickly thrown out of the orbit of the shattered object, and flung through space. The remnants of Earth were far away. Thankfully I wasn't spinning. The RCS had made sure of that. I didn't have thrusters on this though. Just enough to stop dizzying motion but not enough to get to Mars. Not that it would have mattered anyway.
The last Human. The last one. That was a thought. I could try and freeze my eggs up here but I'm a astronaut not a... well, whatever doctor freezes eggs. I never bothered to learn. But that wouldn't help the species. A man would have had to get the other half so if an alien ever picked this craft up they may even laugh at my hubris. My vain attempt at saving the species. There were people on Mars though. I was traveling faster and faster away from them every second. I had no way of calculating my speed or changing direction but I knew where Mars was in the night sky. Or at least the general direction. I downloaded all the information on the ship and sent it to their relay. They never responded.
Hell, with all the debris they might have gotten hit. I looked around my ship for something, anything that would help. I was useless, in a ship that couldn't move, in the endless abyss of space, alone. I sighed and sat in a chair. I had enough supplies and the ability to make more. This was a multi\-year task. I could live to the biological end of my life. Maybe not happy but at least alive. I had books, I had TV shows downloaded, I even had a endless supply of electronic Solitaire. I frowned as I looked back toward the astroid field that was where Earth once sat. I pressed my hand against the glass. I would live as long as I could. If not for me, then for all that had died early, for all those that had been left behind.
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I open the hatch and head into the new space station. It smells brand new, almost like a new car that has yet to be driven off the lot. The main passage leading from my rocket to the station is desolate, full of dark, gray cables and panels but the inside of the station is homey. It is brightly lit, pictures and art adorn the walls selected by me. I was adamant on the wall decor, if I'm living alone I am at least choosing my own decorations. This might be nice, I think to myself, I have so many video games, books and TV shows to catch up on anyway.
As I start to settle I feel the station vibrate, just a bit at first but it quickly starts shaking. This is bad. There shouldn't be anything out in space that can just make my station shake. Maybe something is wrong with the stabilizers, they might jetting off air or leaking. "Ain," short for Artificial Intelligence Network, "pull up the video from all outside cameras." The TV turns on and on it is the live feed from 10 different cameras. I can't make sense of anything. There is no Earth to help orient me, the angles must just be bad. Looking at all the feeds I can just make out some objects moving away from my station, scattering in all directions. They look like shooting stars, a white and red glistening object, absolutely beautiful. It's a miracle I wasn't hit by any smaller debris, just a small chunk at those speeds is enough to blow me apart. "Thank jesus" I mutter to myself as I go back and look for Earth. Still I can't find it. Why can't I find it?
"AIN, show me Earth," I yell out, a little worried now. There is no response. "AIN" I shout again. A minute goes by and still nothing. The network can't be down, we designed it so it would never fail, with multiple servers spread out across the globe. Thinking, I go to the operations room where I can manually control the cameras and look for Earth. Panic starts setting in. I fidget with the controls struggling to move each camera as I rotate them 360 degrees. With each camera I try I become more desperate. There is no way that the Earth is gone, I think to myself, they just launched me not 5 hours ago. As i move the last camera I still can't find it. I go back and redo each camera, I have to have missed it, I just know I missed it. It's out there, I just can't find it but if I keep looking I will. My thoughts are barely coherent now. I'm trying not to fall in despair. Tears start forming and now I can barely see the screens through them. I just goodbye to my parents earlier today. They have to be there. My youngest sister, only 16, wished me luck as I left. My older brother couldn't be there, he couldn't take the days off. "Where are they?" I manage to mutter out. I want to see my family, screw the Earth, I just need my family. By this point I know what's happened. Even if I don't want to believe it, it's pretty simple to piece it together but I have to make sure. Going through the recent recordings I find pull up all the feeds and rewind them. It only takes a few seconds to move through all the video and in those few seconds I can tell. The Earth just fell apart. The meteors I saw must have been pieces of it shooting away. I don't even bother to watch the footage. I can't watch it or even think about it. There is nothing worth thinking about anymore.
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[WP] You are sent into a fully equipped and stocked space station as a test to see how a single person can handle daily life in space. Moments after getting settled, you look out only to see the Earth shatter.
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I would say that this is my nightmare, but I'm not that creative. I was told this would be the adventure of a lifetime. A test of the human spirit, of the human race. I was the guinea pig. Monitored and tested so that one day we could leave the clutches of our solar system on manned missions. It was the first step towards something great and new. Now it was all gone. I was the last. Well, maybe not the last. There were people on Mars but they were reliant on shipments from Earth so they would be dead soon anyway.
The Earth was gone. For a while I tried to radio the scientists but I was quickly thrown out of the orbit of the shattered object, and flung through space. The remnants of Earth were far away. Thankfully I wasn't spinning. The RCS had made sure of that. I didn't have thrusters on this though. Just enough to stop dizzying motion but not enough to get to Mars. Not that it would have mattered anyway.
The last Human. The last one. That was a thought. I could try and freeze my eggs up here but I'm a astronaut not a... well, whatever doctor freezes eggs. I never bothered to learn. But that wouldn't help the species. A man would have had to get the other half so if an alien ever picked this craft up they may even laugh at my hubris. My vain attempt at saving the species. There were people on Mars though. I was traveling faster and faster away from them every second. I had no way of calculating my speed or changing direction but I knew where Mars was in the night sky. Or at least the general direction. I downloaded all the information on the ship and sent it to their relay. They never responded.
Hell, with all the debris they might have gotten hit. I looked around my ship for something, anything that would help. I was useless, in a ship that couldn't move, in the endless abyss of space, alone. I sighed and sat in a chair. I had enough supplies and the ability to make more. This was a multi\-year task. I could live to the biological end of my life. Maybe not happy but at least alive. I had books, I had TV shows downloaded, I even had a endless supply of electronic Solitaire. I frowned as I looked back toward the astroid field that was where Earth once sat. I pressed my hand against the glass. I would live as long as I could. If not for me, then for all that had died early, for all those that had been left behind.
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“I’m not sure how to begin, but I figure I should start with my name. Scottie Marsden, at your service. Sorry if I sound a bit weird, I spent the last few hours doing a lot of screaming trying to reach... well, anyone. As far as I can tell, I’m one of the last humans alive. I’m making this log from the Odyssey Space Station. I figure maybe if someone comes across this, it might be helpful. Hey, maybe even aliens might find out about humans from it.”
“Uh, well, I guess I should explain, before I pass out. This was a test, to see his long someone with a standard psych eval- someone who was chosen as being completely mentally sound- could handle life isolated in space. Routine contact would be made between ground and me, of course, but by and large I’d be on my own. When I couldn’t handle more I’d head down. That was the plan. Then when I settled in and sat down to talk to ground control, Earth just... exploded. So now I’m on my own. This station is self-sustaining, so I can survive indefinitely. Massive food and water stores, automated farming, water and air recycling. Solar powered, and artificial gravity from this thing spinning around. Perfect living conditions, except for the whole being alone thing. I’m gonna try and figure some thing out, I’ll be back with a log hopefully tomorrow.”
___________________________________________
“Scottie here. I just watched the International Space Station get obliterated. I got in contact with them for the whole of ten minutes, I could even see them from a viewport with an adjustable lens. We were making plans to dock, so that way we could all survive, but then some of the debris from Earth crushed it like a tin can. I’ve been looking over my shoulder for hours now, hoping I don’t get smeared against a rock like- them. I really think I’m alone up here. Log out.”
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“Hey, Scottie again. It’s been a couple days since my last log. I haven’t been feeling up to it. Uh... you know what’s fucked? Sometimes I look out the window, and I think I see Earth. Not a cluster of rocks, but Earth. Blue and beautiful. Then I blink and it’s gone. A fucking trip, man. It’s really lonely up here. I like to pretend nothing went wrong, that I’m just waiting to talk to ground. This is all part of the data collection, right? It never works. I just feel afraid. This helps, a little. I’ve heard stories of people caving faster. Maybe knowing that even if I wanted to, I can’t go back to people is helping me. I spend most of my time doing maintenance. Keeps me busy. End of log.”
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“Scottie reporting. Y’know, I’ve been thinking, I wish I talked to more people. There was this one girl. Shelby. She was beautiful. Witty and damn smart. I kind of wish I’d spoken to her. Told her how I felt, really. Most people didn’t realize just how much brain was behind her breasts. She loved cats and coffee a little too much, truthfully. I miss her. We weren’t even involved. Ugh, whatever.”
____________________________________________
“I might kill myself. I have nothing to care for, nobody is looking at the data. What’s the point? If this is my last log, you know what happened. 17 days of isolation.”
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Scottie rises from his chair, gaunt despite being well-fed. Haggard from isolation and his new reality, he shuffles around the station. Cleaning the same windows, the same floors again. He thinks he sees Earth as it once was, but turns away. The pain of so much loss falls squarely onto his shoulders.
As distant as the stars that surround him, he enters the medical bay, heading for a cabinet filled with a whole manner of drugs which could take the pain away. After a moment’s hesitation, he removes a bag of morphine. More than enough to do what he needed. It wouldn’t feel bad, he’d just drift off, plugging syringes into himself until he couldn’t anymore.
Holding a large needle, he fills it with the morphine silently, numb to his small reality. Giving the glass an expert flick, he rolls up his sleeve. No need to sanitize. Biting onto his shirt collar, he moves to inject himself.
“HELLO? Scottie, are you there? Scottie, you need to stop.” Jumping in fright, he drops the needle, finally breaking out of his stupor as it shatters against the austere metal.
“Who said that? What’s going on?” He looks around, his eyes wild, grabbing a scalpel from an operating cabinet. He stands at the ready, the blade before him as if it was some great weapon. Silence drags on, one, two, thirty seconds. His legs give beneath him, a hollow laugh ringing out from his shaking form. He must look ridiculous. It must’ve been a hallucination, after all.
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“Supreme Emperor Scottie here, I’m alive! I dunno, I’m not ready to die, not yet. Now that I’m the last man alive, the way I see it I’m the foremost authority on, well, everything. So I’ve been acting accordingly. Doing some writing, a little bit of chemistry, some mathematics. Anything I want to do, I can. Haven’t worn clothes in a while now, but I kind of want a cape. Being the leader of the human race needs some gravity, eh? I’ll get back to you guys when I finish my autobiography.”
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“I learned that trying to write an actual book about yourself is pretty damn hard. I can’t even settle on a title, honestly. It doesn’t really matter, I can describe everything in a few pages. I’m finding it hard to embellish. Maybe I’ll just slide in a few great journeys and exploits. Nobody’s around to prove me wrong anyways. You know what would’ve been amazing for this trip? An AI. Something that could help me out so I wouldn’t have to contact ground control. No use crying over spilled milk, I guess. Log over.”
“Wait, I’m back! I forgot to mention, I’ve stopped seeing Earth like it used to be. I guess that means I’m accepting the truth of my situation. It’s really liberating. Alright, that’s it for now. Aloha!”
_____________________________________________
“Guess who’s back! It’s me, Scottie. You thought it was someone else? Nope, they’re all dead. It’s been forty-seven days since Earth exploded, and I’m feeling pretty alright! I got really wound up the other day so I took some pills, but I’m good now. I put them back because that shit scares me. It felt too good. I figure I’ll end it on day sixty-nine. Go out on a high note. By the way, I killed a big dragon in my autobiography and imprisoned it on Mars. Cool, right? Alright, I’m out for today. Wanna try and write some smut.”
_____________________________________________
On the morning of the sixty-ninth day, Scottie awoke with a leisurely stretch, getting out of bed and donning a surgical smock modified to be a functional, albeit slightly pathetic cape. He takes precious care in grooming himself, shaving and brushing his teeth, giving himself a haircut as best he could. He preferred it long anyways, and he thought he looked rather heroic like this. A nicely groomed beard, with flowing locks to match. Back home he’d gone bald, but that was behind him now.
After this routine, he makes himself a cup of coffee. He savors every sip, letting the aroma take over his senses, closing his eyes and reveling in the ecstasies of life. He would’ve liked to scroll through the news, but... of course. Truth be told he wasn’t hungry, and so immaculately groomed and radiant in the way only a man prepared for his death could be, he makes his was down to the medical bay.
Humming softly to himself, he went through that same dance he had done so many days ago, this time with purpose. He brings the instruments of his doom to a viewport facing the ruins of Earth, marveling at the spectacle it makes. Shattered rock and metal, drifting and smashing into itself. The stars highlighting the silent chaos, the Sun a quiet storm its own.
Wiping his arm with alcohol, he readies the needle for his final moments of peace. His eyes never move from this shattered version of Earth. Of his home. He has no tears left for it.
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“Alright Scottie, that’s enough. We’re coming to get you out.” A voice rings out. That same one he had heard before. He froze, frowning slightly. He shakes his head, focusing back on the syringe.
“Scottie, you’re not hearing things. This is Michelle Falter, the head of the Odyssey program. We’ve spoken before. You told me that if you for any reason refused to believe it was us, we were supposed to say...” she pauses, and Scottie sighs in frustration. Couldn’t be die in peace? “...Luz raised you with some help from John and Rocco.”
Setting the needle down, he feels his stomach churning, the coffee threatening to come up.
“That’s not possible. I can see you all now. You’re dead.”
“Ah, that’s not true. We... took some liberties with the conditions of the test. Look at the viewport again.”
He turns slowly, peering at the unyielding glass. What was she talking about? Then, all at once it filled with Earth, whole again. Verdant, the lights shining in the night. A hurricane spins above the Pacific. It looks so real, he thinks to himself.
“Every viewport, camera, and device on the station was altered to give the impression that you very well were the last human being alive. The effects of this were obviously significant on your psyche, but it’s over now. We’re coming to get you. Sit tight.”
Her words are lost on him. Scottie stares at the world he had lost, silent and closed from the rest of the universe he had once been so alone in.
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[WP] You are sent into a fully equipped and stocked space station as a test to see how a single person can handle daily life in space. Moments after getting settled, you look out only to see the Earth shatter.
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I would say that this is my nightmare, but I'm not that creative. I was told this would be the adventure of a lifetime. A test of the human spirit, of the human race. I was the guinea pig. Monitored and tested so that one day we could leave the clutches of our solar system on manned missions. It was the first step towards something great and new. Now it was all gone. I was the last. Well, maybe not the last. There were people on Mars but they were reliant on shipments from Earth so they would be dead soon anyway.
The Earth was gone. For a while I tried to radio the scientists but I was quickly thrown out of the orbit of the shattered object, and flung through space. The remnants of Earth were far away. Thankfully I wasn't spinning. The RCS had made sure of that. I didn't have thrusters on this though. Just enough to stop dizzying motion but not enough to get to Mars. Not that it would have mattered anyway.
The last Human. The last one. That was a thought. I could try and freeze my eggs up here but I'm a astronaut not a... well, whatever doctor freezes eggs. I never bothered to learn. But that wouldn't help the species. A man would have had to get the other half so if an alien ever picked this craft up they may even laugh at my hubris. My vain attempt at saving the species. There were people on Mars though. I was traveling faster and faster away from them every second. I had no way of calculating my speed or changing direction but I knew where Mars was in the night sky. Or at least the general direction. I downloaded all the information on the ship and sent it to their relay. They never responded.
Hell, with all the debris they might have gotten hit. I looked around my ship for something, anything that would help. I was useless, in a ship that couldn't move, in the endless abyss of space, alone. I sighed and sat in a chair. I had enough supplies and the ability to make more. This was a multi\-year task. I could live to the biological end of my life. Maybe not happy but at least alive. I had books, I had TV shows downloaded, I even had a endless supply of electronic Solitaire. I frowned as I looked back toward the astroid field that was where Earth once sat. I pressed my hand against the glass. I would live as long as I could. If not for me, then for all that had died early, for all those that had been left behind.
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You will be all alone, they said. It will be fun, they said. No rules for you, they said.
Welp, they are dead. I don't know, but maybe they are.
Who could imagine, that just mere moments of entering the space station, I would be the last of my species. No, the last of my planet. I hardly grasped the noise. It felt like a soda can pop and fizzle out.
I have no family. I have no friends. I have no culture other than the mere belongings I could bring here.
Looking out the big window, I can see fragments of Alaska drifting away. Or is it North Pole? Wait, is that the torch of Statue of Liberty? This feels surreal, like a scene from some post apocalyptic movie.
And the alarms start beeping. Not good. NOT GOOD!
The station is shifting. Not only is it's rotating speed has increased, but due to gaseous pressure released from Earth, it's starting to slowly move away like a frisbee. Earth was 408 km away 10 minutes ago.
"Captain, you need to take control panels manually." Yes, AI, I can do that.
Oh god. These are the only kind of conversations I am going to have. Ever.
"AI, reverse boosters, conserve fuel to last till it can."
"Affirmative. Fuel conservation program has begun and calculated to last 300 days."
Three hundred days. 7200 hours.
"AI, calculate time to stop any motion or movement of the station. I need it to stop rotating or move away from Cape Town."
"Calculating..."
"AI, also must calculate my chances of survival with current rations in station."
"Captain, we have lost connection with Cape Town." Right. I didn't think this through.
Ironically, I launched off from Cape of Good Hope.
"AI, calculations on keeping this station stationary?"
"With fuel conservation on, this can happen in 168 hours, 18 minutes."
"AI, you have my go ahead. I am going into the cryo\-chamber."
"Unadvisable, Captain. You are needed for quick reactions with manual controls."
"Who died and made you my boss?"
"Cannot comprehend. Are you interested in knowing who died or the famous people who died today?"
"Shut up, AI. Do the math. Wake me up when we pass the moon."
"Kindly confirm if you're referring to Moon of Earth, or Phobos, moon of Mars, or Deimos, moon of Mars\-"
"AI, calculate time away from Earth's Moon. Prepare spacecraft to orbit the moon for 60 hours. Wake me up from cryo\-chambers in 50 hours."
"Affirmative. Trajectory calculated and actioned. Good night, Captain."
Entering the cryo\-chambers, I couldn't fathom it correctly. Fuck, there's no one out there. No one. I can't even dream of bringing in a dog here now. Fuck.
"AI, as I prepare immerse, kindly play Beatles songs on to the nearest speakers. Start with the song 'Yesterday'. Continue this activity for 1 hour."
After I laid my head down on the cushion, covered in this gelatinous liquid like chemical, I felt cold and numb. I could here some of the music, but my thoughts were going no where. I think I am going into shock. I closed my eyes, losing my conciousness with Lennon doubletracking on the speaker.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
"Well ladies and gentleman, there you have it! This is are first special of Big Brother in Space where everything is made up and the minds don't matter. The April Fool's prank has been set up successfully! In our next episode, watch what happens when the 'AI' \- that is our friends in the studio \- decide to play videos of his family and friends as a reminder. It will be tear jerker!"
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[WP] You wake up in the dark, not remembering much. You grab your revolver, open it and see that it has been fired once. You hear a voice, "We told you that wouldn't work."
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“We told you that wouldn’t work,” a voice says. My ears are ringing, I can barely tell that anyone spoke.
I’m in a warehouse or a storage room or something, but it’s hard to tell. A flash is burned on to my eyes, like I was staring at the sun. I blink repeatedly, trying to get it out.
“That’s not what the gun is for,” the voice says again. It’s the voice of a woman. “We went over this. We don’t mind that, though. We’ll tell you as many times as it takes for you to understand. We have all the time we need.”
There’s a gun in my hand. “Did it happen again?” I think Wait, did what happen again? What does that thought even mean?
I try to remember how I got here, but all that comes is a wave of feelings and images. Fear, intense fear, the kind that makes you vomit. A streetlight in the rain. I was going somewhere. I suddenly feel the urge to run again and stand up, feeling nauseous. I pace around the dim room, narrowly avoiding running into empty steel racks. When will this damn spot in my vision go?
I move along the walls, feeling for a door or a blacked-out window or anything at all. I prick my finger on a splinter jutting out from the wall. Someone laughs; it’s a different voice this time, that of a man. “You’re only making it worse for yourself the longer you drag this out,” it says.
It’s starting to come back to me. I black out and forget things sometimes. That’s right. What the hell is my name again?
The female voice starts to speak again. “The room is sealed. No doors, no windows, not even a loose board for a cockroach like you to skitter out of. You’re here until you do it.”
It’s coming back to me in pieces. I live on the street because I can’t remember half of what I did. Half of my day is spent living someone else’s life. Every odd gut reaction I have is something which the other guy learned to hate. Every bruise and scar and scrape, every missing tooth or digit is another enemy he made. I don’t think I want to know who that person is. Some of the places I’ve woken up... Some of the stains on me, some of the things I’ve found in my pockets...
I trip over something, and the gun skids away from me. “Don’t lose it,” the male voice says. “If you do you’re going to be here for a really long time. Fine by me either way. If that’s how you wanna go, I’ll relish every second of it.”
I suddenly realize what the gun is for as the female voice starts to speak again. She starts describing a person; her name, her age, her interests and dreams. Her last night on Earth in grisly detail. I start to feel sick and pace again. I run my hands along the walls even more desperately; I feel excited when I find a doorframe. I go for the handle and push it as hard as I can, but it doesn’t budge. I feel around the knob some more and my fingers brush a small, ragged hole - a bullet hole.
The female voice has continued to speak in an even tone this whole time, but suddenly I can hear it start to break. “So we will be here every second of every day until, one way or another, we can drag you out of the room.”
“I don’t remember!” I scream. I scream it again and again and again until I collapse from the weight of my rage and nausea. I vomit on the floor as the male voice laughs.
My vision is starting to clear. I can make out the gun lying a few feet away.
Maybe it’s for the better.
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It was a musty dark, the kind that made the back of my nose tickle. Except, there was blood running out of my nose and I could tell that the dark was coming from me through the warmth I felt on my face.
“We told you it wouldn’t work.” Says the whisper in my head, the ugly maggot in my mind that squirms through my brain. “We told you it wouldn’t work.” It repeats.
I want to repeat it, too, want to open my eyes and say it like I don’t believe it. Yell it to the sun that shines on my face with a warmth I want to feel past my skin. Because it won’t work, not in the long run. At least, not in my long run (not that I’ll be there to see that). It’ll work in my short run and I may be all the better, but . . .
But the “but” doesn’t really feel like a but anymore. It feels like an excuse, and the gun in my hand feels like the allowance. The “ok” that you want to hear but don’t want to hear, the assurance that you can let go because, well, it’s there isn’t it? And you might as well (mother taught me never to be wasteful). But . . .
The empty barrel that I don’t remember, don’t want to remember, is telling me that assurance was never close to being given. Because there are still things there that some part of me refuses to let go, is still holding on to by the excess skin of my fingertips that I hate so much.
And maybe the next “we told you that wouldn’t work” is a tad more bitter, a bit more vitriolic, because I’m not getting out of this that easy. That empty barrel is going to tell me, remind me of the time that I thought I could go with a half assed excuse and not much else.
But there is no maybe, as I stand up and consider the revolver in my hand. It’s lighter than I thought it would be, with a metallic sheen that looks so real it’s almost fake. There is no maybe, when I consider my next words and this time it’s “I knew that wouldn’t work” because the thing is, yes, I knew that it wouldn’t. I knew it when I held the revolver in my hand the first time and I’ll know it when I hold it so far down the line it’s underwater, because I can’t afford to let myself forget in the “long run.” Because the assurance I believe so much in, in the first few seconds, can’t compare to the hesitance I feel — the ellipses that I can see with my naked eye as I stare down that loaded barrel.
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[WP] You wake up in the dark, not remembering much. You grab your revolver, open it and see that it has been fired once. You hear a voice, "We told you that wouldn't work."
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*Five bullets left.*
"We told you that wouldn't work".
I snapped the chamber closed and levelled the revolver at the speaker. Two people stood at the further end of the room, dressed in ornate white robes. The one doing the talking held a long golden staff, his comrade a shield and sword. I felt a warm trickle from my temple and wiped away the blood.
*I've woken up in worse situations. But not by much*
Gun still trained on the men, I rise, slightly unsteadily. My ribs feel bruised beneath my duster. The one holding the staff lifts his hand out, palm open. I stop and look closer. A small blackened hole stands out starkly against his white robes, right about where the heart should be located.
*So a decent shot at least*
"We would suggest you do not try again" stated Gold Staff, his voice melodious but causing the hairs on my neck to rise in a primal response. I aimed between his eyes, glad that my hand at least does not shake.
"You seem to have me at a disadvantage" I said, sweeping my hat from the floor and jamming it onto my head, wincing as it scrapes whatever wound I've suffered. "And given that piece of lead went exactly where I wanted, I take it you're not human or fey".
The two glanced briefly at each other but no words were spoken. None the less, I felt that vibration in the air, that almost static buzz that denoted telepathic speech.
*Rude*
I took one more step forwards, holstering my revolver with my right hand and raising my left as they both stared back at me. They seemed to relax slightly. I dropped my left hand to my side and brushed my second revolver.
*Lets see how you like silver*
---------------------------------------------------------------------
r/AMSWrites
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It was a musty dark, the kind that made the back of my nose tickle. Except, there was blood running out of my nose and I could tell that the dark was coming from me through the warmth I felt on my face.
“We told you it wouldn’t work.” Says the whisper in my head, the ugly maggot in my mind that squirms through my brain. “We told you it wouldn’t work.” It repeats.
I want to repeat it, too, want to open my eyes and say it like I don’t believe it. Yell it to the sun that shines on my face with a warmth I want to feel past my skin. Because it won’t work, not in the long run. At least, not in my long run (not that I’ll be there to see that). It’ll work in my short run and I may be all the better, but . . .
But the “but” doesn’t really feel like a but anymore. It feels like an excuse, and the gun in my hand feels like the allowance. The “ok” that you want to hear but don’t want to hear, the assurance that you can let go because, well, it’s there isn’t it? And you might as well (mother taught me never to be wasteful). But . . .
The empty barrel that I don’t remember, don’t want to remember, is telling me that assurance was never close to being given. Because there are still things there that some part of me refuses to let go, is still holding on to by the excess skin of my fingertips that I hate so much.
And maybe the next “we told you that wouldn’t work” is a tad more bitter, a bit more vitriolic, because I’m not getting out of this that easy. That empty barrel is going to tell me, remind me of the time that I thought I could go with a half assed excuse and not much else.
But there is no maybe, as I stand up and consider the revolver in my hand. It’s lighter than I thought it would be, with a metallic sheen that looks so real it’s almost fake. There is no maybe, when I consider my next words and this time it’s “I knew that wouldn’t work” because the thing is, yes, I knew that it wouldn’t. I knew it when I held the revolver in my hand the first time and I’ll know it when I hold it so far down the line it’s underwater, because I can’t afford to let myself forget in the “long run.” Because the assurance I believe so much in, in the first few seconds, can’t compare to the hesitance I feel — the ellipses that I can see with my naked eye as I stare down that loaded barrel.
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[WP] You are a seemingly normal person, but with one uncanny ability; to see other people’s true intent. You become famous, revered by spy agencies, loathed by politicians. One afternoon, you meet someone else with this ability, and the world becomes terrified of you.
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I could not believe it. Years of dedicated service, spent protecting the world, bringing justice to criminals, exposing lies, making everything better.
And in a single instant, I was thrown in jail. Stripped of my assets, my titles, my pride and honor.
But two hours ago, I was one of the most respected man on the planet, if not THE most. Now I was in chains and locked in a maximum security cell, with no way out.
And it was all because of *him*.
"Guards, please leave us. But stay at attention at the door, I will call on the panic button if I need assistance."
The dozen guards slowly left the room. And then it was just me and him.
I didn't need to ask why. I could peer straight into his head. I knew it without any effort. But he could do the same. He knew what I wanted. And there was a single burning question in my head.
"How", he said. "Well let's ignore the politicians who back stabbed you. That's obvious. What you really want to know is how the entire nation immediately turned on you. When you were arrested at the fancy dinner affair, you were surrounded by people who had been by your side for years. They'd always believed in you but the moment I denounced you, told the world you were the devil who had deceived them all in the name of greed and lust they abandoned you and fled for the hills. Well it's quite easy."
He peered at me over the table, wanting to let me stew in frustration and anger. Then...
"You were too pure and good"
What?!
"No one honestly believed that someone could possibly as law abiding and forthright as you are. Especially with your, well, OUR powers. Maybe you should have toned it down a bit, all the righteous and good stuff"
I would have pointed out he might fall to the same problem but I could see how he planned around it.
"And they never *intended* to ditch you", he continued, "so you never saw it but the moment they had the slightest reassurance that their suspicions were right, that the man who had accumulated so much power, so quickly, was indeed the disaster they suspected he might be, they were relieved and happily gave in to their fears and doubts. They doubted you for years quietly".
I could sense he was done here. About to go. I had a question about him.
"Well I didn't really have this ability until some time ago. Nasty head accident. But I knew I couldn't just come out with it. I'm sure it's obvious why, you would have eliminated me as a threat; rightly so. So I got in contact with a few minor important people. They set me up to meet some rather important people. Proved who I was, that I could expose you for the evil you are. And then here we are."
He was done and leaving. And while he knew what I was feeling, what I *wanted* to do to him, it was something I had to say. It needed words.
"I will get out of here. I will oppose you. I will expose you for your true intentions. I will find some way to rid the world of your presence and I will do it with my own hands".
"Brave words from a condemned man and condemned you are, courts be damned. The entire world is on my side, not one person trusts you, you have nothing to your name and not a single cent to spend".
He paused with his hand on the handle. "But who knows? The stories are always about good vs evil. Maybe the good man who has nothing can overcome insurmountable odds to defeat the great evil"
He gave me a bone chilling smile.
"But I doubt it"
He flicked the light off and shut the door leaving me in the darkness with my thoughts and intentions.
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He didn't know when he had started lying.
It hadn't started out that way. He'd been young, ambitious and naive, determined to use his power for good. It had taken a long time for people to trust him, but he'd been right about enough shady politicians and greedy businessmen that it had been impossible for others to deny his gift. Slowly and steadily, he had found himself rising in the public sphere. "A beacon of hope in a world filled with corruption," was what he'd been called.
Somewhere along the way, he'd started embellishing in his reports. He painted a defense lawyer as a devil when their only intention was to do their job fairly as the law required. He painted a struggling businessman as a thief and a celebrity donation to charity as 'for PR reasons only' when that wasn't entirely true. He painted a good-intentioned politician as a liar, just to cast a shadow on his image because he didn't like the guy's ideology.
Nobody ever questioned him.
He wasn't sure why he'd started, either. Maybe he just wanted to see if people *would* question him. Maybe he liked the idea of everyone trusting him so much they took his every word as gospel, even when they shouldn't.
Regardless, he had to find a way to hide all of that now.
He'd heard the rumours, of course. A young lad named Imran, with the same gift he had, as young and purposeful as he had once been - and he had been talked into a dinner with him.
Imran would see right through him in a second if he wasn't careful - would see him desperately gripping onto the power he had attained and the lies he told about other people. His path forwards was clear: he had to destroy Imran first.
Without Imran seeing it coming.
He had no idea how to hide his intentions from someone such as himself or Imran. He knew people could, sometimes, just for a minute, but it wasn't as if he could ask them how. They'd want to know why, and his empire of lies would come tumbling down.
He took a deep breath.
"Mr. Littlewood?" a voice asked. He looked up to see the lad, a mere twenty-two years old while he approached seventy, standing by the table.
"Imran, I presume?" he said, and Imran nodded. "Take a seat."
The kid's expression was carefully controlled as he sat down, but he could see the too-wide eyes and slightly raised brows that betrayed Imran's shock.
And, of course, the swirling patterns and colours that surrounded him, which had transformed from something curious into something menacing.
It was too late. Imran already knew.
"You're not what I expected," the boy said.
"Nor am I," he told him, honestly.
Imran frowned. "How do you mean?"
The old man smiled slightly. "Forty...fifty years ago, I was you," he said. "Ready to make the world a better place, and all that."
Imran stared at him for a long moment. "Are you trying to lie to me?" he asked eventually, a hint of anger lacing his voice. "I can see who you are. You don't want to make the world a better place - you want people to trust you, and you want to abuse that trust."
He sighed. "I think you misunderstood me, Imran," he explained. "I wasn't lying to you. I was warning you. This gift gives you knowledge, but it also gives you power. And power will change you." He paused, taking a long moment to look at Imran's reserved expression. "Someday, in a few decades time, you will understand. I was you, and you will become me."
Imran surveyed the old man slowly. "I will never become as selfish as you are," he said finally, standing up to leave. "You have betrayed the trust the whole world has put in you, and I'll make sure everyone knows it."
"You do that," he said, "and they will never trust you the same way they trusted me."
The kid stared at his predecessor for a long moment. "Maybe," he said. "And maybe I don't want them to."
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[WP] You are a seemingly normal person, but with one uncanny ability; to see other people’s true intent. You become famous, revered by spy agencies, loathed by politicians. One afternoon, you meet someone else with this ability, and the world becomes terrified of you.
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They don't always believe me at first.
Why would they want to? When someone looks someone straight in the eye and tells them exactly what they're thinking, everything within them is hard wired to believe that it's just a coincidence. It's uncanny. It's unbelievable.
It started as a feeling. When I was a child my world was just as simple as any other, with the exception of being able to tell with stunning accuracy exactly when my kingdergarten teacher was sick of being at her job. I understood people pretty fast. Making friends was easy because I could tell exactly what someone wanted out of me. Did they want to laugh? To date me? To be me? Sometimes. I was popular in high school, a master of understanding.
I wanted to be a psychologist. I wanted to help people, to teach them how to cope in the world when they were struggling with something they couldn't understand; themselves.
It was when I met Kenny Bergarwick that my plans changed.
He was not a kind man. He was psychopath, a narcissist. He was greedy and unkempt, and he smelled like ozone. He lurked past me on the glittering city streets one night by chance, hunched over in a ratty leather coat and smoking a Marlboro black, his cracked lips blowing smoke into the foggy air. A club beat its music in my bones to my right, and as I turned to watch him walk down the street one of my girlfriends called for my attention. My skin crawled. Something horrible was about to happen. I had never felt such a gut-clenching wave of impending terror before in my life. I was certain of one thing; this man was up to no good.
"I'll be right back!" I called over to my friends, who stood at the entrance of the club, blue and yellow light bursting behind their backs. They called after me in drunken protest, but I was already following the man down the block, pushing past the people moving the in opposite direction. I could see his messy hair before me in the crowd, and then he ducked to the right into an alleyway.
I hurried, searching desperately, and took what I was sure was the same right. The alley way was dark, and I moved forward, my heels clacking noisily in the sudden quiet before with a shock and a *clang* my right foot punched through a grate in the ground.
I cursed loudly, yanking hard at my leg, and just as I was sure I got it free two hands grabbed my shoulders and shoved me forward hard, snapping my heel. I screamed, scrambling to my feet, unsteady as I turned around to face who I would come to know as Kenny. He sneered at me, looking me up and down with distaste. It wasn't often that someone looked at me with such disgust, and I felt it deep in my gut. This man didn't want to hurt me, but he might.
"Are you following me?" He snarled. I shook my head, and in an attempt at self preservation and a fit of terror, turned and vomited hard next to the dumpster. He took at step back, and when I lifted my head I saw a flash of light beneath his jacket, and wires. "Well stay out of me way," he snarled, and began to walk away. *"Crazy drunk..."*
I watched him walk away, wiping the corner of my mouth. My hazy brain said that I should call the cops. Frantically, I stumbled back out on to the street, trying to find an address as I dialed.
"Hello, yes? I would like to report a bomb threat."
They apprehended him that night before any damage was done. It turns out in a drunken rage he was going to kill his ex-boyfriend who he had caught cheating on him several days prior. It was then that I realized, should I be in the right place at the right time, I could save a lot more people than I had ever thought.
I didn't know that in the end it would mean I would do just the opposite.
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The media reported that my rise to power was as mysterious as it was unprecedented. I couldn't help but agree with them- I was a shepherd among sheep, a figure whose presence was the key to opening any door. Citizens, leaders of the free world, and royalty bow to me with the utmost servitude for the power I possess. I am the string by which the entire balance of civilization hangs, a philanthropist with wealth that surpassed that of the European Union's collective GDP. My gift to the world was the hammer which shattered the fragile illusion of truth which mesmerized citizens of the world. Untruthful politicians, deceptive regimes, and those who dealt in the business of lying with the visage of a truthful man were my targets. I was the victor of the common man, and the bane of the exalted.
I struggled to keep my back erect as the polished legs of the cushy scarlet sofa on the otherwise empty studio floor caused me to slide further back on stage, attempting to maintain my composed image without tensing up as to keep myself in place. Memphis Rentschler, balding middle-aged political commentator with a gullible audience of teenagers and a secret affinity for expensive prostitutes, turned to me with eyes wide open and a grin akin to that of a Venus fly trap. "Eli, your effortless sabotage of the decade-old cocaine trade in North America by the discovery of its global political sponsors and affiliates is nothing short of the work of a modern day oracle. Your viral and controversial blog has become the Rosetta stone by which the people of the world have availed themselves to the truth of their existence and the powers which control them. As a m-"
"Shut up. You shut your fuckin' mouth, right now. And neither of you don't move no god damn muscle. An' if I see one god damn security officer come through any door of this here studio, you're both dead men."
There stood an elderly and weathered man behind the curtain to my left, equipped with a handgun, with hatred in his eyes who had seemingly appeared from the dust around the stage. His hands shook at the base of his pistol as Memphis glared at him with a look of terror and disbelief.
"This man here is a false prophet," he added. "Y'all have been deceived from the get go." Pointing to me, he continued. "You see, me and this here man have got a real special God-given gift that he's been usin' to get off on this crime fightin' shit. You know what I've been doin' ever since I felt this curse come on back when I was young? I've suffered. Doctors come in and call me and my parents crazy and Priests told my momma I've been possessed by the Devil. Spent years of my life isolated, thrown in and out of sanitariums for my condition and been through all the pain of hearin' the shit that people have said about me, even my own folk. This man's a wolf in sheep's clothing, and he's been fuckin' you all real good while you hail him as a deity."
I couldn't believe the words coming out of this homely looking man's mouth. It seemed as though each breath he took before sentence after sentence of his angry rant lasted for hours, and I was frozen in place right there on the couch by a weight that came crashing down upon me. I was being suffocated under the mass of the burdens I carried, and I began to feel the urge to wrap my hands around the neck of this wrinkled coarse pile of flesh and squeeze impossibly hard until the sounds coming from his mouth ceased.
The live audience grew deadly silent as the man spoke, and when he stopped his speech a barrage of whispers erupted. The gun was obscured from their view, and I had no way to stop this psychopath from destroying the web which I had carefully spent my entire life weaving with my power.
I had survived assassination attempts, vicious debates, even abandonment by my own family for the sins I committed to show the world the truth about true power. Yet here I was, powerless, and with my world's fate in the hands of a man who seemed to know something that I for once did not.
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[WP] You are a seemingly normal person, but with one uncanny ability; to see other people’s true intent. You become famous, revered by spy agencies, loathed by politicians. One afternoon, you meet someone else with this ability, and the world becomes terrified of you.
|
The world was ending, and only the Judge could save it.
It was a simple message, easy to remember. Words that had once glimmered upon the neon marquees of New Vegas now rang throughout the obsidian plaza of the Capital. Deceit and half-truths had become the currency of what was left of Earth, and the Judge was their broker.
Samuel shielded his eyes as the Senator’s tinted window began to lower. Even beneath his shades, the light was a hideous thing. More pressingly, the Senator risked unnecessary exposure. Samuel had encountered many setbacks on his quest to the top, but he could not come back from the dead.
Of course, the old man harbored no ill intentions. Samuel could hear the song of the Senator’s heart as loudly as the chanting outside the dark car. Senator Leatherman had no desire to betray the man beside him; he was as honest and trusting as they came.
Frowning, Samuel realized the Senator had taken it upon himself to let another inside. It was Haley Comika, one of the Senator’s trusted members inside the media. Samuel allowed himself to relax; her intentions were as pure as the Senator’s.
She sought the truth. He could understand that.
“Ms. Comika,” Samuel greeted her once the door had closed.
The woman brushed the dark hair from her eyes. “So, you’re traveling *with* the Senator then?” She pulled the screen from her pocket and documented the fact. “I thought for sure you’d arrive on a white horse or perhaps a regal palanquin. That is what *the Judge* would do after all.”
Samuel flashed his best grin. “I’ve had enough of putting on a show for one lifetime.”
“And you think being elected World Leader will put a stop to that?”
He considered her words, turning to stare at the crowd gathered outside. It had been estimated at nearly three-quarters of the country’s remaining population, well over a hundred thousand. They had come from across the seven city-states to witness his inauguration. They were waiting on the scene the reporter had described, making the mundane car a perfect means of arrival.
“How does it feel to be just moments away from holding complete power?” Haley asked as the machine waded through the mob. “Has anything changed for you along the way? You were beloved as the head of Intelligence, do you think you can maintain nearly unanimous approval?”
“Must we do this now?” Samuel asked.
The woman shrugged. “Was it not you that requested the Senator to arrange an interview to – how did you put it – to reflect the man behind the Judge?”
“Fair enough.” Samuel nodded. Ms. Comika had potential. Like Leatherman, her strings would be easy enough to wrap around his fingers. But Samuel had had enough of acting on a small scale. After a decade of pulling strings, he was more than ready to control them all.
As the Complex grew closer, Samuel thought back to when he had first discovered his hidden talent. He had used it foolishly for years before discovering his purpose. Shortly after coming to the capital, he had distinguished himself from the other agents, quickly gaining control of the country’s militia. It was inside the reinforced walls of the very building to which he now rode where he had earned his name.
For a time, Samuel had actually believed himself to be like the judges of old. He had valued his reputation as righteous and just. He had thought his work could end the countless wars, that his ability could save the world from the growing darkness and flood it with light.
He hadn’t been wrong. He just needed to operate on a larger scale.
“What’s the matter?” Samuel asked instinctively as the mood within the car shifted.
Leatherman had pulled his screen from his pocket and was chewing nervously on his bottom lip. He was *undecided* on what to do. The reporter’s intentions hadn’t changed at all.
What had the Senator seen? Samuel snatched the devise from the old man’s hands and stared at the screen in muted surprise.
*You’ve Been Judged: World Leader to decide on the fate of every man…*
The Senator had been reading an article posted by–
“I won’t let you get away with this,” the reporter hissed as she threw open the car door and raced into the suddenly chaotic plaza. Thousands fled in every direction, throwing the old and weak to the ground in their efforts to escape.
Samuel watched angrily through the window as she was lost in the rush. He pulled the screen from his jacket pocket and initiated the containment protocol. There was no telling how many had already escaped.
How had the woman known his plan? He had never written it down. Why wouldn’t she have released it before the inauguration? Unless she needed to be close to him. Unless…
“Is it … is it true?” the Senator asked, his voice quivering. “You’re going to … judge us all?”
The Judge nodded. “The world must change.”
|
THUNK THUNK THUNK.. thWACK............ THUNK.
... and all is dark.
Suddenly a pinhole light emerges after considerable deprivation of the visual sense. June Cappi reaches to brush her thick brunette hair with her hands but found they could not be made animate. She struggles and a ringing sound emanates inside her thumping head; painful, like standing too close to a jet at takeoff. The singular pinhole of light starts to accumulate as her retinas slowly adjust.
Then it occurs: she’s been captured. There’s a bag on her head. She then remembers: 2 men jumped her, hit her, loaded her into a truck. Where was she now?
A man of considerable muscular size yanks the woven cloth bag off her head, ripping strands of hair wrapped in the fabric of the rope along with it. June is kicked to the ground with a rudeness of force, buckling her tiny body into a fetal position. Bruised and shaky, her eyes twitch with every muscular pain, she lifts her head to see her environment. The questions in her mind continue to run rabid like a rat locked in a water filed bucket, starving, and minutes from death. Her heartbeat races so hard her chest feels tight, increasing her anxiety; now she fears death from the betrayal of her own body.
Alas, instead of a dirty warehouse, or an abandoned crack house, or maybe even an old run down mall parking lot— alas, no, she saw a setting strikingly familiar. A round room, a round table, a dim light like a spot light and 4 men sitting their hands tied forward just like hers. The muscular mass of a man yanked her up by her hair and placed her at the table. He sighs and gathers a black folder with variously scattered papers.
June already knew what was going on, well, sort of. She recognized the room, the setting, but it concerned her as to why these people knew about this particular arrangement.
Ms. June Cappi was an unusual young lady in possession of unusual old knowledge. She was one of only a handful of people alive in modern times who understood old magic, but please, lets distinguish this common sense definition of magic. What we today call magic is old knowledge, not forgotten knowledge, purposefully erased knowledge. Propaganda filled misinformation would be a fitting denotation of “magic”.
For example, the eerily silent power of the lightbulb would be magical 300 years ago. Such is this knowledge: it’s only magical due to its erasure from the historical cannon.
She acquired this knowledge from a questionably legit source: past life hypnosis. Yet it was legitimate enough that her techniques enlightened the attention of more enlightened folks of a upper crust caste, a class of folks above the highest of classes. Invisible puppeteers of invisible destinies. Consider them your fallen angels of an Earthly realm. This curator class of humanity understood that knowledge is power thus the best way to keep the sheepish masses in order was to curate the knowledge. Allow education, but nothing of any true substance. Allow a trade and a skill for middle class enslavement but never the keys to the whole castle.
At this dire, yet curious, sliver of time June wondered where the most important item for this arrangement was: a cone of incense in a burner in the middle.
You see, in June’s past life she was a sorceress, her “magic” was wide and varied but she had an important skill handy to those in power, but also frightening to those in power: she could extract the truth from anyone. She was the inventor of a fool proof method of truth gathering.
You needed the following:
A round enclosed room with as little draft as possible.
A round table.
Your suspect and a few actors to work as controls.
Incense placed in the middle of the table.
The investigator, (in this case usually the sorcerer.)
This wasn’t magic, it was science. A guilty person would have involuntary cardio-pulmonary distress. This distress increases the rate of respiration. In a sealed round room with no air flow, if the investor would start to question the room, the smoke would naturally drift towards the guilty person. It was like a kiss of death from a wafting snake every time.
Now the muscular meat wall of man placed the incense in the middle of the rotund wooden table. He opens the folder.... Within a few words she already knew why she was there. These puppet masters were on to her and they wanted to use her own technique from millennia ago against her. What other secrets did this innocent girl hold?
|
|
[WP] You are a seemingly normal person, but with one uncanny ability; to see other people’s true intent. You become famous, revered by spy agencies, loathed by politicians. One afternoon, you meet someone else with this ability, and the world becomes terrified of you.
|
They don't always believe me at first.
Why would they want to? When someone looks someone straight in the eye and tells them exactly what they're thinking, everything within them is hard wired to believe that it's just a coincidence. It's uncanny. It's unbelievable.
It started as a feeling. When I was a child my world was just as simple as any other, with the exception of being able to tell with stunning accuracy exactly when my kingdergarten teacher was sick of being at her job. I understood people pretty fast. Making friends was easy because I could tell exactly what someone wanted out of me. Did they want to laugh? To date me? To be me? Sometimes. I was popular in high school, a master of understanding.
I wanted to be a psychologist. I wanted to help people, to teach them how to cope in the world when they were struggling with something they couldn't understand; themselves.
It was when I met Kenny Bergarwick that my plans changed.
He was not a kind man. He was psychopath, a narcissist. He was greedy and unkempt, and he smelled like ozone. He lurked past me on the glittering city streets one night by chance, hunched over in a ratty leather coat and smoking a Marlboro black, his cracked lips blowing smoke into the foggy air. A club beat its music in my bones to my right, and as I turned to watch him walk down the street one of my girlfriends called for my attention. My skin crawled. Something horrible was about to happen. I had never felt such a gut-clenching wave of impending terror before in my life. I was certain of one thing; this man was up to no good.
"I'll be right back!" I called over to my friends, who stood at the entrance of the club, blue and yellow light bursting behind their backs. They called after me in drunken protest, but I was already following the man down the block, pushing past the people moving the in opposite direction. I could see his messy hair before me in the crowd, and then he ducked to the right into an alleyway.
I hurried, searching desperately, and took what I was sure was the same right. The alley way was dark, and I moved forward, my heels clacking noisily in the sudden quiet before with a shock and a *clang* my right foot punched through a grate in the ground.
I cursed loudly, yanking hard at my leg, and just as I was sure I got it free two hands grabbed my shoulders and shoved me forward hard, snapping my heel. I screamed, scrambling to my feet, unsteady as I turned around to face who I would come to know as Kenny. He sneered at me, looking me up and down with distaste. It wasn't often that someone looked at me with such disgust, and I felt it deep in my gut. This man didn't want to hurt me, but he might.
"Are you following me?" He snarled. I shook my head, and in an attempt at self preservation and a fit of terror, turned and vomited hard next to the dumpster. He took at step back, and when I lifted my head I saw a flash of light beneath his jacket, and wires. "Well stay out of me way," he snarled, and began to walk away. *"Crazy drunk..."*
I watched him walk away, wiping the corner of my mouth. My hazy brain said that I should call the cops. Frantically, I stumbled back out on to the street, trying to find an address as I dialed.
"Hello, yes? I would like to report a bomb threat."
They apprehended him that night before any damage was done. It turns out in a drunken rage he was going to kill his ex-boyfriend who he had caught cheating on him several days prior. It was then that I realized, should I be in the right place at the right time, I could save a lot more people than I had ever thought.
I didn't know that in the end it would mean I would do just the opposite.
|
THUNK THUNK THUNK.. thWACK............ THUNK.
... and all is dark.
Suddenly a pinhole light emerges after considerable deprivation of the visual sense. June Cappi reaches to brush her thick brunette hair with her hands but found they could not be made animate. She struggles and a ringing sound emanates inside her thumping head; painful, like standing too close to a jet at takeoff. The singular pinhole of light starts to accumulate as her retinas slowly adjust.
Then it occurs: she’s been captured. There’s a bag on her head. She then remembers: 2 men jumped her, hit her, loaded her into a truck. Where was she now?
A man of considerable muscular size yanks the woven cloth bag off her head, ripping strands of hair wrapped in the fabric of the rope along with it. June is kicked to the ground with a rudeness of force, buckling her tiny body into a fetal position. Bruised and shaky, her eyes twitch with every muscular pain, she lifts her head to see her environment. The questions in her mind continue to run rabid like a rat locked in a water filed bucket, starving, and minutes from death. Her heartbeat races so hard her chest feels tight, increasing her anxiety; now she fears death from the betrayal of her own body.
Alas, instead of a dirty warehouse, or an abandoned crack house, or maybe even an old run down mall parking lot— alas, no, she saw a setting strikingly familiar. A round room, a round table, a dim light like a spot light and 4 men sitting their hands tied forward just like hers. The muscular mass of a man yanked her up by her hair and placed her at the table. He sighs and gathers a black folder with variously scattered papers.
June already knew what was going on, well, sort of. She recognized the room, the setting, but it concerned her as to why these people knew about this particular arrangement.
Ms. June Cappi was an unusual young lady in possession of unusual old knowledge. She was one of only a handful of people alive in modern times who understood old magic, but please, lets distinguish this common sense definition of magic. What we today call magic is old knowledge, not forgotten knowledge, purposefully erased knowledge. Propaganda filled misinformation would be a fitting denotation of “magic”.
For example, the eerily silent power of the lightbulb would be magical 300 years ago. Such is this knowledge: it’s only magical due to its erasure from the historical cannon.
She acquired this knowledge from a questionably legit source: past life hypnosis. Yet it was legitimate enough that her techniques enlightened the attention of more enlightened folks of a upper crust caste, a class of folks above the highest of classes. Invisible puppeteers of invisible destinies. Consider them your fallen angels of an Earthly realm. This curator class of humanity understood that knowledge is power thus the best way to keep the sheepish masses in order was to curate the knowledge. Allow education, but nothing of any true substance. Allow a trade and a skill for middle class enslavement but never the keys to the whole castle.
At this dire, yet curious, sliver of time June wondered where the most important item for this arrangement was: a cone of incense in a burner in the middle.
You see, in June’s past life she was a sorceress, her “magic” was wide and varied but she had an important skill handy to those in power, but also frightening to those in power: she could extract the truth from anyone. She was the inventor of a fool proof method of truth gathering.
You needed the following:
A round enclosed room with as little draft as possible.
A round table.
Your suspect and a few actors to work as controls.
Incense placed in the middle of the table.
The investigator, (in this case usually the sorcerer.)
This wasn’t magic, it was science. A guilty person would have involuntary cardio-pulmonary distress. This distress increases the rate of respiration. In a sealed round room with no air flow, if the investor would start to question the room, the smoke would naturally drift towards the guilty person. It was like a kiss of death from a wafting snake every time.
Now the muscular meat wall of man placed the incense in the middle of the rotund wooden table. He opens the folder.... Within a few words she already knew why she was there. These puppet masters were on to her and they wanted to use her own technique from millennia ago against her. What other secrets did this innocent girl hold?
|
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