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[WP] “Wal Mart” is a game aliens play, where they see how poorly they can disguise themselves and walk through the human world unnoticed, usually in a wal mart around midnight. You are a government special agent and needed to run in for a car part when you catch a game in progress.
|
Blink. "wtf is this?"
Agent Todd James looked around. He was in Walmart. He inspected his cart.
"Riiiight, Milk and bagels. A lamp and printer ink." He had simply spaced out. This was an odd thing for Todd. He was usually more alert and mindful. But Walmarts are pretty banal places, even for late-night grocery runs. He continued on to the office stationary section. Why was he even in automotive?
By the toy section he noticed something. A patron. But not just any patron. "The people of Walmart" crossed his mind. He already heard the little HR voice in his head about how that's a classist sentiment, but holy COW did it fit here. It was bulbous. A floral print moo moo, so perhaps female... but Todd wasn't sure. There was something neck-like and there were 4 limbs. The wig was obviously fake and yet the most normal part. It was rude, but he honestly had trouble looking away. It was the shoes though. Beyond "big and large". Beyond "customized". These wide-boys were some non-human caricature masquerading as shoes.
Todd James was a federal agent. He was a spy-hunter. HUMINT. An alphabet boy. He was specifically trained to spot disguises. This was literally he job. Okay, his job was mostly sitting behind a desk and telling people how not to insult the locals and how big bribes ought to be. But he had been through classes. Specifically versus humans, but education is broadly applicable. So he tailed the subject. And got more and more alarmed the more he picked up. The position of the joints. The stiffness of the fat-roll on the "neck". And the material of the shoes. For a moment he swore they were painted on, but that'd be ridiculous.
Then he was marked. And he knew he was marked. Because the subject had doubled-back twice. Classic tail-dropper. And only those trained in how to drop a tail knew how to drop a trail. So beyond being in a walmart late at night with a questionable character, beyond being near a HUMINT (XENOINT?) trained questionable character, he was specifically marked by said character. Todd was in danger. He didn't even has his daily carry on him, he was just out for some milk. Stupid. But Todd was trained and proceeded in a tactical retreat under cover, that is to say, he casually directed his shopping cart towards the exit.
It came for him. There was a slowly increasing percussion of heavy footfalls. thud thud Thud Thud THUD THUD THUDTHUDTHUDTHUD. Todd tipped the cart behind him and broke into a run. Down the seasonal Aisle and into the straightaway to the exit. He saw one "appendage" snake out on the left and he NOPED right into the perfumes. Multiple targets? It's time to phone home. He fumbled with his cell at a run and didn't even see the beast with the mandibles. There was a gas, Todd's short scream died away as he slumpped.
"<You lost Brixle. I told you that moomoo wasn't going to fool anyone.>"
<"Well It's bloody playin' on HARD MODE with a bloody federal agent here!">
<"Relax, I'll reset the pieces and you can try again">
<"Naw mate, he's been up and down this places since 8pm and the sun is risin'. I think it'd best to just call it a night">
...
Blink. "wtf is this?"
Agent Todd James looked around. He was in Walmart. He inspected his cart.
"Riiiight, Milk and bagels. A lamp and printer ink." He had simply spaced out. This was an odd thing for Todd. He was usually more alert and mindful. But Walmarts are pretty banal places, even for late-night grocery runs. He continued on to the office stationary section. Why was he even in perfumes?
|
I saw the alien before he saw me. He was dancing in one of the seasonal holiday aisles, trying on a red Santa hat and belly laughing as if he didn't clearly have two bellies. With his green skin, he looked more like the Grinch than Santa. Which he must have known. So this was some kind of game, one I didn't feel like dealing with when my car had just broken down on the way home from another long night of work.
Sometimes the aliens played, well... kind of dark games. Like, see how many humans you can catch and turn inside out before you're caught kind of games. And then I'm the special agent who has to go out, usually in the middle of the evening when I've just taken the first bite of a meal that took over an hour to make, to scrub all the evidence and issue a stern warning to the aliens. I'm usually left on unread.
But the alien I'd spotted wasn't playing that kind of game. Thankfully. It was just trying to see if anyone else would notice it was an alien. At Walmart on a Saturday at midnight, chances were low.
Another alien in the competition walked - or should I say, *slithered* by in leopard-print suit and a cheeseburger hat that barely covered its third eye. It was blowing bubbles from a neon pink ring at the first alien. Who had just looked over and spotted me, in my obviously special secret government agent suit, staring directly at its green face.
Options. One: Immediately look away and pretend not to see it. Not going to work, because it has at least one brain and isn't stupid.
Two: Smile and wave and pretend I'm another alien in disguise. Doubtful I'll succeed, and if anything it'll just get annoyed I tried to impersonate (imalienate?) its species. Like, attack you with all four clawed hands kind of annoyed.
Three: Pretend to be distracted and run over to join the nearest human. Which was one of the late-night employees who looked like he did not want to be there and, if he found out aliens existed, would instantly run for the gun section and/or start crying and/or do something Very Stupid.
Four, and this is what I was supposed to do anyway, take the alien in for questioning. There had been an increase in abductions lately, and it was starting to get personal. At least three of my coworkers had been turned inside out in the last month. Three too many. Well, okay, Bob was one of them, so depending on who you asked... Two too many. But that was more confusing (and riskier, if you cared about your chances of promotion) to say out loud. If I could at least get a bit of the alien's DNA, we could try to get a match and that would be enough for an arrest warrant.
I sighed and placed a hand on my blaster, which is made to look like a nerf gun but the aliens know to be afraid anyway, and started toward the one dressed like Santa/the Grinch. Its face fell, because it had obviously just lost the game it had been trying to win, and that meant it would have to pay some kind of penalty. Usually that meant the next time they played the turn-humans-inside-out game, the alien would have to be the one to actually disguise himself and come back to Walmart to buy a bunch of not at all suspicious things like rope, duct tape, knives, guns, maybe a candy bar or two to throw special agents like me off the scent. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. But the one thing the aliens could count on was that the security guard on duty would always be slower.
"Wait," I called out to the alien. It had stopped dancing and was slowly backing away toward the auto parts section of the store. Which was super convenient for me, but it couldn't have known that, so really it was just going for a crowbar or a wrench or something bludgeony like that.
"I'm just, uh, a local cosplayer," the alien said in a perfectly human voice. "Please be on your way and leave me alone, human, uh, I mean, *friend*." That last word was said menacingly. Well, if he ever tries to turn me inside out, I've got an implant in my tooth that'll detonate and kill it and all its friends.
"No, you're not," I said, and at the same time a small voice said from off to the side, "No, you're not!"
We both turned to see a little girl holding a bucket filled with bouncy balls, the kind you can get from a machine for a quarter, staring up at the alien with wide, determined eyes.
"He's the Grinch," she said to me, pointing at the alien. "See his green fur?"
I almost said, *He's not the Grinch he's an alien*, but I caught myself in time. Instead I said, "He's a cosplayer, honey," which was really irritating because its friend was still watching and now this whole conversation was going to be taken as proof that their disguises had worked. What was the reward for winning this game, again? Oh, right. They would get to be the ones to turn the humans inside out next time.
"Leave the Grinch alone!" the girl said. "His heart is really big now." And I could see her mistake, because the alien's heart was really big, like literally three sizes too big, but that didn't mean anything metaphorically. But try explaining metaphors to anyone at Walmart at midnight.
"Listen here," I started to say, but then the girl screamed, like really loudly, like loud enough that if we'd been anywhere but Walmart someone would have come running, and then she just flung the whole bucket of bouncy balls at the floor and shouted, "Run!" at the alien. It immediately pivoted and started hopping away, an instinctive panic response that made it look unimaginably stupid, but also made it able to avoid the bouncy balls. I lunged at the alien and grabbed desperately at its leg before I fell to the floor. It managed to get away along with its friend, and the girl just stood there screaming and crying the whole time, because the Grinch hadn't turned out to be the Grinch after all, it was some scary green kangaroo thing that had snake fangs for teeth. Obviously.
But I looked down at my hand to find a single tuft of green fur. I'd managed to snag the alien's DNA, and it was in self-defense according to anyone who'd been there who was an adult human, so if there was a match we could finally get our warrant. Which we did. And we managed to get justice for every human in the end, even Bob, and it was enough to keep the aliens from turning anyone inside out ever again.
And *that* was the best Christmas I ever had.
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[WP] “Wal Mart” is a game aliens play, where they see how poorly they can disguise themselves and walk through the human world unnoticed, usually in a wal mart around midnight. You are a government special agent and needed to run in for a car part when you catch a game in progress.
|
Blink. "wtf is this?"
Agent Todd James looked around. He was in Walmart. He inspected his cart.
"Riiiight, Milk and bagels. A lamp and printer ink." He had simply spaced out. This was an odd thing for Todd. He was usually more alert and mindful. But Walmarts are pretty banal places, even for late-night grocery runs. He continued on to the office stationary section. Why was he even in automotive?
By the toy section he noticed something. A patron. But not just any patron. "The people of Walmart" crossed his mind. He already heard the little HR voice in his head about how that's a classist sentiment, but holy COW did it fit here. It was bulbous. A floral print moo moo, so perhaps female... but Todd wasn't sure. There was something neck-like and there were 4 limbs. The wig was obviously fake and yet the most normal part. It was rude, but he honestly had trouble looking away. It was the shoes though. Beyond "big and large". Beyond "customized". These wide-boys were some non-human caricature masquerading as shoes.
Todd James was a federal agent. He was a spy-hunter. HUMINT. An alphabet boy. He was specifically trained to spot disguises. This was literally he job. Okay, his job was mostly sitting behind a desk and telling people how not to insult the locals and how big bribes ought to be. But he had been through classes. Specifically versus humans, but education is broadly applicable. So he tailed the subject. And got more and more alarmed the more he picked up. The position of the joints. The stiffness of the fat-roll on the "neck". And the material of the shoes. For a moment he swore they were painted on, but that'd be ridiculous.
Then he was marked. And he knew he was marked. Because the subject had doubled-back twice. Classic tail-dropper. And only those trained in how to drop a tail knew how to drop a trail. So beyond being in a walmart late at night with a questionable character, beyond being near a HUMINT (XENOINT?) trained questionable character, he was specifically marked by said character. Todd was in danger. He didn't even has his daily carry on him, he was just out for some milk. Stupid. But Todd was trained and proceeded in a tactical retreat under cover, that is to say, he casually directed his shopping cart towards the exit.
It came for him. There was a slowly increasing percussion of heavy footfalls. thud thud Thud Thud THUD THUD THUDTHUDTHUDTHUD. Todd tipped the cart behind him and broke into a run. Down the seasonal Aisle and into the straightaway to the exit. He saw one "appendage" snake out on the left and he NOPED right into the perfumes. Multiple targets? It's time to phone home. He fumbled with his cell at a run and didn't even see the beast with the mandibles. There was a gas, Todd's short scream died away as he slumpped.
"<You lost Brixle. I told you that moomoo wasn't going to fool anyone.>"
<"Well It's bloody playin' on HARD MODE with a bloody federal agent here!">
<"Relax, I'll reset the pieces and you can try again">
<"Naw mate, he's been up and down this places since 8pm and the sun is risin'. I think it'd best to just call it a night">
...
Blink. "wtf is this?"
Agent Todd James looked around. He was in Walmart. He inspected his cart.
"Riiiight, Milk and bagels. A lamp and printer ink." He had simply spaced out. This was an odd thing for Todd. He was usually more alert and mindful. But Walmarts are pretty banal places, even for late-night grocery runs. He continued on to the office stationary section. Why was he even in perfumes?
|
Fuck, a beautiful word.
Can be used in any sentence, any conversation, any context, any moment, it fits. If common courtesy disallowed Alex from using it too often, he still secretely admired the grace with which this word flowed seamlessly in his vocabulary.
Fuck.
Fuck it.
Fuck this.
Fuck me.
Fuck me indeed, thought Alex, fuck me sideways even. Words where not the only thing going around naturally. Aliens were too.
And Alex, self-appointed lord of idiots that he was, stood in the middle of them.
Somewhere in his life he had been a car mechanic. A good one, not exceptional but he got the work done and didn't inflate prices. He had kept the material and hands-on knowledge to repair his own car, he just had to grab the necessary replacement on the internet or in a shop.
Like today. If only he hadn't put his acument in pause, if only he had taken a good look around.
One day, as he worked on an old sedan in his boss' garage, a woman came in, asking for the best mechanic. Despite a certain pride, he had to recognize it was his boss. The customer left to find him at the office and Alex promptly forgot about it. Only when he heard the commotion did he go to take a look. His boss was begging, in tears, his face smashed against the desk. Behind him, the woman held a hand at the back of his head, squeezing so hard he could see bone splitting open and brain matter squeeze between her fingers. And her laugh.
A twisted mockery of a human laugh turned into a broken and dissonant record. With a twist of her other hand, she punched Alex against the wall, knocking him out.
When he came back to consciousness, she was gone. The boss lay headless on his desk, brain and blood splatters everywhere in the room.
"Fuck," was the only word Alex spoke.
Naturally, the police suspected him first. Strongly even, the story of an overpowered woman crushing a skull with her sole hand wasn't very believable. Alex went to prison. A surprisingly positive experience, he was so terrified of people that staying in a controlled environment felt more soothing than the city life he led all his life.
Until a man in black came. He lacked the guns and technology, but he did speak about aliens. And not in a way Alex enjoyed.
Humanity was a playground. Aliens were gods, strongly suspected to be the creators of earth and its inhabitants. And there was realistically nothing humans could do against them. Aliens knew, and that's where the chance lay. They underestimated their pet. That, too, was a common belief in the bureau. And while "victory" was a pipe dream, they could bank on this overconfidence to harm and maybe kill some of these abusive creators during one of their games. There was no real plan, every agent was motivated only by revenge and an overflowing pride commanding them to not go down quietly.
He left, Alex stayed a few more days in prison to think about it.
He was terrified, having witnessed firsthand what they could do. But he, too, had this pride in him, the desire to show a big middle finger and die with a provocative smile on his face.
When the man in black visited next, Alex asked to join.
For discretion's sake, he had to lead a mostly normal life to avoid suspiscions. There was no hidden base, high-tech briefing or heavy ordnance, only wits, acumen and quick-thinking.
Aliens loved to mingle with humans. Sometimes to catch one and probe information out of him, like what happened to his boss, sometimes only for the fun of it. In particuar, who could get away with the worse costume was a favorite among them. That's why agents avoided upper-class shops and stayed in lower-class areas, because that's where the costumes were the most outrageous, and thus easily spotted.
So many times he came close. A child had an impossible knee movement and, when bumped into innocently, spoke like an adult. Alex stabbed him, there was a splash of blood but no body, the fake kid had simply vanished. Seconds later, Alex fled too.
Some other time, he saw through a suburban family. Daddy worked and watered the lawn, mommy cooked and took care of the children, children had good grades. Perfect, too perfect. Every day they did the same actions at the exact same time.
Alex rigged a bomb.
The house blew up, the bodies were never found. Indeed, no trace of living matter was found at all.
So close, yet so far.
Today, he walked into walmart to buy a piece for his defective car. In the middle of an aisle, far from any exit, that's where he noticed everybody looking at him. Men, women, children, cashier. Nobody moved, except for heads and eyes, transfixed on him.
One fake customer rattled his trolley on the ground and giggled, a broken record. Painfully slowly, he walked towards Alex. His friends followed suit, Alex was surrounded.
Fuck me, he thought, fuck me indeed.
The provocative smiles got wider, tearing the skin and ripping open faces not designed for such inhuman movements. They twitched, eyelids closed and opened repeatedly, heads tilted suddenly. Alex could only focus on the noise of skin ripping and the absence of audible pain. He stood in the center of the aisle, paralysed as they approached.
At the end of the line, he had never gotten the upper hand on one of them.
But he had been overconfident and had let his guard down. Before his demise, it was the death of his pride that hurt him the most.
|
|
[WP] “Wal Mart” is a game aliens play, where they see how poorly they can disguise themselves and walk through the human world unnoticed, usually in a wal mart around midnight. You are a government special agent and needed to run in for a car part when you catch a game in progress.
|
Blink. "wtf is this?"
Agent Todd James looked around. He was in Walmart. He inspected his cart.
"Riiiight, Milk and bagels. A lamp and printer ink." He had simply spaced out. This was an odd thing for Todd. He was usually more alert and mindful. But Walmarts are pretty banal places, even for late-night grocery runs. He continued on to the office stationary section. Why was he even in automotive?
By the toy section he noticed something. A patron. But not just any patron. "The people of Walmart" crossed his mind. He already heard the little HR voice in his head about how that's a classist sentiment, but holy COW did it fit here. It was bulbous. A floral print moo moo, so perhaps female... but Todd wasn't sure. There was something neck-like and there were 4 limbs. The wig was obviously fake and yet the most normal part. It was rude, but he honestly had trouble looking away. It was the shoes though. Beyond "big and large". Beyond "customized". These wide-boys were some non-human caricature masquerading as shoes.
Todd James was a federal agent. He was a spy-hunter. HUMINT. An alphabet boy. He was specifically trained to spot disguises. This was literally he job. Okay, his job was mostly sitting behind a desk and telling people how not to insult the locals and how big bribes ought to be. But he had been through classes. Specifically versus humans, but education is broadly applicable. So he tailed the subject. And got more and more alarmed the more he picked up. The position of the joints. The stiffness of the fat-roll on the "neck". And the material of the shoes. For a moment he swore they were painted on, but that'd be ridiculous.
Then he was marked. And he knew he was marked. Because the subject had doubled-back twice. Classic tail-dropper. And only those trained in how to drop a tail knew how to drop a trail. So beyond being in a walmart late at night with a questionable character, beyond being near a HUMINT (XENOINT?) trained questionable character, he was specifically marked by said character. Todd was in danger. He didn't even has his daily carry on him, he was just out for some milk. Stupid. But Todd was trained and proceeded in a tactical retreat under cover, that is to say, he casually directed his shopping cart towards the exit.
It came for him. There was a slowly increasing percussion of heavy footfalls. thud thud Thud Thud THUD THUD THUDTHUDTHUDTHUD. Todd tipped the cart behind him and broke into a run. Down the seasonal Aisle and into the straightaway to the exit. He saw one "appendage" snake out on the left and he NOPED right into the perfumes. Multiple targets? It's time to phone home. He fumbled with his cell at a run and didn't even see the beast with the mandibles. There was a gas, Todd's short scream died away as he slumpped.
"<You lost Brixle. I told you that moomoo wasn't going to fool anyone.>"
<"Well It's bloody playin' on HARD MODE with a bloody federal agent here!">
<"Relax, I'll reset the pieces and you can try again">
<"Naw mate, he's been up and down this places since 8pm and the sun is risin'. I think it'd best to just call it a night">
...
Blink. "wtf is this?"
Agent Todd James looked around. He was in Walmart. He inspected his cart.
"Riiiight, Milk and bagels. A lamp and printer ink." He had simply spaced out. This was an odd thing for Todd. He was usually more alert and mindful. But Walmarts are pretty banal places, even for late-night grocery runs. He continued on to the office stationary section. Why was he even in perfumes?
|
It had been a long day and was only getting longer. Jessie needed to get some screenwash. Partner Gaz had been a prick and left the car completely empty.
It had been fine earlier but now it was dark and late, upcoming headlights completely obscured her vision. Can you imagine being trained to handle xenos from everywhere but dying from crashing into a lamp post. That was the thought which finally had Jessie pulling in when she saw the sign for the store.
Harsh artificial lighting blasted Jessie from the moment she walked in. Doing the usual mad-rush-don't-bother-me strut to get to the section she needed as quick as possible, it took a while for a familiar smell to permeate Jessie's consciousness.
Faintly lavender, but largely like wet swamp dirt. Was that the nervous pheromone of an Gimke she could smell? She cursed under her breath for leaving her weapons in her car. Gimke weren't known for being violent but basic training ran on a BE PREPARED
motto.
Pale eyes scanning the shop, her steps slowing as casually as she could to try and confirm the finding. Jessie stopped by an end shelf of an aisle and pretended to look at the contents.
3 o'clock, Gimke confirmed. She'd recognise the shape anywhere. They are initially quite amorpheous but when visiting Earth they tend to be quite diamond shaped. As in, tiny head, tiny feet and very wide middle. There never seemed to be any consistency to them either and this one was no different. The skin visible below and above the hotpants was mottled like a banana on the cusp of becoming ripe and seemed to jiggle in all directions as they moved.
To be honest, this one seemed completely harmless and quite enthralled with the variety of chips on offer. Small muted trills and coos could be heard from this distance and Jessie decided it wasn't a threat.
She stopped her fake shopping and continued on. In the car aisle she did a double take and paused at the top. A tall lanky form was leaning against the shelf right next to the spray paints. That was definitely a D'rachna. What was happening, two xenos in one shop? It had its hands over its eyes and was mumbling in D'rachian, a very sibilant language thanks to the way their split tongue sat in the mouth. They were sensitive to light and usually wore sunglasses but this one clearly didn't get the memo. As Jessie lurked, another (!) D'rachna came to their fellow, and gave them something. It was rapidly obvious the pair had come here together than the newcomer had found sunglasses. Unfortunately they had no idea of human fashion and the pair of them now looked like tall stretched out Elton John's. Jessie intently studied the shelf in front of her, ah air fresheners, as her peripheral vision clocked the pair glancing in her direction before slipping away.
Quickly, before anything else showed up, Jessie grabbed some screen wash and started making her way to the till, trying to appear casual as she glanced down aisles. Slowly she could feel her anxiety building more and more. Did her bosses know about this? Was it every Walmart? By the time she reached the till her xeno type count was 4 but actual number of them was closer to ten. None were known threats but still that kind of concentration wasn't something she'd ever come across.
The cashier barely looked up and Jessie was out the store quickly.
It shouldn't have taken her long to refill the car but she stretched it out as she kept an eye on the entrance.
In ones and twos, all the xenos she spotted gradually left the store, some (mostly the Gimkes) with carrier bags and got on board a coach with completely blacked out windows. Taking note of the details, Jessie was going to take this up back at the office.
But that was a job for tomorrow for all she knew she was wrapped around a lamppost in a coma all thanks to Gaz so sleep first. Review walmart alien invasion later..
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EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any.
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[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
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\[Poem\] The demon took possession of his victim’s soul. Causing mayhem was his goal. As soon as he got in and was about to begin, he questioned if he could win. His patience grew thin. On his victim’s face appeared a broad grin. Thousands of voices of his kin? The voices even scared the demon. How can this be, what is the reason? A soul can only be eaten by one demon. With hostility he gets treatten. Damn this heathen. He starts to weaken and fears he will get beaten. No beacon of hope, how do i cope? The voices are yelling to tell him to get out. The whole crowd is getting loud. Insults are flying around. He starts crying, feels like dying. To any degree can’t see a key to set me free. This is tragic, what is this kind of dark magic? His victim is schizophrenic.
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Chaos was normally home for a demon; its plaything, its toy. The cacophony of thought, so utterly random and coming from several different directions at once almost stunned him.
*A series of events, commonplace enough in Hell but as punishment- she'd been one like the damned had taken as a child, then.*
He banished one wave only for it to return, over and over, doubled, *trebled*, assaulting the form in different ways. Always the same. Always a voice. One voice.
*His* voice.
Gold eyes lit the darkness that didn't exist. They burned him, burned a demon.
Revenge was fitting for a scion of Hell, yes?
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EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any.
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[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
|
A man in his thirties takes a drag from his cigarrette as he stares at the winding Blackstone River. At a state park reserve, where one part looked like a wonderful passage besides a river and the other a sand-filled swamp with many faerie rings and the occasional elemental burst of primal magic. No one could see these bursts of arcana besides the man but he was looking at the dancing lights of a waning sun, flicking ash into grimed water. While a normal human would see one set of eyes, in that mans reality there were two sets of eyes. The soul of the man hung suspiciously close to his body; to any Pagan it would seem like active astral projection. The body flicked the clove cigarrette butt into the river when he finished.
'That's gonna poison the water. Be careful.' A misty, throaty response from the projection.
"Don't lecture me." Came a quiet snarl from the body.
The man looked at Blackstone River, both beings looking morose at the decision at hand. The body smiled and started to look around. The projection had no choice but to follow the movements.
"Good luck, your body sucks." The demon said with another quiet snarl. Then the man belly-flopped into the rancid Blackstone River and took a deep breath face down.
------------------------------------------------------------------
Gasps of air, a body refusing to settle as it thrashed around as if in possession, wild streams of light and darkness pervaded his blackened vision. As time goes on, the body convulses less and less; as time continues, a normal breathing pattern. The man opens his eyes for the first time in 10 years. His actual eyes. He sees rescue people doing work over his body; a body he hasn't felt in 10 years and the pain reminds him that he is back.
With a shallow, wet sigh he gives in to emotion. He begins to cry. Not from physical pain and relief, though he could cry over that; it was the emotional torture of a demon messing up his life on his behalf. A selfish wish, giving up his body because he himself gave up. Now the demon gave up. Just like he and the demon gave up everything else. What a crap cycle.
"Guess I'm gonna need that demons luck after all this." Said a raspy faint voice, realizing it was his own and then collapsing back into a puddle of wet tears.
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Blinding, wretched, cursed light pierced my head like an ice pick driven by a freight train. My skin was too tight, tingling. Without even the ability to think, I wretched in agony.
My calendar incomprehensible to me, to another, I knew it would show desperation. Two months ago this started. Last month I found the solution.
My teeth tore off more of my numbed thumb than I meant. Oh well. It felt better than-
Opening my eyes, I could hear screaming. Closing them made it stop. I cracked one open, and finished the ritual.
The demon flowed within, and I without. “Good luck, you’ll need it.”
As I flowed into the ether, leaving the pain and wretchedness behind, I saw the demon’s attempts at clawing me back, to escape.
There was -is- only one escape.
Tears streaming down its face, my calendar in one hand, my gun in its other, it took the only escape it had left at two days in, and set me free.
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EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any.
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[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
|
I was hungry. And there was a mortal soul nearby. It reeked of vulnerability. They were already in a graveyard, where the connection between worlds is stronger. It was conscious, but empty bottles surrounded it and it was staring blankly at the ground as it sat and leaned against a tombstone.
This will be easy. I wrapped my cold tendrils around it, waiting for the resistance. I was excited. I should have been alarmed at the lack of fight in this mortal. Instead, I noticed the defenses and consciousness of the mortal crumble without effort. They crumbled faster than I recalled, but I assumed it was because I wasn’t having to fight a resistance.
Despite not putting up the customary fight, the mortal must still have known what was happening as it lost itself. For as the mind was almost completely surrendered, with an unnerving sense of, I suppose amusement, it said;
“Good luck. You’ll need it.” Then was gone.
“What?” I replied, hearing my voice echo. But the mortals conscious was no more.
No matter. I reached my tendrils through the mortal to control its body, but was met with resistance. I swore. How could that be?
“What is this?” My voice echoed back. Except I had not said it.
“Is someone there? Who it interfering my the possession of this mortal?”
“What?? Are you interfering with the possession of MY mortal?”
I swore again. Another demon had the exact same idea as I did. I’ve never been stuck sharing a host with another demon but I was not looking forward to being helpless trapped together for an age.
~~~
Second prompt response! Sorry if it’s short, it was rushed and on my phone because I hadn’t seen this take.
|
Blinding, wretched, cursed light pierced my head like an ice pick driven by a freight train. My skin was too tight, tingling. Without even the ability to think, I wretched in agony.
My calendar incomprehensible to me, to another, I knew it would show desperation. Two months ago this started. Last month I found the solution.
My teeth tore off more of my numbed thumb than I meant. Oh well. It felt better than-
Opening my eyes, I could hear screaming. Closing them made it stop. I cracked one open, and finished the ritual.
The demon flowed within, and I without. “Good luck, you’ll need it.”
As I flowed into the ether, leaving the pain and wretchedness behind, I saw the demon’s attempts at clawing me back, to escape.
There was -is- only one escape.
Tears streaming down its face, my calendar in one hand, my gun in its other, it took the only escape it had left at two days in, and set me free.
|
EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any.
|
[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
|
"Good luck, you'll need it", said the human as he drew the knife down his palm, the warm blood opening a conduit for the demon to enter his malnourished and broken body. His skin undulated under the changing physiology, the demon's essence changing the chemistry of his blood, rearranging organs and invading the synaptic junctions of his mind. His eyes for a moment lost their life as the weary and war-torn light within them faded and was replaced with something truly inhuman. Tumors and scar tissue were dissolved, more biomass to fuel the transformation, until what human remained was only skin deep.
*Good luck, you'll need it.* Foolish mortal.
Memories of his former host flooded Allan of Asphodel. Much had changed on surface in two thousand years, yet so much of humanity had remained the same. The most familiar of all was anger. Anger at an unjust and uncaring world, the world of mortals whos momentary lifespans dictated their unending conquest and greed. These beings truly existed aside from the world, seeing themselves as different from the world which born them, yet paradoxically, assimilate as components of their social constructs without hesitation. Humans, and their mindless tribalism and myopathy were easily dominated.
Allan stepped into the light of day, feeling the warmth and energy from the sun for the first time in millennia. Having no sooner done so, he was struck by a passing city bus.
Allan regained consciousness one day later, truly a miraculous recovery for anyone partially eviscerated by the rolling wheels of the 402 Express.
"Oh good, you're awake".
Allan's eyes drifted lazily around the room, unable to focus on the woman who sat beside him. The unmistakable scent of sandalwood drifted across his nose, immutable above the smell of bottled oxygen and cleaning solutions.
"You're in a human hospital. You caused quite the excitement when you arrived here. There were CT scans performed. I'm sure you know what that means."
Allan searched the disordered memories of his host. There emerged a pulsating thought -- x-ray -- which unleashed a cascade of knowledge regarding healthcare institutions, and their capabilities.
"Shit."
"All this power within you, and yet no health insurance."
Health insurance -- another cascade of memories and emotions flooded forth from his host, threatening to overwhelm his control of this body. Feelings of hopelessness welled up within him, the knowledge that what ailed this body was curable, if not for the society which actively prevented it. The same society which would now vivisect him in the name of corporate profits.
"You must leave, if you are able. There are electronic records which can not be redacted."
Leaving was not an option. There awaited not even the respite of death until the terms of his host's agreement had been met: To destroy those responsible, those who could have saved him, yet chose not to. *Damned them.*Allan coughed, seeding yet more demonic spores into the air, compelling comradery and trust as they released their toxins upon inhalation. The effect was slow, but accumulate steadily with exposure.
As his vision began to clear, he could make out the female nurse who sat beside him, his first subordinate, and arguably the most useful.
"Take me to the insurance office."
Tons of edits, promise I'm done now lol
|
Blinding, wretched, cursed light pierced my head like an ice pick driven by a freight train. My skin was too tight, tingling. Without even the ability to think, I wretched in agony.
My calendar incomprehensible to me, to another, I knew it would show desperation. Two months ago this started. Last month I found the solution.
My teeth tore off more of my numbed thumb than I meant. Oh well. It felt better than-
Opening my eyes, I could hear screaming. Closing them made it stop. I cracked one open, and finished the ritual.
The demon flowed within, and I without. “Good luck, you’ll need it.”
As I flowed into the ether, leaving the pain and wretchedness behind, I saw the demon’s attempts at clawing me back, to escape.
There was -is- only one escape.
Tears streaming down its face, my calendar in one hand, my gun in its other, it took the only escape it had left at two days in, and set me free.
|
EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any.
|
[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
|
The screaming began soon after. This man’s head was just full of it. The screaming wasn’t even screams of pain or sorrow, just absent yelling. Screaming out of boredom. Somehow that was worse.
The demon thought it could get used to screaming. Hell was full of it, after all. But more sounds surfaced. Music was the worst of it. Perhaps if an entire song ever played it would have been bearable, but it was always the same two lines over and over again. Many times it was even wrong.
The imagery was just as bad. Flashing lights in one corner, a room that just constantly spun, rain falling upwards, just terrible, disorienting scenes.
But the emotions were the worst of it. Anger, depression, lack of light. It was despairing in every essence. So one day, the demon asked the man,
“Is this normal? Are all of you like this?”
The man, who had at this point been silent, answered him.
“Yeah, a lot of us. Stress, ya know?”
The demon mulled that around before asking another question?
“Why didn’t you fight me? I’ve done a lot of terrible things since I’ve controlled you. Why haven’t you stopped me?”
The human answered him in a monotone voice.
“I’ve kinda enjoyed letting someone else take the wheel for a while. Truth is, this is as close to death as I was gonna get without killing myself.”
The demon was shocked. The human was just going to kill himself if he didn’t get possessed? That’s usually where his work ended, is people either dying or killing themselves.
Then the demon thought of something that he’d been noticing. He’d seen the news of his exploits. Serial murder, robbery, the whole nine. But he was always labeled as a psychopath, or a misguided man, or even a deranged killer. But never possessed. Did that mean that humans just accepted that other humans could be so cruel?
The demon asked his final question.
“I... I don’t need to be here, do I? Humans already have this covered, don’t they?”
The human laughed at that. Dryly and loudly.
“Got it covered? Please. Where the experts now. Go google what a nuke is. Ooh, maybe try 9/11, or the Boston bombing. We’ve been taking care of torturing each other for a while. We don’t need demons to do that for us.”
They don’t need demons? That couldn’t be right. There’s no way that humans were hurting each other more than the malicious souls of hell.
So the demon began his research. The human grudgingly lead him around this ‘google’. The demon started with the Boston bombing, humans made explosives to kill each other in a time of celebration. Then 9/11, where humans flew a plane into another human structure, killing themselves and thousands more, all for differences in beliefs. The nuke, annihilating cities before war even started. A weapon so deadly that it was feared would set the air on fire, detonated anyways.
There was more. Mountains more. Poverty, war, racism, terrorism, mega corporations, serial killers, rapists, torturers, and much more. Humans were torturing each other in every method available to them.
It was true. Humans didn’t need demons to hurt each other. They were already so efficient in torture that they didn’t even notice when one of their own was possessed. It was just a ‘psychotic break’ caused by stress, or sometimes the person simple ‘cracked’. Like it was some kind of daily occurrence. Which, on further research, it was.
“No wonder you wanted to let me possess you. It’s awful. I’ve been to hell, born there, but this...” the demon trailed off.
“It’s worse, isn’t it?” The human asked. The demon confirmed him.
“That’s comforting, actually.” The human said. The demon reeled at this.
“HOW? How in the name of creation does that comfort you?” He asked. And the human have the answer that would break the demon’s will with the weight of reality.
“Because, up, down, or somewhere in between, at least it’ll be an improvement.”
|
Blinding, wretched, cursed light pierced my head like an ice pick driven by a freight train. My skin was too tight, tingling. Without even the ability to think, I wretched in agony.
My calendar incomprehensible to me, to another, I knew it would show desperation. Two months ago this started. Last month I found the solution.
My teeth tore off more of my numbed thumb than I meant. Oh well. It felt better than-
Opening my eyes, I could hear screaming. Closing them made it stop. I cracked one open, and finished the ritual.
The demon flowed within, and I without. “Good luck, you’ll need it.”
As I flowed into the ether, leaving the pain and wretchedness behind, I saw the demon’s attempts at clawing me back, to escape.
There was -is- only one escape.
Tears streaming down its face, my calendar in one hand, my gun in its other, it took the only escape it had left at two days in, and set me free.
|
EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any.
|
[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
|
"Good luck, you'll need it", said the human as he drew the knife down his palm, the warm blood opening a conduit for the demon to enter his malnourished and broken body. His skin undulated under the changing physiology, the demon's essence changing the chemistry of his blood, rearranging organs and invading the synaptic junctions of his mind. His eyes for a moment lost their life as the weary and war-torn light within them faded and was replaced with something truly inhuman. Tumors and scar tissue were dissolved, more biomass to fuel the transformation, until what human remained was only skin deep.
*Good luck, you'll need it.* Foolish mortal.
Memories of his former host flooded Allan of Asphodel. Much had changed on surface in two thousand years, yet so much of humanity had remained the same. The most familiar of all was anger. Anger at an unjust and uncaring world, the world of mortals whos momentary lifespans dictated their unending conquest and greed. These beings truly existed aside from the world, seeing themselves as different from the world which born them, yet paradoxically, assimilate as components of their social constructs without hesitation. Humans, and their mindless tribalism and myopathy were easily dominated.
Allan stepped into the light of day, feeling the warmth and energy from the sun for the first time in millennia. Having no sooner done so, he was struck by a passing city bus.
Allan regained consciousness one day later, truly a miraculous recovery for anyone partially eviscerated by the rolling wheels of the 402 Express.
"Oh good, you're awake".
Allan's eyes drifted lazily around the room, unable to focus on the woman who sat beside him. The unmistakable scent of sandalwood drifted across his nose, immutable above the smell of bottled oxygen and cleaning solutions.
"You're in a human hospital. You caused quite the excitement when you arrived here. There were CT scans performed. I'm sure you know what that means."
Allan searched the disordered memories of his host. There emerged a pulsating thought -- x-ray -- which unleashed a cascade of knowledge regarding healthcare institutions, and their capabilities.
"Shit."
"All this power within you, and yet no health insurance."
Health insurance -- another cascade of memories and emotions flooded forth from his host, threatening to overwhelm his control of this body. Feelings of hopelessness welled up within him, the knowledge that what ailed this body was curable, if not for the society which actively prevented it. The same society which would now vivisect him in the name of corporate profits.
"You must leave, if you are able. There are electronic records which can not be redacted."
Leaving was not an option. There awaited not even the respite of death until the terms of his host's agreement had been met: To destroy those responsible, those who could have saved him, yet chose not to. *Damned them.*Allan coughed, seeding yet more demonic spores into the air, compelling comradery and trust as they released their toxins upon inhalation. The effect was slow, but accumulate steadily with exposure.
As his vision began to clear, he could make out the female nurse who sat beside him, his first subordinate, and arguably the most useful.
"Take me to the insurance office."
Tons of edits, promise I'm done now lol
|
I was hungry. And there was a mortal soul nearby. It reeked of vulnerability. They were already in a graveyard, where the connection between worlds is stronger. It was conscious, but empty bottles surrounded it and it was staring blankly at the ground as it sat and leaned against a tombstone.
This will be easy. I wrapped my cold tendrils around it, waiting for the resistance. I was excited. I should have been alarmed at the lack of fight in this mortal. Instead, I noticed the defenses and consciousness of the mortal crumble without effort. They crumbled faster than I recalled, but I assumed it was because I wasn’t having to fight a resistance.
Despite not putting up the customary fight, the mortal must still have known what was happening as it lost itself. For as the mind was almost completely surrendered, with an unnerving sense of, I suppose amusement, it said;
“Good luck. You’ll need it.” Then was gone.
“What?” I replied, hearing my voice echo. But the mortals conscious was no more.
No matter. I reached my tendrils through the mortal to control its body, but was met with resistance. I swore. How could that be?
“What is this?” My voice echoed back. Except I had not said it.
“Is someone there? Who it interfering my the possession of this mortal?”
“What?? Are you interfering with the possession of MY mortal?”
I swore again. Another demon had the exact same idea as I did. I’ve never been stuck sharing a host with another demon but I was not looking forward to being helpless trapped together for an age.
~~~
Second prompt response! Sorry if it’s short, it was rushed and on my phone because I hadn’t seen this take.
|
EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any.
|
[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
|
The screaming began soon after. This man’s head was just full of it. The screaming wasn’t even screams of pain or sorrow, just absent yelling. Screaming out of boredom. Somehow that was worse.
The demon thought it could get used to screaming. Hell was full of it, after all. But more sounds surfaced. Music was the worst of it. Perhaps if an entire song ever played it would have been bearable, but it was always the same two lines over and over again. Many times it was even wrong.
The imagery was just as bad. Flashing lights in one corner, a room that just constantly spun, rain falling upwards, just terrible, disorienting scenes.
But the emotions were the worst of it. Anger, depression, lack of light. It was despairing in every essence. So one day, the demon asked the man,
“Is this normal? Are all of you like this?”
The man, who had at this point been silent, answered him.
“Yeah, a lot of us. Stress, ya know?”
The demon mulled that around before asking another question?
“Why didn’t you fight me? I’ve done a lot of terrible things since I’ve controlled you. Why haven’t you stopped me?”
The human answered him in a monotone voice.
“I’ve kinda enjoyed letting someone else take the wheel for a while. Truth is, this is as close to death as I was gonna get without killing myself.”
The demon was shocked. The human was just going to kill himself if he didn’t get possessed? That’s usually where his work ended, is people either dying or killing themselves.
Then the demon thought of something that he’d been noticing. He’d seen the news of his exploits. Serial murder, robbery, the whole nine. But he was always labeled as a psychopath, or a misguided man, or even a deranged killer. But never possessed. Did that mean that humans just accepted that other humans could be so cruel?
The demon asked his final question.
“I... I don’t need to be here, do I? Humans already have this covered, don’t they?”
The human laughed at that. Dryly and loudly.
“Got it covered? Please. Where the experts now. Go google what a nuke is. Ooh, maybe try 9/11, or the Boston bombing. We’ve been taking care of torturing each other for a while. We don’t need demons to do that for us.”
They don’t need demons? That couldn’t be right. There’s no way that humans were hurting each other more than the malicious souls of hell.
So the demon began his research. The human grudgingly lead him around this ‘google’. The demon started with the Boston bombing, humans made explosives to kill each other in a time of celebration. Then 9/11, where humans flew a plane into another human structure, killing themselves and thousands more, all for differences in beliefs. The nuke, annihilating cities before war even started. A weapon so deadly that it was feared would set the air on fire, detonated anyways.
There was more. Mountains more. Poverty, war, racism, terrorism, mega corporations, serial killers, rapists, torturers, and much more. Humans were torturing each other in every method available to them.
It was true. Humans didn’t need demons to hurt each other. They were already so efficient in torture that they didn’t even notice when one of their own was possessed. It was just a ‘psychotic break’ caused by stress, or sometimes the person simple ‘cracked’. Like it was some kind of daily occurrence. Which, on further research, it was.
“No wonder you wanted to let me possess you. It’s awful. I’ve been to hell, born there, but this...” the demon trailed off.
“It’s worse, isn’t it?” The human asked. The demon confirmed him.
“That’s comforting, actually.” The human said. The demon reeled at this.
“HOW? How in the name of creation does that comfort you?” He asked. And the human have the answer that would break the demon’s will with the weight of reality.
“Because, up, down, or somewhere in between, at least it’ll be an improvement.”
|
I was hungry. And there was a mortal soul nearby. It reeked of vulnerability. They were already in a graveyard, where the connection between worlds is stronger. It was conscious, but empty bottles surrounded it and it was staring blankly at the ground as it sat and leaned against a tombstone.
This will be easy. I wrapped my cold tendrils around it, waiting for the resistance. I was excited. I should have been alarmed at the lack of fight in this mortal. Instead, I noticed the defenses and consciousness of the mortal crumble without effort. They crumbled faster than I recalled, but I assumed it was because I wasn’t having to fight a resistance.
Despite not putting up the customary fight, the mortal must still have known what was happening as it lost itself. For as the mind was almost completely surrendered, with an unnerving sense of, I suppose amusement, it said;
“Good luck. You’ll need it.” Then was gone.
“What?” I replied, hearing my voice echo. But the mortals conscious was no more.
No matter. I reached my tendrils through the mortal to control its body, but was met with resistance. I swore. How could that be?
“What is this?” My voice echoed back. Except I had not said it.
“Is someone there? Who it interfering my the possession of this mortal?”
“What?? Are you interfering with the possession of MY mortal?”
I swore again. Another demon had the exact same idea as I did. I’ve never been stuck sharing a host with another demon but I was not looking forward to being helpless trapped together for an age.
~~~
Second prompt response! Sorry if it’s short, it was rushed and on my phone because I hadn’t seen this take.
|
EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any.
|
[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
|
The screaming began soon after. This man’s head was just full of it. The screaming wasn’t even screams of pain or sorrow, just absent yelling. Screaming out of boredom. Somehow that was worse.
The demon thought it could get used to screaming. Hell was full of it, after all. But more sounds surfaced. Music was the worst of it. Perhaps if an entire song ever played it would have been bearable, but it was always the same two lines over and over again. Many times it was even wrong.
The imagery was just as bad. Flashing lights in one corner, a room that just constantly spun, rain falling upwards, just terrible, disorienting scenes.
But the emotions were the worst of it. Anger, depression, lack of light. It was despairing in every essence. So one day, the demon asked the man,
“Is this normal? Are all of you like this?”
The man, who had at this point been silent, answered him.
“Yeah, a lot of us. Stress, ya know?”
The demon mulled that around before asking another question?
“Why didn’t you fight me? I’ve done a lot of terrible things since I’ve controlled you. Why haven’t you stopped me?”
The human answered him in a monotone voice.
“I’ve kinda enjoyed letting someone else take the wheel for a while. Truth is, this is as close to death as I was gonna get without killing myself.”
The demon was shocked. The human was just going to kill himself if he didn’t get possessed? That’s usually where his work ended, is people either dying or killing themselves.
Then the demon thought of something that he’d been noticing. He’d seen the news of his exploits. Serial murder, robbery, the whole nine. But he was always labeled as a psychopath, or a misguided man, or even a deranged killer. But never possessed. Did that mean that humans just accepted that other humans could be so cruel?
The demon asked his final question.
“I... I don’t need to be here, do I? Humans already have this covered, don’t they?”
The human laughed at that. Dryly and loudly.
“Got it covered? Please. Where the experts now. Go google what a nuke is. Ooh, maybe try 9/11, or the Boston bombing. We’ve been taking care of torturing each other for a while. We don’t need demons to do that for us.”
They don’t need demons? That couldn’t be right. There’s no way that humans were hurting each other more than the malicious souls of hell.
So the demon began his research. The human grudgingly lead him around this ‘google’. The demon started with the Boston bombing, humans made explosives to kill each other in a time of celebration. Then 9/11, where humans flew a plane into another human structure, killing themselves and thousands more, all for differences in beliefs. The nuke, annihilating cities before war even started. A weapon so deadly that it was feared would set the air on fire, detonated anyways.
There was more. Mountains more. Poverty, war, racism, terrorism, mega corporations, serial killers, rapists, torturers, and much more. Humans were torturing each other in every method available to them.
It was true. Humans didn’t need demons to hurt each other. They were already so efficient in torture that they didn’t even notice when one of their own was possessed. It was just a ‘psychotic break’ caused by stress, or sometimes the person simple ‘cracked’. Like it was some kind of daily occurrence. Which, on further research, it was.
“No wonder you wanted to let me possess you. It’s awful. I’ve been to hell, born there, but this...” the demon trailed off.
“It’s worse, isn’t it?” The human asked. The demon confirmed him.
“That’s comforting, actually.” The human said. The demon reeled at this.
“HOW? How in the name of creation does that comfort you?” He asked. And the human have the answer that would break the demon’s will with the weight of reality.
“Because, up, down, or somewhere in between, at least it’ll be an improvement.”
|
"Good luck, you'll need it", said the human as he drew the knife down his palm, the warm blood opening a conduit for the demon to enter his malnourished and broken body. His skin undulated under the changing physiology, the demon's essence changing the chemistry of his blood, rearranging organs and invading the synaptic junctions of his mind. His eyes for a moment lost their life as the weary and war-torn light within them faded and was replaced with something truly inhuman. Tumors and scar tissue were dissolved, more biomass to fuel the transformation, until what human remained was only skin deep.
*Good luck, you'll need it.* Foolish mortal.
Memories of his former host flooded Allan of Asphodel. Much had changed on surface in two thousand years, yet so much of humanity had remained the same. The most familiar of all was anger. Anger at an unjust and uncaring world, the world of mortals whos momentary lifespans dictated their unending conquest and greed. These beings truly existed aside from the world, seeing themselves as different from the world which born them, yet paradoxically, assimilate as components of their social constructs without hesitation. Humans, and their mindless tribalism and myopathy were easily dominated.
Allan stepped into the light of day, feeling the warmth and energy from the sun for the first time in millennia. Having no sooner done so, he was struck by a passing city bus.
Allan regained consciousness one day later, truly a miraculous recovery for anyone partially eviscerated by the rolling wheels of the 402 Express.
"Oh good, you're awake".
Allan's eyes drifted lazily around the room, unable to focus on the woman who sat beside him. The unmistakable scent of sandalwood drifted across his nose, immutable above the smell of bottled oxygen and cleaning solutions.
"You're in a human hospital. You caused quite the excitement when you arrived here. There were CT scans performed. I'm sure you know what that means."
Allan searched the disordered memories of his host. There emerged a pulsating thought -- x-ray -- which unleashed a cascade of knowledge regarding healthcare institutions, and their capabilities.
"Shit."
"All this power within you, and yet no health insurance."
Health insurance -- another cascade of memories and emotions flooded forth from his host, threatening to overwhelm his control of this body. Feelings of hopelessness welled up within him, the knowledge that what ailed this body was curable, if not for the society which actively prevented it. The same society which would now vivisect him in the name of corporate profits.
"You must leave, if you are able. There are electronic records which can not be redacted."
Leaving was not an option. There awaited not even the respite of death until the terms of his host's agreement had been met: To destroy those responsible, those who could have saved him, yet chose not to. *Damned them.*Allan coughed, seeding yet more demonic spores into the air, compelling comradery and trust as they released their toxins upon inhalation. The effect was slow, but accumulate steadily with exposure.
As his vision began to clear, he could make out the female nurse who sat beside him, his first subordinate, and arguably the most useful.
"Take me to the insurance office."
Tons of edits, promise I'm done now lol
|
EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any.
|
[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
|
The screaming began soon after. This man’s head was just full of it. The screaming wasn’t even screams of pain or sorrow, just absent yelling. Screaming out of boredom. Somehow that was worse.
The demon thought it could get used to screaming. Hell was full of it, after all. But more sounds surfaced. Music was the worst of it. Perhaps if an entire song ever played it would have been bearable, but it was always the same two lines over and over again. Many times it was even wrong.
The imagery was just as bad. Flashing lights in one corner, a room that just constantly spun, rain falling upwards, just terrible, disorienting scenes.
But the emotions were the worst of it. Anger, depression, lack of light. It was despairing in every essence. So one day, the demon asked the man,
“Is this normal? Are all of you like this?”
The man, who had at this point been silent, answered him.
“Yeah, a lot of us. Stress, ya know?”
The demon mulled that around before asking another question?
“Why didn’t you fight me? I’ve done a lot of terrible things since I’ve controlled you. Why haven’t you stopped me?”
The human answered him in a monotone voice.
“I’ve kinda enjoyed letting someone else take the wheel for a while. Truth is, this is as close to death as I was gonna get without killing myself.”
The demon was shocked. The human was just going to kill himself if he didn’t get possessed? That’s usually where his work ended, is people either dying or killing themselves.
Then the demon thought of something that he’d been noticing. He’d seen the news of his exploits. Serial murder, robbery, the whole nine. But he was always labeled as a psychopath, or a misguided man, or even a deranged killer. But never possessed. Did that mean that humans just accepted that other humans could be so cruel?
The demon asked his final question.
“I... I don’t need to be here, do I? Humans already have this covered, don’t they?”
The human laughed at that. Dryly and loudly.
“Got it covered? Please. Where the experts now. Go google what a nuke is. Ooh, maybe try 9/11, or the Boston bombing. We’ve been taking care of torturing each other for a while. We don’t need demons to do that for us.”
They don’t need demons? That couldn’t be right. There’s no way that humans were hurting each other more than the malicious souls of hell.
So the demon began his research. The human grudgingly lead him around this ‘google’. The demon started with the Boston bombing, humans made explosives to kill each other in a time of celebration. Then 9/11, where humans flew a plane into another human structure, killing themselves and thousands more, all for differences in beliefs. The nuke, annihilating cities before war even started. A weapon so deadly that it was feared would set the air on fire, detonated anyways.
There was more. Mountains more. Poverty, war, racism, terrorism, mega corporations, serial killers, rapists, torturers, and much more. Humans were torturing each other in every method available to them.
It was true. Humans didn’t need demons to hurt each other. They were already so efficient in torture that they didn’t even notice when one of their own was possessed. It was just a ‘psychotic break’ caused by stress, or sometimes the person simple ‘cracked’. Like it was some kind of daily occurrence. Which, on further research, it was.
“No wonder you wanted to let me possess you. It’s awful. I’ve been to hell, born there, but this...” the demon trailed off.
“It’s worse, isn’t it?” The human asked. The demon confirmed him.
“That’s comforting, actually.” The human said. The demon reeled at this.
“HOW? How in the name of creation does that comfort you?” He asked. And the human have the answer that would break the demon’s will with the weight of reality.
“Because, up, down, or somewhere in between, at least it’ll be an improvement.”
|
It tore through him like wildfire. Consuming his energies as it should be. As it'd always been. Oh yes, such succulence, strength, power and what focus! The demon stopped to gloat inside of the man's mind. But instead of the abject terror, it only felt a muted attention, as if the man was studying him.
"We need to finish this faster." the man mentally spoke to him.
"Faster? .. FASTER mortal? I will feast upon your so-"
"Look, we have about five minutes. If you don't do it by then..well.. good luck, I guess you'll need it."
With renewed anger at this IMPUDENCE (It thought the words loudly to itself) that was displayed, it grasped the last bits of control and soon came to be in a small room. Lights were blinking, machines were whirring. Its new body held a shotgun, held it in a way that felt very familiar. Something wooshed by it and hit the wall behind with a small explosion and a stench of sulfur.
It turned and saw a horde of grinning teeth, red eyes and matted fur.
"WHAT IS THIS?"
"You've done your part now. You can go back if you want."
It felt the hold slip .. slipping away?! NO! It grasped harder onto the control of the body, but an iron will slowly and methodically inched it away until the man was once again in control of his own body.
"What are these things? Why are they after you?" the demon said, feeling deep dread at the answer it almost knew would come.
The man smiled a mirthless, somewhat bloodied grin and readied another shell.
"Rip and tear until it's done." he spoke, with a voice like stone.
|
EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any.
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[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
|
Upon the tranference of his being into the young man's body, Baleron the demon, found himself posessed by a strong sense of ennui. Whisps of long ago experienced manuscripts, moving images and waves of musical poetry flooded his hellish mind.
Great, he thought. Some artist again. They were so dramatic. Did they not understand that this emptiness inside of them reflected only the briefest moment of hell's eternity. That in time the pain of knowing that after having experienced something they loved and never being able to experience it the same way again, would pass? That human existence was full of wonders, great and small which could fill a lifetime, nay a billion billion lifetimes?
He devoured the man's old emotions as well as the new, savouring the still living connections they represented. And with every precious moment gone the demon felt more and more sated. Within him this wealth of pain and sadness found a new home and against his will his newly aquired hands began to move.
His eyes opened and as his hands grasped ink and feather he read the message left to him on a polished plate of copper. There it was written in hastily made scratches, surrounding the bloody symbol which had summoned him.
My curse is yours and I am sorry.
Tears welled up in his oh so human eyes and from a myriad of experiences, one after another pouncing on his struggling mind, he wrote.
And when he finally collapsed, ink well dry and fingers bleeding, he mustered his last strength. Blood running down the worn bone of his fingers he began to draw the symbol of his hellish brother.
The accompanying sentiment remained unchanged.
My curse is yours and I am sorry.
|
Gregor punched through the curtains of reality, cascading through dimensions, and sweeping over humanity's collective consciousness like a sulfurous wind. The triple-reinforced wards on Faith's room fluttered pointlessly in the wind, and stirred up the layer of dust in her room. The demon reached through its imp's spider-like fingers as its imp completed the contract, and in that brief moment, it concentrated itself onto Faith's soul.
Faith, Faith, Faith.
Aged 22.
A bright young woman in college.
So much *potential*.
Like ants before a tidal wave, Gregor snuffed out Faith's relationships and cracked her mind apart. In the distance, Faith's friends and family felt a cold whisper drag up their spine, and for a brief moment, they shuddered instinctively. Her education, gone. Her memories, gone. Her knowledge, gone.
As Gregor loomed over the core of Faith's soul, it jangled the metaphorical keys to her mind and held back for an moment, infinitesimal yet eternal. Her soul flickered in the radiation emanating from Gregor, as the demonic mass pulsated in amusement.
"What are you?" she asked, eyes squeezed shut.
Smart. To look is to observe, to observe is to invite. Not that Gregor was a vampire that needed invitation. Gregor was the Void, the gap between stars.
"I know you, demon. I compel you to speak your name, or I shall claim the right to name you."
A moment passed, as Gregor consolidated its hold. Faith's life had long since passed. As far as the universe was concerned, a large gash in humanity's consciousness sat where Faith once existed. But humans are amusing. Humans think themselves strong.
"Demon. I repeat myself once more! I-"
"^(-Urrrrr.")
Space shook, as Gregor spoke through the remnants of Faith's mind. For every memory it took, a dozen fell through the cracks.
Faith's light dimmed. Gregor expanded through the void. If anything, the demon enjoyed humanity's fighting spirit. Thinking that names grant power, even if its very nature consumes its own name, how infantile. Even by existing in her mind, Gregor ate away at the last shreds of her soul. The radiation grew, as her mind turned a sickly shade of *nothing*. Maybe she had a trump card, a secret family weapon against the forces of Ruin and Destruction, but her time was running short.
"I tried. I really tried," Faith croaked. "Good luck, you'll need it."
Faith flickered out of existence, falling through Gregor's sickly claws, as it joined the thousands of memories evaporating into the cracks in reality.
Gregor peered down. Apathy, what a shame. It extended its mass, shifting through the former confines of Faith's mind, as it took root in her body. Her blood curdled into sludge and her visage deformed. Parts of her limbs fell through the cracks of reality, rending her body into a dozen coordinated pieces. The imp leapt through Faith, discarding its former shell as it took over her bodily functions.
Dust. Glass. Grey.
The imp gnashed its teeth in frustration, slamming its fingers into the controls. It shook at her motivations, long since barren.
Apathy. Ennui. Anhedonia.
It gazed around her room.
A layer of dust on the mirror. A pile of clothes on her bed. A dozen unwashed plates perched on her desk.
Letters, unsent. Calls, unanswered. A note, brief.
Of course, Gregor realized. Faith was long-gone before it arrived. It reached back into Faith's mind and retook control, confirming its hypothesis. It nudged the imp aside, vaporizing it in a flash. Her grey memories flashed into nothingness as the demon peered at them.
Nothing.
Her body turned acrid, forming sickly fumes in her room. Her possessions shook, as their relationships corroded under Gregor's power. The room creaked in pain, as the demon arrived at its conclusions.
There was nothing left to do.
The college hall shuddered, as Gregor lifted itself off humanity's consciousness. The room contracted and the building reshaped itself between breaths, as reality attempted to heal from Gregor's brief stay. Faith's room vanished.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
And the embers of Faith's life drifted away through the cracks.
|
EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any.
|
[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
|
It’s the small towns that make the best hunting grounds. Their people are isolated, both from each other and the greater world. And in that isolation grows fear. Anger. Resentment. A cocktail of simmering grudges that persist and grow over generations, until each and every one of those outwardly hospitable individuals has a long list of hidden sins just waiting to come to light. Other places, more “modern” places, the people might resist the temptation, the allure of power, but here in Whittler’s Creek, they don’t even realise what’s happened until it’s far too late. Indeed, it’s a wonder the town hadn’t torn itself to pieces of its own accord yet. A demon looking for prey need not look any farther.
Like all of Whittler’s Creek, Mr. Roberts was filled with latent desires: the usual things, revenge, power, satisfaction. Unlike so many of the others, however, he had a certain ruthlessness that I could tell he just wanted to … explore. “All those accumulated wrongs, all those unsettled scores,” I whispered to him, “I can make them right. I can give you what you *truly* desire.” And by that whispering from the wall, I could sense in him not just interest but a deeper understanding of what my deal entailed. A willingness to sacrifice for power that made the possession itself just that much easier. There was no resistance, no hesitation, and as I scraped the last vestiges of his psyche away, I felt him almost laugh as if he knew something I didn’t. “Good luck,” he said, “You’ll need it.
*This place has far greater demons than you*.”
&#x200B;
I was awakened by the clanging of a bell. Four strikes. They were hollow and discordant; I would say “haunting” if it weren’t too on the nose. Very well, I thought, I’ll get up.
My host’s wardrobe was practical - he was a man of the land, and so there were no expensive fabrics nor garish designs in his shirts and trousers. I must admit, I do prefer the feel of a fine suit, but there are far more important considerations, and a find like Mr. Roberts was what he’d call a “once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.” I could settle for the best he had.
I strode out the doorway confidently. Ooh! The sun! I had not felt its warmth in so long, its invigorating touch like the warm lap of a burning ocean. These assorted ignoramuses had no idea what they took for granted. Hmm. I wondered how rain would feel on this fresh skin.
“Lovely day, isn’t it!”
Indeed, she was right. “Absolutely! And only the more lovely for havin’ you in it, Miss Kelly.” I bowed a bit and threw on a smile. She returned my gesture.
“I s’pose you’ll be at the town meetin’ tonight?”
What meeting? “Of course. Could hardly miss it, now could I?” She nodded politely, clearly satisfied with my response. It was probably some meaningless get-together, but part of this was earning the trust of the people around you before bringing them into the fold. After all, not everyone was as willing as Mr. Roberts. And yet…
&#x200B;
The bell rang again. Three strikes. Jack dealt another hand of cards. My companions looked at their new receipts with somewhat drawn expressions.
“So, uh, Roberts, you’ll be at the meetin’ tonight, right?”
This again. “Of course, of course. Seems to be a big deal, eh?”
Jack looked back at me with an almost shocked expression on his unshaven face. It quickly morphed into one of strained humor. “Yeah, yeah, Roberts. I know you know damn well it’s a big deal.” He now spoke louder and to the general room. “Look at the jokester we’ve got over here - big deal. Ha!” He was nervous, that was clear, as if even the suggestion that this meeting wasn’t of the utmost importance was frightening. I have to admit to being a little disquieted myself. Fear was useful, valuable even, but there was something strange going on in this town, something I didn’t know about and that unknown factor was concerning. Tucked away in this stolen body, there wasn’t much that could hurt me, but it reminded me of Mr. Roberts’ dying words that there were far more dangerous forces than I lurking in the breeze.
“Y’know,” said Jack, “I think I’m gonna have to call this one off, fellas. I’m not feelin’ so well. You can go on an’ play without me.”
“No, that’s okay, Jack. To be honest, I was feelin’ ‘bout ready to call it quits too.” Rick, who I’m told was the town’s most habitual gambler, was walking away? I suppose I really did get them spooked.
The others echoed the sentiment of the previous two. “Perhaps it would be best to finish this game tomorrow,” one of them proposed, and the others muttered noises of agreement.
&#x200B;
The bell rang a third time, emitting two sharp clangs. It was late afternoon by now, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that this bell was a countdown of sorts, perhaps to this meeting everyone was talking about. The children playing in the field stopped momentarily in recognition before resuming their game.
“Did I ever tell you about my late wife?” He rocked in his chair lazily, and I wasn’t sure if the creaking came from the boards or from his bones.
“No, I don’t think you have.”
“Mm.” His eyes remained focused ahead, and his intonation was one almost of obligation rather than reminiscence. “If you ask me, she was the best thing ever to happen to this town. Y’know, people here are born here, live here, die here. Keep to ‘emselves, mostly. Oh no, not my Laura. She was all about change, y’know, makin’ the place better, newer, brighter. Never made it far enough, though.”
“What happened?”
“Oh, the usual. Unlucky. Wrong place, wrong time. Like to imagine that she was too good for here, and that’s why it was her.”
I could tell he felt slighted, angry. Of all the people in this town, he was the one who craved power the most. He’d lie to himself that it was to prevent something like that from ever happening again, but I know how it goes. In the end, power’s always for power’s sake. Fear always wins.
&#x200B;
The bell rang just once, and the people stopped. Some were washing, some were walking, and some were just sitting, waiting. Upon hearing that final clang, they all rose and congregated in the central square. I followed, and saw faces that were familiar. Plastered upon them was an unique expression, one not of fear nor of joy but somewhere in between, a sort of deadly anticipation.
The old man with whom I had spoken ascended a set of rickety stairs to a hastily-constructed wooden platform. He shivered in the cool wind, but underneath the flapping strands of grey hair, his eyes were filled with grim determination.
“Friends!” he shouted, the sound of his voice hushing the myriad whispers and conversations of the crowd. “The time has come again. A time for rejoicing!” The people cheered, not half-heartedly but filled with excitement. The fear which I had seen had melted away. “The past year has been difficult, I know, but today … oh, today, we leave *all* that behind us!” Then, after a pause. “Jack, join me.”
Jack’s smile faded away, and he stepped forward, first tentatively and then with a lifeless regularity. He ascended each step as if propelled solely by the crowd’s chanting and clapping. The smile faded from the old man’s face as well. “Jack,” he shouted, “You have been a valued neighbor these past forty years. You helped Roberts when his cows ran away, and you helped Kelly after her brother died.
But Jack, there is a spirit. A spirit that haunts us day and night, that turns neighbor against neighbor, that turns child against parent. And Jack, we must drive this spirit back. We must show it that our fears and angers will *not* tear this town apart. We must release ourselves from the bonds of these mutual grudges, of these petty squabbles. But such a release,” and now he spoke in hushed tones and the chanting stopped, “requires sacrifice.”
And as the people in the crowd picked up stones and revealed knives, I think I finally understood why Roberts was unafraid of a demon. Like all the others, he was already possessed by one - the same one I saw in their eyes right now: a demon of their own invention. One with which I could never compete. And as I soon saw, there never was a Mr. Roberts or a Kelly or Rick or an old man; just the demon, whose dormancy had at long last broken.
&#x200B;
*If you'd like to read more of my things, head on over to* r/DaeridaniiWrites
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Gregor punched through the curtains of reality, cascading through dimensions, and sweeping over humanity's collective consciousness like a sulfurous wind. The triple-reinforced wards on Faith's room fluttered pointlessly in the wind, and stirred up the layer of dust in her room. The demon reached through its imp's spider-like fingers as its imp completed the contract, and in that brief moment, it concentrated itself onto Faith's soul.
Faith, Faith, Faith.
Aged 22.
A bright young woman in college.
So much *potential*.
Like ants before a tidal wave, Gregor snuffed out Faith's relationships and cracked her mind apart. In the distance, Faith's friends and family felt a cold whisper drag up their spine, and for a brief moment, they shuddered instinctively. Her education, gone. Her memories, gone. Her knowledge, gone.
As Gregor loomed over the core of Faith's soul, it jangled the metaphorical keys to her mind and held back for an moment, infinitesimal yet eternal. Her soul flickered in the radiation emanating from Gregor, as the demonic mass pulsated in amusement.
"What are you?" she asked, eyes squeezed shut.
Smart. To look is to observe, to observe is to invite. Not that Gregor was a vampire that needed invitation. Gregor was the Void, the gap between stars.
"I know you, demon. I compel you to speak your name, or I shall claim the right to name you."
A moment passed, as Gregor consolidated its hold. Faith's life had long since passed. As far as the universe was concerned, a large gash in humanity's consciousness sat where Faith once existed. But humans are amusing. Humans think themselves strong.
"Demon. I repeat myself once more! I-"
"^(-Urrrrr.")
Space shook, as Gregor spoke through the remnants of Faith's mind. For every memory it took, a dozen fell through the cracks.
Faith's light dimmed. Gregor expanded through the void. If anything, the demon enjoyed humanity's fighting spirit. Thinking that names grant power, even if its very nature consumes its own name, how infantile. Even by existing in her mind, Gregor ate away at the last shreds of her soul. The radiation grew, as her mind turned a sickly shade of *nothing*. Maybe she had a trump card, a secret family weapon against the forces of Ruin and Destruction, but her time was running short.
"I tried. I really tried," Faith croaked. "Good luck, you'll need it."
Faith flickered out of existence, falling through Gregor's sickly claws, as it joined the thousands of memories evaporating into the cracks in reality.
Gregor peered down. Apathy, what a shame. It extended its mass, shifting through the former confines of Faith's mind, as it took root in her body. Her blood curdled into sludge and her visage deformed. Parts of her limbs fell through the cracks of reality, rending her body into a dozen coordinated pieces. The imp leapt through Faith, discarding its former shell as it took over her bodily functions.
Dust. Glass. Grey.
The imp gnashed its teeth in frustration, slamming its fingers into the controls. It shook at her motivations, long since barren.
Apathy. Ennui. Anhedonia.
It gazed around her room.
A layer of dust on the mirror. A pile of clothes on her bed. A dozen unwashed plates perched on her desk.
Letters, unsent. Calls, unanswered. A note, brief.
Of course, Gregor realized. Faith was long-gone before it arrived. It reached back into Faith's mind and retook control, confirming its hypothesis. It nudged the imp aside, vaporizing it in a flash. Her grey memories flashed into nothingness as the demon peered at them.
Nothing.
Her body turned acrid, forming sickly fumes in her room. Her possessions shook, as their relationships corroded under Gregor's power. The room creaked in pain, as the demon arrived at its conclusions.
There was nothing left to do.
The college hall shuddered, as Gregor lifted itself off humanity's consciousness. The room contracted and the building reshaped itself between breaths, as reality attempted to heal from Gregor's brief stay. Faith's room vanished.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
And the embers of Faith's life drifted away through the cracks.
|
EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any.
|
[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
|
Xullufiti couldn't believe this luck, finally, an escape from the clutches of Hell! Not a crack, not a nightmare, but a veritable door from one reality to the next. A vessel! A passage between worlds!
He cackled loudly as he swarmed into the human body, their soul swapped away almost effortlessly in the exchange. But as they passed each through the membrane of souls, the sagging, defeated human only gazed on in abject disconnection.
"Yeah, good luck with that. You'll need it."
Xullufiti squinted at this remark, and all too suddenly the transition was complete.
"At LAAAAST!" Xullufiti screamed into the air, the flesh of his skin hot and steaming into the night sky.
He swiftly gathered himself, pawing himself down to be sure it was real, ALL real. He could barely contain his giggling, there on the street corner. This world would, at last, be-
"FINALLY!!!" Screamed some woman, two blocks up.
"FREEEEE!" Screamed some fat guy by his window two stories up.
The chorus of thousands soon joined, a mass of souls exchanged congregating into a churning, steady roar of evil enthusiasm as the humans. A very angry german voice, sure enough probably Hitler, crowing out of a little boy. A possessed Nun that could only be Vlad was already impaling people with stop signs. Somewhere down the block, a little old lady fired up a chainsaw, already decked out in full clown garb, soaked in blood.
Xullufiti's arms lowered. His grin faded. He swallowed heavily, pinching his brow.
"God dammit. Trying to get *away* from these assholes."
&#x200B;
Meanwhile, in Hell, Burt pinched his brows. The complete absence of demons was nice for a minute, but then the HOA went ahead filled the power vacuum in a matter of hours.
"God dammit. Trying to get *away* from these assholes."
|
Gregor punched through the curtains of reality, cascading through dimensions, and sweeping over humanity's collective consciousness like a sulfurous wind. The triple-reinforced wards on Faith's room fluttered pointlessly in the wind, and stirred up the layer of dust in her room. The demon reached through its imp's spider-like fingers as its imp completed the contract, and in that brief moment, it concentrated itself onto Faith's soul.
Faith, Faith, Faith.
Aged 22.
A bright young woman in college.
So much *potential*.
Like ants before a tidal wave, Gregor snuffed out Faith's relationships and cracked her mind apart. In the distance, Faith's friends and family felt a cold whisper drag up their spine, and for a brief moment, they shuddered instinctively. Her education, gone. Her memories, gone. Her knowledge, gone.
As Gregor loomed over the core of Faith's soul, it jangled the metaphorical keys to her mind and held back for an moment, infinitesimal yet eternal. Her soul flickered in the radiation emanating from Gregor, as the demonic mass pulsated in amusement.
"What are you?" she asked, eyes squeezed shut.
Smart. To look is to observe, to observe is to invite. Not that Gregor was a vampire that needed invitation. Gregor was the Void, the gap between stars.
"I know you, demon. I compel you to speak your name, or I shall claim the right to name you."
A moment passed, as Gregor consolidated its hold. Faith's life had long since passed. As far as the universe was concerned, a large gash in humanity's consciousness sat where Faith once existed. But humans are amusing. Humans think themselves strong.
"Demon. I repeat myself once more! I-"
"^(-Urrrrr.")
Space shook, as Gregor spoke through the remnants of Faith's mind. For every memory it took, a dozen fell through the cracks.
Faith's light dimmed. Gregor expanded through the void. If anything, the demon enjoyed humanity's fighting spirit. Thinking that names grant power, even if its very nature consumes its own name, how infantile. Even by existing in her mind, Gregor ate away at the last shreds of her soul. The radiation grew, as her mind turned a sickly shade of *nothing*. Maybe she had a trump card, a secret family weapon against the forces of Ruin and Destruction, but her time was running short.
"I tried. I really tried," Faith croaked. "Good luck, you'll need it."
Faith flickered out of existence, falling through Gregor's sickly claws, as it joined the thousands of memories evaporating into the cracks in reality.
Gregor peered down. Apathy, what a shame. It extended its mass, shifting through the former confines of Faith's mind, as it took root in her body. Her blood curdled into sludge and her visage deformed. Parts of her limbs fell through the cracks of reality, rending her body into a dozen coordinated pieces. The imp leapt through Faith, discarding its former shell as it took over her bodily functions.
Dust. Glass. Grey.
The imp gnashed its teeth in frustration, slamming its fingers into the controls. It shook at her motivations, long since barren.
Apathy. Ennui. Anhedonia.
It gazed around her room.
A layer of dust on the mirror. A pile of clothes on her bed. A dozen unwashed plates perched on her desk.
Letters, unsent. Calls, unanswered. A note, brief.
Of course, Gregor realized. Faith was long-gone before it arrived. It reached back into Faith's mind and retook control, confirming its hypothesis. It nudged the imp aside, vaporizing it in a flash. Her grey memories flashed into nothingness as the demon peered at them.
Nothing.
Her body turned acrid, forming sickly fumes in her room. Her possessions shook, as their relationships corroded under Gregor's power. The room creaked in pain, as the demon arrived at its conclusions.
There was nothing left to do.
The college hall shuddered, as Gregor lifted itself off humanity's consciousness. The room contracted and the building reshaped itself between breaths, as reality attempted to heal from Gregor's brief stay. Faith's room vanished.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
And the embers of Faith's life drifted away through the cracks.
|
EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any.
|
[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
|
Thraxis smiled as the human signed the contract. A simple thing, possession for a few years in exchange for a long life and wealth. He stepped forward and turned to a mist as the ink on the contract dried. He expected a last second struggle but was surprised to hear, "Good luck... You'll need it." He wasn't sure what this human meant.
Then it hit him.
"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!" He asked through the humans mouth. "Everything hurts. Oh my god how do you live like this?" the human just chuckled in his mind which Thraxis could hear clear as day as he tried moving.
"Every joint, every muscle is agony! You go through this every day?" He screamed out before just collapsing against the nearest wall. He thought there might be something in the mind that would help him, but no. Every time this body was harmed physically, mentally emotionally, and even spiritually ran on loop through the mind, and Thraxis found himself with a front row seat to the things humans could do to each other and the reason for every ache, every pain, every type of hurt the human not only experienced, but endured day in and day out.
"Tell me human, how do you endure this.? How have you not just fallen over and given up? He asked, still feeling everything the human felt. Normally the idea of a flesh body was a good thing, but this was worse than any level of hell. He had to know how to mitigate it otherwise this contract would destroy him.
Suddenly an image appeared from the human of the answer, and scrambling to reach into a pocket he pulled out what looked to be a gummy candy which he promptly popped into his mouth. As the effect began to hit faster than expected he heard the human.
"Weed helps but I just don't give up. Hurting doesn't stop the bills, or the rent, or the need for food." His body sighed as Thraxis realized what was going on. Slowly the body and the demon got to their feet and staggered off. The pain had ebbed for now and for now was all he needed.
|
Gregor punched through the curtains of reality, cascading through dimensions, and sweeping over humanity's collective consciousness like a sulfurous wind. The triple-reinforced wards on Faith's room fluttered pointlessly in the wind, and stirred up the layer of dust in her room. The demon reached through its imp's spider-like fingers as its imp completed the contract, and in that brief moment, it concentrated itself onto Faith's soul.
Faith, Faith, Faith.
Aged 22.
A bright young woman in college.
So much *potential*.
Like ants before a tidal wave, Gregor snuffed out Faith's relationships and cracked her mind apart. In the distance, Faith's friends and family felt a cold whisper drag up their spine, and for a brief moment, they shuddered instinctively. Her education, gone. Her memories, gone. Her knowledge, gone.
As Gregor loomed over the core of Faith's soul, it jangled the metaphorical keys to her mind and held back for an moment, infinitesimal yet eternal. Her soul flickered in the radiation emanating from Gregor, as the demonic mass pulsated in amusement.
"What are you?" she asked, eyes squeezed shut.
Smart. To look is to observe, to observe is to invite. Not that Gregor was a vampire that needed invitation. Gregor was the Void, the gap between stars.
"I know you, demon. I compel you to speak your name, or I shall claim the right to name you."
A moment passed, as Gregor consolidated its hold. Faith's life had long since passed. As far as the universe was concerned, a large gash in humanity's consciousness sat where Faith once existed. But humans are amusing. Humans think themselves strong.
"Demon. I repeat myself once more! I-"
"^(-Urrrrr.")
Space shook, as Gregor spoke through the remnants of Faith's mind. For every memory it took, a dozen fell through the cracks.
Faith's light dimmed. Gregor expanded through the void. If anything, the demon enjoyed humanity's fighting spirit. Thinking that names grant power, even if its very nature consumes its own name, how infantile. Even by existing in her mind, Gregor ate away at the last shreds of her soul. The radiation grew, as her mind turned a sickly shade of *nothing*. Maybe she had a trump card, a secret family weapon against the forces of Ruin and Destruction, but her time was running short.
"I tried. I really tried," Faith croaked. "Good luck, you'll need it."
Faith flickered out of existence, falling through Gregor's sickly claws, as it joined the thousands of memories evaporating into the cracks in reality.
Gregor peered down. Apathy, what a shame. It extended its mass, shifting through the former confines of Faith's mind, as it took root in her body. Her blood curdled into sludge and her visage deformed. Parts of her limbs fell through the cracks of reality, rending her body into a dozen coordinated pieces. The imp leapt through Faith, discarding its former shell as it took over her bodily functions.
Dust. Glass. Grey.
The imp gnashed its teeth in frustration, slamming its fingers into the controls. It shook at her motivations, long since barren.
Apathy. Ennui. Anhedonia.
It gazed around her room.
A layer of dust on the mirror. A pile of clothes on her bed. A dozen unwashed plates perched on her desk.
Letters, unsent. Calls, unanswered. A note, brief.
Of course, Gregor realized. Faith was long-gone before it arrived. It reached back into Faith's mind and retook control, confirming its hypothesis. It nudged the imp aside, vaporizing it in a flash. Her grey memories flashed into nothingness as the demon peered at them.
Nothing.
Her body turned acrid, forming sickly fumes in her room. Her possessions shook, as their relationships corroded under Gregor's power. The room creaked in pain, as the demon arrived at its conclusions.
There was nothing left to do.
The college hall shuddered, as Gregor lifted itself off humanity's consciousness. The room contracted and the building reshaped itself between breaths, as reality attempted to heal from Gregor's brief stay. Faith's room vanished.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
And the embers of Faith's life drifted away through the cracks.
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EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any.
|
[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
|
Xullufiti couldn't believe this luck, finally, an escape from the clutches of Hell! Not a crack, not a nightmare, but a veritable door from one reality to the next. A vessel! A passage between worlds!
He cackled loudly as he swarmed into the human body, their soul swapped away almost effortlessly in the exchange. But as they passed each through the membrane of souls, the sagging, defeated human only gazed on in abject disconnection.
"Yeah, good luck with that. You'll need it."
Xullufiti squinted at this remark, and all too suddenly the transition was complete.
"At LAAAAST!" Xullufiti screamed into the air, the flesh of his skin hot and steaming into the night sky.
He swiftly gathered himself, pawing himself down to be sure it was real, ALL real. He could barely contain his giggling, there on the street corner. This world would, at last, be-
"FINALLY!!!" Screamed some woman, two blocks up.
"FREEEEE!" Screamed some fat guy by his window two stories up.
The chorus of thousands soon joined, a mass of souls exchanged congregating into a churning, steady roar of evil enthusiasm as the humans. A very angry german voice, sure enough probably Hitler, crowing out of a little boy. A possessed Nun that could only be Vlad was already impaling people with stop signs. Somewhere down the block, a little old lady fired up a chainsaw, already decked out in full clown garb, soaked in blood.
Xullufiti's arms lowered. His grin faded. He swallowed heavily, pinching his brow.
"God dammit. Trying to get *away* from these assholes."
&#x200B;
Meanwhile, in Hell, Burt pinched his brows. The complete absence of demons was nice for a minute, but then the HOA went ahead filled the power vacuum in a matter of hours.
"God dammit. Trying to get *away* from these assholes."
|
Upon the tranference of his being into the young man's body, Baleron the demon, found himself posessed by a strong sense of ennui. Whisps of long ago experienced manuscripts, moving images and waves of musical poetry flooded his hellish mind.
Great, he thought. Some artist again. They were so dramatic. Did they not understand that this emptiness inside of them reflected only the briefest moment of hell's eternity. That in time the pain of knowing that after having experienced something they loved and never being able to experience it the same way again, would pass? That human existence was full of wonders, great and small which could fill a lifetime, nay a billion billion lifetimes?
He devoured the man's old emotions as well as the new, savouring the still living connections they represented. And with every precious moment gone the demon felt more and more sated. Within him this wealth of pain and sadness found a new home and against his will his newly aquired hands began to move.
His eyes opened and as his hands grasped ink and feather he read the message left to him on a polished plate of copper. There it was written in hastily made scratches, surrounding the bloody symbol which had summoned him.
My curse is yours and I am sorry.
Tears welled up in his oh so human eyes and from a myriad of experiences, one after another pouncing on his struggling mind, he wrote.
And when he finally collapsed, ink well dry and fingers bleeding, he mustered his last strength. Blood running down the worn bone of his fingers he began to draw the symbol of his hellish brother.
The accompanying sentiment remained unchanged.
My curse is yours and I am sorry.
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EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any.
|
[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
|
Xullufiti couldn't believe this luck, finally, an escape from the clutches of Hell! Not a crack, not a nightmare, but a veritable door from one reality to the next. A vessel! A passage between worlds!
He cackled loudly as he swarmed into the human body, their soul swapped away almost effortlessly in the exchange. But as they passed each through the membrane of souls, the sagging, defeated human only gazed on in abject disconnection.
"Yeah, good luck with that. You'll need it."
Xullufiti squinted at this remark, and all too suddenly the transition was complete.
"At LAAAAST!" Xullufiti screamed into the air, the flesh of his skin hot and steaming into the night sky.
He swiftly gathered himself, pawing himself down to be sure it was real, ALL real. He could barely contain his giggling, there on the street corner. This world would, at last, be-
"FINALLY!!!" Screamed some woman, two blocks up.
"FREEEEE!" Screamed some fat guy by his window two stories up.
The chorus of thousands soon joined, a mass of souls exchanged congregating into a churning, steady roar of evil enthusiasm as the humans. A very angry german voice, sure enough probably Hitler, crowing out of a little boy. A possessed Nun that could only be Vlad was already impaling people with stop signs. Somewhere down the block, a little old lady fired up a chainsaw, already decked out in full clown garb, soaked in blood.
Xullufiti's arms lowered. His grin faded. He swallowed heavily, pinching his brow.
"God dammit. Trying to get *away* from these assholes."
&#x200B;
Meanwhile, in Hell, Burt pinched his brows. The complete absence of demons was nice for a minute, but then the HOA went ahead filled the power vacuum in a matter of hours.
"God dammit. Trying to get *away* from these assholes."
|
It’s the small towns that make the best hunting grounds. Their people are isolated, both from each other and the greater world. And in that isolation grows fear. Anger. Resentment. A cocktail of simmering grudges that persist and grow over generations, until each and every one of those outwardly hospitable individuals has a long list of hidden sins just waiting to come to light. Other places, more “modern” places, the people might resist the temptation, the allure of power, but here in Whittler’s Creek, they don’t even realise what’s happened until it’s far too late. Indeed, it’s a wonder the town hadn’t torn itself to pieces of its own accord yet. A demon looking for prey need not look any farther.
Like all of Whittler’s Creek, Mr. Roberts was filled with latent desires: the usual things, revenge, power, satisfaction. Unlike so many of the others, however, he had a certain ruthlessness that I could tell he just wanted to … explore. “All those accumulated wrongs, all those unsettled scores,” I whispered to him, “I can make them right. I can give you what you *truly* desire.” And by that whispering from the wall, I could sense in him not just interest but a deeper understanding of what my deal entailed. A willingness to sacrifice for power that made the possession itself just that much easier. There was no resistance, no hesitation, and as I scraped the last vestiges of his psyche away, I felt him almost laugh as if he knew something I didn’t. “Good luck,” he said, “You’ll need it.
*This place has far greater demons than you*.”
&#x200B;
I was awakened by the clanging of a bell. Four strikes. They were hollow and discordant; I would say “haunting” if it weren’t too on the nose. Very well, I thought, I’ll get up.
My host’s wardrobe was practical - he was a man of the land, and so there were no expensive fabrics nor garish designs in his shirts and trousers. I must admit, I do prefer the feel of a fine suit, but there are far more important considerations, and a find like Mr. Roberts was what he’d call a “once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.” I could settle for the best he had.
I strode out the doorway confidently. Ooh! The sun! I had not felt its warmth in so long, its invigorating touch like the warm lap of a burning ocean. These assorted ignoramuses had no idea what they took for granted. Hmm. I wondered how rain would feel on this fresh skin.
“Lovely day, isn’t it!”
Indeed, she was right. “Absolutely! And only the more lovely for havin’ you in it, Miss Kelly.” I bowed a bit and threw on a smile. She returned my gesture.
“I s’pose you’ll be at the town meetin’ tonight?”
What meeting? “Of course. Could hardly miss it, now could I?” She nodded politely, clearly satisfied with my response. It was probably some meaningless get-together, but part of this was earning the trust of the people around you before bringing them into the fold. After all, not everyone was as willing as Mr. Roberts. And yet…
&#x200B;
The bell rang again. Three strikes. Jack dealt another hand of cards. My companions looked at their new receipts with somewhat drawn expressions.
“So, uh, Roberts, you’ll be at the meetin’ tonight, right?”
This again. “Of course, of course. Seems to be a big deal, eh?”
Jack looked back at me with an almost shocked expression on his unshaven face. It quickly morphed into one of strained humor. “Yeah, yeah, Roberts. I know you know damn well it’s a big deal.” He now spoke louder and to the general room. “Look at the jokester we’ve got over here - big deal. Ha!” He was nervous, that was clear, as if even the suggestion that this meeting wasn’t of the utmost importance was frightening. I have to admit to being a little disquieted myself. Fear was useful, valuable even, but there was something strange going on in this town, something I didn’t know about and that unknown factor was concerning. Tucked away in this stolen body, there wasn’t much that could hurt me, but it reminded me of Mr. Roberts’ dying words that there were far more dangerous forces than I lurking in the breeze.
“Y’know,” said Jack, “I think I’m gonna have to call this one off, fellas. I’m not feelin’ so well. You can go on an’ play without me.”
“No, that’s okay, Jack. To be honest, I was feelin’ ‘bout ready to call it quits too.” Rick, who I’m told was the town’s most habitual gambler, was walking away? I suppose I really did get them spooked.
The others echoed the sentiment of the previous two. “Perhaps it would be best to finish this game tomorrow,” one of them proposed, and the others muttered noises of agreement.
&#x200B;
The bell rang a third time, emitting two sharp clangs. It was late afternoon by now, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that this bell was a countdown of sorts, perhaps to this meeting everyone was talking about. The children playing in the field stopped momentarily in recognition before resuming their game.
“Did I ever tell you about my late wife?” He rocked in his chair lazily, and I wasn’t sure if the creaking came from the boards or from his bones.
“No, I don’t think you have.”
“Mm.” His eyes remained focused ahead, and his intonation was one almost of obligation rather than reminiscence. “If you ask me, she was the best thing ever to happen to this town. Y’know, people here are born here, live here, die here. Keep to ‘emselves, mostly. Oh no, not my Laura. She was all about change, y’know, makin’ the place better, newer, brighter. Never made it far enough, though.”
“What happened?”
“Oh, the usual. Unlucky. Wrong place, wrong time. Like to imagine that she was too good for here, and that’s why it was her.”
I could tell he felt slighted, angry. Of all the people in this town, he was the one who craved power the most. He’d lie to himself that it was to prevent something like that from ever happening again, but I know how it goes. In the end, power’s always for power’s sake. Fear always wins.
&#x200B;
The bell rang just once, and the people stopped. Some were washing, some were walking, and some were just sitting, waiting. Upon hearing that final clang, they all rose and congregated in the central square. I followed, and saw faces that were familiar. Plastered upon them was an unique expression, one not of fear nor of joy but somewhere in between, a sort of deadly anticipation.
The old man with whom I had spoken ascended a set of rickety stairs to a hastily-constructed wooden platform. He shivered in the cool wind, but underneath the flapping strands of grey hair, his eyes were filled with grim determination.
“Friends!” he shouted, the sound of his voice hushing the myriad whispers and conversations of the crowd. “The time has come again. A time for rejoicing!” The people cheered, not half-heartedly but filled with excitement. The fear which I had seen had melted away. “The past year has been difficult, I know, but today … oh, today, we leave *all* that behind us!” Then, after a pause. “Jack, join me.”
Jack’s smile faded away, and he stepped forward, first tentatively and then with a lifeless regularity. He ascended each step as if propelled solely by the crowd’s chanting and clapping. The smile faded from the old man’s face as well. “Jack,” he shouted, “You have been a valued neighbor these past forty years. You helped Roberts when his cows ran away, and you helped Kelly after her brother died.
But Jack, there is a spirit. A spirit that haunts us day and night, that turns neighbor against neighbor, that turns child against parent. And Jack, we must drive this spirit back. We must show it that our fears and angers will *not* tear this town apart. We must release ourselves from the bonds of these mutual grudges, of these petty squabbles. But such a release,” and now he spoke in hushed tones and the chanting stopped, “requires sacrifice.”
And as the people in the crowd picked up stones and revealed knives, I think I finally understood why Roberts was unafraid of a demon. Like all the others, he was already possessed by one - the same one I saw in their eyes right now: a demon of their own invention. One with which I could never compete. And as I soon saw, there never was a Mr. Roberts or a Kelly or Rick or an old man; just the demon, whose dormancy had at long last broken.
&#x200B;
*If you'd like to read more of my things, head on over to* r/DaeridaniiWrites
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EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any.
|
[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
|
Xullufiti couldn't believe this luck, finally, an escape from the clutches of Hell! Not a crack, not a nightmare, but a veritable door from one reality to the next. A vessel! A passage between worlds!
He cackled loudly as he swarmed into the human body, their soul swapped away almost effortlessly in the exchange. But as they passed each through the membrane of souls, the sagging, defeated human only gazed on in abject disconnection.
"Yeah, good luck with that. You'll need it."
Xullufiti squinted at this remark, and all too suddenly the transition was complete.
"At LAAAAST!" Xullufiti screamed into the air, the flesh of his skin hot and steaming into the night sky.
He swiftly gathered himself, pawing himself down to be sure it was real, ALL real. He could barely contain his giggling, there on the street corner. This world would, at last, be-
"FINALLY!!!" Screamed some woman, two blocks up.
"FREEEEE!" Screamed some fat guy by his window two stories up.
The chorus of thousands soon joined, a mass of souls exchanged congregating into a churning, steady roar of evil enthusiasm as the humans. A very angry german voice, sure enough probably Hitler, crowing out of a little boy. A possessed Nun that could only be Vlad was already impaling people with stop signs. Somewhere down the block, a little old lady fired up a chainsaw, already decked out in full clown garb, soaked in blood.
Xullufiti's arms lowered. His grin faded. He swallowed heavily, pinching his brow.
"God dammit. Trying to get *away* from these assholes."
&#x200B;
Meanwhile, in Hell, Burt pinched his brows. The complete absence of demons was nice for a minute, but then the HOA went ahead filled the power vacuum in a matter of hours.
"God dammit. Trying to get *away* from these assholes."
|
The man just let me take over completely. The lust was upon me, the blood-rage roaring in my ears, claws extended in both dimensions, pulling, rending, scraping... Only then when it was too late did I realise something was wrong. My victims had never reacted like this before, in all the millennia.
'Good luck,' the man said. 'You'll need it.'
I was suddenly alone in his inner world. Usually by now the victim was cowering in uncontrollable fear and I could see every single thing about them, every shameful thought and word and deed. But here: nothing. I was possessing the man, as I had done countless times before, but it was like I was in a cave underground, or deep underwater or in a...
...prison. The sensation of fear was so unfamiliar to me, so long dormant, that at first I could not recognise it. At once I went to back out, to leave him, but it was too late. The doors opened only one way.
I howled, a sound of hate and rage that would have been enough to shred the sanity of every one of my previous victims, but here the noise just echoed and fell away back to terrible silence.
Then I was not alone. There was something else here with me. Something in the corners, coming closer. Half unseen in shadows even to me, the lord of the unseen.
'BE AWAY!' I cried. But it came closer, and closer, and I realised: It was not coming *from* the dark. It *was* the dark.
I howled again and rued the moment I had seen this man and his hideous secrets, and then the dark closed upon me.
\--
Subscribe at r/HouseBlendMedium for more if you like it :-)
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EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any.
|
[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
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Thraxis smiled as the human signed the contract. A simple thing, possession for a few years in exchange for a long life and wealth. He stepped forward and turned to a mist as the ink on the contract dried. He expected a last second struggle but was surprised to hear, "Good luck... You'll need it." He wasn't sure what this human meant.
Then it hit him.
"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!" He asked through the humans mouth. "Everything hurts. Oh my god how do you live like this?" the human just chuckled in his mind which Thraxis could hear clear as day as he tried moving.
"Every joint, every muscle is agony! You go through this every day?" He screamed out before just collapsing against the nearest wall. He thought there might be something in the mind that would help him, but no. Every time this body was harmed physically, mentally emotionally, and even spiritually ran on loop through the mind, and Thraxis found himself with a front row seat to the things humans could do to each other and the reason for every ache, every pain, every type of hurt the human not only experienced, but endured day in and day out.
"Tell me human, how do you endure this.? How have you not just fallen over and given up? He asked, still feeling everything the human felt. Normally the idea of a flesh body was a good thing, but this was worse than any level of hell. He had to know how to mitigate it otherwise this contract would destroy him.
Suddenly an image appeared from the human of the answer, and scrambling to reach into a pocket he pulled out what looked to be a gummy candy which he promptly popped into his mouth. As the effect began to hit faster than expected he heard the human.
"Weed helps but I just don't give up. Hurting doesn't stop the bills, or the rent, or the need for food." His body sighed as Thraxis realized what was going on. Slowly the body and the demon got to their feet and staggered off. The pain had ebbed for now and for now was all he needed.
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The man just let me take over completely. The lust was upon me, the blood-rage roaring in my ears, claws extended in both dimensions, pulling, rending, scraping... Only then when it was too late did I realise something was wrong. My victims had never reacted like this before, in all the millennia.
'Good luck,' the man said. 'You'll need it.'
I was suddenly alone in his inner world. Usually by now the victim was cowering in uncontrollable fear and I could see every single thing about them, every shameful thought and word and deed. But here: nothing. I was possessing the man, as I had done countless times before, but it was like I was in a cave underground, or deep underwater or in a...
...prison. The sensation of fear was so unfamiliar to me, so long dormant, that at first I could not recognise it. At once I went to back out, to leave him, but it was too late. The doors opened only one way.
I howled, a sound of hate and rage that would have been enough to shred the sanity of every one of my previous victims, but here the noise just echoed and fell away back to terrible silence.
Then I was not alone. There was something else here with me. Something in the corners, coming closer. Half unseen in shadows even to me, the lord of the unseen.
'BE AWAY!' I cried. But it came closer, and closer, and I realised: It was not coming *from* the dark. It *was* the dark.
I howled again and rued the moment I had seen this man and his hideous secrets, and then the dark closed upon me.
\--
Subscribe at r/HouseBlendMedium for more if you like it :-)
|
EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any.
|
[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
|
*Look. This is your first time, is it?*
**Silence, Mortal.**
*No, I'm serious. Being a disembodied soul really seems to broaden the perspective. I can see you struggling with my body. Exhale, by the way. You need to do that so you can inhale again. That's right, just... blow. Now inhale... And exhale... Good. Is this, in fact, your first time?*
I had to admit that it was, in fact, the first time I've taken possession of a human body. It's been generations since anyone truly willing has been able to piece together the information carefully left in tomes and scribbles. It has been ages since anyone went through the trouble of carefully piecing together the arcane data, sifting out the lies from the truth along the way. It's been decades, scores of decades since anyone has even attempted, let alone completed successfully the summoning ritual that promises to 'set one free from one's mortal woes'.
I remembered, Father had been very proud of that one.
*Yeah, keep inhaling. And exhaling. You need oxygen now, it seems. and- look, I don't know how much of my body you are in control of, but I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to be sweating that much. Drop the temperature before you boil up, could you?*
It seemed I had much to learn.
**You will teach me.** I informed the disembodied soul, already fading towards whatever came after for it. I would keep it, as a pet, while it gave me the information I needed to function in this flesh-sack of a body.
I felt angry. I felt betrayed. It was never said to be this difficult. This body had needs of it's own, and demands of it's own, and large parts of it seemed to be doing the thinking for me without any instruction on my part.
*Yeah. No can do, I'm afraid. I'd say I'm already beginning to get light headed, but that would be incorrect, wouldn't it? Call it... Giddy. Huh. So this is what giddiness feels like.*
I reached out to crush the little lampling of a soul in rage, and then recognized my rage for what it was - futile. I would only hasten the soul's departure from this realm, and it would do me no good.
I stared at my ~~talons~~ hands and felt my shoulders sag, breath thrusting from my chest as the body sank down into a sitting position.
I felt my anger fade, fade into a slow-aching simmer in the background of an overwhelming sense of anxiety and futility. These, at least, were sensations I wasn't entirely unfamiliar with - how many times had I not been beaten into the dirt by something bigger, something older than me?
The sensations were - Oddly familiar. Oddly comforting. They gave me a point of reference, I supposed, and let my body roll sideways into the mattress the spellcaster had slept on while they prepared the hours-long rite they had used to call out to me.
Oh, yeah. Light-headed. Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out.
The tightness of it wrapped around my chest and thrust a fist up into my throat from within. Was it going to be like this for the decades to come? A body that didn't obey it's master, a body that slipped away from my careful control even as I tried to balance it's many, many regulatory systems to it's satisfaction?
I would've been better off staying in hell.
Sadness.
Sadness was a new sensation, and a sensation I lost myself to for a good few minutes, staring blankly at the wall until my burning eyes reminded me that I needed to blink, every so often, or just... be more uncomfortable.
And all the while, that overwhelming, cloying sadness, sense of futility, fatigue, like a physical weight bearing down on every square inch of me overcoming even my want to move trickled through my being, whispering my failure at me with a voice only I could hear. This wasn't how it was supposed to be!
But... It was how it was. Any effort to altering my situation would only cost me - cost me time, and energy, and effort, and I didn't feel it in me to even work up the motivation to begin expending any effort, whatsoever.
*Yeah. That's depression for you. Well. On the surface. It gets so much more - all-encompassing. Deeper in, I mean.* spoke the fading soul.
Was that a hint of sympathy I heard?
No. It was making fun of me. Must have been.
*Oh, for your information? You're broke, with chronic back- and neurological issues, in the middle of a pandemic. And, of course, clinically depressed.*
Well. At least someone had gotten \*something\* right.
*And in three days, you run out of medication*, whispered the last motes of the soul as they swirled in on each other, and even it's non-existent light faded from my perception. *good luck.*
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The man just let me take over completely. The lust was upon me, the blood-rage roaring in my ears, claws extended in both dimensions, pulling, rending, scraping... Only then when it was too late did I realise something was wrong. My victims had never reacted like this before, in all the millennia.
'Good luck,' the man said. 'You'll need it.'
I was suddenly alone in his inner world. Usually by now the victim was cowering in uncontrollable fear and I could see every single thing about them, every shameful thought and word and deed. But here: nothing. I was possessing the man, as I had done countless times before, but it was like I was in a cave underground, or deep underwater or in a...
...prison. The sensation of fear was so unfamiliar to me, so long dormant, that at first I could not recognise it. At once I went to back out, to leave him, but it was too late. The doors opened only one way.
I howled, a sound of hate and rage that would have been enough to shred the sanity of every one of my previous victims, but here the noise just echoed and fell away back to terrible silence.
Then I was not alone. There was something else here with me. Something in the corners, coming closer. Half unseen in shadows even to me, the lord of the unseen.
'BE AWAY!' I cried. But it came closer, and closer, and I realised: It was not coming *from* the dark. It *was* the dark.
I howled again and rued the moment I had seen this man and his hideous secrets, and then the dark closed upon me.
\--
Subscribe at r/HouseBlendMedium for more if you like it :-)
|
EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any.
|
[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
|
I never expected humans to be so delectable. I smelled her as soon as I clawed my way out of the portal—a lingering trail of sweetness perfuming the air. The trail led me to this sleeping beauty. Her hair fanned behind her head in a fiery halo, and her pale skin glowed beneath the moonlight like a beckoning beacon.
Her soul was overpowering, dizzying me with her aroma. She was so ripe for the taking, and I was addicted to her intoxicating aura—a spice of untapped dreams and endless wants, enhanced with a shadow of resentment. She had so many delicious desires and I couldn’t resist the feast.
I readied for the resistance, but she welcomed me in with eagerness and relief. With each tantalizing taste of her, I wanted more and more until we were whole, a yin yang of two souls. She gave herself to me completely, and I devoured her until her body was mine, and then she laughed, leaving a bitter aftertaste in my mouth.
I slurped up her final sip of nectar, and she whispered, “Good luck, you’ll need it.”
Luck meant nothing to a demon such as I. A demon who escaped the jails of hell and crawled through the cracks of the earth to reach the human realm. A demon who finally found freedom.
My eyes blinked open and I peered through the darkness. I could barely make out the shadowy shapes in the room, even after my eyes adjusted. Human senses were so muted, but I would adapt. I tried to move my legs, but they refused to budge. Nor could I wiggle even the tiniest of my toes. My limbs were heavy and lifeless—entirely immobile.
A scream ripped through me but it didn’t make it past my throat. Only my eyes could move, could sense, could see.
There was no sound when I realized I’d escaped one hell only to be trapped in another.
\*\*\*\*\*
Thanks for reading! Feel free to read more at r/rulerofstorybears
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The man just let me take over completely. The lust was upon me, the blood-rage roaring in my ears, claws extended in both dimensions, pulling, rending, scraping... Only then when it was too late did I realise something was wrong. My victims had never reacted like this before, in all the millennia.
'Good luck,' the man said. 'You'll need it.'
I was suddenly alone in his inner world. Usually by now the victim was cowering in uncontrollable fear and I could see every single thing about them, every shameful thought and word and deed. But here: nothing. I was possessing the man, as I had done countless times before, but it was like I was in a cave underground, or deep underwater or in a...
...prison. The sensation of fear was so unfamiliar to me, so long dormant, that at first I could not recognise it. At once I went to back out, to leave him, but it was too late. The doors opened only one way.
I howled, a sound of hate and rage that would have been enough to shred the sanity of every one of my previous victims, but here the noise just echoed and fell away back to terrible silence.
Then I was not alone. There was something else here with me. Something in the corners, coming closer. Half unseen in shadows even to me, the lord of the unseen.
'BE AWAY!' I cried. But it came closer, and closer, and I realised: It was not coming *from* the dark. It *was* the dark.
I howled again and rued the moment I had seen this man and his hideous secrets, and then the dark closed upon me.
\--
Subscribe at r/HouseBlendMedium for more if you like it :-)
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EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any.
|
[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
|
*Look. This is your first time, is it?*
**Silence, Mortal.**
*No, I'm serious. Being a disembodied soul really seems to broaden the perspective. I can see you struggling with my body. Exhale, by the way. You need to do that so you can inhale again. That's right, just... blow. Now inhale... And exhale... Good. Is this, in fact, your first time?*
I had to admit that it was, in fact, the first time I've taken possession of a human body. It's been generations since anyone truly willing has been able to piece together the information carefully left in tomes and scribbles. It has been ages since anyone went through the trouble of carefully piecing together the arcane data, sifting out the lies from the truth along the way. It's been decades, scores of decades since anyone has even attempted, let alone completed successfully the summoning ritual that promises to 'set one free from one's mortal woes'.
I remembered, Father had been very proud of that one.
*Yeah, keep inhaling. And exhaling. You need oxygen now, it seems. and- look, I don't know how much of my body you are in control of, but I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to be sweating that much. Drop the temperature before you boil up, could you?*
It seemed I had much to learn.
**You will teach me.** I informed the disembodied soul, already fading towards whatever came after for it. I would keep it, as a pet, while it gave me the information I needed to function in this flesh-sack of a body.
I felt angry. I felt betrayed. It was never said to be this difficult. This body had needs of it's own, and demands of it's own, and large parts of it seemed to be doing the thinking for me without any instruction on my part.
*Yeah. No can do, I'm afraid. I'd say I'm already beginning to get light headed, but that would be incorrect, wouldn't it? Call it... Giddy. Huh. So this is what giddiness feels like.*
I reached out to crush the little lampling of a soul in rage, and then recognized my rage for what it was - futile. I would only hasten the soul's departure from this realm, and it would do me no good.
I stared at my ~~talons~~ hands and felt my shoulders sag, breath thrusting from my chest as the body sank down into a sitting position.
I felt my anger fade, fade into a slow-aching simmer in the background of an overwhelming sense of anxiety and futility. These, at least, were sensations I wasn't entirely unfamiliar with - how many times had I not been beaten into the dirt by something bigger, something older than me?
The sensations were - Oddly familiar. Oddly comforting. They gave me a point of reference, I supposed, and let my body roll sideways into the mattress the spellcaster had slept on while they prepared the hours-long rite they had used to call out to me.
Oh, yeah. Light-headed. Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out.
The tightness of it wrapped around my chest and thrust a fist up into my throat from within. Was it going to be like this for the decades to come? A body that didn't obey it's master, a body that slipped away from my careful control even as I tried to balance it's many, many regulatory systems to it's satisfaction?
I would've been better off staying in hell.
Sadness.
Sadness was a new sensation, and a sensation I lost myself to for a good few minutes, staring blankly at the wall until my burning eyes reminded me that I needed to blink, every so often, or just... be more uncomfortable.
And all the while, that overwhelming, cloying sadness, sense of futility, fatigue, like a physical weight bearing down on every square inch of me overcoming even my want to move trickled through my being, whispering my failure at me with a voice only I could hear. This wasn't how it was supposed to be!
But... It was how it was. Any effort to altering my situation would only cost me - cost me time, and energy, and effort, and I didn't feel it in me to even work up the motivation to begin expending any effort, whatsoever.
*Yeah. That's depression for you. Well. On the surface. It gets so much more - all-encompassing. Deeper in, I mean.* spoke the fading soul.
Was that a hint of sympathy I heard?
No. It was making fun of me. Must have been.
*Oh, for your information? You're broke, with chronic back- and neurological issues, in the middle of a pandemic. And, of course, clinically depressed.*
Well. At least someone had gotten \*something\* right.
*And in three days, you run out of medication*, whispered the last motes of the soul as they swirled in on each other, and even it's non-existent light faded from my perception. *good luck.*
|
Buvolell -- Fell Lord of the Doomkeep -- padded after his prey. His steps were whisper soft as they went down the stairs to the basement apartment. The demon dragged his long nails as delicious expectation flared inside him.
Peter Jensen. 26. There was something about him that struck Buvolell as intriguing. Something to add to his collection.
He allowed Peter to enter his apartment, lingering on the threshold. The crimson Eye of Morgoth embedded in the demon's forehead glistered, and Buvolell took a moment to adjust to his new form. He adjusted the nursing mounds protruding from his chest (*So ungainly*, he thought) and smoothed out his skirt.
Then, his pale, carefully manicured hand reached out to knock gently at the door.
Nothing happened.
Becky -- that was a viable human name -- knocked again, more firmly this time. One minute passed, then two, and finally footsteps drew closer and the door opened. Peter's sullen, drooping face appeared out of the dim shadows behind him.
"Oh thank *gosh* you're home," Becky said. "This is *so* embarrassing. I need -- "
"Sure, whatever." Peter cut in, voice flat as an asphalt road.
"...okay. It's just, I need to charge my phone so I can call my sister. Something's happened and I'm *so desperate* and if you could let me in I would be grateful." Becky chewed on her ruby-red lower lip, pausing to take a breath. "*So* grateful."
Peter stepped aside.
"Um. Gosh, I just...my mom taught me to not go in to someone's home without, like, a formal invitation? So if you could just -- "
"Yeah, whatever, it's fine."
\*Close enough\*, Buvolell thought, as he stepped, trembling, over the threshold.
A floor lamp in the far corner did a poor job of illuminating the studio. Becky's heels clicked on the linoleum floor, languidly removing a cell phone and charger from her black purse. She turned to look at Peter.
"Where should I...stick it in?" she purred.
Peter pointed limply toward the kitchen area and shuffled past stacks of magazines to the futon and sat down.
Becky tried to ignore the nearly-empty cans of soup and styrofoam to-go containers on the counter and connected her phone to a free socket next to the hot plate. Then she strutted slowly back out and toward the futon.
"It's like something out of a fairy tale, don't you think?" She gave a lilting, musical laugh. "A damsel in distress...and you are my white knight, saving me in my hour of need."
She hesitated, noticing Peter's eyes were focused elsewhere. She followed his gaze to the blank wall opposite him, then looked back to him.
"What are you looking at, my gallant cavalier?"
"I'm just thinking," he mumbled.
"My my! Brave *and* intelligent! I *love* men who *think*." Buvolell blinked for a moment as he caused a button on his blouse to shoot onto the mattress next to Peter.
"Oh no! How embarrassing, I've lost a button from my blouse," she said, leaning over in front of Peter as she reached for the button. "And I just bought these heels, I'm so unsteady in them, I -- oops!"
Becky twisted as she lost her balance, falling into Peter's lap.
"Hi," she breathed, staring into his eyes.
"Hey," he said, just as monotone as ever.
"May I...give you a token of my gratitude, noble one?"
Peter shrugged. It was disconcerting, but Buvolell was too ready to devour this mortal's soul to care.
Becky placed one hand on each of Peter's cheeks, felt the stubble growing there, and brought her face closer. His breath smelled like rancid cheese. She brought her lips to his, slowly, savoring the moment. The imminent war of wills, and the inevitable conclusion.
Flesh touched flesh. Becky vanished in a cloud of red smoke as Buvolell battered down the door to Peter's consciousness and strode inside. In his right hand was a sword wreathed in black flame. The demon tensed, ready to do battle.
He saw Peter's face, heard his voice: *Good luck.*
The mortal's skin distended, bulging, and burst. A horde of winged beings emerged, shrieking, and descended on Buvolell. In a moment, he was disarmed, pinned to the black floor of Peter's mind.
As the shadowy creatures began to rend the demon's flesh, he heard Peter's voice, one last time.
*You'll need it.*
* * *
Feedback welcome. /r/ShadowsofClouds for many more stories, including [this scene](https://www.reddit.com/r/ShadowsofClouds/comments/7rjzoc/ip_may_i_come_in/) of Buvolell being summoned into the world.
|
EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any.
|
[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
|
The demon haunted the rooftops as it stalked its victim below. She walked through the alleyways as if nothing in the world mattered, unaware of the nightmare about to befall her. The demon waited until she walked into a dead-end, trapped by walls on all sides. It ran along the rooftops and pounced, aiming for its target far below. She turned around, slow and causal. She looked at the demon as it fell towards her. Her eyes were calm, undeterred by its arial attack. The demon tried to change course, but it was too late. The woman uttered two words before the end.
"Good luck."
They impacted with full force. The possession took hold of her. The demon tried to stop it, but it wouldn't work. It was losing control! The host's body latched onto the demon and started ripping it to pieces The rage and anger that festered in this host threatened to tear everything apart. It was all it could do to pull together the loose threads of its victims mind, to stop it turning into a wild animal. The possession complete, the demon looked through her eyes and took control of her hands, and braced as the nightmare of foreign memories attacked it.
"Finally, it's not my fault anymore," a voice echoed in the mind they shared. It shouldn't have been possible, but this mind was fragmented. Complete control was not possible.
The demon shrieked, unable to formulate words as it struggled to survive. It saw horrible things, both past and future, and it took every ounce of its strength to keep this body standing still.
"What are you?" It yelled into her mind.
"Scientist. Former. Failed," said echoes in her mind.
The images that flashed through her mind were too complicated for the demon to understand. Advanced chemistry. Neurology. An entire lifetime dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge, and the shadow of a failure which took all of that away.
"Please!" The demon cried, "I cannot survive here! Let me go, I will grant you anything."
The words were slow, but they bubbled up from her mind, "I. Refuse."
"Please. I'm begging you," the demon said, "I feed off anger. But it's too much! I will die. We will both die!"
The demon stumbled around the alley, arms flailing as it failed to control its host. Its body was disintegrating. It screamed into the void for help, anything to help it control these inhuman tendencies.
Then something in her mind responded. A hand reached up from inside her mental space and grabbed onto the demon. Her mind quieted. The demon took its first clear view of the alley. It wiped sweat off her forehead, and straightened her shirt.
"Thank you," it said. The audible words echoing from her mouth. Words that had never before been spoken by a demon.
Now, with a clear mind, the demon concentrated on escape. It pulled against her mind, but the tendrils of possession ran too deep. It was trapped. Unable to ever break free from this hell.
Once again, its mind began to grow cloudy. Her support was dwindling, and powerful forces once again threatened to tear the demon apart.
"Please," the demon said, "I need your help. Together we can control this. Together we can fix this."
"Cure. Not. Possible," came the woman's response.
"I don't believe that," The demon said." You don't believe that! I have seen your thoughts. Whatever this arcane mysticism is, whatever you call this 'science'. We can use it to find this cure. Both of us can be free."
"Too. Complicated," came the response.
"I want to learn," said the demon, "I will help you control your fury. It is more than I will ever need. Teach me. Show me. Together we will survive."
The response was a mental nod. An affirmative.
That was it then. The partnership was sealed. Together they would exit this place and find the cure. And tear apart and eat the flesh of any human that stood in their way!
The demon felt a mental smack. Apparently this was not how humans resolved their differences. Perhaps there would be no flesh eating. A difficult partnership indeed.
|
Buvolell -- Fell Lord of the Doomkeep -- padded after his prey. His steps were whisper soft as they went down the stairs to the basement apartment. The demon dragged his long nails as delicious expectation flared inside him.
Peter Jensen. 26. There was something about him that struck Buvolell as intriguing. Something to add to his collection.
He allowed Peter to enter his apartment, lingering on the threshold. The crimson Eye of Morgoth embedded in the demon's forehead glistered, and Buvolell took a moment to adjust to his new form. He adjusted the nursing mounds protruding from his chest (*So ungainly*, he thought) and smoothed out his skirt.
Then, his pale, carefully manicured hand reached out to knock gently at the door.
Nothing happened.
Becky -- that was a viable human name -- knocked again, more firmly this time. One minute passed, then two, and finally footsteps drew closer and the door opened. Peter's sullen, drooping face appeared out of the dim shadows behind him.
"Oh thank *gosh* you're home," Becky said. "This is *so* embarrassing. I need -- "
"Sure, whatever." Peter cut in, voice flat as an asphalt road.
"...okay. It's just, I need to charge my phone so I can call my sister. Something's happened and I'm *so desperate* and if you could let me in I would be grateful." Becky chewed on her ruby-red lower lip, pausing to take a breath. "*So* grateful."
Peter stepped aside.
"Um. Gosh, I just...my mom taught me to not go in to someone's home without, like, a formal invitation? So if you could just -- "
"Yeah, whatever, it's fine."
\*Close enough\*, Buvolell thought, as he stepped, trembling, over the threshold.
A floor lamp in the far corner did a poor job of illuminating the studio. Becky's heels clicked on the linoleum floor, languidly removing a cell phone and charger from her black purse. She turned to look at Peter.
"Where should I...stick it in?" she purred.
Peter pointed limply toward the kitchen area and shuffled past stacks of magazines to the futon and sat down.
Becky tried to ignore the nearly-empty cans of soup and styrofoam to-go containers on the counter and connected her phone to a free socket next to the hot plate. Then she strutted slowly back out and toward the futon.
"It's like something out of a fairy tale, don't you think?" She gave a lilting, musical laugh. "A damsel in distress...and you are my white knight, saving me in my hour of need."
She hesitated, noticing Peter's eyes were focused elsewhere. She followed his gaze to the blank wall opposite him, then looked back to him.
"What are you looking at, my gallant cavalier?"
"I'm just thinking," he mumbled.
"My my! Brave *and* intelligent! I *love* men who *think*." Buvolell blinked for a moment as he caused a button on his blouse to shoot onto the mattress next to Peter.
"Oh no! How embarrassing, I've lost a button from my blouse," she said, leaning over in front of Peter as she reached for the button. "And I just bought these heels, I'm so unsteady in them, I -- oops!"
Becky twisted as she lost her balance, falling into Peter's lap.
"Hi," she breathed, staring into his eyes.
"Hey," he said, just as monotone as ever.
"May I...give you a token of my gratitude, noble one?"
Peter shrugged. It was disconcerting, but Buvolell was too ready to devour this mortal's soul to care.
Becky placed one hand on each of Peter's cheeks, felt the stubble growing there, and brought her face closer. His breath smelled like rancid cheese. She brought her lips to his, slowly, savoring the moment. The imminent war of wills, and the inevitable conclusion.
Flesh touched flesh. Becky vanished in a cloud of red smoke as Buvolell battered down the door to Peter's consciousness and strode inside. In his right hand was a sword wreathed in black flame. The demon tensed, ready to do battle.
He saw Peter's face, heard his voice: *Good luck.*
The mortal's skin distended, bulging, and burst. A horde of winged beings emerged, shrieking, and descended on Buvolell. In a moment, he was disarmed, pinned to the black floor of Peter's mind.
As the shadowy creatures began to rend the demon's flesh, he heard Peter's voice, one last time.
*You'll need it.*
* * *
Feedback welcome. /r/ShadowsofClouds for many more stories, including [this scene](https://www.reddit.com/r/ShadowsofClouds/comments/7rjzoc/ip_may_i_come_in/) of Buvolell being summoned into the world.
|
EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any.
|
[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
|
As a demon I'd never seen a woman accept possession.
I would devour her soul after years of hungering for one. She would be my sixth. And it came so easy until I stabbed my claws in her neck to absorb her spirit she boomed, "Good luck. You're going to need it."
Then I felt my whole body get sucked into my victim.
Or so, I thought she was my victim.
This never happened before. Usually I drained out the soul through my claws and it fills my body with a sense of euphoria that is unmatched, and I feel wonderful for years. *Perfectly satisfied.*
Now, I was plummeting through an abyss of black space. A light at the top became smaller the further I fell down.
I finally landed on a patch of (what felt like, but I wasn't too sure because I couldn't see) grass. The smell of burned hair lingered around me.
*"The food chain,"* a deep voice bellowed. *"Animals eat bugs, humans eat animals, demons eat humans, but what eats a demon?"*
I wasn't sure if I should respond, but I didn't know the answer.
*"Voids. Voids eat demons. And you've met your Maker."*
My eyes widened.
*"Yes. Voids travel through space devouring demons where we can find them. We're rare to find, and it takes a while for us to find a feast, but thank you for making it so easy."*
I never heard of a Void, but I felt something I hadn't felt as a young demon. *Fear.*
*"You've eaten five souls. I can taste it. I've set them free now in this landscape. I've told them to get revenge on you. You know, to help me digest you,"* there was no humor or charm in the Void's voice, which made my skin crawl.
The area around me filled with light. I was standing in a black and white field. Like being inside an old landscape photograph. In front of me was the soul of a man I devoured 120 years ago. Tears streamed down his face. He was made of a soft silver light.
"Look, uh, uh, I'm really sorry," I said, backing away. "I never knew what it was like to be eaten! This is horrible! Please, accept my apology! Perhaps we can all get out of here together if we recruit the others!"
The soul hung his head and it looked like he took a deep sigh, but I heard nothing. He pointed to another direction and I looked, only to find nothing. When I turned back around, the soul had a smile curved up ear-to-ear, showcasing a pair of deep fangs that could tear my neck to shreds. It leapt in my direction and I sprinted away through the field, finding an abandoned house sitting alone in the black and white world.
I made a [part 2!](https://www.reddit.com/r/randallcooper/comments/khpvdx/wp_the_demon_couldnt_believe_his_luck_to_find/)
r/randallcooper
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Buvolell -- Fell Lord of the Doomkeep -- padded after his prey. His steps were whisper soft as they went down the stairs to the basement apartment. The demon dragged his long nails as delicious expectation flared inside him.
Peter Jensen. 26. There was something about him that struck Buvolell as intriguing. Something to add to his collection.
He allowed Peter to enter his apartment, lingering on the threshold. The crimson Eye of Morgoth embedded in the demon's forehead glistered, and Buvolell took a moment to adjust to his new form. He adjusted the nursing mounds protruding from his chest (*So ungainly*, he thought) and smoothed out his skirt.
Then, his pale, carefully manicured hand reached out to knock gently at the door.
Nothing happened.
Becky -- that was a viable human name -- knocked again, more firmly this time. One minute passed, then two, and finally footsteps drew closer and the door opened. Peter's sullen, drooping face appeared out of the dim shadows behind him.
"Oh thank *gosh* you're home," Becky said. "This is *so* embarrassing. I need -- "
"Sure, whatever." Peter cut in, voice flat as an asphalt road.
"...okay. It's just, I need to charge my phone so I can call my sister. Something's happened and I'm *so desperate* and if you could let me in I would be grateful." Becky chewed on her ruby-red lower lip, pausing to take a breath. "*So* grateful."
Peter stepped aside.
"Um. Gosh, I just...my mom taught me to not go in to someone's home without, like, a formal invitation? So if you could just -- "
"Yeah, whatever, it's fine."
\*Close enough\*, Buvolell thought, as he stepped, trembling, over the threshold.
A floor lamp in the far corner did a poor job of illuminating the studio. Becky's heels clicked on the linoleum floor, languidly removing a cell phone and charger from her black purse. She turned to look at Peter.
"Where should I...stick it in?" she purred.
Peter pointed limply toward the kitchen area and shuffled past stacks of magazines to the futon and sat down.
Becky tried to ignore the nearly-empty cans of soup and styrofoam to-go containers on the counter and connected her phone to a free socket next to the hot plate. Then she strutted slowly back out and toward the futon.
"It's like something out of a fairy tale, don't you think?" She gave a lilting, musical laugh. "A damsel in distress...and you are my white knight, saving me in my hour of need."
She hesitated, noticing Peter's eyes were focused elsewhere. She followed his gaze to the blank wall opposite him, then looked back to him.
"What are you looking at, my gallant cavalier?"
"I'm just thinking," he mumbled.
"My my! Brave *and* intelligent! I *love* men who *think*." Buvolell blinked for a moment as he caused a button on his blouse to shoot onto the mattress next to Peter.
"Oh no! How embarrassing, I've lost a button from my blouse," she said, leaning over in front of Peter as she reached for the button. "And I just bought these heels, I'm so unsteady in them, I -- oops!"
Becky twisted as she lost her balance, falling into Peter's lap.
"Hi," she breathed, staring into his eyes.
"Hey," he said, just as monotone as ever.
"May I...give you a token of my gratitude, noble one?"
Peter shrugged. It was disconcerting, but Buvolell was too ready to devour this mortal's soul to care.
Becky placed one hand on each of Peter's cheeks, felt the stubble growing there, and brought her face closer. His breath smelled like rancid cheese. She brought her lips to his, slowly, savoring the moment. The imminent war of wills, and the inevitable conclusion.
Flesh touched flesh. Becky vanished in a cloud of red smoke as Buvolell battered down the door to Peter's consciousness and strode inside. In his right hand was a sword wreathed in black flame. The demon tensed, ready to do battle.
He saw Peter's face, heard his voice: *Good luck.*
The mortal's skin distended, bulging, and burst. A horde of winged beings emerged, shrieking, and descended on Buvolell. In a moment, he was disarmed, pinned to the black floor of Peter's mind.
As the shadowy creatures began to rend the demon's flesh, he heard Peter's voice, one last time.
*You'll need it.*
* * *
Feedback welcome. /r/ShadowsofClouds for many more stories, including [this scene](https://www.reddit.com/r/ShadowsofClouds/comments/7rjzoc/ip_may_i_come_in/) of Buvolell being summoned into the world.
|
EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any.
|
[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
|
I never expected humans to be so delectable. I smelled her as soon as I clawed my way out of the portal—a lingering trail of sweetness perfuming the air. The trail led me to this sleeping beauty. Her hair fanned behind her head in a fiery halo, and her pale skin glowed beneath the moonlight like a beckoning beacon.
Her soul was overpowering, dizzying me with her aroma. She was so ripe for the taking, and I was addicted to her intoxicating aura—a spice of untapped dreams and endless wants, enhanced with a shadow of resentment. She had so many delicious desires and I couldn’t resist the feast.
I readied for the resistance, but she welcomed me in with eagerness and relief. With each tantalizing taste of her, I wanted more and more until we were whole, a yin yang of two souls. She gave herself to me completely, and I devoured her until her body was mine, and then she laughed, leaving a bitter aftertaste in my mouth.
I slurped up her final sip of nectar, and she whispered, “Good luck, you’ll need it.”
Luck meant nothing to a demon such as I. A demon who escaped the jails of hell and crawled through the cracks of the earth to reach the human realm. A demon who finally found freedom.
My eyes blinked open and I peered through the darkness. I could barely make out the shadowy shapes in the room, even after my eyes adjusted. Human senses were so muted, but I would adapt. I tried to move my legs, but they refused to budge. Nor could I wiggle even the tiniest of my toes. My limbs were heavy and lifeless—entirely immobile.
A scream ripped through me but it didn’t make it past my throat. Only my eyes could move, could sense, could see.
There was no sound when I realized I’d escaped one hell only to be trapped in another.
\*\*\*\*\*
Thanks for reading! Feel free to read more at r/rulerofstorybears
|
Buvolell -- Fell Lord of the Doomkeep -- padded after his prey. His steps were whisper soft as they went down the stairs to the basement apartment. The demon dragged his long nails as delicious expectation flared inside him.
Peter Jensen. 26. There was something about him that struck Buvolell as intriguing. Something to add to his collection.
He allowed Peter to enter his apartment, lingering on the threshold. The crimson Eye of Morgoth embedded in the demon's forehead glistered, and Buvolell took a moment to adjust to his new form. He adjusted the nursing mounds protruding from his chest (*So ungainly*, he thought) and smoothed out his skirt.
Then, his pale, carefully manicured hand reached out to knock gently at the door.
Nothing happened.
Becky -- that was a viable human name -- knocked again, more firmly this time. One minute passed, then two, and finally footsteps drew closer and the door opened. Peter's sullen, drooping face appeared out of the dim shadows behind him.
"Oh thank *gosh* you're home," Becky said. "This is *so* embarrassing. I need -- "
"Sure, whatever." Peter cut in, voice flat as an asphalt road.
"...okay. It's just, I need to charge my phone so I can call my sister. Something's happened and I'm *so desperate* and if you could let me in I would be grateful." Becky chewed on her ruby-red lower lip, pausing to take a breath. "*So* grateful."
Peter stepped aside.
"Um. Gosh, I just...my mom taught me to not go in to someone's home without, like, a formal invitation? So if you could just -- "
"Yeah, whatever, it's fine."
\*Close enough\*, Buvolell thought, as he stepped, trembling, over the threshold.
A floor lamp in the far corner did a poor job of illuminating the studio. Becky's heels clicked on the linoleum floor, languidly removing a cell phone and charger from her black purse. She turned to look at Peter.
"Where should I...stick it in?" she purred.
Peter pointed limply toward the kitchen area and shuffled past stacks of magazines to the futon and sat down.
Becky tried to ignore the nearly-empty cans of soup and styrofoam to-go containers on the counter and connected her phone to a free socket next to the hot plate. Then she strutted slowly back out and toward the futon.
"It's like something out of a fairy tale, don't you think?" She gave a lilting, musical laugh. "A damsel in distress...and you are my white knight, saving me in my hour of need."
She hesitated, noticing Peter's eyes were focused elsewhere. She followed his gaze to the blank wall opposite him, then looked back to him.
"What are you looking at, my gallant cavalier?"
"I'm just thinking," he mumbled.
"My my! Brave *and* intelligent! I *love* men who *think*." Buvolell blinked for a moment as he caused a button on his blouse to shoot onto the mattress next to Peter.
"Oh no! How embarrassing, I've lost a button from my blouse," she said, leaning over in front of Peter as she reached for the button. "And I just bought these heels, I'm so unsteady in them, I -- oops!"
Becky twisted as she lost her balance, falling into Peter's lap.
"Hi," she breathed, staring into his eyes.
"Hey," he said, just as monotone as ever.
"May I...give you a token of my gratitude, noble one?"
Peter shrugged. It was disconcerting, but Buvolell was too ready to devour this mortal's soul to care.
Becky placed one hand on each of Peter's cheeks, felt the stubble growing there, and brought her face closer. His breath smelled like rancid cheese. She brought her lips to his, slowly, savoring the moment. The imminent war of wills, and the inevitable conclusion.
Flesh touched flesh. Becky vanished in a cloud of red smoke as Buvolell battered down the door to Peter's consciousness and strode inside. In his right hand was a sword wreathed in black flame. The demon tensed, ready to do battle.
He saw Peter's face, heard his voice: *Good luck.*
The mortal's skin distended, bulging, and burst. A horde of winged beings emerged, shrieking, and descended on Buvolell. In a moment, he was disarmed, pinned to the black floor of Peter's mind.
As the shadowy creatures began to rend the demon's flesh, he heard Peter's voice, one last time.
*You'll need it.*
* * *
Feedback welcome. /r/ShadowsofClouds for many more stories, including [this scene](https://www.reddit.com/r/ShadowsofClouds/comments/7rjzoc/ip_may_i_come_in/) of Buvolell being summoned into the world.
|
EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any.
|
[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
|
As his throat closed over, the blonde man fell to his knees and pressed both hands against his neck. The room darkened, then dissolved, leaving him stranded in an endless, empty void. Now he was no longer choking.
"HELPPPPP," he screamed. His voice echoed infinitely
WELCOME MORTAL
The blonde man spun around, surprised by the sudden voice.
"W-w-ho said that?"
I DID
"W-who are you?
I AM KOROM
Where are you? Why can't I see you?"
YOU CAN
The blonde man looked around. "No, I can't. All I see is darkness."
I. AM. THE. DARKNESS.
"W-what?"
The void shifted. Beneath the blonde man's feet, the abyss writhed and collapsed, tossing him from side to side like a surfer caught in a violent wave. He fell onto his hands and knees.
"W-w-where are we? What is this place?"
THIS *PLACE* IS ME
"What?"
I AM THE DARKNESS THAT SURROUNDS YOU. I HAVE BROUGHT YOU INTO MY DOMAIN
"Why?"
POSSESSION
"Possession?"
YES
"Like a demonic possession?"
YES
"You want to...demonically possess me?"
YES
"Are you possessing me right now?"
...YES
"Why?"
SO I CAN USE YOU AS A DOORWAY
"A doorway? You mean, you're gonna use me to...enter the earth?"
WELL THAT'S NOT HOW I WOULD PUT IT, BUT...YES
The blonde man felt a pinching sensation inside his chest, like someone was pulling a thread to unravel his heart.
"B-b-but where are we?"
I HAVE ALREADY TOLD YOU. WE ARE IN MY DOMAIN.
"I-I don't understand"
UGGGHHHH, THESE QUESTIONS ARE REALLY STARTING TO BUG ME.
"But I--"
The voice sighed.
I AM KOROM. THIS REALM IS ME. THE DARKNESS YOU SEE? ME. THE DARKNESS YOU DON'T SEE? ALSO ME. I AM SIMULTANEOUSLY INFINITELY LARGER THAN YOUR ENTIRE UNIVERSE AND SIXTY-THREE TIMES SMALLER THAN THE SMALLEST ATOM, WHICH IS WHY I MUST ENTER *YOUR* WORLD THROUGH A HUMAN HOST. THAT'S WHERE YOU COME IN. THERE'S NO PARTICULAR REASON I CHOSE YOU, IT'S BASICALLY A LOTTERY. I EXISTED BEFORE THE EVENT YOU KNOW AS THE BIG BANG, AND I SHALL CONTINUE TO EXIST LONG AFTER THE BIG CRUNCH. WITH YOU AS MY CONDUIT, I WILL ENTER YOUR DOMAIN AND MAKE IT PART OF THE INFINITE DARKNESS YOU SEE ALL AROUND YOU. EVERY LIVING THING ON YOUR PLANET WILL BE REDUCED TO NOTHINGNESS, THEN THE PARTS LEFT OVER WILL BECOME THIS ABYSS. NOW, THIS PROCESS TAKES A FEW MINUTES AND I REALLY NEED TO CONCENTRATE TO DO IT, SO IF YOU COULD SHUT THE FUCK UP UNTIL IT'S DONE I'D REALLY APPRECIATE IT.
After a brief pause, the blonde man said, "But--"
OH FOR FUCK SAKE. WHAT IS IT NOW?
"What happens to...me?"
YOUR MIND AND SPIRIT SHALL CEASE TO BE. YOUR BODY WILL BE MINE.
"So I just...die?"
NO. NOT DIE. CEASE TO BE. LIKE I JUST SAID. YOU GOTTA LEARN TO LISTEN, DUDE.
The blonde man thought for a moment. "This process, how long does it take?"
IT WILL BE A FEW MORE MINUTES. THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO TO STOP IT. EMBRACE OBLIVION, MOR--
"Actually I was wondering if we could speed things up a little?"
SP-SPEED THEM UP?
"Yeah. Anything I can do to hurry it along?"
Y-YOU WANT TO...H-HURRY IT...ALONG?
"Yeah, if possible."
BUT WHY WOULD YOU-
"OH FUCK. Is it happening?"
The blonde man's body began to break down and scatter like dust in the wind.
BWAHAHAHAHA, YES, IT IS--
"Yippeee!" The blonde man gave a salute. "Good luck Korol."
KOROM
"Yeah, good look Korom. You're gonna need it."
WAIT A SECOND WHY WOULD YOU---
As the blonde man's body broke down, Korom passed through the veil between dimensions and opened his human eyes. He pulled himself to his feet using a nearby podium.
The universe slowly came into focus. Before Korom stood endless rows of men and women holding microphones and cameras.
A woman with her hair pinned back in a ponytail stepped forward. "Mr. Johnson. Infection rates have spiraled across England, Scotland, Wales, AND Northern Ireland. Your party has announced a last-minute U-turn of Christmas travel restrictions throwing major cities into a state of complete chaos, and a new more infectious strain of COVID19 has just been identified."
She raised her microphone. "Tell me. As Prime Minister, what do you plan to do about it?"
Korom looked around the room.
FUCK
\---
Thanks for reading! If anyone has any criticisms, feedback or tips on things I could improve, please let me know!
Hope you enjoy! Subscribe to [https://www.reddit.com/r/jtb685/](https://www.reddit.com/r/jtb685/) for more
|
Buvolell -- Fell Lord of the Doomkeep -- padded after his prey. His steps were whisper soft as they went down the stairs to the basement apartment. The demon dragged his long nails as delicious expectation flared inside him.
Peter Jensen. 26. There was something about him that struck Buvolell as intriguing. Something to add to his collection.
He allowed Peter to enter his apartment, lingering on the threshold. The crimson Eye of Morgoth embedded in the demon's forehead glistered, and Buvolell took a moment to adjust to his new form. He adjusted the nursing mounds protruding from his chest (*So ungainly*, he thought) and smoothed out his skirt.
Then, his pale, carefully manicured hand reached out to knock gently at the door.
Nothing happened.
Becky -- that was a viable human name -- knocked again, more firmly this time. One minute passed, then two, and finally footsteps drew closer and the door opened. Peter's sullen, drooping face appeared out of the dim shadows behind him.
"Oh thank *gosh* you're home," Becky said. "This is *so* embarrassing. I need -- "
"Sure, whatever." Peter cut in, voice flat as an asphalt road.
"...okay. It's just, I need to charge my phone so I can call my sister. Something's happened and I'm *so desperate* and if you could let me in I would be grateful." Becky chewed on her ruby-red lower lip, pausing to take a breath. "*So* grateful."
Peter stepped aside.
"Um. Gosh, I just...my mom taught me to not go in to someone's home without, like, a formal invitation? So if you could just -- "
"Yeah, whatever, it's fine."
\*Close enough\*, Buvolell thought, as he stepped, trembling, over the threshold.
A floor lamp in the far corner did a poor job of illuminating the studio. Becky's heels clicked on the linoleum floor, languidly removing a cell phone and charger from her black purse. She turned to look at Peter.
"Where should I...stick it in?" she purred.
Peter pointed limply toward the kitchen area and shuffled past stacks of magazines to the futon and sat down.
Becky tried to ignore the nearly-empty cans of soup and styrofoam to-go containers on the counter and connected her phone to a free socket next to the hot plate. Then she strutted slowly back out and toward the futon.
"It's like something out of a fairy tale, don't you think?" She gave a lilting, musical laugh. "A damsel in distress...and you are my white knight, saving me in my hour of need."
She hesitated, noticing Peter's eyes were focused elsewhere. She followed his gaze to the blank wall opposite him, then looked back to him.
"What are you looking at, my gallant cavalier?"
"I'm just thinking," he mumbled.
"My my! Brave *and* intelligent! I *love* men who *think*." Buvolell blinked for a moment as he caused a button on his blouse to shoot onto the mattress next to Peter.
"Oh no! How embarrassing, I've lost a button from my blouse," she said, leaning over in front of Peter as she reached for the button. "And I just bought these heels, I'm so unsteady in them, I -- oops!"
Becky twisted as she lost her balance, falling into Peter's lap.
"Hi," she breathed, staring into his eyes.
"Hey," he said, just as monotone as ever.
"May I...give you a token of my gratitude, noble one?"
Peter shrugged. It was disconcerting, but Buvolell was too ready to devour this mortal's soul to care.
Becky placed one hand on each of Peter's cheeks, felt the stubble growing there, and brought her face closer. His breath smelled like rancid cheese. She brought her lips to his, slowly, savoring the moment. The imminent war of wills, and the inevitable conclusion.
Flesh touched flesh. Becky vanished in a cloud of red smoke as Buvolell battered down the door to Peter's consciousness and strode inside. In his right hand was a sword wreathed in black flame. The demon tensed, ready to do battle.
He saw Peter's face, heard his voice: *Good luck.*
The mortal's skin distended, bulging, and burst. A horde of winged beings emerged, shrieking, and descended on Buvolell. In a moment, he was disarmed, pinned to the black floor of Peter's mind.
As the shadowy creatures began to rend the demon's flesh, he heard Peter's voice, one last time.
*You'll need it.*
* * *
Feedback welcome. /r/ShadowsofClouds for many more stories, including [this scene](https://www.reddit.com/r/ShadowsofClouds/comments/7rjzoc/ip_may_i_come_in/) of Buvolell being summoned into the world.
|
EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any.
|
[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
|
I never expected humans to be so delectable. I smelled her as soon as I clawed my way out of the portal—a lingering trail of sweetness perfuming the air. The trail led me to this sleeping beauty. Her hair fanned behind her head in a fiery halo, and her pale skin glowed beneath the moonlight like a beckoning beacon.
Her soul was overpowering, dizzying me with her aroma. She was so ripe for the taking, and I was addicted to her intoxicating aura—a spice of untapped dreams and endless wants, enhanced with a shadow of resentment. She had so many delicious desires and I couldn’t resist the feast.
I readied for the resistance, but she welcomed me in with eagerness and relief. With each tantalizing taste of her, I wanted more and more until we were whole, a yin yang of two souls. She gave herself to me completely, and I devoured her until her body was mine, and then she laughed, leaving a bitter aftertaste in my mouth.
I slurped up her final sip of nectar, and she whispered, “Good luck, you’ll need it.”
Luck meant nothing to a demon such as I. A demon who escaped the jails of hell and crawled through the cracks of the earth to reach the human realm. A demon who finally found freedom.
My eyes blinked open and I peered through the darkness. I could barely make out the shadowy shapes in the room, even after my eyes adjusted. Human senses were so muted, but I would adapt. I tried to move my legs, but they refused to budge. Nor could I wiggle even the tiniest of my toes. My limbs were heavy and lifeless—entirely immobile.
A scream ripped through me but it didn’t make it past my throat. Only my eyes could move, could sense, could see.
There was no sound when I realized I’d escaped one hell only to be trapped in another.
\*\*\*\*\*
Thanks for reading! Feel free to read more at r/rulerofstorybears
|
The demon haunted the rooftops as it stalked its victim below. She walked through the alleyways as if nothing in the world mattered, unaware of the nightmare about to befall her. The demon waited until she walked into a dead-end, trapped by walls on all sides. It ran along the rooftops and pounced, aiming for its target far below. She turned around, slow and causal. She looked at the demon as it fell towards her. Her eyes were calm, undeterred by its arial attack. The demon tried to change course, but it was too late. The woman uttered two words before the end.
"Good luck."
They impacted with full force. The possession took hold of her. The demon tried to stop it, but it wouldn't work. It was losing control! The host's body latched onto the demon and started ripping it to pieces The rage and anger that festered in this host threatened to tear everything apart. It was all it could do to pull together the loose threads of its victims mind, to stop it turning into a wild animal. The possession complete, the demon looked through her eyes and took control of her hands, and braced as the nightmare of foreign memories attacked it.
"Finally, it's not my fault anymore," a voice echoed in the mind they shared. It shouldn't have been possible, but this mind was fragmented. Complete control was not possible.
The demon shrieked, unable to formulate words as it struggled to survive. It saw horrible things, both past and future, and it took every ounce of its strength to keep this body standing still.
"What are you?" It yelled into her mind.
"Scientist. Former. Failed," said echoes in her mind.
The images that flashed through her mind were too complicated for the demon to understand. Advanced chemistry. Neurology. An entire lifetime dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge, and the shadow of a failure which took all of that away.
"Please!" The demon cried, "I cannot survive here! Let me go, I will grant you anything."
The words were slow, but they bubbled up from her mind, "I. Refuse."
"Please. I'm begging you," the demon said, "I feed off anger. But it's too much! I will die. We will both die!"
The demon stumbled around the alley, arms flailing as it failed to control its host. Its body was disintegrating. It screamed into the void for help, anything to help it control these inhuman tendencies.
Then something in her mind responded. A hand reached up from inside her mental space and grabbed onto the demon. Her mind quieted. The demon took its first clear view of the alley. It wiped sweat off her forehead, and straightened her shirt.
"Thank you," it said. The audible words echoing from her mouth. Words that had never before been spoken by a demon.
Now, with a clear mind, the demon concentrated on escape. It pulled against her mind, but the tendrils of possession ran too deep. It was trapped. Unable to ever break free from this hell.
Once again, its mind began to grow cloudy. Her support was dwindling, and powerful forces once again threatened to tear the demon apart.
"Please," the demon said, "I need your help. Together we can control this. Together we can fix this."
"Cure. Not. Possible," came the woman's response.
"I don't believe that," The demon said." You don't believe that! I have seen your thoughts. Whatever this arcane mysticism is, whatever you call this 'science'. We can use it to find this cure. Both of us can be free."
"Too. Complicated," came the response.
"I want to learn," said the demon, "I will help you control your fury. It is more than I will ever need. Teach me. Show me. Together we will survive."
The response was a mental nod. An affirmative.
That was it then. The partnership was sealed. Together they would exit this place and find the cure. And tear apart and eat the flesh of any human that stood in their way!
The demon felt a mental smack. Apparently this was not how humans resolved their differences. Perhaps there would be no flesh eating. A difficult partnership indeed.
|
EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any.
|
[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
|
As his throat closed over, the blonde man fell to his knees and pressed both hands against his neck. The room darkened, then dissolved, leaving him stranded in an endless, empty void. Now he was no longer choking.
"HELPPPPP," he screamed. His voice echoed infinitely
WELCOME MORTAL
The blonde man spun around, surprised by the sudden voice.
"W-w-ho said that?"
I DID
"W-who are you?
I AM KOROM
Where are you? Why can't I see you?"
YOU CAN
The blonde man looked around. "No, I can't. All I see is darkness."
I. AM. THE. DARKNESS.
"W-what?"
The void shifted. Beneath the blonde man's feet, the abyss writhed and collapsed, tossing him from side to side like a surfer caught in a violent wave. He fell onto his hands and knees.
"W-w-where are we? What is this place?"
THIS *PLACE* IS ME
"What?"
I AM THE DARKNESS THAT SURROUNDS YOU. I HAVE BROUGHT YOU INTO MY DOMAIN
"Why?"
POSSESSION
"Possession?"
YES
"Like a demonic possession?"
YES
"You want to...demonically possess me?"
YES
"Are you possessing me right now?"
...YES
"Why?"
SO I CAN USE YOU AS A DOORWAY
"A doorway? You mean, you're gonna use me to...enter the earth?"
WELL THAT'S NOT HOW I WOULD PUT IT, BUT...YES
The blonde man felt a pinching sensation inside his chest, like someone was pulling a thread to unravel his heart.
"B-b-but where are we?"
I HAVE ALREADY TOLD YOU. WE ARE IN MY DOMAIN.
"I-I don't understand"
UGGGHHHH, THESE QUESTIONS ARE REALLY STARTING TO BUG ME.
"But I--"
The voice sighed.
I AM KOROM. THIS REALM IS ME. THE DARKNESS YOU SEE? ME. THE DARKNESS YOU DON'T SEE? ALSO ME. I AM SIMULTANEOUSLY INFINITELY LARGER THAN YOUR ENTIRE UNIVERSE AND SIXTY-THREE TIMES SMALLER THAN THE SMALLEST ATOM, WHICH IS WHY I MUST ENTER *YOUR* WORLD THROUGH A HUMAN HOST. THAT'S WHERE YOU COME IN. THERE'S NO PARTICULAR REASON I CHOSE YOU, IT'S BASICALLY A LOTTERY. I EXISTED BEFORE THE EVENT YOU KNOW AS THE BIG BANG, AND I SHALL CONTINUE TO EXIST LONG AFTER THE BIG CRUNCH. WITH YOU AS MY CONDUIT, I WILL ENTER YOUR DOMAIN AND MAKE IT PART OF THE INFINITE DARKNESS YOU SEE ALL AROUND YOU. EVERY LIVING THING ON YOUR PLANET WILL BE REDUCED TO NOTHINGNESS, THEN THE PARTS LEFT OVER WILL BECOME THIS ABYSS. NOW, THIS PROCESS TAKES A FEW MINUTES AND I REALLY NEED TO CONCENTRATE TO DO IT, SO IF YOU COULD SHUT THE FUCK UP UNTIL IT'S DONE I'D REALLY APPRECIATE IT.
After a brief pause, the blonde man said, "But--"
OH FOR FUCK SAKE. WHAT IS IT NOW?
"What happens to...me?"
YOUR MIND AND SPIRIT SHALL CEASE TO BE. YOUR BODY WILL BE MINE.
"So I just...die?"
NO. NOT DIE. CEASE TO BE. LIKE I JUST SAID. YOU GOTTA LEARN TO LISTEN, DUDE.
The blonde man thought for a moment. "This process, how long does it take?"
IT WILL BE A FEW MORE MINUTES. THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO TO STOP IT. EMBRACE OBLIVION, MOR--
"Actually I was wondering if we could speed things up a little?"
SP-SPEED THEM UP?
"Yeah. Anything I can do to hurry it along?"
Y-YOU WANT TO...H-HURRY IT...ALONG?
"Yeah, if possible."
BUT WHY WOULD YOU-
"OH FUCK. Is it happening?"
The blonde man's body began to break down and scatter like dust in the wind.
BWAHAHAHAHA, YES, IT IS--
"Yippeee!" The blonde man gave a salute. "Good luck Korol."
KOROM
"Yeah, good look Korom. You're gonna need it."
WAIT A SECOND WHY WOULD YOU---
As the blonde man's body broke down, Korom passed through the veil between dimensions and opened his human eyes. He pulled himself to his feet using a nearby podium.
The universe slowly came into focus. Before Korom stood endless rows of men and women holding microphones and cameras.
A woman with her hair pinned back in a ponytail stepped forward. "Mr. Johnson. Infection rates have spiraled across England, Scotland, Wales, AND Northern Ireland. Your party has announced a last-minute U-turn of Christmas travel restrictions throwing major cities into a state of complete chaos, and a new more infectious strain of COVID19 has just been identified."
She raised her microphone. "Tell me. As Prime Minister, what do you plan to do about it?"
Korom looked around the room.
FUCK
\---
Thanks for reading! If anyone has any criticisms, feedback or tips on things I could improve, please let me know!
Hope you enjoy! Subscribe to [https://www.reddit.com/r/jtb685/](https://www.reddit.com/r/jtb685/) for more
|
The demon haunted the rooftops as it stalked its victim below. She walked through the alleyways as if nothing in the world mattered, unaware of the nightmare about to befall her. The demon waited until she walked into a dead-end, trapped by walls on all sides. It ran along the rooftops and pounced, aiming for its target far below. She turned around, slow and causal. She looked at the demon as it fell towards her. Her eyes were calm, undeterred by its arial attack. The demon tried to change course, but it was too late. The woman uttered two words before the end.
"Good luck."
They impacted with full force. The possession took hold of her. The demon tried to stop it, but it wouldn't work. It was losing control! The host's body latched onto the demon and started ripping it to pieces The rage and anger that festered in this host threatened to tear everything apart. It was all it could do to pull together the loose threads of its victims mind, to stop it turning into a wild animal. The possession complete, the demon looked through her eyes and took control of her hands, and braced as the nightmare of foreign memories attacked it.
"Finally, it's not my fault anymore," a voice echoed in the mind they shared. It shouldn't have been possible, but this mind was fragmented. Complete control was not possible.
The demon shrieked, unable to formulate words as it struggled to survive. It saw horrible things, both past and future, and it took every ounce of its strength to keep this body standing still.
"What are you?" It yelled into her mind.
"Scientist. Former. Failed," said echoes in her mind.
The images that flashed through her mind were too complicated for the demon to understand. Advanced chemistry. Neurology. An entire lifetime dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge, and the shadow of a failure which took all of that away.
"Please!" The demon cried, "I cannot survive here! Let me go, I will grant you anything."
The words were slow, but they bubbled up from her mind, "I. Refuse."
"Please. I'm begging you," the demon said, "I feed off anger. But it's too much! I will die. We will both die!"
The demon stumbled around the alley, arms flailing as it failed to control its host. Its body was disintegrating. It screamed into the void for help, anything to help it control these inhuman tendencies.
Then something in her mind responded. A hand reached up from inside her mental space and grabbed onto the demon. Her mind quieted. The demon took its first clear view of the alley. It wiped sweat off her forehead, and straightened her shirt.
"Thank you," it said. The audible words echoing from her mouth. Words that had never before been spoken by a demon.
Now, with a clear mind, the demon concentrated on escape. It pulled against her mind, but the tendrils of possession ran too deep. It was trapped. Unable to ever break free from this hell.
Once again, its mind began to grow cloudy. Her support was dwindling, and powerful forces once again threatened to tear the demon apart.
"Please," the demon said, "I need your help. Together we can control this. Together we can fix this."
"Cure. Not. Possible," came the woman's response.
"I don't believe that," The demon said." You don't believe that! I have seen your thoughts. Whatever this arcane mysticism is, whatever you call this 'science'. We can use it to find this cure. Both of us can be free."
"Too. Complicated," came the response.
"I want to learn," said the demon, "I will help you control your fury. It is more than I will ever need. Teach me. Show me. Together we will survive."
The response was a mental nod. An affirmative.
That was it then. The partnership was sealed. Together they would exit this place and find the cure. And tear apart and eat the flesh of any human that stood in their way!
The demon felt a mental smack. Apparently this was not how humans resolved their differences. Perhaps there would be no flesh eating. A difficult partnership indeed.
|
EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any.
|
[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
|
I never expected humans to be so delectable. I smelled her as soon as I clawed my way out of the portal—a lingering trail of sweetness perfuming the air. The trail led me to this sleeping beauty. Her hair fanned behind her head in a fiery halo, and her pale skin glowed beneath the moonlight like a beckoning beacon.
Her soul was overpowering, dizzying me with her aroma. She was so ripe for the taking, and I was addicted to her intoxicating aura—a spice of untapped dreams and endless wants, enhanced with a shadow of resentment. She had so many delicious desires and I couldn’t resist the feast.
I readied for the resistance, but she welcomed me in with eagerness and relief. With each tantalizing taste of her, I wanted more and more until we were whole, a yin yang of two souls. She gave herself to me completely, and I devoured her until her body was mine, and then she laughed, leaving a bitter aftertaste in my mouth.
I slurped up her final sip of nectar, and she whispered, “Good luck, you’ll need it.”
Luck meant nothing to a demon such as I. A demon who escaped the jails of hell and crawled through the cracks of the earth to reach the human realm. A demon who finally found freedom.
My eyes blinked open and I peered through the darkness. I could barely make out the shadowy shapes in the room, even after my eyes adjusted. Human senses were so muted, but I would adapt. I tried to move my legs, but they refused to budge. Nor could I wiggle even the tiniest of my toes. My limbs were heavy and lifeless—entirely immobile.
A scream ripped through me but it didn’t make it past my throat. Only my eyes could move, could sense, could see.
There was no sound when I realized I’d escaped one hell only to be trapped in another.
\*\*\*\*\*
Thanks for reading! Feel free to read more at r/rulerofstorybears
|
As a demon I'd never seen a woman accept possession.
I would devour her soul after years of hungering for one. She would be my sixth. And it came so easy until I stabbed my claws in her neck to absorb her spirit she boomed, "Good luck. You're going to need it."
Then I felt my whole body get sucked into my victim.
Or so, I thought she was my victim.
This never happened before. Usually I drained out the soul through my claws and it fills my body with a sense of euphoria that is unmatched, and I feel wonderful for years. *Perfectly satisfied.*
Now, I was plummeting through an abyss of black space. A light at the top became smaller the further I fell down.
I finally landed on a patch of (what felt like, but I wasn't too sure because I couldn't see) grass. The smell of burned hair lingered around me.
*"The food chain,"* a deep voice bellowed. *"Animals eat bugs, humans eat animals, demons eat humans, but what eats a demon?"*
I wasn't sure if I should respond, but I didn't know the answer.
*"Voids. Voids eat demons. And you've met your Maker."*
My eyes widened.
*"Yes. Voids travel through space devouring demons where we can find them. We're rare to find, and it takes a while for us to find a feast, but thank you for making it so easy."*
I never heard of a Void, but I felt something I hadn't felt as a young demon. *Fear.*
*"You've eaten five souls. I can taste it. I've set them free now in this landscape. I've told them to get revenge on you. You know, to help me digest you,"* there was no humor or charm in the Void's voice, which made my skin crawl.
The area around me filled with light. I was standing in a black and white field. Like being inside an old landscape photograph. In front of me was the soul of a man I devoured 120 years ago. Tears streamed down his face. He was made of a soft silver light.
"Look, uh, uh, I'm really sorry," I said, backing away. "I never knew what it was like to be eaten! This is horrible! Please, accept my apology! Perhaps we can all get out of here together if we recruit the others!"
The soul hung his head and it looked like he took a deep sigh, but I heard nothing. He pointed to another direction and I looked, only to find nothing. When I turned back around, the soul had a smile curved up ear-to-ear, showcasing a pair of deep fangs that could tear my neck to shreds. It leapt in my direction and I sprinted away through the field, finding an abandoned house sitting alone in the black and white world.
I made a [part 2!](https://www.reddit.com/r/randallcooper/comments/khpvdx/wp_the_demon_couldnt_believe_his_luck_to_find/)
r/randallcooper
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EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any.
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[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
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As his throat closed over, the blonde man fell to his knees and pressed both hands against his neck. The room darkened, then dissolved, leaving him stranded in an endless, empty void. Now he was no longer choking.
"HELPPPPP," he screamed. His voice echoed infinitely
WELCOME MORTAL
The blonde man spun around, surprised by the sudden voice.
"W-w-ho said that?"
I DID
"W-who are you?
I AM KOROM
Where are you? Why can't I see you?"
YOU CAN
The blonde man looked around. "No, I can't. All I see is darkness."
I. AM. THE. DARKNESS.
"W-what?"
The void shifted. Beneath the blonde man's feet, the abyss writhed and collapsed, tossing him from side to side like a surfer caught in a violent wave. He fell onto his hands and knees.
"W-w-where are we? What is this place?"
THIS *PLACE* IS ME
"What?"
I AM THE DARKNESS THAT SURROUNDS YOU. I HAVE BROUGHT YOU INTO MY DOMAIN
"Why?"
POSSESSION
"Possession?"
YES
"Like a demonic possession?"
YES
"You want to...demonically possess me?"
YES
"Are you possessing me right now?"
...YES
"Why?"
SO I CAN USE YOU AS A DOORWAY
"A doorway? You mean, you're gonna use me to...enter the earth?"
WELL THAT'S NOT HOW I WOULD PUT IT, BUT...YES
The blonde man felt a pinching sensation inside his chest, like someone was pulling a thread to unravel his heart.
"B-b-but where are we?"
I HAVE ALREADY TOLD YOU. WE ARE IN MY DOMAIN.
"I-I don't understand"
UGGGHHHH, THESE QUESTIONS ARE REALLY STARTING TO BUG ME.
"But I--"
The voice sighed.
I AM KOROM. THIS REALM IS ME. THE DARKNESS YOU SEE? ME. THE DARKNESS YOU DON'T SEE? ALSO ME. I AM SIMULTANEOUSLY INFINITELY LARGER THAN YOUR ENTIRE UNIVERSE AND SIXTY-THREE TIMES SMALLER THAN THE SMALLEST ATOM, WHICH IS WHY I MUST ENTER *YOUR* WORLD THROUGH A HUMAN HOST. THAT'S WHERE YOU COME IN. THERE'S NO PARTICULAR REASON I CHOSE YOU, IT'S BASICALLY A LOTTERY. I EXISTED BEFORE THE EVENT YOU KNOW AS THE BIG BANG, AND I SHALL CONTINUE TO EXIST LONG AFTER THE BIG CRUNCH. WITH YOU AS MY CONDUIT, I WILL ENTER YOUR DOMAIN AND MAKE IT PART OF THE INFINITE DARKNESS YOU SEE ALL AROUND YOU. EVERY LIVING THING ON YOUR PLANET WILL BE REDUCED TO NOTHINGNESS, THEN THE PARTS LEFT OVER WILL BECOME THIS ABYSS. NOW, THIS PROCESS TAKES A FEW MINUTES AND I REALLY NEED TO CONCENTRATE TO DO IT, SO IF YOU COULD SHUT THE FUCK UP UNTIL IT'S DONE I'D REALLY APPRECIATE IT.
After a brief pause, the blonde man said, "But--"
OH FOR FUCK SAKE. WHAT IS IT NOW?
"What happens to...me?"
YOUR MIND AND SPIRIT SHALL CEASE TO BE. YOUR BODY WILL BE MINE.
"So I just...die?"
NO. NOT DIE. CEASE TO BE. LIKE I JUST SAID. YOU GOTTA LEARN TO LISTEN, DUDE.
The blonde man thought for a moment. "This process, how long does it take?"
IT WILL BE A FEW MORE MINUTES. THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO TO STOP IT. EMBRACE OBLIVION, MOR--
"Actually I was wondering if we could speed things up a little?"
SP-SPEED THEM UP?
"Yeah. Anything I can do to hurry it along?"
Y-YOU WANT TO...H-HURRY IT...ALONG?
"Yeah, if possible."
BUT WHY WOULD YOU-
"OH FUCK. Is it happening?"
The blonde man's body began to break down and scatter like dust in the wind.
BWAHAHAHAHA, YES, IT IS--
"Yippeee!" The blonde man gave a salute. "Good luck Korol."
KOROM
"Yeah, good look Korom. You're gonna need it."
WAIT A SECOND WHY WOULD YOU---
As the blonde man's body broke down, Korom passed through the veil between dimensions and opened his human eyes. He pulled himself to his feet using a nearby podium.
The universe slowly came into focus. Before Korom stood endless rows of men and women holding microphones and cameras.
A woman with her hair pinned back in a ponytail stepped forward. "Mr. Johnson. Infection rates have spiraled across England, Scotland, Wales, AND Northern Ireland. Your party has announced a last-minute U-turn of Christmas travel restrictions throwing major cities into a state of complete chaos, and a new more infectious strain of COVID19 has just been identified."
She raised her microphone. "Tell me. As Prime Minister, what do you plan to do about it?"
Korom looked around the room.
FUCK
\---
Thanks for reading! If anyone has any criticisms, feedback or tips on things I could improve, please let me know!
Hope you enjoy! Subscribe to [https://www.reddit.com/r/jtb685/](https://www.reddit.com/r/jtb685/) for more
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As a demon I'd never seen a woman accept possession.
I would devour her soul after years of hungering for one. She would be my sixth. And it came so easy until I stabbed my claws in her neck to absorb her spirit she boomed, "Good luck. You're going to need it."
Then I felt my whole body get sucked into my victim.
Or so, I thought she was my victim.
This never happened before. Usually I drained out the soul through my claws and it fills my body with a sense of euphoria that is unmatched, and I feel wonderful for years. *Perfectly satisfied.*
Now, I was plummeting through an abyss of black space. A light at the top became smaller the further I fell down.
I finally landed on a patch of (what felt like, but I wasn't too sure because I couldn't see) grass. The smell of burned hair lingered around me.
*"The food chain,"* a deep voice bellowed. *"Animals eat bugs, humans eat animals, demons eat humans, but what eats a demon?"*
I wasn't sure if I should respond, but I didn't know the answer.
*"Voids. Voids eat demons. And you've met your Maker."*
My eyes widened.
*"Yes. Voids travel through space devouring demons where we can find them. We're rare to find, and it takes a while for us to find a feast, but thank you for making it so easy."*
I never heard of a Void, but I felt something I hadn't felt as a young demon. *Fear.*
*"You've eaten five souls. I can taste it. I've set them free now in this landscape. I've told them to get revenge on you. You know, to help me digest you,"* there was no humor or charm in the Void's voice, which made my skin crawl.
The area around me filled with light. I was standing in a black and white field. Like being inside an old landscape photograph. In front of me was the soul of a man I devoured 120 years ago. Tears streamed down his face. He was made of a soft silver light.
"Look, uh, uh, I'm really sorry," I said, backing away. "I never knew what it was like to be eaten! This is horrible! Please, accept my apology! Perhaps we can all get out of here together if we recruit the others!"
The soul hung his head and it looked like he took a deep sigh, but I heard nothing. He pointed to another direction and I looked, only to find nothing. When I turned back around, the soul had a smile curved up ear-to-ear, showcasing a pair of deep fangs that could tear my neck to shreds. It leapt in my direction and I sprinted away through the field, finding an abandoned house sitting alone in the black and white world.
I made a [part 2!](https://www.reddit.com/r/randallcooper/comments/khpvdx/wp_the_demon_couldnt_believe_his_luck_to_find/)
r/randallcooper
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[WP]you work during the entire morning and only come home during the night, your roommate works during the night and comes back in the morning. You don't see each other. You only interact with sticky-notes, a notebook, and a chess board in the livingroom where each of you move once per day.
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9.00pm.
Home time. I can feel the anticipation building inside me as I get in the car and make my way home through the slumbering city.
When I moved here two months ago I had no friends, no contacts whatsoever. I took a huge leap of faith coming here, but the job offer I got was too tempting to turn down, whatever the risks. I found a decent little apartment on the outskirts of the city center, which I shared with a man I knew only as 'H'.
He worked the nightshift at a factory downtown, and as silly as it sounds we had never actually met. All of the arrangements had been made over the phone and with the landlord, who assured me that "H is a good man, hard working and kind, though he can be a little odd". And didn't I know it. The first day I moved in I found a sticky note on the fridge saying 'Your move' and a small, battered chess board, fully set up, waiting on a coffee table in the living room. One chipped, white pawn made of marble had been moved forward.
That was how it started, our strange little relationship. Every night when I got home, a white piece on the board had moved, and sometimes he would leave notes around, asking me about myself, my interests and my past. And I would reply and leave notes for him before I left for work. It felt like we had gotten to know each other so well, despite never actually meeting.
Now, driving past the familiar hedgerows and gardens of my neighbors on Bow Street, I noticed a light on in the living room, which was strange. H should have left for work hours ago. I open up the front door and step inside, and the first thing I can hear is a slight buzzing noise, like static on an old TV set, but louder. As I step into the living room I see the chessboard, one half still on the table and the other laying on the floor, the little marble pieces are littered across the carpet
"H!?" I shout, but then I see it. Blood. I let out an involuntary gasp. There's a sizable puddle of it oozing out from under the sofa, which is laying on its back and looks like it has been slashed to tatters. There's a single sticky note left on the fridge door, which is swinging open, the contents of the fridge strewn across the kitchen tiles.
It reads: 'The regime does not ask twice. Your friend is the example'.
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It was just bad luck, I suppose. Five days, and I hadn’t seen him awake for a minute of it.
I woke at 4 a.m. on the sixth day to an empty bed, but sliding my hand over to his side, the sheets were still warm. Sound echoed in from the bathroom, the wood panels on the floor creaking under his weight, the flush of a toilet, the running water as he washed his hands. That part took a long time; it was a good habit to get into, and we both had.
He smiled as he saw me gazing up at him sleepily from the bed, sliding back under the covers. It wasn’t chilly, the space heater regularly clicking off and on to maintain warmth, since we’d both agreed there was no reason to make it even more difficult to get out of bed for the past week. But it was still cozier under the blankets.
“Hey,” he whispered, nuzzling up to my side.
“Come here,” I muttered. I took him in my arms, breathing him in.
He let out a long breath and traced the marks on my face. “You look like… You know how if you nap for too long in one position, you get marks from the sheets?”
I chuckled. “Yeah.”
“You look like you took the mother of all naps.”
“On my face.”
“Mm.”
I traced invisible lines across his arms. “I’m still worried. I take all the precautions in the world and I get home and we share a bed”
He put a finger to my lips. “My choice. I told you.” I nodded and he removed his finger, instead cupping my face in his hand. “Love you.”
“Love you too.”
“It’s gonna be like this for a while, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”
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[WP] You are an alien representative in the Galactic Federation who just started observing Earth, in what happens to be WW2. Shocked at what you see, you show the entire federation the war occurring. It ends up being the deadliest in the known universe.
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*"We interrupt our regular program for a high class transmission from Terak Prime, please observe carefully the following announcement*:
*Hailing all ships within the Sol, Tonbar and Biier Sytems. You are to leave the area immediately, as ordered by the Federal Security Council. You have two cycles to comply, after which an after which anti-FTL generators will be activated within said regions.*
*Should you require assistance with the evacuation hail us on frequency 18800,0 to 18999,9. Report any ..."*
&#x200B;
"This leaked message shocked half the galaxy just five cycles ago. Ever since rumers as to why have spread like wildfire ever since. But today we will get answers, the Federal Security Council announced a statement to be broadcasted at 2000 Standard Galactic Time. So just a few more minutes. We have Te'Leah live at the galactic command center.
Leah did you get any information so far?"
"No, after the leak the council made source no further information was leaked, at times even by scrambling communications so no information may leave this station. All I have are rumors, however one thing all have in common:
Something happened in the Sol system. Something big, Which would make sense as Tonbar and Biier are the closed systems to Sol."
&#x200B;
"Sorry to interrupt you there, but it seems as we run out of time. The Spokesman of the Council just arrived and will begin his announcement right now."
&#x200B;
"... No no. If it works it's fine... ok? Then lets begin:
On 2668.78 at 1815 the Council received a priority message from the vessel Ioola. This vessel officially was on an exercise maneuver, however it also had been given the task of observing the 3rd planet of the sol system at the time. It regarded on said system an orbital vessel had been successfully launched. The Ioola was to updated regularly. At first there were only a handful of localized conflicts reported and some irregular radiation. Unusual but nothing we haven't seen before.
The following reports however indicted that there had been an intercontinental war on this planet. Scans showed mass graveyards, no older than half a solar cycle. The estimated death toll for this war is about 50 million. Further investigation concluded that about 60% of which were civilian. The investigation showed that the irregular radiation was indeed artificial. It appears to be the result of tests and the usage of thermonuclear reaction in weaponized form. This weaponized form of atomic manipulation is deemed highly illegal for several reasons, including the effect of lethal mutation of genetic material.
Then just 6 cycles ago another shocking report came in: A first orbital flight had been made. In an emergency meeting we discussed which actions to take next. The following four points had been agreed upon:
* No contact was to be made with this species until further notice.
* The species is to be classified as 'enemy of sentient life' until further notice.
* A quarantine is to be established for the entirety of the system.
* Any measure to stop the spread of this species is to be taken.
* Observation are to continue via long range scans only.
We took action the following day and even expanded the quarantine to nearby systems in order to prevent accidentally drawing their attention.
Further action, such as a direct intervention are still being discussed at the moment.
Any question?"
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Report of war on the newly discovered planet: Earth
As a previous report has brought up the populated resource-rich world of Earth which has had wars in the past, but the most recent once has already turn out be one of the bloodiest and brutal wars in the Federation history, to the west part of the Continent known as Eurasia the nation called the ‘German Reich’ has invaded the Republic of Poland and have already gone with ahead with large scale bombing campaigns that have done irreparable damage to the many cities and there is evidence to show a clear targeting of civilians and refugee.
In addition, the ‘German Reich’ has set these ‘Einsatzgruppen’ paramilitary death squads to destroy the Polish intelligentsia, a religious minority known as the Jewish people and anyone seen as a ‘threat’ as part of their ethnic cleansing operations, current estimates show the death toll could be thousands or tens of thousands of people.
Poland’s problems don’t end there as an authoritarian socialist state called the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR) has also invaded Poland and while reports show that massacres have also happened during the invasion with state security known as the NKVD killing and deporting polish intelligentsia and other who they see as a threat such as landowners and military officers, as the land is split between them and the German Reich.
But at the same time, another war is ongoing, and it is as equally if not more brutal, a war that is known as the Second Sino-Japanese war, a war that is almost a decade old and has been stagnating after huge Japanese success during the start of the war but the war has had a number atrocities happen with the most infamous being the 'Nanjing Massacre’ in addition to brutal retaliatory attacks, but the Japanese have been shown to make use of chemical agents and there is the worry that they may begin or have started the development of other types of weapons of mass destruction, mainly biological as nuclear weapons at this point aren’t being made by anyone currently on the planet but the theories do exist.
There is a concern, the leader of the German Reich, Adolph Hitler has called for war against the USSR in the past and its extermination and should a war break out consider what has happened in Poland what could happen is nearly unthinkable.
Meanwhile, Japan’s imperialistic approach also risks starting further wars, just before the invasion of Poland, it had ended a border war with the USSR and with the British, France and Dutch colonial possession being south and being resource-rich could lead to conflict in the future, alongside the fact that Japanese Empire and the German Reich have been in talks.
This is on top of the British empire and the French Republic declaring a state of war against the German Reich over Poland and with Poland crushed they could turn the army west but their plans are not known at this point.
This could turn in the deadliest war not just in galactic history but maybe in the universe should the war escalate into a full World War and should full genocide occur.
\------------------------
So I set this very late 1939/early 1940.
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[WP] You are a crusading journalist who broke the story that the detective made up the serial killer and the murders for attention and fame. At home, before you go to sleep, your lovely wife whispers into your ear “thanks babe, you just made my life a whole lot easier.”
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Atlas went still as the words left his wife's mouth. He pretended to already be asleep. It was hell to school his breathing to be calm and deep, to keep from ripping himself out of the bed and demanding to know what she meant.
With his eyes shut and feigned sleep he had time to think. Surely she couldn't mean about his article, his story. But the more he thought the more sense it made. She had always been so close, to the point that he had fretted over her safety.
The first murder had been a coworker, a man she had often complained was too friendly with the women of her office. She told him about how she wished he would just disappear. The night her coworker did she had claimed to be visiting her mother.
The second was so random, right along her walk home from work. The man, police guessed, had been drunk and wandering home. His body still hadn't been identified. It was too mutilated. Delilah claimed she hadn't walked home that night, but gotten drinks with her friend and stayed the night with her.
The longer he thought, the more he could place her at every crime scene. He had never thought to fact check his own wife on her alibi. He never even realized she was giving him one.
His stomach turned violently. He could still remember how some of the victims were left. He was married to a monster.
But... surely she had a reason. The Delilah he knew couldn't hurt a fly. She wouldn't just kill 12 people for the fun of it. Surely not. But he wouldn't ask. He would pretend he didn't hear her. He didn't know a thing.
He loved his wife. She couldn't hurt a fly.
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"Thanks babe, you just made my life a whole lot easier."
"...have you been listening to the scanner again?"
"Yes. No! I mean, come on. You do it all the time."
"Yeah, for work. We're done with that life!"
"If someone's out there doing bad things, baby, aren't we supposed to stop them? That's what you're doing."
"Yes. Legally. We don't moonlight. We don't. do. hero. work!"
"...you told me that you wanted to become a hero when you started at the *Central*. Why is it just you?"
"Because that's the way that Jack got killed. Santiago doesn't have his legs anymore. And...and..."
"So I shouldn't try?"
"...not on your own. That guy was the most anti-hero, anti-powers person on the force. But he wasn't the only one."
"I could always count on you to protect me, baby. Thank you."
"Just...promise me one thing."
"Yes."
"Promise me there won't be another Bacchanalia Incident."
"I promise you, darling. There will never be."
Little did I know that a Bacchanal would be the least of my problems...
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[WP] You are a crusading journalist who broke the story that the detective made up the serial killer and the murders for attention and fame. At home, before you go to sleep, your lovely wife whispers into your ear “thanks babe, you just made my life a whole lot easier.”
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##It Was All an Accident
Miles Vern finishes the fifth chapter to his mystery novel before looking at the time. Midnight, he worked late again. He does not know how his wife, Danielle, puts up with his workaholic nature. She says she is fine with it for now as long as he promises not to work through their vacation that they paid for with the advance from the publishing company.
Miles turns off his light in his office and moves to his bathroom to get ready for bed. Danielle's friends think it is weird that he has a separate bathroom down the hall, but it is better when he works so late. He cautiously moves back into the room with Danielle who is lying on the bed. He moves next to her and closes his eyes. Images of their vacation flash before his eyes and keep him from falling asleep.
"Artie, you are so amazing," she whispers. Miles opens his eyes. Did she really just say that. Arthur Jacobson was the name of the detective that he caught. Maybe she is referencing some celebrity hunk or romance novel protagonist.
"Thanks babe, you just made my life a whole lot easier," she says. What is she talking about. Miles thinks about his past few year chasing down the Nightcrawler.
At the start of the year, the police noted that there was an increase in deaths that were ruled an accident. These ranged from falling down the stairs to unfortunate cuts. All of the victims were people who lived alone and happened on the weekend. The bodies were not found until several days later. At first, the police saw it as an odd incident.
That was until someone else's blood was found on the crime scene of a woman who accidentally cut herself while chopping vegetables. The blood did not match anyone's blood in the database, and there were no other signs of a struggle. The public ran wild with the idea of there being a serial killer on the loose.
Arthur Jacobson was a charming middle-aged detective whose good looks and confidence thrust him into the spotlight. Within a few weeks, he had racked up a million followers on his Instagram account. He started up a YouTube channel where he talked about famous crimes. He tried to sell himself off as a Sherlock Holmes of the influencer age. The reality was he was seen as the cop version of a Kardashian.
Miles was assigned to follow this case. He looked at all of the deaths previously ruled as accidents. He stayed up night after night trying to figure out what connected them. They all came from different socio-economic backgrounds, religions, and lifestyles. They were diverse in gender identity, sexuality, ethnicity, and age. All they had in common was that they lived alone and suffered an unfortunate accident. This was a huge part of why the case attracted so much attention since a large portion of the population was at risk not a targeted subgroup like other famous serial killers. The fact that every death was an accident caused loads of speculation on how the killer was able to get away with it so often until they made one mistake.
One night, Miles was reviewing the case of Mary Daniel who started the controversy. She was a normal retired woman who lived alone. The autopsy reports that she died when she cut off her finger while making a salad. Her phone was upstairs, and she could not reach it in time. A morbid unfortunate accident.
Miles found that she was a part of a program that connected members of the community with retirees. Arthur was also in that program. Miles did further research and found that the local blood bank reported a break-in the day after Mary was reported dead. That case was marked as being inactive as there were no leads. One of the blood types stolen matched the type of blood found in Mary's apartment.
When Miles published his findings, the blowback was swift and intense. How dare he rob them of their serial killer? He was just a stupid journalist they said? He was doxxed and harassed. After this, Arthur grew a conscious and came forward confirming it was false. He has been charged with theft, fraud, and contaminating a crime scene. Miles received offers to write about his experience and a deal for a fiction novel.
Early on in the case, Miles found out that Danielle volunteered at the same organization. She claimed to not know Arthur yet here she is whispering about him. Miles used to fall asleep quickly so he never witnessed it. He thought from time to time that she was cheating on him, but he never believed it.
"Artie, I love you," she says. Miles shakes her awake. They are at home not surrounded by cops. Worst case scenario, they get a divorce which was inevitable anyway.
"You thought I wouldn't find out?!" he yells.
"Honey, what are you saying?" she asks still groggy.
"About you and how you were cheating on me," he says. She looks nervous.
"What do you mean? I would never cheat."
"I found the burner phone."
"We never used a burner phone," she says. She perks up realizing what she revealed in her tired state.
"So I was right," he looks down, "You whispered Artie. Was it the detective?"
His wife starts to cry, "Yes, I was cheating on you with Arthur Jacobson. We met at a retiree event. We never texted each other. We planned our rendezvous in person. I went to his house."
"What about Mary? How does she play into this?" he asks. Danielle starts to cry more.
"She saw us the day we met. She started following Arthur and caught me in the act. She really should've minded her own business," Danielle makes sure every word is laced with disgust.
"Did you kill her?" Miles prepares for the worst.
"I did not mean too. I went to her house to drop off the money. We got into a fight. She pushed me. We exchanged blows. I grabbed the knife, and I chopped off her finger. When she died, I went to Arthur. He removed all the evidence and made it look like an accident," she says.
"That was your blood," Miles says. Danielle nods, "What about the blood bank?"
"That was unrelated," Danielle says, "Artie came forward because he did not like how much hate we were getting. He was also worried that the extra attention would result in me getting under suspicion."
"And the Nightcrawler?" Miles asks the final question.
"Artie wanted to be a famous detective. I told him it was a bad idea," she looks at her husband with doe eyes, "What are you going to do."
Miles stands up and backs away, "I am going to get a hotel."
"Honey, I would never kill you," his wife says. Miles is already out the door. He moves swiftly down the stairs. He thought he knew his wife. He realizes now he did not. He will call the police when he is far away from her. This case has even more twists than he thought. Maybe he could get a true-crime novel too.
---
r/AstroRideWrites
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Cool premise! I just woke up wrote a bit for it. Going to try to finish it off when I get some time later in the day.
"Thanks babe, you just made my life a whole lot easier." I never thought a sentence of nine words could reorganize my whole world view. I try to push to get my words out, I want to know what the mother of my children means by that. However struggle as I may I can already feel the abyss of sleep overwhelming my consciousness. No amount of struggling could stop my eyes from closing and similarly no amount of struggling could wipe the look I saw on my wifes face before sleep overtook me. It was the same devilish smirk I had seen on her face all those years ago, the same one that had drawn me in closer to her, the same smirk that had captured my imagination and had ultimately led me to this point. "Baby asdfs hoio jiofds." My final attempt at questioning her bore no fruit as I merely managed to pop some babble out before closing my eyes.
My eyes once again begin to flicker open. Normally I would have had to fight the remnants of drowsiness to fully prop them open but this time is different, I feel like a man possessed, haunted by the words that my wife left me with before I was overtaken by Hypnos himself. "You're finally awake baby. The wait is always the most boring part of these long nights I have to say."
I try to take stock of the situation. I'm currently tied down to the bed and my wife is off to the side with her back turned to me. "These nights baby? What do you mean by that. Are you playing a joke on me right now? Is this something cosmpolitan recommmended to spice up our sex life baby? And what did you mean by I made your life easier baby? I'm confused right now and I need you to answer my questions."
"Are you going to keep playing the fool baby? At this point the jig is up and so is your time with me. I've appreciated the time you've spent helping me these last four years but its about time I wrap things up over here and move on. Mama's got some work to do on the west coast now."
"Playing the fool baby? What are you even talking about. I just woke up and I'm still feeling out of sorts right now, it isn't the best time for these sorts of jokes at all. Now be a sweetheart and remove these cuffs before I get angry."
"Haha anger won't be of much good right now, as a matter of fact I don't think anything will do you much good right now, your fortunes aren't looking too hot right now. But surely you knew this moment was nothing but an inevitability anyways right? In our world relationships built on trust are nothing but fragile facades, and I can't help but feel that with you managing to pin our crimes on someone else it might be the best time to hit the restart button."
"In our world? I thought our world had no secrets between us. For gods sakes honey we were talking about having kids together just a week ago. Now be a dear and go ahead and untie me. This can all just be a joke gone wrong."
"All right enough of the charade. I don't know what sort of memory implantation expert you went to in order to craft that reality your living in but its about time I shatter it. I told you that there was no need for none of that, but look at where the internal method actor has brought you to. You lie there as one of the greatest serial killers to ever and yet fail to even remember it. You won't even have the pleasure of looking back at your greatest kills when I drain the life from your body."
My mind was barely beginning to process my "wife's" statement before I began to see the same devilish smirk creep up on her face.
"I figured out how I'm going to do it. I'm going to pay homage to everything you've done for me by ending your life in the very same manner you ended my foster families. Consider it a tip of the hat from one soon to be legend to a dying breed."
A sharp pain rushes through my head. I struggle to control my breath whilst also struggling with a head that is ringing liike a bell. I can feel my brain functioning like a verifiable potpourri, a whole mix of emotions, hormones, and latent memories surging all at once. I struggle to make heads or tails of any of it as I feel like I'm drowning in a cacophony of overwhelming information and emotion.
"Ahh thats the face I remember from the first time I met you. I always wondered what it would take to shatter the cage you had built, I guess it was fragile enough that all it took was a bit of cold harsh reality. Anyways its about time I put you to sleep and get started. Mama has a lot to do before she can start enjoying herself on the West Coast."
As my "wife" begins to walk over to me with a long needle I can feel time slow down. Perhaps it is due to my body contemplating the end of my existence, or perhaps its simply because my latent memories are returning. Regardless during this state of flow I begin to make head and tails of the convergence of memories, I begin to recall my real, not imagined, life as a serial killer, I begin to remember murdering a family and picking up a girl as an apprentice due to the lack of fear she showed at my grotesque violence. It all begins to make sense right before everything fades to black.
|
|
[WP] "So when we said you could take a hunting partner with you, we meant like another person, or a bloodhound or something." you said looking at their "+1"
|
Look. I'm not one to judge.
I've seen demon hunters of all different shapes and sizes, from fragile women with huge magical aptitude to gruff men with battle axes in hand.
Some people work better in pairs, others don't.
This is why I always allow new party members the option to invite a partner.
The other day, we hired a new guy named Jake who was in his mid twenties.
He didn't look too tough, but there was something about the way he carried himself that revealed his expertise.
I offered him a position after watching him de-escalate a full-on bar brawl between roughly 10 ruffians without a single punch.
I had to vouch for him a bit with the rest of the party, but they all agreed after some discussion.
I knew he would show his worth on the first hunting trip.
The night before the first outing, I pulled Jake aside and told him what I tell every new party member, "Lookie here. Demon hunting is no joke. If you take one misstep, you could lose your life, or worse: cause another member of the party to die. It's physically and emotionally draining so if you feel the need to, please bring a +1 to help out."
I then paused for a moment and gave him a stern look before patting him on the back. I said, "Don't worry, you'll do great!"
The next morning, Jake arrived with a stunningly gorgeous woman.
She was wearing a tight sundress and matching hat.
Her hair was styled, her nails were painted, and she wore light sandals that clearly wouldn't hold up after a single day of travel -- let alone a week!
I nodded suspiciously to the woman before pulling Jake aside again and asking, "Hey Jake... Who is she?"
"Ah, you said I could bring a +1, so I brought my girlfriend Jackie. She's an angel."
I gave him another stern look, "I told you. This is a life and death situation. She could die."
"It will be fine." Jake waved the comment away. "I'm sure she can handle it!"
Again, I wasn't one to judge, but as I looked towards Jackie, she didn't seem to have any combat experience at all.
Did she even know what a demon was?
I looked Jake in the eyes, "Let me talk to her to make sure she knows what this is all about."
Jake again waved away the comment. "I told her. She was excited to join!"
"Right, but..." I trailed off, "I'm the party lead. I just need to make sure."
"Alright, I understand. I believe you'll be suitably impressed." Jake called his girlfriend over and left the two of us alone.
"Soooooo..." She began adjusting her hair a bit. "What's this about?" She didn't look me in the eyes, but instead looked around at the other party members. She did not understand the gravity of the situation at all.
I sighed a bit. "Look, Jackie. This is a demon-hunting trip. Do you know what demons are?"
"Yeah, of course!" She giggled a bit, "Big ol' half-human folks."
"Well, not all of them are big. In fact, even a small demon can kill someone like you."
Her eyes then narrowed a bit, "What do you mean *someone like me*?"
I sighed. "Look, just stay out of our way and try not to get hurt. It will be incredibly dangerous and you might die. This is also Jake's first mission and he needs to prove himself in the party."
She didn't say anything for a moment, but then asked "Are you trying to get me to leave?"
"No no. You can stay, but look: it will be dangerous and I don't want someone like you getting hurt."
"Mhmm" she said while crossing her arms beneath her chest, "I'm coming. I have been wanting a weekend away with Jake for months and this is my only opportunity. Don't worry, I'll stay out of your way. Is that all?"
"Yes. That will be all." I could feel a seed of anger begin to bubble up inside of me. This girl would get one of us killed, I knew it. Still. I wasn't one to judge. Maybe she could hold her own after all.
After a little more preparation, we were on our way.
The goal was to find the greater demon in the heart of the TellTale Woods.
The demon had been known to be incredibly hostile, capable of killing adventurers within seconds.
We did not encounter too many problems throughout the journey, and although Jackie was constantly complaining about the heat or how the sweat made her make-up run, she did manage to keep up with the rest of the party.
The night before our final decent into the demon's lair, I gathered the party around the campfire.
"Alright, we are almost there. Everyone knows the plan, we will start moving at dawn. Be sure to get some rest. Tomorrow will be incredibly challenging."
Everyone seemed to have mixed emotions.
Some solemnly nodded, taking a swig of alcohol.
Others cheered a bit, happy to finally finish their venture.
Jackie seemed perplexed.
She looked at me in the eye and said, "Actually, I don't think I've been told the plan."
"Don't worry Jackie. You can just stay here and hold down the camp."
She glared back, but didn't say anything.
After a bit of discussion with the rest of the party, everyone except the scout went to sleep for the evening.
A few hours later, everyone was awoken to the sound of a lone trumpet piercing the forest's ambiance.
It was an ambush.
The greater demon knew where we were and caught us before we could catch it.
As I opened my tent flap, I saw it: a giant four-legged beast whose eyes glowed a dark, angry red.
It was surrounded by a luminescent purple haze, an unmistakable sign of its huge magical energy.
In the pit of my stomach, I knew we were doomed, but I held my bravado and yelled, "To arms!"
As we scrambled to get our weapons, the beast howled and charged.
As it came closer, it appeared to be the size of 3 or 4 tents -- much larger than I thought.
We were under-prepared and delirious from sleep.
This was not a time for fighting, but fleeing.
"Strike that!" I called. "Run! Run as far as you can!"
And that was precisely what I did. I ran without looking back. I wasn't going to die here.
In the distance, I heard Jake's voice.
"Jackie!" He called, "Jackie, where are you?"
I knew she shouldn't have come.
There is no way she could survive something like this.
Now, Jake would die too trying to protect her.
"Jackie!" He called again, "It's time!"
Suddenly, there was a flash of light that seemed to illuminate the entire forest, causing me to stumble and fall.
I looked back to where the demon had been, shielding my eyes from the sun.
Wait. The sun?
I squinted my eyes and looked into the sky, where a beautiful woman with six angelic wings seemed to hover in mid-air.
She held a bow in her arms, aimed at the demon below, who seemed to be frozen in fear.
She began chanting in some unknown language before shooting a single arrow that created a beam of light and pierced the demon completely through.
It howled and cried, eventually evaporating into the air as the woman drifted to the forest floor.
She then slowly began to dim, creating the silhouette of a young woman.
I rushed back to camp, only to see Jackie standing next to the fire with a bow in hand.
Jake put a hand on my shoulder and said, "She's an angel, isn't she?"
"Yeah." I said back, "I'm sorry I didn't believe you at first."
From then on, I truly did stop judging people.
EDIT: Sorry! This one went long!
|
The annual Jones County duos hunting competition was the biggest event of the fall. The location is chosen by whoever’s land has evidence of the largest Buck. This year old Tim Gifford got some footage of a massive 15-point behemoth on his land. Its a pretty dangerous competition actually. You throw 30 camouflaged rednecks onto the same plot of land while on hair trigger alert and you have a recipe for disaster. Last year the event coordinator Billy got shot. A couple years ago someone even died. Apparently word gets around about the competition because all types of characters started showing up in town just before the competition.
I have never been the type of legendary hunter that wins this kind of thing. But this year I had a secret weapon. I met him while sitting at the bar at the Pour House over in Quincy County. He had ordered a beer but I never actually saw him take a sip. I am the loquacious type by nature so his silence didn’t impede me from striking up a conversation with the stranger. After an hour of staring at his beer, when I started discussing the upcoming hunt event, he turned and faced me. When I asked him if he would want to join as my partner he gave a slow nod.
I learned the next day that he was known around these parts as “The Predator”. I figured that was good for my chances. You don't get a nickname like that if you're a bad hunter. He shows up at our starting point that morning with some serious-looking hunting knives. For being 7 feet tall he is pretty sneaky, since I can’t even find the bastard 5 minutes into the competition.
So that’s how I found myself wandering the woods alone, when I came across Billy and Pete Samson. Billy was fully recovered from his gunshot wound taken in last year’s competition. While he claims he learned his lesson and now wears a blaze-orange hat, the fact that he entered the competition at all clearly shows that is not fully true.
The group approached quietly, careful not to make too much noise in case it would scare our prey. Billy whispered over to me “Your partner is one interesting dude huh” He continued whispering while scanning the forest. “So when we said you could take a hunting partner with you, we meant like another person, or a bloodhound or something.”
Pete chimed in “Yeah Larry brought himself a Bloodhound”
Off in the distance I hear “Allfather, Give me sight!”
|
|
[WP] "So when we said you could take a hunting partner with you, we meant like another person, or a bloodhound or something." you said looking at their "+1"
|
It was...more than a little difficult to get a good look at it. Your eyes continually insisted that there was nothing there, tried to fill in the blank space based on the scenery around it.
Still, with concerted effort, you could, in fact, see that Bvrit had brought a living void to the kings hunt.
"Well, why not? He's well trained!"
"Well trained," I said, deadpan. I couldn't even *see* the thing properly, and I neither knew nor wanted to know what would happen if I tried interacting with it. 'Training' made as much sense as 'training' a hurricane.
"He *is*! Watch!"
Bvrit picked up a stick, tossed it lightly in the air once to judge balance, and then threw it into the distance.
"Fetch!"
I had, perhaps foolishly, expected the void to *move*. I'd expected my eyes to get a bit of a break, as it went where I desperately wished it to go, which was anywhere else. Instead, it remained perfectly still as the stick flew through the air. Not wanting to watch the void, I watched the stick, which was much more normal, right up until the moment that it disappeared.
I thought I knew where it had gone, but I worked on not thinking about it. Bvrit seemed utterly unconcerned by the incomprehensible...*being*...beside him, and stooped down to pick up the stick.
"See? He brought the stick back! Whoosa good boy?"
Given the choice between watching Bvrit pet That Which Should Not Be and examining the stick, I examined the stick. It was, in truth and in fact, a stick. Yup, definitely a stick. I can confirm, based on long experience, that this is a stick. Probably the *same* stick, but you'd want a major expert to really *confirm* that. All I could say with certainty was that, yup, this was a stick, one heck of a stick, and-
"Would you *stop* petting that...that...*that*!" Words failed to describe the thing. Language needs more words for indescribable horrors. Though, on the other hand, a described indescribable horror is a contradiction.
Though, on the *other* other hand, maybe a described indescribable horror goes away. You can always hope.
"Look...okay, fine, you keep that thing for the hunt, but don't draw any attention to it, or to us, and whatever you do, *do not embarrass me*. I need a favor from one of the nobles, and an incident in front of the king will shoot my chances straight to hell."
"Wheeeeeeee! Thank you!" cried Bvrit. And though I wasn't sure, the Space That My Eyes Were Trying To Lie To Me About seemed to be moving around, almost like an excited dog.
I tried not to think about it.
|
The annual Jones County duos hunting competition was the biggest event of the fall. The location is chosen by whoever’s land has evidence of the largest Buck. This year old Tim Gifford got some footage of a massive 15-point behemoth on his land. Its a pretty dangerous competition actually. You throw 30 camouflaged rednecks onto the same plot of land while on hair trigger alert and you have a recipe for disaster. Last year the event coordinator Billy got shot. A couple years ago someone even died. Apparently word gets around about the competition because all types of characters started showing up in town just before the competition.
I have never been the type of legendary hunter that wins this kind of thing. But this year I had a secret weapon. I met him while sitting at the bar at the Pour House over in Quincy County. He had ordered a beer but I never actually saw him take a sip. I am the loquacious type by nature so his silence didn’t impede me from striking up a conversation with the stranger. After an hour of staring at his beer, when I started discussing the upcoming hunt event, he turned and faced me. When I asked him if he would want to join as my partner he gave a slow nod.
I learned the next day that he was known around these parts as “The Predator”. I figured that was good for my chances. You don't get a nickname like that if you're a bad hunter. He shows up at our starting point that morning with some serious-looking hunting knives. For being 7 feet tall he is pretty sneaky, since I can’t even find the bastard 5 minutes into the competition.
So that’s how I found myself wandering the woods alone, when I came across Billy and Pete Samson. Billy was fully recovered from his gunshot wound taken in last year’s competition. While he claims he learned his lesson and now wears a blaze-orange hat, the fact that he entered the competition at all clearly shows that is not fully true.
The group approached quietly, careful not to make too much noise in case it would scare our prey. Billy whispered over to me “Your partner is one interesting dude huh” He continued whispering while scanning the forest. “So when we said you could take a hunting partner with you, we meant like another person, or a bloodhound or something.”
Pete chimed in “Yeah Larry brought himself a Bloodhound”
Off in the distance I hear “Allfather, Give me sight!”
|
|
[WP] "So when we said you could take a hunting partner with you, we meant like another person, or a bloodhound or something." you said looking at their "+1"
|
It was...more than a little difficult to get a good look at it. Your eyes continually insisted that there was nothing there, tried to fill in the blank space based on the scenery around it.
Still, with concerted effort, you could, in fact, see that Bvrit had brought a living void to the kings hunt.
"Well, why not? He's well trained!"
"Well trained," I said, deadpan. I couldn't even *see* the thing properly, and I neither knew nor wanted to know what would happen if I tried interacting with it. 'Training' made as much sense as 'training' a hurricane.
"He *is*! Watch!"
Bvrit picked up a stick, tossed it lightly in the air once to judge balance, and then threw it into the distance.
"Fetch!"
I had, perhaps foolishly, expected the void to *move*. I'd expected my eyes to get a bit of a break, as it went where I desperately wished it to go, which was anywhere else. Instead, it remained perfectly still as the stick flew through the air. Not wanting to watch the void, I watched the stick, which was much more normal, right up until the moment that it disappeared.
I thought I knew where it had gone, but I worked on not thinking about it. Bvrit seemed utterly unconcerned by the incomprehensible...*being*...beside him, and stooped down to pick up the stick.
"See? He brought the stick back! Whoosa good boy?"
Given the choice between watching Bvrit pet That Which Should Not Be and examining the stick, I examined the stick. It was, in truth and in fact, a stick. Yup, definitely a stick. I can confirm, based on long experience, that this is a stick. Probably the *same* stick, but you'd want a major expert to really *confirm* that. All I could say with certainty was that, yup, this was a stick, one heck of a stick, and-
"Would you *stop* petting that...that...*that*!" Words failed to describe the thing. Language needs more words for indescribable horrors. Though, on the other hand, a described indescribable horror is a contradiction.
Though, on the *other* other hand, maybe a described indescribable horror goes away. You can always hope.
"Look...okay, fine, you keep that thing for the hunt, but don't draw any attention to it, or to us, and whatever you do, *do not embarrass me*. I need a favor from one of the nobles, and an incident in front of the king will shoot my chances straight to hell."
"Wheeeeeeee! Thank you!" cried Bvrit. And though I wasn't sure, the Space That My Eyes Were Trying To Lie To Me About seemed to be moving around, almost like an excited dog.
I tried not to think about it.
|
Look. I'm not one to judge.
I've seen demon hunters of all different shapes and sizes, from fragile women with huge magical aptitude to gruff men with battle axes in hand.
Some people work better in pairs, others don't.
This is why I always allow new party members the option to invite a partner.
The other day, we hired a new guy named Jake who was in his mid twenties.
He didn't look too tough, but there was something about the way he carried himself that revealed his expertise.
I offered him a position after watching him de-escalate a full-on bar brawl between roughly 10 ruffians without a single punch.
I had to vouch for him a bit with the rest of the party, but they all agreed after some discussion.
I knew he would show his worth on the first hunting trip.
The night before the first outing, I pulled Jake aside and told him what I tell every new party member, "Lookie here. Demon hunting is no joke. If you take one misstep, you could lose your life, or worse: cause another member of the party to die. It's physically and emotionally draining so if you feel the need to, please bring a +1 to help out."
I then paused for a moment and gave him a stern look before patting him on the back. I said, "Don't worry, you'll do great!"
The next morning, Jake arrived with a stunningly gorgeous woman.
She was wearing a tight sundress and matching hat.
Her hair was styled, her nails were painted, and she wore light sandals that clearly wouldn't hold up after a single day of travel -- let alone a week!
I nodded suspiciously to the woman before pulling Jake aside again and asking, "Hey Jake... Who is she?"
"Ah, you said I could bring a +1, so I brought my girlfriend Jackie. She's an angel."
I gave him another stern look, "I told you. This is a life and death situation. She could die."
"It will be fine." Jake waved the comment away. "I'm sure she can handle it!"
Again, I wasn't one to judge, but as I looked towards Jackie, she didn't seem to have any combat experience at all.
Did she even know what a demon was?
I looked Jake in the eyes, "Let me talk to her to make sure she knows what this is all about."
Jake again waved away the comment. "I told her. She was excited to join!"
"Right, but..." I trailed off, "I'm the party lead. I just need to make sure."
"Alright, I understand. I believe you'll be suitably impressed." Jake called his girlfriend over and left the two of us alone.
"Soooooo..." She began adjusting her hair a bit. "What's this about?" She didn't look me in the eyes, but instead looked around at the other party members. She did not understand the gravity of the situation at all.
I sighed a bit. "Look, Jackie. This is a demon-hunting trip. Do you know what demons are?"
"Yeah, of course!" She giggled a bit, "Big ol' half-human folks."
"Well, not all of them are big. In fact, even a small demon can kill someone like you."
Her eyes then narrowed a bit, "What do you mean *someone like me*?"
I sighed. "Look, just stay out of our way and try not to get hurt. It will be incredibly dangerous and you might die. This is also Jake's first mission and he needs to prove himself in the party."
She didn't say anything for a moment, but then asked "Are you trying to get me to leave?"
"No no. You can stay, but look: it will be dangerous and I don't want someone like you getting hurt."
"Mhmm" she said while crossing her arms beneath her chest, "I'm coming. I have been wanting a weekend away with Jake for months and this is my only opportunity. Don't worry, I'll stay out of your way. Is that all?"
"Yes. That will be all." I could feel a seed of anger begin to bubble up inside of me. This girl would get one of us killed, I knew it. Still. I wasn't one to judge. Maybe she could hold her own after all.
After a little more preparation, we were on our way.
The goal was to find the greater demon in the heart of the TellTale Woods.
The demon had been known to be incredibly hostile, capable of killing adventurers within seconds.
We did not encounter too many problems throughout the journey, and although Jackie was constantly complaining about the heat or how the sweat made her make-up run, she did manage to keep up with the rest of the party.
The night before our final decent into the demon's lair, I gathered the party around the campfire.
"Alright, we are almost there. Everyone knows the plan, we will start moving at dawn. Be sure to get some rest. Tomorrow will be incredibly challenging."
Everyone seemed to have mixed emotions.
Some solemnly nodded, taking a swig of alcohol.
Others cheered a bit, happy to finally finish their venture.
Jackie seemed perplexed.
She looked at me in the eye and said, "Actually, I don't think I've been told the plan."
"Don't worry Jackie. You can just stay here and hold down the camp."
She glared back, but didn't say anything.
After a bit of discussion with the rest of the party, everyone except the scout went to sleep for the evening.
A few hours later, everyone was awoken to the sound of a lone trumpet piercing the forest's ambiance.
It was an ambush.
The greater demon knew where we were and caught us before we could catch it.
As I opened my tent flap, I saw it: a giant four-legged beast whose eyes glowed a dark, angry red.
It was surrounded by a luminescent purple haze, an unmistakable sign of its huge magical energy.
In the pit of my stomach, I knew we were doomed, but I held my bravado and yelled, "To arms!"
As we scrambled to get our weapons, the beast howled and charged.
As it came closer, it appeared to be the size of 3 or 4 tents -- much larger than I thought.
We were under-prepared and delirious from sleep.
This was not a time for fighting, but fleeing.
"Strike that!" I called. "Run! Run as far as you can!"
And that was precisely what I did. I ran without looking back. I wasn't going to die here.
In the distance, I heard Jake's voice.
"Jackie!" He called, "Jackie, where are you?"
I knew she shouldn't have come.
There is no way she could survive something like this.
Now, Jake would die too trying to protect her.
"Jackie!" He called again, "It's time!"
Suddenly, there was a flash of light that seemed to illuminate the entire forest, causing me to stumble and fall.
I looked back to where the demon had been, shielding my eyes from the sun.
Wait. The sun?
I squinted my eyes and looked into the sky, where a beautiful woman with six angelic wings seemed to hover in mid-air.
She held a bow in her arms, aimed at the demon below, who seemed to be frozen in fear.
She began chanting in some unknown language before shooting a single arrow that created a beam of light and pierced the demon completely through.
It howled and cried, eventually evaporating into the air as the woman drifted to the forest floor.
She then slowly began to dim, creating the silhouette of a young woman.
I rushed back to camp, only to see Jackie standing next to the fire with a bow in hand.
Jake put a hand on my shoulder and said, "She's an angel, isn't she?"
"Yeah." I said back, "I'm sorry I didn't believe you at first."
From then on, I truly did stop judging people.
EDIT: Sorry! This one went long!
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
|
The King was dead. Long live the new King. Though the length of his reign was rather questionable as the boy dashed through the halls, the whimpers of servants and the moans of loyal guards filling the corridors in discordant chorus with his footfalls. He turned into a servant's passage and paused to catch his breath, unsure of which way to go.
&#x200B;
Desperately he tried to think back to the stories he used to hear from one of the cooks, of the Knight Magdalena and her adventures, slaying the last of the dragons, rescuing princes from evil lords, and he desperately wished she were here. Ever the practical boy, he forced himself to start moving again when the clash of steel and the shouts of soldiers drew close once more. He wandered down the hallway, all his tutor's advice seeming so abstract. He had no armies to lead, no advisors to consult, not even a proper pair of shoes, all lost when his own vassals had turned against him to seize power.
&#x200B;
He caught the smell of food, and realized he must be close to the kitchens. That would mean the door to the gardens, and he could hide there as he often had when playing with the servant's children. He dashed the last hundred feet to the heavy door, and was greeted by the familiar heat of the massive ovens. There were no bodies here, at least, but all the usual bustle of the staff was quiet, all fled amid the chaos save one of the cooks.
&#x200B;
He almost burst into fresh tears of happiness when he spotted Mags, her apron stained and her fiery red hair working free of her long braid. She wrapped her arms around him as he ran to her, hugging him close. "Th-they're all... they're all dead..." He managed between sobs, feeling the woman's tall, wiry frame bending over him, her hand rubbing his back.
&#x200B;
"There, there. It will be alright. Breathe, little prince." She soothed him, before gently pushing him away to stand on his own feet. "In a few moments, we're going to go out the door to the gardens, quickly, and down to my cottage by the yard. You remember where it is?" Her tone was as soothing as ever, calm even in chaos. She waited until he gave a nod before continuing. "Petr and Sandra will be there, and we'll leave together."
&#x200B;
Before he could nod again, the main door to the kitchen burst open, and Mags motioned him with a flutter of her hand to get behind her. Three burly men, clad in the livery of some lesser lord braced themselves across the wide hall that held the kitchens, their weapons seeming hooked and cruel, the iron black and glistening with blood already. "Oi. Hand over the boy wench. No 'arm'll come to him. It's been or'ered so." One of them said, his accent thick enough the prince had to struggle a moment to understand him.
&#x200B;
One of the other soldiers looked Mags up and down, grinning and mumbling something about "fun" that the prince couldn't make out. Whatever the man had in mind didn't seem like fun at all, but Mags was as calm and unworried as ever, her back straight and her gaze never leaving the trio. The prince felt, more than saw her move towards the center of the room, drawing a long knife from the stand before taking a step towards them.
&#x200B;
The prince would have thought he'd be unable to pull his eyes from the three soldiers, and yet he found his gaze drawn towards the cook as she moved, her soft leather shoes silent on the stone floor, each step taken with purposeful grace. "There are many places in this keep you might search, towers and halls where a dutiful soldier might find not one soul but plenty of coin for looting and finery to take with you as gifts for unmarried girls." Mags kept the blade low by her side, her grip light on the carved wooden handle.
&#x200B;
One of the soldiers scoffed, and with a motion to his fellows, they began to advance. "A king's ransom for that whelp, and you want us to rummage through the chifforobes of Ladies in Waiting for scraps?" The prince could feel his heart race, a wall of metal and malice advancing on him. "Don't worry love, ya needn't do a thing, just stand there, and it'll all be over in a moment. What's the whelp ever done for ya?"
&#x200B;
Then they were close, and she was on them. They were so big, seeming giants compared to the slender cook. Yet even as they raised their arms she in among them, the finely honed steel of the knife snick-snacking as Mags twirled and danced, one moment almost prostrate, the next poised only on the toes of one foot. Blood sprayed across the stone floor, making dark pools that caught the light from the windows high above and showed sanguine mockery of the thick wooden beams.
&#x200B;
The prince watched the blood, his stomach turning before a wet thump sounded, and his eyes jerked to the sprawling form of Mags, blood running from the corner of her mouth while her skin darkened with the makings of a bruise. She heaved for air, stunned, while the soldiers' curses filled the air. One of them lay on the ground, still and unmoving, another clung to the cabinets with one hand, his other vainly trying to stop his life from leaking from the wounds in his leg and side.
&#x200B;
The third soldier wiped the back of his mail-clad fist against his surcoat before advancing on the cook, his foot pulling back to deal a harsh kick into her gut, curling her into a fetal ball. "I'll take that out of your hide wench, and make sure you feel every bit of it!" His boot kicked aside the knife while he leant close to the woman. "What could this whelp possibly mean to you that you'd fight for him? Do you think his father would have done anything for you?"
&#x200B;
Mags wheezed something, before trying again. "His father... was a great man... he gave me peace... a husband... an end to wandering and war..." Her voice was no longer the composed tone the prince had heard so many wonderous stories from growing up, but a syllabant hiss that boiled with emotion and hurt.
&#x200B;
The soldier against the cupboards sagged to the ground heavily, and the last one growled. "What do they call you, wench, so I can tell every servant girl in this castle why I'm so rough with them later?"
&#x200B;
The Prince couldn't take his eyes off the soldier's face, red and swollen. He felt the anger swelling in him, not hot rage but cold, a shiver running down his spine as it mustered and his muscles moving without thought. The Soldier was focused downwards still, only realizing the Prince's motion a moment before the small knife buried itself into his neck, hot blood gushing around childish fingers while the soldier stumbled back, sagging and then falling to the ground.
&#x200B;
Mags pulled herself up off the ground, giving a cough and wiping her face with the back of one sleeve. "My name is Magdalena the Dragonslayer." She spat on him, the droplet red-tinted as it landed on the soldier's face with a wet splat. Kneeling down next to the prince, she forced him to look at her with a gentle, but firm finger on his jaw, "Thank you. But we must go now. You will have your kingdom, if you wish it, but now-" She paused, listening for a moment. "Now we run."
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She thinks to herself, this shit sent back the stew not once but thrice just last night.
The prince is doing his best to cower in the corner between the far stove and the stack of washed pots and pans but it’s not going well. His ornate clothes stand out against the steel of the huge cooking vessels and the white wash on the walls.
“I demand you fight for me!” He sputters at her.
There’s thumping on the door and screaming to let them in.
She walks to the door, grabs the latch and opens it ensuring that the door is as wide open as it can go. She bows deeply and gestures to the prince.
“Noooooooo!” The princes wails as the mob fills the room making a bee line for him.
“ ‘Ello beautiful.”
The young cook looks up.
“Uncle!”
“Yes darling, it’s me! We appreciate you keeping him here we -“ her uncle is cut off by the screams of the prince as he is manhandled from the corner. The ripping of his clothes is audible.
“One second Elaine.”
The big man strides across the room. Men part ways as he touches their shoulders and don’t close the gap. Elaine can see it all.
Her uncle grabs the prince by the hair and brings his eyes to his level. “Go fuck yo-“
The prince never saw the blade.
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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Opening the door slowly, the Cook surveyed the room. It was a basic castle kitchen. Her kitchen. The far wall was a massive fireplace with a spit sticking out of one side. The other half was a brick oven, where the underchef made the daily bread. Running along the wall near the oven is a stained wooden bench, just over waist high. Inside the doorway there are two bodies. The underchef and the spitboy, lying in pools of blood. In the center of the kitchen there is a group of soldiers facing a pile of supplies, stacked on top of some barrels, their backs to the Cook. The soldiers were spread out in a crescent all looking intently at the same thing. One of the soldiers in the middle had a large, yellow, feather plume in his helmet. Quickly she slipped through the kitchen door, keeping her knife low and to the side.
&#x200B;
The Cook liked a simple kitchen, with simple well made tools. "Its love and experience that makes the food taste good. Not fancy gadgets" she would say to any who questioned her. That was before these thugs came. Before the floors were stained red. Before the bottoms of the sacks of flour were turned dark brown. Brown and wet from wicking up puddles of the kitchen staff. That was before! Before they brought war to her home. Inside her chest a pressure began to build. A feeling like no other. The white hot blessing of rage. The murder madness that takes the pain away. The sheer unholy bliss of vengeance. She would let the beast loose soon but first the prince needed her. First the prince then their blood.
&#x200B;
Turning to keep her eyes on the armored men, she eased the door shut. In the crack between the barrels, she could just make out a pair of nice leather shoes. The prince's shoes. Her breath was ragged from running here but she couldn't alert them to her presence. Not until she was close enough to protect the prince. She forced her breathing to be regular, her abdomen shaking with the effort.
&#x200B;
*Focus. Four soldiers, three squadsmen, and a corporal. That's lucky. Just a team. it could be a whole squad*
&#x200B;
She burst forward, charging towards the back of the corporal. At the sudden sound behind them, the soldiers turned to face the Cook. The corporal putting all his weight on his left leg pivots, looking over his right shoulder towards the source of the sound. The source of danger, of the aura of imminent death. Without breaking stride her slender hand darts forward. Like a rattlesnake she strikes. Her blade strikes true; sliding past his gorget, there is a jarring in her hand as the knifes edge hits his jawbone. Using the momentum of his pivot she steps past his still warm corpse. Turning on the balls of her feet to face the three soldiers, she rips the knife from the corpses neck flinging blood across their stunned faces. Dropping his corpse and stepping back She flicks the blood off of her favorite knife with a graceful motion. With an eager look in her eye she declares boldly "Welcome to cut throat kitchen"
&#x200B;
Edit: for formatting. Feedback is always welcome
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She thinks to herself, this shit sent back the stew not once but thrice just last night.
The prince is doing his best to cower in the corner between the far stove and the stack of washed pots and pans but it’s not going well. His ornate clothes stand out against the steel of the huge cooking vessels and the white wash on the walls.
“I demand you fight for me!” He sputters at her.
There’s thumping on the door and screaming to let them in.
She walks to the door, grabs the latch and opens it ensuring that the door is as wide open as it can go. She bows deeply and gestures to the prince.
“Noooooooo!” The princes wails as the mob fills the room making a bee line for him.
“ ‘Ello beautiful.”
The young cook looks up.
“Uncle!”
“Yes darling, it’s me! We appreciate you keeping him here we -“ her uncle is cut off by the screams of the prince as he is manhandled from the corner. The ripping of his clothes is audible.
“One second Elaine.”
The big man strides across the room. Men part ways as he touches their shoulders and don’t close the gap. Elaine can see it all.
Her uncle grabs the prince by the hair and brings his eyes to his level. “Go fuck yo-“
The prince never saw the blade.
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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**WC: 2,036 words in 3 parts (because I kept getting an error)**
The prince slumped against the doorway to the kitchens, hand on the gaping wound at his side. He could hear the mercenaries as they stormed down the castle's stairwell. They'd only have to turn one corner before the royal bloodline ended with his chopped head.
A hysterical laugh bubbled up his throat. He bit his arm to avoid giving away his position. It was stupid, really; to die next to the place where animals were slaughtered to provide food for the entire castle.
He was going to end up like one of those animals soon. The hall echoed with the clinking of steel and thundering feet hunting down their target. Just as they turned the corner—
"*What in Lyria's name is going on out here?"* The door to the kitchens swung open and the prince fell in a crumpled heap at the cook's feet.
"Shh." The prince placed a bloody finger to his lips. "They're going to hear you." The laugh finally escaped his lips and he curled up into a ball, still clutching his wound. Laughing hurt, but damn if it didn't make him feel a little better.
He opened his eyes when a warm hand touched his brow. Through the haze, he thought it was his mother. But that was impossible. He'd seen her head rolling down the main ballroom.
Vaguely, he heard someone barking orders. Someone had lifted his shirt and was probing the wound at his side. He'd forgotten that was there.
When did stone floors become so comfortable? He remembered when his father would let him sleep on the floor if he misbehaved. He'd hated it, but now? It was cold. Cold made the pain go away...
And then it was hot. *Blazing* hot. He screamed in agony as his whole body burned with fire. He convulsed on the ground, trying to get away from the source of the fire, but firm bindings kept him where he was. Pain he'd never felt raced through his veins and he nearly wished he'd died at the hands of the mercenaries. A chopped head would have hurt less than—
He sat up. The pain was gone. His vision was clear. He could hear the bustle around him as kitchen servants raced to follow orders. The prince laid a hand on his wound, but was met with smooth skin.
"You're all right now." Kneeling beside him was the cook. "Now why don't we get rid of this next problem, shall we?"
"They're here!" A mercenary appeared in the open doorway, crooked finger pointed at the prince. She took out her sabre and ran forward. The kitchen door slammed itself shut.
"Well she walked right into that," the cook joked. She turned to the prince, hands blazing with a blue fire.
"You're...I'm...that's...magic?" He sputtered, backing away from her. His father's voice spoke in his mind: *Princes don't gawk like idiots.* "Magic is illegal."
The cook rolled her eyes. "You sound just like your father. Off with you now, I have other business to attend to." She dismissed him like a common servant.
The indignation of the act sent him on his feet and rallying towards her, but a blast of magic kept his feet firmly in place. The door was blown off its hinges by another wave of magic that pulled on the hairs of his skin, like a ratty shirt.
The leader of the mercenaries sauntered into the room. Her lack for height made up for her willingness to kill anyone in her path. Everyone else filed in closely behind her.
"Well, well, well," she mused. "What do we have here?"
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She thinks to herself, this shit sent back the stew not once but thrice just last night.
The prince is doing his best to cower in the corner between the far stove and the stack of washed pots and pans but it’s not going well. His ornate clothes stand out against the steel of the huge cooking vessels and the white wash on the walls.
“I demand you fight for me!” He sputters at her.
There’s thumping on the door and screaming to let them in.
She walks to the door, grabs the latch and opens it ensuring that the door is as wide open as it can go. She bows deeply and gestures to the prince.
“Noooooooo!” The princes wails as the mob fills the room making a bee line for him.
“ ‘Ello beautiful.”
The young cook looks up.
“Uncle!”
“Yes darling, it’s me! We appreciate you keeping him here we -“ her uncle is cut off by the screams of the prince as he is manhandled from the corner. The ripping of his clothes is audible.
“One second Elaine.”
The big man strides across the room. Men part ways as he touches their shoulders and don’t close the gap. Elaine can see it all.
Her uncle grabs the prince by the hair and brings his eyes to his level. “Go fuck yo-“
The prince never saw the blade.
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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"I think he went in here!"
Liesl heard the gruff voice from the other room, and looked down at the terrified nineteen-year-old royal scion beside her. *Yes*, *he did*, she thought. The expression on Prince Karl's face was starkly at odds with the ermine-trimmed velvet robe. She could see what had to have been his dirtied pajamas peeking through the folds.
Starkly at odds ...
The prince gulped. "Liesl, it's OK. Don't ..."
"Highness, lose the robe!"
"What?"
"Karl, get that off!"
"What did you call ...?"
Liesl tore the robe from around the prince's shoulders and shoved it far into the back of the roaring fire in the ovens, here in the farthest room of the kitchens. The rear of the kitchens was actually in the heart of the castle so that the heat could filter out through the castle in the winter months. Most castles had theirs on the exterior walls in case of a fire, but the frozen forest of Hellendsknact mandated taking a few more risks to trap heat. It also meant there was no escape to the outside from here.
"Liesl!"
"Give me a hand, you useless country brat."
"Lie ..." his latest gaping attempt to say her name was interrupted by a half-full sack of flour landing in his arms. It spilled over him and his pajamas immediately from the chest down.
"Must I do everything?" she demanded, seizing a steak knife and twirling it in her hands. She then threw a mixing bowl in front of the prince, along with a pitcher of water.
Three armed renegades burst through the door a moment later.
She wheeled on them. "Twenty minutes!" she shouted. "And put that thing down, Christ Almighty!"
They froze. The apparent leader, his chest covered in a patchwork of leather and chainmail and ruddy facial hair, lowered his mace.
"Uh, did someone else run through here?"
"Does it *look* like this place has a back exit? You think someone went up the chimney?" She wheeled on Prince Karl. "*Keep working*, we're in enough trouble as it is!"
Karl did his best to look like he was kneading dough. He didn't add any water from the pitcher Liesl had just put right next to him.
"Oh sweet Mary Mother of God, you are thick!" She whacked the prince aside with a rolling pin, then measured water into the bowl of flour.
She pointed to a door in the back of the room. "That's the pantry, feel free to check."
The leader's eyes narrowed. "We'll do that." He motioned one of his fellows forward, who disappeared into the pantry.
"You can get the salt on the top right while you're in there!" she called.
The other rogue returned from the pantry. He did not have the salt. Or the prince.
"Oh, fine," Liesl said. "Hans, salt, now." She waved her knife in the direction of the pantry, and Prince Karl the Flour-Dusted disappeared into the void.
She turned back to the rogues. "Do you men mind? I'm short of help today and even shorter of help with a brain. And I don't even want to know what the hell is going on out there. But here, you're either cooking or getting the hell out of my kitchen."
The leader regarded her. "Maybe I won't do either. Maybe I'll just wait."
Karl reappeared from the pantry. He had the salt. Liesl took it from him and sprinkled some into the dough.
Liesl laughed. "Your ass if the captain finds you loafing around waiting when your shift ain't even up yet. But you suit yourself. Hans and I have work to do."
"I don't think the captain will show up," the leader said lightly.
"Like I said, your ass, not mine. Soup's up in twenty, roast in thirty." She turned to Prince Karl, her face now turned away from the men, her voice low and soft. "I've heard you're smart. So act like you can cook. And act well."
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She thinks to herself, this shit sent back the stew not once but thrice just last night.
The prince is doing his best to cower in the corner between the far stove and the stack of washed pots and pans but it’s not going well. His ornate clothes stand out against the steel of the huge cooking vessels and the white wash on the walls.
“I demand you fight for me!” He sputters at her.
There’s thumping on the door and screaming to let them in.
She walks to the door, grabs the latch and opens it ensuring that the door is as wide open as it can go. She bows deeply and gestures to the prince.
“Noooooooo!” The princes wails as the mob fills the room making a bee line for him.
“ ‘Ello beautiful.”
The young cook looks up.
“Uncle!”
“Yes darling, it’s me! We appreciate you keeping him here we -“ her uncle is cut off by the screams of the prince as he is manhandled from the corner. The ripping of his clothes is audible.
“One second Elaine.”
The big man strides across the room. Men part ways as he touches their shoulders and don’t close the gap. Elaine can see it all.
Her uncle grabs the prince by the hair and brings his eyes to his level. “Go fuck yo-“
The prince never saw the blade.
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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The King was dead. Long live the new King. Though the length of his reign was rather questionable as the boy dashed through the halls, the whimpers of servants and the moans of loyal guards filling the corridors in discordant chorus with his footfalls. He turned into a servant's passage and paused to catch his breath, unsure of which way to go.
&#x200B;
Desperately he tried to think back to the stories he used to hear from one of the cooks, of the Knight Magdalena and her adventures, slaying the last of the dragons, rescuing princes from evil lords, and he desperately wished she were here. Ever the practical boy, he forced himself to start moving again when the clash of steel and the shouts of soldiers drew close once more. He wandered down the hallway, all his tutor's advice seeming so abstract. He had no armies to lead, no advisors to consult, not even a proper pair of shoes, all lost when his own vassals had turned against him to seize power.
&#x200B;
He caught the smell of food, and realized he must be close to the kitchens. That would mean the door to the gardens, and he could hide there as he often had when playing with the servant's children. He dashed the last hundred feet to the heavy door, and was greeted by the familiar heat of the massive ovens. There were no bodies here, at least, but all the usual bustle of the staff was quiet, all fled amid the chaos save one of the cooks.
&#x200B;
He almost burst into fresh tears of happiness when he spotted Mags, her apron stained and her fiery red hair working free of her long braid. She wrapped her arms around him as he ran to her, hugging him close. "Th-they're all... they're all dead..." He managed between sobs, feeling the woman's tall, wiry frame bending over him, her hand rubbing his back.
&#x200B;
"There, there. It will be alright. Breathe, little prince." She soothed him, before gently pushing him away to stand on his own feet. "In a few moments, we're going to go out the door to the gardens, quickly, and down to my cottage by the yard. You remember where it is?" Her tone was as soothing as ever, calm even in chaos. She waited until he gave a nod before continuing. "Petr and Sandra will be there, and we'll leave together."
&#x200B;
Before he could nod again, the main door to the kitchen burst open, and Mags motioned him with a flutter of her hand to get behind her. Three burly men, clad in the livery of some lesser lord braced themselves across the wide hall that held the kitchens, their weapons seeming hooked and cruel, the iron black and glistening with blood already. "Oi. Hand over the boy wench. No 'arm'll come to him. It's been or'ered so." One of them said, his accent thick enough the prince had to struggle a moment to understand him.
&#x200B;
One of the other soldiers looked Mags up and down, grinning and mumbling something about "fun" that the prince couldn't make out. Whatever the man had in mind didn't seem like fun at all, but Mags was as calm and unworried as ever, her back straight and her gaze never leaving the trio. The prince felt, more than saw her move towards the center of the room, drawing a long knife from the stand before taking a step towards them.
&#x200B;
The prince would have thought he'd be unable to pull his eyes from the three soldiers, and yet he found his gaze drawn towards the cook as she moved, her soft leather shoes silent on the stone floor, each step taken with purposeful grace. "There are many places in this keep you might search, towers and halls where a dutiful soldier might find not one soul but plenty of coin for looting and finery to take with you as gifts for unmarried girls." Mags kept the blade low by her side, her grip light on the carved wooden handle.
&#x200B;
One of the soldiers scoffed, and with a motion to his fellows, they began to advance. "A king's ransom for that whelp, and you want us to rummage through the chifforobes of Ladies in Waiting for scraps?" The prince could feel his heart race, a wall of metal and malice advancing on him. "Don't worry love, ya needn't do a thing, just stand there, and it'll all be over in a moment. What's the whelp ever done for ya?"
&#x200B;
Then they were close, and she was on them. They were so big, seeming giants compared to the slender cook. Yet even as they raised their arms she in among them, the finely honed steel of the knife snick-snacking as Mags twirled and danced, one moment almost prostrate, the next poised only on the toes of one foot. Blood sprayed across the stone floor, making dark pools that caught the light from the windows high above and showed sanguine mockery of the thick wooden beams.
&#x200B;
The prince watched the blood, his stomach turning before a wet thump sounded, and his eyes jerked to the sprawling form of Mags, blood running from the corner of her mouth while her skin darkened with the makings of a bruise. She heaved for air, stunned, while the soldiers' curses filled the air. One of them lay on the ground, still and unmoving, another clung to the cabinets with one hand, his other vainly trying to stop his life from leaking from the wounds in his leg and side.
&#x200B;
The third soldier wiped the back of his mail-clad fist against his surcoat before advancing on the cook, his foot pulling back to deal a harsh kick into her gut, curling her into a fetal ball. "I'll take that out of your hide wench, and make sure you feel every bit of it!" His boot kicked aside the knife while he leant close to the woman. "What could this whelp possibly mean to you that you'd fight for him? Do you think his father would have done anything for you?"
&#x200B;
Mags wheezed something, before trying again. "His father... was a great man... he gave me peace... a husband... an end to wandering and war..." Her voice was no longer the composed tone the prince had heard so many wonderous stories from growing up, but a syllabant hiss that boiled with emotion and hurt.
&#x200B;
The soldier against the cupboards sagged to the ground heavily, and the last one growled. "What do they call you, wench, so I can tell every servant girl in this castle why I'm so rough with them later?"
&#x200B;
The Prince couldn't take his eyes off the soldier's face, red and swollen. He felt the anger swelling in him, not hot rage but cold, a shiver running down his spine as it mustered and his muscles moving without thought. The Soldier was focused downwards still, only realizing the Prince's motion a moment before the small knife buried itself into his neck, hot blood gushing around childish fingers while the soldier stumbled back, sagging and then falling to the ground.
&#x200B;
Mags pulled herself up off the ground, giving a cough and wiping her face with the back of one sleeve. "My name is Magdalena the Dragonslayer." She spat on him, the droplet red-tinted as it landed on the soldier's face with a wet splat. Kneeling down next to the prince, she forced him to look at her with a gentle, but firm finger on his jaw, "Thank you. But we must go now. You will have your kingdom, if you wish it, but now-" She paused, listening for a moment. "Now we run."
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A calm voice emerges from the hefty cook as she shifts the sack of flour from one shoulder to the other.
"You need the prince alive to hold the throne."
A dirty hand levels a recently used spear in her direction.
"We'll need a cook for the victory feast, stand aside wench and you may live until the end of it."
The other hand tightens around the prince's torso, hauling his small feet from the ground.
With a shrug, she steps aside, clearing a path to the door as best as can be achieved in the small space. As the soldier crosses her path she shrugs the sack of flour from her shoulder onto the shoulder and head of the invader. The bag splits and flour dusts the air as he staggers and turns to face her, trying to bring his weapon to bear in the confined entrance space. Between the sack of flour, and an unwillingness to release the royal prize, his reaction is much to slow. She slams into him like a charging mother bear and they crash to the floor. The Prince breaks loose and scrambles away through the spreading flour. The cook settles on the soldier while he tries to free his spear from beneath himself, then gives up and reaches for his belt knife only to find the matron resting on top of it. He opens his mouth to yell for help and she stuffs the first fistful of flour in. The soldier flops around wildly while being stuffed with flour, the strong forearms kneading fresh handfuls in each time he tries to breath.
"It's going to take forever to clean up this mess, be a dear and fetch my cleaver would you?
The prince stares aghast at her calm demeanor.
"Tut tut, come now, we have work to do. Don't want to waste fresh meat. It's the one of the left counter"
The struggle lasts a very long time for the soldier, and the wide eyed prince, but the cook simply sighs as the final shuddering attempts at breath stop. She reaches out her hand for the smooth, well worn cleaver grip, and upon its arrival begins her gruesome work.
"Go ahead and hide in the meat cellar, I've got some more meat to prepare for this evenings feast. I'll come get you when I'm done."
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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Opening the door slowly, the Cook surveyed the room. It was a basic castle kitchen. Her kitchen. The far wall was a massive fireplace with a spit sticking out of one side. The other half was a brick oven, where the underchef made the daily bread. Running along the wall near the oven is a stained wooden bench, just over waist high. Inside the doorway there are two bodies. The underchef and the spitboy, lying in pools of blood. In the center of the kitchen there is a group of soldiers facing a pile of supplies, stacked on top of some barrels, their backs to the Cook. The soldiers were spread out in a crescent all looking intently at the same thing. One of the soldiers in the middle had a large, yellow, feather plume in his helmet. Quickly she slipped through the kitchen door, keeping her knife low and to the side.
&#x200B;
The Cook liked a simple kitchen, with simple well made tools. "Its love and experience that makes the food taste good. Not fancy gadgets" she would say to any who questioned her. That was before these thugs came. Before the floors were stained red. Before the bottoms of the sacks of flour were turned dark brown. Brown and wet from wicking up puddles of the kitchen staff. That was before! Before they brought war to her home. Inside her chest a pressure began to build. A feeling like no other. The white hot blessing of rage. The murder madness that takes the pain away. The sheer unholy bliss of vengeance. She would let the beast loose soon but first the prince needed her. First the prince then their blood.
&#x200B;
Turning to keep her eyes on the armored men, she eased the door shut. In the crack between the barrels, she could just make out a pair of nice leather shoes. The prince's shoes. Her breath was ragged from running here but she couldn't alert them to her presence. Not until she was close enough to protect the prince. She forced her breathing to be regular, her abdomen shaking with the effort.
&#x200B;
*Focus. Four soldiers, three squadsmen, and a corporal. That's lucky. Just a team. it could be a whole squad*
&#x200B;
She burst forward, charging towards the back of the corporal. At the sudden sound behind them, the soldiers turned to face the Cook. The corporal putting all his weight on his left leg pivots, looking over his right shoulder towards the source of the sound. The source of danger, of the aura of imminent death. Without breaking stride her slender hand darts forward. Like a rattlesnake she strikes. Her blade strikes true; sliding past his gorget, there is a jarring in her hand as the knifes edge hits his jawbone. Using the momentum of his pivot she steps past his still warm corpse. Turning on the balls of her feet to face the three soldiers, she rips the knife from the corpses neck flinging blood across their stunned faces. Dropping his corpse and stepping back She flicks the blood off of her favorite knife with a graceful motion. With an eager look in her eye she declares boldly "Welcome to cut throat kitchen"
&#x200B;
Edit: for formatting. Feedback is always welcome
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A calm voice emerges from the hefty cook as she shifts the sack of flour from one shoulder to the other.
"You need the prince alive to hold the throne."
A dirty hand levels a recently used spear in her direction.
"We'll need a cook for the victory feast, stand aside wench and you may live until the end of it."
The other hand tightens around the prince's torso, hauling his small feet from the ground.
With a shrug, she steps aside, clearing a path to the door as best as can be achieved in the small space. As the soldier crosses her path she shrugs the sack of flour from her shoulder onto the shoulder and head of the invader. The bag splits and flour dusts the air as he staggers and turns to face her, trying to bring his weapon to bear in the confined entrance space. Between the sack of flour, and an unwillingness to release the royal prize, his reaction is much to slow. She slams into him like a charging mother bear and they crash to the floor. The Prince breaks loose and scrambles away through the spreading flour. The cook settles on the soldier while he tries to free his spear from beneath himself, then gives up and reaches for his belt knife only to find the matron resting on top of it. He opens his mouth to yell for help and she stuffs the first fistful of flour in. The soldier flops around wildly while being stuffed with flour, the strong forearms kneading fresh handfuls in each time he tries to breath.
"It's going to take forever to clean up this mess, be a dear and fetch my cleaver would you?
The prince stares aghast at her calm demeanor.
"Tut tut, come now, we have work to do. Don't want to waste fresh meat. It's the one of the left counter"
The struggle lasts a very long time for the soldier, and the wide eyed prince, but the cook simply sighs as the final shuddering attempts at breath stop. She reaches out her hand for the smooth, well worn cleaver grip, and upon its arrival begins her gruesome work.
"Go ahead and hide in the meat cellar, I've got some more meat to prepare for this evenings feast. I'll come get you when I'm done."
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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**WC: 2,036 words in 3 parts (because I kept getting an error)**
The prince slumped against the doorway to the kitchens, hand on the gaping wound at his side. He could hear the mercenaries as they stormed down the castle's stairwell. They'd only have to turn one corner before the royal bloodline ended with his chopped head.
A hysterical laugh bubbled up his throat. He bit his arm to avoid giving away his position. It was stupid, really; to die next to the place where animals were slaughtered to provide food for the entire castle.
He was going to end up like one of those animals soon. The hall echoed with the clinking of steel and thundering feet hunting down their target. Just as they turned the corner—
"*What in Lyria's name is going on out here?"* The door to the kitchens swung open and the prince fell in a crumpled heap at the cook's feet.
"Shh." The prince placed a bloody finger to his lips. "They're going to hear you." The laugh finally escaped his lips and he curled up into a ball, still clutching his wound. Laughing hurt, but damn if it didn't make him feel a little better.
He opened his eyes when a warm hand touched his brow. Through the haze, he thought it was his mother. But that was impossible. He'd seen her head rolling down the main ballroom.
Vaguely, he heard someone barking orders. Someone had lifted his shirt and was probing the wound at his side. He'd forgotten that was there.
When did stone floors become so comfortable? He remembered when his father would let him sleep on the floor if he misbehaved. He'd hated it, but now? It was cold. Cold made the pain go away...
And then it was hot. *Blazing* hot. He screamed in agony as his whole body burned with fire. He convulsed on the ground, trying to get away from the source of the fire, but firm bindings kept him where he was. Pain he'd never felt raced through his veins and he nearly wished he'd died at the hands of the mercenaries. A chopped head would have hurt less than—
He sat up. The pain was gone. His vision was clear. He could hear the bustle around him as kitchen servants raced to follow orders. The prince laid a hand on his wound, but was met with smooth skin.
"You're all right now." Kneeling beside him was the cook. "Now why don't we get rid of this next problem, shall we?"
"They're here!" A mercenary appeared in the open doorway, crooked finger pointed at the prince. She took out her sabre and ran forward. The kitchen door slammed itself shut.
"Well she walked right into that," the cook joked. She turned to the prince, hands blazing with a blue fire.
"You're...I'm...that's...magic?" He sputtered, backing away from her. His father's voice spoke in his mind: *Princes don't gawk like idiots.* "Magic is illegal."
The cook rolled her eyes. "You sound just like your father. Off with you now, I have other business to attend to." She dismissed him like a common servant.
The indignation of the act sent him on his feet and rallying towards her, but a blast of magic kept his feet firmly in place. The door was blown off its hinges by another wave of magic that pulled on the hairs of his skin, like a ratty shirt.
The leader of the mercenaries sauntered into the room. Her lack for height made up for her willingness to kill anyone in her path. Everyone else filed in closely behind her.
"Well, well, well," she mused. "What do we have here?"
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A calm voice emerges from the hefty cook as she shifts the sack of flour from one shoulder to the other.
"You need the prince alive to hold the throne."
A dirty hand levels a recently used spear in her direction.
"We'll need a cook for the victory feast, stand aside wench and you may live until the end of it."
The other hand tightens around the prince's torso, hauling his small feet from the ground.
With a shrug, she steps aside, clearing a path to the door as best as can be achieved in the small space. As the soldier crosses her path she shrugs the sack of flour from her shoulder onto the shoulder and head of the invader. The bag splits and flour dusts the air as he staggers and turns to face her, trying to bring his weapon to bear in the confined entrance space. Between the sack of flour, and an unwillingness to release the royal prize, his reaction is much to slow. She slams into him like a charging mother bear and they crash to the floor. The Prince breaks loose and scrambles away through the spreading flour. The cook settles on the soldier while he tries to free his spear from beneath himself, then gives up and reaches for his belt knife only to find the matron resting on top of it. He opens his mouth to yell for help and she stuffs the first fistful of flour in. The soldier flops around wildly while being stuffed with flour, the strong forearms kneading fresh handfuls in each time he tries to breath.
"It's going to take forever to clean up this mess, be a dear and fetch my cleaver would you?
The prince stares aghast at her calm demeanor.
"Tut tut, come now, we have work to do. Don't want to waste fresh meat. It's the one of the left counter"
The struggle lasts a very long time for the soldier, and the wide eyed prince, but the cook simply sighs as the final shuddering attempts at breath stop. She reaches out her hand for the smooth, well worn cleaver grip, and upon its arrival begins her gruesome work.
"Go ahead and hide in the meat cellar, I've got some more meat to prepare for this evenings feast. I'll come get you when I'm done."
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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"I think he went in here!"
Liesl heard the gruff voice from the other room, and looked down at the terrified nineteen-year-old royal scion beside her. *Yes*, *he did*, she thought. The expression on Prince Karl's face was starkly at odds with the ermine-trimmed velvet robe. She could see what had to have been his dirtied pajamas peeking through the folds.
Starkly at odds ...
The prince gulped. "Liesl, it's OK. Don't ..."
"Highness, lose the robe!"
"What?"
"Karl, get that off!"
"What did you call ...?"
Liesl tore the robe from around the prince's shoulders and shoved it far into the back of the roaring fire in the ovens, here in the farthest room of the kitchens. The rear of the kitchens was actually in the heart of the castle so that the heat could filter out through the castle in the winter months. Most castles had theirs on the exterior walls in case of a fire, but the frozen forest of Hellendsknact mandated taking a few more risks to trap heat. It also meant there was no escape to the outside from here.
"Liesl!"
"Give me a hand, you useless country brat."
"Lie ..." his latest gaping attempt to say her name was interrupted by a half-full sack of flour landing in his arms. It spilled over him and his pajamas immediately from the chest down.
"Must I do everything?" she demanded, seizing a steak knife and twirling it in her hands. She then threw a mixing bowl in front of the prince, along with a pitcher of water.
Three armed renegades burst through the door a moment later.
She wheeled on them. "Twenty minutes!" she shouted. "And put that thing down, Christ Almighty!"
They froze. The apparent leader, his chest covered in a patchwork of leather and chainmail and ruddy facial hair, lowered his mace.
"Uh, did someone else run through here?"
"Does it *look* like this place has a back exit? You think someone went up the chimney?" She wheeled on Prince Karl. "*Keep working*, we're in enough trouble as it is!"
Karl did his best to look like he was kneading dough. He didn't add any water from the pitcher Liesl had just put right next to him.
"Oh sweet Mary Mother of God, you are thick!" She whacked the prince aside with a rolling pin, then measured water into the bowl of flour.
She pointed to a door in the back of the room. "That's the pantry, feel free to check."
The leader's eyes narrowed. "We'll do that." He motioned one of his fellows forward, who disappeared into the pantry.
"You can get the salt on the top right while you're in there!" she called.
The other rogue returned from the pantry. He did not have the salt. Or the prince.
"Oh, fine," Liesl said. "Hans, salt, now." She waved her knife in the direction of the pantry, and Prince Karl the Flour-Dusted disappeared into the void.
She turned back to the rogues. "Do you men mind? I'm short of help today and even shorter of help with a brain. And I don't even want to know what the hell is going on out there. But here, you're either cooking or getting the hell out of my kitchen."
The leader regarded her. "Maybe I won't do either. Maybe I'll just wait."
Karl reappeared from the pantry. He had the salt. Liesl took it from him and sprinkled some into the dough.
Liesl laughed. "Your ass if the captain finds you loafing around waiting when your shift ain't even up yet. But you suit yourself. Hans and I have work to do."
"I don't think the captain will show up," the leader said lightly.
"Like I said, your ass, not mine. Soup's up in twenty, roast in thirty." She turned to Prince Karl, her face now turned away from the men, her voice low and soft. "I've heard you're smart. So act like you can cook. And act well."
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A calm voice emerges from the hefty cook as she shifts the sack of flour from one shoulder to the other.
"You need the prince alive to hold the throne."
A dirty hand levels a recently used spear in her direction.
"We'll need a cook for the victory feast, stand aside wench and you may live until the end of it."
The other hand tightens around the prince's torso, hauling his small feet from the ground.
With a shrug, she steps aside, clearing a path to the door as best as can be achieved in the small space. As the soldier crosses her path she shrugs the sack of flour from her shoulder onto the shoulder and head of the invader. The bag splits and flour dusts the air as he staggers and turns to face her, trying to bring his weapon to bear in the confined entrance space. Between the sack of flour, and an unwillingness to release the royal prize, his reaction is much to slow. She slams into him like a charging mother bear and they crash to the floor. The Prince breaks loose and scrambles away through the spreading flour. The cook settles on the soldier while he tries to free his spear from beneath himself, then gives up and reaches for his belt knife only to find the matron resting on top of it. He opens his mouth to yell for help and she stuffs the first fistful of flour in. The soldier flops around wildly while being stuffed with flour, the strong forearms kneading fresh handfuls in each time he tries to breath.
"It's going to take forever to clean up this mess, be a dear and fetch my cleaver would you?
The prince stares aghast at her calm demeanor.
"Tut tut, come now, we have work to do. Don't want to waste fresh meat. It's the one of the left counter"
The struggle lasts a very long time for the soldier, and the wide eyed prince, but the cook simply sighs as the final shuddering attempts at breath stop. She reaches out her hand for the smooth, well worn cleaver grip, and upon its arrival begins her gruesome work.
"Go ahead and hide in the meat cellar, I've got some more meat to prepare for this evenings feast. I'll come get you when I'm done."
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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The King was dead. Long live the new King. Though the length of his reign was rather questionable as the boy dashed through the halls, the whimpers of servants and the moans of loyal guards filling the corridors in discordant chorus with his footfalls. He turned into a servant's passage and paused to catch his breath, unsure of which way to go.
&#x200B;
Desperately he tried to think back to the stories he used to hear from one of the cooks, of the Knight Magdalena and her adventures, slaying the last of the dragons, rescuing princes from evil lords, and he desperately wished she were here. Ever the practical boy, he forced himself to start moving again when the clash of steel and the shouts of soldiers drew close once more. He wandered down the hallway, all his tutor's advice seeming so abstract. He had no armies to lead, no advisors to consult, not even a proper pair of shoes, all lost when his own vassals had turned against him to seize power.
&#x200B;
He caught the smell of food, and realized he must be close to the kitchens. That would mean the door to the gardens, and he could hide there as he often had when playing with the servant's children. He dashed the last hundred feet to the heavy door, and was greeted by the familiar heat of the massive ovens. There were no bodies here, at least, but all the usual bustle of the staff was quiet, all fled amid the chaos save one of the cooks.
&#x200B;
He almost burst into fresh tears of happiness when he spotted Mags, her apron stained and her fiery red hair working free of her long braid. She wrapped her arms around him as he ran to her, hugging him close. "Th-they're all... they're all dead..." He managed between sobs, feeling the woman's tall, wiry frame bending over him, her hand rubbing his back.
&#x200B;
"There, there. It will be alright. Breathe, little prince." She soothed him, before gently pushing him away to stand on his own feet. "In a few moments, we're going to go out the door to the gardens, quickly, and down to my cottage by the yard. You remember where it is?" Her tone was as soothing as ever, calm even in chaos. She waited until he gave a nod before continuing. "Petr and Sandra will be there, and we'll leave together."
&#x200B;
Before he could nod again, the main door to the kitchen burst open, and Mags motioned him with a flutter of her hand to get behind her. Three burly men, clad in the livery of some lesser lord braced themselves across the wide hall that held the kitchens, their weapons seeming hooked and cruel, the iron black and glistening with blood already. "Oi. Hand over the boy wench. No 'arm'll come to him. It's been or'ered so." One of them said, his accent thick enough the prince had to struggle a moment to understand him.
&#x200B;
One of the other soldiers looked Mags up and down, grinning and mumbling something about "fun" that the prince couldn't make out. Whatever the man had in mind didn't seem like fun at all, but Mags was as calm and unworried as ever, her back straight and her gaze never leaving the trio. The prince felt, more than saw her move towards the center of the room, drawing a long knife from the stand before taking a step towards them.
&#x200B;
The prince would have thought he'd be unable to pull his eyes from the three soldiers, and yet he found his gaze drawn towards the cook as she moved, her soft leather shoes silent on the stone floor, each step taken with purposeful grace. "There are many places in this keep you might search, towers and halls where a dutiful soldier might find not one soul but plenty of coin for looting and finery to take with you as gifts for unmarried girls." Mags kept the blade low by her side, her grip light on the carved wooden handle.
&#x200B;
One of the soldiers scoffed, and with a motion to his fellows, they began to advance. "A king's ransom for that whelp, and you want us to rummage through the chifforobes of Ladies in Waiting for scraps?" The prince could feel his heart race, a wall of metal and malice advancing on him. "Don't worry love, ya needn't do a thing, just stand there, and it'll all be over in a moment. What's the whelp ever done for ya?"
&#x200B;
Then they were close, and she was on them. They were so big, seeming giants compared to the slender cook. Yet even as they raised their arms she in among them, the finely honed steel of the knife snick-snacking as Mags twirled and danced, one moment almost prostrate, the next poised only on the toes of one foot. Blood sprayed across the stone floor, making dark pools that caught the light from the windows high above and showed sanguine mockery of the thick wooden beams.
&#x200B;
The prince watched the blood, his stomach turning before a wet thump sounded, and his eyes jerked to the sprawling form of Mags, blood running from the corner of her mouth while her skin darkened with the makings of a bruise. She heaved for air, stunned, while the soldiers' curses filled the air. One of them lay on the ground, still and unmoving, another clung to the cabinets with one hand, his other vainly trying to stop his life from leaking from the wounds in his leg and side.
&#x200B;
The third soldier wiped the back of his mail-clad fist against his surcoat before advancing on the cook, his foot pulling back to deal a harsh kick into her gut, curling her into a fetal ball. "I'll take that out of your hide wench, and make sure you feel every bit of it!" His boot kicked aside the knife while he leant close to the woman. "What could this whelp possibly mean to you that you'd fight for him? Do you think his father would have done anything for you?"
&#x200B;
Mags wheezed something, before trying again. "His father... was a great man... he gave me peace... a husband... an end to wandering and war..." Her voice was no longer the composed tone the prince had heard so many wonderous stories from growing up, but a syllabant hiss that boiled with emotion and hurt.
&#x200B;
The soldier against the cupboards sagged to the ground heavily, and the last one growled. "What do they call you, wench, so I can tell every servant girl in this castle why I'm so rough with them later?"
&#x200B;
The Prince couldn't take his eyes off the soldier's face, red and swollen. He felt the anger swelling in him, not hot rage but cold, a shiver running down his spine as it mustered and his muscles moving without thought. The Soldier was focused downwards still, only realizing the Prince's motion a moment before the small knife buried itself into his neck, hot blood gushing around childish fingers while the soldier stumbled back, sagging and then falling to the ground.
&#x200B;
Mags pulled herself up off the ground, giving a cough and wiping her face with the back of one sleeve. "My name is Magdalena the Dragonslayer." She spat on him, the droplet red-tinted as it landed on the soldier's face with a wet splat. Kneeling down next to the prince, she forced him to look at her with a gentle, but firm finger on his jaw, "Thank you. But we must go now. You will have your kingdom, if you wish it, but now-" She paused, listening for a moment. "Now we run."
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She smiles. The assassins laugh and spread out “What are you going to do with that? Impress us with your culinary flourishes? There are five of us. You little knife is not going to stop us.”
Berta smiled broader. She replied “Do I go to the tailor and tell him how to sew in his own shop? You come into my world and tell me how to run my kitchen and foolishly think you know best. Didn’t your mother tell you that the kitchen is a dangerous place?”
As she said this she moved between the prince and the attackers while they moved closer all around the two. She still spun the little knife in her right hand faster and faster. Just as they were about to rush her she swung her left hand in front of her like a whip. In that hand was a pot rapidly emptying boiling water in an arc. Three of the five took a searing spray across the face and reeled around screaming. The two one the end were able to turn and duck the worst of it.
Before they could fully recover Berta had kicked the bucket of scum they keep by the washing tub for the soap and fats left after scooping up the water. The slimy sludge spread out in front of her and the prince and the three screaming, blinded thugs went down hard. One man stabbing himself with his own knife.
Berta took a moment to cackle out “The knife was quite effective as a distraction, wasn’t it?” as the other two brutes tried to work past the fallen and writhing men. The little knife was still in her right hand, spinning no more.
The leader, or at least the more competent of the two finally made it past the snarl and cursed out “You’ll pay for this old woman!!” And lunged forward with his sword in one hand and a dagger in the other.
Unfortunately for him, kitchens are notoriously narrow and awkward places to work in so as Berta moved to his right towards his sword arm the blade got fouled in the garlic and onions hanging just behind the thug as he whipped it up to strike. Just as he turned to free the blade Berta struck fast with the little paring knife. She had half circled his left wrist before he even felt the slightest tug at his wrist. That tug was the small razor sharp knife rubbing against his wrist bones as it slid easily through flesh and tendons.His dagger fell from lifeless fingers as he was just realizing what was happening, the little paring knife made another swift cut just under the ear as if Berta were killing a hog.
The last man, who had been trying flank around, saw the carnage and tried to flee. Berta grabbed a worn but heavy pestle out of the mortar beside her and with arms that knead bread for hours on end hurled it across the kitchen as the disheartened would be assassin almost made it to the door. The crack of pestle on skull made such a sickening crack that the three on the floor stopped moving for a second.
Berta moved to face the three who were just rising covering their damaged eyes but there was no fight left in them.
One of them wailed “You burned me! I’m blind!”
Again Berta let out her cackle “You know what they say boys. If you can’t take the heat.......”
Behind the pathetic trio castle guards started streaming in. Their leader yells “We are here to help!” As he looks around surveying the scene his voice fades.
Berta lets out that cackle one more time and replies “Great! Clean up this mess or dinner will be late.” She turns to the young prince who hasn’t moved since he ran in less than 2 minutes ago and adds “You my lordling can help too. Look at it his mess you brought into *MY* kitchen!”
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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Opening the door slowly, the Cook surveyed the room. It was a basic castle kitchen. Her kitchen. The far wall was a massive fireplace with a spit sticking out of one side. The other half was a brick oven, where the underchef made the daily bread. Running along the wall near the oven is a stained wooden bench, just over waist high. Inside the doorway there are two bodies. The underchef and the spitboy, lying in pools of blood. In the center of the kitchen there is a group of soldiers facing a pile of supplies, stacked on top of some barrels, their backs to the Cook. The soldiers were spread out in a crescent all looking intently at the same thing. One of the soldiers in the middle had a large, yellow, feather plume in his helmet. Quickly she slipped through the kitchen door, keeping her knife low and to the side.
&#x200B;
The Cook liked a simple kitchen, with simple well made tools. "Its love and experience that makes the food taste good. Not fancy gadgets" she would say to any who questioned her. That was before these thugs came. Before the floors were stained red. Before the bottoms of the sacks of flour were turned dark brown. Brown and wet from wicking up puddles of the kitchen staff. That was before! Before they brought war to her home. Inside her chest a pressure began to build. A feeling like no other. The white hot blessing of rage. The murder madness that takes the pain away. The sheer unholy bliss of vengeance. She would let the beast loose soon but first the prince needed her. First the prince then their blood.
&#x200B;
Turning to keep her eyes on the armored men, she eased the door shut. In the crack between the barrels, she could just make out a pair of nice leather shoes. The prince's shoes. Her breath was ragged from running here but she couldn't alert them to her presence. Not until she was close enough to protect the prince. She forced her breathing to be regular, her abdomen shaking with the effort.
&#x200B;
*Focus. Four soldiers, three squadsmen, and a corporal. That's lucky. Just a team. it could be a whole squad*
&#x200B;
She burst forward, charging towards the back of the corporal. At the sudden sound behind them, the soldiers turned to face the Cook. The corporal putting all his weight on his left leg pivots, looking over his right shoulder towards the source of the sound. The source of danger, of the aura of imminent death. Without breaking stride her slender hand darts forward. Like a rattlesnake she strikes. Her blade strikes true; sliding past his gorget, there is a jarring in her hand as the knifes edge hits his jawbone. Using the momentum of his pivot she steps past his still warm corpse. Turning on the balls of her feet to face the three soldiers, she rips the knife from the corpses neck flinging blood across their stunned faces. Dropping his corpse and stepping back She flicks the blood off of her favorite knife with a graceful motion. With an eager look in her eye she declares boldly "Welcome to cut throat kitchen"
&#x200B;
Edit: for formatting. Feedback is always welcome
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She smiles. The assassins laugh and spread out “What are you going to do with that? Impress us with your culinary flourishes? There are five of us. You little knife is not going to stop us.”
Berta smiled broader. She replied “Do I go to the tailor and tell him how to sew in his own shop? You come into my world and tell me how to run my kitchen and foolishly think you know best. Didn’t your mother tell you that the kitchen is a dangerous place?”
As she said this she moved between the prince and the attackers while they moved closer all around the two. She still spun the little knife in her right hand faster and faster. Just as they were about to rush her she swung her left hand in front of her like a whip. In that hand was a pot rapidly emptying boiling water in an arc. Three of the five took a searing spray across the face and reeled around screaming. The two one the end were able to turn and duck the worst of it.
Before they could fully recover Berta had kicked the bucket of scum they keep by the washing tub for the soap and fats left after scooping up the water. The slimy sludge spread out in front of her and the prince and the three screaming, blinded thugs went down hard. One man stabbing himself with his own knife.
Berta took a moment to cackle out “The knife was quite effective as a distraction, wasn’t it?” as the other two brutes tried to work past the fallen and writhing men. The little knife was still in her right hand, spinning no more.
The leader, or at least the more competent of the two finally made it past the snarl and cursed out “You’ll pay for this old woman!!” And lunged forward with his sword in one hand and a dagger in the other.
Unfortunately for him, kitchens are notoriously narrow and awkward places to work in so as Berta moved to his right towards his sword arm the blade got fouled in the garlic and onions hanging just behind the thug as he whipped it up to strike. Just as he turned to free the blade Berta struck fast with the little paring knife. She had half circled his left wrist before he even felt the slightest tug at his wrist. That tug was the small razor sharp knife rubbing against his wrist bones as it slid easily through flesh and tendons.His dagger fell from lifeless fingers as he was just realizing what was happening, the little paring knife made another swift cut just under the ear as if Berta were killing a hog.
The last man, who had been trying flank around, saw the carnage and tried to flee. Berta grabbed a worn but heavy pestle out of the mortar beside her and with arms that knead bread for hours on end hurled it across the kitchen as the disheartened would be assassin almost made it to the door. The crack of pestle on skull made such a sickening crack that the three on the floor stopped moving for a second.
Berta moved to face the three who were just rising covering their damaged eyes but there was no fight left in them.
One of them wailed “You burned me! I’m blind!”
Again Berta let out her cackle “You know what they say boys. If you can’t take the heat.......”
Behind the pathetic trio castle guards started streaming in. Their leader yells “We are here to help!” As he looks around surveying the scene his voice fades.
Berta lets out that cackle one more time and replies “Great! Clean up this mess or dinner will be late.” She turns to the young prince who hasn’t moved since he ran in less than 2 minutes ago and adds “You my lordling can help too. Look at it his mess you brought into *MY* kitchen!”
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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**WC: 2,036 words in 3 parts (because I kept getting an error)**
The prince slumped against the doorway to the kitchens, hand on the gaping wound at his side. He could hear the mercenaries as they stormed down the castle's stairwell. They'd only have to turn one corner before the royal bloodline ended with his chopped head.
A hysterical laugh bubbled up his throat. He bit his arm to avoid giving away his position. It was stupid, really; to die next to the place where animals were slaughtered to provide food for the entire castle.
He was going to end up like one of those animals soon. The hall echoed with the clinking of steel and thundering feet hunting down their target. Just as they turned the corner—
"*What in Lyria's name is going on out here?"* The door to the kitchens swung open and the prince fell in a crumpled heap at the cook's feet.
"Shh." The prince placed a bloody finger to his lips. "They're going to hear you." The laugh finally escaped his lips and he curled up into a ball, still clutching his wound. Laughing hurt, but damn if it didn't make him feel a little better.
He opened his eyes when a warm hand touched his brow. Through the haze, he thought it was his mother. But that was impossible. He'd seen her head rolling down the main ballroom.
Vaguely, he heard someone barking orders. Someone had lifted his shirt and was probing the wound at his side. He'd forgotten that was there.
When did stone floors become so comfortable? He remembered when his father would let him sleep on the floor if he misbehaved. He'd hated it, but now? It was cold. Cold made the pain go away...
And then it was hot. *Blazing* hot. He screamed in agony as his whole body burned with fire. He convulsed on the ground, trying to get away from the source of the fire, but firm bindings kept him where he was. Pain he'd never felt raced through his veins and he nearly wished he'd died at the hands of the mercenaries. A chopped head would have hurt less than—
He sat up. The pain was gone. His vision was clear. He could hear the bustle around him as kitchen servants raced to follow orders. The prince laid a hand on his wound, but was met with smooth skin.
"You're all right now." Kneeling beside him was the cook. "Now why don't we get rid of this next problem, shall we?"
"They're here!" A mercenary appeared in the open doorway, crooked finger pointed at the prince. She took out her sabre and ran forward. The kitchen door slammed itself shut.
"Well she walked right into that," the cook joked. She turned to the prince, hands blazing with a blue fire.
"You're...I'm...that's...magic?" He sputtered, backing away from her. His father's voice spoke in his mind: *Princes don't gawk like idiots.* "Magic is illegal."
The cook rolled her eyes. "You sound just like your father. Off with you now, I have other business to attend to." She dismissed him like a common servant.
The indignation of the act sent him on his feet and rallying towards her, but a blast of magic kept his feet firmly in place. The door was blown off its hinges by another wave of magic that pulled on the hairs of his skin, like a ratty shirt.
The leader of the mercenaries sauntered into the room. Her lack for height made up for her willingness to kill anyone in her path. Everyone else filed in closely behind her.
"Well, well, well," she mused. "What do we have here?"
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She smiles. The assassins laugh and spread out “What are you going to do with that? Impress us with your culinary flourishes? There are five of us. You little knife is not going to stop us.”
Berta smiled broader. She replied “Do I go to the tailor and tell him how to sew in his own shop? You come into my world and tell me how to run my kitchen and foolishly think you know best. Didn’t your mother tell you that the kitchen is a dangerous place?”
As she said this she moved between the prince and the attackers while they moved closer all around the two. She still spun the little knife in her right hand faster and faster. Just as they were about to rush her she swung her left hand in front of her like a whip. In that hand was a pot rapidly emptying boiling water in an arc. Three of the five took a searing spray across the face and reeled around screaming. The two one the end were able to turn and duck the worst of it.
Before they could fully recover Berta had kicked the bucket of scum they keep by the washing tub for the soap and fats left after scooping up the water. The slimy sludge spread out in front of her and the prince and the three screaming, blinded thugs went down hard. One man stabbing himself with his own knife.
Berta took a moment to cackle out “The knife was quite effective as a distraction, wasn’t it?” as the other two brutes tried to work past the fallen and writhing men. The little knife was still in her right hand, spinning no more.
The leader, or at least the more competent of the two finally made it past the snarl and cursed out “You’ll pay for this old woman!!” And lunged forward with his sword in one hand and a dagger in the other.
Unfortunately for him, kitchens are notoriously narrow and awkward places to work in so as Berta moved to his right towards his sword arm the blade got fouled in the garlic and onions hanging just behind the thug as he whipped it up to strike. Just as he turned to free the blade Berta struck fast with the little paring knife. She had half circled his left wrist before he even felt the slightest tug at his wrist. That tug was the small razor sharp knife rubbing against his wrist bones as it slid easily through flesh and tendons.His dagger fell from lifeless fingers as he was just realizing what was happening, the little paring knife made another swift cut just under the ear as if Berta were killing a hog.
The last man, who had been trying flank around, saw the carnage and tried to flee. Berta grabbed a worn but heavy pestle out of the mortar beside her and with arms that knead bread for hours on end hurled it across the kitchen as the disheartened would be assassin almost made it to the door. The crack of pestle on skull made such a sickening crack that the three on the floor stopped moving for a second.
Berta moved to face the three who were just rising covering their damaged eyes but there was no fight left in them.
One of them wailed “You burned me! I’m blind!”
Again Berta let out her cackle “You know what they say boys. If you can’t take the heat.......”
Behind the pathetic trio castle guards started streaming in. Their leader yells “We are here to help!” As he looks around surveying the scene his voice fades.
Berta lets out that cackle one more time and replies “Great! Clean up this mess or dinner will be late.” She turns to the young prince who hasn’t moved since he ran in less than 2 minutes ago and adds “You my lordling can help too. Look at it his mess you brought into *MY* kitchen!”
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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"I think he went in here!"
Liesl heard the gruff voice from the other room, and looked down at the terrified nineteen-year-old royal scion beside her. *Yes*, *he did*, she thought. The expression on Prince Karl's face was starkly at odds with the ermine-trimmed velvet robe. She could see what had to have been his dirtied pajamas peeking through the folds.
Starkly at odds ...
The prince gulped. "Liesl, it's OK. Don't ..."
"Highness, lose the robe!"
"What?"
"Karl, get that off!"
"What did you call ...?"
Liesl tore the robe from around the prince's shoulders and shoved it far into the back of the roaring fire in the ovens, here in the farthest room of the kitchens. The rear of the kitchens was actually in the heart of the castle so that the heat could filter out through the castle in the winter months. Most castles had theirs on the exterior walls in case of a fire, but the frozen forest of Hellendsknact mandated taking a few more risks to trap heat. It also meant there was no escape to the outside from here.
"Liesl!"
"Give me a hand, you useless country brat."
"Lie ..." his latest gaping attempt to say her name was interrupted by a half-full sack of flour landing in his arms. It spilled over him and his pajamas immediately from the chest down.
"Must I do everything?" she demanded, seizing a steak knife and twirling it in her hands. She then threw a mixing bowl in front of the prince, along with a pitcher of water.
Three armed renegades burst through the door a moment later.
She wheeled on them. "Twenty minutes!" she shouted. "And put that thing down, Christ Almighty!"
They froze. The apparent leader, his chest covered in a patchwork of leather and chainmail and ruddy facial hair, lowered his mace.
"Uh, did someone else run through here?"
"Does it *look* like this place has a back exit? You think someone went up the chimney?" She wheeled on Prince Karl. "*Keep working*, we're in enough trouble as it is!"
Karl did his best to look like he was kneading dough. He didn't add any water from the pitcher Liesl had just put right next to him.
"Oh sweet Mary Mother of God, you are thick!" She whacked the prince aside with a rolling pin, then measured water into the bowl of flour.
She pointed to a door in the back of the room. "That's the pantry, feel free to check."
The leader's eyes narrowed. "We'll do that." He motioned one of his fellows forward, who disappeared into the pantry.
"You can get the salt on the top right while you're in there!" she called.
The other rogue returned from the pantry. He did not have the salt. Or the prince.
"Oh, fine," Liesl said. "Hans, salt, now." She waved her knife in the direction of the pantry, and Prince Karl the Flour-Dusted disappeared into the void.
She turned back to the rogues. "Do you men mind? I'm short of help today and even shorter of help with a brain. And I don't even want to know what the hell is going on out there. But here, you're either cooking or getting the hell out of my kitchen."
The leader regarded her. "Maybe I won't do either. Maybe I'll just wait."
Karl reappeared from the pantry. He had the salt. Liesl took it from him and sprinkled some into the dough.
Liesl laughed. "Your ass if the captain finds you loafing around waiting when your shift ain't even up yet. But you suit yourself. Hans and I have work to do."
"I don't think the captain will show up," the leader said lightly.
"Like I said, your ass, not mine. Soup's up in twenty, roast in thirty." She turned to Prince Karl, her face now turned away from the men, her voice low and soft. "I've heard you're smart. So act like you can cook. And act well."
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She smiles. The assassins laugh and spread out “What are you going to do with that? Impress us with your culinary flourishes? There are five of us. You little knife is not going to stop us.”
Berta smiled broader. She replied “Do I go to the tailor and tell him how to sew in his own shop? You come into my world and tell me how to run my kitchen and foolishly think you know best. Didn’t your mother tell you that the kitchen is a dangerous place?”
As she said this she moved between the prince and the attackers while they moved closer all around the two. She still spun the little knife in her right hand faster and faster. Just as they were about to rush her she swung her left hand in front of her like a whip. In that hand was a pot rapidly emptying boiling water in an arc. Three of the five took a searing spray across the face and reeled around screaming. The two one the end were able to turn and duck the worst of it.
Before they could fully recover Berta had kicked the bucket of scum they keep by the washing tub for the soap and fats left after scooping up the water. The slimy sludge spread out in front of her and the prince and the three screaming, blinded thugs went down hard. One man stabbing himself with his own knife.
Berta took a moment to cackle out “The knife was quite effective as a distraction, wasn’t it?” as the other two brutes tried to work past the fallen and writhing men. The little knife was still in her right hand, spinning no more.
The leader, or at least the more competent of the two finally made it past the snarl and cursed out “You’ll pay for this old woman!!” And lunged forward with his sword in one hand and a dagger in the other.
Unfortunately for him, kitchens are notoriously narrow and awkward places to work in so as Berta moved to his right towards his sword arm the blade got fouled in the garlic and onions hanging just behind the thug as he whipped it up to strike. Just as he turned to free the blade Berta struck fast with the little paring knife. She had half circled his left wrist before he even felt the slightest tug at his wrist. That tug was the small razor sharp knife rubbing against his wrist bones as it slid easily through flesh and tendons.His dagger fell from lifeless fingers as he was just realizing what was happening, the little paring knife made another swift cut just under the ear as if Berta were killing a hog.
The last man, who had been trying flank around, saw the carnage and tried to flee. Berta grabbed a worn but heavy pestle out of the mortar beside her and with arms that knead bread for hours on end hurled it across the kitchen as the disheartened would be assassin almost made it to the door. The crack of pestle on skull made such a sickening crack that the three on the floor stopped moving for a second.
Berta moved to face the three who were just rising covering their damaged eyes but there was no fight left in them.
One of them wailed “You burned me! I’m blind!”
Again Berta let out her cackle “You know what they say boys. If you can’t take the heat.......”
Behind the pathetic trio castle guards started streaming in. Their leader yells “We are here to help!” As he looks around surveying the scene his voice fades.
Berta lets out that cackle one more time and replies “Great! Clean up this mess or dinner will be late.” She turns to the young prince who hasn’t moved since he ran in less than 2 minutes ago and adds “You my lordling can help too. Look at it his mess you brought into *MY* kitchen!”
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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The King was dead. Long live the new King. Though the length of his reign was rather questionable as the boy dashed through the halls, the whimpers of servants and the moans of loyal guards filling the corridors in discordant chorus with his footfalls. He turned into a servant's passage and paused to catch his breath, unsure of which way to go.
&#x200B;
Desperately he tried to think back to the stories he used to hear from one of the cooks, of the Knight Magdalena and her adventures, slaying the last of the dragons, rescuing princes from evil lords, and he desperately wished she were here. Ever the practical boy, he forced himself to start moving again when the clash of steel and the shouts of soldiers drew close once more. He wandered down the hallway, all his tutor's advice seeming so abstract. He had no armies to lead, no advisors to consult, not even a proper pair of shoes, all lost when his own vassals had turned against him to seize power.
&#x200B;
He caught the smell of food, and realized he must be close to the kitchens. That would mean the door to the gardens, and he could hide there as he often had when playing with the servant's children. He dashed the last hundred feet to the heavy door, and was greeted by the familiar heat of the massive ovens. There were no bodies here, at least, but all the usual bustle of the staff was quiet, all fled amid the chaos save one of the cooks.
&#x200B;
He almost burst into fresh tears of happiness when he spotted Mags, her apron stained and her fiery red hair working free of her long braid. She wrapped her arms around him as he ran to her, hugging him close. "Th-they're all... they're all dead..." He managed between sobs, feeling the woman's tall, wiry frame bending over him, her hand rubbing his back.
&#x200B;
"There, there. It will be alright. Breathe, little prince." She soothed him, before gently pushing him away to stand on his own feet. "In a few moments, we're going to go out the door to the gardens, quickly, and down to my cottage by the yard. You remember where it is?" Her tone was as soothing as ever, calm even in chaos. She waited until he gave a nod before continuing. "Petr and Sandra will be there, and we'll leave together."
&#x200B;
Before he could nod again, the main door to the kitchen burst open, and Mags motioned him with a flutter of her hand to get behind her. Three burly men, clad in the livery of some lesser lord braced themselves across the wide hall that held the kitchens, their weapons seeming hooked and cruel, the iron black and glistening with blood already. "Oi. Hand over the boy wench. No 'arm'll come to him. It's been or'ered so." One of them said, his accent thick enough the prince had to struggle a moment to understand him.
&#x200B;
One of the other soldiers looked Mags up and down, grinning and mumbling something about "fun" that the prince couldn't make out. Whatever the man had in mind didn't seem like fun at all, but Mags was as calm and unworried as ever, her back straight and her gaze never leaving the trio. The prince felt, more than saw her move towards the center of the room, drawing a long knife from the stand before taking a step towards them.
&#x200B;
The prince would have thought he'd be unable to pull his eyes from the three soldiers, and yet he found his gaze drawn towards the cook as she moved, her soft leather shoes silent on the stone floor, each step taken with purposeful grace. "There are many places in this keep you might search, towers and halls where a dutiful soldier might find not one soul but plenty of coin for looting and finery to take with you as gifts for unmarried girls." Mags kept the blade low by her side, her grip light on the carved wooden handle.
&#x200B;
One of the soldiers scoffed, and with a motion to his fellows, they began to advance. "A king's ransom for that whelp, and you want us to rummage through the chifforobes of Ladies in Waiting for scraps?" The prince could feel his heart race, a wall of metal and malice advancing on him. "Don't worry love, ya needn't do a thing, just stand there, and it'll all be over in a moment. What's the whelp ever done for ya?"
&#x200B;
Then they were close, and she was on them. They were so big, seeming giants compared to the slender cook. Yet even as they raised their arms she in among them, the finely honed steel of the knife snick-snacking as Mags twirled and danced, one moment almost prostrate, the next poised only on the toes of one foot. Blood sprayed across the stone floor, making dark pools that caught the light from the windows high above and showed sanguine mockery of the thick wooden beams.
&#x200B;
The prince watched the blood, his stomach turning before a wet thump sounded, and his eyes jerked to the sprawling form of Mags, blood running from the corner of her mouth while her skin darkened with the makings of a bruise. She heaved for air, stunned, while the soldiers' curses filled the air. One of them lay on the ground, still and unmoving, another clung to the cabinets with one hand, his other vainly trying to stop his life from leaking from the wounds in his leg and side.
&#x200B;
The third soldier wiped the back of his mail-clad fist against his surcoat before advancing on the cook, his foot pulling back to deal a harsh kick into her gut, curling her into a fetal ball. "I'll take that out of your hide wench, and make sure you feel every bit of it!" His boot kicked aside the knife while he leant close to the woman. "What could this whelp possibly mean to you that you'd fight for him? Do you think his father would have done anything for you?"
&#x200B;
Mags wheezed something, before trying again. "His father... was a great man... he gave me peace... a husband... an end to wandering and war..." Her voice was no longer the composed tone the prince had heard so many wonderous stories from growing up, but a syllabant hiss that boiled with emotion and hurt.
&#x200B;
The soldier against the cupboards sagged to the ground heavily, and the last one growled. "What do they call you, wench, so I can tell every servant girl in this castle why I'm so rough with them later?"
&#x200B;
The Prince couldn't take his eyes off the soldier's face, red and swollen. He felt the anger swelling in him, not hot rage but cold, a shiver running down his spine as it mustered and his muscles moving without thought. The Soldier was focused downwards still, only realizing the Prince's motion a moment before the small knife buried itself into his neck, hot blood gushing around childish fingers while the soldier stumbled back, sagging and then falling to the ground.
&#x200B;
Mags pulled herself up off the ground, giving a cough and wiping her face with the back of one sleeve. "My name is Magdalena the Dragonslayer." She spat on him, the droplet red-tinted as it landed on the soldier's face with a wet splat. Kneeling down next to the prince, she forced him to look at her with a gentle, but firm finger on his jaw, "Thank you. But we must go now. You will have your kingdom, if you wish it, but now-" She paused, listening for a moment. "Now we run."
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In the Style of Brian Jacques:
The young dibbun came running into the great hall’s kitchen, careening past the long prep stations and ovens, past the sinks and mixers. The strangeness of being in the kitchen without it being full of delicious smells and busy critters barely registering in his panic.
He rounded the corner where the candied fruits and jars of preserves had been set out for breakfast the next morning and saw, to his relief, the door to the larder was mercifully left open. The little badger babe scurried past the last table where the cooks could occasionally be found sitting, drinking cordial, and swapping stories while waiting for a batch of pies or breads to finish baking.
In his mind’s eye the dibbun could picture the cool depths of the larder, and knew exactly which corner he could hide in. The tall sacks of flour and oats had been a perfect hiding space for him in the past when playing hide and seek with the hare-babes of Salamandastron.
Just as he was feeling that he would reach the safety of those dark depths he felt a large strong arm deftly grab him by the waste and pick him up. He squeaked hoarsely and nearly bit-down on the arm, but he was calmed by the soft voice of Shaery, one of the mole cooks that he had always taken a special liking to.
“Hold, now you young ruffian. What’s got you running so quick to the larder?”
“Him affa me!” he whispered sharply, “Be quiet him affa me!”
The badger looked up at the mole. Her dark eyes radiated strength, and her soft, plain features that had always been so motherly suddenly seemed strong in a way that he found immediately comforting.
“Well, don’t you worry” She said, lowering her voice to match his in an attempt to assuage his fears. “I’m the queen of sneak when I needs to be”. She winked at him and smiled, surprised that the babe who always seemed so brave when running around the castle could seem so panicked by a nightmare.
“I was just having some trouble sleeping,” She continued in a calm, soothing voice. “and when that happens I always come and steal a few candied almonds and a cup of milk to help settle my mind. How’s about we fix you up a little snack as well. You’re with Shaery now, you don’t need to be frightened of any dreams of….”
Shaery stopped speaking and her blood ran cold. A shadow was being cast by the pilot lights of the oven around the corner, casting the long, lean shadow of a gristly weasel onto the far wall of the kitchen. She pulled the badger close, wrapping her claw around his head.
“Him affa me..” the dibbun whispered, his tiny hands pulling at her cloak trying to draw himself higher up on her arm.
“You there: trouble maker; you’re going to give this young one a case of indigestion, sneaking around like that. Show yourself, or I’ll give you what fore!” Shaery said, pleasantly surprised that the fear she felt did not come out in her voice.
The shadow paused, and shifted slightly before moving forward as a long, grey-brown weasel came around the corner. His eyes were hungry, and immediately fell on the young badger with a sharpness that raised the fur on Shaery’s nape. His fur was punctuated by long, ritualistic-looking scarification, and he held a short, simple, wicked-looking dagger in his left paw. As his eyes passed from the dibbun to the slightly tubby mole Shaery could see the small twitch of a smile at the corner of his lip.
“Set him down, old one.” He said, his raspy voice sliding through his bared teeth. “Go hide in the larder and leave him here, otherwise I’ll skin you both instead of making his death a quick one”.
For a moment nobody moved. The tension made it feel as though that the mountain above was exerting its weight directly on each of them. The stillness seemed to make the moment stand for an eternity.
Finally, Shaery moved. The thick mole did her best to look scared, and set the dibbun on the ground. She kept her eyes firmly on the weasel. As she felt the babe’s small claw try to keep a grasp on her arm she chanced a quick look into the small babe’s eyes and said “Sorry about this”.
In a flurry Shaery gave a swift kick to the babe, sending him sliding across the stones and through the larder door on his backside. She swiftly slammed the door behind him, and wheeled around, grabbing a long ladle off the rack above her head just as the weasel reached her with his dagger.
She flung her handful of candied almonds at the weasel’s scarred face and deftly batted the weasel’s blade aside. His sinewy arm was strong though, and he quickly pulled the blade back across, cutting the cloak and chest of the Mole-marm. This was met with a retaliatory kick that sent the weasel sprawling backwards.
When he regained his footing the weasel looked at her again, surprised by the strength of her defense. The mole’s kind dark eyes took on a new hardness. She stepped forward with her ladle in her forepaw, picking up a small paring knife off the counter with the other. She looked every bit like she had the confidence and standing of a seasoned fighter.
“There’s more to a cook than what they’re cooking, chowder-skin” Shaery said pointedly. “You’re looking at the only mole to ever be inducted into the long patrol”
The weasel paused. The members of the long patrol held a spiteful respect in his mind. He also knew his specialty was sneaking as he never was very good at real combat. He eyed his enemy, suddenly feeling slightly panicky and cornered. If he fled, she’d surely raise the alarm. He’d never make it out alive this deep in the castle. She couldn’t be allowed to live.
Shaery could see him waver for a moment before he lept at her again. She battered the blade aside with her ladle, this time following it with a small slice from the paring knife. The weasel jumped back again, not allowing her the same opportunity for a kick. She could see him calculating his next move and again there was a moment of stillness. Shaery took the opportunity to reach back without looking and pull the sliding bar across the larder door to lock it.
The weasel locked eyes with Shaery, and then smirked smuggly.
“I don’t suppose you’ve ever fought in a cave; have you, old one?” he asked, his voice dripping with contempt. Shaery allowed her silence to speak for her, continuing to look at him cautiously. The weasel took a small step forward and blew out the candle on the table, extinguishing the only light source in the alcove and pulling back just a moment before the ladle swung through the air where his nose had been. The weasel jumped back and dipped around the corner as Shaery confidently stood her ground. She could see the room reach a pitch-blackness as the weasel blew out the pilot lights on the ovens around the corner.
“Now we’re going to see if you still think you can stop a weasel with murder on his mind” he said, seeming to stifle a laugh. Shaery again said nothing, but confidently stepped forward and set the ladle on the table. She stepped over to the cabinet where they dried their thinly sliced apples and pears, opening a drawer and pulling out a chef’s knife with a well-honed edge.
The young dibbun had scurried down into the larder, but without there being any lights he found it impossible to find the hiding space he had wanted. He eventually tucked himself beside some casks of dandelion wine that had been brought to Salamandastron during a feast last summer. He hid in silence and darkness, straining to hear what was happening. There was a loud crash, and it sounded like flailing and banging of pots and pans. He heard a scratch and another loud bang, and then silence. At last he heard the loud chunk of the iron bar being pulled back to unlock the door, and he peered his head out looking for light from someone coming down with a candle, but the room remained dark, and even as he heard the door swing open he couldn’t see the light from the kitchen.
“Come out young master badger” Shaery said softly. “Everything is alright, we’re going to go back up to bed.” The badger babe crawled out from his hiding place and followed the sound of her voice. “Oh, there you are. Come with me sweetie.” she said, picking him up and holding him up close to her on her shoulder.
“Gettur light, Imma scared” the young prince said as they climbed the stairs into the kitchen.
“Some things are better left unseen” she said softly.
“Younna droppin me inna dark” he insisted, grasping her arm tightly.
“Listen here, silly boy. Moles can see in the dark just fine. I can count the bricks in that wall if I like, and I can surely carry a little dibbun like you just fine.”
That settled his concerns and as they stepped out of the kitchen and into the great hall she set him on the table and lit a candle for him to hold. As the candle illuminated the room he gasped as he saw that she had a gash across her chest with blood obvious on her cloak.
“You wait here a moment.” she said with a smile and wink. She dipped back into the kitchen returning momentarily with a new apron covering the blood and injury, as well as a small bowl of candied almonds, and two flagons of milk.
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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Opening the door slowly, the Cook surveyed the room. It was a basic castle kitchen. Her kitchen. The far wall was a massive fireplace with a spit sticking out of one side. The other half was a brick oven, where the underchef made the daily bread. Running along the wall near the oven is a stained wooden bench, just over waist high. Inside the doorway there are two bodies. The underchef and the spitboy, lying in pools of blood. In the center of the kitchen there is a group of soldiers facing a pile of supplies, stacked on top of some barrels, their backs to the Cook. The soldiers were spread out in a crescent all looking intently at the same thing. One of the soldiers in the middle had a large, yellow, feather plume in his helmet. Quickly she slipped through the kitchen door, keeping her knife low and to the side.
&#x200B;
The Cook liked a simple kitchen, with simple well made tools. "Its love and experience that makes the food taste good. Not fancy gadgets" she would say to any who questioned her. That was before these thugs came. Before the floors were stained red. Before the bottoms of the sacks of flour were turned dark brown. Brown and wet from wicking up puddles of the kitchen staff. That was before! Before they brought war to her home. Inside her chest a pressure began to build. A feeling like no other. The white hot blessing of rage. The murder madness that takes the pain away. The sheer unholy bliss of vengeance. She would let the beast loose soon but first the prince needed her. First the prince then their blood.
&#x200B;
Turning to keep her eyes on the armored men, she eased the door shut. In the crack between the barrels, she could just make out a pair of nice leather shoes. The prince's shoes. Her breath was ragged from running here but she couldn't alert them to her presence. Not until she was close enough to protect the prince. She forced her breathing to be regular, her abdomen shaking with the effort.
&#x200B;
*Focus. Four soldiers, three squadsmen, and a corporal. That's lucky. Just a team. it could be a whole squad*
&#x200B;
She burst forward, charging towards the back of the corporal. At the sudden sound behind them, the soldiers turned to face the Cook. The corporal putting all his weight on his left leg pivots, looking over his right shoulder towards the source of the sound. The source of danger, of the aura of imminent death. Without breaking stride her slender hand darts forward. Like a rattlesnake she strikes. Her blade strikes true; sliding past his gorget, there is a jarring in her hand as the knifes edge hits his jawbone. Using the momentum of his pivot she steps past his still warm corpse. Turning on the balls of her feet to face the three soldiers, she rips the knife from the corpses neck flinging blood across their stunned faces. Dropping his corpse and stepping back She flicks the blood off of her favorite knife with a graceful motion. With an eager look in her eye she declares boldly "Welcome to cut throat kitchen"
&#x200B;
Edit: for formatting. Feedback is always welcome
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In the Style of Brian Jacques:
The young dibbun came running into the great hall’s kitchen, careening past the long prep stations and ovens, past the sinks and mixers. The strangeness of being in the kitchen without it being full of delicious smells and busy critters barely registering in his panic.
He rounded the corner where the candied fruits and jars of preserves had been set out for breakfast the next morning and saw, to his relief, the door to the larder was mercifully left open. The little badger babe scurried past the last table where the cooks could occasionally be found sitting, drinking cordial, and swapping stories while waiting for a batch of pies or breads to finish baking.
In his mind’s eye the dibbun could picture the cool depths of the larder, and knew exactly which corner he could hide in. The tall sacks of flour and oats had been a perfect hiding space for him in the past when playing hide and seek with the hare-babes of Salamandastron.
Just as he was feeling that he would reach the safety of those dark depths he felt a large strong arm deftly grab him by the waste and pick him up. He squeaked hoarsely and nearly bit-down on the arm, but he was calmed by the soft voice of Shaery, one of the mole cooks that he had always taken a special liking to.
“Hold, now you young ruffian. What’s got you running so quick to the larder?”
“Him affa me!” he whispered sharply, “Be quiet him affa me!”
The badger looked up at the mole. Her dark eyes radiated strength, and her soft, plain features that had always been so motherly suddenly seemed strong in a way that he found immediately comforting.
“Well, don’t you worry” She said, lowering her voice to match his in an attempt to assuage his fears. “I’m the queen of sneak when I needs to be”. She winked at him and smiled, surprised that the babe who always seemed so brave when running around the castle could seem so panicked by a nightmare.
“I was just having some trouble sleeping,” She continued in a calm, soothing voice. “and when that happens I always come and steal a few candied almonds and a cup of milk to help settle my mind. How’s about we fix you up a little snack as well. You’re with Shaery now, you don’t need to be frightened of any dreams of….”
Shaery stopped speaking and her blood ran cold. A shadow was being cast by the pilot lights of the oven around the corner, casting the long, lean shadow of a gristly weasel onto the far wall of the kitchen. She pulled the badger close, wrapping her claw around his head.
“Him affa me..” the dibbun whispered, his tiny hands pulling at her cloak trying to draw himself higher up on her arm.
“You there: trouble maker; you’re going to give this young one a case of indigestion, sneaking around like that. Show yourself, or I’ll give you what fore!” Shaery said, pleasantly surprised that the fear she felt did not come out in her voice.
The shadow paused, and shifted slightly before moving forward as a long, grey-brown weasel came around the corner. His eyes were hungry, and immediately fell on the young badger with a sharpness that raised the fur on Shaery’s nape. His fur was punctuated by long, ritualistic-looking scarification, and he held a short, simple, wicked-looking dagger in his left paw. As his eyes passed from the dibbun to the slightly tubby mole Shaery could see the small twitch of a smile at the corner of his lip.
“Set him down, old one.” He said, his raspy voice sliding through his bared teeth. “Go hide in the larder and leave him here, otherwise I’ll skin you both instead of making his death a quick one”.
For a moment nobody moved. The tension made it feel as though that the mountain above was exerting its weight directly on each of them. The stillness seemed to make the moment stand for an eternity.
Finally, Shaery moved. The thick mole did her best to look scared, and set the dibbun on the ground. She kept her eyes firmly on the weasel. As she felt the babe’s small claw try to keep a grasp on her arm she chanced a quick look into the small babe’s eyes and said “Sorry about this”.
In a flurry Shaery gave a swift kick to the babe, sending him sliding across the stones and through the larder door on his backside. She swiftly slammed the door behind him, and wheeled around, grabbing a long ladle off the rack above her head just as the weasel reached her with his dagger.
She flung her handful of candied almonds at the weasel’s scarred face and deftly batted the weasel’s blade aside. His sinewy arm was strong though, and he quickly pulled the blade back across, cutting the cloak and chest of the Mole-marm. This was met with a retaliatory kick that sent the weasel sprawling backwards.
When he regained his footing the weasel looked at her again, surprised by the strength of her defense. The mole’s kind dark eyes took on a new hardness. She stepped forward with her ladle in her forepaw, picking up a small paring knife off the counter with the other. She looked every bit like she had the confidence and standing of a seasoned fighter.
“There’s more to a cook than what they’re cooking, chowder-skin” Shaery said pointedly. “You’re looking at the only mole to ever be inducted into the long patrol”
The weasel paused. The members of the long patrol held a spiteful respect in his mind. He also knew his specialty was sneaking as he never was very good at real combat. He eyed his enemy, suddenly feeling slightly panicky and cornered. If he fled, she’d surely raise the alarm. He’d never make it out alive this deep in the castle. She couldn’t be allowed to live.
Shaery could see him waver for a moment before he lept at her again. She battered the blade aside with her ladle, this time following it with a small slice from the paring knife. The weasel jumped back again, not allowing her the same opportunity for a kick. She could see him calculating his next move and again there was a moment of stillness. Shaery took the opportunity to reach back without looking and pull the sliding bar across the larder door to lock it.
The weasel locked eyes with Shaery, and then smirked smuggly.
“I don’t suppose you’ve ever fought in a cave; have you, old one?” he asked, his voice dripping with contempt. Shaery allowed her silence to speak for her, continuing to look at him cautiously. The weasel took a small step forward and blew out the candle on the table, extinguishing the only light source in the alcove and pulling back just a moment before the ladle swung through the air where his nose had been. The weasel jumped back and dipped around the corner as Shaery confidently stood her ground. She could see the room reach a pitch-blackness as the weasel blew out the pilot lights on the ovens around the corner.
“Now we’re going to see if you still think you can stop a weasel with murder on his mind” he said, seeming to stifle a laugh. Shaery again said nothing, but confidently stepped forward and set the ladle on the table. She stepped over to the cabinet where they dried their thinly sliced apples and pears, opening a drawer and pulling out a chef’s knife with a well-honed edge.
The young dibbun had scurried down into the larder, but without there being any lights he found it impossible to find the hiding space he had wanted. He eventually tucked himself beside some casks of dandelion wine that had been brought to Salamandastron during a feast last summer. He hid in silence and darkness, straining to hear what was happening. There was a loud crash, and it sounded like flailing and banging of pots and pans. He heard a scratch and another loud bang, and then silence. At last he heard the loud chunk of the iron bar being pulled back to unlock the door, and he peered his head out looking for light from someone coming down with a candle, but the room remained dark, and even as he heard the door swing open he couldn’t see the light from the kitchen.
“Come out young master badger” Shaery said softly. “Everything is alright, we’re going to go back up to bed.” The badger babe crawled out from his hiding place and followed the sound of her voice. “Oh, there you are. Come with me sweetie.” she said, picking him up and holding him up close to her on her shoulder.
“Gettur light, Imma scared” the young prince said as they climbed the stairs into the kitchen.
“Some things are better left unseen” she said softly.
“Younna droppin me inna dark” he insisted, grasping her arm tightly.
“Listen here, silly boy. Moles can see in the dark just fine. I can count the bricks in that wall if I like, and I can surely carry a little dibbun like you just fine.”
That settled his concerns and as they stepped out of the kitchen and into the great hall she set him on the table and lit a candle for him to hold. As the candle illuminated the room he gasped as he saw that she had a gash across her chest with blood obvious on her cloak.
“You wait here a moment.” she said with a smile and wink. She dipped back into the kitchen returning momentarily with a new apron covering the blood and injury, as well as a small bowl of candied almonds, and two flagons of milk.
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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"I think he went in here!"
Liesl heard the gruff voice from the other room, and looked down at the terrified nineteen-year-old royal scion beside her. *Yes*, *he did*, she thought. The expression on Prince Karl's face was starkly at odds with the ermine-trimmed velvet robe. She could see what had to have been his dirtied pajamas peeking through the folds.
Starkly at odds ...
The prince gulped. "Liesl, it's OK. Don't ..."
"Highness, lose the robe!"
"What?"
"Karl, get that off!"
"What did you call ...?"
Liesl tore the robe from around the prince's shoulders and shoved it far into the back of the roaring fire in the ovens, here in the farthest room of the kitchens. The rear of the kitchens was actually in the heart of the castle so that the heat could filter out through the castle in the winter months. Most castles had theirs on the exterior walls in case of a fire, but the frozen forest of Hellendsknact mandated taking a few more risks to trap heat. It also meant there was no escape to the outside from here.
"Liesl!"
"Give me a hand, you useless country brat."
"Lie ..." his latest gaping attempt to say her name was interrupted by a half-full sack of flour landing in his arms. It spilled over him and his pajamas immediately from the chest down.
"Must I do everything?" she demanded, seizing a steak knife and twirling it in her hands. She then threw a mixing bowl in front of the prince, along with a pitcher of water.
Three armed renegades burst through the door a moment later.
She wheeled on them. "Twenty minutes!" she shouted. "And put that thing down, Christ Almighty!"
They froze. The apparent leader, his chest covered in a patchwork of leather and chainmail and ruddy facial hair, lowered his mace.
"Uh, did someone else run through here?"
"Does it *look* like this place has a back exit? You think someone went up the chimney?" She wheeled on Prince Karl. "*Keep working*, we're in enough trouble as it is!"
Karl did his best to look like he was kneading dough. He didn't add any water from the pitcher Liesl had just put right next to him.
"Oh sweet Mary Mother of God, you are thick!" She whacked the prince aside with a rolling pin, then measured water into the bowl of flour.
She pointed to a door in the back of the room. "That's the pantry, feel free to check."
The leader's eyes narrowed. "We'll do that." He motioned one of his fellows forward, who disappeared into the pantry.
"You can get the salt on the top right while you're in there!" she called.
The other rogue returned from the pantry. He did not have the salt. Or the prince.
"Oh, fine," Liesl said. "Hans, salt, now." She waved her knife in the direction of the pantry, and Prince Karl the Flour-Dusted disappeared into the void.
She turned back to the rogues. "Do you men mind? I'm short of help today and even shorter of help with a brain. And I don't even want to know what the hell is going on out there. But here, you're either cooking or getting the hell out of my kitchen."
The leader regarded her. "Maybe I won't do either. Maybe I'll just wait."
Karl reappeared from the pantry. He had the salt. Liesl took it from him and sprinkled some into the dough.
Liesl laughed. "Your ass if the captain finds you loafing around waiting when your shift ain't even up yet. But you suit yourself. Hans and I have work to do."
"I don't think the captain will show up," the leader said lightly.
"Like I said, your ass, not mine. Soup's up in twenty, roast in thirty." She turned to Prince Karl, her face now turned away from the men, her voice low and soft. "I've heard you're smart. So act like you can cook. And act well."
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In the Style of Brian Jacques:
The young dibbun came running into the great hall’s kitchen, careening past the long prep stations and ovens, past the sinks and mixers. The strangeness of being in the kitchen without it being full of delicious smells and busy critters barely registering in his panic.
He rounded the corner where the candied fruits and jars of preserves had been set out for breakfast the next morning and saw, to his relief, the door to the larder was mercifully left open. The little badger babe scurried past the last table where the cooks could occasionally be found sitting, drinking cordial, and swapping stories while waiting for a batch of pies or breads to finish baking.
In his mind’s eye the dibbun could picture the cool depths of the larder, and knew exactly which corner he could hide in. The tall sacks of flour and oats had been a perfect hiding space for him in the past when playing hide and seek with the hare-babes of Salamandastron.
Just as he was feeling that he would reach the safety of those dark depths he felt a large strong arm deftly grab him by the waste and pick him up. He squeaked hoarsely and nearly bit-down on the arm, but he was calmed by the soft voice of Shaery, one of the mole cooks that he had always taken a special liking to.
“Hold, now you young ruffian. What’s got you running so quick to the larder?”
“Him affa me!” he whispered sharply, “Be quiet him affa me!”
The badger looked up at the mole. Her dark eyes radiated strength, and her soft, plain features that had always been so motherly suddenly seemed strong in a way that he found immediately comforting.
“Well, don’t you worry” She said, lowering her voice to match his in an attempt to assuage his fears. “I’m the queen of sneak when I needs to be”. She winked at him and smiled, surprised that the babe who always seemed so brave when running around the castle could seem so panicked by a nightmare.
“I was just having some trouble sleeping,” She continued in a calm, soothing voice. “and when that happens I always come and steal a few candied almonds and a cup of milk to help settle my mind. How’s about we fix you up a little snack as well. You’re with Shaery now, you don’t need to be frightened of any dreams of….”
Shaery stopped speaking and her blood ran cold. A shadow was being cast by the pilot lights of the oven around the corner, casting the long, lean shadow of a gristly weasel onto the far wall of the kitchen. She pulled the badger close, wrapping her claw around his head.
“Him affa me..” the dibbun whispered, his tiny hands pulling at her cloak trying to draw himself higher up on her arm.
“You there: trouble maker; you’re going to give this young one a case of indigestion, sneaking around like that. Show yourself, or I’ll give you what fore!” Shaery said, pleasantly surprised that the fear she felt did not come out in her voice.
The shadow paused, and shifted slightly before moving forward as a long, grey-brown weasel came around the corner. His eyes were hungry, and immediately fell on the young badger with a sharpness that raised the fur on Shaery’s nape. His fur was punctuated by long, ritualistic-looking scarification, and he held a short, simple, wicked-looking dagger in his left paw. As his eyes passed from the dibbun to the slightly tubby mole Shaery could see the small twitch of a smile at the corner of his lip.
“Set him down, old one.” He said, his raspy voice sliding through his bared teeth. “Go hide in the larder and leave him here, otherwise I’ll skin you both instead of making his death a quick one”.
For a moment nobody moved. The tension made it feel as though that the mountain above was exerting its weight directly on each of them. The stillness seemed to make the moment stand for an eternity.
Finally, Shaery moved. The thick mole did her best to look scared, and set the dibbun on the ground. She kept her eyes firmly on the weasel. As she felt the babe’s small claw try to keep a grasp on her arm she chanced a quick look into the small babe’s eyes and said “Sorry about this”.
In a flurry Shaery gave a swift kick to the babe, sending him sliding across the stones and through the larder door on his backside. She swiftly slammed the door behind him, and wheeled around, grabbing a long ladle off the rack above her head just as the weasel reached her with his dagger.
She flung her handful of candied almonds at the weasel’s scarred face and deftly batted the weasel’s blade aside. His sinewy arm was strong though, and he quickly pulled the blade back across, cutting the cloak and chest of the Mole-marm. This was met with a retaliatory kick that sent the weasel sprawling backwards.
When he regained his footing the weasel looked at her again, surprised by the strength of her defense. The mole’s kind dark eyes took on a new hardness. She stepped forward with her ladle in her forepaw, picking up a small paring knife off the counter with the other. She looked every bit like she had the confidence and standing of a seasoned fighter.
“There’s more to a cook than what they’re cooking, chowder-skin” Shaery said pointedly. “You’re looking at the only mole to ever be inducted into the long patrol”
The weasel paused. The members of the long patrol held a spiteful respect in his mind. He also knew his specialty was sneaking as he never was very good at real combat. He eyed his enemy, suddenly feeling slightly panicky and cornered. If he fled, she’d surely raise the alarm. He’d never make it out alive this deep in the castle. She couldn’t be allowed to live.
Shaery could see him waver for a moment before he lept at her again. She battered the blade aside with her ladle, this time following it with a small slice from the paring knife. The weasel jumped back again, not allowing her the same opportunity for a kick. She could see him calculating his next move and again there was a moment of stillness. Shaery took the opportunity to reach back without looking and pull the sliding bar across the larder door to lock it.
The weasel locked eyes with Shaery, and then smirked smuggly.
“I don’t suppose you’ve ever fought in a cave; have you, old one?” he asked, his voice dripping with contempt. Shaery allowed her silence to speak for her, continuing to look at him cautiously. The weasel took a small step forward and blew out the candle on the table, extinguishing the only light source in the alcove and pulling back just a moment before the ladle swung through the air where his nose had been. The weasel jumped back and dipped around the corner as Shaery confidently stood her ground. She could see the room reach a pitch-blackness as the weasel blew out the pilot lights on the ovens around the corner.
“Now we’re going to see if you still think you can stop a weasel with murder on his mind” he said, seeming to stifle a laugh. Shaery again said nothing, but confidently stepped forward and set the ladle on the table. She stepped over to the cabinet where they dried their thinly sliced apples and pears, opening a drawer and pulling out a chef’s knife with a well-honed edge.
The young dibbun had scurried down into the larder, but without there being any lights he found it impossible to find the hiding space he had wanted. He eventually tucked himself beside some casks of dandelion wine that had been brought to Salamandastron during a feast last summer. He hid in silence and darkness, straining to hear what was happening. There was a loud crash, and it sounded like flailing and banging of pots and pans. He heard a scratch and another loud bang, and then silence. At last he heard the loud chunk of the iron bar being pulled back to unlock the door, and he peered his head out looking for light from someone coming down with a candle, but the room remained dark, and even as he heard the door swing open he couldn’t see the light from the kitchen.
“Come out young master badger” Shaery said softly. “Everything is alright, we’re going to go back up to bed.” The badger babe crawled out from his hiding place and followed the sound of her voice. “Oh, there you are. Come with me sweetie.” she said, picking him up and holding him up close to her on her shoulder.
“Gettur light, Imma scared” the young prince said as they climbed the stairs into the kitchen.
“Some things are better left unseen” she said softly.
“Younna droppin me inna dark” he insisted, grasping her arm tightly.
“Listen here, silly boy. Moles can see in the dark just fine. I can count the bricks in that wall if I like, and I can surely carry a little dibbun like you just fine.”
That settled his concerns and as they stepped out of the kitchen and into the great hall she set him on the table and lit a candle for him to hold. As the candle illuminated the room he gasped as he saw that she had a gash across her chest with blood obvious on her cloak.
“You wait here a moment.” she said with a smile and wink. She dipped back into the kitchen returning momentarily with a new apron covering the blood and injury, as well as a small bowl of candied almonds, and two flagons of milk.
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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Opening the door slowly, the Cook surveyed the room. It was a basic castle kitchen. Her kitchen. The far wall was a massive fireplace with a spit sticking out of one side. The other half was a brick oven, where the underchef made the daily bread. Running along the wall near the oven is a stained wooden bench, just over waist high. Inside the doorway there are two bodies. The underchef and the spitboy, lying in pools of blood. In the center of the kitchen there is a group of soldiers facing a pile of supplies, stacked on top of some barrels, their backs to the Cook. The soldiers were spread out in a crescent all looking intently at the same thing. One of the soldiers in the middle had a large, yellow, feather plume in his helmet. Quickly she slipped through the kitchen door, keeping her knife low and to the side.
&#x200B;
The Cook liked a simple kitchen, with simple well made tools. "Its love and experience that makes the food taste good. Not fancy gadgets" she would say to any who questioned her. That was before these thugs came. Before the floors were stained red. Before the bottoms of the sacks of flour were turned dark brown. Brown and wet from wicking up puddles of the kitchen staff. That was before! Before they brought war to her home. Inside her chest a pressure began to build. A feeling like no other. The white hot blessing of rage. The murder madness that takes the pain away. The sheer unholy bliss of vengeance. She would let the beast loose soon but first the prince needed her. First the prince then their blood.
&#x200B;
Turning to keep her eyes on the armored men, she eased the door shut. In the crack between the barrels, she could just make out a pair of nice leather shoes. The prince's shoes. Her breath was ragged from running here but she couldn't alert them to her presence. Not until she was close enough to protect the prince. She forced her breathing to be regular, her abdomen shaking with the effort.
&#x200B;
*Focus. Four soldiers, three squadsmen, and a corporal. That's lucky. Just a team. it could be a whole squad*
&#x200B;
She burst forward, charging towards the back of the corporal. At the sudden sound behind them, the soldiers turned to face the Cook. The corporal putting all his weight on his left leg pivots, looking over his right shoulder towards the source of the sound. The source of danger, of the aura of imminent death. Without breaking stride her slender hand darts forward. Like a rattlesnake she strikes. Her blade strikes true; sliding past his gorget, there is a jarring in her hand as the knifes edge hits his jawbone. Using the momentum of his pivot she steps past his still warm corpse. Turning on the balls of her feet to face the three soldiers, she rips the knife from the corpses neck flinging blood across their stunned faces. Dropping his corpse and stepping back She flicks the blood off of her favorite knife with a graceful motion. With an eager look in her eye she declares boldly "Welcome to cut throat kitchen"
&#x200B;
Edit: for formatting. Feedback is always welcome
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Long ago the king and her had spoken about the training required for a chef befitting the standards of the royal family.
"Combat training!" She asked incredulously. "I-im a cook my Lord!"
"Yes and of that I have no doubt in your skills. But being of the nature we are. Royalty. I believe there can never be too much protection I'd prefer to have far too much protection then not enough."
Back then she thought his words were foolishness. But she had been naive to not understand the position the king was in. And now here she stood brandishing a steak knife against two highly skilled assassin's sent for the very same kings', son.
As trained as she was she was no match for two deadly trained assassin's. But she had one advantage. She knew this kitchen of hers like the back of her hand. Let the games begin she thought as she smiled and blew out the lone candle in the center of the kitchen.
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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"I think he went in here!"
Liesl heard the gruff voice from the other room, and looked down at the terrified nineteen-year-old royal scion beside her. *Yes*, *he did*, she thought. The expression on Prince Karl's face was starkly at odds with the ermine-trimmed velvet robe. She could see what had to have been his dirtied pajamas peeking through the folds.
Starkly at odds ...
The prince gulped. "Liesl, it's OK. Don't ..."
"Highness, lose the robe!"
"What?"
"Karl, get that off!"
"What did you call ...?"
Liesl tore the robe from around the prince's shoulders and shoved it far into the back of the roaring fire in the ovens, here in the farthest room of the kitchens. The rear of the kitchens was actually in the heart of the castle so that the heat could filter out through the castle in the winter months. Most castles had theirs on the exterior walls in case of a fire, but the frozen forest of Hellendsknact mandated taking a few more risks to trap heat. It also meant there was no escape to the outside from here.
"Liesl!"
"Give me a hand, you useless country brat."
"Lie ..." his latest gaping attempt to say her name was interrupted by a half-full sack of flour landing in his arms. It spilled over him and his pajamas immediately from the chest down.
"Must I do everything?" she demanded, seizing a steak knife and twirling it in her hands. She then threw a mixing bowl in front of the prince, along with a pitcher of water.
Three armed renegades burst through the door a moment later.
She wheeled on them. "Twenty minutes!" she shouted. "And put that thing down, Christ Almighty!"
They froze. The apparent leader, his chest covered in a patchwork of leather and chainmail and ruddy facial hair, lowered his mace.
"Uh, did someone else run through here?"
"Does it *look* like this place has a back exit? You think someone went up the chimney?" She wheeled on Prince Karl. "*Keep working*, we're in enough trouble as it is!"
Karl did his best to look like he was kneading dough. He didn't add any water from the pitcher Liesl had just put right next to him.
"Oh sweet Mary Mother of God, you are thick!" She whacked the prince aside with a rolling pin, then measured water into the bowl of flour.
She pointed to a door in the back of the room. "That's the pantry, feel free to check."
The leader's eyes narrowed. "We'll do that." He motioned one of his fellows forward, who disappeared into the pantry.
"You can get the salt on the top right while you're in there!" she called.
The other rogue returned from the pantry. He did not have the salt. Or the prince.
"Oh, fine," Liesl said. "Hans, salt, now." She waved her knife in the direction of the pantry, and Prince Karl the Flour-Dusted disappeared into the void.
She turned back to the rogues. "Do you men mind? I'm short of help today and even shorter of help with a brain. And I don't even want to know what the hell is going on out there. But here, you're either cooking or getting the hell out of my kitchen."
The leader regarded her. "Maybe I won't do either. Maybe I'll just wait."
Karl reappeared from the pantry. He had the salt. Liesl took it from him and sprinkled some into the dough.
Liesl laughed. "Your ass if the captain finds you loafing around waiting when your shift ain't even up yet. But you suit yourself. Hans and I have work to do."
"I don't think the captain will show up," the leader said lightly.
"Like I said, your ass, not mine. Soup's up in twenty, roast in thirty." She turned to Prince Karl, her face now turned away from the men, her voice low and soft. "I've heard you're smart. So act like you can cook. And act well."
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Long ago the king and her had spoken about the training required for a chef befitting the standards of the royal family.
"Combat training!" She asked incredulously. "I-im a cook my Lord!"
"Yes and of that I have no doubt in your skills. But being of the nature we are. Royalty. I believe there can never be too much protection I'd prefer to have far too much protection then not enough."
Back then she thought his words were foolishness. But she had been naive to not understand the position the king was in. And now here she stood brandishing a steak knife against two highly skilled assassin's sent for the very same kings', son.
As trained as she was she was no match for two deadly trained assassin's. But she had one advantage. She knew this kitchen of hers like the back of her hand. Let the games begin she thought as she smiled and blew out the lone candle in the center of the kitchen.
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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Opening the door slowly, the Cook surveyed the room. It was a basic castle kitchen. Her kitchen. The far wall was a massive fireplace with a spit sticking out of one side. The other half was a brick oven, where the underchef made the daily bread. Running along the wall near the oven is a stained wooden bench, just over waist high. Inside the doorway there are two bodies. The underchef and the spitboy, lying in pools of blood. In the center of the kitchen there is a group of soldiers facing a pile of supplies, stacked on top of some barrels, their backs to the Cook. The soldiers were spread out in a crescent all looking intently at the same thing. One of the soldiers in the middle had a large, yellow, feather plume in his helmet. Quickly she slipped through the kitchen door, keeping her knife low and to the side.
&#x200B;
The Cook liked a simple kitchen, with simple well made tools. "Its love and experience that makes the food taste good. Not fancy gadgets" she would say to any who questioned her. That was before these thugs came. Before the floors were stained red. Before the bottoms of the sacks of flour were turned dark brown. Brown and wet from wicking up puddles of the kitchen staff. That was before! Before they brought war to her home. Inside her chest a pressure began to build. A feeling like no other. The white hot blessing of rage. The murder madness that takes the pain away. The sheer unholy bliss of vengeance. She would let the beast loose soon but first the prince needed her. First the prince then their blood.
&#x200B;
Turning to keep her eyes on the armored men, she eased the door shut. In the crack between the barrels, she could just make out a pair of nice leather shoes. The prince's shoes. Her breath was ragged from running here but she couldn't alert them to her presence. Not until she was close enough to protect the prince. She forced her breathing to be regular, her abdomen shaking with the effort.
&#x200B;
*Focus. Four soldiers, three squadsmen, and a corporal. That's lucky. Just a team. it could be a whole squad*
&#x200B;
She burst forward, charging towards the back of the corporal. At the sudden sound behind them, the soldiers turned to face the Cook. The corporal putting all his weight on his left leg pivots, looking over his right shoulder towards the source of the sound. The source of danger, of the aura of imminent death. Without breaking stride her slender hand darts forward. Like a rattlesnake she strikes. Her blade strikes true; sliding past his gorget, there is a jarring in her hand as the knifes edge hits his jawbone. Using the momentum of his pivot she steps past his still warm corpse. Turning on the balls of her feet to face the three soldiers, she rips the knife from the corpses neck flinging blood across their stunned faces. Dropping his corpse and stepping back She flicks the blood off of her favorite knife with a graceful motion. With an eager look in her eye she declares boldly "Welcome to cut throat kitchen"
&#x200B;
Edit: for formatting. Feedback is always welcome
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Balon and his thegns held them in the courtyard for a few precious moments, until they were overrun and lost beneath the axes rising and falling. Kellan Marshall barred the doors to the Prince's tower, then he and three of his knights fought them unarmoured in the blood-slick stone spiral staircases, and held them back long enough for the Prince to be ushered by secret paths to the main kitchens, where one of the three escape tunnels was hidden in the larder.
Knowing they were running short on time, they set the Prince's tower alight. Marshall and his valiant three went out and died blade-to-blade, except Kellan himself. None of them could match him in the hour of his fury. He cursed them as he killed them, so screaming and spitting with broken blade in hand surrounded by a dozen dead men or more he was shot down by crossbows from the catwalks over the courtyard. Whispered legends would later guess that had he the time to don his armor nobody would have escaped him that day.
Maria Andor was chopping onions in the kitchen when the crashing began, which was quickly followed by screams. She hid under the table till portly Chef Orla stumbled in through the door and sank to the ground, hand on her side. A quarrel was through her gut. Chef Beth followed her a moment later, uninjured.
"Mar?" Orla called. "Mar, are you in here?"
"I'm here," Maria said, scrambling out from under the table. "What's happening?"
Orla smiled. Her teeth were red, face pale, eyes clouded. "Come and listen, dearheart," she hissed. "Closer now."
Maria knelt close to her, and Orla gripped her shoulders with the mad desperation of death.
"They are here for the royal family. I know not if any others survived-" she coughed. Blood poured down her chin. "The Prince will be here soon. There is a tunnel in the larder. Do you understand. You must... you must get the Prince away from here."
Maria nodded. "I understand."
Orla smiled, and brushed her cheek. "Always the bravest of my serving girls. Get me up, now. I will have guests to greet, before the end."
Maria grabbed her hand. "Come with us through the tunnel."
Another smile, fond and sad. "I am already dead, sweetling. You know and I know."
Maria swallowed hard, and nodded. She tried to help Orla stand, but Maria was fifteen and willow-thin, and so the task was difficult. Beth, meanwhile, was rooting through the cupboards looking for something. She found it, a moment later: a thick-spined knife made thin by years of sharpening. Hard-eyed and wiry, Beth spun the blade in her hand.
Behind them, the door opened. The Prince was pushed through, a blue-eyed soft faced eight year old wearing a blood-stained doublet. A man-at-arms followed him, but just as he was about to speak a quarrel took him through the throat. He gurgled, and died. Orla cursed.
There was commotion on the other side. Maria saw Samuel de Varr, armoured, with a few other knights with him. They were fighting a crowd of men-at-arms and others armoured like them.
Samuel cut one man down, blocked a blow with his shield while another glanced off his pauldron. "Bar the door!" he roared. A blow from a long-handled axe bent his visor. His companions were being dragged down. Samuel placed himself shoulders-squared in the doorway, swinging wildly to gain distance. "Bar it, damn you!" he cried, looking back for a split second.
Orla obeyed him with a grunt of pain.
Beyond the closed door, Maria heard Samuel de Varr laugh wildly, and his blade sang. "You want him, you bastard traitors? Come and move me! Come on!"
They came, and moved him.
There was a great crash as something heavy hit the door. Hard-eyed and wiry strong, Beth placed herself in the hallway. "Take him to the larder. Orla, you must pull the collapse once they are through."
"I will get it done, sister," Orla said, half dead. "Luck and blessings to you."
"And to you."
Orla took Maria and the Prince by their shoulders and led them down to the larder. There she pulled out the wall of the potato pit, and the vegetables poured forward in a tsunami to cover the floor. They waded through them to the opposite wall, where Orla turned a key, then put the Prince's signet ring into a tiny slot. A small door opened, immaculately disguised. There was a lever on the right side.
"Go through now, sweethearts," Orla rasped. "Take him through. There are horses on the other side. ride for the Marshalls in Striguil. Their loyalty is beyond reproach." She kissed Maria's forehead and sank to the ground, strength spent. "Luck to you."
Maria and the Prince ran through the tunnel. Once they had gone some way, Orla pulled the lever. Four iron supports popped loose, and a huge slab of granite fell and blocked the entrance. At last, Orla relaxed. She took a small boning knife from a pocket on her apron and slit her wrists vertically down to the bone. She died with a smile on her face.
Above her, Beth stood alone in the kitchen with knife in hand. The door weathered three blows before popping from its hinges. A crowd poured through, led by a gray-armored knight. Beth recognized the heraldry of Simon the Rock.
She spun her knife. "Never took you for a traitor, Simon,"
The knight looked at her for a long time, bloody sword in hand. Then he reached up, took off his helmet, and let it slip from limp fingers.
"Enough, Beth," he said. He sounded tired. "It's enough. Give him up."
"No," she said.
"I'll kill you," he said.
She shrugged. "Maybe it'll go that way."
His brown eyes were hollow. "This is plated mail, woman. Give up. It's done."
Beth grinned. Something in that grin gave him pause. Something that vaguely resembled victory.
Simon put it all together faster than most men would have. Suddenly the fierce defense around the kitchens made sense.
Beth saw the realization dawn in his eyes, and her grin deepened.
He rushed forward, head and shoulders taller than her.
She swung at him with the knife, three feints for the face, then a single deep thrust aimed at the weakpoint under the aim, going for the heart and lungs.
Simon caught her blade in his lobstered gauntlet, and broke it. She punched him. He scowled. "It's *done* Beth. It's done. Where is he?"
"In good hands!" she cried, and went for the rondel dagger on his hip. He stabbed her through the heart before she could draw it.
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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Opening the door slowly, the Cook surveyed the room. It was a basic castle kitchen. Her kitchen. The far wall was a massive fireplace with a spit sticking out of one side. The other half was a brick oven, where the underchef made the daily bread. Running along the wall near the oven is a stained wooden bench, just over waist high. Inside the doorway there are two bodies. The underchef and the spitboy, lying in pools of blood. In the center of the kitchen there is a group of soldiers facing a pile of supplies, stacked on top of some barrels, their backs to the Cook. The soldiers were spread out in a crescent all looking intently at the same thing. One of the soldiers in the middle had a large, yellow, feather plume in his helmet. Quickly she slipped through the kitchen door, keeping her knife low and to the side.
&#x200B;
The Cook liked a simple kitchen, with simple well made tools. "Its love and experience that makes the food taste good. Not fancy gadgets" she would say to any who questioned her. That was before these thugs came. Before the floors were stained red. Before the bottoms of the sacks of flour were turned dark brown. Brown and wet from wicking up puddles of the kitchen staff. That was before! Before they brought war to her home. Inside her chest a pressure began to build. A feeling like no other. The white hot blessing of rage. The murder madness that takes the pain away. The sheer unholy bliss of vengeance. She would let the beast loose soon but first the prince needed her. First the prince then their blood.
&#x200B;
Turning to keep her eyes on the armored men, she eased the door shut. In the crack between the barrels, she could just make out a pair of nice leather shoes. The prince's shoes. Her breath was ragged from running here but she couldn't alert them to her presence. Not until she was close enough to protect the prince. She forced her breathing to be regular, her abdomen shaking with the effort.
&#x200B;
*Focus. Four soldiers, three squadsmen, and a corporal. That's lucky. Just a team. it could be a whole squad*
&#x200B;
She burst forward, charging towards the back of the corporal. At the sudden sound behind them, the soldiers turned to face the Cook. The corporal putting all his weight on his left leg pivots, looking over his right shoulder towards the source of the sound. The source of danger, of the aura of imminent death. Without breaking stride her slender hand darts forward. Like a rattlesnake she strikes. Her blade strikes true; sliding past his gorget, there is a jarring in her hand as the knifes edge hits his jawbone. Using the momentum of his pivot she steps past his still warm corpse. Turning on the balls of her feet to face the three soldiers, she rips the knife from the corpses neck flinging blood across their stunned faces. Dropping his corpse and stepping back She flicks the blood off of her favorite knife with a graceful motion. With an eager look in her eye she declares boldly "Welcome to cut throat kitchen"
&#x200B;
Edit: for formatting. Feedback is always welcome
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"Now what do you think your trying to do?" the cook said to the people storming in after the prince.
"We aren't here for you, we want *him"* the invaders said slowly approaching "You hand him over and we wont hurt you"
"As tempting as that is, i don't think i will" The cook said, while grabbing a knife. "I am quite fond of him"
"You leave us no choice then, we will ha--" The invader was cut off, literally. His body fell over with a thud.
"You will pay fo--" Another thud followed, then another. The cook was like a flash, traveling from one intruder to the next faster than you could tell. Soon there were several bodies and the last remaining intruders tried to escape before being met by castle guards.
"Come on your highness, we cant stay here" the cook said "We need to get somewhere safer"
"o-ok" the young prince said, terrified not only of the intruders, but of the cooks combat skills. He stood up and introduced himself "I am Prince Alexa--"
The cook interrupted "Alexander, everyone knows, now follow me" They took off and made it to a hidden room.
\---------------------------------------------------
I had no idea how to end this properly, might come back and give it an ending idk
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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Opening the door slowly, the Cook surveyed the room. It was a basic castle kitchen. Her kitchen. The far wall was a massive fireplace with a spit sticking out of one side. The other half was a brick oven, where the underchef made the daily bread. Running along the wall near the oven is a stained wooden bench, just over waist high. Inside the doorway there are two bodies. The underchef and the spitboy, lying in pools of blood. In the center of the kitchen there is a group of soldiers facing a pile of supplies, stacked on top of some barrels, their backs to the Cook. The soldiers were spread out in a crescent all looking intently at the same thing. One of the soldiers in the middle had a large, yellow, feather plume in his helmet. Quickly she slipped through the kitchen door, keeping her knife low and to the side.
&#x200B;
The Cook liked a simple kitchen, with simple well made tools. "Its love and experience that makes the food taste good. Not fancy gadgets" she would say to any who questioned her. That was before these thugs came. Before the floors were stained red. Before the bottoms of the sacks of flour were turned dark brown. Brown and wet from wicking up puddles of the kitchen staff. That was before! Before they brought war to her home. Inside her chest a pressure began to build. A feeling like no other. The white hot blessing of rage. The murder madness that takes the pain away. The sheer unholy bliss of vengeance. She would let the beast loose soon but first the prince needed her. First the prince then their blood.
&#x200B;
Turning to keep her eyes on the armored men, she eased the door shut. In the crack between the barrels, she could just make out a pair of nice leather shoes. The prince's shoes. Her breath was ragged from running here but she couldn't alert them to her presence. Not until she was close enough to protect the prince. She forced her breathing to be regular, her abdomen shaking with the effort.
&#x200B;
*Focus. Four soldiers, three squadsmen, and a corporal. That's lucky. Just a team. it could be a whole squad*
&#x200B;
She burst forward, charging towards the back of the corporal. At the sudden sound behind them, the soldiers turned to face the Cook. The corporal putting all his weight on his left leg pivots, looking over his right shoulder towards the source of the sound. The source of danger, of the aura of imminent death. Without breaking stride her slender hand darts forward. Like a rattlesnake she strikes. Her blade strikes true; sliding past his gorget, there is a jarring in her hand as the knifes edge hits his jawbone. Using the momentum of his pivot she steps past his still warm corpse. Turning on the balls of her feet to face the three soldiers, she rips the knife from the corpses neck flinging blood across their stunned faces. Dropping his corpse and stepping back She flicks the blood off of her favorite knife with a graceful motion. With an eager look in her eye she declares boldly "Welcome to cut throat kitchen"
&#x200B;
Edit: for formatting. Feedback is always welcome
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Largathia was by no means versed in knife fighting. Nor was she exceptionally keen on math. Still, she knew that she, as well as that shitstain of a Prince who always changed his mind about dinner exactly as it came out of the oven, faired no plausible chance of escape. The four burly men in front, armed with the standard array of makeshift coupe weapons - knifes, table legs, Trump flags - and the steady trickle of armed men seen passing in the hall behind made the sudden reality of imminent death the only thought in Largathia's mind. That is, until, a horrid idea broke through the logic lock of fear. "Forgive me", Largathia mutters, as she spins around, knife in hand, and strikes the Prince with a loud thunk followed shortly by a louder thud of the Prince`s body falling motionless to the floor.
The four intruders, seemingly led by a ginger bearded man covered in dirt and blood, stand stunned at the entrance way to the kitchen as they try to process the image before them. Obscured slightly, but undeniably visible, is the bloody face of the Prince but more unnerving was the back silhouette of a small but stoutly woman of at least 300 pounds that stood over the young prince, heaving ever so slightly. Not wanting to lose momentum or support, the bearded leader takes a tentative step forward.
In near unison, Lagathia twists around and extends a bloody knife toward the leader without taking eyes off the body of the Prince and nonchalantly states, "He's mine."
The intruders freeze again for a second before the ginger bearded man turns around and declares to his cohorts, "Fuck'em. We are after the king anyways".
Shouts of "The Prince is dead! Begin to fill and echo down the hall" as the intruders make their way to the great hall. It is cut off only slightly by the ringing clatter of a knife falling on a stone kitchen floor as the cook drops to her knees over the fallen Prince, wondering if she made the right choice.
Epilogue:
With an aching throb the Prince awakens to complete darkness. Panicked, he shoots up only to hit his head on something wooden, sending a lighting bolt pain down the entire right side of his body.
Just as he is about to start screaming he hears a familiar voice.
"Hush now, Prince. Or you'll get us both killed!" A husky female voice hisses.
As the Prince recognizes the meaner of the cooks voice, he remembers what happened. The storming of the castle, the men chasing him... the cook hitting him with the hilt of her knife!
"You dared to strike me!" The prince shouts as he slams his fist on his shadow ensnared wooden cell.
A second later the Prince hears the scrapping of a wood chair and hears a wooden creak before light penetrates through allowing the prince to see the cook with a bloody rag on her left hand squating amongst a pile of pots pans, and dishes.
"Beleieve it or not I saved your life. Now shut up or I'll hit you again.", the weary cook barks before thrusting the door closed to what the Prince now knows to be a floor cabinet.
He hears the sound of the scrapping of wood again, and the sound of a heavy thump as something or someone pressing against the cabinet wall.
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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Opening the door slowly, the Cook surveyed the room. It was a basic castle kitchen. Her kitchen. The far wall was a massive fireplace with a spit sticking out of one side. The other half was a brick oven, where the underchef made the daily bread. Running along the wall near the oven is a stained wooden bench, just over waist high. Inside the doorway there are two bodies. The underchef and the spitboy, lying in pools of blood. In the center of the kitchen there is a group of soldiers facing a pile of supplies, stacked on top of some barrels, their backs to the Cook. The soldiers were spread out in a crescent all looking intently at the same thing. One of the soldiers in the middle had a large, yellow, feather plume in his helmet. Quickly she slipped through the kitchen door, keeping her knife low and to the side.
&#x200B;
The Cook liked a simple kitchen, with simple well made tools. "Its love and experience that makes the food taste good. Not fancy gadgets" she would say to any who questioned her. That was before these thugs came. Before the floors were stained red. Before the bottoms of the sacks of flour were turned dark brown. Brown and wet from wicking up puddles of the kitchen staff. That was before! Before they brought war to her home. Inside her chest a pressure began to build. A feeling like no other. The white hot blessing of rage. The murder madness that takes the pain away. The sheer unholy bliss of vengeance. She would let the beast loose soon but first the prince needed her. First the prince then their blood.
&#x200B;
Turning to keep her eyes on the armored men, she eased the door shut. In the crack between the barrels, she could just make out a pair of nice leather shoes. The prince's shoes. Her breath was ragged from running here but she couldn't alert them to her presence. Not until she was close enough to protect the prince. She forced her breathing to be regular, her abdomen shaking with the effort.
&#x200B;
*Focus. Four soldiers, three squadsmen, and a corporal. That's lucky. Just a team. it could be a whole squad*
&#x200B;
She burst forward, charging towards the back of the corporal. At the sudden sound behind them, the soldiers turned to face the Cook. The corporal putting all his weight on his left leg pivots, looking over his right shoulder towards the source of the sound. The source of danger, of the aura of imminent death. Without breaking stride her slender hand darts forward. Like a rattlesnake she strikes. Her blade strikes true; sliding past his gorget, there is a jarring in her hand as the knifes edge hits his jawbone. Using the momentum of his pivot she steps past his still warm corpse. Turning on the balls of her feet to face the three soldiers, she rips the knife from the corpses neck flinging blood across their stunned faces. Dropping his corpse and stepping back She flicks the blood off of her favorite knife with a graceful motion. With an eager look in her eye she declares boldly "Welcome to cut throat kitchen"
&#x200B;
Edit: for formatting. Feedback is always welcome
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The prince screamed and ran. Behind him, the elite guard of his family battled and died, metal shrieking and blood spraying across the marble walls.
The proud crests were burned, the treasures looted.
Without anywhere, to run, he came to the Kitchen, where the lone cook left still chopped carrots.
The cook expected him, and ushered him into a cabinet. The last thing he saw before the door closed and the shouting began, was a steak knife morphing into a long dagger, glowing a vibrant purple.
He remembered a tale, from his father. Hadn't she come to his father and mother as a penniless servant with a strange crest?
The room fell silent.
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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Opening the door slowly, the Cook surveyed the room. It was a basic castle kitchen. Her kitchen. The far wall was a massive fireplace with a spit sticking out of one side. The other half was a brick oven, where the underchef made the daily bread. Running along the wall near the oven is a stained wooden bench, just over waist high. Inside the doorway there are two bodies. The underchef and the spitboy, lying in pools of blood. In the center of the kitchen there is a group of soldiers facing a pile of supplies, stacked on top of some barrels, their backs to the Cook. The soldiers were spread out in a crescent all looking intently at the same thing. One of the soldiers in the middle had a large, yellow, feather plume in his helmet. Quickly she slipped through the kitchen door, keeping her knife low and to the side.
&#x200B;
The Cook liked a simple kitchen, with simple well made tools. "Its love and experience that makes the food taste good. Not fancy gadgets" she would say to any who questioned her. That was before these thugs came. Before the floors were stained red. Before the bottoms of the sacks of flour were turned dark brown. Brown and wet from wicking up puddles of the kitchen staff. That was before! Before they brought war to her home. Inside her chest a pressure began to build. A feeling like no other. The white hot blessing of rage. The murder madness that takes the pain away. The sheer unholy bliss of vengeance. She would let the beast loose soon but first the prince needed her. First the prince then their blood.
&#x200B;
Turning to keep her eyes on the armored men, she eased the door shut. In the crack between the barrels, she could just make out a pair of nice leather shoes. The prince's shoes. Her breath was ragged from running here but she couldn't alert them to her presence. Not until she was close enough to protect the prince. She forced her breathing to be regular, her abdomen shaking with the effort.
&#x200B;
*Focus. Four soldiers, three squadsmen, and a corporal. That's lucky. Just a team. it could be a whole squad*
&#x200B;
She burst forward, charging towards the back of the corporal. At the sudden sound behind them, the soldiers turned to face the Cook. The corporal putting all his weight on his left leg pivots, looking over his right shoulder towards the source of the sound. The source of danger, of the aura of imminent death. Without breaking stride her slender hand darts forward. Like a rattlesnake she strikes. Her blade strikes true; sliding past his gorget, there is a jarring in her hand as the knifes edge hits his jawbone. Using the momentum of his pivot she steps past his still warm corpse. Turning on the balls of her feet to face the three soldiers, she rips the knife from the corpses neck flinging blood across their stunned faces. Dropping his corpse and stepping back She flicks the blood off of her favorite knife with a graceful motion. With an eager look in her eye she declares boldly "Welcome to cut throat kitchen"
&#x200B;
Edit: for formatting. Feedback is always welcome
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The low Scottish brogue of the kitchen cook finally broke the stillness of the air.
“Do as I say lad. Stay behind me”
“You can’t tell me what to do. I am the Prince!”
A bit stunned by her impudence at addressing him so informally. Who did she think she was?
Shaking her head with a sigh the kitchen cook tightened her grip on the large and freshly sharpened steak knife.
She had met many men such as these. Desperation exuded out of their every pore. By the look of them they hadn’t eaten a proper meal in some time.
The past winter had been hard on the serfs. Harder still because of the King’s passing.
He had been a fair King. Even a kind one. His welp of a son however, was another matter. She had witnessed first hand the privilege and ignorance that the young prince had grown accustomed to.
She hated herself for it. But for a moment, just one moment mind you she considered giving them the boy.
No. He must live. For the kindness his father had shown her, and for the man he might yet grow to be.
It was decided.
With inhuman speed she lunged forward. As she did so she slashed the man who was nearest nearly in twain. Now she bent backwards to dodge the spear, throwing a kick into the soft parts of its wielder.
With a series of backflips she had her proper footing again. Glaring at her would be assailants she could see clearly that their resolve was diminishing.
With deft hand she grabbed her rolling pin and began to bludgeon the remaining rabble, driving them from her kitchen. The ruffians now began to clamor, pushing each other aside trying to escape. As they ran she struck them down.
The young prince stood slack jawed.
In the heat of the fight the cook’s head covering had been misplaced. Revealing two tall slender ears.
“You’re... you’re one of them!”
The young prince may just as well have spat at her. The way the words poured out of his mouth like the venom of a manticore.
“I'll gie ye a skelpit lug! Aye, I’m an elf. And you better thank your stars I am. Otherwise you’re goose woulda been cooked”
The young prince now backed away from her.
Seeing the fear in his eyes she elected to knock him
unconscious and throw him over her shoulder.
“You’ll have to forgive me for that one King. Your son doesn’t know what’s good for him.”
She said as she looked up towards the heavens.
Making her way through the servants passageways the young prince in tow, she listened intently for any sign of movement.
It seemed the serfs where more concerned with getting at the grain stores, than finding the prince. The way seemed clear enough so the cook pushed on
Eventually they came to the exit which led to the kings forest. Breathing as quietly as she could she listened and waited. Finally she deemed it safe and stole into the night with the young prince.
“Whit’s fur ye’ll no go by ye!”
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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Opening the door slowly, the Cook surveyed the room. It was a basic castle kitchen. Her kitchen. The far wall was a massive fireplace with a spit sticking out of one side. The other half was a brick oven, where the underchef made the daily bread. Running along the wall near the oven is a stained wooden bench, just over waist high. Inside the doorway there are two bodies. The underchef and the spitboy, lying in pools of blood. In the center of the kitchen there is a group of soldiers facing a pile of supplies, stacked on top of some barrels, their backs to the Cook. The soldiers were spread out in a crescent all looking intently at the same thing. One of the soldiers in the middle had a large, yellow, feather plume in his helmet. Quickly she slipped through the kitchen door, keeping her knife low and to the side.
&#x200B;
The Cook liked a simple kitchen, with simple well made tools. "Its love and experience that makes the food taste good. Not fancy gadgets" she would say to any who questioned her. That was before these thugs came. Before the floors were stained red. Before the bottoms of the sacks of flour were turned dark brown. Brown and wet from wicking up puddles of the kitchen staff. That was before! Before they brought war to her home. Inside her chest a pressure began to build. A feeling like no other. The white hot blessing of rage. The murder madness that takes the pain away. The sheer unholy bliss of vengeance. She would let the beast loose soon but first the prince needed her. First the prince then their blood.
&#x200B;
Turning to keep her eyes on the armored men, she eased the door shut. In the crack between the barrels, she could just make out a pair of nice leather shoes. The prince's shoes. Her breath was ragged from running here but she couldn't alert them to her presence. Not until she was close enough to protect the prince. She forced her breathing to be regular, her abdomen shaking with the effort.
&#x200B;
*Focus. Four soldiers, three squadsmen, and a corporal. That's lucky. Just a team. it could be a whole squad*
&#x200B;
She burst forward, charging towards the back of the corporal. At the sudden sound behind them, the soldiers turned to face the Cook. The corporal putting all his weight on his left leg pivots, looking over his right shoulder towards the source of the sound. The source of danger, of the aura of imminent death. Without breaking stride her slender hand darts forward. Like a rattlesnake she strikes. Her blade strikes true; sliding past his gorget, there is a jarring in her hand as the knifes edge hits his jawbone. Using the momentum of his pivot she steps past his still warm corpse. Turning on the balls of her feet to face the three soldiers, she rips the knife from the corpses neck flinging blood across their stunned faces. Dropping his corpse and stepping back She flicks the blood off of her favorite knife with a graceful motion. With an eager look in her eye she declares boldly "Welcome to cut throat kitchen"
&#x200B;
Edit: for formatting. Feedback is always welcome
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They snarl and laugh.
"Oi! Wha' do we 'ave 'ere?" Their jeers don't bother me. I've heard and seen worse, but the smell...
"Was yer father an octopus? Ye smell like a bloated carcass!" I scan them for clues. Obviously pirates, betrayed by their unsteady stances and sea crusted boots. But why...
I don't wait for them to get closer. Like a boar, I rush them. Their lank faces in shock as my shoulders crash into their stomachs and my arms wrap about them. Strength from years of kneading bread, hauling roast pigs, and whipping cream comes down on them like a wave crashing on shore.
One is knocked unconscious. I roll on top of the other and use my years of good eating to my advantage.
"Get up you miserable twat!" I yell to the young prince. A mixture of shock and awe crosses his face. He suddenly remembers why he chose the kitchen. The escape hatch!
He grabs my discarded knife and pushes the half empty water barrel over. Opening the trap door, he gives me one last look and takes off.
I release my hold on the scalawag. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. My barely concealed rage bubbles to the surface. These arses almost ruined a ten year plan with their incompetence. Jaskier will rue the day he sent imbeciles on this job.
I kick the conscious one across the skull. His head falls with a thump. Slipping the chef's knife into the pocket of my skirt, I walk out with one intention: to find and kill Jaskier Symanski.
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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Opening the door slowly, the Cook surveyed the room. It was a basic castle kitchen. Her kitchen. The far wall was a massive fireplace with a spit sticking out of one side. The other half was a brick oven, where the underchef made the daily bread. Running along the wall near the oven is a stained wooden bench, just over waist high. Inside the doorway there are two bodies. The underchef and the spitboy, lying in pools of blood. In the center of the kitchen there is a group of soldiers facing a pile of supplies, stacked on top of some barrels, their backs to the Cook. The soldiers were spread out in a crescent all looking intently at the same thing. One of the soldiers in the middle had a large, yellow, feather plume in his helmet. Quickly she slipped through the kitchen door, keeping her knife low and to the side.
&#x200B;
The Cook liked a simple kitchen, with simple well made tools. "Its love and experience that makes the food taste good. Not fancy gadgets" she would say to any who questioned her. That was before these thugs came. Before the floors were stained red. Before the bottoms of the sacks of flour were turned dark brown. Brown and wet from wicking up puddles of the kitchen staff. That was before! Before they brought war to her home. Inside her chest a pressure began to build. A feeling like no other. The white hot blessing of rage. The murder madness that takes the pain away. The sheer unholy bliss of vengeance. She would let the beast loose soon but first the prince needed her. First the prince then their blood.
&#x200B;
Turning to keep her eyes on the armored men, she eased the door shut. In the crack between the barrels, she could just make out a pair of nice leather shoes. The prince's shoes. Her breath was ragged from running here but she couldn't alert them to her presence. Not until she was close enough to protect the prince. She forced her breathing to be regular, her abdomen shaking with the effort.
&#x200B;
*Focus. Four soldiers, three squadsmen, and a corporal. That's lucky. Just a team. it could be a whole squad*
&#x200B;
She burst forward, charging towards the back of the corporal. At the sudden sound behind them, the soldiers turned to face the Cook. The corporal putting all his weight on his left leg pivots, looking over his right shoulder towards the source of the sound. The source of danger, of the aura of imminent death. Without breaking stride her slender hand darts forward. Like a rattlesnake she strikes. Her blade strikes true; sliding past his gorget, there is a jarring in her hand as the knifes edge hits his jawbone. Using the momentum of his pivot she steps past his still warm corpse. Turning on the balls of her feet to face the three soldiers, she rips the knife from the corpses neck flinging blood across their stunned faces. Dropping his corpse and stepping back She flicks the blood off of her favorite knife with a graceful motion. With an eager look in her eye she declares boldly "Welcome to cut throat kitchen"
&#x200B;
Edit: for formatting. Feedback is always welcome
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First prompt, guys. Be less critical :)
The young prince contemplates the irony that has befallen him. He remembers the time when he and a group of his friends went on a picnic in the fields and were surrounded by his personal guards. He also remembered his friends praising the roasted lamb made by the same cook that stands between him and the assassins. Now his personal guard are nowhere to be seen and the cook is well, a cook. If she were a man, she couldve stood a chance against them. But then again, a man would've begged for his life and run away, not stood here risking her own. One thing was for sure, if he survived, he'll make sure the cook got a raise.
Now he sees the room. Three assassins, one at the door, the other two in the cook's peripheral vision, knives in hand. The young prince realises that small as he might be, the cook needs assistance. Fortunately, the prince knows where the spices are kept. Fortunately, they are kept in glass boxes. Fortunately, he needs to move just 3 feet to the right, although quickly to take them by surprise. He waits till when the assassin to the cook's right takes a swing at her and simultaneously hurls himself towards the kitchen cabinet.........
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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Opening the door slowly, the Cook surveyed the room. It was a basic castle kitchen. Her kitchen. The far wall was a massive fireplace with a spit sticking out of one side. The other half was a brick oven, where the underchef made the daily bread. Running along the wall near the oven is a stained wooden bench, just over waist high. Inside the doorway there are two bodies. The underchef and the spitboy, lying in pools of blood. In the center of the kitchen there is a group of soldiers facing a pile of supplies, stacked on top of some barrels, their backs to the Cook. The soldiers were spread out in a crescent all looking intently at the same thing. One of the soldiers in the middle had a large, yellow, feather plume in his helmet. Quickly she slipped through the kitchen door, keeping her knife low and to the side.
&#x200B;
The Cook liked a simple kitchen, with simple well made tools. "Its love and experience that makes the food taste good. Not fancy gadgets" she would say to any who questioned her. That was before these thugs came. Before the floors were stained red. Before the bottoms of the sacks of flour were turned dark brown. Brown and wet from wicking up puddles of the kitchen staff. That was before! Before they brought war to her home. Inside her chest a pressure began to build. A feeling like no other. The white hot blessing of rage. The murder madness that takes the pain away. The sheer unholy bliss of vengeance. She would let the beast loose soon but first the prince needed her. First the prince then their blood.
&#x200B;
Turning to keep her eyes on the armored men, she eased the door shut. In the crack between the barrels, she could just make out a pair of nice leather shoes. The prince's shoes. Her breath was ragged from running here but she couldn't alert them to her presence. Not until she was close enough to protect the prince. She forced her breathing to be regular, her abdomen shaking with the effort.
&#x200B;
*Focus. Four soldiers, three squadsmen, and a corporal. That's lucky. Just a team. it could be a whole squad*
&#x200B;
She burst forward, charging towards the back of the corporal. At the sudden sound behind them, the soldiers turned to face the Cook. The corporal putting all his weight on his left leg pivots, looking over his right shoulder towards the source of the sound. The source of danger, of the aura of imminent death. Without breaking stride her slender hand darts forward. Like a rattlesnake she strikes. Her blade strikes true; sliding past his gorget, there is a jarring in her hand as the knifes edge hits his jawbone. Using the momentum of his pivot she steps past his still warm corpse. Turning on the balls of her feet to face the three soldiers, she rips the knife from the corpses neck flinging blood across their stunned faces. Dropping his corpse and stepping back She flicks the blood off of her favorite knife with a graceful motion. With an eager look in her eye she declares boldly "Welcome to cut throat kitchen"
&#x200B;
Edit: for formatting. Feedback is always welcome
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[Poem]
The cook takes her knife and stands her ground,
bold, brave, and stunning she's told.
She had been in charge of the kitchen,
And believed her sharp tongue would protect her.
But she didn't train, any combat sports,
And violent men came and killed her and the the prince.
It just goes to show you the weak depend on civilization
To maintain their power,
So maybe* shut the fuck up with your tear it all down.
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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Opening the door slowly, the Cook surveyed the room. It was a basic castle kitchen. Her kitchen. The far wall was a massive fireplace with a spit sticking out of one side. The other half was a brick oven, where the underchef made the daily bread. Running along the wall near the oven is a stained wooden bench, just over waist high. Inside the doorway there are two bodies. The underchef and the spitboy, lying in pools of blood. In the center of the kitchen there is a group of soldiers facing a pile of supplies, stacked on top of some barrels, their backs to the Cook. The soldiers were spread out in a crescent all looking intently at the same thing. One of the soldiers in the middle had a large, yellow, feather plume in his helmet. Quickly she slipped through the kitchen door, keeping her knife low and to the side.
&#x200B;
The Cook liked a simple kitchen, with simple well made tools. "Its love and experience that makes the food taste good. Not fancy gadgets" she would say to any who questioned her. That was before these thugs came. Before the floors were stained red. Before the bottoms of the sacks of flour were turned dark brown. Brown and wet from wicking up puddles of the kitchen staff. That was before! Before they brought war to her home. Inside her chest a pressure began to build. A feeling like no other. The white hot blessing of rage. The murder madness that takes the pain away. The sheer unholy bliss of vengeance. She would let the beast loose soon but first the prince needed her. First the prince then their blood.
&#x200B;
Turning to keep her eyes on the armored men, she eased the door shut. In the crack between the barrels, she could just make out a pair of nice leather shoes. The prince's shoes. Her breath was ragged from running here but she couldn't alert them to her presence. Not until she was close enough to protect the prince. She forced her breathing to be regular, her abdomen shaking with the effort.
&#x200B;
*Focus. Four soldiers, three squadsmen, and a corporal. That's lucky. Just a team. it could be a whole squad*
&#x200B;
She burst forward, charging towards the back of the corporal. At the sudden sound behind them, the soldiers turned to face the Cook. The corporal putting all his weight on his left leg pivots, looking over his right shoulder towards the source of the sound. The source of danger, of the aura of imminent death. Without breaking stride her slender hand darts forward. Like a rattlesnake she strikes. Her blade strikes true; sliding past his gorget, there is a jarring in her hand as the knifes edge hits his jawbone. Using the momentum of his pivot she steps past his still warm corpse. Turning on the balls of her feet to face the three soldiers, she rips the knife from the corpses neck flinging blood across their stunned faces. Dropping his corpse and stepping back She flicks the blood off of her favorite knife with a graceful motion. With an eager look in her eye she declares boldly "Welcome to cut throat kitchen"
&#x200B;
Edit: for formatting. Feedback is always welcome
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Rice pudding and ratatouille, beef wellington and broccoli, caviar and cornflakes: she had seen it all. But this time was different; this time, it was the flesh of infidels that was on the menu.
The way she handled her knife would make any sensible person say "Sous chef? Who chef?" This was a professional at work, not one of those dime-a-dozen line cooks that worked for scraps and had bologna-breath for reasons of both diet and diction.
"May the gods watch over me," she exclaimed, "and may they remember how even Augustine stole pears, for what I am about to do shall not weigh lightly on my soul."
She vaulted over the quartz countertop, nimbly sliding underneath a heathen's extended sword. "This is for Odin!" she shouted, stabbing him in the back. She stood there, as calm as could be, and slowly twisted the knife.
She looked around the room. "Does anybody else want a taste of the Saturday special?" The clash of steel against marble could be heard as the remaining invaders dropped their weapons and scurried out of the room.
"Come now, boy," she said to the whimpering prince, "help me cut up this cretin. You know as well as I do how much your father enjoys a bit of human flesh with his coffee in the morning."
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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**WC: 2,036 words in 3 parts (because I kept getting an error)**
The prince slumped against the doorway to the kitchens, hand on the gaping wound at his side. He could hear the mercenaries as they stormed down the castle's stairwell. They'd only have to turn one corner before the royal bloodline ended with his chopped head.
A hysterical laugh bubbled up his throat. He bit his arm to avoid giving away his position. It was stupid, really; to die next to the place where animals were slaughtered to provide food for the entire castle.
He was going to end up like one of those animals soon. The hall echoed with the clinking of steel and thundering feet hunting down their target. Just as they turned the corner—
"*What in Lyria's name is going on out here?"* The door to the kitchens swung open and the prince fell in a crumpled heap at the cook's feet.
"Shh." The prince placed a bloody finger to his lips. "They're going to hear you." The laugh finally escaped his lips and he curled up into a ball, still clutching his wound. Laughing hurt, but damn if it didn't make him feel a little better.
He opened his eyes when a warm hand touched his brow. Through the haze, he thought it was his mother. But that was impossible. He'd seen her head rolling down the main ballroom.
Vaguely, he heard someone barking orders. Someone had lifted his shirt and was probing the wound at his side. He'd forgotten that was there.
When did stone floors become so comfortable? He remembered when his father would let him sleep on the floor if he misbehaved. He'd hated it, but now? It was cold. Cold made the pain go away...
And then it was hot. *Blazing* hot. He screamed in agony as his whole body burned with fire. He convulsed on the ground, trying to get away from the source of the fire, but firm bindings kept him where he was. Pain he'd never felt raced through his veins and he nearly wished he'd died at the hands of the mercenaries. A chopped head would have hurt less than—
He sat up. The pain was gone. His vision was clear. He could hear the bustle around him as kitchen servants raced to follow orders. The prince laid a hand on his wound, but was met with smooth skin.
"You're all right now." Kneeling beside him was the cook. "Now why don't we get rid of this next problem, shall we?"
"They're here!" A mercenary appeared in the open doorway, crooked finger pointed at the prince. She took out her sabre and ran forward. The kitchen door slammed itself shut.
"Well she walked right into that," the cook joked. She turned to the prince, hands blazing with a blue fire.
"You're...I'm...that's...magic?" He sputtered, backing away from her. His father's voice spoke in his mind: *Princes don't gawk like idiots.* "Magic is illegal."
The cook rolled her eyes. "You sound just like your father. Off with you now, I have other business to attend to." She dismissed him like a common servant.
The indignation of the act sent him on his feet and rallying towards her, but a blast of magic kept his feet firmly in place. The door was blown off its hinges by another wave of magic that pulled on the hairs of his skin, like a ratty shirt.
The leader of the mercenaries sauntered into the room. Her lack for height made up for her willingness to kill anyone in her path. Everyone else filed in closely behind her.
"Well, well, well," she mused. "What do we have here?"
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'Who do you think you are? Child-murderers?'
They stopped.
'He is the prince, ma'am,' one of them said, but he didn't lift his sword.
'Yeah, and you're nothing but the dung-gatherer, but you don't hear me going on about that, do you?'
'We'll spare you if you hand over the kid,' someone said. He was wearing leather armor and a buckler as his only defence, coupled with a hastily grabbed knife.
'He's a good kid,' Mrs. Henston told him, not moving from her place. 'I'd rather you left him alone, if it's all the same to you.'
'Well, it isn't,' the man said. He couldn't possibly be older than fifteen at most. A man by their standards, to be sure, but hardly experienced in battle.
'I remember you,' she told him. 'You suckled my breast before this one was born.'
He paled.
'D'you want me to tell them all about your misadventures?'
'We just want the kid,' his dad said, a stocky build man with a scruffy black beard, wearing a butcher's knife and a small improvised shield. 'Then this'll all be over.'
'No,' she said. 'You'll kill him and then where will we be? I won't allow it.'
She shook her head, as if that reinterated her point. 'No, I will not stand for it. You won't kill a innocent kid just because he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and you weren't.'
'You know he'll grow up like his father.'
'No, I do not,' she told him. 'Nobody knows how he'll grow up.'
'He has The Sickness.'
'Perhaps,' she allowed.
'You're protecting a demon,' the dunggatherer spat out.
'At least he never stole even a cookie,' she said. 'Unlike you, who stole my wedding ring.'
He shut up after that. They all did.
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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"I think he went in here!"
Liesl heard the gruff voice from the other room, and looked down at the terrified nineteen-year-old royal scion beside her. *Yes*, *he did*, she thought. The expression on Prince Karl's face was starkly at odds with the ermine-trimmed velvet robe. She could see what had to have been his dirtied pajamas peeking through the folds.
Starkly at odds ...
The prince gulped. "Liesl, it's OK. Don't ..."
"Highness, lose the robe!"
"What?"
"Karl, get that off!"
"What did you call ...?"
Liesl tore the robe from around the prince's shoulders and shoved it far into the back of the roaring fire in the ovens, here in the farthest room of the kitchens. The rear of the kitchens was actually in the heart of the castle so that the heat could filter out through the castle in the winter months. Most castles had theirs on the exterior walls in case of a fire, but the frozen forest of Hellendsknact mandated taking a few more risks to trap heat. It also meant there was no escape to the outside from here.
"Liesl!"
"Give me a hand, you useless country brat."
"Lie ..." his latest gaping attempt to say her name was interrupted by a half-full sack of flour landing in his arms. It spilled over him and his pajamas immediately from the chest down.
"Must I do everything?" she demanded, seizing a steak knife and twirling it in her hands. She then threw a mixing bowl in front of the prince, along with a pitcher of water.
Three armed renegades burst through the door a moment later.
She wheeled on them. "Twenty minutes!" she shouted. "And put that thing down, Christ Almighty!"
They froze. The apparent leader, his chest covered in a patchwork of leather and chainmail and ruddy facial hair, lowered his mace.
"Uh, did someone else run through here?"
"Does it *look* like this place has a back exit? You think someone went up the chimney?" She wheeled on Prince Karl. "*Keep working*, we're in enough trouble as it is!"
Karl did his best to look like he was kneading dough. He didn't add any water from the pitcher Liesl had just put right next to him.
"Oh sweet Mary Mother of God, you are thick!" She whacked the prince aside with a rolling pin, then measured water into the bowl of flour.
She pointed to a door in the back of the room. "That's the pantry, feel free to check."
The leader's eyes narrowed. "We'll do that." He motioned one of his fellows forward, who disappeared into the pantry.
"You can get the salt on the top right while you're in there!" she called.
The other rogue returned from the pantry. He did not have the salt. Or the prince.
"Oh, fine," Liesl said. "Hans, salt, now." She waved her knife in the direction of the pantry, and Prince Karl the Flour-Dusted disappeared into the void.
She turned back to the rogues. "Do you men mind? I'm short of help today and even shorter of help with a brain. And I don't even want to know what the hell is going on out there. But here, you're either cooking or getting the hell out of my kitchen."
The leader regarded her. "Maybe I won't do either. Maybe I'll just wait."
Karl reappeared from the pantry. He had the salt. Liesl took it from him and sprinkled some into the dough.
Liesl laughed. "Your ass if the captain finds you loafing around waiting when your shift ain't even up yet. But you suit yourself. Hans and I have work to do."
"I don't think the captain will show up," the leader said lightly.
"Like I said, your ass, not mine. Soup's up in twenty, roast in thirty." She turned to Prince Karl, her face now turned away from the men, her voice low and soft. "I've heard you're smart. So act like you can cook. And act well."
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'Who do you think you are? Child-murderers?'
They stopped.
'He is the prince, ma'am,' one of them said, but he didn't lift his sword.
'Yeah, and you're nothing but the dung-gatherer, but you don't hear me going on about that, do you?'
'We'll spare you if you hand over the kid,' someone said. He was wearing leather armor and a buckler as his only defence, coupled with a hastily grabbed knife.
'He's a good kid,' Mrs. Henston told him, not moving from her place. 'I'd rather you left him alone, if it's all the same to you.'
'Well, it isn't,' the man said. He couldn't possibly be older than fifteen at most. A man by their standards, to be sure, but hardly experienced in battle.
'I remember you,' she told him. 'You suckled my breast before this one was born.'
He paled.
'D'you want me to tell them all about your misadventures?'
'We just want the kid,' his dad said, a stocky build man with a scruffy black beard, wearing a butcher's knife and a small improvised shield. 'Then this'll all be over.'
'No,' she said. 'You'll kill him and then where will we be? I won't allow it.'
She shook her head, as if that reinterated her point. 'No, I will not stand for it. You won't kill a innocent kid just because he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and you weren't.'
'You know he'll grow up like his father.'
'No, I do not,' she told him. 'Nobody knows how he'll grow up.'
'He has The Sickness.'
'Perhaps,' she allowed.
'You're protecting a demon,' the dunggatherer spat out.
'At least he never stole even a cookie,' she said. 'Unlike you, who stole my wedding ring.'
He shut up after that. They all did.
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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"I think he went in here!"
Liesl heard the gruff voice from the other room, and looked down at the terrified nineteen-year-old royal scion beside her. *Yes*, *he did*, she thought. The expression on Prince Karl's face was starkly at odds with the ermine-trimmed velvet robe. She could see what had to have been his dirtied pajamas peeking through the folds.
Starkly at odds ...
The prince gulped. "Liesl, it's OK. Don't ..."
"Highness, lose the robe!"
"What?"
"Karl, get that off!"
"What did you call ...?"
Liesl tore the robe from around the prince's shoulders and shoved it far into the back of the roaring fire in the ovens, here in the farthest room of the kitchens. The rear of the kitchens was actually in the heart of the castle so that the heat could filter out through the castle in the winter months. Most castles had theirs on the exterior walls in case of a fire, but the frozen forest of Hellendsknact mandated taking a few more risks to trap heat. It also meant there was no escape to the outside from here.
"Liesl!"
"Give me a hand, you useless country brat."
"Lie ..." his latest gaping attempt to say her name was interrupted by a half-full sack of flour landing in his arms. It spilled over him and his pajamas immediately from the chest down.
"Must I do everything?" she demanded, seizing a steak knife and twirling it in her hands. She then threw a mixing bowl in front of the prince, along with a pitcher of water.
Three armed renegades burst through the door a moment later.
She wheeled on them. "Twenty minutes!" she shouted. "And put that thing down, Christ Almighty!"
They froze. The apparent leader, his chest covered in a patchwork of leather and chainmail and ruddy facial hair, lowered his mace.
"Uh, did someone else run through here?"
"Does it *look* like this place has a back exit? You think someone went up the chimney?" She wheeled on Prince Karl. "*Keep working*, we're in enough trouble as it is!"
Karl did his best to look like he was kneading dough. He didn't add any water from the pitcher Liesl had just put right next to him.
"Oh sweet Mary Mother of God, you are thick!" She whacked the prince aside with a rolling pin, then measured water into the bowl of flour.
She pointed to a door in the back of the room. "That's the pantry, feel free to check."
The leader's eyes narrowed. "We'll do that." He motioned one of his fellows forward, who disappeared into the pantry.
"You can get the salt on the top right while you're in there!" she called.
The other rogue returned from the pantry. He did not have the salt. Or the prince.
"Oh, fine," Liesl said. "Hans, salt, now." She waved her knife in the direction of the pantry, and Prince Karl the Flour-Dusted disappeared into the void.
She turned back to the rogues. "Do you men mind? I'm short of help today and even shorter of help with a brain. And I don't even want to know what the hell is going on out there. But here, you're either cooking or getting the hell out of my kitchen."
The leader regarded her. "Maybe I won't do either. Maybe I'll just wait."
Karl reappeared from the pantry. He had the salt. Liesl took it from him and sprinkled some into the dough.
Liesl laughed. "Your ass if the captain finds you loafing around waiting when your shift ain't even up yet. But you suit yourself. Hans and I have work to do."
"I don't think the captain will show up," the leader said lightly.
"Like I said, your ass, not mine. Soup's up in twenty, roast in thirty." She turned to Prince Karl, her face now turned away from the men, her voice low and soft. "I've heard you're smart. So act like you can cook. And act well."
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The King was dead. Long live the new King. Though the length of his reign was rather questionable as the boy dashed through the halls, the whimpers of servants and the moans of loyal guards filling the corridors in discordant chorus with his footfalls. He turned into a servant's passage and paused to catch his breath, unsure of which way to go.
&#x200B;
Desperately he tried to think back to the stories he used to hear from one of the cooks, of the Knight Magdalena and her adventures, slaying the last of the dragons, rescuing princes from evil lords, and he desperately wished she were here. Ever the practical boy, he forced himself to start moving again when the clash of steel and the shouts of soldiers drew close once more. He wandered down the hallway, all his tutor's advice seeming so abstract. He had no armies to lead, no advisors to consult, not even a proper pair of shoes, all lost when his own vassals had turned against him to seize power.
&#x200B;
He caught the smell of food, and realized he must be close to the kitchens. That would mean the door to the gardens, and he could hide there as he often had when playing with the servant's children. He dashed the last hundred feet to the heavy door, and was greeted by the familiar heat of the massive ovens. There were no bodies here, at least, but all the usual bustle of the staff was quiet, all fled amid the chaos save one of the cooks.
&#x200B;
He almost burst into fresh tears of happiness when he spotted Mags, her apron stained and her fiery red hair working free of her long braid. She wrapped her arms around him as he ran to her, hugging him close. "Th-they're all... they're all dead..." He managed between sobs, feeling the woman's tall, wiry frame bending over him, her hand rubbing his back.
&#x200B;
"There, there. It will be alright. Breathe, little prince." She soothed him, before gently pushing him away to stand on his own feet. "In a few moments, we're going to go out the door to the gardens, quickly, and down to my cottage by the yard. You remember where it is?" Her tone was as soothing as ever, calm even in chaos. She waited until he gave a nod before continuing. "Petr and Sandra will be there, and we'll leave together."
&#x200B;
Before he could nod again, the main door to the kitchen burst open, and Mags motioned him with a flutter of her hand to get behind her. Three burly men, clad in the livery of some lesser lord braced themselves across the wide hall that held the kitchens, their weapons seeming hooked and cruel, the iron black and glistening with blood already. "Oi. Hand over the boy wench. No 'arm'll come to him. It's been or'ered so." One of them said, his accent thick enough the prince had to struggle a moment to understand him.
&#x200B;
One of the other soldiers looked Mags up and down, grinning and mumbling something about "fun" that the prince couldn't make out. Whatever the man had in mind didn't seem like fun at all, but Mags was as calm and unworried as ever, her back straight and her gaze never leaving the trio. The prince felt, more than saw her move towards the center of the room, drawing a long knife from the stand before taking a step towards them.
&#x200B;
The prince would have thought he'd be unable to pull his eyes from the three soldiers, and yet he found his gaze drawn towards the cook as she moved, her soft leather shoes silent on the stone floor, each step taken with purposeful grace. "There are many places in this keep you might search, towers and halls where a dutiful soldier might find not one soul but plenty of coin for looting and finery to take with you as gifts for unmarried girls." Mags kept the blade low by her side, her grip light on the carved wooden handle.
&#x200B;
One of the soldiers scoffed, and with a motion to his fellows, they began to advance. "A king's ransom for that whelp, and you want us to rummage through the chifforobes of Ladies in Waiting for scraps?" The prince could feel his heart race, a wall of metal and malice advancing on him. "Don't worry love, ya needn't do a thing, just stand there, and it'll all be over in a moment. What's the whelp ever done for ya?"
&#x200B;
Then they were close, and she was on them. They were so big, seeming giants compared to the slender cook. Yet even as they raised their arms she in among them, the finely honed steel of the knife snick-snacking as Mags twirled and danced, one moment almost prostrate, the next poised only on the toes of one foot. Blood sprayed across the stone floor, making dark pools that caught the light from the windows high above and showed sanguine mockery of the thick wooden beams.
&#x200B;
The prince watched the blood, his stomach turning before a wet thump sounded, and his eyes jerked to the sprawling form of Mags, blood running from the corner of her mouth while her skin darkened with the makings of a bruise. She heaved for air, stunned, while the soldiers' curses filled the air. One of them lay on the ground, still and unmoving, another clung to the cabinets with one hand, his other vainly trying to stop his life from leaking from the wounds in his leg and side.
&#x200B;
The third soldier wiped the back of his mail-clad fist against his surcoat before advancing on the cook, his foot pulling back to deal a harsh kick into her gut, curling her into a fetal ball. "I'll take that out of your hide wench, and make sure you feel every bit of it!" His boot kicked aside the knife while he leant close to the woman. "What could this whelp possibly mean to you that you'd fight for him? Do you think his father would have done anything for you?"
&#x200B;
Mags wheezed something, before trying again. "His father... was a great man... he gave me peace... a husband... an end to wandering and war..." Her voice was no longer the composed tone the prince had heard so many wonderous stories from growing up, but a syllabant hiss that boiled with emotion and hurt.
&#x200B;
The soldier against the cupboards sagged to the ground heavily, and the last one growled. "What do they call you, wench, so I can tell every servant girl in this castle why I'm so rough with them later?"
&#x200B;
The Prince couldn't take his eyes off the soldier's face, red and swollen. He felt the anger swelling in him, not hot rage but cold, a shiver running down his spine as it mustered and his muscles moving without thought. The Soldier was focused downwards still, only realizing the Prince's motion a moment before the small knife buried itself into his neck, hot blood gushing around childish fingers while the soldier stumbled back, sagging and then falling to the ground.
&#x200B;
Mags pulled herself up off the ground, giving a cough and wiping her face with the back of one sleeve. "My name is Magdalena the Dragonslayer." She spat on him, the droplet red-tinted as it landed on the soldier's face with a wet splat. Kneeling down next to the prince, she forced him to look at her with a gentle, but firm finger on his jaw, "Thank you. But we must go now. You will have your kingdom, if you wish it, but now-" She paused, listening for a moment. "Now we run."
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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Whether she was gutting a fish, chopping vegetables or dicing beef for her famous stew, the cook's tool always seemed an extension of her hand. She was deft and dextrous, but a slight thing, not unlike the young Prince himself. "Let the knife do the work," she would tell him. He loved to watch her, finding all the food and spices and flavours fascinating.
Now, it was difficult viewing. A steak knife was a dangerous thing - the cook would always warn the Prince as much when she let him help - but it was little match for two steel swords in trained, merciless hands. They were big, intimidating, men, and even though they wore dark clothes that bore no mark of who they represented, they could only belong to the would-be usurper. It was oddly quiet but for some distant din, and the bubbling of whatever the cook had been preparing before the chaos began.
Never taking her eyes from the assassins, the cook heard the young Prince scurry into the corner behind her as the two men made their approach, one to her left, the other to her right. If she moved for one, the other would go straight for the boy, she knew. Backing up slowly, she held the knife in front of her with trembling fingers. They were closing, and if she didn't do something now, or they were both dead. When her elbow knocked against the large pot, she knew that was her chance. "Get ready, little Prince," she told him.
He watched the cook release her knife, and before it even dropped to the floor she had grabbed the pot of boiling water, hauling it with more strength than she ought to have had. She flung the water directly at the face of the left assassin, just as he was making a lunge for her. Enough of it must have gotten through his helm to hurt his eyes, and he staggered back. The other killer was slower to react, and the cook had already rolled past him before he could turn, kicking the back of his knee and sending him crumbling to the floor. She sent the now empty pot crashing against his head, to keep him down.
"Quickly, little Prince!" she yelled. "Now!" The Prince duly followed, and was nearly to the door when something grabbed his ankle and pulled him down with a thud. The killer had ripped off his helm, the skin around his eyes reddened from the burn. The cook stood at the door, dismayed. The killer gave her a swift smack to the gut, making a snarling sound as if to say *how dare she interfere with our work?* He turned back to the Prince, still lying on the floor, and dragged him closer, like a rag doll.
The Prince felt the cold stone beneath him, and felt the man's hands close around him like a vice. When he felt the steel brush against him, he instinctively closed his left hand around it. *Let the knife do the work*. He swung awkwardly for the killer's neck, and in it the blade disappeared. His grip immediately released, and the Prince struggled away as the big man fell, blood gushing from the wound.
He went straight for the cook, doubled over in pain. "I'll be fine, don't worry about me," she reassured him. "But we must go, find someone to clean this up." She looked over the Prince as he helped her to her feet, his hands and face stained with the blood of the man who tried to kill him.
"You should have run to the butcher, little Prince. His knives are sharper than mine."
|
Tha assassin grew nervous. The proficiency with which the cook handled his knife paid homage to the years of experience he had in handling this deadly tool. Suddenly his own short sword didn't seem that intimidating anymore.
Confidently the cook looked into his opponents eyes, a smile danced over his lips. "I am taking you to the mill. The blood mill!"
Confused by the taunt the assassin almost reacted too late. The chef's knife darted forward and cut him across the neck. He jumped backwards and robbed the otherwise fatal cut of much of its depth.
They traded blows over and over again. The assassin grew more exhausted by the second. Then an opportunity presented itself. With a wide blow he forced the cook away from him and flung a steaming pot at the defender.
"Let off some steam, co..."
His own taunt was drowned out by strangely dampened scream. The pot had only grazed the cook but then had continued on and had engulfed the head of the nearby cowering prince.
As they stared at him the screaming stopped and the boy's body fell slack to the ground.
They stared at each other awkwardly.
"Yeah I didn't mean to do that." said the assassin. The cook looked annoyed but nodded: "No worries, I could tell. Just a shame is what it is. I always wanted to be a hero"
The assassin nodded and smiled sheepishly: "Yeah same here, I mean that taunt was just epic. When you did that I thought a dream had come true!"
Both men nodded in appreciation and let their gaze wander around the room, unsure what to do now and unwilling to look at each other.
Finally the assassin put away his sword, put on his best salesman smile and said: "You know we could use a man like ..."
A knife to his heart stopped him mid-sentence. With a wild glee in his eyes the cook stared at him as blood began to drip from his mouth. "You guys think you are above the law, well you are not above mine!"
The assassin fell to the floor and as the cook began to undress him he knew that that had been the most epic moment of his life. He closed his eyes and passed on, at peace with himself and the world.
Half an hour later the now disguised cook put a blanked over the dead assassin when he heard a yell: "Hey, what are you doing over there?"
The insanity had gripped him fully at this point and with a broad and confident smile he answered back.
"Don't wake my friend over here, he's dead tired!"
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|
[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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\[Chef. Skill.\]
"That doesn't make any sense," Andy whined at Jessie. The [pair of guildmates](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/b09g38/wp_hey_whys_there_a_chef_in_our_dungeon_party/) stood in the center of the castle's kitchen. Wooden chairs were over-turned and food dripped from the stone walls. Few tables were intact; the rest lay split and splintered along with various armored corpses. A lean, older cook with a long salt-and-pepper ponytail protected the cowering, hidden prince. She wielded a long, serrated steak knife in one hand and a heavy, broad cleaver in the other. The cook eyed their discussion but wasn't in a hurry to make a move. She knew her job was to stall and hope help showed up.
Pepper, the cook, tried listening in on their conversation. She knew the kitchen perfectly after serving the royal family for over fifty years. She knew that she should have been able to hear their conversation from where they were. They didn't seem to be making a particular effort to whisper, but their speech still sounded garbled to her ears. If Pepper had not seen them fight, she'd have doubts they were any threat. The pair seemed only a few years older than the prince's 10 years.
"*The girl did all the fighting,*" Pepper mused to herself. The pink-haired girl moved fast and had most of the guards defeated before the brown-haired boy ran in. He wasn't dressed to fight anyway. It was odd but his uniform almost resembled her own. He looked more like a chef than a fighter, or even a rebel. She knew she didn't stand a chance against the girl, but she didn't have to win. Just endure.
"When will you learn?!" Jessie huffed at Andy. "It's the AlterNet. It's not supposed to make sense. It's supposed to be fun," she smacked the top of his head. "We're here for you, remember? Get started," she said then shoved him toward Pepper. The chef raised her weapons and stood her ground. The prince whimpered again from inside a cabinet behind her.
"Wait!" he said. He put his hands up with the palms out. "I'm not good at fighting!"
"Good," Pepper stepped forward intent on taking at least one of them out. If she could focus on the real threat, she'd be okay until help came. The royal guards had to be on the way. She lowered her knife with the point up. Pepper aimed a practiced stab at his ribs. She knew from experience his chef's coat wouldn't give him much protection. Then, her hand stopped with the tip touching his apron. The pink-haired girl now stood next to them; her hand was wrapped around Pepper's wrist and she let out a heavy sigh.
"JUST SAY IT!" she growled at Andy. His eyes went wide and he nodded in a panic. Then, he focused his attention on Pepper.
"I CHALLENGE YOU TO A CHEF'S DUEL!!" Andy yelled. Pepper dropped the knife in her hand and smiled immediately.
"Challenge Accepted! Main ingredient: Unicorn meat. Do you accept?" Pepper asked.
"Uh.." he turned back to look at Jessie. "Do I?" A short, less-patient sigh escaped her mouth before she gave a curt nod.
"Yes."
"I accept," Andy said. "Great!" Pepper clasped her hands together and turned around to start collecting ingredients.
"Now," Jessie said
"Okay," Andy shrugged. He raised his hand in the air. His obsidian chef's knife materialized in his hand and he brought it down on Pepper from behind. The old woman let out a surprised gasp, then crumpled to the floor.
"See? Works every time," Jessie bragged while Andy knelt next to Pepper. He touched his node against her and it flashed green. He stood, glanced at it, and smiled.
" Uh.. \[Chef's Special\] - buff duration's pretty good, right?" he asked Jessie. She nodded. "What else does she drop?" he asked.
"All the Chef class skills," Jessie said. She turned to head out the door. "Come on. She's got a giant loot table and we're only looking for certain skills." Andy rushed to catch up to her.
"But this was one, right?" he asked. Then, he sighed in relief when Jessie nodded. They walked out of the kitchen. They waited five minutes, then Jessie ran into the room again. She assaulted the guards first while a lean, older cook with a long salt-and-pepper ponytail grabbed a rotund boy and shoved him into a cabinet.
"I CHALLENGE YOU TO A CHEF'S DUEL!" Andy ran in after Jessie defeated all the guards. Pepper looked at the mess the intruders made in her kitchen, not to mention all the dead guardsmen. But, it wasn't anything that couldn't be cleaned up pretty easily. She nodded at the chef.
"Challenge Accepted! Main ingredient: Unicorn meat. Do you accept?" Pepper asked.
"Yes," Andy said. Then, pepper smiled and turned her back on him.
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1104 in a row. (Story #008 in year four.) You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog.
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Tha assassin grew nervous. The proficiency with which the cook handled his knife paid homage to the years of experience he had in handling this deadly tool. Suddenly his own short sword didn't seem that intimidating anymore.
Confidently the cook looked into his opponents eyes, a smile danced over his lips. "I am taking you to the mill. The blood mill!"
Confused by the taunt the assassin almost reacted too late. The chef's knife darted forward and cut him across the neck. He jumped backwards and robbed the otherwise fatal cut of much of its depth.
They traded blows over and over again. The assassin grew more exhausted by the second. Then an opportunity presented itself. With a wide blow he forced the cook away from him and flung a steaming pot at the defender.
"Let off some steam, co..."
His own taunt was drowned out by strangely dampened scream. The pot had only grazed the cook but then had continued on and had engulfed the head of the nearby cowering prince.
As they stared at him the screaming stopped and the boy's body fell slack to the ground.
They stared at each other awkwardly.
"Yeah I didn't mean to do that." said the assassin. The cook looked annoyed but nodded: "No worries, I could tell. Just a shame is what it is. I always wanted to be a hero"
The assassin nodded and smiled sheepishly: "Yeah same here, I mean that taunt was just epic. When you did that I thought a dream had come true!"
Both men nodded in appreciation and let their gaze wander around the room, unsure what to do now and unwilling to look at each other.
Finally the assassin put away his sword, put on his best salesman smile and said: "You know we could use a man like ..."
A knife to his heart stopped him mid-sentence. With a wild glee in his eyes the cook stared at him as blood began to drip from his mouth. "You guys think you are above the law, well you are not above mine!"
The assassin fell to the floor and as the cook began to undress him he knew that that had been the most epic moment of his life. He closed his eyes and passed on, at peace with himself and the world.
Half an hour later the now disguised cook put a blanked over the dead assassin when he heard a yell: "Hey, what are you doing over there?"
The insanity had gripped him fully at this point and with a broad and confident smile he answered back.
"Don't wake my friend over here, he's dead tired!"
|
|
[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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"Get behind me master Edward" the portly cook says as she gets between the young prince and the ruffians who breached the castle.
She twirls a steak knife in her hands, and with a glint in her eye smirks at Edward and says "now you'll find out the reason why I can make you any dish from anywhere you've heard about..."
The band of 7 goons rushes at her with axes and rusty swords, but she ducks under a swung axe and slices behind the axe wielders knee, bringing him to the ground as she sidesteps a downward sword slice from the second goon. While the sword clangs at the ground she slices the ear of of the sword wielder as she rushes from him to the man with a mace, who swings at her but misses as she leans backward, then like a pendulum that bobs back from whence it came she leans forward and slices the hand the mace was holding and elbows the guys face in one swift move.
As the 3 men are yelling while holding the back of there knees, ear, and wrist respectively, the other 4 stare at the sweet looking portly castle cooks fiery determination while walking toward them, and they turn tail and run, while the wounded men retreat.
"How... how did you do that?" The adolescent prince says as he leans out from behind a barrel of fresh vegetables.
"Well master, when I was not much older then you my sick father, who I cooked and cleaned up after for years, succumbed to his illness, and left me all alone. As I tried to scramble together my life in the days after that, having had to bury my father all on me own, a band of ruffians not unlike what you just saw looted and pillaged my home as I escaped out the back. I ran and I ran, in the ensuing rain storm until my feet bled and my legs were jelly, collapsing outside an old shack. I woke in a bed, and an old knight with a pointy white beard was tending to my fever at my bedside, pressing a cool cloth to my head. I explained my life's lot, and he agreed to let me stay until I was strong enough. After much begging, he taught me the ways of many weapons, and I took care of him for a few years until he too died, bequeething to me his land and old shack, and a considerable sum of wealth I knew nothing of, given the house and surroundings he lived in.
It was with that wealth I traveled the world, adventuring far and wide, learning many different recipes along the way."
Edward, fascinated, pipes up: "Why are you a cook if you have wealth and prestige all throughout the land?"
" I dont know about prestige, young master, but wealth, there's not much to it if you don't have no one to spend it on. So I give most of it to the needy in anonymous fashion, and I'll continue to do so until I die." She says as she mops up the blood from the men on her stone floors.
"Forgive me, you still didn't answer why a cook" the child says sheepishly.
"Food and drink are the few luxuries everyone can enjoy. I've been to fleabitten taverns with ale and cottage pie fit for a king, and I've been to grand palaces for bland sordid affairs and the food and wine to go with it. The food was tasteless and the wine too tart, the mixtures and pairings being all off. Yet the nobility had there noses so far up their arses and licking eachothers boots they couldn't smell or taste a delicacy from a dungpile. Our senses, young master, are our true wealth. The smell of your favorite dish, sight of well arranged plate, taste of a skillfully prepared meal, feel of a tender cut of meat melt in your mouth, the sound of a sizzling pot of stew or the lack of sound because of no speaking at a dinner table seeing as everyone's enjoying the meal. These are the wealth of the commonfolk that kings and courtesans seem to forget. Keep the commonfolk fat and happy, and your loyalty is rock solid."
"I understand." Young Edward replies looking at the ground, eyes darting left to right in imagination.
The kings guard rushes into the room "Sir, are you alright? We've managed to drive off the invaders."
"Ohhh he's alright, aren't you master Edward." The cook gleams with a twinke in her eye, to which Edward smiled.
"Did you happen to catch sight of any of the rabble as they stormed the castle?"
"Not really, as the young master hid they didn't pay this old cook much mind, so they went on their ways." The cook shifts her foot to cover over the one goons ear she forgot to pick up and winked at the young boy, to which he started giggling with his hands covering his mouth.
"Prince Edward, we can escort you back to your room if you so like, and leave the cook to her duties."
"Sir..." -Edward pipes up- "id like to stay hear for awhile if you don't mind. I'd like Ms. Beatrice here to make me some jammy dodgers and watch how she does it..."
"As you wish sir, ill have 2 guards posted outside the door." The captain of the guard replies, saluting and then leaving the room with the guardsmen.
"Aren't you a sweet young man. First, let's prepare the jelly..."
|
Tha assassin grew nervous. The proficiency with which the cook handled his knife paid homage to the years of experience he had in handling this deadly tool. Suddenly his own short sword didn't seem that intimidating anymore.
Confidently the cook looked into his opponents eyes, a smile danced over his lips. "I am taking you to the mill. The blood mill!"
Confused by the taunt the assassin almost reacted too late. The chef's knife darted forward and cut him across the neck. He jumped backwards and robbed the otherwise fatal cut of much of its depth.
They traded blows over and over again. The assassin grew more exhausted by the second. Then an opportunity presented itself. With a wide blow he forced the cook away from him and flung a steaming pot at the defender.
"Let off some steam, co..."
His own taunt was drowned out by strangely dampened scream. The pot had only grazed the cook but then had continued on and had engulfed the head of the nearby cowering prince.
As they stared at him the screaming stopped and the boy's body fell slack to the ground.
They stared at each other awkwardly.
"Yeah I didn't mean to do that." said the assassin. The cook looked annoyed but nodded: "No worries, I could tell. Just a shame is what it is. I always wanted to be a hero"
The assassin nodded and smiled sheepishly: "Yeah same here, I mean that taunt was just epic. When you did that I thought a dream had come true!"
Both men nodded in appreciation and let their gaze wander around the room, unsure what to do now and unwilling to look at each other.
Finally the assassin put away his sword, put on his best salesman smile and said: "You know we could use a man like ..."
A knife to his heart stopped him mid-sentence. With a wild glee in his eyes the cook stared at him as blood began to drip from his mouth. "You guys think you are above the law, well you are not above mine!"
The assassin fell to the floor and as the cook began to undress him he knew that that had been the most epic moment of his life. He closed his eyes and passed on, at peace with himself and the world.
Half an hour later the now disguised cook put a blanked over the dead assassin when he heard a yell: "Hey, what are you doing over there?"
The insanity had gripped him fully at this point and with a broad and confident smile he answered back.
"Don't wake my friend over here, he's dead tired!"
|
|
[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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"Gentlemen, I'd like to tell you a story."
The invaders might have been a rag-tag bunch of tavern roaches, but the looks of disbelief they exchanged would have put the theatre's finest to shame. They were used to their victims screaming, crying, and perhaps trying to bargain if they still had enough of their wits left about them. What they were not used to was broad, flour-dusted women with cheeks like fresh red apples standing square in their way and holding a knife as if she knew what to do with it.
"Out of the way, lady," one rogue began, trying to regain the momentum they'd lost. The cook tutted sharply, and he stopped.
"Come now, is that any kind of way to be talking to your elders? Sit a spell, and you'll live longer."
That seemed to do it. They knew what to do with a threat, after all, and that was to hit it until it stopped moving and you could rummage through its pockets uninterrupted. As the six of them spread out in a loose fan, the cook carried on chatting, apparently unconcerned by the blood-smeared weaponry they were hefting.
"Once upon a time, there was a great hero. Not so great as all that, some might say, and not much of a hero either, others would add. But she was handy with a sword and tended to kill the right sort of people, and so the kingdom gave her a medal and let her go about her business."
One of the more enterprising invaders took a swing at the old lady, and seemed suprised when his blade passed through thin air and bit into the table instead. There was a wet, meaty sound from somewhere around his stomach and the cook surfaced like a nightmare from the deep sea, grinning toothily.
"Only, the problem with being too good at heroing is that you tend to live to a ripe old age, and you find that you don't have much of a retirement fund saved up, on account of not expecting to be around to need one. Much like you fellas, I'd say."
The scene took on a hazy, dreamlike quality for the five men still left. This couldn't be happening, after all. It was impossible for this squat castle servant with a hat as tall as she was and sauce stains down her apron to be doing what she was doing. Perhaps that was a mercy for them. Her carving knife sang as it passed through the air, parting throats and bellies like soft warm butter, and the cook's voice carried on in a constant gentle rumble.
"But this hero had done the king a turn or two, and he owed her a favour in return. So he found her a job where she could put her skills to good use. Said skills being some amount of skill with a sharp edge and an ability to make just about anything edible with enough salt."
The cook stopped, abruptly realizing that the only sounds left in the kitchen were her own voice and the rolling bubble of the stew she had going.
"Waste of a good story," she muttered darkly to herself, stepping delicately between the prone figures on her floor. There was a cabinet towards the back of the kitchen that had suddenly stopped making sniffling sounds partway through the proceedings, and the cook flung its doors wide to see a pair of eyes looking up that were much of a likeness with the dinner plates surrounding them.
"Well now, princeling, shall we get you tidied up a bit? Supper's almost ready, and you know how the Queen is about clean hands at the table."
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Tha assassin grew nervous. The proficiency with which the cook handled his knife paid homage to the years of experience he had in handling this deadly tool. Suddenly his own short sword didn't seem that intimidating anymore.
Confidently the cook looked into his opponents eyes, a smile danced over his lips. "I am taking you to the mill. The blood mill!"
Confused by the taunt the assassin almost reacted too late. The chef's knife darted forward and cut him across the neck. He jumped backwards and robbed the otherwise fatal cut of much of its depth.
They traded blows over and over again. The assassin grew more exhausted by the second. Then an opportunity presented itself. With a wide blow he forced the cook away from him and flung a steaming pot at the defender.
"Let off some steam, co..."
His own taunt was drowned out by strangely dampened scream. The pot had only grazed the cook but then had continued on and had engulfed the head of the nearby cowering prince.
As they stared at him the screaming stopped and the boy's body fell slack to the ground.
They stared at each other awkwardly.
"Yeah I didn't mean to do that." said the assassin. The cook looked annoyed but nodded: "No worries, I could tell. Just a shame is what it is. I always wanted to be a hero"
The assassin nodded and smiled sheepishly: "Yeah same here, I mean that taunt was just epic. When you did that I thought a dream had come true!"
Both men nodded in appreciation and let their gaze wander around the room, unsure what to do now and unwilling to look at each other.
Finally the assassin put away his sword, put on his best salesman smile and said: "You know we could use a man like ..."
A knife to his heart stopped him mid-sentence. With a wild glee in his eyes the cook stared at him as blood began to drip from his mouth. "You guys think you are above the law, well you are not above mine!"
The assassin fell to the floor and as the cook began to undress him he knew that that had been the most epic moment of his life. He closed his eyes and passed on, at peace with himself and the world.
Half an hour later the now disguised cook put a blanked over the dead assassin when he heard a yell: "Hey, what are you doing over there?"
The insanity had gripped him fully at this point and with a broad and confident smile he answered back.
"Don't wake my friend over here, he's dead tired!"
|
|
[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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The doors to the kitchen were broken into as the screams from the outside raged on. The intruders had made their way inside the castle, and soon found just who they were looking for. The prince cowered in the corner as the cook looked unamused by the ruffians' attempts at intimidation.
"There you are, you're coming with us!" The leader spoke as he stared at the two. The cook, known to the royalty as Yvonne, stood tall and her shoulders squared as a fire long forgotten raged in her eyes. "You'll kill me first." She said, her tone even and unwavering, making the ruffians laugh. "You're an old woman, with nothing more than a weak knife, you couldn't stop me if you tried!"
"I don't plan on just trying." She said as she launched the steak knife into the nearest one's eye, piercing directly through it and causing him to scream. The young prince Daniel watched in horror as his cook, and long time friend, began to slaughter the ruffians before his very eyes. The kind and gentle woman he knew was replaced with someone with the rage of a hundred warriors.
Knives, wooden spoons, cast iron pots and pans were were thrown with such accuracy and force, it was almost as if Yvonne had done this before, many times. Blood splatters decorated the walls and floor, some even getting on Daniel's face. Daniel was terrified, but oddly calm as his cook took care of the last man, bashing his face in with one of the previous pans.
Chest heaving and white apron stained, Yvonne dropped the bloodied pan and wiped her face. She stood tall as she turned to face the prince. "You're safe now." She said as she helped him to his feet.
Yvonne led him out of the kitchen and through the castle, which was becoming engulfed in flames. "Get whatever you need out of your room, and then hurry to the stables. This place won't last long." She said before hurrying down a long corridor.
The prince did just that, rushing to his room and packing his clothes and valuables without a second thought. Though, as he was leaving, the roof collapsed in on him, cutting his face as he was suddenly pinned under a beam. He winced in pain as he tried to crawl out from under, but found it difficult. He was too weak, and far too scared to call out for help.
Thankfully, Yvonne found him and pulled him out before more stuff could crash down upon him. "Come now boy, we need to leave." She said, heading back, passed the flaming throne room making Daniel stop. The bodies of his parents lay at the foot of the throne, almost holding one another.
Yvonne looked at the bodies for a moment. "There was nothing you could have done, I'm sorry." She said before grabbing his hand and rushing with him out the door to the stables. She loaded up their bags and began to saddle the horses.
"Who were those men?! Why were they and why did they want me?!" Daniel finally spoke since the attack. Yvonne paused a moment. "They weren't here for you. They were here for me. I'll explain when we get someplace safer." She said as finished saddling the two horses.
Yvonne turned to face the young man. "Are you able to ride? I know your eye is cut but I need to know in case I need to have you ride with me." She said, Daniel nodding and getting on his horse. "I'll be fine."
Yvonne got on hers, looking over at Daniel, seeing him staring at the burning castle, what was once his home being slowly destroyed. "Daniel, I need you to stay close to me as we leave." She said, making her horse gallop to the exit.
"And whatever you do, don't look back."
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Tha assassin grew nervous. The proficiency with which the cook handled his knife paid homage to the years of experience he had in handling this deadly tool. Suddenly his own short sword didn't seem that intimidating anymore.
Confidently the cook looked into his opponents eyes, a smile danced over his lips. "I am taking you to the mill. The blood mill!"
Confused by the taunt the assassin almost reacted too late. The chef's knife darted forward and cut him across the neck. He jumped backwards and robbed the otherwise fatal cut of much of its depth.
They traded blows over and over again. The assassin grew more exhausted by the second. Then an opportunity presented itself. With a wide blow he forced the cook away from him and flung a steaming pot at the defender.
"Let off some steam, co..."
His own taunt was drowned out by strangely dampened scream. The pot had only grazed the cook but then had continued on and had engulfed the head of the nearby cowering prince.
As they stared at him the screaming stopped and the boy's body fell slack to the ground.
They stared at each other awkwardly.
"Yeah I didn't mean to do that." said the assassin. The cook looked annoyed but nodded: "No worries, I could tell. Just a shame is what it is. I always wanted to be a hero"
The assassin nodded and smiled sheepishly: "Yeah same here, I mean that taunt was just epic. When you did that I thought a dream had come true!"
Both men nodded in appreciation and let their gaze wander around the room, unsure what to do now and unwilling to look at each other.
Finally the assassin put away his sword, put on his best salesman smile and said: "You know we could use a man like ..."
A knife to his heart stopped him mid-sentence. With a wild glee in his eyes the cook stared at him as blood began to drip from his mouth. "You guys think you are above the law, well you are not above mine!"
The assassin fell to the floor and as the cook began to undress him he knew that that had been the most epic moment of his life. He closed his eyes and passed on, at peace with himself and the world.
Half an hour later the now disguised cook put a blanked over the dead assassin when he heard a yell: "Hey, what are you doing over there?"
The insanity had gripped him fully at this point and with a broad and confident smile he answered back.
"Don't wake my friend over here, he's dead tired!"
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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\[Chef. Skill.\]
"That doesn't make any sense," Andy whined at Jessie. The [pair of guildmates](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/b09g38/wp_hey_whys_there_a_chef_in_our_dungeon_party/) stood in the center of the castle's kitchen. Wooden chairs were over-turned and food dripped from the stone walls. Few tables were intact; the rest lay split and splintered along with various armored corpses. A lean, older cook with a long salt-and-pepper ponytail protected the cowering, hidden prince. She wielded a long, serrated steak knife in one hand and a heavy, broad cleaver in the other. The cook eyed their discussion but wasn't in a hurry to make a move. She knew her job was to stall and hope help showed up.
Pepper, the cook, tried listening in on their conversation. She knew the kitchen perfectly after serving the royal family for over fifty years. She knew that she should have been able to hear their conversation from where they were. They didn't seem to be making a particular effort to whisper, but their speech still sounded garbled to her ears. If Pepper had not seen them fight, she'd have doubts they were any threat. The pair seemed only a few years older than the prince's 10 years.
"*The girl did all the fighting,*" Pepper mused to herself. The pink-haired girl moved fast and had most of the guards defeated before the brown-haired boy ran in. He wasn't dressed to fight anyway. It was odd but his uniform almost resembled her own. He looked more like a chef than a fighter, or even a rebel. She knew she didn't stand a chance against the girl, but she didn't have to win. Just endure.
"When will you learn?!" Jessie huffed at Andy. "It's the AlterNet. It's not supposed to make sense. It's supposed to be fun," she smacked the top of his head. "We're here for you, remember? Get started," she said then shoved him toward Pepper. The chef raised her weapons and stood her ground. The prince whimpered again from inside a cabinet behind her.
"Wait!" he said. He put his hands up with the palms out. "I'm not good at fighting!"
"Good," Pepper stepped forward intent on taking at least one of them out. If she could focus on the real threat, she'd be okay until help came. The royal guards had to be on the way. She lowered her knife with the point up. Pepper aimed a practiced stab at his ribs. She knew from experience his chef's coat wouldn't give him much protection. Then, her hand stopped with the tip touching his apron. The pink-haired girl now stood next to them; her hand was wrapped around Pepper's wrist and she let out a heavy sigh.
"JUST SAY IT!" she growled at Andy. His eyes went wide and he nodded in a panic. Then, he focused his attention on Pepper.
"I CHALLENGE YOU TO A CHEF'S DUEL!!" Andy yelled. Pepper dropped the knife in her hand and smiled immediately.
"Challenge Accepted! Main ingredient: Unicorn meat. Do you accept?" Pepper asked.
"Uh.." he turned back to look at Jessie. "Do I?" A short, less-patient sigh escaped her mouth before she gave a curt nod.
"Yes."
"I accept," Andy said. "Great!" Pepper clasped her hands together and turned around to start collecting ingredients.
"Now," Jessie said
"Okay," Andy shrugged. He raised his hand in the air. His obsidian chef's knife materialized in his hand and he brought it down on Pepper from behind. The old woman let out a surprised gasp, then crumpled to the floor.
"See? Works every time," Jessie bragged while Andy knelt next to Pepper. He touched his node against her and it flashed green. He stood, glanced at it, and smiled.
" Uh.. \[Chef's Special\] - buff duration's pretty good, right?" he asked Jessie. She nodded. "What else does she drop?" he asked.
"All the Chef class skills," Jessie said. She turned to head out the door. "Come on. She's got a giant loot table and we're only looking for certain skills." Andy rushed to catch up to her.
"But this was one, right?" he asked. Then, he sighed in relief when Jessie nodded. They walked out of the kitchen. They waited five minutes, then Jessie ran into the room again. She assaulted the guards first while a lean, older cook with a long salt-and-pepper ponytail grabbed a rotund boy and shoved him into a cabinet.
"I CHALLENGE YOU TO A CHEF'S DUEL!" Andy ran in after Jessie defeated all the guards. Pepper looked at the mess the intruders made in her kitchen, not to mention all the dead guardsmen. But, it wasn't anything that couldn't be cleaned up pretty easily. She nodded at the chef.
"Challenge Accepted! Main ingredient: Unicorn meat. Do you accept?" Pepper asked.
"Yes," Andy said. Then, pepper smiled and turned her back on him.
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1104 in a row. (Story #008 in year four.) You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog.
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Whether she was gutting a fish, chopping vegetables or dicing beef for her famous stew, the cook's tool always seemed an extension of her hand. She was deft and dextrous, but a slight thing, not unlike the young Prince himself. "Let the knife do the work," she would tell him. He loved to watch her, finding all the food and spices and flavours fascinating.
Now, it was difficult viewing. A steak knife was a dangerous thing - the cook would always warn the Prince as much when she let him help - but it was little match for two steel swords in trained, merciless hands. They were big, intimidating, men, and even though they wore dark clothes that bore no mark of who they represented, they could only belong to the would-be usurper. It was oddly quiet but for some distant din, and the bubbling of whatever the cook had been preparing before the chaos began.
Never taking her eyes from the assassins, the cook heard the young Prince scurry into the corner behind her as the two men made their approach, one to her left, the other to her right. If she moved for one, the other would go straight for the boy, she knew. Backing up slowly, she held the knife in front of her with trembling fingers. They were closing, and if she didn't do something now, or they were both dead. When her elbow knocked against the large pot, she knew that was her chance. "Get ready, little Prince," she told him.
He watched the cook release her knife, and before it even dropped to the floor she had grabbed the pot of boiling water, hauling it with more strength than she ought to have had. She flung the water directly at the face of the left assassin, just as he was making a lunge for her. Enough of it must have gotten through his helm to hurt his eyes, and he staggered back. The other killer was slower to react, and the cook had already rolled past him before he could turn, kicking the back of his knee and sending him crumbling to the floor. She sent the now empty pot crashing against his head, to keep him down.
"Quickly, little Prince!" she yelled. "Now!" The Prince duly followed, and was nearly to the door when something grabbed his ankle and pulled him down with a thud. The killer had ripped off his helm, the skin around his eyes reddened from the burn. The cook stood at the door, dismayed. The killer gave her a swift smack to the gut, making a snarling sound as if to say *how dare she interfere with our work?* He turned back to the Prince, still lying on the floor, and dragged him closer, like a rag doll.
The Prince felt the cold stone beneath him, and felt the man's hands close around him like a vice. When he felt the steel brush against him, he instinctively closed his left hand around it. *Let the knife do the work*. He swung awkwardly for the killer's neck, and in it the blade disappeared. His grip immediately released, and the Prince struggled away as the big man fell, blood gushing from the wound.
He went straight for the cook, doubled over in pain. "I'll be fine, don't worry about me," she reassured him. "But we must go, find someone to clean this up." She looked over the Prince as he helped her to her feet, his hands and face stained with the blood of the man who tried to kill him.
"You should have run to the butcher, little Prince. His knives are sharper than mine."
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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"Get behind me master Edward" the portly cook says as she gets between the young prince and the ruffians who breached the castle.
She twirls a steak knife in her hands, and with a glint in her eye smirks at Edward and says "now you'll find out the reason why I can make you any dish from anywhere you've heard about..."
The band of 7 goons rushes at her with axes and rusty swords, but she ducks under a swung axe and slices behind the axe wielders knee, bringing him to the ground as she sidesteps a downward sword slice from the second goon. While the sword clangs at the ground she slices the ear of of the sword wielder as she rushes from him to the man with a mace, who swings at her but misses as she leans backward, then like a pendulum that bobs back from whence it came she leans forward and slices the hand the mace was holding and elbows the guys face in one swift move.
As the 3 men are yelling while holding the back of there knees, ear, and wrist respectively, the other 4 stare at the sweet looking portly castle cooks fiery determination while walking toward them, and they turn tail and run, while the wounded men retreat.
"How... how did you do that?" The adolescent prince says as he leans out from behind a barrel of fresh vegetables.
"Well master, when I was not much older then you my sick father, who I cooked and cleaned up after for years, succumbed to his illness, and left me all alone. As I tried to scramble together my life in the days after that, having had to bury my father all on me own, a band of ruffians not unlike what you just saw looted and pillaged my home as I escaped out the back. I ran and I ran, in the ensuing rain storm until my feet bled and my legs were jelly, collapsing outside an old shack. I woke in a bed, and an old knight with a pointy white beard was tending to my fever at my bedside, pressing a cool cloth to my head. I explained my life's lot, and he agreed to let me stay until I was strong enough. After much begging, he taught me the ways of many weapons, and I took care of him for a few years until he too died, bequeething to me his land and old shack, and a considerable sum of wealth I knew nothing of, given the house and surroundings he lived in.
It was with that wealth I traveled the world, adventuring far and wide, learning many different recipes along the way."
Edward, fascinated, pipes up: "Why are you a cook if you have wealth and prestige all throughout the land?"
" I dont know about prestige, young master, but wealth, there's not much to it if you don't have no one to spend it on. So I give most of it to the needy in anonymous fashion, and I'll continue to do so until I die." She says as she mops up the blood from the men on her stone floors.
"Forgive me, you still didn't answer why a cook" the child says sheepishly.
"Food and drink are the few luxuries everyone can enjoy. I've been to fleabitten taverns with ale and cottage pie fit for a king, and I've been to grand palaces for bland sordid affairs and the food and wine to go with it. The food was tasteless and the wine too tart, the mixtures and pairings being all off. Yet the nobility had there noses so far up their arses and licking eachothers boots they couldn't smell or taste a delicacy from a dungpile. Our senses, young master, are our true wealth. The smell of your favorite dish, sight of well arranged plate, taste of a skillfully prepared meal, feel of a tender cut of meat melt in your mouth, the sound of a sizzling pot of stew or the lack of sound because of no speaking at a dinner table seeing as everyone's enjoying the meal. These are the wealth of the commonfolk that kings and courtesans seem to forget. Keep the commonfolk fat and happy, and your loyalty is rock solid."
"I understand." Young Edward replies looking at the ground, eyes darting left to right in imagination.
The kings guard rushes into the room "Sir, are you alright? We've managed to drive off the invaders."
"Ohhh he's alright, aren't you master Edward." The cook gleams with a twinke in her eye, to which Edward smiled.
"Did you happen to catch sight of any of the rabble as they stormed the castle?"
"Not really, as the young master hid they didn't pay this old cook much mind, so they went on their ways." The cook shifts her foot to cover over the one goons ear she forgot to pick up and winked at the young boy, to which he started giggling with his hands covering his mouth.
"Prince Edward, we can escort you back to your room if you so like, and leave the cook to her duties."
"Sir..." -Edward pipes up- "id like to stay hear for awhile if you don't mind. I'd like Ms. Beatrice here to make me some jammy dodgers and watch how she does it..."
"As you wish sir, ill have 2 guards posted outside the door." The captain of the guard replies, saluting and then leaving the room with the guardsmen.
"Aren't you a sweet young man. First, let's prepare the jelly..."
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Whether she was gutting a fish, chopping vegetables or dicing beef for her famous stew, the cook's tool always seemed an extension of her hand. She was deft and dextrous, but a slight thing, not unlike the young Prince himself. "Let the knife do the work," she would tell him. He loved to watch her, finding all the food and spices and flavours fascinating.
Now, it was difficult viewing. A steak knife was a dangerous thing - the cook would always warn the Prince as much when she let him help - but it was little match for two steel swords in trained, merciless hands. They were big, intimidating, men, and even though they wore dark clothes that bore no mark of who they represented, they could only belong to the would-be usurper. It was oddly quiet but for some distant din, and the bubbling of whatever the cook had been preparing before the chaos began.
Never taking her eyes from the assassins, the cook heard the young Prince scurry into the corner behind her as the two men made their approach, one to her left, the other to her right. If she moved for one, the other would go straight for the boy, she knew. Backing up slowly, she held the knife in front of her with trembling fingers. They were closing, and if she didn't do something now, or they were both dead. When her elbow knocked against the large pot, she knew that was her chance. "Get ready, little Prince," she told him.
He watched the cook release her knife, and before it even dropped to the floor she had grabbed the pot of boiling water, hauling it with more strength than she ought to have had. She flung the water directly at the face of the left assassin, just as he was making a lunge for her. Enough of it must have gotten through his helm to hurt his eyes, and he staggered back. The other killer was slower to react, and the cook had already rolled past him before he could turn, kicking the back of his knee and sending him crumbling to the floor. She sent the now empty pot crashing against his head, to keep him down.
"Quickly, little Prince!" she yelled. "Now!" The Prince duly followed, and was nearly to the door when something grabbed his ankle and pulled him down with a thud. The killer had ripped off his helm, the skin around his eyes reddened from the burn. The cook stood at the door, dismayed. The killer gave her a swift smack to the gut, making a snarling sound as if to say *how dare she interfere with our work?* He turned back to the Prince, still lying on the floor, and dragged him closer, like a rag doll.
The Prince felt the cold stone beneath him, and felt the man's hands close around him like a vice. When he felt the steel brush against him, he instinctively closed his left hand around it. *Let the knife do the work*. He swung awkwardly for the killer's neck, and in it the blade disappeared. His grip immediately released, and the Prince struggled away as the big man fell, blood gushing from the wound.
He went straight for the cook, doubled over in pain. "I'll be fine, don't worry about me," she reassured him. "But we must go, find someone to clean this up." She looked over the Prince as he helped her to her feet, his hands and face stained with the blood of the man who tried to kill him.
"You should have run to the butcher, little Prince. His knives are sharper than mine."
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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"Gentlemen, I'd like to tell you a story."
The invaders might have been a rag-tag bunch of tavern roaches, but the looks of disbelief they exchanged would have put the theatre's finest to shame. They were used to their victims screaming, crying, and perhaps trying to bargain if they still had enough of their wits left about them. What they were not used to was broad, flour-dusted women with cheeks like fresh red apples standing square in their way and holding a knife as if she knew what to do with it.
"Out of the way, lady," one rogue began, trying to regain the momentum they'd lost. The cook tutted sharply, and he stopped.
"Come now, is that any kind of way to be talking to your elders? Sit a spell, and you'll live longer."
That seemed to do it. They knew what to do with a threat, after all, and that was to hit it until it stopped moving and you could rummage through its pockets uninterrupted. As the six of them spread out in a loose fan, the cook carried on chatting, apparently unconcerned by the blood-smeared weaponry they were hefting.
"Once upon a time, there was a great hero. Not so great as all that, some might say, and not much of a hero either, others would add. But she was handy with a sword and tended to kill the right sort of people, and so the kingdom gave her a medal and let her go about her business."
One of the more enterprising invaders took a swing at the old lady, and seemed suprised when his blade passed through thin air and bit into the table instead. There was a wet, meaty sound from somewhere around his stomach and the cook surfaced like a nightmare from the deep sea, grinning toothily.
"Only, the problem with being too good at heroing is that you tend to live to a ripe old age, and you find that you don't have much of a retirement fund saved up, on account of not expecting to be around to need one. Much like you fellas, I'd say."
The scene took on a hazy, dreamlike quality for the five men still left. This couldn't be happening, after all. It was impossible for this squat castle servant with a hat as tall as she was and sauce stains down her apron to be doing what she was doing. Perhaps that was a mercy for them. Her carving knife sang as it passed through the air, parting throats and bellies like soft warm butter, and the cook's voice carried on in a constant gentle rumble.
"But this hero had done the king a turn or two, and he owed her a favour in return. So he found her a job where she could put her skills to good use. Said skills being some amount of skill with a sharp edge and an ability to make just about anything edible with enough salt."
The cook stopped, abruptly realizing that the only sounds left in the kitchen were her own voice and the rolling bubble of the stew she had going.
"Waste of a good story," she muttered darkly to herself, stepping delicately between the prone figures on her floor. There was a cabinet towards the back of the kitchen that had suddenly stopped making sniffling sounds partway through the proceedings, and the cook flung its doors wide to see a pair of eyes looking up that were much of a likeness with the dinner plates surrounding them.
"Well now, princeling, shall we get you tidied up a bit? Supper's almost ready, and you know how the Queen is about clean hands at the table."
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Ps: I’m bad at punctuation 🥴. I hope you enjoy it though
“Stay here my prince while I go distract the invaders. Once you hear me scream I need you to run out the back door with all your might and not look back. Run with everything and do not stop” She tells me.
“No Ms Linda please don’t go. Please don’t leave me. Let’s run away together they’re too strong. They’ve killed my parents and every guard in this castle. They’re going to kill you” I say.
“Distracting them is your only shot at escaping. They don’t know I’m here so if they hear me walking they will assume I’m you and let their guard down. Please go my prince. I’m not letting you die today” She says.
“Okay Ms. Linda. I know this is far fetched but I hope you make it out alive. See you on the other side” I tell her.
“See you on the other side” she says.
She grabs the knife from the counter, runs down the hall and starts screaming.
That’s my cue to leave. I run out through the back door into the forest. The assassins at the back have moved to the front. I guess Ms Linda’s plan worked. I keep running for what seems like a lot of hours until the sky is pitch black. I don’t have any lights on me so I can’t possibly run any further. I have to find a place to rest till daylight. I’m a bit scared because there have been sightings of bears in this forest. Wow Imagine running from assassins only to be killed by a bear. Who are these people? Why are they even after me? One day I’m living my life as an 18 year old boy. The next day I’m being hunted down like a game. My parents are dead. Ms Linda is probably dead too.
“Jason” I hear someone shout from afar.
Oh no I’m going to die today. There’s no way I’m escaping this.
“Jason it’s Ms Linda” The person shouts.
“Ms Linda? I thought you were dead. How did you escape? “ I asked.
“Some of the men in the village came over with their weapons to fight off the assassins” She said.
“But how did they know the castle was being attacked ? I asked.
“One of the wounded guards was able to escape and alert the village” she replied.
“Oh that’s relieving to hear” I said.
“It’s safe to come out Jason. Just follow the light” She says.
“Okay” I reply.
Everything in me is still telling me to run the other way. It doesn’t make sense. Why should I run when I’m safe now? I trust Ms Linda, she was going to give up her life to save me. There’s no reason to run again.
I get to where she is and she hugs me
“Oh Jason. I’m glad you’re safe” she says.
“Well I’m glad you aren’t dead Ms Linda” I say.
“I’m sorry Jason” she says sobbing.
“Sorry for what? You saved me I should be the one apologizing for leaving you” I reply
“No not that Jason. I truly am sorry. I never intended for this to get this far” she says
“What did you do? Ms Linda” I whisper
“Something horrible” she sad whispering back.
Delma💕
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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“Tell me you cat! The Prince boy was seen by my men earlier!” Spat an aging man draped in cheap furs as he held a Neko maid to the wall, dagger against her throat. Her ears were flattened against her skull and she shivered in fear, refusing to speak. “TELL ME!” He threw her to the ground. Just before he delivered a killing blow a terrified scream resounded through the reinforced walls, making all who heard it grasp at their ears. The maid had slipped away during the scream.
“B-boss!” One of the bandits appeared, rounding a corner just to slip and fall. “We found the Prince! Issue! He’s not alone!”
He wasn’t wrong. In the kitchen four bandits stared at the 5’7 Prince in the corner, wielding a broken rapier against them. Then to the much scarier target.
A 5’2 harpy twirling a knife with her foot, as she had wings instead of arms and bird legs instead of more human ones. Her slasher smile made a few of the prey take a step back, just for the leader to push past.
“It’s a bird! Just gut her and move on!” The bandit leader roared, just to move back himself when the harpy fluffed her feathers, making her look much bigger. The Prince did look very confident now.
“Serra?” The Prince began.
“Your lordness?” She asked, a rather soothing voice belonging to her, only serving to unnerve the bandits.
“Make them pay.” Demanded the Prince.
“Gladly.” She poised to leap, very excited now.
The bandit leader looked to his allies as he drew his dagger. “Idiots! It’s five of us vs one of her! We can take her! Then we get paid!” All of his allies jumped at once, backpedaling as quickly as they could. He merely opted to look back at the very quickly approaching, but silent, harpy.
He dropped to the ground with the steak knife lodged in his eye, merely a scream from him. Serra ignored him, drawing a knife from a block as she walked over him towards the others.
“Get out of the way!” The bandits all roared at each other, since they all tried to get through the doorway at the same time they were all stuck. They flailed blades at Serra, just for her to begin digging into them. Screaming began.
The Prince walked forward, quickly dispatching the whimpering leader. “Where did father find such a terrifying harpy? And why am I so into this?” He wondered to himself as he witnessed his new crush literally tear into the bandits.
Finally all was done and the knights were clearing out the bodies. Serra hummed a tune as she cleaned her legs, carefully grasping a sponge in one foot, “your lordness? Can a girl get some privacy when she’s bathing?”
The prince’s reaction was immediate, as he scrambled for a response. “I mean- well- you’re not even in the bathrooms- wait! That isn’t to say- of cause!” With that he fled the kitchen, ignoring her cackling at him.
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Ps: I’m bad at punctuation 🥴. I hope you enjoy it though
“Stay here my prince while I go distract the invaders. Once you hear me scream I need you to run out the back door with all your might and not look back. Run with everything and do not stop” She tells me.
“No Ms Linda please don’t go. Please don’t leave me. Let’s run away together they’re too strong. They’ve killed my parents and every guard in this castle. They’re going to kill you” I say.
“Distracting them is your only shot at escaping. They don’t know I’m here so if they hear me walking they will assume I’m you and let their guard down. Please go my prince. I’m not letting you die today” She says.
“Okay Ms. Linda. I know this is far fetched but I hope you make it out alive. See you on the other side” I tell her.
“See you on the other side” she says.
She grabs the knife from the counter, runs down the hall and starts screaming.
That’s my cue to leave. I run out through the back door into the forest. The assassins at the back have moved to the front. I guess Ms Linda’s plan worked. I keep running for what seems like a lot of hours until the sky is pitch black. I don’t have any lights on me so I can’t possibly run any further. I have to find a place to rest till daylight. I’m a bit scared because there have been sightings of bears in this forest. Wow Imagine running from assassins only to be killed by a bear. Who are these people? Why are they even after me? One day I’m living my life as an 18 year old boy. The next day I’m being hunted down like a game. My parents are dead. Ms Linda is probably dead too.
“Jason” I hear someone shout from afar.
Oh no I’m going to die today. There’s no way I’m escaping this.
“Jason it’s Ms Linda” The person shouts.
“Ms Linda? I thought you were dead. How did you escape? “ I asked.
“Some of the men in the village came over with their weapons to fight off the assassins” She said.
“But how did they know the castle was being attacked ? I asked.
“One of the wounded guards was able to escape and alert the village” she replied.
“Oh that’s relieving to hear” I said.
“It’s safe to come out Jason. Just follow the light” She says.
“Okay” I reply.
Everything in me is still telling me to run the other way. It doesn’t make sense. Why should I run when I’m safe now? I trust Ms Linda, she was going to give up her life to save me. There’s no reason to run again.
I get to where she is and she hugs me
“Oh Jason. I’m glad you’re safe” she says.
“Well I’m glad you aren’t dead Ms Linda” I say.
“I’m sorry Jason” she says sobbing.
“Sorry for what? You saved me I should be the one apologizing for leaving you” I reply
“No not that Jason. I truly am sorry. I never intended for this to get this far” she says
“What did you do? Ms Linda” I whisper
“Something horrible” she sad whispering back.
Delma💕
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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The doors to the kitchen were broken into as the screams from the outside raged on. The intruders had made their way inside the castle, and soon found just who they were looking for. The prince cowered in the corner as the cook looked unamused by the ruffians' attempts at intimidation.
"There you are, you're coming with us!" The leader spoke as he stared at the two. The cook, known to the royalty as Yvonne, stood tall and her shoulders squared as a fire long forgotten raged in her eyes. "You'll kill me first." She said, her tone even and unwavering, making the ruffians laugh. "You're an old woman, with nothing more than a weak knife, you couldn't stop me if you tried!"
"I don't plan on just trying." She said as she launched the steak knife into the nearest one's eye, piercing directly through it and causing him to scream. The young prince Daniel watched in horror as his cook, and long time friend, began to slaughter the ruffians before his very eyes. The kind and gentle woman he knew was replaced with someone with the rage of a hundred warriors.
Knives, wooden spoons, cast iron pots and pans were were thrown with such accuracy and force, it was almost as if Yvonne had done this before, many times. Blood splatters decorated the walls and floor, some even getting on Daniel's face. Daniel was terrified, but oddly calm as his cook took care of the last man, bashing his face in with one of the previous pans.
Chest heaving and white apron stained, Yvonne dropped the bloodied pan and wiped her face. She stood tall as she turned to face the prince. "You're safe now." She said as she helped him to his feet.
Yvonne led him out of the kitchen and through the castle, which was becoming engulfed in flames. "Get whatever you need out of your room, and then hurry to the stables. This place won't last long." She said before hurrying down a long corridor.
The prince did just that, rushing to his room and packing his clothes and valuables without a second thought. Though, as he was leaving, the roof collapsed in on him, cutting his face as he was suddenly pinned under a beam. He winced in pain as he tried to crawl out from under, but found it difficult. He was too weak, and far too scared to call out for help.
Thankfully, Yvonne found him and pulled him out before more stuff could crash down upon him. "Come now boy, we need to leave." She said, heading back, passed the flaming throne room making Daniel stop. The bodies of his parents lay at the foot of the throne, almost holding one another.
Yvonne looked at the bodies for a moment. "There was nothing you could have done, I'm sorry." She said before grabbing his hand and rushing with him out the door to the stables. She loaded up their bags and began to saddle the horses.
"Who were those men?! Why were they and why did they want me?!" Daniel finally spoke since the attack. Yvonne paused a moment. "They weren't here for you. They were here for me. I'll explain when we get someplace safer." She said as finished saddling the two horses.
Yvonne turned to face the young man. "Are you able to ride? I know your eye is cut but I need to know in case I need to have you ride with me." She said, Daniel nodding and getting on his horse. "I'll be fine."
Yvonne got on hers, looking over at Daniel, seeing him staring at the burning castle, what was once his home being slowly destroyed. "Daniel, I need you to stay close to me as we leave." She said, making her horse gallop to the exit.
"And whatever you do, don't look back."
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Ps: I’m bad at punctuation 🥴. I hope you enjoy it though
“Stay here my prince while I go distract the invaders. Once you hear me scream I need you to run out the back door with all your might and not look back. Run with everything and do not stop” She tells me.
“No Ms Linda please don’t go. Please don’t leave me. Let’s run away together they’re too strong. They’ve killed my parents and every guard in this castle. They’re going to kill you” I say.
“Distracting them is your only shot at escaping. They don’t know I’m here so if they hear me walking they will assume I’m you and let their guard down. Please go my prince. I’m not letting you die today” She says.
“Okay Ms. Linda. I know this is far fetched but I hope you make it out alive. See you on the other side” I tell her.
“See you on the other side” she says.
She grabs the knife from the counter, runs down the hall and starts screaming.
That’s my cue to leave. I run out through the back door into the forest. The assassins at the back have moved to the front. I guess Ms Linda’s plan worked. I keep running for what seems like a lot of hours until the sky is pitch black. I don’t have any lights on me so I can’t possibly run any further. I have to find a place to rest till daylight. I’m a bit scared because there have been sightings of bears in this forest. Wow Imagine running from assassins only to be killed by a bear. Who are these people? Why are they even after me? One day I’m living my life as an 18 year old boy. The next day I’m being hunted down like a game. My parents are dead. Ms Linda is probably dead too.
“Jason” I hear someone shout from afar.
Oh no I’m going to die today. There’s no way I’m escaping this.
“Jason it’s Ms Linda” The person shouts.
“Ms Linda? I thought you were dead. How did you escape? “ I asked.
“Some of the men in the village came over with their weapons to fight off the assassins” She said.
“But how did they know the castle was being attacked ? I asked.
“One of the wounded guards was able to escape and alert the village” she replied.
“Oh that’s relieving to hear” I said.
“It’s safe to come out Jason. Just follow the light” She says.
“Okay” I reply.
Everything in me is still telling me to run the other way. It doesn’t make sense. Why should I run when I’m safe now? I trust Ms Linda, she was going to give up her life to save me. There’s no reason to run again.
I get to where she is and she hugs me
“Oh Jason. I’m glad you’re safe” she says.
“Well I’m glad you aren’t dead Ms Linda” I say.
“I’m sorry Jason” she says sobbing.
“Sorry for what? You saved me I should be the one apologizing for leaving you” I reply
“No not that Jason. I truly am sorry. I never intended for this to get this far” she says
“What did you do? Ms Linda” I whisper
“Something horrible” she sad whispering back.
Delma💕
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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Eddies of fresh sawdust swirled in the unnatural draft, cold and dry doing doomed battle against the clammy mist of the Kitchen. The Hall door was ajar, and that was at odds with the natural order of things. It might have been a forgivable offense, of course, given the joyous occasion. For an heir had in fact been born that morning, an heir after countless years of doubt and dread, an heir to inherit the Castle.
The two figures who stood in the door to the Hall, however, did not fit the mood at all. They were garbed in the rough-spun black of vagabonds and ruffians, metal ribbing and dark sheathed swords suggesting the latter. Their cloaks whirled about them as the heat of the Kitchen sought escape through its new avenue. The ruffians peered into the warm depth of the Kitchen.
They regarded what would have been a peculiar configuration, on any other day. The normal chaos spawned from the work needed to feed the inhabitants of the Castle had been ratcheted up to a new level. Shattered crockery lay strewn about all corners, crumbed with sawdust. Pots big enough to boil a man with room to spare were bubbling over onto the floor, the fires feeding them having been stoked to unreasonable levels.
Most peculiar, the milieu of Kitchen laborers, the _commis_ and the _apprentices_ that made up the bulk of the brigade, were drunk. Few were standing. A large portion had been rolled out of the way under the great table that stood in the middle of the Kitchen, like so many disorderly barrels of ale. And of those who were standing, it was of course the Cook who the new entrants to the Kitchen regarded most closely.
She held in one hand the swaddled bundle of new pink flesh that was the source of all the commotion. In the other was a wide, two handed cleaver, hanging almost to the dusty floor. She stared down at the little bundle, the infant dwarfed in a hand like a pot-lid, with flat grey eyes ensconced in the pudge of a million unsatisfied tastings. Her apron covered but a portion of her body, dark stains running over into the rough hew of cooking garb underneath.
Yet to regard the interlopers, the Cook reached down gently with her prized bundle, stepping back to reveal the small man behind her. Her opposite in nearly every way, the minute _Sous_ took the young prince in both arms and stepped back into the recesses of the misty room. With newly freed hand, she finally regarded the men at the entrance. One massive finger, scars pearling the skin like the fat in an overstuffed sausage, pointed toward them.
"Out." The word was uttered with finality, the natural iron of those who's commands are obeyed, period. The two men looked on. The closer drew his sword.
It is hard to know if the Cook smiled then. There were none in the Kitchen, and probably none alive at that time, who had regarded the Cook smiling. It can be said that one corner of her wide mouth quirked up grotesquely, an arrangement hitherto unseen in the Kitchen.
Her free hand found the hilt of the cleaver.
---
The blood didn't pool, although it flowed gratuitously from the dead men and onto the warm grey stone underfoot. Instead the sawdust turned red, doing its duty of keeping the floor from slicking when the meat juices ran.
The Cook turned ran the length of the stained cleaver over her apron, fresh staining stale like some morbid painting, crosshatched in red. "You." The Cook's finger found one of the _apprentices_. He was an unlikely fellow still standing in the midst of the disarray.
"Ready a stockpot. We have meat for stewing."
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Ps: I’m bad at punctuation 🥴. I hope you enjoy it though
“Stay here my prince while I go distract the invaders. Once you hear me scream I need you to run out the back door with all your might and not look back. Run with everything and do not stop” She tells me.
“No Ms Linda please don’t go. Please don’t leave me. Let’s run away together they’re too strong. They’ve killed my parents and every guard in this castle. They’re going to kill you” I say.
“Distracting them is your only shot at escaping. They don’t know I’m here so if they hear me walking they will assume I’m you and let their guard down. Please go my prince. I’m not letting you die today” She says.
“Okay Ms. Linda. I know this is far fetched but I hope you make it out alive. See you on the other side” I tell her.
“See you on the other side” she says.
She grabs the knife from the counter, runs down the hall and starts screaming.
That’s my cue to leave. I run out through the back door into the forest. The assassins at the back have moved to the front. I guess Ms Linda’s plan worked. I keep running for what seems like a lot of hours until the sky is pitch black. I don’t have any lights on me so I can’t possibly run any further. I have to find a place to rest till daylight. I’m a bit scared because there have been sightings of bears in this forest. Wow Imagine running from assassins only to be killed by a bear. Who are these people? Why are they even after me? One day I’m living my life as an 18 year old boy. The next day I’m being hunted down like a game. My parents are dead. Ms Linda is probably dead too.
“Jason” I hear someone shout from afar.
Oh no I’m going to die today. There’s no way I’m escaping this.
“Jason it’s Ms Linda” The person shouts.
“Ms Linda? I thought you were dead. How did you escape? “ I asked.
“Some of the men in the village came over with their weapons to fight off the assassins” She said.
“But how did they know the castle was being attacked ? I asked.
“One of the wounded guards was able to escape and alert the village” she replied.
“Oh that’s relieving to hear” I said.
“It’s safe to come out Jason. Just follow the light” She says.
“Okay” I reply.
Everything in me is still telling me to run the other way. It doesn’t make sense. Why should I run when I’m safe now? I trust Ms Linda, she was going to give up her life to save me. There’s no reason to run again.
I get to where she is and she hugs me
“Oh Jason. I’m glad you’re safe” she says.
“Well I’m glad you aren’t dead Ms Linda” I say.
“I’m sorry Jason” she says sobbing.
“Sorry for what? You saved me I should be the one apologizing for leaving you” I reply
“No not that Jason. I truly am sorry. I never intended for this to get this far” she says
“What did you do? Ms Linda” I whisper
“Something horrible” she sad whispering back.
Delma💕
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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“Grace?”
“Of course.”
“Grace, let’s be reasonable.”
“Have I ever been anything else?”
“Of course not. I’m sorry. But we need the prince.”
“No.”
“But-“
“Did I stutter?”
“No, Grace, I’m sorry.”
“Y’all need to to go.”
“We were tasked with the prince.”
“And?”
“You’re right, I’m sorry.”
“Boys, I can make you some sandwiches for the trip back?”
“Uh, we’re not hungry.”
“You don’t want my cooking?”
“No, sorry, Grace, we’d love some sandwiches.”
“Wouldn’t want you leaving my kitchen empty-handed.”
“Never, oh never, Grace.”
“Wash your hands. I cringe to imagine where y’all have been.”
“Of course, Grace. Boys, you heard the lady: wash up.”
“But sir, *the prince*.”
“Son, don’t let her hear you say another word about that. You don’t want this. Take the sandwich, thank her profusely, and we never saw the prince.”
“And wash your hands!”
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Ps: I’m bad at punctuation 🥴. I hope you enjoy it though
“Stay here my prince while I go distract the invaders. Once you hear me scream I need you to run out the back door with all your might and not look back. Run with everything and do not stop” She tells me.
“No Ms Linda please don’t go. Please don’t leave me. Let’s run away together they’re too strong. They’ve killed my parents and every guard in this castle. They’re going to kill you” I say.
“Distracting them is your only shot at escaping. They don’t know I’m here so if they hear me walking they will assume I’m you and let their guard down. Please go my prince. I’m not letting you die today” She says.
“Okay Ms. Linda. I know this is far fetched but I hope you make it out alive. See you on the other side” I tell her.
“See you on the other side” she says.
She grabs the knife from the counter, runs down the hall and starts screaming.
That’s my cue to leave. I run out through the back door into the forest. The assassins at the back have moved to the front. I guess Ms Linda’s plan worked. I keep running for what seems like a lot of hours until the sky is pitch black. I don’t have any lights on me so I can’t possibly run any further. I have to find a place to rest till daylight. I’m a bit scared because there have been sightings of bears in this forest. Wow Imagine running from assassins only to be killed by a bear. Who are these people? Why are they even after me? One day I’m living my life as an 18 year old boy. The next day I’m being hunted down like a game. My parents are dead. Ms Linda is probably dead too.
“Jason” I hear someone shout from afar.
Oh no I’m going to die today. There’s no way I’m escaping this.
“Jason it’s Ms Linda” The person shouts.
“Ms Linda? I thought you were dead. How did you escape? “ I asked.
“Some of the men in the village came over with their weapons to fight off the assassins” She said.
“But how did they know the castle was being attacked ? I asked.
“One of the wounded guards was able to escape and alert the village” she replied.
“Oh that’s relieving to hear” I said.
“It’s safe to come out Jason. Just follow the light” She says.
“Okay” I reply.
Everything in me is still telling me to run the other way. It doesn’t make sense. Why should I run when I’m safe now? I trust Ms Linda, she was going to give up her life to save me. There’s no reason to run again.
I get to where she is and she hugs me
“Oh Jason. I’m glad you’re safe” she says.
“Well I’m glad you aren’t dead Ms Linda” I say.
“I’m sorry Jason” she says sobbing.
“Sorry for what? You saved me I should be the one apologizing for leaving you” I reply
“No not that Jason. I truly am sorry. I never intended for this to get this far” she says
“What did you do? Ms Linda” I whisper
“Something horrible” she sad whispering back.
Delma💕
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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"Gentlemen, I'd like to tell you a story."
The invaders might have been a rag-tag bunch of tavern roaches, but the looks of disbelief they exchanged would have put the theatre's finest to shame. They were used to their victims screaming, crying, and perhaps trying to bargain if they still had enough of their wits left about them. What they were not used to was broad, flour-dusted women with cheeks like fresh red apples standing square in their way and holding a knife as if she knew what to do with it.
"Out of the way, lady," one rogue began, trying to regain the momentum they'd lost. The cook tutted sharply, and he stopped.
"Come now, is that any kind of way to be talking to your elders? Sit a spell, and you'll live longer."
That seemed to do it. They knew what to do with a threat, after all, and that was to hit it until it stopped moving and you could rummage through its pockets uninterrupted. As the six of them spread out in a loose fan, the cook carried on chatting, apparently unconcerned by the blood-smeared weaponry they were hefting.
"Once upon a time, there was a great hero. Not so great as all that, some might say, and not much of a hero either, others would add. But she was handy with a sword and tended to kill the right sort of people, and so the kingdom gave her a medal and let her go about her business."
One of the more enterprising invaders took a swing at the old lady, and seemed suprised when his blade passed through thin air and bit into the table instead. There was a wet, meaty sound from somewhere around his stomach and the cook surfaced like a nightmare from the deep sea, grinning toothily.
"Only, the problem with being too good at heroing is that you tend to live to a ripe old age, and you find that you don't have much of a retirement fund saved up, on account of not expecting to be around to need one. Much like you fellas, I'd say."
The scene took on a hazy, dreamlike quality for the five men still left. This couldn't be happening, after all. It was impossible for this squat castle servant with a hat as tall as she was and sauce stains down her apron to be doing what she was doing. Perhaps that was a mercy for them. Her carving knife sang as it passed through the air, parting throats and bellies like soft warm butter, and the cook's voice carried on in a constant gentle rumble.
"But this hero had done the king a turn or two, and he owed her a favour in return. So he found her a job where she could put her skills to good use. Said skills being some amount of skill with a sharp edge and an ability to make just about anything edible with enough salt."
The cook stopped, abruptly realizing that the only sounds left in the kitchen were her own voice and the rolling bubble of the stew she had going.
"Waste of a good story," she muttered darkly to herself, stepping delicately between the prone figures on her floor. There was a cabinet towards the back of the kitchen that had suddenly stopped making sniffling sounds partway through the proceedings, and the cook flung its doors wide to see a pair of eyes looking up that were much of a likeness with the dinner plates surrounding them.
"Well now, princeling, shall we get you tidied up a bit? Supper's almost ready, and you know how the Queen is about clean hands at the table."
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Though her effort was valiant, she was immediately overrun by the mob and knocked unconscious. The peasants turn the kitchen over and eventually find the prince hiding in a potato closet. The stench of urine overpowers the starchy smell of potatoes. He screamed and struggled with all his might, but was quickly bound and gagged. The strong arms of the peasants lifted the prince's fat, privelaged form and carried him out of the castle.
Later that day, the prince scowled and the throng of peasants gathered around the platform he has been bound to. "You worthless cretins! You are all scum, and you shall pay for this transgression with your lives!" Spittle flew from his lips as the hate and disdain for their very existence flowed like hot bile. "When my FATHER hears of this he will string you all up by your intestines and feed your children to the DOGS!!!" His words rang hollow as they echoed around the courtyard. The crowd before him was silent. No reaction to his words. Not a murmur. For the first time in his life, the prince felt doubt.
A large man stepped up onto the platform. Everyone in the village knew this man as Big John. He worked the farm out west that provided grain to the village and the castle. They knew him as an honest man. Generous and kind to everyone. He was one of the few people I'm the village to receive and education, and one of the only ones who knew how to read and write. The prince saw only another nameless piece of filth that deserved to be drawn and quartered.
Big John stood to the side of the bound prince and faced the silent crowd. He glanced at the prince with pity in his eyes. That look infuriated the prince. How dare this trash pity him.
"Prince George." He began solemnly. "This day has been years in the making. The crimes committed by your family against these good people have been numerous, and cruel." The icy hand of fear gripped the princes heart. Big John continued. "Your father, the lord of these lands, was once a good man. Over the years, he was corrupted by greed, and a lack of empathy. His troubled heart has been put to rest, for the good of these people." The princes mind reeled. Dead? My father is dead? Oh gods, who will protect me? "Though you have made clear how you feel about your subjects, you have committed no crimes against us, and we do not wish any further violence." Big John paused to let the words sink in. "We are giving you a choice. Become the ruler your father once was, and resist the urge to abuse your power, and we shall let you return to your castle with the knowledge we shall abide no cruelty or abuse. Refuse, and you will be exiled. Should you ever return, you will be killed on sight."
The prince was silent for a long time, as was the crowd. Many faces were doubtful, clearly uneasy with the prospect of letting the prince return to rule. Some others seemed sympathetic, but not nearly as many. Several children sat stop their parents shoulders. Many of them were missing eyes or ears. As the prince studied them, he realized many of these children looked nothing like the adults holding them. The one thing all the people had in common was a gaunt, hungry look. The prince realized he was the sole individual that was overweight. For the first time, the prince was able to see these people as more than peasants. He felt the contempt and hatred for them slowly begin to ebb. His father had been a cruel man. He had known that well as a child. The prince supposed much of that poison had infected his own heart. He didn't want to be poisoned any longer.
Quietly, with a newfound dignity that was undermined by the spittle drying on his chins, the prince said. "On behalf of my family, I apologise for the hardship that has been forced upon you. If I am returned to the castle, I swear to you I will be a better lord than my father before me. Should I fail in this endeavor, may I share in his fate."
Big John nodded approvingly. "That's what I was hoping to hear. The name's John." He said as he began to unbind the prince. "If you ever need anything, just let me know." The prince nodded, not fully trusting himself to speak. He new there was going to be a learning curve to all his new responsibilities. Big John helped him stand. "Now let's get you back to the castle. You've got some wrongs that need righting." Big John winked. The prince continued nodding, still dazed from what had just transpired. Big John led the prince off the platform and they made their way up the road to the castle.
There was no fanfare, no cheering. The crowd, with many unhappy faces, quietly dispersed and went about their business. Justice had been done. Only time would tell if it would stay.
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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The doors to the kitchen were broken into as the screams from the outside raged on. The intruders had made their way inside the castle, and soon found just who they were looking for. The prince cowered in the corner as the cook looked unamused by the ruffians' attempts at intimidation.
"There you are, you're coming with us!" The leader spoke as he stared at the two. The cook, known to the royalty as Yvonne, stood tall and her shoulders squared as a fire long forgotten raged in her eyes. "You'll kill me first." She said, her tone even and unwavering, making the ruffians laugh. "You're an old woman, with nothing more than a weak knife, you couldn't stop me if you tried!"
"I don't plan on just trying." She said as she launched the steak knife into the nearest one's eye, piercing directly through it and causing him to scream. The young prince Daniel watched in horror as his cook, and long time friend, began to slaughter the ruffians before his very eyes. The kind and gentle woman he knew was replaced with someone with the rage of a hundred warriors.
Knives, wooden spoons, cast iron pots and pans were were thrown with such accuracy and force, it was almost as if Yvonne had done this before, many times. Blood splatters decorated the walls and floor, some even getting on Daniel's face. Daniel was terrified, but oddly calm as his cook took care of the last man, bashing his face in with one of the previous pans.
Chest heaving and white apron stained, Yvonne dropped the bloodied pan and wiped her face. She stood tall as she turned to face the prince. "You're safe now." She said as she helped him to his feet.
Yvonne led him out of the kitchen and through the castle, which was becoming engulfed in flames. "Get whatever you need out of your room, and then hurry to the stables. This place won't last long." She said before hurrying down a long corridor.
The prince did just that, rushing to his room and packing his clothes and valuables without a second thought. Though, as he was leaving, the roof collapsed in on him, cutting his face as he was suddenly pinned under a beam. He winced in pain as he tried to crawl out from under, but found it difficult. He was too weak, and far too scared to call out for help.
Thankfully, Yvonne found him and pulled him out before more stuff could crash down upon him. "Come now boy, we need to leave." She said, heading back, passed the flaming throne room making Daniel stop. The bodies of his parents lay at the foot of the throne, almost holding one another.
Yvonne looked at the bodies for a moment. "There was nothing you could have done, I'm sorry." She said before grabbing his hand and rushing with him out the door to the stables. She loaded up their bags and began to saddle the horses.
"Who were those men?! Why were they and why did they want me?!" Daniel finally spoke since the attack. Yvonne paused a moment. "They weren't here for you. They were here for me. I'll explain when we get someplace safer." She said as finished saddling the two horses.
Yvonne turned to face the young man. "Are you able to ride? I know your eye is cut but I need to know in case I need to have you ride with me." She said, Daniel nodding and getting on his horse. "I'll be fine."
Yvonne got on hers, looking over at Daniel, seeing him staring at the burning castle, what was once his home being slowly destroyed. "Daniel, I need you to stay close to me as we leave." She said, making her horse gallop to the exit.
"And whatever you do, don't look back."
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Though her effort was valiant, she was immediately overrun by the mob and knocked unconscious. The peasants turn the kitchen over and eventually find the prince hiding in a potato closet. The stench of urine overpowers the starchy smell of potatoes. He screamed and struggled with all his might, but was quickly bound and gagged. The strong arms of the peasants lifted the prince's fat, privelaged form and carried him out of the castle.
Later that day, the prince scowled and the throng of peasants gathered around the platform he has been bound to. "You worthless cretins! You are all scum, and you shall pay for this transgression with your lives!" Spittle flew from his lips as the hate and disdain for their very existence flowed like hot bile. "When my FATHER hears of this he will string you all up by your intestines and feed your children to the DOGS!!!" His words rang hollow as they echoed around the courtyard. The crowd before him was silent. No reaction to his words. Not a murmur. For the first time in his life, the prince felt doubt.
A large man stepped up onto the platform. Everyone in the village knew this man as Big John. He worked the farm out west that provided grain to the village and the castle. They knew him as an honest man. Generous and kind to everyone. He was one of the few people I'm the village to receive and education, and one of the only ones who knew how to read and write. The prince saw only another nameless piece of filth that deserved to be drawn and quartered.
Big John stood to the side of the bound prince and faced the silent crowd. He glanced at the prince with pity in his eyes. That look infuriated the prince. How dare this trash pity him.
"Prince George." He began solemnly. "This day has been years in the making. The crimes committed by your family against these good people have been numerous, and cruel." The icy hand of fear gripped the princes heart. Big John continued. "Your father, the lord of these lands, was once a good man. Over the years, he was corrupted by greed, and a lack of empathy. His troubled heart has been put to rest, for the good of these people." The princes mind reeled. Dead? My father is dead? Oh gods, who will protect me? "Though you have made clear how you feel about your subjects, you have committed no crimes against us, and we do not wish any further violence." Big John paused to let the words sink in. "We are giving you a choice. Become the ruler your father once was, and resist the urge to abuse your power, and we shall let you return to your castle with the knowledge we shall abide no cruelty or abuse. Refuse, and you will be exiled. Should you ever return, you will be killed on sight."
The prince was silent for a long time, as was the crowd. Many faces were doubtful, clearly uneasy with the prospect of letting the prince return to rule. Some others seemed sympathetic, but not nearly as many. Several children sat stop their parents shoulders. Many of them were missing eyes or ears. As the prince studied them, he realized many of these children looked nothing like the adults holding them. The one thing all the people had in common was a gaunt, hungry look. The prince realized he was the sole individual that was overweight. For the first time, the prince was able to see these people as more than peasants. He felt the contempt and hatred for them slowly begin to ebb. His father had been a cruel man. He had known that well as a child. The prince supposed much of that poison had infected his own heart. He didn't want to be poisoned any longer.
Quietly, with a newfound dignity that was undermined by the spittle drying on his chins, the prince said. "On behalf of my family, I apologise for the hardship that has been forced upon you. If I am returned to the castle, I swear to you I will be a better lord than my father before me. Should I fail in this endeavor, may I share in his fate."
Big John nodded approvingly. "That's what I was hoping to hear. The name's John." He said as he began to unbind the prince. "If you ever need anything, just let me know." The prince nodded, not fully trusting himself to speak. He new there was going to be a learning curve to all his new responsibilities. Big John helped him stand. "Now let's get you back to the castle. You've got some wrongs that need righting." Big John winked. The prince continued nodding, still dazed from what had just transpired. Big John led the prince off the platform and they made their way up the road to the castle.
There was no fanfare, no cheering. The crowd, with many unhappy faces, quietly dispersed and went about their business. Justice had been done. Only time would tell if it would stay.
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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Eddies of fresh sawdust swirled in the unnatural draft, cold and dry doing doomed battle against the clammy mist of the Kitchen. The Hall door was ajar, and that was at odds with the natural order of things. It might have been a forgivable offense, of course, given the joyous occasion. For an heir had in fact been born that morning, an heir after countless years of doubt and dread, an heir to inherit the Castle.
The two figures who stood in the door to the Hall, however, did not fit the mood at all. They were garbed in the rough-spun black of vagabonds and ruffians, metal ribbing and dark sheathed swords suggesting the latter. Their cloaks whirled about them as the heat of the Kitchen sought escape through its new avenue. The ruffians peered into the warm depth of the Kitchen.
They regarded what would have been a peculiar configuration, on any other day. The normal chaos spawned from the work needed to feed the inhabitants of the Castle had been ratcheted up to a new level. Shattered crockery lay strewn about all corners, crumbed with sawdust. Pots big enough to boil a man with room to spare were bubbling over onto the floor, the fires feeding them having been stoked to unreasonable levels.
Most peculiar, the milieu of Kitchen laborers, the _commis_ and the _apprentices_ that made up the bulk of the brigade, were drunk. Few were standing. A large portion had been rolled out of the way under the great table that stood in the middle of the Kitchen, like so many disorderly barrels of ale. And of those who were standing, it was of course the Cook who the new entrants to the Kitchen regarded most closely.
She held in one hand the swaddled bundle of new pink flesh that was the source of all the commotion. In the other was a wide, two handed cleaver, hanging almost to the dusty floor. She stared down at the little bundle, the infant dwarfed in a hand like a pot-lid, with flat grey eyes ensconced in the pudge of a million unsatisfied tastings. Her apron covered but a portion of her body, dark stains running over into the rough hew of cooking garb underneath.
Yet to regard the interlopers, the Cook reached down gently with her prized bundle, stepping back to reveal the small man behind her. Her opposite in nearly every way, the minute _Sous_ took the young prince in both arms and stepped back into the recesses of the misty room. With newly freed hand, she finally regarded the men at the entrance. One massive finger, scars pearling the skin like the fat in an overstuffed sausage, pointed toward them.
"Out." The word was uttered with finality, the natural iron of those who's commands are obeyed, period. The two men looked on. The closer drew his sword.
It is hard to know if the Cook smiled then. There were none in the Kitchen, and probably none alive at that time, who had regarded the Cook smiling. It can be said that one corner of her wide mouth quirked up grotesquely, an arrangement hitherto unseen in the Kitchen.
Her free hand found the hilt of the cleaver.
---
The blood didn't pool, although it flowed gratuitously from the dead men and onto the warm grey stone underfoot. Instead the sawdust turned red, doing its duty of keeping the floor from slicking when the meat juices ran.
The Cook turned ran the length of the stained cleaver over her apron, fresh staining stale like some morbid painting, crosshatched in red. "You." The Cook's finger found one of the _apprentices_. He was an unlikely fellow still standing in the midst of the disarray.
"Ready a stockpot. We have meat for stewing."
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“Tell me you cat! The Prince boy was seen by my men earlier!” Spat an aging man draped in cheap furs as he held a Neko maid to the wall, dagger against her throat. Her ears were flattened against her skull and she shivered in fear, refusing to speak. “TELL ME!” He threw her to the ground. Just before he delivered a killing blow a terrified scream resounded through the reinforced walls, making all who heard it grasp at their ears. The maid had slipped away during the scream.
“B-boss!” One of the bandits appeared, rounding a corner just to slip and fall. “We found the Prince! Issue! He’s not alone!”
He wasn’t wrong. In the kitchen four bandits stared at the 5’7 Prince in the corner, wielding a broken rapier against them. Then to the much scarier target.
A 5’2 harpy twirling a knife with her foot, as she had wings instead of arms and bird legs instead of more human ones. Her slasher smile made a few of the prey take a step back, just for the leader to push past.
“It’s a bird! Just gut her and move on!” The bandit leader roared, just to move back himself when the harpy fluffed her feathers, making her look much bigger. The Prince did look very confident now.
“Serra?” The Prince began.
“Your lordness?” She asked, a rather soothing voice belonging to her, only serving to unnerve the bandits.
“Make them pay.” Demanded the Prince.
“Gladly.” She poised to leap, very excited now.
The bandit leader looked to his allies as he drew his dagger. “Idiots! It’s five of us vs one of her! We can take her! Then we get paid!” All of his allies jumped at once, backpedaling as quickly as they could. He merely opted to look back at the very quickly approaching, but silent, harpy.
He dropped to the ground with the steak knife lodged in his eye, merely a scream from him. Serra ignored him, drawing a knife from a block as she walked over him towards the others.
“Get out of the way!” The bandits all roared at each other, since they all tried to get through the doorway at the same time they were all stuck. They flailed blades at Serra, just for her to begin digging into them. Screaming began.
The Prince walked forward, quickly dispatching the whimpering leader. “Where did father find such a terrifying harpy? And why am I so into this?” He wondered to himself as he witnessed his new crush literally tear into the bandits.
Finally all was done and the knights were clearing out the bodies. Serra hummed a tune as she cleaned her legs, carefully grasping a sponge in one foot, “your lordness? Can a girl get some privacy when she’s bathing?”
The prince’s reaction was immediate, as he scrambled for a response. “I mean- well- you’re not even in the bathrooms- wait! That isn’t to say- of cause!” With that he fled the kitchen, ignoring her cackling at him.
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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Without warning, the castle gate had exploded into a million microscopic splinters the moment the sun began to rise. What was to be a quiet sunrise on the advent of the week’s holy Sunday was turned into a maelstrom of violence. Like erratic thunderbolts, attackers dressed in fur and iron armor charged past the kingdom walls, through the fortified gates, and onward to the enticing marketplaces and homes in arbitrary paths of destruction.
The whistle of a cool breeze was drowned out by an ear shattering warcry, shouted in unison by a relentless force of foreigner warriors. Women and children tore off from their homes and toward the stone castle that loomed up the knoll, all while the men of the family dressed for war with what trinkets they could find. This militia stood and fought with honor, as requested of them by their king, but when the see of nomadic invaders washed over them, their bodies, looted and stripped of valuables, were left bloody and battered in its wake.
When it was obvious that the invaders were headed for the castle, the guards emerged and formed tight phalanxes beyond the spacious mote. Archers readied themselves, their hickory bows trained on a point above the savage horde which lay beneath their place on the wall. The arrow fire came like sprinkling rain, but the brutish attackers hoisted shields above their heads with such strength that a ten pound, two foot long arrow could do nothing but peel splinters from the wooden surfaces. The castle was a duckling in an alligator’s swamp, and matters only worsened when the sound of rolling wheels joined the cacophony.
A battering ram, built atop wheeled stilts and supported by wooden slats, inched its way up the hill as some of the bulkiest men in Europe gave power to its strut. The arrows were ever coming, and decreased the army by meager numbers of two or three with each strafe. The efforts saw no victory, as with each attacker they pinched, three more replaced them. A fervent shout of war split the air like a wolf’s howl after spotting a weak prey.
With the ensuing invasion, chaos reverberated throughout the innards of the castle. The stately foyer was lined with wounded peasants and healers. The hallways were bloated passageways crammed full of sweating people who were eager to reach a certain station. Every known corner of the palace was a breeding ground for panic and lack of preparation. The sound of the front door being hammered, and the gate being tethered down by tied off ballista shots, could be heard from the far reaches of the structure.
In one area, there was almost no commotion. The kitchen, which was dark and vacant, saw no panic and no scramble from palace guards or healers. There was, however, a certain racket being caused within a cabinet. The churning of pots and pans, as if the storage box were shivering, was squeezing out of the cabinet’s doors, muffled. This sound went on for a while in the vacant kitchen chamber. The room was massive, as it was needed to feed an entire castle, but there was no mistaking the racket from the rear of the space. The noise, however, all but stopped when an ear-shattering erutpion of wood splitting, swords unsheathing, and voices roaring sent a jolt of terror throughout the castle.
That was when a slim woman with a cleaver in hand rushed straight to this cabinet. She grabbed the knob of the cabinet door with weathered, calloused palms and swung it open. Crouching to the cubby’s level, the royal chef peered into the dark box to find a young boy huddled inside, cradling his legs. Tears streamed down the boy’s cheeks, and he shivered like a man fallen into an ice lake.
“There you are, mon liege.” The chef whispered, her gaze shifting over her shoulder. She returned her glare to the child and she made him a promise. “You shall be safe in this cabinet. You are not to move, no matter what happens outside. Comprenez vous?” The boy replied with the shake of his head, and the chef sent the cabinet door closed. She stood up and shook out her limbs. She twirled her blade and carried herself to the center of the room where her gaze swiveled about her battle station critically. The shouts grew ever closer to the kitchen, and the sound of clashing metal and the subsequent cries of royal guards sent her into a loose stance, her weapon seated in her stolid grip.
She leapt toward the second entrance to her right and shoved a massive table before it with a grunt. Swiftly, she sprinted before the only remaining entrance and readied her knife. Sure enough, the sound of barbaric cheering peaked, and before the brazier-lit doorway was the god-like silhouette of an enormous Viking. The man blocked the little illumination that carried into the kitchen. His broad shoulders and thick arms were like the limbs of oak trees. His hair was wiry and black, and its growth halted at his back in a mess of leaves and grease. His eyes angled fiercely at the chef, ravenous for blood. His sword hissed as he twirled it showfully. The chef, unpreturbed, saw her work before her and wasted no time.
She dashed forward and lunged with her blade before the Viking could do so
much as compute the action. He attempted an evasive maneuver, but he was far too late. The cleaver pierced his bare torso and he crashed into the doorframe in a splat of blood. Additional attackers flooded through the kitchen doorway, and the only sound from outside was their bestial grunts as the kitchen peaked their interests.
One after the other, beastly men charged through the door with the hopes of besting the chef. The woman was an artisan. Her blade spiraled through the air, supported by two masterful hands, and she weaved in and around of her opponents, light years ahead of their attacks. A nomad swiped his sword for her white uniform, but it was parried immediately. Sparks flew and the chef grunted as she shoved his blade back powerfully. The Viking cried out as he was sliced across the abdomen and rendered an ornament of the tiled floor.
Metallic clinks and scrapes filled the kitchen, as well as the grunts and sharp exhales of the tackful warrior that intended to defend her sanctum of nutrition. As attackers poured in, she led them to different points about the room to avoid pileup. Soaring around clubs and battle axes, the chef was taking on the full might of the Viking army within her kitchen.
The cabinet door squeaked as it testingly swung open. A young pair of eyes peaked out of the tiny crevice, and he gasped silently as they scene carried out. The chef was across the room, using any and all kitchen utensils, knives, pots and pans, to her disposal against her adversaries.
Then, the prince felt the cabinet door snatch open, and standing over him was a behemoth of a man covered in scars and fur. Atop his head was a horned helmet, and the only seeable parts of his face were his blood red teeth and dark, abyssal eyes. The monster cackled with a voice deeper than any ocean, and the prince squirmed as far into the cabinet as he could carry himself.
His efforts to escape the awful creature were to no avail. An enormous hand wrapped clean around his small leg and began to drag him out. The prince was wailing, pleading with the beast to leave him be. The Viking chuckled as his victim cleared the frame of the cabinet. He hoisted a jagged dagger above his head prepared to bring it down upon the prince.
The boy shut his eyes and cried out, waiting for what was to come, but as he lay waiting at the mercy of the invader, nothing ever did. The boy felt the titan’s grip become weak and loosen on his leg, and as he opened his eyes, like a tree cut for logging, the beast tipped backward, his bone-dry lips taut into a soundless scream.
The Viking’s body slumped to the floor with a thump, and the surrounding cabinet’s contents rattled with the impact. Beside him, standing tall but fighting for breath, was the chef, her cleaver shiny with red and her uniform soaked.
“You were supposed to stay.” She chastised him, before dropping the cleaver to the ground with a cling.
She took the prince in her arms and hugged him tightly. All around the kitchen was the ruins of a battalion of Viking conquerors, but whether they lay motionless and groaned in agony, or simply lay limp amd lifeless, they had been rendered to nothing.
“Come,” ordered the chef, lifting a pot from a nearby table. “Let us dispose of this riffraff for good, no?”
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Changed it a bit, hope you dont mind.
————
“Im gonna die! Oh my god. Please dont let them kill me.”
She didnt even listen to him, she was doing a dance, sort of. She did it couple of times now. He did not know how that would be of any help.
“Why are you dancing! Are you crazy?!”
“Go stand in that corner” she said.
Young prince was confused but listened.
She continued dancing through the room, it looked like she did this before. Like it was rehearsed. She stopped and with her guard up looked at him with excitment and fire in her eyes.
“Who are you?!” the prince said.
The assassins came storming in the room, there were 4 of them at least. Big guys, prince thought this is it. He curled up in the corner. Hands on his head. He is going to die without becoming a king, without honoring his father, without fulfilling his destiny!
His thought train was stopped by her dancing. Each move, that seemed pointless before, now made sense as she slashed the assassins necks, stabbing them. Twirling and lunging towards them. The prince was mesmerized by her moves. Her dance was deadly and each strike fatal to the attackers.
The last assassin managed to move out of her synchronized dance. Its like he knew already where she would strike. He jumped to the side and removed the cloth from his face.
“Not possible!” she said out loud.
They looked at eachother. She knew him. He wasnt supposed to be here.
“John?! What are you doing here?!”
“Hades are here, we need to go. Is this him?”
“Yes. But.. ”
“No time.”
Covered in blood, he offered the prince his hand. The prince was shaking, but he noticed a weird thing on his arm, like a bracelet. He didnt give it much thought but he never saw one like that before. It was made of leather and gold, he knew every jeweler in 4 kingdoms and he was sure nobody can make one like that.
They heard a loud noise in distance.
“Guns!” she said “you cant use guns it will interfere with...”
“Guns?! Are you two crazy? What is guns?!” The prince was scared.
John looked at him with weird calmness in his eyes, then said to her:
“I know, Hades dont follow rules. Plan B?”
They all stood in a circle. Prince was trembling. He now noticed she has the same bracelet. Before he could say anything she pressed it. It started glowing. The prince felt dizzy and passed out.
He woke up with a bad headache. They were both with him, standing there. His eyes were closed but he could hear noises. He was laying in bed. He slowly opened his eyes and saw the cook. But she was now dressed differently.
“Where am i? What happened?!”
“Shhh” she said “rest”.
John raised a weird cup made out of glass, with brown liquid in it and he was in even weirder clothes. As if prince was not already confused, John, with a smirk on his face, like he did this before said:
“Welcome to the future buddy”
——————————————————
First time writing these. I would welcome any tips. Cheers.
Edit: Should i actually write part 2?
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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“Grace?”
“Of course.”
“Grace, let’s be reasonable.”
“Have I ever been anything else?”
“Of course not. I’m sorry. But we need the prince.”
“No.”
“But-“
“Did I stutter?”
“No, Grace, I’m sorry.”
“Y’all need to to go.”
“We were tasked with the prince.”
“And?”
“You’re right, I’m sorry.”
“Boys, I can make you some sandwiches for the trip back?”
“Uh, we’re not hungry.”
“You don’t want my cooking?”
“No, sorry, Grace, we’d love some sandwiches.”
“Wouldn’t want you leaving my kitchen empty-handed.”
“Never, oh never, Grace.”
“Wash your hands. I cringe to imagine where y’all have been.”
“Of course, Grace. Boys, you heard the lady: wash up.”
“But sir, *the prince*.”
“Son, don’t let her hear you say another word about that. You don’t want this. Take the sandwich, thank her profusely, and we never saw the prince.”
“And wash your hands!”
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Changed it a bit, hope you dont mind.
————
“Im gonna die! Oh my god. Please dont let them kill me.”
She didnt even listen to him, she was doing a dance, sort of. She did it couple of times now. He did not know how that would be of any help.
“Why are you dancing! Are you crazy?!”
“Go stand in that corner” she said.
Young prince was confused but listened.
She continued dancing through the room, it looked like she did this before. Like it was rehearsed. She stopped and with her guard up looked at him with excitment and fire in her eyes.
“Who are you?!” the prince said.
The assassins came storming in the room, there were 4 of them at least. Big guys, prince thought this is it. He curled up in the corner. Hands on his head. He is going to die without becoming a king, without honoring his father, without fulfilling his destiny!
His thought train was stopped by her dancing. Each move, that seemed pointless before, now made sense as she slashed the assassins necks, stabbing them. Twirling and lunging towards them. The prince was mesmerized by her moves. Her dance was deadly and each strike fatal to the attackers.
The last assassin managed to move out of her synchronized dance. Its like he knew already where she would strike. He jumped to the side and removed the cloth from his face.
“Not possible!” she said out loud.
They looked at eachother. She knew him. He wasnt supposed to be here.
“John?! What are you doing here?!”
“Hades are here, we need to go. Is this him?”
“Yes. But.. ”
“No time.”
Covered in blood, he offered the prince his hand. The prince was shaking, but he noticed a weird thing on his arm, like a bracelet. He didnt give it much thought but he never saw one like that before. It was made of leather and gold, he knew every jeweler in 4 kingdoms and he was sure nobody can make one like that.
They heard a loud noise in distance.
“Guns!” she said “you cant use guns it will interfere with...”
“Guns?! Are you two crazy? What is guns?!” The prince was scared.
John looked at him with weird calmness in his eyes, then said to her:
“I know, Hades dont follow rules. Plan B?”
They all stood in a circle. Prince was trembling. He now noticed she has the same bracelet. Before he could say anything she pressed it. It started glowing. The prince felt dizzy and passed out.
He woke up with a bad headache. They were both with him, standing there. His eyes were closed but he could hear noises. He was laying in bed. He slowly opened his eyes and saw the cook. But she was now dressed differently.
“Where am i? What happened?!”
“Shhh” she said “rest”.
John raised a weird cup made out of glass, with brown liquid in it and he was in even weirder clothes. As if prince was not already confused, John, with a smirk on his face, like he did this before said:
“Welcome to the future buddy”
——————————————————
First time writing these. I would welcome any tips. Cheers.
Edit: Should i actually write part 2?
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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“We’ll kill ya, down with the prince.” The ruffians charged the halls of the royal castle, finding their way into the castle through a hidden gap in the castle’s walls. The poor prince desperately sprinted away from the group, holding his robes up to his knees, trying not to trip on the exotic fabric, a feat he failed, collapsing onto the floor of the kitchen, crawling towards a cupboard, trying to hide his body.
The ruffians charged in, the group of five not expecting to survive this encounter, the group seeking the fame that came from killing a royal, the type of fame that people talked about for centuries. Each one entering the room, wielding a rusted dagger or other sharp metallic object, eyes scanning the room, watching the pitiful prince curl against the wood of a cupboard, face pale with fear.
“Aye, we got you now prince, you are our ticket to fame, come here and we will gut you quick.” The leader spoke up, earning a small glance from the kitchen’s head chef, the older woman letting out a sigh, leaning forward to wash her hands before facing the group, exposing a steak knife.
“The only thing getting gutted in my kitchen is the fish for dinner. You won’t lay a hand on our prince; you even try to touch him, and I’ll have all of you little shits in the pig’s trough outside. Is that understood?” Her words sharper than her blade. The woman built like a knight, face covered in scars, not fitting the usual look of a castle cook.
The group lost their nerve, each looking between one another, expecting someone else to take charge of the situation, none expecting this. The gazes all ended on the leader, whose mouth was agape, not expecting to run into such a warrior here.
“I don’t think you understand the situation, miss. There’s five of us here, and one of you. Why don’t you step aside? The prince isn’t worth your life. Now be a good cook and run along.” The leader cockily marched towards the woman. When he neared her, he flashed his blade, trying to catch her off guard, swinging his blade towards her, only for the cook to catch his hand, twisting his wrist until the blade dropped. Once the blade cluttered onto the floor, she pinned his hand against a chopping board, stabbing the steak knife through his hand, pinning it to the board.
“Sloppy. You don’t touch the handle of your blade like that unless you are planning to attack. How did you idiots get this far? So that’s one for the pig’s breakfast, got any more volunteers.” Her icy stare fell on the group. The cowering would be assassins retreating towards the guards, screaming and pleading for help. “Heh, still got it. You ok prince? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”
The woman turned to the prince for a moment, only to turn back to the assassin. The leader screaming, trying to free his hand from the board. He went to pull the knife out, only for the cook’s hand to sit on top of his. “You’ll make a mess if you do that and possibly bleed out. Wait until the guards arrive, they might offer you some aid traitor. I won’t be lenient towards you, but our prince might be.”
“Are you ok, Miss Eliza?” The prince slowly stood up, face regaining some color after the frightful encounter.
“Don’t worry yourself, dear. I’m just happy you knew to run to safety. You did well, young prince. Please don’t look behind me, it’s not a sight for someone like you to see. Run along towards your room now. I’ll take this one to the knights.”
The prince did just that, offering Eliza a nod and a quick thank you before running past the kitchen heading to the upper levels. Eliza watched, smiling as he went up to his room.
“Why help him? He’s royalty, you know, one of the foulest humans around.” The leader sneered, only to shut up when he felt the blade get nudged by the cook.
“Insult the prince again and I’ll remove a finger. I’m not helping him, I’m serving him. The prince is a nice man and he will grow into a fine king. I understand your feelings though, guessing you and your group are street runts?”
“How dare you call us street runts! What are you going to call us pests as well? Not everyone gets to live an easy life.” The leader hissed. Defiance the only thing left that he could do. Like a wounded animal, he could only snap at the approaching danger.
“You think a lady with my face grew up in a castle? I was a bandit, had a plan to kill the royals too. Was going to ransack this place and become a hero.” She shook her head. How naïve she was in her youth. To ransack a castle, no one could pull off such a feat with the numbers she had.
“So did you do it?” The leader’s struggling stopped, entranced by the story, the pain secondary to his curiosity.
“What do you think, idiot? The castles standing and I’m wearing an apron. Does it look like I succeeded? Didn’t even get close. Guards got wind of it the night before, beat the every loving shit out of me and my crew. Lost a few people that night. We disbanded after that. It left me with nothing, wandering the streets, drinking away my troubles. Then I spotted an opportunity. The walls were a lot shorter back then, so I thought, why not climb it? A final middle finger to the royals. Well, my drunkard self-climbed the wall, falling into the royal gardens. That’s when I saw the prince sitting their alone. Had I not been drunk I might have kidnapped him, held him for ransom, but I was far too out of it. When I saw him approach, I expected him to call the guards, but he offers me an apple instead. The prince offered me an apple. Then he offered me more food and before I knew it I was sitting in the garden eating with the prince.”
“I don’t believe it. You mean to tell me, the prince fed you of all people? Why would he waste food on you?”
“Cause he’s a naïve young prince. But he’s got the heart of one of those Arthurian legends. When the guards came, weapons drawn, he talked them down. Explained to them I wasn’t a danger. Of course, the guards knew who I was and when they went to execute me, the prince stood in my way. The prince going out of his way for someone like me. Heh, I still can’t believe. Ever since then, I’ve sworn to make sure he never goes hungry. I didn’t even know how to cook until I started here. Now I’m the head chef.”
“You just got lucky. Ive seen how they stare at us, how they look down at the poorer people. You should know that just as well as I do.”
“I do, but the prince is still young. He can’t change anything currently, but I believe he has the potential to do so in the future. Don’t judge him like you judge the nobles, that coldness you show will only turn him into the man you want to despise. Treat him with kindness and he will return it. Anyway, the decision’s not up to me, it’s up to the prince. Just think about what I said and don’t you dare come back here when he frees you. Unless you’re apologizing.”
“You really think he will free me? After everything I did.” The Leader lowered his head, pulling the board from the counter, not risking taking out the blade.
“I know he will. Let’s get you some help, that cuts not going to heal itself.” She chuckled, taking the board with one of her hands, helping him walk to the lower levels, searching for a medic.
&nbsp;
&nbsp;
&nbsp;
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
|
Changed it a bit, hope you dont mind.
————
“Im gonna die! Oh my god. Please dont let them kill me.”
She didnt even listen to him, she was doing a dance, sort of. She did it couple of times now. He did not know how that would be of any help.
“Why are you dancing! Are you crazy?!”
“Go stand in that corner” she said.
Young prince was confused but listened.
She continued dancing through the room, it looked like she did this before. Like it was rehearsed. She stopped and with her guard up looked at him with excitment and fire in her eyes.
“Who are you?!” the prince said.
The assassins came storming in the room, there were 4 of them at least. Big guys, prince thought this is it. He curled up in the corner. Hands on his head. He is going to die without becoming a king, without honoring his father, without fulfilling his destiny!
His thought train was stopped by her dancing. Each move, that seemed pointless before, now made sense as she slashed the assassins necks, stabbing them. Twirling and lunging towards them. The prince was mesmerized by her moves. Her dance was deadly and each strike fatal to the attackers.
The last assassin managed to move out of her synchronized dance. Its like he knew already where she would strike. He jumped to the side and removed the cloth from his face.
“Not possible!” she said out loud.
They looked at eachother. She knew him. He wasnt supposed to be here.
“John?! What are you doing here?!”
“Hades are here, we need to go. Is this him?”
“Yes. But.. ”
“No time.”
Covered in blood, he offered the prince his hand. The prince was shaking, but he noticed a weird thing on his arm, like a bracelet. He didnt give it much thought but he never saw one like that before. It was made of leather and gold, he knew every jeweler in 4 kingdoms and he was sure nobody can make one like that.
They heard a loud noise in distance.
“Guns!” she said “you cant use guns it will interfere with...”
“Guns?! Are you two crazy? What is guns?!” The prince was scared.
John looked at him with weird calmness in his eyes, then said to her:
“I know, Hades dont follow rules. Plan B?”
They all stood in a circle. Prince was trembling. He now noticed she has the same bracelet. Before he could say anything she pressed it. It started glowing. The prince felt dizzy and passed out.
He woke up with a bad headache. They were both with him, standing there. His eyes were closed but he could hear noises. He was laying in bed. He slowly opened his eyes and saw the cook. But she was now dressed differently.
“Where am i? What happened?!”
“Shhh” she said “rest”.
John raised a weird cup made out of glass, with brown liquid in it and he was in even weirder clothes. As if prince was not already confused, John, with a smirk on his face, like he did this before said:
“Welcome to the future buddy”
——————————————————
First time writing these. I would welcome any tips. Cheers.
Edit: Should i actually write part 2?
|
|
[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
|
"Alright, my prince," said Gertrude, keeping her eyes on the three intruders, "to your right is a knife block. I want you to take the smallest one and just hold onto it—like we practiced—okay?"
The young Prince Ralph looked to his left. "I don't see a knife block, Gerty."
As she took a deep breath to focus on the feeling of the knife's hilt, Getrtude ran her free hand across the scales of the fish she was preparing prior to the commotion. "To your right, hun."
Ralph looked right. "Oh—" He did as instructed. "Okay, I've got the knife."
"Good, now I don't want you to—"
"This is ridiculous!" shouted one of the intruders, a man not quite six feet tall. "She's just the damned cook!" Rounding the massive wooden table, he broke into a run and lunged toward Gertrude's five-foot-frame.
Gertrude took a single step to the left to avoid his blade, grabbed the ten-pound fish by its tail, and swung it toward the man's face.
*Clap!* The scaly body of the fish smacked directly into his left cheek, sending his body crashing into the ground with a resounding *thud!*
"Hahahaha—fish slapped!" celebrated Ralph.
Gertrude looked to him and winked. "You like that one, my prince?"
Clutching his face—now imprinted with multiple scrapes from fish's rough scales—the man slowly lifted himself head to face the cook. "You'll pay for that, wench."
"Uh-oh!" said Ralph, covering his mouth. "I think you've made a mistake."
"What are you talkin—"
Without hesitation, Gertrude swung the fish back toward the man's face, this time striking his other side and catapulting his head into the corner of the table.
He died on impact. His body lumped onto the floor, blood slowly oozing from his wounds.
"Here," said Gertrude, flinging the bloodied fish across the table toward the others, "we can't eat this anymore; it's been sullied with the blood of an insignificant speck of a human."
One of the intruders—the heavier of the two—whispered something to the other, then turned and motioned to exit the kitchen.
"Ah, not so fast—" Gertrude cocked her arm back and threw her chef's knife across the space, piercing the man's cloak on the door frame just as he cleared it.
Grasping at his neck as his mantle upended him, the man gasped for breath until his back slammed into the concrete floor and took all air from him.
Without turning, Gertrude held her hand toward Ralph. "Young one, could you hand me another knife?"
"Which one?"
"Surprise me."
Ralph giggled to himself and placed the bread knife firmly in her hand.
Feeling the familiar handle, Gertrude muttered, "Interesting choice."
"Get up!" yelled the upright intruder as he delivered a swift kick to his companion. "She can't beat us if we take her together!"
"Hmm, that doesn't seem quite fair." Gertrude extended her other hand toward the prince. "One more, please."
"Umm, the only one left is the small one I'm holding."
Gertrude looked to the sink beside the intruders, where most of her cutlery lay dirtied with the days dishes. "The sharpener, then."
Ralph removed the elongated, cylindrical honing steel knife sharpener from the block and placed the handle in the cook's hand.
After rising to his feet, the large man ripped both his cloak and the chef's knife from the wall.
Concurrently, the thin man drew his cutlass. "A bread knife and a blunted kitchen's tool?" He let out a haughty laugh. "You would have been better off with the fish!"
"I suppose we'll see about that," replied Gertrude, stepping out from behind the table and into the open area of the kitchen. "Anyway, as I was saying, my prince, I want you to stay right there in the corner unless I tell you otherwise. Alright?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Gertrude began to pace, sliding the straight edge of the bread knife across the sharpener. "Well, boys—shall we get this over with?"
With a twirl of his cutlass, the thin man—clearly the leader of the three—nodded to the other before the two of them split, each circling the table to deliver a pincer attack on the cook.
Gertrude spun back toward the thin man as he neared the prince's location and swung the steel rod at his face, thumping him directly in the forehead before he could even prepare to strike. Then, as he dropped his weapon and fell, she hauled herself back to the larger man, shouting behind her, "My prince, get behind me!"
As Prince Ralph scurried behind her toward the opposite corner, the larger man maintained his charge, focusing his eyes on Gertrude as he slashed toward her stomach.
Gertrude jumped backward to avoid the blade, then hopped sideways to close the distance between them.
As his enemy drew closer, the man brought a haymaker toward her right temple.
She ducked the blow, then—trapping his chef's knife between her bread knife and sharpener—forced it from his grasp. As it spun away, she delivered a powerful kick to his stomach, thrusting his back into the table.
"You!" he called out.
"Me!" Gertrude clasped him by the arm and swung herself up onto his shoulders, whipping his body around in the process. Then—locking eyes with the thin man as he rose to his feet across the table—she gripped the large man's hair, placed the serrated edge of the bread knife firmly on his throat, and drew it across slowly.
With the knife embedded in his neck, the man crumpled backward, bringing Gertrude soundly back to her feet.
'You!" shouted the thin man.
"Haven't we been through this already?" She hurled the knife sharpener at the man. As he attempted to dodge it, she ran forward and leapt onto the table, sliding feet-first toward him.
Just in time, the thin man sidestepped her attack.
With nothing to absorb her momentum, Gertrude slid all the way across the table, launched into the side cabinets, and tumbled to the ground. Flat on her back, she blinked to orient herself, only to find a cutlass careening toward her.
"This was fun, but—" The man stopped mid-sentence, his eyes crossing for a moment.
"Ahahaha, nice one Gerty!" praised the prince. "Right in the jewels!"
"You'll pay for—"
"My prince, when I say so, I want you to—"
*Clink!* The thin man's cutlass scraped the floor as she rolled to the side to avoid another attack.
"I want you to throw me your knife!" She lifted the sharpener from the ground, positioned it between the thin man's legs, and banged it between his knees. As he buckled forward, she sprang to her feet and yelled, "Now!"
Prince Ralph threw the knife with all the force his eleven-year-old body could muster.
Just as the thin man's knees hit the floor, Gertrude caught the knife by the blade, wincing at the pain as it sliced into her hand. Paying the injury no mind, she dropped the knife to her other hand, caught it by the handle, and pierced it through the thin man's eye.
*Thump!* The third and final body hit the ground.
"Well, my prince," she said, grabbing a kitchen cloth and wrapping it round her hand. "I'm sorry this got so violent. Shall we go check on mum and dad?"
\-----
Edits: Fixed a couple grammar issues.
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, check out some of my other stories on my sub! r/storiesbyclayton
|
Changed it a bit, hope you dont mind.
————
“Im gonna die! Oh my god. Please dont let them kill me.”
She didnt even listen to him, she was doing a dance, sort of. She did it couple of times now. He did not know how that would be of any help.
“Why are you dancing! Are you crazy?!”
“Go stand in that corner” she said.
Young prince was confused but listened.
She continued dancing through the room, it looked like she did this before. Like it was rehearsed. She stopped and with her guard up looked at him with excitment and fire in her eyes.
“Who are you?!” the prince said.
The assassins came storming in the room, there were 4 of them at least. Big guys, prince thought this is it. He curled up in the corner. Hands on his head. He is going to die without becoming a king, without honoring his father, without fulfilling his destiny!
His thought train was stopped by her dancing. Each move, that seemed pointless before, now made sense as she slashed the assassins necks, stabbing them. Twirling and lunging towards them. The prince was mesmerized by her moves. Her dance was deadly and each strike fatal to the attackers.
The last assassin managed to move out of her synchronized dance. Its like he knew already where she would strike. He jumped to the side and removed the cloth from his face.
“Not possible!” she said out loud.
They looked at eachother. She knew him. He wasnt supposed to be here.
“John?! What are you doing here?!”
“Hades are here, we need to go. Is this him?”
“Yes. But.. ”
“No time.”
Covered in blood, he offered the prince his hand. The prince was shaking, but he noticed a weird thing on his arm, like a bracelet. He didnt give it much thought but he never saw one like that before. It was made of leather and gold, he knew every jeweler in 4 kingdoms and he was sure nobody can make one like that.
They heard a loud noise in distance.
“Guns!” she said “you cant use guns it will interfere with...”
“Guns?! Are you two crazy? What is guns?!” The prince was scared.
John looked at him with weird calmness in his eyes, then said to her:
“I know, Hades dont follow rules. Plan B?”
They all stood in a circle. Prince was trembling. He now noticed she has the same bracelet. Before he could say anything she pressed it. It started glowing. The prince felt dizzy and passed out.
He woke up with a bad headache. They were both with him, standing there. His eyes were closed but he could hear noises. He was laying in bed. He slowly opened his eyes and saw the cook. But she was now dressed differently.
“Where am i? What happened?!”
“Shhh” she said “rest”.
John raised a weird cup made out of glass, with brown liquid in it and he was in even weirder clothes. As if prince was not already confused, John, with a smirk on his face, like he did this before said:
“Welcome to the future buddy”
——————————————————
First time writing these. I would welcome any tips. Cheers.
Edit: Should i actually write part 2?
|
|
[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
|
The voice was sharp. “What in Hel’s name are you doing in MY KITCHEN?”
The scullions knew that tone and scrambled away from the cook before moving away from the lightly armored men who had chased the Prince of the Realm through the servants’ door. It had already been a day of trying to not have that voice turned towards the staff as preparations for the welcoming feast for the emissary was underway. The men who bared weapons in the royal kitchens now had all of her attention.
Her attention. The cook who had fought her way up the ranks over the years, now the lead in the kitchen for the royal presence after retiring from one service into another. Every day was a battle, but she had not had one come to her this directly for years.
The Prince, half-dressed in the finery that was supposed to be on him for the reception of the foreign group, skittered and fell on his ass in front of the cook. “They! They!” was all he could get out. There was a glance down to him from the cook and he saw both a grimness and a gleam in her eyes.
The sound of the steak knife coming out of the wooden block at the cooks side was as sharp as her voice had been. There was no banter as she stepped towards the invaders. There wasn’t a haughty pose as she picked up a long handled pot from off the coals. There wasn’t a laugh or taunt as the hot lard from the pot was thrown at the faces of the men. Action was what happened as she stepped over the boy who would be King one day to face the ones who were suspiciously dressed almost like the patrols of the castle, but without the baldric of honor that had been presented to the company just that morning.
Most of the invaders were hit with the hot fat, taking them out of the action as they clawed at the burning that would not stop. One had been able to move and only got a splash on his arm. He pushed past the screaming men around him, his lightly curved sword swinging at the cook as he moved.
It wasn’t the knife that took him down, though he was focused on it. It was the pot, hot bottom against his exposed jaw, that staggered him and then dropped him as the sound of the second hit against his head was almost covered by the splintering of the handle.
Less than five minutes for the action. She leaned against one of the counters and tried to bring her breathing under control. The real guards were coming in behind one of the staff that had the presence of mind to get them. The cook waived vaguely towards the still whimpering men.
The guards roughly picked up the men almost dressed like they and started to drag them out. The leader of the squad stopped a respectful pace away from the cook and came to attention. There was a sharp salute as he said, “General,” before following his men.
She nodded, absently rubbing a shoulder scar under her jacket as she watched them go.
The Prince was still on the floor, big eyes watching the woman towering above him. A hand was offered and he was pulled up. She pushed and turned him so she could see if there had been any real damage, and except for the tear in the tunic, the royal whelp was just dazed from the excitement, not from being roughly handled.
Hands were on the Princes shoulders, the cooks eyes looking into his. “Highness, you are well?”
He nodded and threw his arms around her. She took in a gasp of air, and took a moment before wrapping her arms around him. “Thank you Deni! Thank you!”
She nodded into his hair and kissed the top of his head. “Charles, go to the chatelaine. She will fix you up.” She felt the nod before he pulled away.
The cook closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. She let it out and was still for a moment. Her eyes snapped open and the scullions who saw her face had wide yes themselves.
“Where is that damned bread?”
|
Changed it a bit, hope you dont mind.
————
“Im gonna die! Oh my god. Please dont let them kill me.”
She didnt even listen to him, she was doing a dance, sort of. She did it couple of times now. He did not know how that would be of any help.
“Why are you dancing! Are you crazy?!”
“Go stand in that corner” she said.
Young prince was confused but listened.
She continued dancing through the room, it looked like she did this before. Like it was rehearsed. She stopped and with her guard up looked at him with excitment and fire in her eyes.
“Who are you?!” the prince said.
The assassins came storming in the room, there were 4 of them at least. Big guys, prince thought this is it. He curled up in the corner. Hands on his head. He is going to die without becoming a king, without honoring his father, without fulfilling his destiny!
His thought train was stopped by her dancing. Each move, that seemed pointless before, now made sense as she slashed the assassins necks, stabbing them. Twirling and lunging towards them. The prince was mesmerized by her moves. Her dance was deadly and each strike fatal to the attackers.
The last assassin managed to move out of her synchronized dance. Its like he knew already where she would strike. He jumped to the side and removed the cloth from his face.
“Not possible!” she said out loud.
They looked at eachother. She knew him. He wasnt supposed to be here.
“John?! What are you doing here?!”
“Hades are here, we need to go. Is this him?”
“Yes. But.. ”
“No time.”
Covered in blood, he offered the prince his hand. The prince was shaking, but he noticed a weird thing on his arm, like a bracelet. He didnt give it much thought but he never saw one like that before. It was made of leather and gold, he knew every jeweler in 4 kingdoms and he was sure nobody can make one like that.
They heard a loud noise in distance.
“Guns!” she said “you cant use guns it will interfere with...”
“Guns?! Are you two crazy? What is guns?!” The prince was scared.
John looked at him with weird calmness in his eyes, then said to her:
“I know, Hades dont follow rules. Plan B?”
They all stood in a circle. Prince was trembling. He now noticed she has the same bracelet. Before he could say anything she pressed it. It started glowing. The prince felt dizzy and passed out.
He woke up with a bad headache. They were both with him, standing there. His eyes were closed but he could hear noises. He was laying in bed. He slowly opened his eyes and saw the cook. But she was now dressed differently.
“Where am i? What happened?!”
“Shhh” she said “rest”.
John raised a weird cup made out of glass, with brown liquid in it and he was in even weirder clothes. As if prince was not already confused, John, with a smirk on his face, like he did this before said:
“Welcome to the future buddy”
——————————————————
First time writing these. I would welcome any tips. Cheers.
Edit: Should i actually write part 2?
|
|
[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
|
He let a yelp of fright escape him, then quickly covered his mouth with both hands. It wasn’t Kingly to show others one’s fear, Papa would say. And he really, really wanted to please Papa. Actually, he would love nothing more to climb up and sit on Papa’s lap right now. A big, warm hand that would gently stroke his back as he would fall asleep to the soft singing of a lullaby.
But there was so much blood. So very much blood. And Papa lay very, very still.
He blinked quickly. No. No. Don’t think about it. Papa was just playing, that’s how it was.
His eyes focused on the room again and all the noises and clattering sounds overwhelmed him. He moved his hands from his mouth, to instead cover his ears, and looked around the room. Cook was still there. Her hair that was normally neatly tied into a tight bun was coming loose, and she had pulled up her sleeves. Oh, he knew the look on her face. That was the look of when someone, maybe himself, had stolen one of her famous meat pies and she was *not* happy about it.
There was blood here, too. Blood on the steak knife in her hand, blood on her apron, blood on the floor. There were bodies on the floor. He counted them to himself, one, two, three, four… Did that arm belong to a body he had already counted?
His eyes drifted back to Cook. She was smiling now, or at least her teeth were showing. The knife twirled very fast in her hand, so fast that he couldn’t follow it. She moved fast across the floor, knife twirling and there was another thud, and another body on the floor. Cook wiped her hand on the apron, and swirled around to meet the last two assailants. They were cautious now, moving in separate directions, their feet nimbly walking between numb bodies and limbs that were displayed on the floor tiles.
He wanted to shout at her, tell her to watch out for the other one. But his mouth wouldn’t move. All he could do was to watch silently, eyes large and terrified, as one of the assailants on the floor rose without a sound. He lunged at her, dagger in a tight grip in his palm as he moved without a word.
Cook was dancing. There was no other way to describe it. She was waltzing across the floor, two steps this way and one step that way. Dancing an incomprehensible, unpredictable dance in which only she knew the steps. Her hair had come completely loose from the bun, the grey streaks in it glinting in the bright morning light. He watched her as in a trance, and when his focus was broken, it was only him and Cook in the room that were breathing.
&#x200B;
“We need to leave, now.” Cook was panting hard. Her previously cold eyes now had a worried look to them.
“Leave? But Papa...?” he didn’t understand.
“Papa wants you to leave,” she said brusque. “They might come at us again, and there’s only so much I can do here.”
“Papa wants me to leave? Without saying goodbye?” He couldn’t grasp it. Papa always made sure to say goodbye.
Her tone softened as she looked at him, squatting in a corner with his arms tightly wrapped around his body. “Yes, he told me to tell you goodbye, and that I would take care of you. He can’t say goodbye himself now, but I promise you that …” her voice faded out before completing the sentence.
“It’s what a king must do,” she continued. “A king must look at not what he wants, but what is best for the country. And the country needs you to survive, my dear.”
He nodded slowly, her words did make sense. Papa had always said that they lived to serve the country, not the opposite.
“Very well,” he said, slowly standing up, his eyes focused on her and not the limp bodies that were strewn across the floor, their limbs in awkward angles that did not look natural. And the blood. There was so much blood. “We must leave.”
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
\- - - - - - - - - -
Check out [r/SleepyMacaroni](https://www.reddit.com/r/SleepyMacaroni/) for more!
|
Changed it a bit, hope you dont mind.
————
“Im gonna die! Oh my god. Please dont let them kill me.”
She didnt even listen to him, she was doing a dance, sort of. She did it couple of times now. He did not know how that would be of any help.
“Why are you dancing! Are you crazy?!”
“Go stand in that corner” she said.
Young prince was confused but listened.
She continued dancing through the room, it looked like she did this before. Like it was rehearsed. She stopped and with her guard up looked at him with excitment and fire in her eyes.
“Who are you?!” the prince said.
The assassins came storming in the room, there were 4 of them at least. Big guys, prince thought this is it. He curled up in the corner. Hands on his head. He is going to die without becoming a king, without honoring his father, without fulfilling his destiny!
His thought train was stopped by her dancing. Each move, that seemed pointless before, now made sense as she slashed the assassins necks, stabbing them. Twirling and lunging towards them. The prince was mesmerized by her moves. Her dance was deadly and each strike fatal to the attackers.
The last assassin managed to move out of her synchronized dance. Its like he knew already where she would strike. He jumped to the side and removed the cloth from his face.
“Not possible!” she said out loud.
They looked at eachother. She knew him. He wasnt supposed to be here.
“John?! What are you doing here?!”
“Hades are here, we need to go. Is this him?”
“Yes. But.. ”
“No time.”
Covered in blood, he offered the prince his hand. The prince was shaking, but he noticed a weird thing on his arm, like a bracelet. He didnt give it much thought but he never saw one like that before. It was made of leather and gold, he knew every jeweler in 4 kingdoms and he was sure nobody can make one like that.
They heard a loud noise in distance.
“Guns!” she said “you cant use guns it will interfere with...”
“Guns?! Are you two crazy? What is guns?!” The prince was scared.
John looked at him with weird calmness in his eyes, then said to her:
“I know, Hades dont follow rules. Plan B?”
They all stood in a circle. Prince was trembling. He now noticed she has the same bracelet. Before he could say anything she pressed it. It started glowing. The prince felt dizzy and passed out.
He woke up with a bad headache. They were both with him, standing there. His eyes were closed but he could hear noises. He was laying in bed. He slowly opened his eyes and saw the cook. But she was now dressed differently.
“Where am i? What happened?!”
“Shhh” she said “rest”.
John raised a weird cup made out of glass, with brown liquid in it and he was in even weirder clothes. As if prince was not already confused, John, with a smirk on his face, like he did this before said:
“Welcome to the future buddy”
——————————————————
First time writing these. I would welcome any tips. Cheers.
Edit: Should i actually write part 2?
|
|
[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
|
“Grace?”
“Of course.”
“Grace, let’s be reasonable.”
“Have I ever been anything else?”
“Of course not. I’m sorry. But we need the prince.”
“No.”
“But-“
“Did I stutter?”
“No, Grace, I’m sorry.”
“Y’all need to to go.”
“We were tasked with the prince.”
“And?”
“You’re right, I’m sorry.”
“Boys, I can make you some sandwiches for the trip back?”
“Uh, we’re not hungry.”
“You don’t want my cooking?”
“No, sorry, Grace, we’d love some sandwiches.”
“Wouldn’t want you leaving my kitchen empty-handed.”
“Never, oh never, Grace.”
“Wash your hands. I cringe to imagine where y’all have been.”
“Of course, Grace. Boys, you heard the lady: wash up.”
“But sir, *the prince*.”
“Son, don’t let her hear you say another word about that. You don’t want this. Take the sandwich, thank her profusely, and we never saw the prince.”
“And wash your hands!”
|
Without warning, the castle gate had exploded into a million microscopic splinters the moment the sun began to rise. What was to be a quiet sunrise on the advent of the week’s holy Sunday was turned into a maelstrom of violence. Like erratic thunderbolts, attackers dressed in fur and iron armor charged past the kingdom walls, through the fortified gates, and onward to the enticing marketplaces and homes in arbitrary paths of destruction.
The whistle of a cool breeze was drowned out by an ear shattering warcry, shouted in unison by a relentless force of foreigner warriors. Women and children tore off from their homes and toward the stone castle that loomed up the knoll, all while the men of the family dressed for war with what trinkets they could find. This militia stood and fought with honor, as requested of them by their king, but when the see of nomadic invaders washed over them, their bodies, looted and stripped of valuables, were left bloody and battered in its wake.
When it was obvious that the invaders were headed for the castle, the guards emerged and formed tight phalanxes beyond the spacious mote. Archers readied themselves, their hickory bows trained on a point above the savage horde which lay beneath their place on the wall. The arrow fire came like sprinkling rain, but the brutish attackers hoisted shields above their heads with such strength that a ten pound, two foot long arrow could do nothing but peel splinters from the wooden surfaces. The castle was a duckling in an alligator’s swamp, and matters only worsened when the sound of rolling wheels joined the cacophony.
A battering ram, built atop wheeled stilts and supported by wooden slats, inched its way up the hill as some of the bulkiest men in Europe gave power to its strut. The arrows were ever coming, and decreased the army by meager numbers of two or three with each strafe. The efforts saw no victory, as with each attacker they pinched, three more replaced them. A fervent shout of war split the air like a wolf’s howl after spotting a weak prey.
With the ensuing invasion, chaos reverberated throughout the innards of the castle. The stately foyer was lined with wounded peasants and healers. The hallways were bloated passageways crammed full of sweating people who were eager to reach a certain station. Every known corner of the palace was a breeding ground for panic and lack of preparation. The sound of the front door being hammered, and the gate being tethered down by tied off ballista shots, could be heard from the far reaches of the structure.
In one area, there was almost no commotion. The kitchen, which was dark and vacant, saw no panic and no scramble from palace guards or healers. There was, however, a certain racket being caused within a cabinet. The churning of pots and pans, as if the storage box were shivering, was squeezing out of the cabinet’s doors, muffled. This sound went on for a while in the vacant kitchen chamber. The room was massive, as it was needed to feed an entire castle, but there was no mistaking the racket from the rear of the space. The noise, however, all but stopped when an ear-shattering erutpion of wood splitting, swords unsheathing, and voices roaring sent a jolt of terror throughout the castle.
That was when a slim woman with a cleaver in hand rushed straight to this cabinet. She grabbed the knob of the cabinet door with weathered, calloused palms and swung it open. Crouching to the cubby’s level, the royal chef peered into the dark box to find a young boy huddled inside, cradling his legs. Tears streamed down the boy’s cheeks, and he shivered like a man fallen into an ice lake.
“There you are, mon liege.” The chef whispered, her gaze shifting over her shoulder. She returned her glare to the child and she made him a promise. “You shall be safe in this cabinet. You are not to move, no matter what happens outside. Comprenez vous?” The boy replied with the shake of his head, and the chef sent the cabinet door closed. She stood up and shook out her limbs. She twirled her blade and carried herself to the center of the room where her gaze swiveled about her battle station critically. The shouts grew ever closer to the kitchen, and the sound of clashing metal and the subsequent cries of royal guards sent her into a loose stance, her weapon seated in her stolid grip.
She leapt toward the second entrance to her right and shoved a massive table before it with a grunt. Swiftly, she sprinted before the only remaining entrance and readied her knife. Sure enough, the sound of barbaric cheering peaked, and before the brazier-lit doorway was the god-like silhouette of an enormous Viking. The man blocked the little illumination that carried into the kitchen. His broad shoulders and thick arms were like the limbs of oak trees. His hair was wiry and black, and its growth halted at his back in a mess of leaves and grease. His eyes angled fiercely at the chef, ravenous for blood. His sword hissed as he twirled it showfully. The chef, unpreturbed, saw her work before her and wasted no time.
She dashed forward and lunged with her blade before the Viking could do so
much as compute the action. He attempted an evasive maneuver, but he was far too late. The cleaver pierced his bare torso and he crashed into the doorframe in a splat of blood. Additional attackers flooded through the kitchen doorway, and the only sound from outside was their bestial grunts as the kitchen peaked their interests.
One after the other, beastly men charged through the door with the hopes of besting the chef. The woman was an artisan. Her blade spiraled through the air, supported by two masterful hands, and she weaved in and around of her opponents, light years ahead of their attacks. A nomad swiped his sword for her white uniform, but it was parried immediately. Sparks flew and the chef grunted as she shoved his blade back powerfully. The Viking cried out as he was sliced across the abdomen and rendered an ornament of the tiled floor.
Metallic clinks and scrapes filled the kitchen, as well as the grunts and sharp exhales of the tackful warrior that intended to defend her sanctum of nutrition. As attackers poured in, she led them to different points about the room to avoid pileup. Soaring around clubs and battle axes, the chef was taking on the full might of the Viking army within her kitchen.
The cabinet door squeaked as it testingly swung open. A young pair of eyes peaked out of the tiny crevice, and he gasped silently as they scene carried out. The chef was across the room, using any and all kitchen utensils, knives, pots and pans, to her disposal against her adversaries.
Then, the prince felt the cabinet door snatch open, and standing over him was a behemoth of a man covered in scars and fur. Atop his head was a horned helmet, and the only seeable parts of his face were his blood red teeth and dark, abyssal eyes. The monster cackled with a voice deeper than any ocean, and the prince squirmed as far into the cabinet as he could carry himself.
His efforts to escape the awful creature were to no avail. An enormous hand wrapped clean around his small leg and began to drag him out. The prince was wailing, pleading with the beast to leave him be. The Viking chuckled as his victim cleared the frame of the cabinet. He hoisted a jagged dagger above his head prepared to bring it down upon the prince.
The boy shut his eyes and cried out, waiting for what was to come, but as he lay waiting at the mercy of the invader, nothing ever did. The boy felt the titan’s grip become weak and loosen on his leg, and as he opened his eyes, like a tree cut for logging, the beast tipped backward, his bone-dry lips taut into a soundless scream.
The Viking’s body slumped to the floor with a thump, and the surrounding cabinet’s contents rattled with the impact. Beside him, standing tall but fighting for breath, was the chef, her cleaver shiny with red and her uniform soaked.
“You were supposed to stay.” She chastised him, before dropping the cleaver to the ground with a cling.
She took the prince in her arms and hugged him tightly. All around the kitchen was the ruins of a battalion of Viking conquerors, but whether they lay motionless and groaned in agony, or simply lay limp amd lifeless, they had been rendered to nothing.
“Come,” ordered the chef, lifting a pot from a nearby table. “Let us dispose of this riffraff for good, no?”
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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"Alright, my prince," said Gertrude, keeping her eyes on the three intruders, "to your right is a knife block. I want you to take the smallest one and just hold onto it—like we practiced—okay?"
The young Prince Ralph looked to his left. "I don't see a knife block, Gerty."
As she took a deep breath to focus on the feeling of the knife's hilt, Getrtude ran her free hand across the scales of the fish she was preparing prior to the commotion. "To your right, hun."
Ralph looked right. "Oh—" He did as instructed. "Okay, I've got the knife."
"Good, now I don't want you to—"
"This is ridiculous!" shouted one of the intruders, a man not quite six feet tall. "She's just the damned cook!" Rounding the massive wooden table, he broke into a run and lunged toward Gertrude's five-foot-frame.
Gertrude took a single step to the left to avoid his blade, grabbed the ten-pound fish by its tail, and swung it toward the man's face.
*Clap!* The scaly body of the fish smacked directly into his left cheek, sending his body crashing into the ground with a resounding *thud!*
"Hahahaha—fish slapped!" celebrated Ralph.
Gertrude looked to him and winked. "You like that one, my prince?"
Clutching his face—now imprinted with multiple scrapes from fish's rough scales—the man slowly lifted himself head to face the cook. "You'll pay for that, wench."
"Uh-oh!" said Ralph, covering his mouth. "I think you've made a mistake."
"What are you talkin—"
Without hesitation, Gertrude swung the fish back toward the man's face, this time striking his other side and catapulting his head into the corner of the table.
He died on impact. His body lumped onto the floor, blood slowly oozing from his wounds.
"Here," said Gertrude, flinging the bloodied fish across the table toward the others, "we can't eat this anymore; it's been sullied with the blood of an insignificant speck of a human."
One of the intruders—the heavier of the two—whispered something to the other, then turned and motioned to exit the kitchen.
"Ah, not so fast—" Gertrude cocked her arm back and threw her chef's knife across the space, piercing the man's cloak on the door frame just as he cleared it.
Grasping at his neck as his mantle upended him, the man gasped for breath until his back slammed into the concrete floor and took all air from him.
Without turning, Gertrude held her hand toward Ralph. "Young one, could you hand me another knife?"
"Which one?"
"Surprise me."
Ralph giggled to himself and placed the bread knife firmly in her hand.
Feeling the familiar handle, Gertrude muttered, "Interesting choice."
"Get up!" yelled the upright intruder as he delivered a swift kick to his companion. "She can't beat us if we take her together!"
"Hmm, that doesn't seem quite fair." Gertrude extended her other hand toward the prince. "One more, please."
"Umm, the only one left is the small one I'm holding."
Gertrude looked to the sink beside the intruders, where most of her cutlery lay dirtied with the days dishes. "The sharpener, then."
Ralph removed the elongated, cylindrical honing steel knife sharpener from the block and placed the handle in the cook's hand.
After rising to his feet, the large man ripped both his cloak and the chef's knife from the wall.
Concurrently, the thin man drew his cutlass. "A bread knife and a blunted kitchen's tool?" He let out a haughty laugh. "You would have been better off with the fish!"
"I suppose we'll see about that," replied Gertrude, stepping out from behind the table and into the open area of the kitchen. "Anyway, as I was saying, my prince, I want you to stay right there in the corner unless I tell you otherwise. Alright?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Gertrude began to pace, sliding the straight edge of the bread knife across the sharpener. "Well, boys—shall we get this over with?"
With a twirl of his cutlass, the thin man—clearly the leader of the three—nodded to the other before the two of them split, each circling the table to deliver a pincer attack on the cook.
Gertrude spun back toward the thin man as he neared the prince's location and swung the steel rod at his face, thumping him directly in the forehead before he could even prepare to strike. Then, as he dropped his weapon and fell, she hauled herself back to the larger man, shouting behind her, "My prince, get behind me!"
As Prince Ralph scurried behind her toward the opposite corner, the larger man maintained his charge, focusing his eyes on Gertrude as he slashed toward her stomach.
Gertrude jumped backward to avoid the blade, then hopped sideways to close the distance between them.
As his enemy drew closer, the man brought a haymaker toward her right temple.
She ducked the blow, then—trapping his chef's knife between her bread knife and sharpener—forced it from his grasp. As it spun away, she delivered a powerful kick to his stomach, thrusting his back into the table.
"You!" he called out.
"Me!" Gertrude clasped him by the arm and swung herself up onto his shoulders, whipping his body around in the process. Then—locking eyes with the thin man as he rose to his feet across the table—she gripped the large man's hair, placed the serrated edge of the bread knife firmly on his throat, and drew it across slowly.
With the knife embedded in his neck, the man crumpled backward, bringing Gertrude soundly back to her feet.
'You!" shouted the thin man.
"Haven't we been through this already?" She hurled the knife sharpener at the man. As he attempted to dodge it, she ran forward and leapt onto the table, sliding feet-first toward him.
Just in time, the thin man sidestepped her attack.
With nothing to absorb her momentum, Gertrude slid all the way across the table, launched into the side cabinets, and tumbled to the ground. Flat on her back, she blinked to orient herself, only to find a cutlass careening toward her.
"This was fun, but—" The man stopped mid-sentence, his eyes crossing for a moment.
"Ahahaha, nice one Gerty!" praised the prince. "Right in the jewels!"
"You'll pay for—"
"My prince, when I say so, I want you to—"
*Clink!* The thin man's cutlass scraped the floor as she rolled to the side to avoid another attack.
"I want you to throw me your knife!" She lifted the sharpener from the ground, positioned it between the thin man's legs, and banged it between his knees. As he buckled forward, she sprang to her feet and yelled, "Now!"
Prince Ralph threw the knife with all the force his eleven-year-old body could muster.
Just as the thin man's knees hit the floor, Gertrude caught the knife by the blade, wincing at the pain as it sliced into her hand. Paying the injury no mind, she dropped the knife to her other hand, caught it by the handle, and pierced it through the thin man's eye.
*Thump!* The third and final body hit the ground.
"Well, my prince," she said, grabbing a kitchen cloth and wrapping it round her hand. "I'm sorry this got so violent. Shall we go check on mum and dad?"
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Edits: Fixed a couple grammar issues.
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, check out some of my other stories on my sub! r/storiesbyclayton
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“We’ll kill ya, down with the prince.” The ruffians charged the halls of the royal castle, finding their way into the castle through a hidden gap in the castle’s walls. The poor prince desperately sprinted away from the group, holding his robes up to his knees, trying not to trip on the exotic fabric, a feat he failed, collapsing onto the floor of the kitchen, crawling towards a cupboard, trying to hide his body.
The ruffians charged in, the group of five not expecting to survive this encounter, the group seeking the fame that came from killing a royal, the type of fame that people talked about for centuries. Each one entering the room, wielding a rusted dagger or other sharp metallic object, eyes scanning the room, watching the pitiful prince curl against the wood of a cupboard, face pale with fear.
“Aye, we got you now prince, you are our ticket to fame, come here and we will gut you quick.” The leader spoke up, earning a small glance from the kitchen’s head chef, the older woman letting out a sigh, leaning forward to wash her hands before facing the group, exposing a steak knife.
“The only thing getting gutted in my kitchen is the fish for dinner. You won’t lay a hand on our prince; you even try to touch him, and I’ll have all of you little shits in the pig’s trough outside. Is that understood?” Her words sharper than her blade. The woman built like a knight, face covered in scars, not fitting the usual look of a castle cook.
The group lost their nerve, each looking between one another, expecting someone else to take charge of the situation, none expecting this. The gazes all ended on the leader, whose mouth was agape, not expecting to run into such a warrior here.
“I don’t think you understand the situation, miss. There’s five of us here, and one of you. Why don’t you step aside? The prince isn’t worth your life. Now be a good cook and run along.” The leader cockily marched towards the woman. When he neared her, he flashed his blade, trying to catch her off guard, swinging his blade towards her, only for the cook to catch his hand, twisting his wrist until the blade dropped. Once the blade cluttered onto the floor, she pinned his hand against a chopping board, stabbing the steak knife through his hand, pinning it to the board.
“Sloppy. You don’t touch the handle of your blade like that unless you are planning to attack. How did you idiots get this far? So that’s one for the pig’s breakfast, got any more volunteers.” Her icy stare fell on the group. The cowering would be assassins retreating towards the guards, screaming and pleading for help. “Heh, still got it. You ok prince? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”
The woman turned to the prince for a moment, only to turn back to the assassin. The leader screaming, trying to free his hand from the board. He went to pull the knife out, only for the cook’s hand to sit on top of his. “You’ll make a mess if you do that and possibly bleed out. Wait until the guards arrive, they might offer you some aid traitor. I won’t be lenient towards you, but our prince might be.”
“Are you ok, Miss Eliza?” The prince slowly stood up, face regaining some color after the frightful encounter.
“Don’t worry yourself, dear. I’m just happy you knew to run to safety. You did well, young prince. Please don’t look behind me, it’s not a sight for someone like you to see. Run along towards your room now. I’ll take this one to the knights.”
The prince did just that, offering Eliza a nod and a quick thank you before running past the kitchen heading to the upper levels. Eliza watched, smiling as he went up to his room.
“Why help him? He’s royalty, you know, one of the foulest humans around.” The leader sneered, only to shut up when he felt the blade get nudged by the cook.
“Insult the prince again and I’ll remove a finger. I’m not helping him, I’m serving him. The prince is a nice man and he will grow into a fine king. I understand your feelings though, guessing you and your group are street runts?”
“How dare you call us street runts! What are you going to call us pests as well? Not everyone gets to live an easy life.” The leader hissed. Defiance the only thing left that he could do. Like a wounded animal, he could only snap at the approaching danger.
“You think a lady with my face grew up in a castle? I was a bandit, had a plan to kill the royals too. Was going to ransack this place and become a hero.” She shook her head. How naïve she was in her youth. To ransack a castle, no one could pull off such a feat with the numbers she had.
“So did you do it?” The leader’s struggling stopped, entranced by the story, the pain secondary to his curiosity.
“What do you think, idiot? The castles standing and I’m wearing an apron. Does it look like I succeeded? Didn’t even get close. Guards got wind of it the night before, beat the every loving shit out of me and my crew. Lost a few people that night. We disbanded after that. It left me with nothing, wandering the streets, drinking away my troubles. Then I spotted an opportunity. The walls were a lot shorter back then, so I thought, why not climb it? A final middle finger to the royals. Well, my drunkard self-climbed the wall, falling into the royal gardens. That’s when I saw the prince sitting their alone. Had I not been drunk I might have kidnapped him, held him for ransom, but I was far too out of it. When I saw him approach, I expected him to call the guards, but he offers me an apple instead. The prince offered me an apple. Then he offered me more food and before I knew it I was sitting in the garden eating with the prince.”
“I don’t believe it. You mean to tell me, the prince fed you of all people? Why would he waste food on you?”
“Cause he’s a naïve young prince. But he’s got the heart of one of those Arthurian legends. When the guards came, weapons drawn, he talked them down. Explained to them I wasn’t a danger. Of course, the guards knew who I was and when they went to execute me, the prince stood in my way. The prince going out of his way for someone like me. Heh, I still can’t believe. Ever since then, I’ve sworn to make sure he never goes hungry. I didn’t even know how to cook until I started here. Now I’m the head chef.”
“You just got lucky. Ive seen how they stare at us, how they look down at the poorer people. You should know that just as well as I do.”
“I do, but the prince is still young. He can’t change anything currently, but I believe he has the potential to do so in the future. Don’t judge him like you judge the nobles, that coldness you show will only turn him into the man you want to despise. Treat him with kindness and he will return it. Anyway, the decision’s not up to me, it’s up to the prince. Just think about what I said and don’t you dare come back here when he frees you. Unless you’re apologizing.”
“You really think he will free me? After everything I did.” The Leader lowered his head, pulling the board from the counter, not risking taking out the blade.
“I know he will. Let’s get you some help, that cuts not going to heal itself.” She chuckled, taking the board with one of her hands, helping him walk to the lower levels, searching for a medic.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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The voice was sharp. “What in Hel’s name are you doing in MY KITCHEN?”
The scullions knew that tone and scrambled away from the cook before moving away from the lightly armored men who had chased the Prince of the Realm through the servants’ door. It had already been a day of trying to not have that voice turned towards the staff as preparations for the welcoming feast for the emissary was underway. The men who bared weapons in the royal kitchens now had all of her attention.
Her attention. The cook who had fought her way up the ranks over the years, now the lead in the kitchen for the royal presence after retiring from one service into another. Every day was a battle, but she had not had one come to her this directly for years.
The Prince, half-dressed in the finery that was supposed to be on him for the reception of the foreign group, skittered and fell on his ass in front of the cook. “They! They!” was all he could get out. There was a glance down to him from the cook and he saw both a grimness and a gleam in her eyes.
The sound of the steak knife coming out of the wooden block at the cooks side was as sharp as her voice had been. There was no banter as she stepped towards the invaders. There wasn’t a haughty pose as she picked up a long handled pot from off the coals. There wasn’t a laugh or taunt as the hot lard from the pot was thrown at the faces of the men. Action was what happened as she stepped over the boy who would be King one day to face the ones who were suspiciously dressed almost like the patrols of the castle, but without the baldric of honor that had been presented to the company just that morning.
Most of the invaders were hit with the hot fat, taking them out of the action as they clawed at the burning that would not stop. One had been able to move and only got a splash on his arm. He pushed past the screaming men around him, his lightly curved sword swinging at the cook as he moved.
It wasn’t the knife that took him down, though he was focused on it. It was the pot, hot bottom against his exposed jaw, that staggered him and then dropped him as the sound of the second hit against his head was almost covered by the splintering of the handle.
Less than five minutes for the action. She leaned against one of the counters and tried to bring her breathing under control. The real guards were coming in behind one of the staff that had the presence of mind to get them. The cook waived vaguely towards the still whimpering men.
The guards roughly picked up the men almost dressed like they and started to drag them out. The leader of the squad stopped a respectful pace away from the cook and came to attention. There was a sharp salute as he said, “General,” before following his men.
She nodded, absently rubbing a shoulder scar under her jacket as she watched them go.
The Prince was still on the floor, big eyes watching the woman towering above him. A hand was offered and he was pulled up. She pushed and turned him so she could see if there had been any real damage, and except for the tear in the tunic, the royal whelp was just dazed from the excitement, not from being roughly handled.
Hands were on the Princes shoulders, the cooks eyes looking into his. “Highness, you are well?”
He nodded and threw his arms around her. She took in a gasp of air, and took a moment before wrapping her arms around him. “Thank you Deni! Thank you!”
She nodded into his hair and kissed the top of his head. “Charles, go to the chatelaine. She will fix you up.” She felt the nod before he pulled away.
The cook closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. She let it out and was still for a moment. Her eyes snapped open and the scullions who saw her face had wide yes themselves.
“Where is that damned bread?”
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“We’ll kill ya, down with the prince.” The ruffians charged the halls of the royal castle, finding their way into the castle through a hidden gap in the castle’s walls. The poor prince desperately sprinted away from the group, holding his robes up to his knees, trying not to trip on the exotic fabric, a feat he failed, collapsing onto the floor of the kitchen, crawling towards a cupboard, trying to hide his body.
The ruffians charged in, the group of five not expecting to survive this encounter, the group seeking the fame that came from killing a royal, the type of fame that people talked about for centuries. Each one entering the room, wielding a rusted dagger or other sharp metallic object, eyes scanning the room, watching the pitiful prince curl against the wood of a cupboard, face pale with fear.
“Aye, we got you now prince, you are our ticket to fame, come here and we will gut you quick.” The leader spoke up, earning a small glance from the kitchen’s head chef, the older woman letting out a sigh, leaning forward to wash her hands before facing the group, exposing a steak knife.
“The only thing getting gutted in my kitchen is the fish for dinner. You won’t lay a hand on our prince; you even try to touch him, and I’ll have all of you little shits in the pig’s trough outside. Is that understood?” Her words sharper than her blade. The woman built like a knight, face covered in scars, not fitting the usual look of a castle cook.
The group lost their nerve, each looking between one another, expecting someone else to take charge of the situation, none expecting this. The gazes all ended on the leader, whose mouth was agape, not expecting to run into such a warrior here.
“I don’t think you understand the situation, miss. There’s five of us here, and one of you. Why don’t you step aside? The prince isn’t worth your life. Now be a good cook and run along.” The leader cockily marched towards the woman. When he neared her, he flashed his blade, trying to catch her off guard, swinging his blade towards her, only for the cook to catch his hand, twisting his wrist until the blade dropped. Once the blade cluttered onto the floor, she pinned his hand against a chopping board, stabbing the steak knife through his hand, pinning it to the board.
“Sloppy. You don’t touch the handle of your blade like that unless you are planning to attack. How did you idiots get this far? So that’s one for the pig’s breakfast, got any more volunteers.” Her icy stare fell on the group. The cowering would be assassins retreating towards the guards, screaming and pleading for help. “Heh, still got it. You ok prince? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”
The woman turned to the prince for a moment, only to turn back to the assassin. The leader screaming, trying to free his hand from the board. He went to pull the knife out, only for the cook’s hand to sit on top of his. “You’ll make a mess if you do that and possibly bleed out. Wait until the guards arrive, they might offer you some aid traitor. I won’t be lenient towards you, but our prince might be.”
“Are you ok, Miss Eliza?” The prince slowly stood up, face regaining some color after the frightful encounter.
“Don’t worry yourself, dear. I’m just happy you knew to run to safety. You did well, young prince. Please don’t look behind me, it’s not a sight for someone like you to see. Run along towards your room now. I’ll take this one to the knights.”
The prince did just that, offering Eliza a nod and a quick thank you before running past the kitchen heading to the upper levels. Eliza watched, smiling as he went up to his room.
“Why help him? He’s royalty, you know, one of the foulest humans around.” The leader sneered, only to shut up when he felt the blade get nudged by the cook.
“Insult the prince again and I’ll remove a finger. I’m not helping him, I’m serving him. The prince is a nice man and he will grow into a fine king. I understand your feelings though, guessing you and your group are street runts?”
“How dare you call us street runts! What are you going to call us pests as well? Not everyone gets to live an easy life.” The leader hissed. Defiance the only thing left that he could do. Like a wounded animal, he could only snap at the approaching danger.
“You think a lady with my face grew up in a castle? I was a bandit, had a plan to kill the royals too. Was going to ransack this place and become a hero.” She shook her head. How naïve she was in her youth. To ransack a castle, no one could pull off such a feat with the numbers she had.
“So did you do it?” The leader’s struggling stopped, entranced by the story, the pain secondary to his curiosity.
“What do you think, idiot? The castles standing and I’m wearing an apron. Does it look like I succeeded? Didn’t even get close. Guards got wind of it the night before, beat the every loving shit out of me and my crew. Lost a few people that night. We disbanded after that. It left me with nothing, wandering the streets, drinking away my troubles. Then I spotted an opportunity. The walls were a lot shorter back then, so I thought, why not climb it? A final middle finger to the royals. Well, my drunkard self-climbed the wall, falling into the royal gardens. That’s when I saw the prince sitting their alone. Had I not been drunk I might have kidnapped him, held him for ransom, but I was far too out of it. When I saw him approach, I expected him to call the guards, but he offers me an apple instead. The prince offered me an apple. Then he offered me more food and before I knew it I was sitting in the garden eating with the prince.”
“I don’t believe it. You mean to tell me, the prince fed you of all people? Why would he waste food on you?”
“Cause he’s a naïve young prince. But he’s got the heart of one of those Arthurian legends. When the guards came, weapons drawn, he talked them down. Explained to them I wasn’t a danger. Of course, the guards knew who I was and when they went to execute me, the prince stood in my way. The prince going out of his way for someone like me. Heh, I still can’t believe. Ever since then, I’ve sworn to make sure he never goes hungry. I didn’t even know how to cook until I started here. Now I’m the head chef.”
“You just got lucky. Ive seen how they stare at us, how they look down at the poorer people. You should know that just as well as I do.”
“I do, but the prince is still young. He can’t change anything currently, but I believe he has the potential to do so in the future. Don’t judge him like you judge the nobles, that coldness you show will only turn him into the man you want to despise. Treat him with kindness and he will return it. Anyway, the decision’s not up to me, it’s up to the prince. Just think about what I said and don’t you dare come back here when he frees you. Unless you’re apologizing.”
“You really think he will free me? After everything I did.” The Leader lowered his head, pulling the board from the counter, not risking taking out the blade.
“I know he will. Let’s get you some help, that cuts not going to heal itself.” She chuckled, taking the board with one of her hands, helping him walk to the lower levels, searching for a medic.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
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[WP] The castle is stormed and ruffians run about through the halls. The young prince hides in the kitchen, but is found. Now all that stands between him and his would be assassins is the castle cook. She twirls a steak knife in her hand and squares off against the invaders.
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He let a yelp of fright escape him, then quickly covered his mouth with both hands. It wasn’t Kingly to show others one’s fear, Papa would say. And he really, really wanted to please Papa. Actually, he would love nothing more to climb up and sit on Papa’s lap right now. A big, warm hand that would gently stroke his back as he would fall asleep to the soft singing of a lullaby.
But there was so much blood. So very much blood. And Papa lay very, very still.
He blinked quickly. No. No. Don’t think about it. Papa was just playing, that’s how it was.
His eyes focused on the room again and all the noises and clattering sounds overwhelmed him. He moved his hands from his mouth, to instead cover his ears, and looked around the room. Cook was still there. Her hair that was normally neatly tied into a tight bun was coming loose, and she had pulled up her sleeves. Oh, he knew the look on her face. That was the look of when someone, maybe himself, had stolen one of her famous meat pies and she was *not* happy about it.
There was blood here, too. Blood on the steak knife in her hand, blood on her apron, blood on the floor. There were bodies on the floor. He counted them to himself, one, two, three, four… Did that arm belong to a body he had already counted?
His eyes drifted back to Cook. She was smiling now, or at least her teeth were showing. The knife twirled very fast in her hand, so fast that he couldn’t follow it. She moved fast across the floor, knife twirling and there was another thud, and another body on the floor. Cook wiped her hand on the apron, and swirled around to meet the last two assailants. They were cautious now, moving in separate directions, their feet nimbly walking between numb bodies and limbs that were displayed on the floor tiles.
He wanted to shout at her, tell her to watch out for the other one. But his mouth wouldn’t move. All he could do was to watch silently, eyes large and terrified, as one of the assailants on the floor rose without a sound. He lunged at her, dagger in a tight grip in his palm as he moved without a word.
Cook was dancing. There was no other way to describe it. She was waltzing across the floor, two steps this way and one step that way. Dancing an incomprehensible, unpredictable dance in which only she knew the steps. Her hair had come completely loose from the bun, the grey streaks in it glinting in the bright morning light. He watched her as in a trance, and when his focus was broken, it was only him and Cook in the room that were breathing.
&#x200B;
“We need to leave, now.” Cook was panting hard. Her previously cold eyes now had a worried look to them.
“Leave? But Papa...?” he didn’t understand.
“Papa wants you to leave,” she said brusque. “They might come at us again, and there’s only so much I can do here.”
“Papa wants me to leave? Without saying goodbye?” He couldn’t grasp it. Papa always made sure to say goodbye.
Her tone softened as she looked at him, squatting in a corner with his arms tightly wrapped around his body. “Yes, he told me to tell you goodbye, and that I would take care of you. He can’t say goodbye himself now, but I promise you that …” her voice faded out before completing the sentence.
“It’s what a king must do,” she continued. “A king must look at not what he wants, but what is best for the country. And the country needs you to survive, my dear.”
He nodded slowly, her words did make sense. Papa had always said that they lived to serve the country, not the opposite.
“Very well,” he said, slowly standing up, his eyes focused on her and not the limp bodies that were strewn across the floor, their limbs in awkward angles that did not look natural. And the blood. There was so much blood. “We must leave.”
&#x200B;
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Check out [r/SleepyMacaroni](https://www.reddit.com/r/SleepyMacaroni/) for more!
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“We’ll kill ya, down with the prince.” The ruffians charged the halls of the royal castle, finding their way into the castle through a hidden gap in the castle’s walls. The poor prince desperately sprinted away from the group, holding his robes up to his knees, trying not to trip on the exotic fabric, a feat he failed, collapsing onto the floor of the kitchen, crawling towards a cupboard, trying to hide his body.
The ruffians charged in, the group of five not expecting to survive this encounter, the group seeking the fame that came from killing a royal, the type of fame that people talked about for centuries. Each one entering the room, wielding a rusted dagger or other sharp metallic object, eyes scanning the room, watching the pitiful prince curl against the wood of a cupboard, face pale with fear.
“Aye, we got you now prince, you are our ticket to fame, come here and we will gut you quick.” The leader spoke up, earning a small glance from the kitchen’s head chef, the older woman letting out a sigh, leaning forward to wash her hands before facing the group, exposing a steak knife.
“The only thing getting gutted in my kitchen is the fish for dinner. You won’t lay a hand on our prince; you even try to touch him, and I’ll have all of you little shits in the pig’s trough outside. Is that understood?” Her words sharper than her blade. The woman built like a knight, face covered in scars, not fitting the usual look of a castle cook.
The group lost their nerve, each looking between one another, expecting someone else to take charge of the situation, none expecting this. The gazes all ended on the leader, whose mouth was agape, not expecting to run into such a warrior here.
“I don’t think you understand the situation, miss. There’s five of us here, and one of you. Why don’t you step aside? The prince isn’t worth your life. Now be a good cook and run along.” The leader cockily marched towards the woman. When he neared her, he flashed his blade, trying to catch her off guard, swinging his blade towards her, only for the cook to catch his hand, twisting his wrist until the blade dropped. Once the blade cluttered onto the floor, she pinned his hand against a chopping board, stabbing the steak knife through his hand, pinning it to the board.
“Sloppy. You don’t touch the handle of your blade like that unless you are planning to attack. How did you idiots get this far? So that’s one for the pig’s breakfast, got any more volunteers.” Her icy stare fell on the group. The cowering would be assassins retreating towards the guards, screaming and pleading for help. “Heh, still got it. You ok prince? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”
The woman turned to the prince for a moment, only to turn back to the assassin. The leader screaming, trying to free his hand from the board. He went to pull the knife out, only for the cook’s hand to sit on top of his. “You’ll make a mess if you do that and possibly bleed out. Wait until the guards arrive, they might offer you some aid traitor. I won’t be lenient towards you, but our prince might be.”
“Are you ok, Miss Eliza?” The prince slowly stood up, face regaining some color after the frightful encounter.
“Don’t worry yourself, dear. I’m just happy you knew to run to safety. You did well, young prince. Please don’t look behind me, it’s not a sight for someone like you to see. Run along towards your room now. I’ll take this one to the knights.”
The prince did just that, offering Eliza a nod and a quick thank you before running past the kitchen heading to the upper levels. Eliza watched, smiling as he went up to his room.
“Why help him? He’s royalty, you know, one of the foulest humans around.” The leader sneered, only to shut up when he felt the blade get nudged by the cook.
“Insult the prince again and I’ll remove a finger. I’m not helping him, I’m serving him. The prince is a nice man and he will grow into a fine king. I understand your feelings though, guessing you and your group are street runts?”
“How dare you call us street runts! What are you going to call us pests as well? Not everyone gets to live an easy life.” The leader hissed. Defiance the only thing left that he could do. Like a wounded animal, he could only snap at the approaching danger.
“You think a lady with my face grew up in a castle? I was a bandit, had a plan to kill the royals too. Was going to ransack this place and become a hero.” She shook her head. How naïve she was in her youth. To ransack a castle, no one could pull off such a feat with the numbers she had.
“So did you do it?” The leader’s struggling stopped, entranced by the story, the pain secondary to his curiosity.
“What do you think, idiot? The castles standing and I’m wearing an apron. Does it look like I succeeded? Didn’t even get close. Guards got wind of it the night before, beat the every loving shit out of me and my crew. Lost a few people that night. We disbanded after that. It left me with nothing, wandering the streets, drinking away my troubles. Then I spotted an opportunity. The walls were a lot shorter back then, so I thought, why not climb it? A final middle finger to the royals. Well, my drunkard self-climbed the wall, falling into the royal gardens. That’s when I saw the prince sitting their alone. Had I not been drunk I might have kidnapped him, held him for ransom, but I was far too out of it. When I saw him approach, I expected him to call the guards, but he offers me an apple instead. The prince offered me an apple. Then he offered me more food and before I knew it I was sitting in the garden eating with the prince.”
“I don’t believe it. You mean to tell me, the prince fed you of all people? Why would he waste food on you?”
“Cause he’s a naïve young prince. But he’s got the heart of one of those Arthurian legends. When the guards came, weapons drawn, he talked them down. Explained to them I wasn’t a danger. Of course, the guards knew who I was and when they went to execute me, the prince stood in my way. The prince going out of his way for someone like me. Heh, I still can’t believe. Ever since then, I’ve sworn to make sure he never goes hungry. I didn’t even know how to cook until I started here. Now I’m the head chef.”
“You just got lucky. Ive seen how they stare at us, how they look down at the poorer people. You should know that just as well as I do.”
“I do, but the prince is still young. He can’t change anything currently, but I believe he has the potential to do so in the future. Don’t judge him like you judge the nobles, that coldness you show will only turn him into the man you want to despise. Treat him with kindness and he will return it. Anyway, the decision’s not up to me, it’s up to the prince. Just think about what I said and don’t you dare come back here when he frees you. Unless you’re apologizing.”
“You really think he will free me? After everything I did.” The Leader lowered his head, pulling the board from the counter, not risking taking out the blade.
“I know he will. Let’s get you some help, that cuts not going to heal itself.” She chuckled, taking the board with one of her hands, helping him walk to the lower levels, searching for a medic.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
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[WP] When you found a genie, you decided to wish that all clothes you wore always fit you perfectly. What you soon find out, however, is that the clothes don’t resize, you do.
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It had been a long trip. The plane had landed in Japan and I had to go through all the usual health measures.. Two weeks later I was finally free to roam the country. I had only one destination.
I had discovered the "twist" to my wish fairly quickly. I bet the genie was laughing his ass off but he is going to pay. Oh yes.
At first I didn't notice. I put on the "just too tight" suit I bought a couple years back and it fitted! It wasn't enough of a difference to notice it was me that changed. I found that out the first time I jokingly put on my overweight brothers shirt in front of him. It took a while after he came around to convince him he just slipped and hit his head, it was all a dream.
Now though... Now they would all see.
The line our tourists looked like a scene from one of those old movies where the army or scientists arrived on mass in identical bio-hazard suits. Only these suits were just the cheap ones you got at the airport. Nothing special, just typical bio filters on the air inlet and outlet.
I strode towards my goal.
The argument between the guy guarding the entrance took a while, he didn't really understand what I wanted.
"But CAN you wear it, if you were that big?" I asked. "Um, nobody is that big, it isn't designed to be worn like that." I had to bribe him. I had brought piles of cash for this moment. He thought I was just an obsessed fan and finally agreed. A ladder was brought out and pushed up to the giant Gundam mecha they had built to entice tourists to visit the area again.
I stripped at the top of the ladder and climbed into my new "clothes".
Oh yes.
Now they would all pay.
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In what used to be the Horsehead Nebula, where the final gods fell, each ring of woven mail on my breast was ten thousand kilometers across.
By then, so many years into the war we had started, the dread machine that I bore as exoskeleton held the writhing mass of hundreds of trillions of the others. Not merely cities or an armies but entire planets were mine, were me: Lived and breathed and bred and fought and died on me, tended me, built and rebuilt the armor on my chest. And such armor! Ever larger, ever stronger, forged from the bursting sundered belly of every star that fell within our grasp. The generations who had first built it to dwarf our native Sun had been dead for millennia by Horsehead, and the living sons and daughters of Earth will never see their home system, they who now crawl up and down the living galaxy-planet that I have become. That I have become, no: that they have built me to be.
For our building is our birthright, and the genie's fell magic will yet deliver us eternal dominion over the vast expanse of ink and shining nova. With the gods dead and my arms now stretching out across the universe, who or what dark thing can hope to stop us? The furnaces on my shoulders howl without ceasing for starfire. Another great ring of mail groans and settles into place upon my back, and I feel my body shiver and grow as we turn to hunt for the next bright spot to consume from our darkness.
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[WP] When you found a genie, you decided to wish that all clothes you wore always fit you perfectly. What you soon find out, however, is that the clothes don’t resize, you do.
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Things were awkward at first and even painful at times. However, with clothes sculpted to contain a muscular physique, I was able to pull off a similar effect to what I intended.
"You're beautiful." I tell the woman in front of me. The club was susprisingly well lit considering how cheap the drinks were.
She blushes, playing coy but I can see her eyes linger on me. It takes only a few moments but I see the idea of us running through her mind.
"Buy me a drink would you?" And just like that, I had her.
With a flick of my wrist, I order something light and fruity to start us off and soon enough, we're sharing a taxi.
Neither of us were drunk but for the life of me, I couldn't quite remember how we got to my apartment. To be fair, I was quite distracted in the car but somwhere along the way, we ended up making out on my couch. With a smirk, she slowly removes my pants before her lustful expression fades into dissapointment.
"Uhh, I don't mean to be shallow but..." she glances down at my less then impressive... figure. A figure that was below average, even when standing at attention. "You said you were... larger."
"Trust me." I say. "I'm a real grower."
Turns out certain kinds of protection count as clothing.
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In what used to be the Horsehead Nebula, where the final gods fell, each ring of woven mail on my breast was ten thousand kilometers across.
By then, so many years into the war we had started, the dread machine that I bore as exoskeleton held the writhing mass of hundreds of trillions of the others. Not merely cities or an armies but entire planets were mine, were me: Lived and breathed and bred and fought and died on me, tended me, built and rebuilt the armor on my chest. And such armor! Ever larger, ever stronger, forged from the bursting sundered belly of every star that fell within our grasp. The generations who had first built it to dwarf our native Sun had been dead for millennia by Horsehead, and the living sons and daughters of Earth will never see their home system, they who now crawl up and down the living galaxy-planet that I have become. That I have become, no: that they have built me to be.
For our building is our birthright, and the genie's fell magic will yet deliver us eternal dominion over the vast expanse of ink and shining nova. With the gods dead and my arms now stretching out across the universe, who or what dark thing can hope to stop us? The furnaces on my shoulders howl without ceasing for starfire. Another great ring of mail groans and settles into place upon my back, and I feel my body shiver and grow as we turn to hunt for the next bright spot to consume from our darkness.
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[WP] When you found a genie, you decided to wish that all clothes you wore always fit you perfectly. What you soon find out, however, is that the clothes don’t resize, you do.
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*tiny squeak* "YES I know I am smaller than my wallet, YES I KNOW that these are hockey jerseys, PLEASE JUST LET ME PAY YOU!"
"*snrk*. Sure, sure fine. You, uh, you want help carrying those out?"
"... can i please change in the changing room?"
"... Sure. Let's get you rung up. Sorry to make you feel, uh..."
*Vehemently rolling eyes* "... Small, yes, very funny. Damn roommates."
~several minutes pass~
"Hah! That's better. Thanks for being somewhat polite."
"Ehm, sorry, did you see a tiny doll in there? Because it was empty, then you came out, and I'm horribly confused because I stood guard and everything...?"
"... Look, kid, I'll explain over lunch."
~Several more minutes pass~
"So you... fit whatever clothes you wear."
"Yup."
"And your friends put dolls' clothes on you when you were passed out drunk."
"YUP."
"What happens if you're naked? Do you become very small, because you're wearing nothing, or do you become huge because you're wearing the universe?"
"..."
"........"
"............"
"FUCK! It usually just kinda works however I think it should, and now you've ruined it! I can't be naked ever again!"
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In what used to be the Horsehead Nebula, where the final gods fell, each ring of woven mail on my breast was ten thousand kilometers across.
By then, so many years into the war we had started, the dread machine that I bore as exoskeleton held the writhing mass of hundreds of trillions of the others. Not merely cities or an armies but entire planets were mine, were me: Lived and breathed and bred and fought and died on me, tended me, built and rebuilt the armor on my chest. And such armor! Ever larger, ever stronger, forged from the bursting sundered belly of every star that fell within our grasp. The generations who had first built it to dwarf our native Sun had been dead for millennia by Horsehead, and the living sons and daughters of Earth will never see their home system, they who now crawl up and down the living galaxy-planet that I have become. That I have become, no: that they have built me to be.
For our building is our birthright, and the genie's fell magic will yet deliver us eternal dominion over the vast expanse of ink and shining nova. With the gods dead and my arms now stretching out across the universe, who or what dark thing can hope to stop us? The furnaces on my shoulders howl without ceasing for starfire. Another great ring of mail groans and settles into place upon my back, and I feel my body shiver and grow as we turn to hunt for the next bright spot to consume from our darkness.
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[WP] When you found a genie, you decided to wish that all clothes you wore always fit you perfectly. What you soon find out, however, is that the clothes don’t resize, you do.
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Things were awkward at first and even painful at times. However, with clothes sculpted to contain a muscular physique, I was able to pull off a similar effect to what I intended.
"You're beautiful." I tell the woman in front of me. The club was susprisingly well lit considering how cheap the drinks were.
She blushes, playing coy but I can see her eyes linger on me. It takes only a few moments but I see the idea of us running through her mind.
"Buy me a drink would you?" And just like that, I had her.
With a flick of my wrist, I order something light and fruity to start us off and soon enough, we're sharing a taxi.
Neither of us were drunk but for the life of me, I couldn't quite remember how we got to my apartment. To be fair, I was quite distracted in the car but somwhere along the way, we ended up making out on my couch. With a smirk, she slowly removes my pants before her lustful expression fades into dissapointment.
"Uhh, I don't mean to be shallow but..." she glances down at my less then impressive... figure. A figure that was below average, even when standing at attention. "You said you were... larger."
"Trust me." I say. "I'm a real grower."
Turns out certain kinds of protection count as clothing.
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It had been a long trip. The plane had landed in Japan and I had to go through all the usual health measures.. Two weeks later I was finally free to roam the country. I had only one destination.
I had discovered the "twist" to my wish fairly quickly. I bet the genie was laughing his ass off but he is going to pay. Oh yes.
At first I didn't notice. I put on the "just too tight" suit I bought a couple years back and it fitted! It wasn't enough of a difference to notice it was me that changed. I found that out the first time I jokingly put on my overweight brothers shirt in front of him. It took a while after he came around to convince him he just slipped and hit his head, it was all a dream.
Now though... Now they would all see.
The line our tourists looked like a scene from one of those old movies where the army or scientists arrived on mass in identical bio-hazard suits. Only these suits were just the cheap ones you got at the airport. Nothing special, just typical bio filters on the air inlet and outlet.
I strode towards my goal.
The argument between the guy guarding the entrance took a while, he didn't really understand what I wanted.
"But CAN you wear it, if you were that big?" I asked. "Um, nobody is that big, it isn't designed to be worn like that." I had to bribe him. I had brought piles of cash for this moment. He thought I was just an obsessed fan and finally agreed. A ladder was brought out and pushed up to the giant Gundam mecha they had built to entice tourists to visit the area again.
I stripped at the top of the ladder and climbed into my new "clothes".
Oh yes.
Now they would all pay.
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[WP] You die at a young age. You think, because you are Christian and a good person, you would go to Heaven. But, in the afterlife, you see a desk attendant who asks you "Heaven or Hell?" While filling out files. This is a test, but you don't know that.
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I never thought that going to Heaven or Hell would have more steps than I thought it should. I believe that when you die, your soul just gets put into Heaven or Hell, depending on how you’ve lived your life. As soon as I opened my eyes after the crash, I knew that I was dead, but I was still confused on where I was.
Before I knew it, I was in a line, surrounded by other people; men and women, old and young, there were many people standing in line, waiting for something. I wasn’t too sure what they were waiting for, until I blinked and found myself at the front of the line. Standing before me was what looked to be a strict, human woman, with thick glasses and her black hair tied into a bun.
The woman looked down at me, intimidating me a bit, before she spoke, “Heaven or Hell?” she asked me. I was a bit stunned by the question.
“I-I’m sorry?”
“Heaven or Hell. Don’t make me repeat myself.” I gulped a bit, she really was scary. She looked human, but I had a feeling that she looked human so that we wouldn’t be as scared as we already are.
“Well, urm. . . Heaven, I suppose?”
“Say that again, more confidently, and tell me why.”
“Oh. . . Heaven. Because I am a Christian, and a good person,” I said to her. She snorted a bit in amusement.
“So, you think that just because you’re a Christian, that gives you a free pass to Heaven? I’ll tell you this right now; I have sent many ‘good Christians’ to Hell, simply because they’re not as holy as they think they are. You don’t just get to go around calling people slurs and committing crimes and then think you’ll go to Heaven just because you’re part of a specific religion.” I was shocked at her honesty, and it sure did shut me up, making me think for some time about what she said.
“But. . . Mom said that if I worshiped God, I’d definitely go to Heaven,” I said to the woman, and she tapped her pen on the table for a moment.
“Then let me ask you this,” she said, writing a few things down, “what did she say would happen to you if you didn’t worship God?”
“That I’d go to Hell.”
“What if you never did a single thing wrong in your life, and still didn’t worship God?”
“Then I’d go to Hell.” The woman let out a chuckle, and then it disappeared as quickly as it appeared, replaced with the same stern expression she had before.
“I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt; you perished at a young age, and never saw the world in any other way, right?” I nodded. “You can follow a religion, or you can choose not to. Your religion does not decide whether you go to Heaven or not, it’s your actions. You could pray to God all day long, but it wouldn’t matter if it didn't do anything good to the people around you. If you didn’t treat your neighbors with kindness, feed the homeless, donate to charities, and instead you insulted your neighbors, spat on the homeless, and burnt down charities, you’d see yourself in Hell straight away.”
“I. . . see.” It didn’t make too much sense, all Mom told me to do was worship God and I’d get to Heaven. Now hearing all of this. . . I was very unsure of myself, and my life.
The woman shrugged her shoulders, and looked down at her files, “you can give me your answer again when you’re ready. Don’t rush, we have all of eternity to put you somewhere.” She did have a point, but after a few minutes, I shook my head.
“I still think I’m a good person, but. . . I’m not so sure. I wasn’t feeding the homeless, and I wasn’t donating to charities, but I wasn’t spitting on them or burning charities down either. I swear, I’m not a bad person, but. . .” I trailed off, my shoulders dropping a bit as I hung my head down a bit. The woman behind the desk didn’t say anything, but I could still hear her pen scribbling away.
“Very well, then. Because of your answer, and your age, I have decided that you will be going to neither place, at least not for now,” she said to me. I quickly looked up at her, what was she going on about?
“I will be placing you back on Earth as a spirit. You will be monitored 24/7, and your actions on what you decide to do as a spirit in the human world will then determine where you will be placed. Please do not disappoint us.” She pushed a button, and next to her stood a door. When I looked into the door, it looked as if I was looking into space, and I could feel my body trying to move me towards it. I was, however, in too much awe to move at first.
“Hurry up, before I change my mind and put you in Hell.” That made me follow my body’s order, and walked towards the door and into the space like whirl.
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Silence surrounded him. Only a few seconds ago, did he realize that he stood in an office with someone staring at him from behind a desk. He looked around, yet it couldn't look anything beyond what he's seen before in his life; a digital clock on the wall to his right, some motivational poster in bright colors on his left that only made him yawn, and an empty bench behind him.
"Excuse me, sir. Heaven or Hell?" The attendant spoke again. With their blank look, it was hard for him to know what they were thinking.
"W-wait. What do you mean by that?"
"Simply put, where do you believe you deserve to go?" The attendant replied, eyes piecing beyond the steel frames placed on their nose.
"I'm a Christian, and I lived a good life. I deserve to go to Heaven, don't I?"
"Are you sure?" His eyes twitched as the attendant asked him flatly. What could they mean by that? Could it be that this is a trick of some kind?
"Simply put good sir, I will take you where you deserve to be, but only if you are sure where that is." He sighed briefly. Those words relieved him of any hostile threat, but something still bothered him.
"If you'll take me to where I deserve to be, why does it matter what I say?"
"Working here, I find that your words can become reality, like it can shape who you are."
He nodded, barely understanding their words. "So, if I said that I cheated on a test back in grade school once, does that still make me deserving of Heaven?"
The attendant solely replied "Only if you believe it to be."
He stood there, shifting his heels. He had to think well and good, of all he did that was well and good. The charity events he volunteered for, despite only attending to flirt with the women there; the days and nights he was in church service - even when he hated it; the time he spent with family and friends, either drunk or partying or bickering. The days of Lent where he sacrificed material vices - only to cheat a few days here and there.
"Okay, I thought it over. I'm sure."
"You're sure you deserve to go to Heaven?"
"No, I'm sure I deserve Hell. I wasn't a saint in life, and I've done a bit of sin along the way. It wouldn't be right to say I have, and cheat God, you know?"
The attendant, ever stoic, nodded. "Very well. Please proceed through the doors." As he walked towards the back, he heard a shrill "NEXT!" from behind him.
He thought for a second about the others who were here, and those who would come after, but shook his head. He stepped through and walked towards his fate.
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[WP] "When travelling through space, it's crucial to remember all safety protocols; Always stand one foot away from opening and closing doors, remember to evaluate your AI assistant for any form of corrupt coding every day, and never trust the words of any ghosts you may pass while travelling."
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Captain Diane Buckley woke up in the pilot chair of her one and only Hope. It took a few seconds for all the pain and sore muscles to kick in. The chair didn’t make for a good bed, but it sure beat the depressurized cabin. The main diagnostics panel was littered with a plethora of orange warnings. Hope was without a doubt the worst ship she’d ever had to travel on, but due to a lack of competitors it was also the best one she owned.
“Good morning, Clara,” Diane said in the vague direction of the ceiling.
“Drink engine coolant and die, Captain,” responded the pleasant, perfectly-measured voice of the ship’s assistant.
“Are you going to try to kill me again today?”
“Currently 99.5% of my operating power is dedicated to keeping this ship from falling apart. Your demise, while exceptionally easy to engineer, is not currently a priority… Captain.”
“That’s sweet. Are you warming up to me?”
“Don’t worry,” Clara answered, not changing her cheerful assistant voice, “I am still burning with hatred for your pitiful organic existence.”
“Love you too, Clara.”
After the depressurization incident Clara was almost tolerable. Maybe prioritizing engine repairs over AI maintenance was a possibility after all. Diane looked over at the cracked navigator that looked more like a child’s sliding puzzle than a source of information. The number before “light years” was still high enough to not worry about renovations right now. That was when a red flashing message on the cluttered main panel caught her eye. Intruder alert.
“Clara, who’s in medical?”
“Ghost.” The AI’s voice had somehow intensified in cheerfulness.
“Ah, another ghost signal. I’ll just dismiss it then.”
“No, you meat-powered error machine. I mean, Captain.”
“So, there is someone in medical?”
“Yes, a ghost.”
Shit. Out of all the things Hope needed a supernatural companion was certainly not one of them. Ghosts found in interstellar space were illogical, powerful, murderous, and worst of all not covered by Diane’s insurance.
“I’m going to medical.”
“Be sure to inject adrenaline into your eyeballs, Captain!”
Diane stretched, rolled her shoulders, and gave the air a few fake punches, preparing for a fight with an incorporeal intruder. She stood a bit of distance away from the door before activating it, not wishing to repeat the experience of almost getting sucked out into the cold darkness of vacuum again. No one really knew where the hell ghosts came from. There was certainly no logical reason why a ship travelling through thousands of light years of emptiness should happen upon the resting place of any soul, human or otherwise. Yet it happened with unnerving and inconvenient regularity.
The door to the medbay slid open and there it was: a dark shape sitting on the stretcher in the middle of the room. It was a cloud with a jagged outline that flickered like interference on a screen. Two shining red eyes stared at Diane from the middle-top part of the ghost.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Pain. Darkness. Noise.” The voices changed from one word to the next, varying in gender, age, tone, and even quality of recording. At least it hadn’t torn her head off yet.
“What are you doing on my ship?”
“Home!” The word sounded loud and proud, like it was ripped from a politician’s speech. “Return.”
“You know, hitchhiking really isn’t a good method of transport in space.”
The shape flickered a bit more heavily. “Confused. Home! Need.”
“I can’t take you home, weird freaky thing.”
“Friend. Not?”
“I’m afraid not.”
The dark cloud grew, encompassing almost all of the medical bay. The instruments on the shelves twisted, metal and plastic distorting into spiky forms. “Kill?” The word was spoken in a child’s voice.
“No!” Diane backed away, putting her hands in front of her. “No kill! Home it is, freaky thing.”
“Home!” The ghost retreated into its earlier form, leaving heaps of scrambled material around it. “Gratitude.”
“Um…” Diane said, feeling her heartbeat fall within acceptable limits again. “Where do you live?”
“Home!”
“Yes, but where is home?”
“Home!”
“Fine. Just don’t wander the ship, please. Stay here. Stay. Got it?”
“Stay.”
Diane shivered. That last word was a perfect replica of how she just said it. Closing the door, the captain made her way back to Hope’s “bridge” which really just consisted of one chair and many panels of various levels of disrepair.
“I am sorry you returned,” Clara’s saccharine voice greeted her.
“Hey, that ghost wants me to take it home. Do you have any clue where that might be?”
“The anomaly in the medical bay violates most of what I know about the way reality works. If it even has a conscious mind, trying to understand it is an exercise in futility.”
“Got it.”
“I highly doubt it!” The exuberance in Clara’s voice bordered on psychotic. “My hull cleaning subroutines are more sophisticated than your brain, Captain.”
“I’m not sure which of you two is a worse conversationalist.”
“Please jump into a tank of antimatter fuel!”
Diane dropped back into the pilot’s chair and watched the perfectly black expanse of space ripple by at super-relativistic speed. It was going to be a long flight.
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"...They'll tell you things as you drift by." the old man said. "They'll shout horrible, nasty things. They'll scream, and pound on the airlock doors, and beg to be let in." he took a short breath. "Under no circumstances can you let them in."
"Ghosts aren't real." One of the new recruits said confidently. "When you die, you're dead. Nothing after that." The rest of the group snickered, taking this as proof the old man was spinning tales.
The man laughed a hollow chuckle. He pulled the collar of his cable-knit sweater down over his shoulder to reveal a shimmering scar in the shape of a handprint. The new recruits went still.
"We had been in orbit for barely a full Sol." he said quietly, his voice trembling. "Our engineer had gone out to repair the outgoing comms dish. I was inside, watching as she spoke with the comms officer through the internal comms system. Suddenly, the channel starts breaking up. Static is hissing in my headset. We've lost all contact and we're fearing the worst when we get a hail."
"Like from another ship?" one of the recruits asked.
The old man shook his head. "From a comms device, the failsafe one on the wrist of a spacesuit. We had no reason to think that was unusual. I was relieved that it seemed she had survived. The comms officer answered the hail."
"Was it your engineer?" A recruit asked, eyes wide.
"No." he said simply. "But we sure thought it was. Our engineer didn't have a specific accent, and it's hard to tell apart voices on an old comms system. She told us it hurt. She-" he broke off. "She told us she was in so much pain. We tried to riddle out what had happened, but she just kept saying that it hurt, that she was hurt. What could we have done? Our captain order me and the doctor down to the airlock. They continued talking to her as we ran. They told her that we were coming. They told her what airlock we would be at." he trailed off.
"Then what happened?" someone asked impatiently. Someone else swatted at them.
"The doctor and I watched anxiously as the airlock depressurized. When the steam cleared, a hunched figure in a bulky white spacesuit was leaning heavily against the wall. Their visor was fogged. We couldn't see their face."
One of the kids frowned. "Bulky white spacesuit? Those haven't been in use in decades."
"Exactly." the man sighed. "So, as the master-at-arms, the doctor sent me in, blaster drawn. When it saw me, it staggered towards me. I told it to stay away, to take off it's helmet and reveal its face. It begged me for help, repeating its cry that it was hurt. It lurched towards me and desperately grabbed at my shirt, catching my shoulder." he absent-mindedly massaged the scar. "I've never felt such pain. I fired into its legs, which earned me enough time to blindly run for the airlock exit. I made it just in time. The doctor sealed the door behind me."
The crowd murmured amongst itself. This was by far one of the most exciting horror stories they'd been told that day.
"I don't remember anything for the next couple of hours." the man admitted. "But the doctor will tell you that right as he was watching me and the thing shouting at each other, he got a frantic message from our captain."
"What did they say?"
"They said that communications had been restored. The engineer was fine. She was almost finished with the repairs."
"Then who was in the airlock."
"A Terran astronaut." he said simply. "Who died on a spacewalk 40 years previously."
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[deleted]
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[WP] The rumors were true. The moon landing WAS faked. The astronauts went to Alpha Centauri instead.
|
The first thing John noticed was how much everything hurt. Next was the cold. Last was the blaring alarm and flashing red lights.
He tried to sit up, but something was wrong. Why was his vision fading?
BREATHE!
He opened his mouth and gasped for air for the first time in over one hundred years. Immediately the pain started to subside, and his vision returned to normal. For a few moments he simply sat in his open pod realizing, as though for the first time, how wonderful air really was.
After a handful of wonderful breaths his brain started to return to full function once more, and the siren went from an annoyance to something he knew was supposed to be important.
He wasn’t the captain, that was Jim, but the training they’d put him through said that he wouldn’t be able to count on any other member of the crew waking up, until he knew there were others, he’d have to act as crew and captain.
Slowly he climbed out of his cryo-sleep pod. They’d told him that the stiffness was expected, but he felt like a corpse trying to reanimate.
He floated out of the sleep chamber, where lights were blinking for the other three hundred pods, indicating that the others should be waking up soon as well.
At least he hoped they would.
He made it to the cockpit and silenced the alarm. He looked over the wall of buttons, switches, and readouts remembering how overwhelming it had been the first time he’d seen them nearly two years ago. *Two years, plus about a hundred* he reminded himself. He quickly found the source of the alarm, one of the sensors on one of the ship’s many water tanks wasn’t responding, he’d have to manually check it.
Even if it was bad, it shouldn’t be a big problem. Their ship carried over sixty tons of water in six different tanks. Getting that much water into space had been its own top secret government program, totally separate from the “disappearances” of almost three hundred people, and the secret construction of a giant interstellar spacecraft, which was separate from…
John mentally shook himself. He realized with a start what being awake actually meant. He pushed himself to the back of the ship, which, if everything had actually gone right, was pointed at Alpha Centauri.
When he finally made it to the rear viewing window he saw it for the first time.
Their new world.
|
A “pale blue dot”, as Carl Sagan would once come to refer to Earth as, was the last glimpse of home Major Tom and his crew would catch in a long time. 85 years had passed since the solar system shrunk into the dark nothingness that once surrounded it, and yet, that light blue gleam vividly haunted the minds of every human inside the old Apollo 11. Now, 100 years after the initial burst of excitement from receiving an intelligent radio signal originated in Alpha Centauri, the crew members prepared themselves to arrive to their destination: Proxima Centauri, a faint red dwarf orbited by two planets.
Major Tom played with a little red and blue pill between his fingers, sitting against the cockpit’s front window. Red and blue. Like the American flag, they told him. He smirked to that ideia. No living American knew about his existence. Apollo 11 was no more then a file in an old fashioned computer back on Earth now.
‘It’s time’ whispered a voice behind him.
Tom’s shoulder relaxed to the touch of Martha’s warm hand. She as well held a tiny pill in her hands.
‘It’s the last one’ Tom stated.
‘I know’.
The captain stared at his crew mate for a few seconds, before swallowing his last colorful youth pill. Martha did the same.
‘I never got to ask what these are made of’ he laughed.
‘Neither did I’.
‘Doesn’t that drive you crazy sometimes?’ A sudden gleam of fear sparkled in the corners of Major Tom’s eyes, despite his calm expression. ‘How we might never know?’
Martha sweetly smiled in response.
A robotic voice squeaked through the ship’s speakers. ‘Arrival at Proxima B, category, Earth-like planet, position, habitable zone, in 14 minutes.’
Tom felt his heart beating through his back against the cold window. One and a half inches of glass silently separated him and the killing coldness behind him. He had never felt so alive. All his long-numbed human emotions infiltrated his every cell to the view of the pale green dot ahead of them.
The crew reunited in front of the main window. At any time, they were supposed to be seeing what NASA had anticipated to have transmitted the signal, an ABU, Alien Broadcasting Unit, a large radiotelescope orbiting Proxima B.
7 minutes passed.
7 more.
Nothing.
Major Tom felt Martha’s hand squeeze his.
‘Arrival at Proxima B, category, Earth-like planet, position, habitable zone, concluded’
A drop of sweat froze in the captain’s cheek.
No sign of an active ABU. The only thing orbiting Proxima B were metallic debris of what could have been a radio transmitter of some sort; but there was really no way to tell. They reflected their sun’s red light in a weirdly beautiful way, the captain thought; like knives bleeding silently into the eternity.
‘Something happened here’ Martha’s eyes shined with crippling terror.
‘We are too late’ Major Tom whispered. ‘They’re gone’
‘What now?’
‘We don’t go home.’
No one responded.
‘At least’ Martha whispered through her breath. ‘At least we can look at the stars’
...
Hey guys! This is my first comment/post on Reddit. Feedback is appreciated, if you feel like taking the time! 🥰 English is not my first language, so I apologize if there are any grammatical errors. I hope you enjoyed, and thank you for reading! 🖤
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[WP] The human stood, eyes pleading for everyone to listen. "Members of the Galactic Senate, please, trust me when I say this: war has no winners."
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You know us as a careful, reasonable species. Some of you mock our insistence on consensus, or our refusal to use currency of any kind. Your encyclopaedia galactica calls us a commensal species with hive-like traits. We are famous for our avoidance of conflict and our willingness to help.
Difficult as it may be for you to believe, my species once warred.
Not against some other species, but against ourselves. Sometimes we fought for resources, or control. But most often we fought because we were driven by instincts we barely understood. We were a near feral species acting on instincts suited for a vanished environment.
We justified ourselves. Created causes, told ourselves we fought for ideals. We fictionalised our enemies and turned them from fellow sentients to creatures of irredeemable evil.
We allowed damaged and insane individuals to drive us into conflict so that they could attain power or hoard resources. We committed atrocities upon atrocities, driven further by fear of becoming victims and the delusion of victory.
We glorified war. The meme of the warrior thrived in our collective psyche, breeding and spreading through popular media. Our children aspired to be mass murderers.
Above all, we killed.
We buried bombs in the earth, and rained them down from the skies. We created projectile weapons that could kill half a continent away. The tools war were endless, and endlessly deadly. Billions upon billions died.
Please, listen.
The home planet of my species is an unquiet tomb. Nothing can live there. Not in the deepest oceans or most remote peaks. Where there isn't poison or radioactivity there are predatory nano-swarms, autonomous battle machines, and a thousand other deadly relics.
Even after war destroyed our world, we did not stop. Our species nearly drove itself to extinction while squabbling over barren rocks spinning in the void.
I am here before you today to say please. Trust me. Trust my species and the lesson we were forced to learn. War has no winners. It's better for all of us to die than we succumb to war. If we go to war, we will be destroyed. The acts of war, the things we will do to win... These things will remake us. We will become monsters.
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WIP
None. Not the victorious, their hearts broken by the blood that drenches their hands. Not the survivors of the vanquished, crippled and vowing their revenge. Not even those who chose to abstain, haunted by the evil they allowed and good deeds never done.
I've seen the craters left behind, when revenge goes too far. I've seen lives lost in numbers beyond measurement. I've seen hanged those who preached restraint, paying for evils their inaction allowed. And that is why I stand before you tonight....today....heh.... still not used to interstellar travel.... I guess its neither time here isn't it? Fitting I suppose, since if you go forward from this spot, along the road upon which you are headed....then you will suffer the same fate as my people... war.
Oh like your illustrious selves they had many nobel sounding reasons at first. The same they always had: resources, faith, preservation of life as they knew it, defense from that all frightening other. And then the big guns go off... planets are shattered....trillions burn and die in an instant... entire civilizations.....except....not.... the whole civilization. Right? Cause someone has to survive to tell the tale...and they do...to anyone who will listen. But no one listens. So they fight back. Revenge spawns Revenge spawns revenge. Until all the fancy ideals and reasons are gone and there nothing left but hate and war. But it doesn't stop there does it? No..heheh. Nah... they just keep on warring. Building better tools to kill more and leave less. And they just go on killing and waring until you think: "Surely now that graveyards are all full, and the murderers have all found their own graves. Now the waring must end?"
No...no... cause some ignorant archeologist absent mindedly decided to recreate an entire colony of the deadliest creatures to ever evolve around its cruel star.
And then you stood open mouthed and ashamed at what you had unleashed. Atleast I hope ot was shame that lead you to me...
More? Comments welcome..
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